#Max Verstappen

[pucksandpower]

A Royal Surprise

Max Verstappen x Princess of Wales!Reader

Summary: in which Max 1) forgot to tell his team that he has a girlfriend and 2) forgot to tell his team that the girlfriend in question is the future Queen of England … oops?

One of Red Bull Racing’s PR officers, Leslie, sits in the back of the conference room, her pen poised over her notepad as she listens to the team debrief. It’s a typical Thursday morning, with engineers and drivers discussing the upcoming race weekend. Leslie’s eyes flit between Max Verstappen and his teammate as they offer their insights on car performance and track conditions.

“The balance felt off in turn three during the sim,” Max says, leaning back in his chair. “We might need to adjust the downforce.”

Leslie jots this down, already planning how to phrase it for the press conference later that afternoon. Just another normal day at Red Bull Racing, she thinks.

But then, Max casually adds, “Oh, and by the way, you might see some extra security around this weekend. My girlfriend’s coming to watch the race.”

Leslie’s pen stills. There’s something in Max’s tone that makes her look up sharply.

“Girlfriend?” Christian Horner raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone seriously.”

Max shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, it’s been a few months now. We’ve been keeping it quiet.”

Leslie leans forward, her PR senses tingling. “Anyone we know?” She asks, trying to keep her voice casual.

Max’s grin widens. “You could say that. It’s Y/N.”

The room falls silent. Leslie blinks, sure she must have misheard. “I’m sorry, did you say Y/N? As in ...”

“The Princess of Wales, yeah,” Max confirms, as if he’s just mentioned dating a local girl from down the street.

Leslie’s notepad slips from her fingers, clattering to the floor. The sound seems to break the spell of silence that’s fallen over the room.

“Max,” Christian says slowly, “are you telling us that you’re dating the future Queen of England?”

Max nods, still looking far too relaxed for someone who’s just dropped a bombshell of international proportions. “That’s right.”

Leslie’s mind is spinning. Images of tabloid headlines and diplomatic incidents flash before her eyes. She stands up abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “I need to make some calls,” she says weakly.

But before she can escape, Christian holds up a hand. “Wait, Leslie. We need to handle this carefully. Max, how long has this been going on?”

“About six months,” Max replies. “We met at a charity event in London. Hit it off right away.”

Leslie sinks back into her chair, her head in her hands. “Six months,” she mutters. “You’ve been dating the Princess of Wales for six months, and we’re just finding out now?”

Max has the grace to look a bit sheepish. “We wanted to keep it private for as long as possible. You know how it is with the media.”

Oh, Leslie knows. She knows all too well. “Max,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady, “do you realize what this means? The security implications alone ...”

“It’s all been taken care of,” Max assures her. “The palace has been very discreet.”

Leslie laughs, a slightly hysterical edge to it. “The palace. Of course. Because now we’re dealing with actual palaces.”

Christian clears his throat. “Right. Well, this certainly changes things. Leslie, I think we’re going to need to reschedule the rest of this meeting. Can you get started on a press strategy?”

Leslie nods numbly, her mind already racing with potential scenarios and damage control plans.

As the room begins to clear, Max approaches her. “Leslie? Are you okay? You look a bit pale.”

Leslie takes a deep breath. “Max, I appreciate you telling us. But next time you decide to date royalty, maybe give us a heads up a bit sooner?”

Max chuckles. “Sorry about that. If it helps, you’re handling it better than your counterpart at the palace did when you found out.”

“Oh God,” Leslie groans. “I’m going to have to coordinate with the royal PR team, aren’t I?”

“They’re actually pretty cool,” Max says. “A bit stuffy at first, but they loosen up after a while.”

Leslie shakes her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe this is my life now. Okay, Max, I need you to tell me everything. How did you meet? How have you kept this secret? What are the security arrangements?”

For the next hour, Leslie grills Max on every detail of his relationship with you. She learns about secret rendezvous in Monaco, carefully orchestrated “chance” meetings at public events, and the challenges of dating someone whose every move is scrutinized by the world.

“And you’re sure about this?” Leslie asks finally. “Dating her ... it’s not exactly going to be easy for you.”

Max’s expression softens. “I know. But she’s worth it. We’re worth it.”

Despite her stress, Leslie feels a twinge of sympathy. It can’t be easy, trying to nurture a relationship under such intense pressure.

“Alright,” she sighs. “I’ll do everything I can to make this as smooth as possible. But Max, promise me one thing?”

“What’s that?”

“No more bombshells, okay? My heart can’t take it.”

Max grins. “Well, actually ...”

Leslie’s eyes widen in alarm. “What? What is it now?”

“Her father ... he’s a big F1 fan. He’s been hinting that he’d like to attend a race.”

The room starts to spin. The last thing Leslie hears before everything goes black is Max’s concerned voice saying, “Leslie? Leslie, are you okay?”

When Leslie comes to, she’s lying on the conference room couch, with Max and Christian hovering over her anxiously.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Christian says, relief evident in his voice. “You gave us quite a scare there, Leslie.”

Leslie sits up slowly, her head still spinning. “Please tell me I dreamed all of that,” she mutters.

Max shakes his head, looking apologetic. “Sorry, it’s all real. Are you okay? Should we call a doctor?”

Leslie waves him off. “No, no, I’m fine. Just ... processing.” She takes a deep breath, her PR training kicking in despite her shock. “Okay. Let’s take this one step at a time. First, we need to draft a statement.”

Christian nods. “Good idea. What are you thinking?”

Leslie stands up, pacing as she thinks out loud. “We need to confirm the relationship without making too big a deal of it. Something like ... ‘Red Bull Racing confirms that driver Max Verstappen is in a relationship with Her Royal Highness, the Princess of Wales. We ask for privacy as they navigate this new chapter.’”

Max frowns. “Isn’t that a bit ... formal?”

Leslie sighs. “Max, you’re dating the future Queen of England. Everything’s going to be a bit formal from now on.”

“She hates that, you know,” Max says softly. “All the formality. It’s why she likes being with me. I treat her like a normal person.”

Leslie pauses in her pacing, struck by the vulnerability in Max’s voice. “You really care about her, don’t you?”

Max nods. “More than I’ve ever cared about anyone. She’s ... she’s amazing. Smart, funny, kind. When I’m with her, I forget about all the titles and protocol. She’s just ... her.”

Christian clears his throat, looking uncomfortable with the display of emotion. “That’s all well and good, but we need to think about the bigger picture here. This relationship could have major implications for the team, for Formula 1 as a whole.”

Leslie nods, her mind already racing ahead. “We’ll need to coordinate with the palace on all public appearances. Security will need to be completely overhauled. And the media ... oh God, the media is going to have a field day with this.”

“Hey,” Max says, placing a hand on Leslie’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. You’re the best in the business, Leslie. If anyone can handle this, it’s you.”

Despite her stress, Leslie feels a rush of affection for the young driver. “Thanks. I appreciate that. Now, let’s get back to work. We have a lot to do before this news breaks.”

As they settle back into planning mode, Leslie can’t help but shake her head in disbelief. A Formula 1 driver and a princess. It sounds like something out of a fairy tale or a cheesy romance novel. But as she watches Max’s face light up when he talks about you, she realizes that sometimes, reality is stranger — and more romantic — than fiction.

“Oh, and Leslie?” Max adds as they’re wrapping up. “About the King wanting to attend a race ...”

Leslie holds up a hand. “One crisis at a time, Max. Let’s get through announcing your relationship before we start planning any more royal visits to the paddock, okay?”

Max grins. “Fair enough. But just so you know, he’s particularly interested in the British Grand Prix. Says it would be ‘jolly good fun’ to present the trophies.”

Leslie closes her eyes, already imagining the logistical nightmare. “Max, I swear, if you’re joking ...”

“Would I joke about something like this?” Max asks innocently.

Leslie looks at him for a long moment, then turns to Christian. “I’m going to need a raise. And possibly a personal team of therapists.”

Christian chuckles. “I think that can be arranged. Welcome to the new era of Red Bull Racing. It’s going to be an interesting ride.”

As Leslie gathers her notes and prepares to face the whirlwind that’s about to engulf them all, she can’t help but smile slightly. It’s going to be challenging, stressful, and probably more than a little crazy. But as she watches Max’s eyes light up at the mention of your name, she realizes that maybe, just maybe, it might all be worth it in the end.

After all, who doesn’t love a good fairy tale?

[verstappensrealwife]

You’re jealous… Of a baby? - F1 TEXT AU

[f1 masterlist / f1 text au masterlist]

ʚɞ in which... driver is jealous of the attention reader is giving to her nephew.

ʚɞ containing: ln4, fa14, cl16, ls18, mv33, fc43, lh44, cs55, op81

ʚɞ warnings: some illusions of sex but nothing weird.

Click here to be tagged in my works.

Tags: @fadingcloudballoon-blog @carlossainzapologist @nina-or-anna-or-nora @hales-in-universe @ricciardosheart @ethereal0810 @sturmatt @elieanana @nichmeddar @lexy9716 @sarakay-gvf @random-fanfiction @maymustdie @i-wish-this-was-me @uhhvictoria @pear-1206 @Canyonmoon-2 @Jnicole_44_4 @Lilypat

[countingstars-17]

they played max verstappen bingo with max there knowing absolutely nothing 😭

[lestappenthingz]

🥹🫦

Cr: @ povsnpodium on Tiktok

[theonottsbxtch]

DONT WANNA BE SAVED | MV1

an: mafia!max i DO want to be saved, please do not mix me up with the main character she's just a bit silly. also single dad!max hmu, yeah? i hope you're aware of how much googling i had to do this for request because i know NOTHING about dressage.

wc: 6.2k

The rhythmic crunch of gravel under the tyres was the only sound that cut through the quiet tension in the air. Max Verstappen drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, his sharp jaw clenched. He wasn’t used to venturing into parts of town that didn’t know his name, but for his little girl, he’d do anything—even if it meant swallowing his pride and knocking on the door of a horse trainer who clearly wanted nothing to do with him.

The GPS barked at him, announcing the final turn. Max squinted through the windscreen at the small, unassuming ranch sprawled out in the middle of nowhere. The place looked sturdy but unpolished, a far cry from the grand estates he usually associated with trainers who were supposedly “the best.” He cut the engine and stepped out, the crisp bite of the afternoon wind tugging at the tailored lapels of his suit.

The barn doors creaked open, and she emerged.

She was nothing like he expected. For someone with a reputation of being the finest dressage instructor on this side of the country, she didn’t look the part. Her hair was loosely tied back, strands falling into her face as she adjusted the cuff of her sleeve. Her boots were scuffed, her hands calloused, and there was a streak of dirt smeared across her cheek. Yet, the confidence in the way she moved was unmistakable—deliberate, purposeful, like she could size him up in a heartbeat and decide exactly how much of her time he deserved.

Max straightened as she approached, his usual commanding air faltering under her cool, appraising gaze. “Mr Verstappen?” she asked, voice calm and low, though there was a slight arch to her brow as she clocked his expensive suit against the rustic backdrop.

“That’s right,” he replied, recovering quickly. “I called about my daughter, Stella.”

“I remember.” Her tone was unreadable as she wiped her hands on her jeans and extended one to him. He hesitated a second too long before shaking it. Firm grip. No nonsense.

“She’s serious about competing,” Max continued, trying to soften the edge in his voice. “I’ve been told you’re the best, and I don’t settle for less when it comes to her.”

The corner of her mouth twitched, almost like a smile, but not quite. “Dressage isn’t about settling or not settling,” she said. “It’s about discipline, patience, and trust. None of which can be bought.”

Max’s jaw ticked at the subtle dig, but he didn’t rise to it. He was here for Stella, not to flex his ego. “You’ll have all the resources you need,” he said instead. “Money isn’t an issue.”

Her eyes flicked to him, sharp as a blade. “Good. Because if your daughter’s going to train with me, I’m going to need more than that.” She turned abruptly, gesturing for him to follow her towards the barn. “I’ll meet Stella, and we’ll go from there. But just so we’re clear—I don’t babysit, and I don’t do miracles.”

Max trailed behind her, a slow smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. She was bold, he’d give her that. Most people were too afraid to speak to him like that. Maybe she really was the best.

His shoes crunched against the gravel as he followed her into the barn. The earthy scent of hay and leather mingled with the faint sweetness of horses, instantly grounding the space. Inside, sunlight filtered through the high windows, casting golden streaks across the straw-scattered floor. A bay mare in one of the stables tossed her head, her ears twitching at the sound of their footsteps.

She leaned against the edge of the stall, absently running her fingers along the edge of the wood. “How old is Stella?” she asked, her voice carrying the clipped efficiency of someone who didn’t waste time on niceties.

“Nine,” Max said, stepping closer. “She’s ridden before, but it’s always been a hobby. Now, she’s ready to take it seriously.”

“Is she?” she asked, glancing at him.

Max frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, is she ready? Or are you?” She crossed her arms, leaning her weight casually against the stable door.

His nostrils flared, but he bit back his instinctive retort. People didn’t question him—not in his world. But this was different. For Stella, he’d let his temper take a back seat. “Stella’s the one who asked. She’s determined, and I support her in whatever she wants.”

For the first time, her expression softened, just slightly. “Good. A lot of parents want this more than the kids. It shows in the way they push them, and that pressure never works. Horses aren’t machines. They pick up on that tension, and it ruins the trust.”

He nodded, though he wasn’t entirely sure he liked being lectured. “Trust, discipline, patience,” he said, his voice taking on a dry edge. “I got it.”

Her lips twitched again, and this time he was certain it was a smile, however faint. “You don’t strike me as the patient type.”

Max chuckled, low and sharp. “You’d be surprised. I know when to wait. I also know when to act.”

Something flickered in her gaze at that, but she didn’t let it linger. Instead, she straightened and pushed open the stable door, letting the mare step out. The horse was sleek and graceful, her muscles shifting smoothly under her polished coat.

“This is Luna,” she said, patting the mare’s neck. “She’s my best. If Stella wants to learn, she’ll start with her.”

“Stella doesn’t have her own horse yet,” Max admitted, studying the animal.

“Good. That makes it easier. Luna’s a good judge of character. If Stella’s nervous, Luna will know. And if Luna doesn’t trust her...” She shrugged, leaving the rest unsaid.

Max raised an eyebrow. “What happens then?”

“She doesn’t ride,” she said simply.

He appreciated her bluntness, even if it grated at him. She wasn’t someone he could charm or intimidate, and oddly, that made him more intrigued.

As if sensing his thoughts, she brushed past him, leading Luna to a bridle rack. “Bring Stella by tomorrow. I’ll see what we’re working with.”

“And what about you?” Max asked, his voice dropping slightly, almost testing.

She turned, brow furrowing. “What about me?”

“You seem to have high expectations,” he said. “If Stella’s the one being judged, does that mean you’ve already made up your mind about me?”

Her gaze lingered on him, steady and unflinching. “You’re not the one I’m here to teach, Mr Verstappen. But if you’re asking...” She paused, her lips curving into the faintest smirk. “I’ve met plenty of men like you. You don’t scare me.”

Max tilted his head, his mouth pulling into a slow, deliberate grin. “Plenty of men like me? Somehow, I doubt that.”

The month following his first meeting with her passed in a blur of early mornings, long afternoons, and the kind of quiet determination that Max had to admit impressed him. Stella had taken to the training better than he could have hoped, and her instructor—well, she’d more than lived up to her reputation.

She was tough but fair, demanding excellence without suffocating his daughter’s enthusiasm. Max had watched every session from the sidelines, arms crossed, keeping a respectful distance but always observing. And more than once, he found his attention drifting—not to Stella, but to her instructor.

There was something about her. A kind of grit that didn’t falter, even when she was teaching patience to a headstrong nine-year-old. Her quiet confidence didn’t demand attention; it commanded it. Max had seen plenty of people fake authority, but she wore it like second skin.

He liked that.

What he hadn’t expected, however, was to see her a month later, in a completely different world.

The pounding bass hit him first, reverberating through his chest as he pushed through the crowd. The club was dimly lit, alive with movement—people dancing, drinks clinking, laughter rising over the music. It wasn’t his usual scene, but a meeting had brought him here, one of those backroom negotiations that needed the anonymity of chaos.

He’d wrapped up the deal without trouble, but as he made his way back to the main floor, something—or rather, someone—caught his eye.

There she was, behind the bar.

Her hair was down, loose waves brushing her shoulders, and she wasn’t in scuffed boots or faded jeans anymore. Instead, she wore a fitted black top and a skater skirt, a thin chain glinting at her neck under the neon lights. She moved with an easy rhythm, pouring drinks and flashing quick smiles to the patrons leaning against the bar.

For a moment, Max thought he’d imagined it. But then she turned slightly, catching his profile out of the corner of her eye, and froze.

Her eyes widened for just a second—barely noticeable—but enough for him to catch it. She recovered quickly, though, tilting her head and raising an eyebrow as if to say, What are you doing here?

Max didn’t answer her unspoken question. Instead, he made his way to the bar, sliding between two drunken men slouched over their cocktails. He rested his elbows on the polished surface, waiting for her to acknowledge him.

“Mr Verstappen,” she said finally, leaning forward slightly. Her voice was calm, but there was a flicker of something else in her expression—annoyance, maybe, or surprise. “Didn’t think this was your kind of place.”

“It’s not,” he admitted, letting his eyes roam the bottles behind her before settling back on her face. “But it seems I’m full of surprises tonight.”

She snorted softly, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. She placed it in front of him, her smirk sharp. “You look like you need this more than a whiskey.”

Max chuckled, low and rough. “Not here for a drink. Just curious.” He tilted his head, studying her. “Didn’t peg you for the nightlife type.”

“Didn’t think you were paying that much attention,” she shot back, wiping her hands on a bar towel.

“More than you realise,” Max murmured. He wasn’t sure if she caught the softness in his tone over the thumping music, but her eyes narrowed slightly, her posture stiffening.

“I could say the same about you,” she replied, shifting her weight. “What’s the boss of half the city doing in a place like this?”

“Business,” he said simply, straightening. “But that doesn’t answer my question.”

She leaned closer, resting her hands on the bar. “You’re full of questions tonight, aren’t you?”

“Just one.” His voice dipped, his gaze unwavering. “Why are you here?”

She rolled her eyes, breaking the tension with a dry laugh. “It’s called having bills to pay, Verstappen. Not all of us have cash to burn. This keeps the lights on when teaching doesn’t.”

Max didn’t miss the edge to her words, and he wondered, not for the first time, just how much she kept buried beneath that sharp exterior. She didn’t need saving—that much was obvious—but the thought of her working this job, with the late hours and the leering patrons, stirred something primal in him.

“How long have you been doing this?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

“Long enough,” she said, shrugging. “And I’m good at it. Don’t look so shocked.”

“I’m not shocked.” He paused, letting the moment hang between them. “But I’m not exactly thrilled, either.”

Her expression hardened slightly, and she straightened, putting more distance between them. “Don’t start with that ‘I know what’s best’ routine. I get enough of that already.”

Max raised his hands, palms out in mock surrender. “No routine. Just... noticing things.”

“Noticed enough, then?” she asked, turning away to serve another customer.

For the first time in a long time, Max found himself on uneven ground. He wasn’t sure if he was impressed, frustrated, or just intrigued. But one thing was certain: she had a way of staying in his head, and it was starting to feel less like an annoyance and more like an inevitability.

As she moved down the bar, he lingered, watching her work. No, she didn’t need saving. But the urge to shield her from this world, to pull her away from the late nights and the reckless strangers, was already starting to claw its way to the surface.

And Max Verstappen wasn’t the kind of man to ignore an instinct like that.

For weeks after the encounter at the club, Max couldn’t shake the image of her behind the bar. It wasn’t just the stark contrast to her usual self—confident, commanding, utterly at home in the arena—but the way it gnawed at something deep inside him.

She didn’t belong in that place, surrounded by cheap cologne and drunken hands reaching for more than drinks. The thought of her dealing with that night after night twisted in his gut like a blade.

It wasn’t just about Stella anymore. He’d grown to respect her over the past month—the way she pushed his daughter without breaking her spirit, the way she handled herself with a quiet strength that most people in his world didn’t have.

That respect, though, was starting to blur into something more. And Max wasn’t sure what to do with that.

He finally brought it up on a crisp Friday morning, just after Stella’s session. The three of them stood by the paddock, Luna grazing lazily a few feet away. Stella was laughing at something, her cheeks flushed from the chill and the effort she’d put into the lesson. Max felt a swell of pride watching her, but his gaze kept drifting back to her instructor.

When Stella wandered off to grab a snack from the car, he seized the moment.

“You’ve been doing good work with her,” he began, his voice low and steady.

She gave him a side glance, adjusting the bridle she was holding. “Thanks.”

“You know,” he continued, his tone carefully casual, “I’ve been thinking about your rate.”

Her hands froze for a split second before she turned to face him fully. “My rate?”

He nodded. “You’re worth more than what I’m paying you. A lot more. I’d like to fix that.”

Her eyes narrowed, suspicion flaring immediately. “Fix it, huh?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “You’re not charging enough for the kind of work you do. I’m doubling it.”

She crossed her arms, tilting her head. “And what’s this really about, Max? Feeling generous all of a sudden?”

“It’s not generosity,” he said, his jaw tightening. “It’s fairness.”

Her laugh was sharp, almost bitter. “Fairness. Right. Is that what you call pity now?”

His brows shot up. “Pity? You think I pity you?”

“What else am I supposed to think? You see me working a second job and suddenly decide to play knight in shining armour?” She shook her head, a hard edge to her voice. “Keep your money, Verstappen. I don’t need your charity.”

“It’s not charity!” His voice rose slightly, and she blinked at the rare flash of frustration. He took a breath, forcing himself to calm down. “Is it a sin,” he said, his voice quieter now, “that I want to make sure you’ve got a roof over your head?”

She stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she sighed and leaned against the paddock fence. “You’ve got a hell of a way of showing it,” she muttered.

“What do you want from me?” Max asked, spreading his hands. “You work yourself to the bone here, and then you go to that—” He stopped himself, his voice tight. “That place. And you think I’m just supposed to ignore it? Pretend I don’t care?”

Her lips quirked into a smirk, though there was little humour in it. “Careful, Max. You’re starting to sound like a softie.”

He barked a laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you’re raising a nine-year-old daughter on your own. And her closest friends are her unofficial uncles in the mafia.”

Her brows shot up, and for a moment, her lips twitched like she was fighting the urge to laugh. “That right?”

“That’s right,” he said, his tone lighter now, but his eyes still serious. “And maybe I don’t want to see someone else I—” He stopped, catching himself before he said too much. “Someone I respect running herself ragged.”

She studied him, her gaze softer now, but still guarded. “Max, I’m fine. Really. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time, and I don’t need anyone swooping in to do it for me.”

“I know you don’t need it,” he said quietly. “But maybe I need to do it anyway.”

The honesty in his voice left her momentarily speechless. She glanced away, focusing on the horizon. “You’re impossible,” she muttered.

“Maybe,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “But I don’t give up easily. Ask Stella.”

“Trust me, I’ve noticed,” she said, shaking her head. “Fine. If you’re so desperate to throw your money around, I’ll let you pay me more. But only because you’ll keep bugging me if I don’t.”

“That’s probably true,” he said with a shrug.

“But,” she added, pointing a finger at him, “if you start thinking this means I owe you something, I will kick you off this property.”

Max grinned, the tension between them easing slightly. “Noted.”

For now, it was enough. But as she walked away, her shoulders straight and her head held high, Max couldn’t help but think that his concern for her was starting to go beyond what he could justify as simple admiration.

And that thought both thrilled and terrified him.

He wasn’t sure when exactly it started happening—the subtle shift from guarded respect to something warmer, more playful. At first, he’d chalked it up to her stubborn streak. She never missed an opportunity to challenge him, whether it was a pointed remark about his suit and tie being out of place at the barn or her light jabs at his overprotective tendencies.

But as the weeks went on, those jabs started to feel less like walls and more like invitations.

It began innocently enough. One morning, Max showed up to Stella’s session with two coffees in hand—one black, the way he liked it, and one sweet and milky, based on an educated guess.

“Here,” he said, holding it out to her as she adjusted a saddle.

She glanced at the cup and then back at him, one eyebrow raised. “What’s this?”

“Coffee,” he replied dryly.

Her lips twitched. “I can see that. What I mean is, why are you giving it to me?”

“Because it’s cold, and I’m not completely heartless,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

She took the cup, sniffed it cautiously, then sipped. Her eyes lit up for a brief second before narrowing. “Let me guess—someone else made this choice for you, didn’t they? No way you guessed right on your own.”

He grinned. “You caught me. Stella might have mentioned you have a sweet tooth.”

“Mm-hmm.” She set the cup on a nearby ledge, her expression neutral. “Thanks, Verstappen. I’ll try not to read too much into it.”

“You do that,” he said, but his smirk lingered for the rest of the morning.

It was then a Wednesday afternoon, and Max had just arrived at the barn when he caught her pulling a boot from a deep puddle of mud.

“You look like you’re having fun,” he said, leaning against the fence with his arms crossed.

She shot him a look, her nose scrunching. “Don’t start. This is your daughter’s fault, by the way. She decided Luna needed a little adventure off the trail.”

“She’s nine,” Max said, his tone mock-defensive. “You can’t hold her responsible for everything.”

She stomped her now-filthy boot back into place and gave him a pointed once-over. “No, but I can hold you responsible. You’re the one who raised her.”

Max laughed, loud and genuine, and it startled her for a second. She recovered quickly, shaking her head as she brushed past him. “You’re lucky I like Stella.”

“Lucky, huh?” he called after her. “I’ll take that as a win.”

The following week Max was standing at the edge of the paddock, watching Stella trot a clean figure-eight, when he felt her step up beside him.

“She’s getting better,” she said, her voice low and even.

“She’s got a good teacher,” Max replied, not looking away from the horse and rider.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her roll her eyes. “Flattery doesn’t work on me, Verstappen.”

“Wasn’t trying to flatter,” he said, turning to face her fully. “Just stating facts.”

She squinted at him, clearly suspicious. “You’re in a good mood today.”

“Maybe,” he said, his smirk returning. “Or maybe it’s just that you’re finally starting to warm up to me.”

She snorted. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.” But her lips curved into a reluctant smile, and Max couldn’t help but feel like he’d scored a small victory.

By the fourth week, the playful banter had become a regular part of their routine. It was after Stella’s lesson, with the late afternoon sun casting golden light over the barn, that Max finally decided to push the boundary just a little further.

“So,” he said casually, leaning against the fence as she packed away the gear. “What do you do for fun? When you’re not working two jobs and pretending you don’t like my coffee.”

She shot him a look over her shoulder. “Why do you care?”

“Call it curiosity,” he said, shrugging. “Or maybe I’m trying to figure out if you’re even capable of fun.”

She laughed, tossing a saddle pad into the tack room. “I’m plenty capable, thank you very much. I just don’t have a lot of time for it.”

“That’s a shame,” Max said, his voice dropping slightly. “Maybe you should make time.”

She paused, turning to face him fully. Her expression was wary, but there was a flicker of something else—something that made his pulse quicken. “And what would I do with all this hypothetical free time?”

“Well,” he said, stepping closer, his tone careful but deliberate, “you could start by letting me buy you dinner.”

Her eyes widened, just a fraction, before she masked her surprise with a smirk. “Dinner, huh? Is this another one of your attempts to ‘make sure I’ve got a roof over my head’?”

Max chuckled, shaking his head. “No. This is me asking you to spend time with me. No strings, no pity money. Just dinner.”

She hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge of the bridle she’d been holding. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” he said, his voice softening. “Unless, of course, you’re too scared.”

That did it. Her chin lifted, and her smirk turned into a full-blown grin. “Scared? Of you? Not likely.”

“Good,” Max said, his own smile widening. “How about Friday night?”

She tilted her head, pretending to consider. “Alright, Verstappen. You’ve got yourself a deal. But don’t think this means I’m going easy on Stella.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his chest lighter than it had been in weeks.

As she turned to finish her work, Max couldn’t help but feel like he’d just won the most important negotiation of his life.

Leading up to that Friday night, Max had been on edge all day, and he didn’t know why.

Everything had been going smoothly—Stella’s training, his business, even his tentative plans for dinner. But there was a gnawing unease in the pit of his stomach that he couldn’t shake. He’d checked his phone more times than he cared to admit, waiting for a text from her confirming their meeting, but the screen stayed stubbornly blank.

By the time the sun started setting, his patience ran out. Max grabbed his keys and headed for his car, his gut screaming at him to go now.

When he pulled up outside her small cottage, the sight of her truck with its tailgate open and half-packed belongings hit him like a punch to the chest.

He stepped out of the car, his brows furrowing as he called out, “What’s going on?”

She looked up sharply, startled. For a split second, he saw something in her eyes—panic, maybe, or guilt—but she masked it quickly, busying herself with stuffing a duffel bag into the truck bed.

“Nothing,” she said, her voice tight. “Just... handling some stuff.”

Max crossed the distance between them in a few long strides, his tone sharp. “Don’t lie to me. What’s going on?”

“I’m not lying,” she said, avoiding his gaze. “It’s none of your business, Max.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” he shot back, grabbing the edge of the truck bed. “We had plans tonight, and now I find you packing up your life like you’re running from something. Talk to me.”

She let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through her hair. “Look, it’s complicated, alright? I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“You might not,” Max said, his voice lowering, “but I’m not leaving until you give me one.”

For a moment, she stood there, glaring at him like she was debating whether to push him away or tell him to mind his own business. But then something in her resolve cracked.

“Fine,” she muttered. “You want to know? I screwed up when I was younger. Got mixed up with the wrong people—the Tifosi. And now they’ve decided it’s payback time.”

The name hit Max like a freight train. The Tifosi were no joke. Ruthless, calculating, and vindictive, they didn’t let debts slide, no matter how old.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice tight with a mixture of anger and concern.

“Because it’s not your problem,” she said, her tone sharp. “I don’t need you swooping in to play hero, Max. I’ve handled worse.”

“That’s not the point!” His voice rose, frustration bleeding into his words. “You should’ve told me. I could’ve—”

“Could’ve what?” she snapped, her eyes flashing. “Fixed it? Made it all go away? Newsflash, Verstappen: not everything is yours to control. I don’t need to be saved!”

Max’s jaw clenched as her words sank in. He took a step back, his hands gripping the edge of the truck bed so tightly his knuckles turned white. Then, without a word, he grabbed the duffel bag she’d just loaded and yanked it back out.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded, her voice rising.

“You’re not running,” he said firmly, throwing the bag into the back of his car. “You’re coming with me.”

“The hell I am!” She stepped forward, trying to grab the bag, but Max blocked her, his voice like steel.

“Yes, you are. My daughter needs an instructor, and I’m not letting her down because of some silly little debt.”

Her mouth fell open in disbelief, anger flashing across her face. “Silly little debt? Are you out of your mind? You know who they are!”

“I do,” Max said, his tone calm but unyielding. “And I know how to deal with them.”

“You don’t understand—”

“I understand plenty,” he cut her off, stepping closer. “You think you’re the only one who’s had the Tifosi breathing down their neck? You think I don’t know what it’s like to owe them?”

Her eyes widened, her anger faltering for the first time.

“I’ve dealt with them before,” Max continued, his voice softer now but no less determined. “And I’m still standing. You don’t have to do this alone.”

She stared at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to process his words. Finally, she shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because,” he said, his gaze locking onto hers, “I don’t let people I care about get crushed by this life. And whether you like it or not, I care about you.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, neither of them said anything. Then she turned away, her shoulders tense. “Max, this is a mistake. You don’t need to get involved.”

“It’s not a mistake,” he said firmly. “And you’re coming with me, whether you like it or not. End of discussion.”

Before she could argue, he grabbed the rest of her bags, loading them into his car with a finality that left no room for debate.

She stood there, torn between fury and something she didn’t want to name, as Max closed the trunk and opened the passenger door.

“Get in,” he said, his voice steady but not unkind.

For a long moment, she didn’t move. Then, with a resigned sigh, she walked toward the car and slid into the passenger seat.

As Max got behind the wheel, he glanced at her, his expression softening just enough to show her he meant what he’d said.

“You’re not alone in this,” he murmured.

She didn’t respond, but the way her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly told him she’d heard him loud and clear.

The ride back to Max’s estate was silent, save for the hum of the engine and the occasional crunch of gravel under the tires. She sat stiffly in the passenger seat, arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the road ahead.

Max glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. He wanted to say something, to fill the tense quiet with words that might reassure her, but he knew better. She wasn’t the type to be soothed by platitudes, and besides, she’d made it clear she didn’t want his help.

Too bad, he thought grimly. She was getting it whether she wanted it or not.

When they pulled into his driveway, the sprawling estate loomed in the moonlight, its imposing structure a sharp contrast to her modest cottage. Max stepped out of the car and rounded to the trunk without a word, hauling her bags out with practiced ease.

“Where’s the rest?” he asked as she stepped out of the car.

“The rest of what?” she said, her tone clipped.

“Your horses.”

She blinked, taken aback. “They’re still at the barn. I wasn’t planning on leaving them.”

Max pulled his phone from his pocket, already dialling. “They’ll be here by morning.”

“Wait—what?” she sputtered, her voice rising. “You can’t just—”

“Watch me,” he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument.

He spoke briefly into the phone, his words curt and to the point. When he hung up, he turned back to her, his expression calm but firm. “They’ll be transported safely. You’ll have stalls for them here.”

She stared at him, her frustration clear. “You don’t get to make decisions for me, Max.”

He shrugged, hefting one of her bags onto his shoulder. “I just did.”

The house was quiet as they entered, the kind of silence that spoke of thick walls and careful security. Max led her through the spacious halls, his steps sure and unhurried despite the tension in the air.

He stopped at a door on the second floor and pushed it open, revealing a neatly furnished room with warm, neutral tones.

“This is yours,” he said, setting her bags down near the bed.

She glanced around, taking in the plush rug, the antique dresser, and the large window overlooking the grounds. “It’s... nice,” she admitted reluctantly.

“It’ll do,” he said with a faint smirk.

He gestured for her to follow him down the hall, stopping at another door. This time, he knocked lightly before opening it.

Stella’s room was a whirlwind of bright colours and cheerful chaos. Posters of horses adorned the walls, and the bed was covered in a tangle of blankets and stuffed animals.

Stella looked up from where she was brushing her hair, her face lighting up when she saw her instructor. “You’re here!” she exclaimed, bounding over. “Are you having a sleepover?!”

She laughed softly, some of the tension easing from her posture. “Something like that, kiddo.”

“This is so cool!” Stella said, practically vibrating with excitement. “Wait till I tell Uncle Oz—oh, can Uncle Ozzy meet you in the morning? She’ll be so happy!”

Max chuckled, ruffling Stella’s hair. “Alright, alright. You can tell Oscar in the morning. Let her rest she’s just got here. And if anything happens, you call Uncle Lan. Got it?”

Stella nodded solemnly, her big eyes darting between her father and her instructor. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Just for a bit,” Max said, his voice gentle.

She pouted but didn’t argue, which made Max’s heart twist a little. He glanced at her instructor, who was watching the exchange with a quiet intensity.

When they stepped back into the hallway, she turned to him, arms crossed. “Where are you going?”

“Business,” he said simply, heading toward the stairs.

She followed him, her tone sharp. “You mean the Tifosi.”

Max paused, turning to face her. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held an edge of steel. “I said I’d handle it.”

Her jaw tightened. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do,” he said firmly. “They made it my business the second they came after you.”

She stared at him, her emotions warring between gratitude and frustration. Finally, she sighed, shaking her head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Max’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “I’ve been told.”

And with that, he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the grand staircase as she stood there, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and something she couldn’t quite name.

The clock read just past midnight as Max pulled into the driveway, the quiet rumble of his car breaking the stillness of the night. The meeting with the Tifosi had gone as expected—tense, with more threats than he cared to count—but he’d made his position clear. They wouldn’t touch her. Not if they wanted to keep breathing.

He stepped inside the house, letting out a breath as the familiar warmth of home washed over him. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he moved through the quiet halls. When he reached the living room, the sight before him stopped him in his tracks.

There they were: his daughter curled up on the sofa, her small frame nestled against the armrest, and next to her, her instructor. The TV flickered softly, showing clips of a younger, brighter version of the woman beside his daughter.

He stood there for a moment, watching as the faint strains of applause and commentary played from the screen. The sight of her expertly guiding a horse through intricate dressage routines stirred something in him. But it was the way she slept now, her head tilted back, her features softened in the glow of the TV, that made his chest ache.

Max stepped closer, careful not to wake them. Stella’s head rested against the woman’s arm, her little hand clutching a stuffed horse. Max smiled faintly, his heart swelling as he reached down to scoop his daughter up.

Stella stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open for a moment before closing again. “Daddy?” she mumbled sleepily.

“Shh,” Max whispered, kissing her temple. “Just putting you to bed, sweetheart.”

She sighed contentedly, already slipping back into sleep as he carried her upstairs. After tucking her in, he noticed her water bottle was empty and picked it up to fill it in the kitchen.

When Max made his way to the kitchen, he found Lando leaning against the counter, tidying up a canister of cocoa powder.

“Lando?” Max said, his brow furrowing. “What are you doing here?”

Lando turned, his usual smirk firmly in place. ���Emergency call.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “Emergency?”

“Your kid called me in a panic because you’re apparently out of hot chocolate powder. Thought the world was ending.” Lando chuckled, placing the canister in its rightful spot. “I brought some over, but they knocked out before I could even make it.”

Max let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Thanks. I owe you.”

Lando waved a hand dismissively. “No big deal. I live for the drama. Besides, it’s Stella. She’s got me wrapped around her finger.”

Max smiled, grateful for his friend’s unwavering presence. “Get home. You’ve done enough.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lando said, grabbing his coat. “Good luck with her, though.” He gestured vaguely toward the living room with a knowing look before heading out.

Filling up the water bottle and putting it back in its place Max returned to the living room, finding her still sound asleep on the sofa. The TV had switched to a dim, idle screen, and her breathing was soft and even.

He crouched down beside her, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. For someone so fierce and guarded, she looked almost fragile like this. Vulnerable.

Without a second thought, he slipped his arms under her, lifting her gently. She stirred, her head naturally finding its place against his chest.

“Max?” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

“It’s me,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing.

She shifted slightly, nuzzling closer into him. “Thank you,” she whispered, barely audible.

His heart twisted at the simple words, and he tightened his hold on her instinctively.

“Always,” he said softly, carrying her upstairs.

When he reached his room, he laid her down carefully on the bed, pulling the blankets over her. She murmured something incoherent, her lips curving into a faint smile.

Max stood there for a moment, watching her as she drifted back into deep sleep. The weight of the night’s events pressed on him, but so did the warmth of knowing she was safe, here in his home, with his family.

For the first time in a long time, it felt like he wasn’t just protecting someone—it felt like he was building something

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday

[eu-nicola]

the fastest driver part 1

summary: you are a young and talented driver, who begins your journey in Formula 1 with Ferrari. despite your undeniable ability, you are constantly relegated to the background due to the Scuderia's strategies, which always favor your teammate, Charles Leclerc.

warnings: nothing for now

word counter: 9026

author's note: english is not my first language, this is from an amazing request

You grew up in a small town where dusty streets were your first track, and the only kart your parents could afford became an extension of yourself. You spent years perfecting your skills under the blazing sun, your hands always stained with grease, while dreaming of the big leagues. Your determination and talent didn’t go unnoticed for long, and by the age of seventeen, you were already competing in Formula 3, winning races, and building a reputation that few could ignore.

However, the transition to Formula 1 was no fairy tale. Despite your achievements in the lower categories, many doors remained closed. You were a woman in a sport dominated by men, and while you hated admitting it, you knew the battle to prove yourself extended beyond the circuits. But when Ferrari came calling, you realized all your sacrifices had been worth it. Ferrari, the team with the most history and prestige in Formula 1, had set its sights on you.

The first time you set foot in Maranello, Ferrari's heart, you felt a mix of nerves and excitement. The walls of the main building were adorned with iconic images: Lauda, Schumacher, Vettel... all the greats who had raced for the Scuderia. And now you were there, ready to make your mark in history.

They introduced you to Charles Leclerc, your teammate. Tall, charismatic, and with a smile that could disarm anyone, Charles greeted you politely but with a reserved attitude. It was clear he wasn’t going to let his guard down around you.

The technical team showed you the SF24, the car you’d be driving that season. It was beautiful, a machine designed to fly on asphalt, and when you finally sat in the cockpit for the first time, everything felt right. This was your place.

Preseason testing in Barcelona was your first big challenge. The media was eager to see you in action, and the headlines were as varied as they were predictable: some hailed you as a breath of fresh air for Formula 1, while others questioned your ability to handle the pressure.

When you finally hit the track, all the external noise disappeared. It was just you, the car, and the circuit. From the first lap, you proved you belonged in this world. Your times were competitive, sometimes even better than Charles’, which didn’t go unnoticed by the team or the press.

But then, in the middle of your best stint, you received a radio message: “Box, box. We need to check something on the car.” There was nothing to check, and you knew it. But you obeyed. Charles needed more track time, and Ferrari made sure he got it.

The day of the first race in Bahrain was a whirlwind of emotions. Seeing your name on the red cars alongside Charles’ was a dream come true. But you also knew your real challenge was just beginning.

You qualified third, right behind Charles, which left the team satisfied but not surprised. In the race, you had a spectacular start, overtaking Charles at the first corner. Adrenaline surged through your body as you realized you were leading the race for Ferrari. But then the radio crackled again: “Let Charles through. He has better pace.”

You clenched your teeth. You knew it wasn’t true, that you had the pace to fight for the win, but you also understood the unwritten rules of the Scuderia: Charles was number one. So you lifted your foot off the accelerator, watching as Charles took the lead while a bitter frustration built up inside you.

You finished second, a result any rookie would have celebrated, but for you, it wasn’t enough. In the press conference, journalists bombarded you with questions about being relegated to second fiddle. You smiled professionally and replied that it was all for the good of the team, but inside, you were burning.

The dynamics within Ferrari didn’t take long to settle. You were the driver who followed orders, no matter how illogical or unfair they seemed. From the beginning, you had accepted that a place in Formula 1 was a hard-earned privilege and that surviving in such a legendary team required showing commitment and loyalty. But at Ferrari, the price of that loyalty seemed increasingly steep.

You were always the first to arrive at the garage and the last to leave. You immersed yourself in the technical details, analyzing every bit of data from the car and holding long meetings with the engineers. But no matter how hard you worked, there was always an invisible line you couldn’t cross. Every strategy, every race decision, seemed designed to keep you in your place: the perfect support for Charles Leclerc, Ferrari’s "star man."

Some moments were particularly frustrating. Like that Sunday in Monaco, when the sky threatened rain and the track conditions were changing rapidly. You were in a strong position, right behind Leclerc, and clearly faster than him at that point. When you asked for permission to attack over the radio, the response was curt:

“Hold position. The priority is to protect Charles’ race.”

That day, you bit your lip and obeyed. You lifted slightly in every corner, letting Charles pull away enough to avoid pressuring him. And, as if it were a cruel joke, Charles’ strategy backfired: he was called to the pits at the wrong time, losing all his advantage. Meanwhile, you got stuck in traffic you couldn’t overcome with the car you had. You finished off the podium.

You could have screamed, could have let out your frustration, but you didn’t. When journalists approached with questions about the strategy, your response was impeccable, the “good girl” answer they expected:

“It’s part of racing. I trust the team and the decisions they make.”

Even when you didn’t feel it, even when it ate away at you inside.

Ferrari, an institution as legendary as it was unyielding, seemed to thrive on your docility. In internal meetings, you weren’t the one to stand up and challenge the strategists or argue over team orders. It was Charles who raised his voice, who demanded explanations or changes. You, on the other hand, nodded, worked harder, and returned to the grind. In the team’s eyes, that attitude made you the perfect driver to support the project. “Predictable,” some would say. “Reliable,” others would call it.

However, there were days when the injustice weighed too heavily. You remembered races like Silverstone, where you led for more than 20 laps, only to receive the order to let Charles through under the pretext that he had better pace. You complied without protest, watching your chance for a first victory vanish with a maneuver that didn’t even make sense to the commentators.

“Why didn’t you fight back?” a journalist asked you in the post race press conference, almost reproachfully.

Your answer was automatic:

“The team has its reasons, and I trust them.”

But inside, you wanted to scream. Of course, you wanted to fight. You wanted to prove you hadn’t come this far just to be a shadow.

Despite everything, you never broke. You kept working, accumulating miles, and learning every step of the way. At Ferrari, you were known as the hardest worker, the one who spent extra hours reviewing data and analyzing races. Sometimes, even Charles joked with you:

“You should relax a bit. You don’t need to prove so much to the team; they already know you’re good.”

But you knew it wasn’t enough. Your place always seemed precarious, as if you were under constant evaluation, always one step behind in the team’s priorities.

Throughout the season, this dynamic became so evident that even some fans began to notice the disparity. On social media, the discussions were constant: some praised your obedience, seeing you as the ideal teammate, while others criticized Ferrari for not giving you a fair chance. You didn’t say anything, but you read the comments. You felt the frustration of those who wanted to see you succeed, and that gave you strength to keep going.

And although that helped you move forward, there were things that got in the way. Spending so much time with Charles Leclerc was inevitable. You shared meetings, strategies, team dinners, and endless travels from one circuit to another. Sometimes, during long waits at airports or motorhome rides, he relaxed enough to drop the façade of being the perfect driver.

It was in those moments that you began to notice him differently. Maybe it was the way his smile widened when you managed to make him laugh with your sarcastic comments or how he looked at you with a mix of awe and admiration when you discussed strategies, showing detailed knowledge of every technical aspect. You found yourself anticipating those small moments, those conversations where the weight of the motorsport world seemed to disappear, even if just for a few minutes.

At first, you tried to ignore it. You told yourself it was nothing, simply a side effect of being so close to someone for so long. But little by little, that feeling began to grow. You found yourself watching him during meetings, noticing details that had previously gone unnoticed: the slight accent in his English, the way he ran a hand through his hair when frustrated, his easy laughter when something truly amused him.

Reality hit every time you remembered that, to him, you were just his teammate. Maybe a friend, even a sort of younger sister, but nothing more. Charles had a natural way of making you feel comfortable but also reminding you of where you stood in his life.

One night in Suzuka, after a long day of training and meetings, you both ended up in the small lounge of Ferrari's motorhome. You had gone to get a cup of tea to clear your mind and found him sitting on the couch, looking at something on his phone. He looked up when he saw you and smiled.

“Long day?” he asked, setting his phone aside.

“As always,” you replied, pouring hot water into your cup. Then you turned to him. “And you? I haven’t seen you since the last meeting.”

Charles sighed and stretched. “I was trying to reply to some messages, but I don’t even know where to start. Family, friends, everyone wants to know how I’m doing all the time. It’s exhausting.”

You smiled, sitting in a chair across from him. “Must be tough being Charles Leclerc.”

He laughed. “Don’t believe it. You’re a Ferrari driver too. You must have your own endless list of messages.”

“Yeah, but the difference is that I’m not seen as the team’s big star. I only have to worry about my parents and a couple of close friends.”

He tilted his head, as if evaluating your words. “Don’t think we don’t notice. The whole team knows how dedicated you are. Maybe they don’t say it all the time, but they know how much you bring to the table.”

Your heart skipped a little. You hadn’t expected that kind of recognition from him. You tried to stay composed.

“That’s... good to hear. Sometimes it doesn’t feel that way, but thank you.”

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you. Charles looked at you with curiosity.

“And you? How do you handle it? Being here, under so much pressure, one of the few women in this sport... It can’t be easy.”

You lowered your gaze to your cup, letting your thoughts swirl.

“It’s not. But I don’t expect it to be. I grew up knowing I’d have to work twice as hard to get here. So, I do. Sometimes it’s frustrating, especially when it feels like no matter how much I try, things don’t change.”

“Are you talking about the team orders?”

You looked up quickly, surprised he mentioned it. He was watching you with that intensity of his, as if trying to unravel your thoughts.

“Don’t worry,” he said with a half smile. “I know. It’s not fair.”

“Then why don’t you say anything?” you asked, almost without thinking.

He seemed to ponder this for a moment. “Cause this sport isn’t fair. It never has been. You know that as well as I do.”

“That doesn’t make it any easier.”

Charles nodded, as if he understood perfectly what you meant. Then, to your surprise, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Look, I know it doesn’t always seem like you’re valued, but believe me, you’re incredible. You’re fast, smart, and more hardworking than anyone in this paddock. You don’t need Ferrari to tell you that because you’re proving it every time you get in the car.”

His sincerity left you speechless. For a moment, the noise of the outside world disappeared, and all you felt was the warmth of his gaze and the weight of his words. You wanted to say something, but the lump in your throat stopped you.

Finally, he broke the silence with a smile that seemed to lighten the atmosphere.

“Besides, if you start beating me, I’ll have to work harder. And I don’t want that,” he joked.

You laughed, grateful that the moment had turned lighter.

“Don’t worry. You still have a bit of an advantage... for now.”

You both laughed, and the moment passed. But as you walked back to your room that night, you couldn’t stop thinking about what you had felt. No matter how much you tried to deny it, your feelings for Charles were there, silently growing. And the worst part was knowing that, to him, you were just a teammate, a friend, maybe even that younger sister he joked about in meetings.

But you wanted to be more than that. And you had no idea how to handles.

The conversation with Charles left you more affected than you wanted to admit. His words echoed in your mind like a constant refrain: “Your incredible,” he had said. Did he really mean it? Or was he just trying to motivate you, like an older brother would with a younger sister? You couldn’t shake the feeling that, while he valued you, he didn’t fully see you. Not as an equal, not as a true rival, and certainly not as anything more.

That, combined with the weight of the team orders and the constant feeling of being a shadow in Ferrari, began to wear you down in ways you couldn’t ignore. The following races only reinforced your frustration. In Austin, you were once again told to hold position behind Charles, even though you were faster. In Interlagos, you were excluded from a key strategy that could have landed you on the podium. Every time you received the order over the radio, you obeyed, because that was what was expected of you. The “good girl” who didn’t cause trouble. The obedient driver who always put the team above herself.

But inside, something was breaking.

It was in the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, the last race of the season, that you reached your limit. At the Yas Marina Circuit, the sun was sinking into the horizon, bathing the paddock in golden and orange hues as the tension filled the air. For Ferrari, this race was crucial: the team was still fighting to secure second place in the Constructors Championship, and every strategic decision was made with that goal in mind.

But for you, this race meant something else. After months of following orders, of being relegated to a supporting role, you knew this was your moment. There would be no next time. Ferrari had made it clear that their priority was Charles Leclerc. You’d heard the rumors that, regardless of the results, your seat was at risk. You had nothing left to lose.

You had qualified fourth, right behind Charles, while the Red Bulls occupied the front row. You knew you would have to play your cards smartly to have a chance, but you also knew you weren’t going to follow orders that hurt you again.

As you adjusted your gloves in the cockpit, you heard your engineer’s voice over the radio:

“Remember, the priority is to maintain positions and support Charles if necessary.”

You bit your lip to keep from responding. Instead, you simply said:

“Understood.”

But this time, you didn’t understand. You weren’t willing to sacrifice yourself again.

When the lights went out, your reaction was flawless. You held your position, avoiding an aggressive attack from a Mercedes. Charles was trying to keep pace with the Red Bulls, but it soon became clear he didn’t have enough speed to catch them.

By lap 15, you were right behind him. Your tires were in better condition, and you were clearly faster in the technical corners. You tried to put pressure on him, but the order came over the radio before you could attempt an overtake.

“Hold position. Repeat: hold position.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. This was the moment. You could obey, as always, or you could risk it all.

On lap 18, down the main straight, you moved out of Charles’ slipstream and went for the overtake. The maneuver was clean, an impeccable move that left the team speechless. The protests came immediately over the radio.

“What are you doing? Give the position back, now.”

But you ignored the orders. You didn’t respond. Your only answer was to push harder.

From the pit wall, the tension was palpable. You could imagine the strategists shouting, the engineers exchanging nervous looks. Charles tried to reclaim the position, but his worn tires didn’t allow him to get close enough. You focused on your pace, pushing to the limit in every corner.

By lap 40, the critical moment arrived. A safety car came out after a crash, and Ferrari called Charles in first to change tires. However, you ignored your order to pit on the next lap, staying out to maintain the strategic advantage. When the safety car period ended, you were in third place, with the Red Bulls ahead and Charles behind.

The final laps were a battle of pure instinct. Max and Checo fought for the victory while you defended your podium spot tooth and nail. Charles attempted an aggressive overtake on the penultimate lap, but you blocked him with a move that was clean yet firm.

The checkered flag waved, and you crossed the finish line in third place. You had achieved your first podium in Formula 1. Emotions overwhelmed you as you heard the commentators’ cheers and the fans’ applause. It was the moment you had dreamed of your entire career.

But the celebration was short-lived.

When you arrived at parc fermé, the faces in the Ferrari team were telling. Charles stepped out of his car and gave you a look you couldn’t decipher. There was no anger, but no joy either. You removed your helmet and walked toward the podium, feeling the mix of joy and tension around you.

The podium was a whirlwind of emotions. You allowed yourself to enjoy the moment: the champagne, the cheers, the feeling of proving what you were capable of. But when you returned to the motorhome, reality hit you like a punch.

The team principal was waiting for you in the meeting room, his expression cold as steel.

“What do you think you were doing out there?” he asked, his voice restrained but loaded with anger.

You looked him straight in the eye.

“I was racing to win.”

“You disobeyed direct team orders, jeopardizing our strategy and our relationship with Charles. This is unacceptable.”

“What’s unacceptable” you said firmly “is that I was never given a fair chance. Today, I proved that I can compete. That I deserve to be here.”

A tense silence followed. Finally, the team principal sighed, as if carrying a massive weight on his shoulders.

“This cannot continue. There is no place in Ferrari for someone who doesn’t follow the rules.”

And so, the decision was made. You were fired from Ferrari that very night.

As you packed your things, you felt a mix of emotions. Sadness and anger, yes. But also pride. You had shown that you weren’t just another cog in the system. You had fought for yourself, for what you believed in.

Before you left, Charles approached you.

“That was a great podium” he said with a small smile. “I knew you had it in you.”

“Thanks” you replied, feeling a pang of emotion.

“What are you going to do now?”

You looked at him, letting a defiant smile cross your face.

“I’m going to keep racing. Wherever, with whoever, but I’ll keep racing.”

And with that, you walked away.

After your departure from Ferrari, there was no time for regrets. You had barely stepped out of the motorhome at Yas Marina when the motorsport world began to react. News of your dismissal spread like wildfire, and the controversy dominated every headline: “The rebellion that shook Ferrari,” “A driver fired for disobedience but with talent to shine,” “Was Ferrari’s decision fair?”

At first, you tried to escape it all. You hid at home, turned off your phone, and avoided social media. But you soon realized the world wouldn’t leave you alone. The story had become too big, and to your surprise, the public was mostly on your side. In every interview, in every analysis by the experts, the same argument arose: Ferrari had wasted undeniable talent.

It didn't take long before the calls started coming in. First, they were from midfield teams: Aston Martin, Williams, even Alpine. They all saw you as a golden opportunity, a talent Ferrari had let slip away. But there was something about those offers that didn’t quite convince you. After fighting so hard to prove your worth, you didn’t want to take a step back in your career.

One day, while you were having breakfast at home, your agent arrived with an expression you had never seen before a mix of disbelief and excitement.

“Red Bull is interested in you.”

You almost dropped your coffee cup.

“Red Bull? The world champion team?”

“Yes, them. They called me this morning. They want to meet with you.”

The news was surreal. Red Bull, the most dominant team on the grid, the one that had won championships with Max Verstappen, was now interested in signing you.

A few days later, you traveled to Milton Keynes, where the team’s headquarters were located. From the moment you walked into the building, you felt the difference. Here, there was no solemn, almost monarchical air like at Ferrari; Red Bull was modern, fresh, with an energy that was palpable in the atmosphere.

You were greeted by Christian Horner and Helmut Marko. During the meeting, Horner got straight to the point.

“We’ve been watching you all season,” he said with a confident smile. “What you did in Abu Dhabi was risky, but it showed you have a hunger for victory, and that’s what we’re looking for in a driver.”

“We know Ferrari didn’t give you the opportunities you deserved,” Marko interjected in his characteristic serious tone. “You won’t have that problem here. We want you to compete at the highest level.”

The proposal was clear: you would be part of the Red Bull team as the second driver, alongside Max Verstappen. It wasn’t an easy seat. Verstappen was the undisputed champion, and competing alongside him meant facing one of the greatest in history. But it also meant a golden opportunity to prove you belonged in the elite.

“What do you say?” Horner asked, smiling expectantly.

You looked at your agent, who gave you a slight nod, as if to say it was your decision. You took a deep breath and then responded:

“I accept.”

The news of your signing with Red Bull was announced during the winter break, just before Christmas. The official statement included words from Horner praising your talent and fighting spirit, highlighting that you would be a key piece in maintaining the team’s dominance.

The public reaction was explosive. Social media was flooded with messages of support and surprise. Some criticized the decision, arguing that Verstappen didn’t need internal competition, while others celebrated it as a victory for a driver who had earned her place against all odds.

Even Charles Leclerc reacted in an interview:

“I’m happy for her. She’s a great driver and deserves this opportunity. Red Bull is an incredible team, and I’m sure she’ll do well.”

The first day at the Red Bull factory was completely different from what you had experienced at Ferrari. From the beginning, they treated you like part of the team. The engineers showed you the progress on the new car, and Max, though reserved, gave you a professional welcome.

“It’s not easy here,” he told you during lunch at the factory canteen, “but if you’re here, it’s because you have what it takes.”

The buzz reached its peak after the announcement of your signing with Red Bull. While the whole world debated your arrival at the most dominant team on the grid, you were only beginning to process what this new chapter in your life meant. However, something kept crossing your mind. At first, the excitement and thrill of the new opportunity kept you busy, but when things calmed down, one question arose strongly: What had happened to Checo?

Checo had been Max Verstappen’s teammate for the past few seasons, and although he hadn’t reached the Dutchman’s level, he had been a key pillar in the team’s success. You had seen how he fought on track, defending positions with a ferocity few could match. So why had they terminated his contract?

Rumors about Checo’s departure started surfacing even before your arrival was announced. Some said his results hadn’t been enough for Red Bull, especially compared to Max’s absolute dominance. Others suggested that the internal atmosphere in the team had deteriorated and that Checo was tired of living in the champion’s shadow.

However, there was no clear statement. Red Bull, true to its style, had handled the situation discreetly. Even during your first weeks with the team, no one directly mentioned Checo. The engineers, mechanics, strategists… everyone seemed focused on you and Max, as if the past had been erased in one fell swoop.

One day, while you were in the simulator at Milton Keynes, you ran into Horner. You had finished an intense testing session and were wiping off sweat when he approached.

“How are you feeling so far?” he asked in his usual relaxed tone.

“Good, I think I’m adapting quickly,” you replied, though deep down you knew you still had a long way to go to reach Max’s level.

Horner nodded, but you noticed something in his expression. As if he knew there was something else you wanted to ask. You decided to take the chance.

“Christian, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Go ahead.”

You took a deep breath before speaking. “What happened with Checo?”

Horner looked at you for a moment, as if deciding how much to say. Finally, he sighed.

“Checo is an incredible driver and was fundamental to many of our successes. But the level of demand here is very high. This year, he didn’t meet the expectations we had set.”

“Was it just that?” you asked, doubtful.

“He felt he deserved more support, and I can’t blame him for that. But in the end, we decided it was best for both parties to go separate ways.”

You nodded, though Horner’s words didn’t resolve all your doubts. You had seen Checo give it his all on the track, and it was hard to believe that simply hadn’t been enough. But at the same time, you knew how ruthless this sport could be.

A few weeks later, while scrolling through the news on your phone, you finally found out about his future. Checo had signed with Aston Martin, a team that wasn’t at Red Bull’s level in terms of performance but offered him the opportunity to be the undisputed leader.

You looked at the photo of his announcement on social media: Checo in his new green and black suit, smiling in front of a car that would hardly compete with the leaders. There was something in his expression you couldn’t quite decipher. Resignation? Or perhaps relief?

You caught yourself wondering how he must have felt being displaced. Although you hadn’t made the decision, your arrival at Red Bull had been the catalyst for his departure. For a moment, you were overwhelmed by a sense of guilt.

The preseason began, and with it came the tests in Bahrain. It was there that you saw Checo for the first time since the announcement. You were walking towards the Red Bull hospitality when you saw him coming out of the Aston Martin garage. You hesitated but finally decided to approach him.

“Checo,” you called out, trying to sound casual.

He turned and looked at you with a friendly smile.

“Hey! How’s it going?” he responded, as if nothing had happened.

“Good… I think,” you said, a little nervous. “I just wanted… well, I wanted to tell you that I really admire what you did at Red Bull. You’re incredibly talented, and I know it wasn’t easy.”

Checo looked at you for a moment, then slowly nodded.

“Thank you. That means a lot. But don’t worry about me. I’m fine. Aston is a new challenge, and I’m excited to lead a project.”

You nodded, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders.

“I know you’ll do amazing things.”

He smiled, and for an instant, you saw the determined and proud driver who had fought so hard on track.

“And so will you. You’ve got a great opportunity. Don’t waste it.”

You said goodbye with a handshake, feeling strangely at peace. You had feared there might be resentment, but Checo seemed to have found his path.

After the first day's testing and your conversation with Checo, you were in the circuit's canteen, reviewing your engineer's notes. It was a quiet night; most of the drivers had already retired to rest. However, when you looked up, you saw Charles walk in. He hesitated for a moment upon seeing you but then walked over to your table with his hands in his pockets.

“Can I sit?,” he asked, his tone more neutral than usual.

You nodded, surprised.

“Sure.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Charles fiddled with a napkin between his fingers while you waited, unsure of what to say. Finally, he broke the silence.

“Red Bull isn't an easy team.”

“I know,” you replied, keeping your gaze fixed on him.

Charles nodded slowly, as if carefully choosing his words.

“Max is... complicated. Not because he's a bad person, but you know how he is. He's the favorite, the team leader. And Red Bull isn't exactly forgiving with those who don't meet their expectations.”

“Are you worried I can't handle the pressure?” you asked, feeling a slight sting to your pride.

“That's not it” he replied quickly, his tone softening. “I know you can handle the pressure. What worries me is that you'll have to deal with an environment where you won't always be supported, where everything you do will be scrutinized to the smallest detail.”

You looked at him in silence. There was something about his words, the sincerity of his tone, that disarmed you. Charles, always so focused on his own career, was taking the time to warn you about the challenges you would face.

“It’s not so different from what I experienced at Ferrari, don’t you think?,” you finally responded, trying to sound confident.

Charles let out a faint smile, but he didn’t seem convinced.

“Maybe. But at Ferrari, there was... balance. Even when it didn’t seem like it, you knew there were people who believed in you, even if they didn’t say it outright. Red Bull is different. They’re all or nothing. And Max... he doesn’t share easily.”

You knew he was right. From day one, you’d felt Verstappen’s presence like a shadow that dominated everything. But it didn’t scare you.

“If there’s one thing I learned at Ferrari, Charles, it’s that I don’t need everyone to believe in me. I just need to believe in myself.”

He looked at you intently for a few seconds, as if evaluating every word. Finally, he nodded, though his eyes reflected something you couldn’t quite decipher.

“Just don’t lose yourself in all this, okay?.”

“Lose myself?.”

“Yeah. In the politics, the pressure, the constant need to prove something. Don’t let that define who you are.”

When Charles stood to leave, he left his crumpled napkin on the table. For a moment, you wanted to say something, maybe thank him, but the words didn’t come. Instead, you simply watched him walk away.

There was something unusual about that conversation. Charles had always been direct and competitive, but this time, there seemed to be something more. Genuine concern, perhaps even something deeper he wasn’t ready to express.

You stayed in the canteen for a while, thinking about his words. You knew he was right in many ways. But you wouldn’t dwell on that now.

Despite Charles’ warnings and your own fears about joining Red Bull, things started off better than you expected. Max Verstappen, the man who dominated the grid with a mix of raw talent and relentless confidence, surprised you from the very beginning.

You had assumed he’d greet you with reluctance or, at least, a certain coldness. After all, you were taking the seat that had belonged to Pérez. However, from the first day, Max was open and genuinely friendly.

That day, you had arrived early, nerves on edge. You were reviewing your notes in a meeting room when Max walked in with his characteristic relaxed stride.

“Hi, how are you?,” he said, smiling as he took a seat across from you.

“Good, thanks” you replied, feeling a bit awkward about the formality of the moment. “And you?.”

“Surviving the winter. I always miss being on the track.”

His tone was light, almost casual, and it helped you relax a bit. You briefly talked about the upcoming season, the regulation changes, and the expectations for the new car. Then, Max abruptly changed the topic.

“I know this might be tough for you. Joining a team like this isn’t easy, especially when everyone expects you to measure up to me.”

You looked at him, surprised by his candor.

“I suppose so, but I’m not here to measure myself against anyone. I’m here to do the best I can.”

Max nodded, clearly satisfied with your response.

“That’s what I wanted to hear. Don’t worry about me. I get along with everyone who works hard and is honest. And from what I’ve seen, you’ve got both.”

His words left you slightly taken aback. You had expected a more distant relationship, but it seemed Max had no intention of turning this into an uncomfortable rivalry.

As preseason progressed, you started working more closely with him and the team’s engineers. Max proved to be surprisingly collaborative, sharing information and advice without hesitation. There was something refreshing about his attitude: you didn’t feel like he was constantly evaluating you or trying to assert dominance.

“If the car feels weird in fast corners, try adjusting the differential. Sometimes it gives a more stable feeling,” he told you during a simulator session while you were reviewing your laps.

You tried it, and to your surprise, it worked.

“Thanks” you said, smiling.

“No problem. Just don’t thank me too much if you end up beating me on track,” he replied with a light laugh.

Many journalists speculated whether Max would try to "psychologically crush" you or if Red Bull would relegate you to the role of second driver. However, within the team, the reality was completely different.

Max seemed to understand that, while you were new to the team, you weren’t a rookie. You had proven your worth at Ferrari and didn’t need to show anyone you belonged at this level.

“The key here is to enjoy the process,” he told you one day while waiting in the paddock during testing. “Everyone’s going to criticize you, no matter what you do. So, just do it your way.”

His words resonated with you. They weren’t condescending advice or a lesson from an experienced driver to a younger one; they were the words of someone who understood exactly what you were facing.

Over time, you discovered a side of Max that few saw. Off the track, he wasn’t the aggressive and dominant driver everyone knew. He was relaxed, even humorous, and had a genuine passion for racing.

One day, while waiting for a meeting, he asked you:

“What made you fall in love with racing?.”

The question caught you off guard. It wasn’t common for someone in this world to talk about emotions so directly.

“I guess the freedom,” you answered after thinking for a moment. “The feeling that, when you’re in the car, everything depends on you.”

Max nodded, smiling slightly.

“Exactly. That’s the best part. Sometimes I think the teams, the sponsors, everyone forgets that. But in the end, we’re here because we love racing.”

It was at that moment that you understood something crucial: Max didn’t see you as a threat or an intruder. He saw you as someone who shared his love for the sport, someone who understood what it meant to live to compete.

When the first Grand Prix in Bahrain arrived, your relationship was solid. Max was still the undisputed leader of the team, but he had also become someone you could rely on. During pre-race meetings, he encouraged you more than once.

“Remember, the first race is always the hardest,” he told you as you walked towards your cars. “But once you start, everything else will feel easier.”

You nodded, grateful for his support.

The race itself was intense, but the atmosphere within the team was surprisingly positive. You finished in fourth place, right behind Max, who won the race in his dominant style. When you returned to the garage, he was the first to congratulate you.

“Good job. Not bad for your first race with us.”

His smile was genuine, and for the first time in a long while, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Despite your initial doubts, your relationship with Max turned out to be much easier and more rewarding than you had expected. You knew things could change quickly in this sport, but for now, you were enjoying the process.

Although you had the skill and determination needed, you knew that joining such a dominant team meant adapting to a completely new level of demands. Max, with his experience and ability to squeeze every fraction of a second out of the car, quickly became someone you admired more than you anticipated.

What you hadn't expected was for Max, the four time world champion, to take on the role of mentor with you. From the beginning, he seemed determined to share everything he knew, not just about the car but about how to survive and thrive in such a competitive team.

Max didn’t just give you technical advice; he also taught you how to navigate team dynamics and the stress of the season. During a testing session, he took the time to show you how to better analyze the car's telemetry.

“When you're looking for time, don’t obsess over what others are doing. Compare your laps against yourself. Sometimes, the small mistakes aren’t in the big corners but in the transitions, in how you shift the car's weight.”

You sat next to him as you analyzed a lap together. Max pointed out details you hadn’t even noticed, like slight steering corrections or changes in throttle pressure.

“You have good instincts,” he said, pointing to a particularly fast sector you had achieved. “But with a bit more analysis, you can be even more precise.”

His words motivated you. It wasn’t common for Max to give compliments, and whenever he did, you knew they were sincere.

More Than Technique: The Mentality

One afternoon, after an intense day of testing in Barcelona, Max invited you to his motorhome to chat. There was a relaxed atmosphere as you both shared a cup of coffee.

“Let me tell you something that took me a long time to learn,” he began, with an unusual seriousness. “Formula 1 isn’t just won on the track. Half the battles are up here,”

he said, tapping his head. “If you let criticism or politics affect you, you won’t have the clarity you need when it matters.”

“And how do you make sure it doesn’t affect you?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“I don’t always succeed,” he admitted. “But I’ve learned to focus on what I can control. It doesn’t matter if someone says you’re not good enough, or if the team doesn’t seem to support you. In the end, the only judgment that matters is your own.”

Those words stayed with you. Max wasn’t just a master at driving; he had also developed a mental strength that made him practically unbeatable.

Max helped you understand the trickiest circuits, manage tires in changing conditions, and anticipate other teams strategies. Whenever you had a question, he was there, willing to explain, no matter how busy he was.

In Japan, during a strategy meeting, one of the engineers suggested a setup you weren’t entirely convinced about. Before you could say anything, Max intervened.

“I think she’s right,” he said, gesturing towards you. “With that setup, the car will be more unpredictable in fast corners. Let her try what she suggests.”

It was a small gesture, but it meant a lot to you. Max wasn’t just helping you improve as a driver; he was also teaching you how to make yourself heard in an environment where you had often been silenced.

The mutual respect between you grew with each race. While Max remained the undisputed leader of the team, he never made you feel inferior. On the contrary, he seemed to enjoy watching you progress.

After a Grand Prix in Japan, where you achieved your first podium with Red Bull, Max was one of the first to congratulate you.

“I knew you’d do it,” he said, patting you on the shoulder as you walked up to the podium.

In that moment, you understood that his support wasn’t just professional. Max genuinely wanted you to succeed, not because it benefited the team, but because he recognized your talent and believed in you.

Your progress within the team was evident: you had earned podiums, improved your lap times, and, most importantly, found your place within the team hierarchy. Max had become more than a teammate; he was a key figure in your professional and personal life. As the months went by, something else began to grow between you, something you both knew but neither dared to acknowledge.

The bond you shared was solid, forged on the track but also in those moments away from it. The long talks after races, lunches with the engineers, jokes, and knowing glances it felt natural, almost inevitable, to feel so comfortable around each other. Max had taught you so much, not just about driving a Formula 1 car, but about handling the pressures of life in the paddock. He had shown you his vulnerabilities, sharing stories of his career, frustrations, and fears, as only someone close would do.

But that closeness began to blur the lines between professional and personal. And you started to realize that the emotions you felt for him were more complicated than you had anticipated even more than they had ever been with Charles.

It was in Monza, after one of the most intense races of the season. The track was wet, making the race even more challenging. Both of you had fought to the end, and while Max won, you finished an impressive second. On the podium, the smiles were genuine, but there was a tension in the air, something neither of you could deny.

After the race, Max approached you to congratulate you. When he hugged you, it felt different this time. There was a palpable energy, something neither of you could ignore. A lingering touch, a soft and almost imperceptible whisper that made time stop for a moment.

“You were amazing today,” he said, his face just inches from yours.

The eye contact between you was intense, as if you were seeing something in his eyes you hadn’t noticed before. Suddenly, you became acutely aware of his closeness, the warmth of his body, the softness of his voice, the way his hands rested on your shoulders differently than before. Something in his demeanor had changed.

Max was the first to pull away, as if he had felt the same unease you had.

“Let’s celebrate,” he said quickly, smiling, but his tone sounded slightly strained.

You looked at him, but for a moment, the words caught in your throat. You knew what had just happened, and you knew Max did too. Yet neither of you said anything.

The celebration that night was lively, full of laughter and joy, but the atmosphere between the two of you remained marked by that unresolved tension. You were happy with the result, but there was something else on your mind. You couldn’t stop thinking about that hug, the way Max had looked at you, the closeness that had felt so different from any other interaction you’d had with him.

As the night ended and you returned to your room, doubts began to creep in. What did it all mean? You had worked so hard to be in this position, to be part of such a prestigious team, and now, it seemed like something was threatening to destabilize it all.

The next day, Max didn’t come down for breakfast as he usually did. His room was empty when you passed by his door. You decided to wait until the afternoon to talk to him, but when you found him on the track, the conversation was distant. He wasn’t rude, but there was something about his posture that told you he was also trying to process what had happened.

"Everything okay?" you asked, trying to sound casual.

Max raised an eyebrow, as if considering whether to answer or not.

"Yeah, sure. I just... felt a bit tired this morning." He shrugged. "But everything’s fine."

You knew it wasn’t just tiredness that had caused his silence. There was a lingering discomfort between you two. Something you couldn’t easily shake off.

By nightfall, the two of you were sitting on the hotel terrace, looking out at the sea. The cool breeze from the Italian coast made everything feel calmer, but the atmosphere between you was far from it. Max was silent, and so were you. Finally, he broke the silence with a phrase that felt much heavier than it seemed on the surface.

"You know, things get really complicated when you start mixing emotions with work."

You looked at him, surprised by the frankness of his words. You knew exactly what he was referring to, but you also knew it was a conversation neither of you wanted to have.

"I know," you replied in a low tone. "But it’s not that easy to control what you feel, is it?"

Max sighed, running a hand through his hair, something he often did when he was uncomfortable.

"No, it’s not." He was silent for a moment. "But there are lines we can’t cross, especially in this team. You know that I... I have Kelly."

That mention of Kelly hit like a bucket of cold water. Although you knew Max was in a steady relationship, you had never thought it would affect you so much. Acknowledging that reality, that he was committed to someone else, left you feeling a mix of guilt and confusion.

"I understand," you said, your voice barely a whisper.

But inside, you questioned whether you really did. How could you control something that felt so natural, so undeniable between the two of you? The attraction, the chemistry, that connection that had grown over time. You knew Max felt it too, even if he wouldn’t say it out loud.

After that conversation, it was clear that neither you nor Max were willing to cross a line that could cost you everything: your careers, your mutual respect, and the team’s stability. However, the attraction between you didn’t go away. If anything, the tension became more palpable. It was a constant game of restraint, a delicate balance between what was right and what wasn’t.

In public, everything seemed normal. Both of you maintained impeccable professionalism, working together as the team Red Bull needed. Max continued helping you as a mentor, and you kept learning from him, impressing the team and fans alike with your progress. But behind closed doors, things were very different.

One day at the Milton Keynes factory, during a simulator session, Max entered the room while you were finishing a run. When you stepped out of the simulator, he was reviewing your data, as he often did. His expression was calm, almost indifferent, but the way his eyes followed you as you approached the monitor said otherwise.

"You’re improving in the slow sectors," he said, not taking his eyes off the screen. "But you’re still losing a bit of time in the fast corners."

"Any advice?" you asked, trying to keep a casual tone.

Max looked at you for a moment, and that look lasted a second longer than it should have. It was enough to feel that spark of electricity between you, the one you both tried to ignore.

"Yeah, sure," he finally replied, turning to the screen to point something out. "Here, in Turn 5, you need to be more aggressive with the throttle. Don’t be afraid to use the full width of the kerb."

You leaned toward him to get a better view of the screen, and for a moment, you were too close. You could feel his breath, and the tension in the air was almost tangible. He was the first to step back, realizing that such closeness only complicated things further.

"Try it on the next run," he said quickly, breaking the moment.

Over the course of the races, that tension only grew. There were lingering glances during strategy meetings, accidental brushes in the garage, and prolonged silences that made it even clearer what you were both thinking. Max remained just as committed to helping you progress, but his behavior was sometimes contradictory. There were days when he seemed to deliberately keep his distance, and others when his closeness was unmistakable.

One night, after a team dinner in Monaco, you both ended up in the hotel elevator. It was late, and most of the staff had already gone to rest. The silence between you was almost deafening as the elevator ascended slowly. You could feel his presence, every movement he made, even if he didn’t look at you directly.

"Good job today," he said suddenly, breaking the silence.

"Thanks. You did well too. As always."

Max gave a small, sideways smile but said nothing more. When the elevator stopped on your floor, you both hesitated for a moment. You felt like he wanted to say something, something he was struggling to contain, but in the end, he simply nodded and let you exit first.

What surprised you was that, even though you tried to keep your distance, it seemed like Max was the one closest to crossing the line. There were moments when you caught him watching you from across the garage, with an expression that made you wonder what he was thinking. And then, in meetings, he always found a way to be by your side, even when it wasn’t necessary.

One day, during a technical meeting in Zandvoort, Max made a comment that, although it seemed innocent, had an undertone you couldn’t ignore.

"You know, sometimes I wonder if you do this on purpose," he said with a slight smile, pointing out a minor mistake in your data.

"Do what?" you asked, confused.

"Be so... persistent. It’s like you want everyone to notice you."

You knew he was talking about your determination on track, but something in his tone made you think he meant something more. You held his gaze, trying to decipher him, but before you could respond, someone else entered the room, cutting the moment short.

Despite everything, neither of you mentioned what was really happening. Both of you were aware that crossing that line could destroy everything you’d built. Max had a stable relationship with Kelly, and you were in a delicate position as the team’s rising star. There was too much at stake, and neither of you was willing to risk it.

[sxcretricciardo]

I’m back…

social media au

-> you and Lando have a past that it’s quite complicated… what happens when you go up to Formula 1 to race against him?

•

f1 Y/N Y/L/N is joining Aston Martin for the 2024 season.

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astonmartinf1 welcome to our team yourusername!

-> yourusername let’s make magic together 🫰🏻

username1 omg she and Lando on the same paddock????

-> username2 what’s the lore??? I’m unaware

-> username3 apparently they were dating back in f3 and he cheated on her and the guys all called her a dramatic b*tch. She crashed the next race, probably from all the bullying and pressure and was out for a whole year.

-> username2 wowww I hope she kicks his ass next season 💅

fernandoalo_oficial welcome teammate! yourusername

-> yourusername thank u nando! I’m fangirling rn <3

alex_albon missed you bestie

-> yourusername missed you albonooo 😚

•

yourusername helloooo Australia!! 🇦🇺 I was so happy to answer your questions today, now let’s get racin 🏁

view more comments

username1 girl you were SOO funny!! Loved it 🫶🏻

-> username2 she’s adorable

-> username3 let’s hope she can race too

danielricciardo you’re stealing my thunder on my own home country 🥹

-> yourusername hang in there cowboy 🤠

-> oscarpiastri OUR home country danielricciardo

•

astonmartin our girl just made p4 in her first f1 race! 😍

view more comments

fernandoalo_oficial p5 just felt more special with you in front of me! what a way to start our season 😜

alex_albon way to go!!

username1 the fact that she gave Lando the finger after passing him HAHA

-> username2 ICONIC

landonorris 🥱

-> username3 Lando is TRIGGERED

-> username4 omg we’re just starting the season and there’s already dramaaaa

•

f1gossip Aston Martin driver Y/N Y/L/N gave Lando Norris the finger after overtaking him. Note that in their F3 season Y/N was out of action for a year after Lando cheated on her and rumor has it the hole paddock was also bullying her. Is she having her revenge?

•

yourusername just posted a story

•

real life

Y/N was sitting in the coffee area inside the Aston Martin headquarters when Fernando slowly approaches her.

“Can I sit?” He asks, pointing to the empty chair that’s in front of the young driver.

She looks up from her coffee and nods with her head, to busy drinking her much needed caffeine to let words out.

“Just saw what you posted in Instagram.” He says, talking about the video where she tries to clean the air after she gave the finger in live race.

“Yeah, just wanted to kinda explain myself after what happened.” She says.

“What exactly happened between you two?” He asks.

Y/N looks at him. She knows she can trust him, despite really knowing him for just a couple of months. He’s like the father she never had. Always having her back and giving her the best advices.

“We were teenagers. Stupid kids. I was in love, he apparently wasn’t. One day we were just chilling together when his phone starts getting texts. He brushes it off, saying it’s just a friend and when he falls asleep I go through his phone. They weren’t just friends. There were thousands of texts for months between the two. He lied to me… I just wanted him to be honest and he straight lied to me! We had a race the next weekend and I was able to brush the situation off, because when I enter the track I forget about the outside world. But when I enter the paddock, the guys just start shoving me and stuff like that. Me being the only girl was not easy in any way but I managed it the best I could. Then, I don’t know… I just loose the control of the car and the next thing I know I’m into a wall. I don’t even know how it happened, I can’t even remember. I just remember having this tremendous amount of pain in my leg. After two surgeries and a lot of recovery and rehab I was back in that car.”

Fernando just looks at the young woman, whose eyes have unshed tears.

“If you ask me if I hold a grudge towards him, yes, I really do. He never apologized, never spoke to me again. But that’s what keeps me going. This fire I feel inside of me is what brought me here to formula 1.”

•

part 2 here

[maxielonceagain]

Man was flabbergasted! 😂❤️

[poisonmushdude]

Jalal has reached out to me in the hopes that he could help raise the funds he needs for his family. They are in a extremely dangerous situation right now, in the middle of a brutal genocide, and everything is urgent. Food, warmth, and medicine are in short supply (as mentioned above). Jalal is hoping to raise funds for two main reasons: 1. The survival of his family through basic means. This includes a tent/shelter they can stay in, food to eat, medical care/medicine, etc. Everything is costly in Palestine because there just simply isn't enough of it for anyone. To get a tent, as you read, is 1,500 dollars. 2. Jalal is hoping to evacuate all (4 members) of his family from Palestine. To get each person across the border it costs 5,000, totaling to 20,000 dollars. In the grand scheme, this is not a hard goal to reach. I have seen the internet raise hundreds of thousands of dollars in a matter of a couple days. It is attainable, and would bring the safety and prosperity of a entire family. Jalal has two small children, I cannot imagine how badly he wants to get them out of the situation they are in. To bring them to safety and warmth, and to let them rest without worry. This is why I ask that you donate to Jalal and his family. All together they have a 25k Euro goal, but only 7% of that have been reached so far. Push Jalal farther, get him to his goal. Let him have the means to bring his family (including himself) some peace. He should never have been forced to fight for his family's peace to begin with.

Help Osama and Siwar survive🙏

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is

( #204 )✅️

We need to raise €3000 This is to buy a tent worth €1500 The rest of the amount is for living purposes

We are approaching winter, and the weather becomes very cold at night, and the tent is not suitable for living and can withstand the rain. We need to buy a new tent to protect my children from the rain and the cold of winter.

Without your help, I will not be able to buy a new tent because buying a tent is very expensive and I cannot afford the cost.

In addition, the costs of living are very difficult, and I am unable to provide my family’s needs because everything is expensive, including food, clothing, and drink. All of that requires money, and I cannot afford it.

@laslloronas @thylacid @angelfagz @chilewithcarnage @finalgirltrope

@blackadamparrish @cloth-moths @hummerous @dontfollowmeman @sumplysilly

@thornhawthorne @dentist-brainsurgeon @nihiltism @dcugifs @jingerpi

@kil9 @dukethomas @simcardiac-arrested @kartsie @transbro

@theropoda @browzerhistory @dragoneveryday @storyweavingspider @butchdarling

@longseasons @mahoushojoe @fuckyeah-bears @xenasaur @thewillowtree3

@intersexfairy @sketching-shark @richardgrimes @tgirljoker @claudeleine

@moxyinverse @prairiemuseumlily @danlous @strangeauthor @trianglart

@grymmdark @sleevesareforlosers @tiredguyswag @butchhatred @unown

@kindestegg @frognonbinary @snorkmimis @dostoevsky-official @femmehysteria

[ablogtocheck]

I, for one, am glad George didn't play along...and wasn't amused.

[countingstars-17]

im crying 😭😭😭

[tyrannosaurus-maxy]

"Your pain is our pain" and what RBR said to reassure Max after the Hungarian GP

“My understanding is there was a conversation after Hungary, in between Hungary and Belgium, and I think it was between Max and a bunch of the Red Bull hierarchy. It basically was a bit of a, look, Max, you're not on your own, because if you remember Hungary is where he felt really isolated, felt like he was being asked to do the impossible on strategy because Red Bull had screwed up. It wasn't quite that black and white, that he didn't have the full reading of the race situation. They hadn't communicated the strategy properly, and it turned out they had played the strategy wrong as well. And that just sort of created that scenario where Max is yelling like mad down the radio, and it felt like the cracks were really opening up at that point. Well, the upgrade was rubbish too, wasn't it? And the upgrade, yes, that was a key factor as well. So you had, and there was enough of the season left, but Max was genuinely worried about both titles. But they pulled that back. They just managed to wrap the relationship back up again to enough of a, look, we got that wrong, we are not leaving you exposed, we are there with you. And the way that Christian Horner put it to me when I interviewed him about this said, the message was, your pain is our pain. That was what they were really trying to get across. And apparently Max's response to that was fantastic in terms of the way that he was trackside, but also the effort that he went to with doing extra time in the factory. Max isn't that kind of Lewis Hamilton style figure in terms of seeing himself as a motivational type, but Max almost begrudgingly took that role on at times because he felt that he needed to speak to people at the factory and kind of gee everybody up. And it felt like this was Max as a leader in the second half of the year. And he stepped up in so many ways this year. You would think after a season like 23, the most dominant in F1 history. You can't really go up from there, but you can if you face a bit of adversity. And that is what Max had finally in 2024. And it's why I think it's his best title so far. Because I think he overcame something proper and he won that title."

The Race Podcast

[venus-de-mil0-09]

!!!!!

Little Majd needs your help

Majd Al-Habeel @youseffamily has known little of life without suffering. After losing his home to IOF bombardment, he and his parents were forced to live in a tent. This wreaked havoc on Majd’s health, as he is diagnosed with a serious respiratory illness that limits his ability to breathe. Living in a tent leaves one exposed to dust, dirt, debris, vermin, mold, fungus, and harsh weather—the worst possible environment for a child with his condition.

His family requires mutual aid to provide for Majd’s life-saving care, as well as to procure food, water, medications, other supplies, and clothing and gear for winter. They are a little over two-thirds of the way to their current listed goal, with still a long way to go. Please help this family out and give sweet Majd a better chance at life.

Thank you❤️

Majd’s family’s campaign was reblogged by 90-ghost and is supported by @khanger

[chaostudee]

dancing with our hands tied, franco colapinto

summary : franco comes across y/n a small singer, songwriter online and it isn't long before the two strike up a friendship. little do they know their friendship will blossom into much more, and with a life in the public eye it is hard for the media not to catch on. fc : lexi jayde warnings : language, suggestive content. a/n : im so delulu that i acc think that franco will get the vcarb seat 😭 also rly long i apologize i always get so carried away i can'ttt

y/nusername just a girl and her guitar

like by alessirose, clairo, fangirltingz58 and 14,793 others.

user44 me core

username0 so fucking gorge

alessirose we don't give enough credit to our guitars

user99 this guitar doesn't know that you are a lyrical genuis

username my living legend 🙌🙌

user88 omggg lana reference i see you

francocolapinto austin 🇺🇲

liked by alexalbon, williamsracing, landonorris and 843,782 others.

user728 i love him sm already

username rly rly hope he's on the grid next year :)

f1fan what a cutie

username62 okay so we can all collectively agree that he is fine asfff

user00 yesssss

f1lover hopefully he can get points next week.

landonorris 🐐🐐

user89 lando knows what's up

messages between franco and lando

y/nusername

liked by alessirose, clairo, francocolapinto and 32,982 others.

clairo my gorgeous gorgeous girl

user728 i need her wardrobe so bad actually

username love her so bad

user62 my fav alwayssss

francocolapinto 😍😍

user738 SIR WHAT ARE U DOING HERE

username81 we need the hair routine because girl that volume is so insaneee

f1fan franco liking and commenting is so insane like whaaaaa

y/nusername felt pretty (btw my new song homesick comes out on friday)

liked by francocolapinto, lizzymcapline, alessirose and 27,201 others.

francocolapinto so beautiful

user HUH WHAT username82 francooo what are you doing here f1fan so the whole f1 community has just come here?? user99 yup pretty much 😭

user882 OMG NEW SONG WHAT

username91 FREAKING OUT

user00 ugh wish it was friday

user910 that bod 🔥🔥

messages between y/n and franco

y/nusername small show in ny next week !! tickets on sale now

》 OMG OMG I JUST BOUGHT THEM CAN'T WAIT

》 girl never sleeps (but we love it)

》 stopp they sold out in like 2 mins

》 crying in international fan

y/nusername had the best time 🫶

liked by alessirose, francocolapinto, laufey and 52,950 others.

user892 cryinggg because why are u acc the cutest

fangirl52 take me back 🫠

username the pcd is hitting hard rn

user22 love u smm !!

username55 you deserve this sm y/n you deserve all the love

y/nusername 💕💕

y/nusername i'm so glad you are all loving my new song 'homesick' love you all sm 💋💋

liked by francocolapinto, reneerapp, lizzymcalpine and 47,920 others.

username135 the famous lip pout we lovee

user52 i love homesick so bad i relate smm

username12 frrr like did y/n read my journal?!? y/nusername 😈

user89 love u too girl....BUT WHO'S THE BOY

f1fan franco i think user26 who?? f1fan he's an f1 driver he recently followed y/n and liked and commented on her posts and was at her show last week user26 omfggg

reneerapp girl whoo tfff is that

user92 off topic but those lillies are so gorge (the girls that get it get it)

williamsracing just a guy who loves mate

liked by francocolapinto, y/nusername, alexalbon and 253,821 others.

user727 TELL FRANCO I LOVE HIM

f1fan and this is why williams have the best admin 🤭

user882 me but with coffee

f1lover you're a real one

user23 the concentration on his face is killing me

francocolapinto tysm for all the love x

liked by williamsracing, lewishamilton, landonorris and 473,139 others.

lewishamilton well deserved you have a bright future ahead of you 💪

francocolapinto my goat

user45 we lysm franco

username yayyy he knows that we appreciate him

anon poor logan

user45 james vowles knew what was up when he signed franco

user13 bro is just living THAT life

messages between y/n and franco

y/nusername

liked by landonorris, francocolapinto, alessirose and 289,012 others.

alessirose pretty pretty girl ilysm i miss u !!

y/nusername stopp i miss u too <33

user62 OUR GIRL IS TAKEN

username90 omgg white roses so so cute

f1fan i would recognize those eyes anywhere

user12 girl release the album

fangirl45 she just gave us a song give her a second 😭

francocolapinto fav song atm ;)

liked by landonorris, y/nusername, lilymunihe and 478,561 others.

landonorris what a simp

user82 OMG THIS IS Y/N'S SONG

username72 omggg wait is franco soft launching y/n stop that is so adorbs

user45 real real real AND THOSE LINES SPECIFICALLY

fangirl67 yesss he's one of us

user00 thought daughter core

francocolapinto gq spain

liked by y/nusername, landonorris, yukitsunoda and 1,054,783 others.

y/nusername damn.

user my reaction exactly f1fan wait y/n is actually funny asf y/nusername why thank u

landonorris im shook

user72 driver by day model by night

username he lowkey cooked tho

user90 HIS STYLIST NEEDS A RAISE

f1lover don't look at me like that

user34 proof that all f1 drivers are fine asf

y/nusername

》 OMG

》 future f1 wag perhaps

》 did franco invite you?

》 WHAT IS GOING ON

》 oh they are soo dating

francocolapinto nice weekend 😉

liked by y/nusername, landonorris, maxverstappen and 924,419 others.

user82 FRANCO THE THIRD PIC

username boi whatttt

user71 it's so obvious that it's this y/n girl

username12 awww cuteee

f1fan if he's not on the grid next year i'll cry

user83 girl i hate to break it to you but....

user34 his smilee omg im melting

username1 ugh y/n is so lucky

y/nusername took a little break from the studio 🏎🏁

liked by francocolapinto, lilymunihe, reneerapp and 142,914 others.

user82 what !

username00 GUYS SHE'S LITERALLY A CERTIFIED WILLIAMS WAG LIKE SHE'S LITERALLY HANGING OUT WITH LILY TF

f1fan omgggg lily and y/n

username92 wait that pic of franco is so cute ☺️

f1lover aesthetic queen

username23 help not the 0.5 of lily 💀

francocolapinto forgot to mention 🔒❤️

liked by y/nusername, landonorris, charlesleclerc and 1,292,441 others.

landonorris mate you weren't even discreet about it 🤦‍♂️

user73 FINALLY

username cutiesss

f1fan we knewwww but thank god they made it official

username727 giggling and kicking my feet rn

y/nusername mwahh lysm baby 💋

francocolpinto come to my apartment and i'll show you how much i love u 😌 user72 i- landonorris we spoke about this NO WHORING ON THE MAIN username28 oh ! f1lover i'll just pretend i never saw this.....

alexalbon keeping this for a secret for so long was torture

user62 confirmed y/n is a princess

username56 if anyone hates on them I WILL FIGHT YOU

taglist⭑.ᐟ

@lottalove4evelyn

@mxryxmfooty

@sweetestgirlintown111

@hadidsworld

@llando4norris

@heavy-vettel

@nichmeddar

@love2readd

@seonghwaexile

@depressedriches

@janeh22

[shibuyaakii]

Lawson Talking about Max & George's 🥩 during the Driver Dinner

🥝 The, I don't know if I can... 🎙️We can cut anything that we need to, by the way. 🥝 Okay, I'll tell you then. I'll tell you, then we can decide to put it in, cause this is fucking funny! 🎙️ It's staying in, it's staying in. 🥝 It's really funny. So we rock up, and we're at this big table, and we were, me and Yuki got there together, and we weren't the first people there. There were probably like six or seven people there. But as the table was filling up, there was basically, pretty much that side of the table was pretty much all full, and there was me, opposite me was Max, and then there was like three chairs to the left at the center of the table that were left, and George hadn't turned up at this point, hadn't arrived yet. So, you know, we were like, this is perfect. We're just gonna, like, everybody that was coming before them, we were like, fill that side of the table. 🎙️ Everyone would be on it. 🥝 Yeah, yeah, yeah. We're like, we're gonna save this spot for George right next to Max. And like, so, and then George arrives, and we were all like, hey! And then Max is like, mate, we've saved a seat for you. And George just picks up the chair and walks to the other end of the table and sits on the other side of the table with Lewis and like, with that end of the table. And man, it was like, we were all like, oh my God, this is so, like, we thought it would be funny. It wasn't, it wasn't funny. It wasn't funny, yeah. It was funny for us, but it wasn't. 🎙️ Did George say anything? 🥝 Nothing. 🎙️ Nothing. 🥝 Nothing, yeah. So we probably can't put that in there. I don't know, we can decide. But like, just for you guys to know. 🎙️ I think he's sweating right now. 🥝 It was so funny, honestly, it was so funny. They just, yeah. We kind of expected them to maybe put it on hold for dinner, like for the driver's dinner, but man, he just, he, yeah. And he first went around the table saying hi to everybody. And we thought when he came back, he would sit down. But he just came back, picked up the chair went to the other end. 🎙️ That's awkward, man. Because you don't know from our perspective, like whether it is 100% legit. You think, obviously, part of it could be for the cameras. So clearly it is, it's real. 🥝 Yeah, it was real.

🎥 pitstop