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harrysfolklore · 28 days ago

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but daddy i love him. part two - mv1

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

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

Monaco, 2021

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

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

You've never felt less perfect.

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

"Hi," he says softly.

You stand aside to let him in, heart pounding.

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

"No, I didn't."

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

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

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

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

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

"Max…"

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

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

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

You both wince at the thought.

"So what do we do?" you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's optimistic of you."

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

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

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

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

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

2022

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

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

"Just us?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which made the current breakfast situation even more uncomfortable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I… I already have someone."

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

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

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

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

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

"How long?"

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

"Through everything? The championship battle?"

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

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

"You're not… mad?"

"Mad? Why would I be mad?"

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

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

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

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

"I know. But Papa…"

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

"How can you be so sure?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I never wanted to disappoint him."

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

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

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

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

Bahrain, 2022

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

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

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

You turned in his arms. "Nervous?"

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

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

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

"Now who's being dramatic?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Welcome to Mercedes?" you offer weakly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Singapore, 2022

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh shit," Lando muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No," you admitted. "But Dad…"

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

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

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

"What did you say?" you asked anxiously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Two seconds too long."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Lando!" you exclaimed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Max! Everyone's watching."

"Let them watch."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No."

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

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

"Dad…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm trying to protect you!"

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

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

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

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

"What?" Toto asked softly, dangerously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zandvoort, 2022

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Still pushing the Andreas agenda?"

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

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

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

He groans. "YN…"

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah?"

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

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

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

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

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

Monaco, Summer 2023

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

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

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

"You know I hate surprises."

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

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

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

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

"Really?"

"Trust me."

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

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

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

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

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

"But… when? How?"

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

"You sneaky…" You trail off, speechless.

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

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

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

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

"No, it's not okay." You pull back to look at him. "You've been so patient, Max. For years. And I've been such a coward."

"You're not a coward," he says firmly. "Our relationship is complicated. I understand that."

"Still." You shake your head, suddenly determined. "I'm telling him tomorrow."

"YN, you don't have to—"

"I want to." You look around at this beautiful space he's created for your future. "You've given us a home. The least I can do is be brave enough to fight for us."

"Are you sure?" His eyes search yours. "Because if you're not ready…"

"I'm sure." You walk to the windows, taking in the view. "Besides, can you imagine trying to explain why I'm suddenly moving to a new house without telling him why?"

Max comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. "We could tell him you've developed a sudden passion for real estate investment."

You laugh despite your tears. "Yes, because that would totally explain why half my clothes are already in that closet I spotted upstairs."

"You noticed that, huh?"

"The Dior dress from the FIA gala was a bit of a giveaway." You turn in his arms. "How long have you been moving my things in?"

"A while," he admits. "Susie helped."

"Of course she did." You shake your head fondly. "Any other conspirators I should know about?"

"Well, Lewis might have helped coordinate the furniture delivery…"

"Lewis?!" You pull back to stare at him. "Lewis Hamilton helped you furnish our secret love nest?"

Max winces. "Please never call it that again. And yes - turns out he has great taste in interior design."

You laugh, really laugh, and it feels like releasing years of tension. "This is insane. We're insane."

"Maybe," he agrees, pulling you close again. "But it's a good kind of insane, right?"

You look around at this beautiful house - your house - taking in all the thoughtful details. The photos telling your story, the mix of both your tastes in the décor, the way the space already feels like home.

"The best kind," you whisper, and kiss him.

Max kisses you back, soft and sweet, and you can feel his smile against your lips. When you finally part, he rests his forehead against yours.

"So," he says, "want to see our bedroom?"

"Our bedroom," you repeat, testing the words. "I like how that sounds."

"Me too." He takes your hand, leading you toward the stairs. "Though fair warning - I let Lando help with the media room setup, so that might need some adjustments."

"Oh god."

"Yeah, there may be more gaming consoles than strictly necessary…"

In this moment, in your new home, tomorrow's confrontation feels less daunting. After all, you've built something real and lasting here - something worth fighting for. And as Max leads you through your future together, room by room, you can't help but think that maybe it's time for everyone to know.

You've been standing outside your father's office at Mercedes for what feels like hours, but the watch on your wrist says it's only been ten minutes. Taking a deep breath, you finally knock.

"Come in," his familiar voice calls out.

Toto looks up from his desk, his face brightening when he sees you. "Schatz! What a lovely surprise." He stands to greet you, but pauses when he notices your expression. "What's wrong?"

"Papa, I need to tell you something." Your voice trembles slightly. "And I need you to listen. Really listen."

He gestures to the chair across from his desk, concern etching his features. "Of course. You can tell me anything."

You sit, hands clasped tightly in your lap. "I'm in love."

His face relaxes into a smile. "Is that all? Liebling, you had me worried. Who's the lucky—"

"It's Max." The words come out in a rush. "It's always been Max."

The silence that follows is deafening. You watch as confusion crosses his face, followed by understanding, and then something darker.

"Max… Verstappen?" He says the name like it tastes bitter. "This is a joke."

"No, it's not." You straighten your spine. "We've been together for two years. Actually, we never really stopped loving each other after… after what happened when we were eighteen."

Toto stands abruptly, running a hand through his hair. "This is impossible. You can't be serious."

"I am. And there's more." You take another deep breath. "We're moving in together. He bough a house for us, because he wants us to build a future together."

"No." His voice is sharp. "Absolutely not. I forbid it."

"I'm not asking for permission, Papa. I'm telling you."

He turns to face you, and the hurt in his eyes makes your heart ache. "How long have you been lying to me?"

"Since 2020," you admit quietly. "When I came back… we tried to stay away from each other. We really did. But we couldn't."

"So what, you've been sneaking around behind my back all these years?" His accent grows thicker with emotion. "Meeting in secret like teenagers?"

"We didn't have a choice."

He's quiet after that, and you can almost see the storm inside his head.

"Who knows?" The question is sharp, hurt evident in his tone.

"I told Susie last year. Lewis has known almost from the beginning. George found out in Bahrain. Some of the other drivers..."

"So everyone but me?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "My own wife, my drivers, half the paddock knew my daughter was in a relationship with Max Verstappen, and no one thought to tell me?"

"They were respecting our privacy. Our choice."

"Our choice?" He stands again, agitated. "He's Red Bull, YN! Our biggest rival! The same team that's been fighting us for years, the same driver who—"

"Who makes me happier than I've ever been," you interrupt. "Who loves me for who I am, not whose daughter I am. Who's supported my career, my dreams, everything I want to do."

"And the team rivalry? The competition?"

"We've managed it for years, Dad. We know how to separate personal and professional."

"All those times I tried to set you up with other people..."

"I know you meant well."

"And Susie?" His voice catches. "She knew and didn't tell me?"

"She said it wasn't her story to tell. That I needed to be the one to tell you when I was ready."

Toto runs a hand over his face. "And now you're ready because...?"

"Because I'm tired of hiding. Because Max and I have built something real and beautiful, and I want you to be part of it." You stand, moving around his desk to touch his arm. "Because you're my father, and despite everything, I want you to know me. All of me."

"And if I can't accept it?"

The question hangs heavy in the air. You feel tears threatening but force them back.

"Then that's your choice. But I won't give him up. Not again. Not for anyone."

Toto is quiet for a long moment, staring out at the factory below. When he finally speaks, his voice is tired. "You really love him?"

"More than anything."

He turns to look at you, really look at you, maybe for the first time seeing not his little girl but the woman you've become. "And he makes you happy?"

"Yes." Your voice is firm, certain.

Another long pause. "I need time."

It's not acceptance, but it's not rejection either. You nod, wiping away a stray tear. "Okay."

"Does he…" Toto clears his throat. "Does he treat you well?"

"Better than I deserve sometimes."

He makes a sound that might be a laugh or a sob. "No one could ever deserve better than you, Schatz."

You close the distance between you, wrapping your arms around him. After a moment, his arms come around you too, holding you like he did when you were small.

"I'm still angry," he murmurs into your hair.

"I know."

"And hurt."

"I know that too."

He pulls back, cupping your face in his hands. "But you are my daughter. My precious girl. Nothing will ever change that."

Fresh tears spill over. "Papa…"

"I can't promise to like this. Or him. But…" He sighs deeply. "I will try. For you."

It's more than you dared hope for. "Thank you."

As you leave his office later, you know this isn't the end of it. There will be more conversations, more tensions to navigate. But for the first time in years, you feel truly free.

The Monaco sunset paints the dining room in warm hues as you clear the plates from dinner, the conversation flowing as easily as the wine. Lewis lounges in his chair, gesturing with his glass as he speaks.

"Still can't believe Toto didn't notice for two years, honestly," he chuckles. "I mean, you two weren't exactly subtle at the Saudi GP last year."

Max groans. "That was YN's fault. She's the one who kissed me in the paddock."

"After you won! Away from everyone," you defend yourself from across the table. "Besides, Papa was too busy arguing with Christian to notice."

"Lucky for us," Max mutters, but he's smiling.

"How is he taking it now?" Lewis asks, his expression growing serious. "It's been what, two weeks?"

You exchange a look with Max. "Better, I think. He's… processing."

"He called me yesterday," Max adds quietly. "First time ever."

Both you and Lewis straighten up. "What? You didn't tell me that!" you exclaim.

Max shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant but you can see the tension in his shoulders. "It was brief. He just said that if I ever hurt you, they'll never find my body."

Lewis nearly chokes on his wine. "Classic Toto."

"I'll get the dessert," you announce, standing. "And Max, we're talking about that phone call later."

As you head to the kitchen, you can hear their voices carrying through the open-plan space.

"Seriously though," Lewis' voice drops lower, but not low enough. "You need to be prepared. Toto might try to…"

"Separate us again?" Max's voice is steel wrapped in silk. "I'd like to see him try."

"I'm just saying, be ready. He did it once before."

"We were kids then. It's different now." A pause. "I'm different now."

"I know you are, mate. That's why I helped with the house. But Toto… he can be protective."

"Lewis." Max's voice is deadly serious now. "I would rather end my career tomorrow than lose her again. She's… she's everything."

You freeze in the doorway of the kitchen, tiramisu forgotten in your hands.

"I know what it did to her last time," Max continues, unaware of your presence. "What it did to both of us. But I'm not that scared teenager anymore, and she's not that girl who was afraid to stand up to her father. We fought too hard to get here."

"Good." Lewis' voice is warm with approval. "Because if you hurt her, Toto won't have to hide your body. I'll do it myself."

Max laughs. "Get in line. Susie already called dibs."

"Speaking of Susie, how's she handling being in the middle?"

"Better than any of us deserve," Max sighs. "She's been amazing. Especially with YN. When Toto first found out…"

"That bad?"

"YN cried for hours after telling him. I've never felt so helpless." Max's voice cracks slightly. "All I could do was hold her."

"Sometimes that's enough," Lewis says softly. "Sometimes that's everything."

You wipe away a tear you hadn't realized had fallen. The tiramisu trembles slightly in your hands.

"I'm going to marry her someday," Max says suddenly. "I already have the ring."

The tiramisu nearly slips from your grasp.

"Does she know?" Lewis asks.

"Not yet. I wanted to wait until things settled with Toto. She deserves a proper proposal, not one overshadowed by family drama."

"Smart man." Lewis pauses. "You really have grown up, haven't you?"

"Had to. She deserves the best version of me."

You can't take it anymore. You walk back in, pretending you haven't heard a word. "Who wants dessert?"

Both men straighten up, but you catch the knowing look Lewis gives Max. As you serve the tiramisu, Max's hand finds yours, squeezing gently.

"Everything okay, liefje?" he asks softly.

You look at him - this man who's grown and changed and loved you through everything - and feel your heart swell. "Perfect," you whisper, and mean it.

Lewis watches you both with a soft smile. "You know," he says, "I think Toto will come around eventually. He may be stubborn, but he's not blind. Anyone can see what you two have is real."

"Real enough to redecorate my gaming room?" Max asks hopefully.

You laugh, the emotional moment breaking. "Nice try. But Lando's RGB setup stays."

"It gives me a headache!"

"Should have thought of that before letting him design it," Lewis points out.

As they fall into friendly bickering about proper gaming room aesthetics, you sit back and take it all in - this beautiful home, these people you love, this life you've built. It hasn't been easy, but everything has been worth it.

Your phone rings just as you're finishing up some work in your home office. Seeing your father's name on the screen makes your heart skip.

"Papa?"

"Schatz." His voice is carefully neutral. "Are you free tonight?"

"I… yes?"

"Good. You and Max will come to dinner. Eight o'clock."

It's not a question. You glance at the clock - it's already 4 PM. "Tonight?"

"Unless you have other plans?"

"No, no plans." You swallow hard. "We'll be there."

"Good." A pause. "And YN?"

"Yes?"

"Tell Max to breathe. It's just dinner."

The line goes dead before you can respond. You sit there for a moment, phone still in hand, before rushing downstairs to find Max.

He's in the gym, finishing up his workout. One look at your face and he's pulling off his headphones.

"What's wrong?"

"Papa called. He wants us for dinner. Tonight."

Max freezes mid-stretch. "Tonight? As in… tonight tonight?"

"Eight o'clock."

"Fuck." He starts pacing. "Fuck fuck fuck. This is it. He's going to murder me. He's probably got a plan to make it look like an accident. Lewis will help him hide the body—"

"Max."

"—probably already has an alibi arranged. Susie will vouch for him, of course—"

"Max!"

He stops pacing. "What?"

"He actually said to tell you to breathe. His exact words were 'it's just dinner.'"

Max stares at you. "That's worse. That's so much worse. He's lulling me into a false sense of security."

You can't help but laugh, even as anxiety churns in your own stomach. "You're being ridiculous."

"Am I?" He runs a hand through his sweaty hair. "The last time I was in the same room as your father, he looked at me like he was calculating how many pieces he could cut me into."

"That was three weeks ago, right after he found out. Things are… better now."

"Are they? Because that phone call he made last week about hiding my body didn't feel like 'better.'"

You cross the room to him, placing your hands on his chest. "Hey. Look at me."

His eyes meet yours, and you can see the genuine worry there.

"Whatever happens tonight, we face it together. Okay?"

He takes a deep breath, covering your hands with his. "Okay."

"Good. Now go shower, because you stink."

"Charming," he mutters, but he's smiling now. "What should I wear?"

"Something bulletproof?" you suggest innocently.

"Not helping!"

The drive to your parents' house is tense. Susie opens the door, her warm smile immediately putting you both at ease. "Come in, come in. Toto's just opening the wine."

"We brought some too," you say, holding up the bottle you'd carefully selected.

"Ah, his favorite." Susie winks. "Good choice."

The dining room is set beautifully, candles flickering on the table. Your father stands as you enter, and for a moment, everyone freezes.

Then Toto steps forward, kissing your cheek. "You look beautiful, Schatz."

He turns to Max, who looks like he's trying very hard not to bolt. They regard each other for a long moment before Toto extends his hand.

Max shakes it, and you breathe again.

Dinner starts surprisingly well. The conversation stays safe - racing, weather, Susie's latest projects. Max gradually relaxes enough to actually eat, though you notice he keeps looking at your father like he's expecting an ambush.

It comes after the plates are cleared.

"So," Toto says, setting down his wine glass. "We need to talk."

Max's hand finds yours under the table.

"Max." Your father's voice is measured. "I need you to listen carefully to what I'm about to say."

"Yes, sir."

"When YN was born, I made a promise to protect her from anything that could hurt her. When she was eighteen, I thought I was doing that by keeping her away from you."

You feel Max tense beside you.

"I was wrong."

The admission hangs in the air. Even Susie looks surprised.

"You were angry then. Volatile. Too much like your father." Toto continues. "But you've grown. Changed. I see that now."

He leans forward, eyes intense. "But understand this: that girl sitting next to you? She is my world. My greatest joy, my greatest pride. And if you ever - ever - give me reason to think you don't deserve her…"

"I don't," Max interrupts quietly. "Deserve her, I mean. I know that. I try every day to be worthy of her love, and I'll keep trying for the rest of my life."

Something shifts in Toto's expression.

"And you," he turns to you. "My strong, stubborn daughter. You've grown too. Standing up to me… it showed me you're not my little girl anymore. You're a woman who knows her own mind, her own heart."

Tears prick at your eyes. "Papa…"

"I trust your judgment," he says softly. "Even when it differs from mine."

Susie reaches over to squeeze his hand, pride shining in her eyes.

"Now," Toto straightens, his expression growing serious again. "We need to discuss the media situation. Your relationship will be public knowledge soon, if it isn't already."

"We've been careful," you start, but he holds up a hand.

"Careful isn't enough. The press will be relentless. They'll try to create drama, stir up controversy. Everything you do, every interaction, will be scrutinized."

"We know," Max says. "We've talked about it."

"Good. But you need to be prepared. They'll drag up the past, try to create tension between the teams. Your relationship will become clickbait."

"We can handle it," you say firmly.

"Perhaps. But you'll need support." Toto looks between you both. "Which is why… which is why I'm offering mine."

Max's grip on your hand tightens.

"When the story breaks, there will be questions. Speculation. I will make it clear that you have my blessing." The words seem to cost him something, but his voice is steady. "It won't stop the circus, but it might help control the narrative."

You're crying openly now. Max looks shellshocked.

"Thank you," he manages finally. "That… that means everything."

Toto nods once, then reaches for his wine. "Now, who wants dessert? Susie made Sachertorte."

As Susie bustles off to the kitchen, you catch your father's eye. The love there, the acceptance, makes your heart full.

Max leans over to whisper in your ear. "I think I just aged ten years."

You squeeze his hand. "Worth it?"

He looks at you, then at your father who's pretending not to watch you both, then back to you.

"Every second," he says, and kisses your temple.

And just like that, your worlds align.

Saint-Tropez, 2024

The morning sun filters through the sheer curtains of your villa, casting warm patterns across the rumpled sheets. Max's fingers trace lazy circles on your bare shoulder as you lie there, both reluctant to acknowledge that real life awaits.

"Do we have to go back?" you mumble into his chest.

"Mmm, eventually." He drops a kiss on your head. "Though I could get used to this."

"What, me using you as a human pillow?"

"You do that at home too, liefje."

You prop yourself up on an elbow to look at him, taking in the relaxed set of his features, the way his hair is sticking up wildly. "True, but here you're not constantly checking the time for sim racing with Lando."

"That was one time!"

"It was three times last week alone."

He tugs you back down, rolling so you're trapped beneath him. "You're just jealous because I'm better at it than you."

"Excuse me?" You poke his ribs. "Who won last time?"

"You cheated!"

"Did not!"

"You distracted me!"

"Not my fault you can't focus when I kiss your neck."

His eyes darken. "Want to test that theory?"

"We'll be late for our flight," you warn, but you're already tilting your head as his lips find that spot behind your ear.

"Worth it," he murmurs against your skin.

Later, tangled in sheets again, you check your phone while Max dozes beside you. A frown crosses your face.

"That's weird."

"Hmm?" Max doesn't open his eyes.

"Lewis still hasn't answered my texts from yesterday. Or the day before."

You feel him tense slightly. "Maybe he's busy."

"During holidays? And he always answers eventually." You sit up, noticing how Max suddenly seems very interested in the ceiling. "Max…"

"What?"

"You know something."

"I don't."

"You're doing that thing with your jaw."

His hand flies to his face. "What thing?"

"That clenching thing you do when you're hiding something." You narrow your eyes. "Spill it."

"There's nothing to spill." He sits up too quickly. "We should start packing."

"Max Emilian Verstappen."

"YN Wolff," he mimics, but there's an edge of nervousness to his teasing.

"Is Lewis okay?"

"He's fine! Totally fine. Completely fine. Never been better."

You stare at him. "You are the worst liar ever."

"I'm not—" He cuts himself off with a groan. "I can't tell you."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both?" He runs a hand through his hair. "Look, it's nothing bad. Just… something that's not public yet."

Your stomach drops. "Is he sick?"

"What? No! No, nothing like that." He catches your hands. "I promise, he's okay. It's just… complicated."

"Complicated how?"

"The kind of complicated I really can't tell you about yet." His eyes are pleading. "Please don't ask me to. I promised."

You study his face, seeing the genuine conflict there. "But he's okay?"

"Yes."

"And it's not bad news?"

He hesitates. "That… depends on how you look at it."

"Max!"

"I've already said too much." He kisses your forehead. "You'll know soon enough."

You flop back onto the pillows with a huff. "I hate secrets."

"Says the woman who kept our relationship secret for two years."

"That was different!"

"Sure it was." He stretches out beside you, pulling you close. "Can we go back to the part where we were enjoying our last morning in paradise?"

You want to protest, to push for more information, but his hand is sliding up your thigh and his lips are at your neck again and suddenly Lewis' mysterious silence seems less important.

"Fine," you concede, already breathless. "But this isn't over."

"Never is with you," he murmurs fondly. "It's why I love you."

"Because I'm stubborn?"

"Because you never give up on the people you care about."

Something in his voice makes you pause. "Max…"

"Let me love you," he whispers. "Just for now, let that be enough."

The world and its complications can wait. For now, there's just this - the sun on your skin, Max's heartbeat under your palm, and the knowledge that whatever comes next, you'll face it together.

Even if he is terrible at keeping secrets.

The gentle hum of your computer fills your office at Mercedes HQ as you review the latest F1 Academy reports. A notification pops up on your phone - Instagram, probably another post from Max complaining about his training session.

Your coffee cup freezes halfway to your mouth.

BREAKING: Lewis Hamilton to join Ferrari in 2025

The cup clatters onto your desk, coffee spilling across papers you can't bring yourself to care about. Your hands shake as you scroll through post after post confirming it.

Lewis is leaving.

Lewis is going to Ferrari.

Lewis didn't tell you.

Max knew and didn't tell you.

Your father…

You're on your feet before you realize it, striding through the corridors. People step out of your way, perhaps recognizing the storm in your expression. You barely register Susie calling your name as you pass her office.

The door to your father's office bangs open. He looks up, unsurprised.

"What is going on?" Your voice trembles.

"YN—"

"No." You hold up your phone, the Ferrari announcement glaring at you. "What is this?"

Toto sighs, removing his glasses. "Come in and close the door."

"You knew." It's not a question. "You all knew. That's why Lewis wasn't answering my messages. That's why Max was acting strange in Saint-Tropez."

"We couldn't tell you."

"Couldn't or wouldn't?" The words come out sharp, hurt. "I'm not just your daughter anymore, Papa. I'm co-director of F1 Academy. I work here. This affects me professionally as well as personally."

"Which is exactly why we couldn't tell you." He stands, coming around his desk. "The announcement had to be handled carefully. Any leak could have—"

"Leak?" You step back when he reaches for you. "Is that what I am to you? A potential leak?"

"Schatz, no—"

"Lewis is family!" Your voice cracks. "He's been here my entire life. He watched me grow up. He helped Max and me when…" You swallow hard. "I had to find out from Instagram. Instagram, Papa!"

"I know."

"Did everyone know except me? Was there some big meeting where you all decided poor YN can't be trusted?"

"It wasn't like that."

"Then what was it like?" Tears spill over. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like nobody trusted me enough to tell me that one of the most important people in my life is leaving."

Toto moves forward again, and this time you let him pull you into a hug. "Lewis wanted to tell you himself," he says softly. "He was going to come see you today, after the announcement. He didn't want you to have to carry the secret."

"I could have handled it."

"I know you could have." His hand smooths over your hair like when you were small. "But he didn't want to put you in that position. Neither did Max."

You stiffen. "Max knew for how long?"

"YN…"

"How long?"

"Since before New Year's."

The betrayal hits fresh. "That's why he was so weird about Lewis not texting back. He let me worry instead of just telling me."

"He was protecting you."

"I don't need protection!" You pull away. "I need honesty. I need the people I love to trust me. I need—" Your voice breaks. "I need to not feel like an outsider in my own family."

"Oh, Schatz." Toto's face crumples. "You have never been an outsider. Lewis insisted on keeping it quiet precisely because he cares so much. He knew how hard it would be for you."

"It's harder finding out like this."

A soft knock interrupts. You turn to see Lewis in the doorway, still in his Mercedes gear - for one of the last times, you realize with a pang.

"Little Wolff," he starts, but you hold up a hand.

"Don't." You brush past him, ignoring his attempt to catch your arm. "I have work to do."

"Please—"

"Congratulations on Ferrari," you say stiffly, not looking back. "I'm sure you'll do great things there."

You make it back to your office before the tears really start. Your phone buzzes - Max calling. Then Lewis. Then Susie.

You silence it, staring out your window at the Mercedes logo shining in the winter sun. It looks different now, knowing Lewis won't be racing under it anymore soon.

Everything looks different.

Your phone lights up again - a text from Max.

"I'm sorry. I hated keeping this from you. I love you"

You turn the phone face down.

Later. You'll deal with all of it later.

By the time you make it home that evening, your eyes are red and puffy from crying. Max is already there - of course he is - waiting in the kitchen with that worried look you've come to know so well.

"Baby…" he starts, but you brush past him, dropping your bag on the counter with trembling hands.

"Don't." Your voice cracks. "Just… don't."

But Max has never been good at leaving you alone when you're hurting. His arms wrap around you from behind, and despite your anger, you find yourself leaning back into his warmth.

"I wanted to tell you," he whispers against your hair. "Every day, I wanted to tell you."

The dam breaks. You turn in his arms, burying your face in his chest as sobs wrack your body. His arms tighten around you, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other rubs soothing circles on your back.

"He's leaving," you choke out. "Lewis is actually leaving. How can he leave? He's… he's my brother, Max. He's been there my whole life. The garage won't be the same without him. The team won't be the same."

"I know, baby. I know."

"He didn't tell me. None of you told me." You pull back enough to look up at him, tears still streaming. "You all just decided I couldn't handle it."

Max wipes your tears with his thumbs, his own eyes suspiciously bright. "Lewis wanted to protect you. We all did. You've been working so hard with F1 Academy, with the team… he didn't want you carrying this weight."

"But I could have handled it! I'm not some fragile thing that needs protecting anymore."

"No," Max agrees softly, "you're the strongest person I know. But Lewis loves you like a sister. He wanted to tell you himself, properly. Not through some leaked rumor or whispered secret."

You collapse against him again, letting out a shuddering breath. "I can't imagine Mercedes without him. Every memory I have there, he's part of it. Even when we were hiding us, he was there, watching out for us, covering for us…"

Max leads you to the couch, pulling you into his lap. You curl into him, feeling drained.

"Talk to him," he murmurs. "Not today, not tomorrow if you're not ready. But don't let this distance grow. You'll regret it."

"When did you get so wise?" you ask weakly.

"Around the same time I realized that sometimes loving someone means letting them be angry at you for trying to protect them." He presses a kiss to your temple. "Even if you'd do it again."

You stay like that for a long time, wrapped in Max's arms as the sun sets outside. Your phone buzzes occasionally - more messages from Lewis, probably - but you ignore it. Tomorrow you'll deal with it all. Tomorrow you'll be strong again.

But tonight, you let yourself be held and comforted, mourning the end of an era while knowing, deep down, that family is family - even when they're wearing red instead of silver.

Bahrain, 2024

The Bahrain paddock buzzes with its usual first-race energy, but everything feels off-kilter. You've been masterfully avoiding proper conversations with Lewis all weekend, keeping interactions professional and brief. The pit wall feels different already, knowing it's his last season here.

You're reviewing data sheets in the garage when his shadow falls across your tablet.

"Little Wolff," Lewis says softly, using the nickname that usually makes you smile but now just makes your chest ache. "Can we talk?"

"I'm quite busy," you reply, not looking up. "Qualifying strategy needs finalizing."

"YN." His voice is gentle but firm. "Please."

You finally meet his eyes, seeing the concern there, the sadness. He looks older somehow, or maybe that's just your perception shifting with everything else.

"What's left to say?" You keep your voice low, mindful of the mechanics nearby. "You made your decision. You kept it from me. We move forward."

"That's not fair and you know it." Lewis steps closer. "I've tried calling, texting…"

"I've been busy."

"You've been avoiding me." He sighs. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"Well, you did." The words come out sharper than intended. "Did you think finding out from social media wouldn't hurt? That watching Max and Papa dance around it for weeks wouldn't hurt?"

"I wanted to protect you—"

"Stop saying that!" You catch yourself, lowering your voice again. "Everyone keeps saying they were protecting me. I'm not a child anymore, Lewis. I run part of this team. I handle confidential information every day. I've kept secrets bigger than this."

Understanding crosses his face. "Like Max."

"Yes, like Max." You swallow hard. "You trusted me then. You helped us. Why couldn't you trust me with this?"

"Because this wasn't just my secret to keep." Lewis runs a hand over his face. "There were contracts, negotiations, timing issues. And yes, I wanted to tell you myself, properly. Not have you carry it around for weeks knowing you couldn't talk to anyone about it."

"So instead you let me worry when you weren't responding to messages? Let me think something was wrong? Let Max lie to me?"

"I asked him not to tell you." Lewis reaches for your hand but you pull back. "He wanted to. He hated keeping it from you."

"But he did anyway."

"Because he understands sometimes protecting the people we love means letting them be angry with us." Lewis's voice softens. "You're my family, YN. You're the little sister I never had. Leaving Mercedes… leaving you… it's one of the hardest decisions I've ever made."

You blink back tears, refusing to cry in the garage. "Then why are you?"

"Because sometimes we need to chase new dreams, even when it means leaving safe harbors." He smiles sadly. "You taught me that, actually. When you chose Max despite everything, despite what it could cost you. You taught me that sometimes the scariest choices are the right ones."

"That's different."

"Is it?" Lewis raises an eyebrow. "You took a risk for love. For growth. For what you believed was right for you, even knowing it would hurt people you care about."

You look away, his words hitting too close to home.

"I'm not asking you not to be hurt," he continues. "I'm just asking you not to let that hurt break us. I'm still your Lewis. That doesn't change just because I'm wearing red."

"It feels like everything's changing," you whisper.

"Some things never will." He opens his arms. "Come here, Little Wolff."

This time you don't resist, letting him pull you into a hug. The familiar smell of his cologne brings fresh tears to your eyes.

"I'm still mad at you," you mumble into his chest.

"I know."

"And you better not beat us too badly in that Ferrari."

You feel his laugh rumble. "I'll do my best."

"Lewis?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm going to miss you so much."

His arms tighten. "I'm not gone yet. We've got a whole season ahead of us. And after… I'm still your big brother. That doesn't change with the color of my race suit."

Over his shoulder, you catch Max watching from the Red Bull garage, a soft smile on his face. He gives you a small nod before turning back to his engineers.

Some things change. Some things stay the same. And sometimes, you realize, holding onto anger hurts more than letting it go.

Miami, 2024

The sun beats down mercilessly as you pace your hotel room, phone clutched in your hand. The notifications won't stop - Instagram, Twitter, all exploding with the same photos. You and Max on his boat in Monaco last weekend, his hands cupping your face as he kissed you, both of you clearly lost in each other.

You'd been so careful for so long. One moment of letting your guard down, and now…

The door opens and Max rushes in, still in his Red Bull gear from practice. "Baby?" His voice is soft with concern.

"Have you seen them?" You hold up your phone, hands trembling. "They're everywhere. Everyone knows. Papa is going to have to address it in the press conference and—"

Max crosses the room in three long strides, taking your face in his hands - just like in the photos, you realize with a jolt. "Breathe," he murmurs. "Just breathe with me."

"But—"

"Breathe first." His thumbs stroke your cheeks. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. With me."

You follow his lead, matching your breathing to his until the panic starts to recede. Only then does he lead you to sit on the edge of the bed, keeping one arm around you.

"Now," he says, "tell me what you're really afraid of."

"Everything!" You gesture wildly with your free hand. "The media circus, the speculation, the questions about favoritism in the sport, Papa having to defend us publicly, the board's reaction…"

"YN." Max turns you to face him fully. "We knew this would happen eventually. We talked about it."

"I know, but—"

"But nothing." His blue eyes are intense, earnest. "We're not doing anything wrong. We're two adults who love each other. Yes, there will be talk. Yes, there will be questions. But we can handle it." His lips quirk. "We've handled worse."

You lean into him, letting his steady presence ground you. "Papa's press conference is in twenty minutes."

"And he'll handle it like he handles everything - with that terrifying Wolff composure." Max's hand runs soothingly up and down your back. "He loves you, baby. He's not going to let anyone suggest anything improper about us."

"I should be there," you whisper. "I should face it with him."

"No." Max's voice is firm. "Let him handle this part. That's what fathers do - they protect their children, even when their children are grown up and running F1 programs."

Your phone buzzes again - another news alert. Max gently takes it from your hand and sets it aside.

"Remember what you told me?" he asks softly. "That night in Monaco when I was worried about how people would react to us being together again?"

You smile slightly. "I told you that what other people think doesn't matter."

"Exactly." He presses his forehead to yours. "You said that we've earned the right to be happy, that we're not teenagers anymore trying to sneak around. You said we're stronger together than apart."

"Using my own words against me?"

"Always." He kisses you softly. "Because you were right then, and you're still right now. Let them talk. Let them speculate. We know the truth."

Your phone lights up with a livestream notification - the press conference is starting. Max reaches for the remote, turning on the hotel room's TV where it's already being broadcast.

"We can turn it off," he offers, but you shake your head.

"No. I need to see."

You curl into Max's side as the questions start. Your father sits there, calm and collected as ever, fielding questions about strategy and performance. Then:

"Toto, there are photos circulating of your daughter YN with Max Verstappen. Given the rivalry between Mercedes and Red Bull, and Max's history with both Mercedes and your family, do you have any comment?"

The room goes silent. You hold your breath, feeling Max tense beside you.

Your father adjusts his glasses, that familiar gesture that usually precedes something important. "Yes, I do have a comment." His voice is measured but firm. "My daughter is a highly respected professional in this sport, running our F1 Academy program and working tirelessly to create opportunities for young women in motorsport. Her personal life is her own, and she has my full support in all her choices."

"But given the competitive nature of F1—"

"Let me be very clear," Toto interrupts, and you recognize that steel in his voice. "YN has proven herself time and time again. She has earned her position through hard work and dedication. Max Verstappen is one of the most talented drivers of his generation. They are both adults who conduct themselves with integrity and professionalism. Any suggestion otherwise is not only disrespectful but reveals more about the person asking than about them."

Tears blur your vision. Max's arm tightens around you.

"See?" he whispers. "Terrifying Wolff composure."

On screen, your father continues: "My daughter and Max have my blessing and my respect. They have shown wisdom and maturity in handling their relationship alongside their professional responsibilities. Now, unless there are questions about this weekend's race…"

You bury your face in Max's chest, overwhelmed. His hands stroke your hair as he murmurs soft Dutch endearments.

"He defended us," you say wonderingly. "He really defended us."

"Of course he did." Max kisses the top of your head. "He's your father. And…" he hesitates, "I think maybe he's starting to like, a little bit."

You look up at him, seeing the vulnerability in his eyes. "You know he likes you."

"Yeah." Max smiles softly. "He called me yesterday, you know. Said if any reporters gave me trouble about the photos, to refer them to him. Said he'd handle it."

Fresh tears spill over. "He did?"

"Mmhmm." Max wipes your tears with his thumb."Does this mean I can finally kiss you in the paddock?"

You laugh through your tears. "Maybe let's ease them into it?"

"Fine." He sighs dramatically. "But I'm holding your hand in public. No negotiation on that."

"Deal." You curl back into him, feeling the panic from earlier dissolve into something warmer, more certain. "Thank you for being here. For being you."

"Always, baby." Max kisses you again, soft and sweet. "Now, what do you say we give them something else to talk about and go absolutely dominate this race weekend?"

You smile against his lips. "Now that sounds like a plan."

Las Vegas, 2024

The neon lights blur through your tears as you watch the podium ceremony. George and Lewis stand there together, silver suits gleaming under the artificial lights, Mercedes' last 1-2 with this particular lineup.

Your heart feels like it might burst - pride, joy, and melancholy all tangled together. Max clinched his fourth title today, and you couldn't be prouder.

"Look at them," Susie whispers, squeezing your hand. "Our boys."

You can barely speak around the lump in your throat. George looks radiant, his second win of the season perhaps the sweetest. And Lewis… Lewis is beaming with genuine joy for his teammate, even as his eyes glisten with unshed tears. His last podium in Vegas as a Mercedes driver.

Your father stands tall beside you, his usual stoic expression softened by emotion. As the champagne starts flowing, you catch sight of Max making his way toward the Red Bull garage, where you know the championship celebrations are about to begin.

"Go," your father says suddenly.

You turn to him, surprised. "What?"

"Go celebrate with Max." His voice is gentle. "It's his fourth championship. You should be there."

"But…" you glance at the podium, at your Mercedes family celebrating.

"We've shared every celebration with you," Susie says softly. "Let him have this one."

"Are you sure?" You look at your father. "Papa?"

Toto's eyes are warm as he cups your face in his hands. "For three years, you couldn't celebrate with him. Couldn't share his victories. Couldn't be by his side when he achieved his dreams." He kisses your forehead. "Go make up for lost time, Schatz."

"But Lewis and George…"

"Will understand." Toto smiles. "Besides, I think Lewis would be disappointed if you didn't go congratulate your boyfriend on his championship."

As if on cue, Lewis catches your eye from the podium and nods toward the Red Bull garage, mouthing "Go!"

Tears spill over as you hug your parents. "I love you both so much."

"We know," Susie strokes your hair. "Now go. Make your man's celebration complete."

You run through the paddock, your heart pounding. The Red Bull garage is already in full celebration mode when you arrive. Christian sees you first, and instead of any awkwardness, he just smiles and points toward the back room.

You find Max there, surrounded by his team but somehow looking like he's waiting for something - or someone. When he sees you, his entire face lights up.

"Baby," he breathes, and then you're in his arms, his race suit damp with champagne, his heart beating fast against yours.

"Congratulations, four-time world champion," you whisper against his neck.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes shining. "You came."

"Of course I came." You touch his face, memorizing this moment. "Papa and Susie practically pushed me out the door."

Max's eyes widen slightly. "Really?"

"Really." You smile through your tears. "Papa said we had three years of celebrations to make up for."

Something vulnerable crosses Max's face. "I used to dream about this," he admits quietly, despite the noise around you. "Every championship, every win… I'd imagine you here, celebrating with me. But I never thought…"

"That my father would be the one sending me to you?"

"Yeah." Max laughs softly. "Things really have changed, haven't they?"

"For the better." You kiss him softly, not caring who sees. "I'm so proud of you, Max. So incredibly proud."

He presses his forehead to yours. "Stay? Celebrate with us?"

"Wild horses couldn't drag me away."

"Good." His smile turns mischievous. "Because I have three years of championship celebrations to make up for, and I plan to make this one count."

From somewhere behind you, you hear Jos' voice: "Max! The championship photo!"

"Coming!" Max calls back, then looks at you. "Join us?"

You blink. "In the Red Bull championship photo?"

"Why not?" His eyes are bright with joy and love. "You're part of this story too. Always have been."

The photographer arranges everyone, and Max pulls you close to his side. Here, under the neon lights of Vegas, surrounded by celebrations both here and in the garage next door, you feel the weight of the moment. The past - three years of separation, of watching from afar. The present - standing proudly by his side as he achieves another dream. And the future - stretching out before you both, full of possibilities.

"Ready?" Max whispers in your ear.

You look up at him, this man who never stopped loving you even when the world tried to keep you apart, and smile. "Ready."

The camera flashes, capturing the moment forever - the four-time world champion and the girl who crossed rival lines to love him, surrounded by celebration and joy, making up for all the moments they missed and creating new ones all their own.

In the distance, you hear the Mercedes celebration continuing, George and Lewis' laughter carrying through the night. Two families, two celebrations, and you finally allowed to be part of both.

Melbourne, 2025

"YN, we need to check something at the track," Max says casually as you're getting ready for bed.

"At this hour? It's past midnight."

"Trust me?" He gives you that same boyish grin that still makes your heart skip, even after a decade.

You're both jet-lagged anyway, so you agree. But instead of heading to Albert Park, Max drives to a familiar hotel. Your breath catches when you realize where you are.

"Max…"

"Come on," he takes your hand, leading you through the quiet lobby to the coffee shop where it all began. The lights are dimmed, but it's clearly open - though completely empty.

"How did you…?"

"Being a four-time world champion has some perks," he grins. "Plus, the owner remembered us. Said she never forgot the night the youngest F1 driver and Toto Wolff's daughter had their secret meeting here."

The same table is there, the one where you shared your hot chocolate ten years ago. There's even a steaming mug waiting.

"You were so smug," Max laughs, pulling out your chair. "Letting me ramble about being a driver when you knew exactly who I was."

"You were cute when you were flustered," you tease. "Especially when I dropped my last name."

"I couldn't believe it. Here I was, trying to impress this beautiful girl, and she turned out to be my biggest rival's daughter."

You take a sip from the mug - hot chocolate, just like that night. "Papa wouldn't stop talking about you."

"And now he's my biggest defender," Max shakes his head in wonder. "Remember how scared we were to tell him about us?"

"Worth it though," you squeeze his hand. "Every secret meeting, every careful distance in the paddock, every time we had to pretend we were just friendly acquaintances."

Max's eyes go soft. "You know what I remember most about that first night? You were the first person who didn't treat me like I was either Jos's son or some record-breaking novelty. You just… saw me."

"I still do," you whisper.

He stands suddenly, pulling you up with him. "That night, I was terrified about my first race. Everyone had opinions about whether I deserved to be here. But then there was this girl, sharing her hot chocolate and making me feel like maybe I could actually do this."

"Max…"

He drops to one knee, and your heart stops. "Ten years ago, in this exact spot, I met the love of my life. I didn't know it then, but that girl who kept her name secret until the last possible moment would become my biggest supporter, my best friend, my home."

Through your tears, you see him pull out a ring. "You've been there through everything, YN. Every victory, every defeat. When the pressure got too much, when the critics were too loud - you were my safe place. Just like you were that first night."

"Remember what you told me then? That your intuition said I'd do great?" He laughs softly. "You believed in me before anyone else did. And I want to spend the rest of my life believing in you, supporting you, loving you."

"YN Wolff," his voice cracks slightly. "Will you marry me? Will you keep being my safe place, my biggest supporter, my best friend? Will you let me spend forever trying to make you as happy as you've made me?"

Through your tears, you see the same boy from that late-night coffee shop - still determined, still passionate, still looking at you like you're his whole world. But now he's also the man who's grown with you, fought for you, loved you through everything.

"Yes," you manage, pulling him up to kiss him. "Yes to everything."

As he slides the ring onto your finger, Max pulls you close, and you can smell the same coffee shop scent that surrounded you ten years ago. "Thank you for sharing your hot chocolate that night," he murmurs against your hair.

"Thank you for making me believe in intuition," you reply, feeling the weight of the ring - a promise of all the years to come.

Outside, Melbourne sleeps, just like it did that first night. But now, instead of two strangers sharing a drink and their fears, there's you and Max, sharing a future.

And it feels like coming home.

tags: @mimiteller712 @lydia-demarek, @rory-cakes, @swaggymadi, @chriskevinevans @p7-otterton, @cherrystars81, @whokilledmarlene @lilymaleshka @kodeelynn @formoola1fan @pausmoon @lalala28 @baby-alien11 @allthings-fandoms @downsideup1989 @urbaebarnes @ivegotparticulartaste @liethatyouloveme @codymthepenguin @finn-dot-com @rayaskoalaland @angelluv16 @pourmercymercy0nme @tweetledeedumb @osclerc @scientifichufflepuff @cometpiastri @hobiismyhopeu @monsterdesandia @amyelevenn @damonsalvatorelikessex @rmvb @virtualperfectioncat @emma-chiara @chelle1306 @idontknow0704 @lilypat @elieanana @nothaqks @1800-love-me

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kiwisa · 1 month ago

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Legacy or Leverage? ✷ f1 fanfiction

✷ OPENING OF HEAVY ARE THE HANDS CARRYING THE NAME ( F1 Grid x F1 Driver! Senna! OFC )

━━━━━ NEXT !

in which... the news is out: senna's daughter is joining formula one. people are not happy !

NOT UNLIKE POKER, Formula One is a game where one learns to keep their hand hidden until the start of the season. As teams begin to reveal their cards one by one before the pre-season testing at the Bahrain International Circuit, Williams has gone all-in with an unexpected line-up.

While the Russell-Latifi duo remains unchanged, the team’s “third wheel” has caused quite a stir. Isadora Senna, the only daughter of the three-time world champion, has been chosen as the British team’s reserve driver.

For the first time in 45 years and Lella Lombardi, a woman will enter the F1 World Championship. With this move, will Williams take the pot or bust?

While several female figures across all sports—amongst which Susie Wolff—have hailed the decision and spoken of a “historic event” for women's rights, a wave of hostility from the most fervent motorsport fans is washing over Isadora Senna. Many are already questioning her ability to compete in the F1 championship, as well as the role nepotism played in this decision.

It is undeniable that Isadora is her father’s daughter, but the resemblance lies less in the iconic name than in her talent on the track. On many occasions, Senna’s only child has proved herself to be talented behind the wheel, with a track record not unlike that of a Max Verstappen.

━━ SEE ALSO ON PADDOCK PRESS.

"I never had anything handed to me" Isadora Senna denies nepotism allegations

Will Lewis Hamilton break the record and become an eight-time world champion in 2021?

Susie Wolff speaks out against misogyny in motorsports

Becoming the 2009 Karting World Champion at only 15 years old, Isadora Senna went on to win the 2015 GP2 Championship at 21 during her first year in the competition—after having faced numerous entry rejections based on her gender.

Thus, it would not be surprising to see the prodigy succeed in the big league, just as her father did from 1984 to 1994. But will the opportunity arise ? For—as a reserve driver—Isadora Senna may not race this season.

Already, several women are sceptical about this position, pointing out an only-partial progress. According to renowned feminist journalist Glenna R. Colburn, “it is a way for the FIA to pussyfoot around resolving the burning issue of gender inequality within the motorsports industry.”

“They're going to milk everything revolving around her appointment and what it means for women, without ever putting her on the track and risking disturbing the established patriarchal order,” she asserts.

So, should we view Senna’s new status as a real step forward in the world of motorsport or just a woke concession that will ensure both Williams and the FIA positive media attention?

Sort by Most Relevant ↓

Anonymous 2 hours ago

They only put her in because of her father’s name. That’s a great play on Williams' part but let’s see how long it takes for them to realize she’s just not cut out for it.

Anonymous 5 hours ago

F1 is slowly turning into a joke. Wokeness is destroying everything.

Anonymous 1 hour ago

Great, now they’ll probably start giving her handouts just because she’s Daddy’s girl. Just wait until she’s up against real competition. She won't stand a chance.

Anonymous 4 hour ago

I’d rather see a fresh face in the sport than someone riding off their father’s coattails.

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jungwnies · 15 days ago

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bf moments | charles leclerc

୨ৎ : featuring : boyfriend!charles x reader ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : compilation of fluffy boyfriend charles moments

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : ferrari did a lot better this week im proud.. it's hard being tifosi out here istg.. but doing some charles content bc i feel like i haven't in a LONG LONG LONG time... late post though oops >.<

boyfriend!charles who writes your initials on the fogged-up mirror after his shower without even realizing it.

boyfriend!charles who puts your cold feet between his legs in bed and acts like he’s so bothered but never moves them.

boyfriend!charles who always lets you try the first bite of his food and watches your reaction like it’s a michelin review.

boyfriend!charles who kisses your forehead when you’re ranting, mid-sentence, like he can’t help it.

boyfriend!charles who facetimes you after races, helmet hair and all, and says “did you see me wave at you?” even if you weren’t there.

boyfriend!charles who reads next to you in bed, but keeps rereading the same page because you’re resting on his chest.

boyfriend!charles who shyly tugs at your sleeve when he’s tired in public, like a silent “let’s go home.”

boyfriend!charles who sends voice notes instead of texts because he likes when you “hear how much I miss you.”

boyfriend!charles who always takes blurry pictures of you on film, then says they’re perfect “because they look like how I see you.”

boyfriend!charles who doesn’t say much during arguments, but always comes back quietly with “can we fix this?” and his hand out.

boyfriend!charles who buys you flowers just because he “walked past them and they looked like you.”

boyfriend!charles who rubs your back when you're falling asleep and hums without realizing it.

boyfriend!charles who saves all the notes you leave in his suitcase and keeps them folded in his wallet.

boyfriend!charles who pulls you onto his lap during video calls with the boys and acts like it’s no big deal while smiling like it’s the only thing that matters.

boyfriend!charles who acts cool in front of others, but turns into the softest version of himself the second the door closes behind you.

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littlegrapejuice · 20 days ago

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Grid Mum 2 | MV1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Growing attached to the rookies meant that you now cared for them off track as well. So when some of them are not treated well by their teams, you and Max take your role of grid parents very seriously.

Author's Note: ok so i usually don't plan on doing part 2 for my fics but @robinivoryanvalentine gave me ideas and this lil thing was born ig so shout out to them🫶🏻 i have one request left that I'm hoping to write soon now that it's FINALLY school break and i hope I'll also get some inspo w the rest of the triple header🙂‍↕️

F1 MASTERLIST🏎 | Read Part 1 here

From the moment you had accepted that Max’s grid kids were also yours in the process, you had thought that your interactions with them would only be during race weekends. However, when you saw that some drama was already happening even though the season had barely started, you decided that the rookies would become both your on and off track children.

It had begun with Jack.

You had never been Alpine’s biggest fan – you mostly considered Esteban and Pierre as acquaintances during the previous season – and it had gotten worse when Flavio was back in the paddock. Still, you were glad for Jack when it was announced that he would get a full-time seat for the 2025 season – although it was a shit move from Alpine to sack Esteban for the last grand prix of 2024.

The drama had started a bit after Alpine announced their reserve drivers for 2025. First, Paul Aaron. He was a good driver, and had done a good F2 season, despite the insane amount of car issues he had suffered from. Then, Franco Colapinto. Having raced for a third of the 2024 season with Williams, Franco had quickly become a fan favourite due to this charming personality.

The issue wasn’t Alpine having two reserve drivers – it was honestly quite usual. No, the actual issue lay in fans already expecting Jack’s downfall so that Franco could take his place. Everyone was claiming that Jack only had the first five races to prove himself, and then it would be goodbye for him.

Then, it got even worse. Shortly after the New Year, Alpine announced their third reserve driver. You remembered seeing the news and being really surprised because “why do they need so many plans b?” – that’s what you had said to Max, who had agreed and had then proceeded to diss the French team for the next few minutes. And if you thought that they were done, you were wrong because Alpine waited until a few days before the first race of the season to announce their fourth reserve driver.

You truly hoped that Jack wasn’t too stressed about it, but the latest season of Drive To Survive showed you that he definitely was. The scene between Jack and Flavio in the latter’s office had truly scared you, and you couldn’t imagine the amount of pressure they were putting on the Aussie.

It also didn’t help when Jack DNFed at his home race, which led to the fans clearly awaiting the day when Alpine would replace him with Franco. The dinner you had invited him to along with the other rookies had helped, but you knew that it was only temporary comfort until the following races. The next week in China had been a bit better: Jack had finished 13th after the three DSQs, which wasn’t so bad, but you had seen the comments everywhere. ‘Fans’ were still dreaming of Franco taking his seat, not caring one bit about Jack.

You were truly saddened by the situation. Jack didn’t deserve that kind of reaction – no driver did. The only thing he deserved was the opportunity to prove himself, and his full potential couldn’t be seen after two races.

Two. races. were. not. enough.

And yet, it wasn’t Alpine that was currently at the origin of your newly-found anger. No, right now, you were only mad at one team: Red Bull Racing.

You had seen the rumours online. You had heard about them in the paddock. You hadn’t wanted to believe them; they were rumours for a reason. So when Max told you the news before it would be public, you thought he had been messing with you. You had been back in Monaco in your shared flat, when he announced it to you:

“Don’t be mad but…” Max waited for you to look at him before he kept talking. “They’re dropping Liam”.

“What?” Did you hear it well?

“Red Bull”, Max explained. “They’re switching Liam and Yuki.”

“You’re joking?”

“Wish I was, honestly. It’s such a shit decision, but I have no say in this.”

You were kind of glad that even Max wasn’t agreeing with the switch, but it still hurt. You were mad. Mad for Liam. Mad at Red Bull.

“Do they not realise they’re the fucking problem?” You couldn’t help the venom in your tone. “Have been for years. But no, it’s always the driver.”

“I know… Trust me, I wish I could have helped tilt the balance on the other side. Turns out my opinion suddenly doesn’t matter.”

“Shocker”, you sarcastically replied. You knew Max had vouched for Liam to stay; but when his team had decided something, even their star driver apparently didn’t have any right to go against it. “Do they wish to destroy another driver’s career?” You thought about Yuki, with whom you’d been friends for years since he had joined Racing Bulls. “At this home grand prix, that’s fucked up.”

“You know everything Red Bull does is fucked up at this point. That’s like your main take everytime they do something.”

“Am I wrong, though?” You raised an eyebrow at your boyfriend.

“Unfortunately, no.” Max sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “I guess I won’t see you in my garage in Japan, then?”

“I’m not that much of a bitch, Max. I’ll show up for Yuki, obviously.”

“Obviously”, Max repeated with a chuckle. “You’ll text me which garage I have to collect you from, yeah?”

“You know me so well.” You smiled at him, before pulling him close for a quick kiss. “When are they announcing it?”

“I think some media are confirming it today, but the teams will only post about it starting tomorrow.”

“Does Liam actually know?” This was the dreaded question. You knew Red Bull was bad enough that they were capable of telling him after the entire world was made aware.

“He does, yeah.” Max thought for a second. “Don’t know for sure if they told him before Yuki, but they were decent enough not to let him find out through the internet.”

“I hope so.” You pulled out your phone, your thumb hovering over the messages application. “Is it too early to text him?” You really wanted to show Liam your support, but you were scared that Red Bull had actually been too cowardly to not notify Liam until the very last minute.

“Might be good to wait a couple days”, Max suggested. “He might be home right now, so he’ll probably have his family and friends with him.”

You nodded at Max’s words, agreeing to wait until the information would be out everywhere. Still, you made a mental note to start thinking of what you could eventually do to lift the Aussie's and Kiwi's spirits.

…..

At the end of the week, the whole world had seen the news. Red Bull Racing had definitely swapped Liam with Yuki, deciding that the younger driver had not shown enough potential after only two races.

Trusting yourself, you did what you thought was right and texted Liam as well as Jack. You sent them your address, and offered to have them for dinner that evening. You knew that even though almost the entire grid lived in Monaco, it was actually quite rare for the drivers to hang out. Max, especially, loved to stay home in order to avoid seeing his work friends. However, he was surprisingly glad to have Jack and Liam. Your boyfriend had even helped to cook tonight’s meal, and you were certain the rookies would particularly enjoy this information.

Monaco was a small town, so it didn’t take long for Jack and Liam to arrive at yours. It was known on the grid where each driver lived in the city, but actually seeing where Max lived with their own eyes felt surreal to the young drivers. When you opened the door to see them both awkwardly standing next to one another, it only took one warm smile from you to help them relax. They cautiously followed you inside; admiring every piece of furniture, every picture, Max’s beloved simulator which looked out of place in the living room you had beautifully decorated.

The most surprising thing for Jack and Liam, though, wasn’t the wall full of helmets and trophies nor the silly cushions you had bought with cats’ faces on them. No, it was the shocking view of four-times world champion Max Verstappen who was wearing an apron and currently setting the table.

When he saw you, the loving smile on his face naturally appeared. He then noticed the two rookies behind you and gave them a nod.

“Hi”, he said to them. “Welcome to our home, I guess.”

“Thanks for having us,” Jack replied. “It’s nice here.”

“Yeah”, Liam agreed. He then raised his right hand that had been holding a bag. “Hmm… I brought dessert?”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have!” You exclaimed. “That’s so sweet of you, Liam.”

You took a large box out of the bag, and barely had time to put it on the table that another box got put down right next to it.

“We had the same idea”, Jack stated. “We didn��t buy the same thing, though. Had time to compare when we were in the lift.”

“You guys are so nice, thank you so much!”

Quickly opening each box, you saw that Liam had brought chocolate muffins while Jack had brought profiteroles. You let yourself out to the kitchen in order to put the boxes in the fridge, which meant that the drivers were now alone in the living room.

Safe to say, the atmosphere was quite awkward. There wasn’t any tension per say, but it wasn’t everyday that Max had people from his workplace at home. Remembering what he was wearing, Max looked down at his outfit and swiftly removed his apron.

“Yeah… hmm, sorry… you guys can sit down if you want. It’s almost ready.”

Jack and Liam thanked him with a nod, before they both pulled out the closest chair to them.

“Dinner is ready indeed, but everyone’s washing their hands before we eat please.” You had just come back to the living room. Your tone wasn’t harsh, but commanding enough that no one would disobey – exactly like a mother.

You made sure that everyone, including your boyfriend, had now washed their hands before leading them back to the table. You asked Max to bring the food there, which he did. Together, you had prepared lasagna as well as some potatoes to go with it.

You served the drivers, who all thanked you with a smile. You and Max were sitting next to each other, with Jack and Liam facing you both. You then all began to eat in a comfortable silence.

“Thanks again for having us,” Liam eventually said. “Food’s really good by the way.”

“It is”, Jack agreed with a nod.

“Max is a good cook, right?” You chuckled before offering them seconds, which they gladly accepted.

“Guess I have a plan b if racing doesn't work out,” Max claimed with a shrug. “Can't say that it's really going well recently.”

“We said no work talk, remember?” You reminded him while serving the rookies. “Tonight is supposed to be about anything but your jobs.”

“It’s fine, honestly.”

“Yeah, Jack’s right. If anything, better to talk about it with y’all than anyone else,” Liam added.

“Sure?” You wondered. They both nodded, which reassured you. “Well, if you don’t mind talking about work then I guess we can do so after dinner while racing.”

“Racing?” Liam and Jack repeated.

“Y’all know how to play F1 24?” You asked them, to which they positively answered. “Then yes, racing.”

Exchanging a glance, the two drivers in front of you were now even happier to be there. A proud smile made its way on your face, glad to have your boys in a good mood.

Dinner finished quickly enough after light-hearted chats. You learnt more about Jack’s and Liam’s childhood, while they asked you questions about your and Max’s relationship. They were really enjoying their time with you – even more than with Max – and loved getting to know you outside the track.

While the drivers were moving from the dining table to the sofas in front of the massive TV that adorned the wall, you went back to the kitchen to retrieve the desserts. When you came back, Max was giving controllers to Liam and Jack before he turned the game on.

Obviously not caring about you being here, Max left the racing mode on ‘expert mode’ which clearly wouldn’t bother the other drivers present. As expected, he chose to play himself. You let Liam select Lewis while Jack selected Oscar, before it was your turn. You picked Charles as you often did, and now it was actually time to race.

As usual when you played with Max, you didn’t do great. After a couple races, Liam and Jack realised that dating a world champion didn’t mean that you had gained his driving skills. So they decided to tone it down, and let you overtake them during the next race. You hadn’t noticed, simply thinking that this track wasn’t their favourite. Max, however, immediately realised what was going on.

“You shouldn’t let her win”, he told them while taking a quick bite from his muffin. “She’s used to losing, don’t worry about her.”

“Fuck you, Max.” You threw a cushion to his face, which didn’t even affect him as he still crossed the finish line in first position.

“You’re like the worst boyfriend ever, mate. I think my girl would kill me if I didn’t let her win from time to time,” Liam explained with a chuckle.

“What?” Max turned to Liam, a serious and intimidating look now on his face.

“I– I mean, not the worst of course!” Liam was scared he had joked about the wrong thing, and tried to take back his words. “You’re the racing driver so… yeah, makes sense you’re better than her.”

“I’m kidding, Liam.” Max simply said. “God, you’re easy to pressure.”

“And you are actually the worst”. Putting down your controller, you took a profiterole and faced the rookies. “Please don’t let him scare you or some shit like that, he’s literally just a silly nerd. If anything, be the ones to intimidate him. I’ll teach you both his weaknesses.”

“I’ll ban you from my garage”, Max retorted.

“Great, I didn’t even wanna be there anyways.”

“I’ll ban you from the paddock”, Max added.

“Then I’ll date another driver who’ll give me access and overrule you”. You innocently smiled at your boyfriend, knowing that he wouldn’t manage to get the upper hand back.

“I’ll run him off track and he won’t be able to race anymore.”

“I’ll join the FIA and give you stop-and-go penalties.”

As they had been sitting between the two of you, Jack and Liam could only watch the exchange between you and Max as if it were a tennis match. They were deeply entertained, and one thought was certainly shared between them: they would definitely side with you against Max, no matter the situation.

Max was their grid mum on track. But you were their grid mum off track, and that was worth so much more to them. If Liam and Jack had been nervous to come spend the evening here, all their worries had now completely disappeared.

If anything, they could even pretend to still be bothered about what was happening to them in the Formula 1 world, just so they could spend more moments like this one. They wouldn’t need to, though. Even without the excuse of wanting to distract them and lift their spirits, you would still invite them to dinner the next day, before offering them a ride on Max’s plane as if it was yours – it kind of was, according to Max who deemed everything he owned as your possession too.

So when the four of you would arrive together in Japan, the other rookies might be jealous. They might ask Liam and Jack about how they pulled it off, and maybe the two would agree in telling a little white lie just so they would gatekeep the family time they spent with you and Max.

And it would eventually become a competition as a joke: who would be able to get the most time with their grid parents?

..........

Hope y'all enjoyed it!! Y'all cannot imagine how mad i was when the devil (rbr) switched liam and yuki - actually you kinda can bc i posted ab it lol

But i fr hate that they only give liam 2 races to prove himself like THAT'S😭NO😭ENOUGH😭 and for jack, well i saw that oliver oakes confirmed they ain't getting rid of him + plan of having him for the whole season but they aren't giving him enough love imo - like why tf y'all have 4 reserve drivers

Anywayyys i acc have no idea whether liam was made aware of the switch before it went public but let's pretend rbr ain't bitches

Don't hesitate to like or reblog if you liked this<3 and don't be shy to leave a comment so i can know your thoughts as well :))

See you soon, take care of yourselves, i love y'all xx

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #f1 x you #formula 1 x you #max verstappen x you #mv1 #mv1 x reader #mv1 x you #grid mum series<3

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mirrorball-leclerc · 2 years ago

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honest series timeline

(white events indicate an official date, blue events indicate no official date, red indicates which events have corresponding parts)

1989

july first: daniel ricciardo's birth december thirteenth: daphne jones' birth

1994

september first: carlos sainz's birth

1996

february seventh: pierre gasly's birth

1997

march second: penelope trevino's birth september thirtieth: max verstappen's birth october sixteenth: charles leclerc's birth december eleventh: rowan todd's birth

1998

june sixteenth: natalia ruiz's birth

1999

may eleventh: mae jones' birth march twenty-second: mick schumacher's birth november thirteenth: lando norris' birth

2000

october fourteenth: arthur leclerc's birth november twenty-first: freya vettel's birth december thirty-first: logan sargeant's birth

2001

april sixth: oscar piastri's birth july tenth: dulce perez's birth september seventh: bailey winter's birth

2002

january twentieth: isabella perez's birth february twentieth: zoya torres' birth trevino family moves to madrid, spain first meeting between penelope and carlos

2003

first meeting between natalia and charles

2004

2005

freya's adoption

2006

october twenty-fourth: daphne's debut album release

2007

2008

november eleventh: fearless release

2009

september thirteenth: daphne gets interrupted by kanye west at the vma's

2010

twenty-fifth: speak now release

2011

july tenth: daniel ricciardo's debut grand prix

2012

october twenty-second: red release

2013

2014

june twenty-seventh: mae's debut in girl meets world october twenty-seventh: nineteen eighty-nine release

2015

march fifteenth: max verstappen and carlos sainz's debut grand prix april fifteenth: eyes wide open release mae and max begin dating first meeting between daniel and daphne

2016

february twelfth: kanye west releases famous february fifteenth: daphne seemingly shades kanye west at an award show july sixteenth: kim kardashian releases video footage of kanye's phone call with daphne, daphne issues a statement defending herself after the leaked call september twenty-eight: daphne and daniel begin secretly dating october fourteenth: evolution release october twenty-third: daphne performs after the us grand prix mae and max break-up

2017

daphne disappears for a year august twenty-third: daphne announces reputation october first: pierre gasly's debut grand prix november tenth: reputation release

2018

march twenty-first charles leclerc's debut grand prix november ninth: singular act i release natalia and charles' friends with benefits relationship begins

2019

pierre and rowan's situationship begins march sixteenth: lando norris' debut grand prix june thirtieth: scooter braun purchases daphne's masters july first: lover release july nineteenth: singular act ii release september thirtieth: seven release (see seven for further info) november twelfth: zoya's debut on high school musical: the musical: the series

2020

january thirty-first: miss americana release march twenty: the entire phone call between daphne and kanye get leaked july twenty-fourth: folklore release december eleventh: evermore release daniel and joshua reunite mae and max

2021

lando and bailey's fake relationship begins april ninth: fearless (daphne's version) release march twenty-eighth: mick schumacher's debut grand prix may twenty-first: sour release september: filming for daisy jones and the six begins november twelfth: red (daphne's version) release mae and max begin dating again

2022

march: filming for daisy jones and the six wraps natalia becomes pregnant july fifteenth: emails i can't send release september twenty-eighth: daphne and daniel get married october twenty-first: midnights release pierre and rowan accidentally get married in vegas september twenty-eighth: daniel and daphne get married november twentieth: sebastian vettel's final race

2023

january seventeenth: baby leclerc is born rumors of daphne and fernando dating begin (see the daphlonso scandal for further info) lando accidentally leaks daphne and daniel's secret relationship during a livestream (see the daphlonso scandal for further info) march fifth: logan sargeant and oscar piastri's debut grand prix march seventeenth: daphne's eras tour kicks off and emails i can't send fwd release mae and max get secretly married the first meeting between logan and zoya july seventh: speak now (daphne's version) release july eleventh: daniel replaces nyck de vries at alphatauri august twenty-third: mae and max's familial wedding party september eighth: guts release october twenty-seventh: nineteen eighty-nine (daphne's version) release november 11th: daphne's famous line change, "karma is the guy on the track" (see karma is the guy on the track for further info) november fifteenth: mae and max's vegas wedding party (see what happens in vegas never stays in vegas for further info)

2024

january 25th: charles leclerc extends his contract with ferrari for a disclosed amount of time (see divorcegate for further info) january 26th: lando norris extends his contract with mclaren for a disclosed amount of time (see divorcegate for further info) february 1st: lewis hamilton announces his departure from mercedes, and announces his multi-year contract with ferrari. (see divorcegate for further info) february 4th: the 66th annual grammys, daphne announces her new album, the tortured poets department ( see let him be a trophy husband! for further info) march 2nd: the 75th formula one season begins. april 19th: the tortured poets department release june 21st: the secret of us release july 29th: carlos sainz to williams racing announcement august 23rd: short n' sweet release august 27th: logan sargeant's departure from williams racing september 26th: daniel ricciardo's departure from visa cashapp rb december 8th: the final eras tour show

… more events to be added

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norrisradio · 1 month ago

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ONLY EXCEPTION

♡ PAIRING: oscar piastri x reader | ♡ WC: 3.0K ♡ GENRE: tooth-aching fluff♡ INCOMING RADIO: OSCAR PIASTRI MAIDEN POLE TO THIRD WIN YOU ARE MY GOAT!!!!!!!! THE PERFECT WEEKEND, A PERFECT DRIVER! ♡ RECOMMENDED LISTENING: only exception, paramore ● you are in love, taylor swift ● tsunami, niki ● lover, taylor swift ● fallingforyou, the 1975 ● slow dancing in a burning room, john mayer Read my co-driver's (@tsunodaradio) companion fic HERE <3

♡ SUMMARY: Oscar likes following the rules. But all rules have an exception.

Oscar Piastri doesn’t wear jewelry. Never has, never will. It’s a rule, unwritten but absolute, like the geometry of a perfect racing line, like the way his hands find the wheel before anything else. Rings, bracelets, watches—he’s never liked the feeling of something clinging to him, something that isn’t his fireproofs or the familiar weight of a steering wheel in his hands. Metal is for the car, not for him.

But tonight, in a hotel room in Baku still thick with the scent of champagne and victory, he watches a thin silver ring glint between your fingers, and suddenly, he isn’t so sure.

"You got this where?" His voice is edged with amusement, but his eyes don’t leave the ring.

"Some shop in an alley in the Old City," you say, grinning. "Bit sketchy, but I think it suits you."

It doesn’t, not really. The silver is slightly tarnished, the engraving uneven, a whisper of a pattern he can’t quite decipher in the low light. It’s not the kind of thing a man like him wears—not polished, not pristine. And yet, when you hold it out to him, something tugs at his ribs, an instinct deeper than logic.

"You won," you remind him, quieter now. "Thought you deserved something to remember it by."

As if he could forget. As if the day’s triumph wasn’t still humming through his bones, a quiet, electric thing. He should laugh it off, tell you it’s too much, too sentimental. Instead, he picks it up carefully, rolling it between his fingers. The metal is cool, lighter than he expected.

He tries it on for you, because he knows you’re waiting for it—knows it’ll make you smile. It slips over his knuckle easily enough, but when he flexes his fingers, it spins too loosely, like it doesn’t quite belong.

"Too big," he murmurs. A strange relief unfurls in his chest, something he doesn’t examine too closely.

You watch him, eyes unreadable, and then, without a word, you pull at the thin chain around your neck. The one he’s seen you wear a thousand times, barely there against your skin. You unclasp it, thread the ring onto it, and press it into his palm.

"Problem solved," you say, simple as anything.

Oscar stares.

The chain pools like liquid silver in his hand, the ring now nestled in its center. His first instinct is to refuse—he doesn’t do things like this. He doesn’t wear reminders of things, doesn’t hold onto symbols when the feeling itself is already enough.

And yet.

The clasp is small, fiddly between his fingers, but he gets it, slipping the chain over his head, letting it settle against his collarbones. The weight is barely there, but he feels it all the same. He catches your expression—soft, almost knowing—and something inside him tightens.

"You’re ridiculous," he says, voice lighter than he means it to be.

"You like it," you counter, the corner of your mouth twitching.

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to. The ring is warm now, pressed against his skin, right over his heart.

Oscar doesn’t like public displays of affection. Cameras, prying eyes, the weight of expectation—he’s always been careful. Calculated. A hand stayed firmly by his side, a step measured just so, never giving more than necessary. Affection, in his world, is something to be rationed, held close, not paraded for the world to see.

But then there’s you.

You, tugging him close with a laugh, fingers curling around the fabric of his race suit like you have every right to hold him there. You, leaning in without a second thought, pressing a fleeting kiss to his cheek when you think no one’s looking. The touch barely lingers, a whisper of warmth against his skin, but it stays with him longer than it should.

At first, his body resists, muscles tensing out of habit. A lifetime of discipline, of knowing exactly when and where to let himself feel, doesn’t just fade overnight. But then he catches the way you glance up at him after, like you’re testing the waters, waiting for his reaction. Your eyes, bright and teasing, searching for the line he’ll draw between what is allowed and what isn’t.

And maybe, just maybe, he leans into it.

Not much. Just a fraction of a second longer when your lips brush his skin, the way his hand lingers at the small of your back in a crowd. The way his fingers twitch at his side before finally—hesitantly—finding yours. It’s subtle, barely there, but he knows you notice. Knows it in the way your grip tightens, in the way your body slots just a little closer to his like it was always meant to be there.

The cameras still flash. People still look. He still tells himself he’s careful. But later, much later, when the noise has faded and it’s just the two of you in the quiet of his hotel room, your head resting against his shoulder, he breathes you in and wonders why he ever thought love was something to keep hidden.

Because here, in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, with the ring on its chain warm against his chest and your fingers tracing absent-minded patterns along his forearm, it feels so easy. Natural. Like maybe, after all this time, he’s allowed to have something for himself.

Oscar doesn’t dance. His body is made for precision, for the sharp control of a steering wheel, for knowing exactly when to push and when to hold back. Dancing—real dancing, the kind that isn’t just nodding along at a team party—is messy. Unpracticed. A loss of control he’s never been entirely comfortable with.

But then there’s you.

You, standing in the kitchen, with the fridge still open behind you, its soft light spilling across the tile. One sock on, one sock missing, your phone’s speaker crackling out a half-forgotten song that sounds like it’s from another time, another place. You, with that grin—bright and teasing—already reaching for him, your fingers curling around his wrist like you’ve already decided.

At first, he resists, just for a moment, because that’s what he does. It’s instinct, a reflex to keep everything in its place, to maintain a sense of control. But you don’t let go. You tug, and your smile is too wide, too persistent, and suddenly, his socked feet are sliding across the cold kitchen tile, the sound of his hesitation lost beneath the crackling beat from your phone.

"Come on," you say, already swaying. "Just one song."

It isn’t a song meant for dancing. The rhythm is too slow, the melody fraying at the edges, but none of that seems to matter to you. You step in closer, fitting yourself against him with easy warmth, guiding him side to side like you’ve already decided he’ll follow. And—God help him—he does.

At first, he moves like he’s thinking too much, like his body is trying to find the right sequence, the right formula for something that was never meant to be calculated. But then you twirl under his arm, laughing when you almost misstep, and something in his chest pulls loose.

He lets himself laugh when you trip over his foot. Lets himself steady you by the waist, thumbs pressing against soft fabric. Lets himself breathe you in, warm and close and here.

The song shifts, bleeding into another, and you don’t stop moving. Neither does he. He tells himself he’s just humoring you, just giving you this moment, but then your hand finds the nape of his neck, your fingers threading lazily through his hair, and—

Maybe, just maybe, he holds you a little closer.

Oscar doesn’t keep souvenirs.

Never has. He doesn’t see the point. His life moves too quickly, each city blurring into the next, each hotel room as impersonal as the one before. What use does he have for things that only serve as reminders of places he’s already left behind? He’s never understood people who collect scraps of the past—ticket stubs, postcards, little trinkets that gather dust in bedside drawers.

If something matters, he reasons, it should stay in your head. You shouldn’t need an object to prove it was real.

But then there’s a ring around his neck.

It started as a joke. A cheap little thing you picked up in the back-alleys of Baku, pressed into his palm with a grin. For your first win here, you’d said, like it was the easiest thing in the world. And maybe it was, the way you said it—like he was always going to win, like you had no doubt. He remembers how it felt when you watched him slide it on, laughing when you realized it was just a touch too big. He could’ve left it in his hotel room, could’ve let it sit on his nightstand and forgotten it there.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he let you loop it onto a chain (your chain), let the cool metal settle against his collarbone. Told himself it was practical—rings can fall off, after all—but that didn’t explain the way his fingers found it absentmindedly, rolling it between his fingertips when he was thinking of you.

Then there’s the polaroid.

The edges are soft now, frayed at the corners from being handled too many times. He doesn’t remember when exactly it was taken—only that Lando had slipped it to him with that sly, knowing smile a few nights after you’d gone home. He’s seen it enough times to know every detail: you, on his lap, laughing with the kind of brightness that makes everything feel lighter, and him, arms looped around your waist, looking at you like you hung the moon in the sky.

He catches glimpses of it whenever he opens his wallet. A flash of you, so full of life, the image almost too real for a photo, like he could reach out and hear your laughter again, feel the warmth of your presence just beyond the edges of the frame. He should take it out—he tells himself this every time he sees it. It’s just a photo, just a slip of paper, already starting to fade with time. But then he thinks about what it would feel like to throw it away, and somehow, inexplicably, that feels worse.

So he leaves it there, pressed between the folds of the leather, a small piece of you he keeps close.

And then there’s the hoodie.

It isn’t his. The sleeves are too long, the fabric too soft, smelling faintly of you—of home. He doesn’t know how it ended up in his suitcase. Maybe you left it there by accident, or maybe you knew, in that way you always seem to, that there would be nights when he’d need it. He tells himself he’ll give it back the next time he sees you, but then it’s the middle of the night in some hotel halfway across the world, and the air conditioning is too cold, and he’s pulling it over his head before he can even think about it.

So, no. Oscar doesn’t keep souvenirs.

But then there’s you, slipping into his life in ways he never saw coming. In rings and photographs and sweaters that smell like home. In moments he can hold onto, in pieces of you he carries with him without even realizing.

And suddenly—maybe he does.

Oscar doesn’t do gifts.

He never has. He doesn’t see the point. Things are just things—objects with no real weight beyond what people choose to give them. He’s never been the type to care about unwrapping presents or fussing over sentimental trinkets. He’d rather give you his time, his presence, the weight of his hand in yours. A quiet dinner over some half-forgotten movie, a lazy afternoon drive with no real destination, the simple certainty of being there. That, to him, has always meant more than anything that could be bought or wrapped in a ribbon.

But then there’s you.

You, with your eyes bright with mischief, pressing a poorly wrapped box into his hands like it’s the easiest thing in the world. The paper is creased at the edges, tape barely holding it together, and you’re grinning like you already know he’s going to protest.

"I don’t need—" he starts, but you cut him off with a look, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

"Just open it, Piastri."

And because it’s you, because he can never quite find it in himself to say no, he does.

The gift is small, unassuming. Nothing extravagant, nothing flashy. Maybe it’s a keychain from a city you visited without him, something to keep in his pocket when you’re apart. Maybe it’s a notebook filled with little notes, inside jokes scribbled in the margins, your handwriting familiar and warm. Maybe it’s a shirt you swear would look good on him, one you know he’d never buy for himself.

It’s simple. Thoughtful. Undeniably you.

And maybe, against all logic, he feels something lodge itself in his chest—something warm, something soft, something dangerously close to forever.

He’s never been good at receiving things. Compliments, gifts, affection—he’s always been wary of taking too much, of letting himself rely on things he can’t control. But when he looks up at you, waiting expectantly, he realizes that this isn’t about the gift itself. It’s about the way you give it, the way you always give—without hesitation, without expecting anything in return.

So maybe, for the first time, he doesn’t argue.

Maybe he just shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips, and mutters, "You’re impossible," even as he tucks the gift away somewhere safe.

And suddenly, gifts aren’t just things.

They’re memories. A tangible piece of you, something to hold onto when you’re miles apart. A reminder that someone, somewhere, is always thinking of him.

Now, Oscar finds himself standing in an airport souvenir shop, staring at the rows of tacky trinkets that all look the same.

It’s early morning, the kind of grey light that seeps through terminal windows, and Oscar’s tired from the flight, his mind already on the next race. But something about the soft hum of the airport, the chaotic lull of travelers rushing by, makes him pause. He catches sight of a little shop in the corner, tucked between a coffee stand and a news kiosk, and for reasons he doesn’t quite understand, he steps inside.

The shelves are cluttered with the usual assortment of useless things—fridge magnets, postcards, poorly made scarves in neon colors. But then, nestled in the corner, he spots something that pulls at him.

It’s a small, delicate necklace, the pendant a faded shade of turquoise, shaped like a star. Nothing special in the grand scheme of things, but something about it catches the light in a way that makes it glow.

He knows it’s not your usual taste, not the kind of jewelry you’d ever ask for. But he also knows you—knows how your eyes light up when you see something small and beautiful, how you always see things that others might overlook. And somehow, despite himself, he reaches for it.

He buys it without hesitation, not because it’s expensive or because it’s some grand gesture. But because he knows that when you see it, when your fingers graze the smooth surface of the pendant, you’ll smile. He’ll see it in the curve of your lips, in the light in your eyes, and he’ll know that, for just a moment, he’s given you something that makes your world a little brighter.

When he hands it to you a few weeks later, your reaction is everything he expected. Your hands flutter to your chest, your eyes wide with surprise and something softer, something warm. And for once, it’s not the gift itself that matters, but the simple fact that he thought of you, in the middle of a busy airport, surrounded by a thousand distractions.

Oscar doesn’t do gifts.

But maybe, for you, he does.

Oscar doesn’t make promises he can’t keep.

He’s learned, over the years, that words can be fragile things. Promises—those quiet, heavy assurances that hang between people—are often broken, twisted, or misunderstood. He’s been careful, always careful, not to say what he can’t follow through on. In his world, where nothing is ever certain and everything is fleeting, he’s made it a habit to remain grounded, to offer only what he’s certain he can give.

But then there’s you.

You, with your voice low and sleepy, the sound of it curling around the edges of the quiet room, the kind of voice that feels like comfort and calm all at once.

"You’ll always come back to me, right?"

It’s a soft question, one that you barely say out loud, as if the weight of it is more than you’re willing to admit. Your face is pressed into the pillow, your eyes closed in that delicate, half-dreaming state. There’s a vulnerability in your tone that makes his chest tighten, a crack in the armor he’s built around himself.

And before he can stop it, his lips find yours. A lazy, soft press that speaks of something far more permanent than he’s ever said aloud. Your lips are warm, gentle, and for a moment, time feels like it slows. He can taste you—something sweet, something real—and, somewhere in the quiet space between breaths, he’s pretty sure he tastes forever against your smile.

"Always," he whispers, the word slipping effortlessly from him.

It’s simple, easy, almost too easy. But it feels real in a way that’s new, something deeper than the usual assurances he’s offered, the ones that come with a hesitation in his voice, the ones that come with the understanding that promises are temporary things. This one, though—it’s a certainty that settles into his bones, a truth he knows he will carry with him.

And maybe, for the first time, he believes it.

Maybe, for the first time, he can give something that feels as unshakable as the way you trust him, the way you lean into him without hesitation. Because in your eyes, there’s no doubt—just faith, just the unspoken certainty that he will always be there, always find his way back to you, no matter where the road takes him.

And in that quiet, half-lit space between wakefulness and sleep, he knows something has shifted.

Oscar doesn’t make promises lightly.

But this one—this one he gives you without fear, without reservation, because somehow, in the silence of your room and in the rhythm of your breaths, he knows it’s the truest thing he can say.

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