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I have been saying this forever but nobody ever takes me seriously and is like “hehe he’s just silly” but he is actively acting like a child and getting away with it. he is an entitled brat and the worst kind of nepotism baby cause he just does this cause he thinks it’s fun and not because of his talent like Lance. i think we all forget that lance is the 3rd? youngest driver in history at williams and was their wonder boy for a while.
still not over the national anthem incident yesterday btw because max verstappen throughout his career has constantly been disrespected either by those he has been nothing but friendly and encouraging towards and it pissed me off a great deal that three world championships under his belt later some drivers still don’t respect that he is THE generational talent
can i ask what exactly happend, i turned off before the podium
Crowd started chanting “Lando” during the podium, which in itself is a little disrespectful but nothing we haven’t seen before (ie. chanting Charles during Imola). The national anthem started and Lando put his fist in the air cheering them on/encouraging them DURING the national anthem. Needless to say, Max and George gave him the biggest side eye. A lot of people have also drawn comparisons to Charles’ behaviour during Monza qualifying last year, where the tifosi booed Max and Charles told them off/shook his head.
Lando also went on to blab about how he would’ve won if not for the safety car, which a lot of Max fans were a little ?! about because Max’s skill definitely made the difference during this race. Also Max would have won Miami if not for the safety car, but you didn’t hear him say any of that directly to the press, instead he just praised Lando’s skill.
All in all it’s plain disrespect and immature as hell. I would NOT guess that Lando, George, Charles, and Max all fall within the same two year age range. Also it’s disheartening because this level of entitlement and general non-awareness is nothing new, lest we forget when he broke the Hungarian GP trophy last year (which takes like 4-6 months to make) and he said some pretty dismissive stuff about it forcing McLaren PR to go into overdrive, or him saying that Trump is his lucky charm after his Miami win. I’m sort of done making allowances for some rich asshole’s behaviour, especially because the media seems ready to glorify him. If a non-British driver had pulled that same shit during the national anthem you bet all English-speaking F1 media would be up in arms but no Lando gets a pass because the British are desperate to have a second coming of Lewis Hamilton.
me after fighting a daniel riccardo fan on tiktok
but i stay silly! *←said in the most world-weary voice you ever did hear*
140923 Lando Norris Appearance for The OKX Race Club
it’s crazy to think that i’m so close to him, he’s literally the sweetest T___T!!!!!!!! Im gonna bawl now, can’t believe i get to see THE lando norris live!!!!! these are some pictures i captured, pls credit me thank you! 🧡
MASTERLISTS
♡ FORMULA 1 ♡
MASTERLIST- @lecsainz
MASTERLIST - @landonfour
MASTERLIST - @awclteen
MASTERLIST - @lorarri
MASTERLIST - @chrisevansonly
MASTERLIST - @twobluejeans
MASTERLIST - @raceqirl
MASTERLIST - @love-belle
MASTERLIST - @81folklore
MASTERLIST - @h4m1lt0ns
MASTERLIST - @hs-is-loml
MASTERLIST - @amnesique
MASTERLIST - @pucksandpower
MASTERLIST - @boiohboii
MASTERLIST - @lenoraah
MASTERLIST SERIES MASTERLIST - @monzabee
MASTERLIST - @uglyducklingofthe2000s
MASTERLIST - @sebscore
MASTERLIST - @norris-lando
MASTERLIST - @gasstationlady
What’s to say the bunnies and studs don’t have rings on hand just in case they get the chance?
Seb probably has multiple rings at any given point to propose to little leclerc with and has a jeweler on speed dial
The jewelers in Monaco probably adore little leclerc for all the business they get due to all these very rich man wanting to give her diamonds and gold and other precious gems all the time
HASHSHSHSSHHAHS
just them having a ring ready to go if the opportunity presents itself. they're taking the chance even if it's a joke 😭😭😭
little leclerc would be like, "oh how i want to get married!" and before she even looks back at the bunnies or studs, they're already kneeling like bet 😩😩
she def already has a name in the jewellers in monaco, and the ppl there keep tabs so she doesn't have two of the same things 😭😭 they def make most of their business because of little leclerc 😭
Against All Odds
Y/N’s POV
The roar of the engines was deafening, but it was the kind of noise that sent shivers down your spine in the best way possible. It was your first time attending an F1 race, and you could hardly contain your excitement. The atmosphere was electric; fans waved flags, donned team colors, and cheered passionately for their favorite drivers. You had saved up for months to make this trip to the British Grand Prix, specifically to see your favorite driver, Lewis Hamilton, in action.
Dressed in a black Mercedes-AMG Petronas cap and a Hamilton #44 t-shirt, you blended into the sea of fans. But you felt a personal connection to Lewis—his resilience, his drive, his commitment to social causes—all of it resonated deeply with you. You weren’t just a fan; you admired the man behind the helmet.
Finding a spot near the paddock, you leaned against the barrier, your camera ready to capture the action. The practice session was just about to start. You could see the drivers walking toward their cars, and your heart skipped a beat when Lewis stepped out of the garage. He looked focused, but there was a hint of a smile on his face, as if he was absorbing the energy of the crowd.
The session began, and Lewis was a blur of silver and black as he zoomed past, the high-pitched whine of the engine echoing in your ears. You snapped photos and recorded videos, occasionally stealing glimpses at the big screen showing his lap times. He was fast—faster than anyone else on the track.
After the session ended, the drivers made their way back to the garages. You waved your Hamilton flag, hoping to catch his attention, but you were one of many. Yet, as Lewis walked past, his eyes swept over the crowd and stopped on you. He paused, just for a split second, his eyes locking with yours. You felt your heart race, thinking it was just your imagination. But then, he smiled—a genuine, warm smile that seemed to reach his eyes—and gave you a small wave.
You stood there, stunned. Did Lewis Hamilton just notice you? The rest of the day passed in a blur, but that brief interaction replayed in your mind over and over.
Lewis’ POV
As Lewis walked back to the garage, his mind was already dissecting the practice session. The car felt good, but there were still adjustments to be made. He glanced at the crowd, acknowledging the fans who had come to support him. Then, his eyes caught sight of someone who stood out—a fan wearing his gear, waving a flag with his number on it. She wasn’t screaming or trying to get his attention like the others; she just stood there, smiling at him with a look of genuine admiration.
He found himself smiling back, almost involuntarily. There was something about her, something different. It wasn’t just her support; it was the way she carried herself, the sincerity in her eyes. He wondered briefly who she was, but then the moment passed, and he continued to the garage, brushing it off as just another fan encounter.
Later that evening, as he reviewed the data with his team, his mind kept drifting back to her. It was strange; Lewis had met thousands of fans, but there was something about this one that lingered in his thoughts.
Y/N’s POV
The next day was race day, and the excitement in the air was palpable. You arrived early, securing a spot with a perfect view of the track. The anticipation was almost unbearable, and when the race finally began, you were on the edge of your seat, heart pounding with every turn and overtake.
Lewis was driving brilliantly, making his way to the front of the pack. But then, halfway through the race, disaster struck. As he approached the chicane, he collided with another driver, sending his car spinning into the gravel. You gasped along with the rest of the crowd, your hands flying to your mouth as you watched the replay on the big screen.
The commentators speculated about the cause—maybe it was the tires, maybe a miscalculation. Lewis was out of the race, and the disappointment was palpable. You felt a pang of sympathy; he had been doing so well, and now it was over. But you stayed, watching as the marshals towed his car away and the race continued.
After the race ended, you hung around, hoping to catch a glimpse of Lewis again. As the drivers began to leave the paddock, you saw him, walking with his helmet under his arm. He looked frustrated, his usual calm demeanor replaced by a tight-lipped expression.
You didn’t expect him to stop, but to your surprise, he did. He glanced around, almost as if he was looking for something—or someone. When his eyes found you again, he walked over, his expression softening slightly.
“Hey,” he said, his voice tired but still carrying that familiar warmth. “Thanks for coming out today.”
You were stunned. Lewis Hamilton was talking to you, and all you could do was stare, momentarily at a loss for words.
“Of course,” you finally managed, smiling up at him. “You were amazing out there, despite everything. I’m sorry about the race.”
He shrugged, his eyes meeting yours. “It happens. Just part of the game, you know?” He paused, studying you for a moment. “I saw you yesterday, by the way. You’ve got a great spot here.”
You laughed, feeling your cheeks heat up. “Yeah, I got lucky. I’m a big fan, obviously. You’re… well, you’re an inspiration.”
Lewis seemed genuinely touched, his smile reaching his eyes. “That means a lot. What’s your name?”
You introduced yourself, and for a brief moment, the two of you chatted like old friends. It felt surreal, standing there talking to Lewis Hamilton as if you weren’t just another face in the crowd. Before he left, he pulled out a marker from his pocket and signed your cap, adding a small heart next to his signature.
“Thanks for believing in me,” he said, and with that, he was gone, leaving you standing there, heart pounding and mind spinning.
Lewis’ POV
Back in his hotel room, Lewis couldn’t stop thinking about you. The race had been a disaster, but that brief interaction with you had been a bright spot in an otherwise frustrating day. He found himself wondering about you—where you were from, what you did, what had brought you to the race. It was strange; he barely knew you, but he felt a connection, as if there was something unfinished between you two.
The next morning, he woke up to a slew of messages from his team and sponsors, but one stood out—a photo of him talking to a fan, your face clearly visible as you smiled up at him. It was captioned with something about “Hamilton’s lucky fan,” and it was already going viral on social media.
He found himself smiling, saving the photo to his phone. There was something about that moment that felt different, special. But then, as he scrolled through the comments, his smile faded.
Among the usual chatter, there were negative comments too—speculations about who you were, why he was talking to you, and even accusations that you were just another fame-chaser. It was frustrating, but it wasn’t new. He knew how quickly the narrative could shift, how easy it was for people to assume the worst.
Y/N’s POV
You woke up to a flood of notifications—friends tagging you in posts, messages from people you hadn’t spoken to in years. When you checked your phone, you realized why. The photo of you and Lewis was everywhere, and the internet had already begun to speculate. Some comments were supportive, but others were not so kind.
You tried to brush it off, telling yourself it didn’t matter. But as the day went on, the negativity started to weigh on you. People were making assumptions about you, about your intentions, and it hurt. You had never asked for any of this; all you wanted was to support your favorite driver.
Later that evening, as you scrolled through the comments again, you received a direct message from an unfamiliar account. When you opened it, your heart nearly stopped. It was from Lewis.
“Hey, I saw the stuff online. Just wanted to say I’m sorry if it’s been rough. People can be… well, people. Don’t let it get to you. You’re awesome, and I’m glad we met.”
You stared at the message, rereading it several times. It was a simple gesture, but it meant the world to you. You replied, thanking him and assuring him that you were fine, even though part of you still felt overwhelmed.
Lewis’ POV
Lewis put his phone down after sending the message, hoping it would offer you some comfort. He knew how relentless the media could be, and he didn’t want you to get caught up in it. He had dealt with this kind of thing for years, but for someone new to it, he knew it could be overwhelming.
As the days passed, he found himself thinking about you more and more. He had intended to let it go, to move on and focus on the next race, but there was something about you that he couldn’t shake. It wasn’t just the way you had supported him; it was the way you had looked at him, as if you saw more than just the driver, more than just the celebrity.
Against his better judgment, he reached out again, this time asking if you’d like to meet up before he left for the next race. He didn’t know what he was expecting—maybe just a conversation,
END
Under the Checkered Flag
Max’s POV
The hum of engines filled the paddock, a familiar yet electrifying sound that coursed through Max Verstappen’s veins. Race day. It was a sensation he never got used to; the adrenaline, the anticipation, the pressure. He thrived on it. He was at the top of his game, the youngest world champion, leading Red Bull with precision and grit. And yet, amid all the controlled chaos of the F1 world, there was one thing — one person — who could make him feel more alive than the thrill of racing.
You.
You were unexpected in every way. A PR consultant initially, brought on board to handle the escalating media frenzy around his rising fame. You weren’t starstruck; if anything, you seemed immune to the glitz of the F1 world. No, you were sharp, quick-witted, and completely focused on your job. But Max had a way of breaking down barriers, and it didn’t take long before you were spending time together beyond just the track. He’d find reasons to hang around the media center, just to catch a glimpse of you juggling journalists and managing Red Bull’s image with effortless grace.
The morning of the Italian Grand Prix was no different. Max was already dressed in his race suit, helmet in hand, and ready to get to work, but his eyes scanned the paddock, searching. When he saw you, phone to your ear, clipboard in hand, he couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his face. You caught his gaze and rolled your eyes, a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips.
“Focus, Verstappen,” you mouthed, a playful challenge.
“Always,” he mouthed back, though he knew his focus was already split.
Y/N’s POV
You hung up the call, trying to maintain your professional facade as you made your way through the throng of engineers, drivers, and media. Working with Max was unlike anything you’d expected. The guy was a force of nature on track, but off it, he had a way of drawing you in with that intense stare and unguarded charm.
It had started innocently enough — late-night debriefs that turned into long conversations about everything but racing. You found yourself laughing more, lingering in his motorhome even when your job was done. Max was magnetic, and resisting him felt impossible.
The paddock was bustling, everyone operating on a tight schedule as the race loomed closer. You found yourself watching Max more than you should, captivated by the way he moved with a casual confidence, like he owned the place. And maybe he did. He’d made it clear he was the one to beat this season, and his rival, Charles Leclerc, was hot on his heels.
Your heart beat a little faster as you watched him step into his car, every movement precise and deliberate. He looked up and caught your eye one last time before the helmet went on, a silent promise in his gaze.
You wanted him to win. Not just because it was your job to ensure Red Bull maintained their stellar reputation, but because you wanted it for Max. You wanted to see that victorious smile that reached his eyes, the one that was just for you when the cameras weren’t looking.
The lights went out and the race started, cars darting off the line with a deafening roar. You were on your feet in the garage, eyes glued to the screens as Max surged ahead, taking the first corner with the precision of a master. It was a tough race — Leclerc was relentless, the Ferraris faster on the straights, but Max was tenacious, finding grip where there was none, pushing his car to the absolute limit.
A collision on lap 38 had everyone holding their breath. Max and Leclerc side by side, neither willing to back down. You bit your lip, watching as Max held his ground, the two cars nearly touching at 300 km/h. Your heart pounded, fear mixing with exhilaration.
Max’s POV
Max could feel the pressure mounting. Leclerc was right on his tail, and the Ferrari was fast, too fast. But Max wasn’t about to let this one slip away. He had the inside line, and he was going to use it. They were wheel-to-wheel through the chicane, and for a moment, it felt like everything slowed down. He could hear his engineer in his ear, but it was white noise. This was it — the moment of truth.
Leclerc made a desperate lunge, but Max held firm, squeezing him just enough to make his point but not so much that they’d both end up in the gravel. It was aggressive, it was bold, but it was clean. He was through, and as he glanced in his mirrors, he saw Leclerc had backed off, finally conceding.
Max’s heart was racing as he crossed the finish line, the checkered flag waving above him. He did it. Another win. But as the adrenaline began to fade, his thoughts immediately drifted to you. He parked his car, the victory cheers filling the air, but his eyes were searching the garage, looking for you.
Y/N’s POV
The garage erupted in cheers, but you barely registered it. Max had done it. He’d held off Leclerc and crossed the line first, and you couldn’t contain the rush of emotion that surged through you. Relief, pride, something else you couldn’t quite name but felt every time you saw him.
You pushed through the throng of team members and media, making your way to where Max was climbing out of the car. He was surrounded by cameras, microphones thrust in his face as reporters fired off questions. But then his eyes found yours, and the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you.
He pushed past the reporters, striding toward you with purpose. Before you knew it, his arms were around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. For a moment, you didn’t care who was watching. It was just you and Max, and the unspoken connection that had been building between you.
“You did it,” you whispered against his ear, feeling the tension in his body slowly release.
“Couldn’t have done it without you,” he replied, his voice low and sincere.
You pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze. There was something there, something beyond the rush of victory. You weren’t sure who moved first, but suddenly his lips were on yours, the kiss hard and fast, filled with the pent-up energy of the race and something more.
It wasn’t until you pulled away, breathless and slightly dazed, that you remembered where you were. The cameras were still flashing, the reporters still talking, but none of it seemed to matter. Max’s thumb brushed against your cheek, a small, intimate gesture that made your heart flutter.
“Guess the secret’s out,” he said with a chuckle, glancing at the cameras.
“Seems that way,” you replied, trying to catch your breath.
Max grinned, his hand still on your cheek, and for a moment, you saw the boyish charm that lay beneath the fierce competitor. He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours.
“I’m glad,” he whispered. “I’m tired of hiding how I feel about you.”
Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the vulnerability in his voice something you hadn’t expected. You nodded, unable to find the right words but knowing exactly what he meant. This wasn’t just a fling, or a distraction. It was real, and for the first time, you let yourself hope that maybe, just maybe, you’d found something worth holding on to.
Max’s POV
Max didn’t care about the cameras or the questions that would come later. All he cared about was you, and the way you looked at him like he was more than just a driver, more than just the face of a team. With you, he felt seen — truly seen. And as he held you close, he knew one thing for certain: this was just the beginning.
With you by his side, he could take on the world, both on and off the track. And as the crowd cheered and the cameras flashed, Max Verstappen, the fierce, unrelenting racer, found something he hadn’t even realized he was missing.
Home.
With you.
END
Against All Odds (Part 2)
Lewis Hamilton x Y/N
Y/N’s POV
You couldn’t believe what you were reading. Lewis Hamilton had just asked if you wanted to meet up before he left for his next race. You stared at your phone, rereading the message multiple times to make sure you hadn’t imagined it. This was beyond surreal.
After a moment of internal panic and excitement, you typed back a quick response: “I’d love to! Let me know when and where.”
Your hands trembled as you hit send. What would you even talk about? How were you going to handle this without completely embarrassing yourself? Despite the anxiety bubbling inside, there was also a part of you that felt… calm. Lewis didn’t seem like someone who would judge you, and after the kindness he’d shown in his previous message, you had no doubt that this wasn’t just a pity invite. He genuinely seemed interested in getting to know you.
A few minutes later, your phone buzzed again. “How about tonight? There’s a little place by the Thames that’s quiet. I could use the escape.”
You agreed, heart pounding in your chest. Tonight. You were going to meet Lewis Hamilton in person, one-on-one. The thought made you dizzy, but you quickly pulled yourself together. You had a few hours to get ready, and you were determined to make the most of this unexpected opportunity.
Lewis’ POV
Lewis sat back on the couch, glancing at his phone after sending the message. He wasn’t sure why he had reached out again. Maybe it was the way you had looked at him—like you saw the man behind the racing suit, behind the fame. There was something refreshing about that. Something he hadn’t experienced in a long time.
As he stared out of the window of his London hotel room, the city’s skyline illuminated in the distance, he felt a strange sense of anticipation. This wasn’t like meeting fans at events or signing autographs. It was something more personal. He wondered what you would be like in a quieter setting, away from the noise of the crowd and the cameras.
Part of him felt guilty for dragging you into his world. He had seen the backlash you were getting online. People assumed things about you, about your motives. He hated that side of fame—the assumptions, the cruelty, the lack of privacy. He didn’t want you to get hurt just because you’d had a chance encounter with him.
But something told him this was worth pursuing, even if it was just for one night of normalcy.
Y/N’s POV
Later that evening, you arrived at the spot Lewis had mentioned—a quaint little café near the river. The warm lights from inside cast a soft glow across the cobblestone street, and you could hear the faint sounds of jazz music playing in the background. You spotted Lewis at a corner table by the window, dressed casually in a black hoodie and a cap pulled low over his face. He looked completely different from the man on the racetrack, but there was no mistaking him.
As you approached, he looked up and smiled, standing to greet you. “Hey, you made it,” he said warmly, pulling out a chair for you.
“I almost didn’t believe it was real,” you admitted with a laugh, sitting down. “I feel like I’m in a dream.”
He chuckled. “It’s real, I promise. How have you been holding up? I saw some of the stuff online. I hope it hasn’t been too much.”
You appreciated the concern in his voice. “It’s… been a lot. But I’m okay. I didn’t expect any of this to happen.”
Lewis leaned back in his chair, looking out at the river. “I get it. I’m sorry you got pulled into it. People can be harsh when they don’t know the full story.”
There was a moment of silence as the two of you took in the peaceful surroundings. It felt strange, being here with him like this, but at the same time, it felt right. The conversation flowed easily, moving from the chaos of race weekends to more personal topics. You talked about your life, your job, your love for racing, and how you had admired Lewis for years—not just for his skills on the track, but for the way he used his platform to speak out on important issues.
Lewis listened intently, nodding along as you spoke. When it was his turn, he shared stories from his early career, about the pressure he had faced as the first Black driver in F1, about the sacrifices he had made along the way. He opened up in a way you hadn’t expected, and it made you realize that beneath the fame and success, he was just a person trying to navigate life like everyone else.
As the night went on, you both seemed to forget about the world outside. The hours slipped by unnoticed until the café was nearly empty, the soft hum of the city outside the only reminder that time was passing.
But just as you were about to suggest leaving, Lewis’ phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at the screen, his expression hardening slightly.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice taking on a serious tone. “Something’s come up.”
You watched as he quickly typed out a response, his face a mask of concentration. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. You had been having such a great time, and now reality was crashing back in.
“It’s okay,” you said, trying to hide your disappointment. “I understand.”
But Lewis shook his head. “It’s not what you think. There’s some drama back at the team—something about the media running with a story about us.” He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I thought we’d get away from all of that tonight.”
Your heart sank. “What kind of story?”
“Apparently, someone caught wind of us meeting up tonight. They’re spinning it into something more than it is. They’re saying you’re just using me for attention.” His voice was tight with frustration.
Your chest tightened. Of course, the media would twist things. You had prepared yourself for that, but hearing it from Lewis made it feel more real, more damaging.
“I didn’t mean to cause any trouble,” you said quietly, feeling a weight settle over you. “Maybe it’s better if we don’t—”
“No.” Lewis cut you off, his eyes locking with yours. “This isn’t your fault, and I don’t care what they say. I wanted to meet you, and I’m glad I did. I’m just… tired of all of this. The scrutiny. The constant judgment.”
You were about to respond when the door of the café suddenly swung open, and a man with a camera stepped inside. His eyes locked onto you and Lewis, and before you could react, the flash went off.
Lewis was on his feet in an instant, his hand gripping your arm protectively. “We need to go. Now.”
You barely had time to process what was happening before he was leading you out the back door, into the cool night air. Your heart raced as you followed him down a narrow alley, the sound of footsteps behind you growing fainter as you turned the corner.
When you finally stopped, Lewis turned to face you, his expression a mixture of frustration and apology. “I’m so sorry about this. I didn’t think anyone would find us here.”
“It’s not your fault,” you said, your voice steady despite the adrenaline still pumping through you. “I knew this could happen.”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I just didn’t want to drag you into this mess.”
You smiled softly, taking a step closer to him. “I’m not scared, Lewis. I’m here because I want to be.”
For a moment, he just looked at you, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find something he hadn’t realized he was missing. Then, before you could react, he closed the distance between you, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, hesitant kiss.
When he pulled back, his eyes were filled with uncertainty, as if he wasn’t sure what to expect. But you smiled, your heart pounding in your chest for an entirely different reason now.
“I’m glad I met you too,” you whispered.
And for the first time that night, the chaos of the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you, standing together against all odds.
To be continued…
The Speed of Love
Max Verstappen X Y/N
Y/N POV
The hum of engines filled the air, vibrating through my chest. The sun beat down on the streets of Monaco, casting long shadows between the narrow alleys and gleaming off the luxury yachts moored nearby. The Monaco Grand Prix—the crown jewel of Formula 1. A perfect blend of speed, glamour, and danger.
I adjusted my lanyard, the one that read VIP with Max Verstappen’s name under it. It still felt surreal being here, not just as a spectator but as someone close to Max—closer than the world knew.
I wasn’t just here for the race; I was here for him. The reigning world champion, Red Bull’s finest. But to me, Max was more than that. He was Max, the guy who made me laugh after long days, the guy who called me at odd hours from different time zones just to hear my voice, the guy who looked at me like I was his entire world even with millions of fans screaming his name.
Our relationship wasn’t public. Max wanted to keep it that way—out of the spotlight, away from the media frenzy. And honestly, I didn’t mind. In fact, I preferred it. It was a lot easier to be “Y/N” rather than “Max Verstappen’s girlfriend.”
I slipped into the VIP lounge, a little early for the race, the excitement thrumming in the air. The usual suspects were all here—other drivers' families, sponsors, and some celebrities. But my eyes kept flicking toward the pit lane, where I knew Max was getting ready for the biggest race of the year.
As I watched the screens showing the chaotic energy in the paddock, my phone buzzed.
Max: “You in the lounge?”
Me: “Yeah. All set for your victory?”
Max: “Always. Want to see you before the race starts. Meet me near the garage?”
I felt my heart skip a beat. Even though we tried to keep it low-key, moments like these made it clear how much he cared. Glancing around to make sure no one would follow me, I made my way through the crowd, passing the Red Bull hospitality area and the rows of sleek, gleaming cars.
As I approached the garage, I spotted him—leaning casually against the wall, helmet in hand, looking like the calm before the storm. His eyes lit up when he saw me, that signature crooked smile spreading across his face.
“Hey,” he said, his voice low but warm as he closed the distance between us.
“You shouldn’t be distracting yourself before the race,” I teased, though my heart was racing.
“Couldn’t help it,” he murmured, eyes tracing my face. “You’re my good luck charm.”
“Really? Haven’t I been around for a few races you didn’t win?” I raised an eyebrow, trying to keep it light.
He laughed softly, his free hand reaching up to brush a stray hair behind my ear. “Maybe. But today feels different.”
There was a fire in his eyes—one that spoke of more than just his love for racing. There was something unspoken between us, the weight of his words lingering in the air.
“Good luck out there,” I whispered, resisting the urge to kiss him. There were too many eyes, too many cameras nearby.
“I’ll see you after the race,” he promised, voice husky as he pulled back and slipped his helmet on, instantly transforming from Max to Verstappen.
Max POV
The roar of the crowd was drowned out by the sound of the engine beneath me. Monaco. There was no room for mistakes here. One slip and it could be all over. But that’s why I loved it. The adrenaline, the precision, the danger. It’s what made me feel alive.
But even as I steered through the narrow streets, threading the car through barriers with millimeters to spare, my mind kept drifting to her. Y/N. She had this way of grounding me, of making the chaos of F1 fade into the background, even if just for a moment.
She was my escape, my reason to keep pushing harder, to keep winning. Because when I crossed that finish line first, it wasn’t just for me—it was for her.
The race was tight—Ferraris and Mercedes breathing down my neck, the pressure building as the laps ticked down. The walls seemed to close in, but I didn’t waver. I couldn’t afford to.
Lap 67. A yellow flag came up—some debris on the track after a crash behind me. I could hear my engineer’s voice crackling through the radio, but I barely registered it. My focus was singular. I could almost picture Y/N waiting in the paddock, her wide smile the moment I stepped out of the car.
The last corner approached. My tires screamed, the G-forces tugging at my body as I navigated the final hairpin. The finish line was in sight.
I punched it, every ounce of power surging through the car as I crossed the line first. Victory.
Y/N POV
The explosion of noise was deafening as Max’s car crossed the finish line. He did it. Again.
The rest of the world erupted in celebration, but all I could think about was seeing him. I hurried down from the lounge, making my way through the throngs of fans and team members. The Red Bull garage was a frenzy of high-fives and champagne, but I stayed on the outskirts, waiting for him.
And then I saw him. Helmet off, sweaty, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Max was enveloped by his team, but his eyes scanned the crowd until they locked onto mine.
Without thinking, he pushed through the crowd and grabbed my hand, pulling me into a corner, away from prying eyes. The next thing I knew, his lips were on mine—fast, hungry, full of adrenaline. I could taste the sweat and champagne on his lips, but I didn’t care.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, and he was breathing hard—not from the race, but from the intensity between us.
“I told you,” he whispered, still catching his breath. “You’re my good luck charm.”
Max POV
Her lips against mine—it was the only thing I needed after that race. I could feel the adrenaline still coursing through my veins, but it wasn’t from the win. It was from her. She had this way of making me forget everything. The noise, the pressure, the world outside. When I was with her, it was just us.
But there was something more tonight. Something I couldn’t put off any longer.
“Y/N,” I started, taking her hand in mine as I led her away from the chaos, toward the back of the paddock. “I’ve been thinking…”
She raised an eyebrow, clearly curious but also a little cautious. “About what?”
“This,” I gestured between us. “I don’t want to hide it anymore. I don’t want to keep you a secret. You’re more than just someone I care about. You’re…” I hesitated, trying to find the right words. “You’re everything.”
Her eyes widened, and I could see the emotions warring inside her. But before she could say anything, I pressed on.
“I know it’s a lot—the media, the pressure. But I don’t care about that anymore. I want the world to know you’re mine.”
Y/N POV
I was speechless. Max Verstappen, the man who had kept our relationship out of the spotlight to protect me, was now saying he wanted to go public. I knew what it meant—the scrutiny, the paparazzi, the endless questions. But looking into his eyes, full of certainty and love, I realized something.
I didn’t care either. Not anymore.
“I’m in,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the distant cheers. “I’m all in.”
Max smiled, that rare, genuine smile that made my heart skip a beat. “Good,” he said, pulling me close once more. “Because I wasn’t going to take no for an answer.”
As the night of celebrations continued, we slipped away from the crowd, the world beyond the paddock melting away. Max and I walked down to the harbor, the twinkling lights reflecting off the calm water.
“Race you to the end of the dock?” he teased, that competitive glint back in his eye.
I laughed, already running before he could finish. Max caught up to me in seconds, his laughter mixing with mine as he scooped me up, spinning me around.
In that moment, there was no pressure, no danger. Just us.
And for once, it felt like I had won the race.
The End
Link
You can see him with anybody you want, but damn, that man could be spreading everyone with that voice. Especially if his rival's a Dutch boy with thighs-
First race in and there's already so much story potential with angst :')':
Why do I feel like Max's the Princess Diana of Formula 1?
I refuse to believe it. Seb, you can't do that! We all and especially Mick needs you😭😭
Okay, Max isn't just the Princess Diana of Formula 1, but also Wei Wuxian
I'm not arguing with you, but imagine the current 2022 grid in F1 is in MotoGP🤔
It would be a fun story to write
Me working voluntarily at a family fest better be worth missing the Spanish GP. I hate kids, why am I working there?!