IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE. Can I Have Recs Of Secret Family/wife Trope??

Between the Laps

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Driver!Reader Enemies to Friends to...

Summary: When a rookie driver finds herself paired with the reigning champion Max Verstappen, sparks fly. Ambition clashes with undeniable chemistry, as their rivalry and relationship evolves throughout the intense F1 calendar.

Author's Note: Here it is, now just shy of 9k words! This fanfic is significantly longer and more narrative-driven than anything I’ve written on here so far. I really hope you all enjoy it, and I’d greatly appreciate any feedback you might have, thanks!

8.8k words / Masterlist

Race Weekend 1 – Bahrain Grand Prix

The paddock was alive with a low hum of tension and excitement, the air saturated with the distinct scent of burning rubber and gasoline.

You had been here before, in different categories as a rising talent in the motorsport world, but Formula 1 was a whole new arena. Walking through the Red Bull Racing garage you felt the weight of the world pressing down on you. This wasn’t just a race, it was your first F1 race weekend, and to top it off your teammate was none other than Max Verstappen, the reigning World Champion.

Max's reputation preceded him. The fierce competitor, a driver with an almost inhuman ability to push his car beyond the limits, appearing to be in a league of his own. Now he was your teammate or, more realistically, you were his teammate. It was his team, his title on the line, and you were just the rookie fresh to the team and to some extent an uninvited guest in his house.

As you stepped into the garage you caught a glimpse of Max. He was sitting with his usual air of intense concentration, eyes fixed on the telemetry data on his tablet as if he could solve every on-track issue with sheer force of will. His dirty blonde hair peeked out from under his cap. For a moment your eyes met, and a flicker of something passed between you. It wasn’t friendly. A short, curt nod was all he gave you before returning to his data, as if you were a distraction not worth his time.

You took a deep breath, trying to shake off the nerves gnawing at your insides. No one said this would be easy. Max was a World Champion, he didn’t have time for rookies.

Your debut race weekend came at you fast, a blur of press conferences, strategy meetings, and practice sessions. The eyes of the motorsport world were on you, and the pressure was immense. You had qualified a respectable eighth, but Max was on pole. It wasn’t just a gap in pace — it was a chasm. Still, for your first race it wasn’t bad, or at least that’s what you kept telling yourself.

Sunday, and the garage was bustling with energy, staff buzzing around like a well-oiled machine. Everyone knew their place. Everyone except you it seemed.

You were sitting in the team motorhome, staring at your race strategy when Max finally broke the silence between you.

“Nervous?” he asked, though the way he phrased it didn’t leave much room for a simple yes or no. His tone was casual, but his gaze remained laser-focused, almost challenging.

You looked up from your tablet, startled. He hadn’t said more than a few words to you all weekend. “Not particularly,” you replied, keeping your voice even.

Max’s lips quirked into a smirk, but there was no warmth in it. “Good. Nervous drivers make mistakes.”

You raised an eyebrow, unsure if this was advice or a thinly veiled insult. “I’ve been racing a long time Max.”

“This isn’t F2,” he replied smoothly.

“I know how to drive,” you shot back, feeling a flicker of irritation rise up inside you.

Max studied you for a moment as if weighing his next words carefully. “Sure. Just don't get in my way.”

And with that he stood up, grabbing his helmet and walking out of the motorhome without another word. You watched him go, your jaw clenched. He was right this wasn’t F2, but you weren’t going to let him dismiss you like someone who didn’t belong here.

The race itself was brutal. Max dominated from start to finish, winning with the same ruthless efficiency that had earned him the title. Meanwhile, you struggled. The car felt unbalanced, the tyres didn’t last as long as you’d hoped, and you made a few rookie mistakes costing you valuable positions. You finished with just one measly point, a disheartening tenth place.

As you walked back into the garage, still buzzing with the adrenaline of the race you could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on you. Max was already there sitting with his engineers discussing his race. He didn’t acknowledge you, didn’t even glance in your direction.

You slumped into your chair, exhausted and frustrated. Everyone tried to cheer you up telling you it was a good effort for your first race, but the disappointment gnawed at you. You didn’t come here to finish tenth. You wanted to be on the podium, fighting for wins, not languishing in the midfield.

From across the garage, Max’s voice cut through the noise. He was talking to his race engineer, but his words stung as if they were meant directly for you.

“They need to focus on my initial concerns,” he said, his tone casual but firm. “We don’t have time to worry about the rookies issues right now.”

You clenched your fists, the frustration building. It wasn’t just about the race anymore. It was about proving that you belonged here, that you could stand toe-to-toe with him. Max might be the reigning champion, but you weren’t going to let him walk all over you.

Race Weekend 4 - Japanese Grand Prix Qualifying

You stormed into the garage ripping off your helmet in frustration. Your heart was still pounding, not just from the high-speed laps but from the seething anger simmering under your skin. No matter how much you pushed yourself, Max was always one step ahead. The gap felt minimal, fractions of a second, but it might as well have been a canyon.

Max was already there, cool and composed, his pole position nothing out of the ordinary. He was talking with one of the engineers, a slight smirk tugging at his lips like he had already forgotten about the rest of the field. About you.

You could feel your blood boiling. The way he acted so untouchable, so certain of his superiority. Without thinking you marched toward him, your voice sharper than you intended.

"What's your secret Verstappen?" you asked, sarcasm dripping from every word. "Is it the car, or just pure luck?"

Max glanced over his shoulder, his expression unbothered. He raised an eyebrow that infuriating smirk growing. "Luck? Is that what you're going with?"

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. "I’m just trying to figure out how someone so smug manages to stay on top."

He turned to face you fully now, a look of mild amusement playing across his features. "Maybe it's not that complicated. Maybe I’m just better."

The arrogance in his voice was like fuel to the fire, and you took a step closer, your jaw clenched. "Or maybe you’re just used to coasting because no one’s challenged you here. You’re not untouchable, Max."

Max’s smirk faded slightly his blue eyes narrowing as he took a step toward you. "You think you’re the one to change that? Face it, you're good, but you're not there yet. You’re reckless, always pushing too hard. It’s gonna cost you eventually."

His words cut deeper than you expected. They weren’t just taunts they felt like a judgment, like he had already written you off. But you weren’t about to let him get inside your head.

"At least I’m not afraid to take risks," you shot back.

Max’s eyes flashed, and for a moment something darker crossed his face, something serious. "This isn’t a game you know. There’s no room for mistakes here. You’re playing with fire, and if you keep going the way you are you’re going to burn out."

His words hung in the air between you, the tension crackling like static. He wasn’t mocking you anymore, this was something else, something more intense. You didn’t know if he was trying to warn you or challenge you, but either way you weren’t backing down.

"I’d rather burn out than fade away," you said, your voice hard.

Max didn’t reply immediately, but his eyes locked on yours, unblinking. There was something unreadable in his expression, like he was seeing you in a new light, but it was hard to tell if it was respect or frustration.

"Just stay out of my way," he finally said, his voice quiet but charged. Then he turned, walking away, leaving you standing there with your pulse racing and your fists clenched.

You watched him go, the frustration and anger still swirling inside you. He was wrong about you—you weren’t going to burn out. But something about his words stuck with you, lingering long after he’d walked away, like an unwanted echo in the back of your mind.

Race Weekend 6 - Spanish Grand Prix

The race had ended hours ago, but the irritation still churned in your chest. Sitting in the team briefing room, the air between you and Max was thick with tension, as had become the norm. All you could hear was the pounding of your own heart, still replaying the near-collision between you and Max in your head.

Max sat across the table, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. It was like nothing got to him, like the chaos on the track didn’t even phase him. The way he remained so calm, so detached, only made your anger burn hotter.

Most of the engineers finally left the room and the door clicked shut behind them. The silence that followed was suffocating. You couldn’t hold back anymore.

"Next time," you snapped, your voice cutting through the quiet, "try not to run me off the track."

Max didn’t even flinch, he looked at you his expression infuriatingly calm. "You’re exaggerating."

"Exaggerating?" you exclaimed, your voice rising. "You practically forced me off the track at Turn 8! If I hadn’t backed off, we’d have both been out of the race."

Max sighed, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. "It’s racing. Hard racing. If you can’t handle it, maybe you should reconsider what you’re doing here."

You clenched your fists under the table, every muscle in your body tensing. You knew part of the anger was stemming from knowing there was truth to his words, but you weren't going to admit that anytime soon.

"I can handle hard racing just fine," you shot back. "What I can’t handle is you acting like you’re the only one who deserves to be here. I’m your teammate Max, not your punching bag."

Max’s eyes darkened, and for the first time, you saw something else behind his cool exterior—annoyance, maybe even anger. "Teammate?" he repeated, his voice colder now. "You don’t act like one. You drive like you’re the only person on the track."

You laughed bitterly, unable to hold it in. "That’s rich, coming from you. You’ve spent this whole season so far treating me like I’m not even worth your time. It’s like you can’t stand the idea of someone else being good enough to challenge you."

Max stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. His sudden movement startled you, but you didn’t back down.

"Challenge me?" he said, his voice low but sharp. "This isn’t about some petty rivalry. You’re reckless. You don’t think about the bigger picture. You only care about beating me, and it’s going to get someone hurt—probably you."

His words stung more than you expected. It wasn’t just that he thought you weren’t good enough. It was the way he said it, like he didn’t believe you’d ever be more than a threat to yourself.

"You think I don’t know what I’m doing?" you asked, your voice shaking with anger now. "You think I’m just some rookie who’s out of their depth?"

Max didn’t answer right away. He just stood there staring at you with those piercing blue eyes, like he was trying to figure you out but couldn’t. The silence stretched on heavy and suffocating.

Then, finally, he spoke. "I think you’re talented," he admitted, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. "But you let your emotions get the better of you. You take unnecessary risks because you’re trying to prove something."

His words cut deep, hitting a nerve you hadn’t expected. He wasn’t just criticising your driving anymore, he was questioning you, the way you handled everything. And what stung the most was that part of you feared he might be right.

You stood up, matching his stance refusing to show any weakness. "I don’t need a lecture from you Max. You’re not perfect either."

Max’s jaw tightened, and for a split second, you thought you saw something flicker across his face, hurt? But just as quickly it was gone, replaced by that familiar steely expression.

"Maybe I’m not," he said.

The room felt like it was closing in on you, the air thick with unresolved tension. You wanted to say something, anything, to break through the wall between you, but the anger and frustration clouded your thoughts, you could feel his gaze on your back as you walked out of the room. You slammed the door behind you, the sound echoing down the empty hallway.

Race Weekend 8 – Monaco Grand Prix

You and Max had barely spoken during practice, though the tension was undeniable. He still had that smug look on his face, his confidence oozing off him as you wiped the sweat from your forehead. You could feel your heart beating just a little faster, though you’d never admit it was anything but adrenaline.

As you sat down in the garage, peeling off your gloves, Max passed by.

"Not bad, rookie," he said casually. "Though, I almost expected you to spin out in Turn 4. You were practically kissing the barriers."

You raised an eyebrow, not willing to let him get the better of you. "Almost, huh? Shame you weren’t close enough to see the whole thing. Maybe you could have learned something."

He snorted, leaning against the wall next to you. "Oh, trust me, I got the best view. Though I’m still not sure if you're brave or just reckless."

You gave him a sideways glance smiling "Maybe I’m both."

Max's eyes lingered on you for a second longer than necessary, and you could feel the weight of it. He sat back in his chair, watching you, and the silence between you grew comfortable. You caught him glancing at you again, that smirk back in place, but this time it felt... different.

"You know," he said, voice teasing, "you should smile more often. You look less intimidating when you do."

You glanced up, confused for a second. "I’m not the one people are intimated by."

"Maybe not," he said, eyes glinting, "but you’ve got your own way of getting under people's skin."

"Well, I learned from the best," you shot back without missing a beat.

Max chuckled, shaking his head. "Touché."

Race Weekend 11 – Italian Grand Prix

As the season wore on, things began to shift slowly. You had found your rhythm, steadily improving race by race. You weren’t on Max’s level, not yet, but you were consistently finishing in the points, and at times, you had even managed to challenge him during practice or qualifying. But the dynamic between you remained strained. Max was still focused on his championship, and while the outright hostility had faded there was still an undeniable tension between the two of you.

The Italian Grand Prix was one of the most iconic races of the season. Monza, the Temple of Speed, with its long straights and tight corners it was a test of both car and driver. You had qualified fourth, but once again Max was on pole. It was becoming a frustrating pattern.

After qualifying you found yourself alone in the paddock, sitting on the steps outside the motorhome. You were replaying your lap in your head over and over, trying to figure out where you could have found more time.

“Still overthinking?” Max’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you looked up to see him standing a few feet away, his helmet under his arm.

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Just trying to figure out how to be half a second faster.”

Max walked over, sitting down beside you on the steps. “You’re pushing too hard,” he said after a moment, his voice surprisingly soft. “You’re overdriving the car.”

You frowned, not sure if this was another dig or actual advice. “I’m trying to make up the gap.”

“You can’t drive like that here,” he continued, his eyes scanning the empty track. “You have to let the car come to you. If you keep forcing it, you’re going to keep making mistakes.”

You looked at him genuinely surprised. This was the first time he had offered anything resembling constructive advice. “Why are you telling me this?”

Max didn’t meet your gaze, instead looking out at the paddock. “Because I’ve been where you are. I know what it’s like to have everything to prove.”

You paused, his words sinking in. For the first time, you realised that Max wasn’t just being arrogant. He had been in your shoes once, the young driver trying to prove himself in a world that was constantly questioning if he was good enough, if he was ready.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice a little quieter than usual. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Max nodded, standing up and stretching. “Don’t get used to it,” he said with his familiar smirk. “I still want to beat you.”

You laughed, the tension between you easing just a little. “I’ll keep that in mind too.”

The race at Monza was chaotic as expected. The high-speed circuit, combined with the aggressive nature of the drivers made for a thrilling but nerve-wracking experience. Max was fighting for the win as usual, while you were locked in a battle in the top five.

In the closing laps you found yourself side by side with a McLaren, both of you fighting tooth and nail for fourth place. It was intense, wheel-to-wheel racing, and you could feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins. But Max’s earlier words echoed in your head. Don’t overdrive. Let the car come to you.

With a deep breath you backed off slightly, biding your time, waiting for the right moment. And when it came, you seized it, pulling off a clean overtake and securing fourth place. It wasn’t the podium you wanted, but it was solid result.

After the race you were exhausted, but satisfied. It wasn’t a win but it was a step in the right direction. As you walked back into the garage you caught Max’s eye. He didn’t say anything, but there was a subtle nod of acknowledgment. You had his respect even if he wasn’t going to say it out loud.

Race Weekend 13 - British Grand Prix

It was late in the evening, the team had thrown a small celebration after a particularly challenging but successful race for both of you. The atmosphere was relaxed, and after a few drinks you and Max found yourselves sitting together away from the others. The competitive edge was still there, but the rivalry was fading, replaced by something you couldn’t quite name.

You stretched out leaning back on your hands as the warm night air brushed against your skin. Max sat next to you, closer than usual, the dim light casting soft shadows across his face.

“Do you ever feel like it’s all... too much?” you asked suddenly, surprising even yourself with the question. You weren’t even sure why you asked it, but something about the late night and the quiet moment made you feel like maybe you could.

Max looked over at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he nodded slowly. “Sometimes. More than I admit to most people.”

The honesty in his voice caught you off guard. You turned to him, genuinely curious now. “Really? You always seem so in control...so unfazed.”

He gave a half-smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s all part of it, you know? The cameras, the pressure... you just get good at pretending.”

You looked at him for a moment, seeing past the champion exterior, catching a glimpse of something more vulnerable underneath. It was oddly comforting, knowing he wasn’t as untouchable as you’d thought.

“Well,” you said softly, “you’re pretty good at it. But for what it’s worth, I don’t think anyone’s really in control. Not out there.”

Max turned his head to look at you, his expression softer, more open than you’d ever seen before. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Maybe you’re right.”

There was a pause, his eyes lingered on yours, and you felt your heartbeat pick up. You quickly looked away feeling the tension crackle between you.

"Maybe you’re not quite as annoying as I first thought," you said with a light nudge, trying to break the tension with a small smirk.

Max laughed softly the sound low and surprisingly warm. "High praise coming from you."

But the way he looked at you in that moment made it clear that something had shifted between you. Neither of you said anything else for a while, just sitting there in the quiet night, side by side.

Race Weekend 14 - Dutch Grand Prix

You leaned against the railing of the team’s paddock area, the noise of celebration and chatter swirling around you. It was hard not to smile. You’d just finished in an easy second, your best race yet. It was a personal victory, a testament to all the hard work you’d put in.

But even with the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, a knot of conflicting emotions twisted in your stomach. You had to talk to Max.

As if he sensed your thoughts, you turned to see him walking toward you, a small grin on his face. It was a mix of confidence and camaraderie, and for the first time in a while, you felt less inclined to roll your eyes.

“Great race today,” he said, his tone genuine as he leaned against the railing beside you.

“Thanks,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “I actually thought I might’ve had a shot at you there.”

He chuckled softly, and you felt your heart flutter at the sound. “You were close. Just need to find a bit more speed in those corners, and you’ll be there.”

You took a deep breath, the earlier tension bubbling to the surface. “You know, it used to annoy me—how you carried yourself, like you were always one step ahead of everyone. Like it was your birth right to be where you are and no one else could catch you.”

Max raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by your honesty. “Yeah?"

You turned to face him, the excitement of the race fading into something more serious. “But now? I get it. You’ve worked your ass off to be the best. It’s not just about talent, it’s about everything you’ve sacrificed. I can see that now. I see it everyday”

He nodded slowly, and the atmosphere shifted between you. “It’s not easy, you know. When everyone expects you to win, and if you don’t, it feels like you’ve let them down.”

The vulnerability in his voice surprised you. It was a reminder that he was human too, grappling with expectations and pressure. “But you handle it all so well,” you said, meeting his gaze. “I respect that.”

A smile ghosted across his lips. “Thanks. That means a lot. I’ve noticed how hard you’ve been pushing yourself this season. It’s impressive.”

You felt warmth spread through your chest at his acknowledgment. “I’ve had to, I can’t just coast along. Not when you’re in the same garage.”

Max’s expression grew serious again. “I know I was... a bit frosty at the beginning. I guess I was too focused on myself to notice how much you were putting in. I don't want this to come across wrong... but it's your first season, and I didn’t want to give you any false hope thinking you could compete with me.”

You frowned slightly, you didn't want to dive into old wounds. “It’s okay. I get it.”

“No, it’s not okay,” he said, shaking his head. “You deserved better. I should have been more supportive. You pushed me too, you know? It’s hard to admit, but you’ve made me work harder, and I appreciate that.”

Your heart raced at his words. There was a sincerity in his tone that softened the rough edges of your previous encounters. You couldn’t help but feel a surge of gratitude mixed with disbelief.

“Really?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, really,” he replied. “You’ve improved more than I expected in such a short time. It takes guts to put yourself out there and challenge someone who’s been at the top for so long.”

The air between you was charged with a mix of emotions. You nodded*. “Thanks for saying that Max. It means a lot to hear you acknowledge it.”*

He shrugged, trying to downplay the moment, but the corners of his mouth quirked up. “Well, it’s true. Just don’t get too comfortable, I still plan on beating you.”

You laughed, feeling the tension dissipate. “Bring it on Verstappen. I’ll be ready.”

As you stood there, side by side, the competitive fire still smouldering between you, something shifted again—this time, the rivalry felt more like a partnership.

Race Weekend 16 – Azerbaijan Grand Prix

It was early morning Thursday, you and Max found yourselves sitting across from each other at breakfast, still somewhat groggy from travel. The team lounge was quiet, and the two of you were left alone at the table.

“You’re not gonna try and out-eat me too, are you?” Max asked, a teasing smile playing on his lips as he poked at his food.

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t need to out-eat you Max. I’ve already out-qualified you once.”

His eyes lit up in mock offence. “One time! You’re never going to let that go are you?”

“Not a chance,” you said with a grin, taking a bite of your toast. “I’m framing that lap time.”

He narrowed his eyes playfully. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And you’re too easy to mess with,” you shot back. "Honestly, it's like a gift."

Max laughed, his genuine smile making your stomach flip in a way you couldn’t quite control. He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I’m just letting you win the mind games. Gotta keep you feeling confident somehow.”

“Oh, so you’re being generous now?” you quipped, raising an eyebrow.

“Always,” he replied with a wink.

The playful banter was natural now, a far cry from the sharp edges and constant tension that had defined your early relationship. There was still competition between you, but now it felt like something that pushed you both forward, rather than tearing you apart.

And as you exchanged another playful jab, you couldn’t help but notice the way both your eyes kept catching each other.

Race Weekend 17 – Singapore Grand Prix

The garage had emptied out, leaving behind only the quiet hum of cooling equipment and the faint clatter of distant tools. A rough race, nothing had gone the way you wanted.

Across the room Max was fiddling with his helmet, but you could tell he wasn’t focused on it. He glanced over at you, then slowly made his way to where you were sitting.

“You okay?” His voice was softer than usual.

You didn’t answer at first, still staring down at your hands trying to shrug off the defeat. “Yeah. Just... it wasn’t my day.”

Max nodded, his gaze steady. “It happens,” he said simply, but there was something in his tone that made you look up.

You sighed, the frustration bubbling over. “I know, but it feels different... I thought I was ready to take that next step the consistency was finally there…and then it just comes crashing back down.”

Max was quiet for a moment and when he spoke again there was a warmth in his voice. “This is a brutal track don't be too hard on yourself. You’ve been doing everything you can, I promise it shows.”

You looked at him, meeting his eyes. “It doesn’t feel like enough.”

Max’s gaze softened, and he took a step closer his hand brushing lightly against your arm. “Trust me, it is.”

The simple touch sent a jolt through you, something unspoken passing between you in that small, fleeting contact. You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could say anything Max moved even closer, and in a moment that felt both surprising and natural, he pulled you into a hug.

At first, you were too stunned to react. The sudden closeness, the warmth of his body against yours—it caught you off guard. But then you felt the solid weight of his arms around you, and you melted into the embrace, resting your head against his shoulder. His body was firm, steady, grounding you in a way that made the tension of the day seem to fade.

The hug wasn’t rushed, it lingered, the quiet between you filled with something heavier than words. But the feel of him, his arms around you, his breath steady against your temple was hard to ignore.

You weren’t sure if it was the exhaustion, the frustration, or something else entirely, but suddenly you were hyper-aware of every movement, the way his breath hitched slightly when you leaned into him, the subtle way his hand trailed down your back before settling again at your waist.

Max’s hands tightened slightly around you, his fingers brushing against the fabric of your shirt. You felt his chin rest lightly on top of your head, and there was something in the way his body pressed against yours that sent your pulse racing.

For a moment it was just the two of you, the rest of the world forgotten. You could feel his heartbeat, steady but strong, and the closeness between you felt almost electric. You weren’t sure who would pull away first, or if either of you even wanted to.

When you finally pulled back neither of you moved far, your faces still inches apart. His hands lingered at your waist, and your breath caught when you saw the way his eyes flickered, just briefly, to your lips.

Neither of you said anything, but the way his fingers flexed slightly against your waist, the subtle tilt of his head, made it clear that you both felt it.

Your heart was pounding, the space between you charged. You could see it in his eyes, the question, the pull, but he didn’t act on it. Instead, he gave you a small almost imperceptible smile before he finally let go.

“You’re going to be fine,” he said, his voice quieter than before.

“Yeah,” you managed, trying to ignore the way your body still hummed from the closeness. “I know.”

Race Weekend 18 - Qatar Grand Prix

It was one of those rare nights when the team wasn’t focused on race strategy or technical debriefs. After a relentless set of races, the team had gathered at a low-lit restaurant lounge for a relaxed evening. Laughter and conversation flowed freely around the long table, and for once the entire team seemed at ease.

You were sitting with a few people and one of the mechanics Adam, was regaling everyone with a wildly exaggerated story about a mishap during a pit stop in his rookie year.

Max was sitting a few seats away, engrossed in a discussion with some of the team, but his eyes kept darting over to you, his gaze narrowing slightly as he observed the scene. His shoulders were tense, and the easygoing expression he’d worn earlier in the evening was replaced by something more guarded. It wasn’t like Max to be this quiet at team gatherings, and you were too distracted to notice at first, focused instead on Adam's ongoing tale.

But the shift in atmosphere caught your attention eventually. As you laughed at another one of Adam's jokes you glanced over to find Max staring your way, his jaw set. He quickly looked away, and downed the rest of his drink in one swift motion.

Curious, you turned back to Adam, who was obliviously leaning in a little closer still chuckling at his own story. And then Max was suddenly standing up, making his way around the table and pulling up a chair directly beside you, a smile plastered on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey,” Max greeted, his smile a little forced but convincing enough. “What’s going on over here then? Everyone seems to be having fun.”

Adam grinned and gave him a friendly nod. “Just telling some old war stories. You know how it is.”

“Oh, I bet,” Max replied.

You noticed it right away, especially the way he seemed intent on steering the conversation. “Adam was just telling me about his first-ever pit stop disaster,” you explained still smiling. “It’s been quite entertaining.”

“I’m sure it has,” Max said, but his gaze flickered to Adam again something unreadable in his eyes.

Adam glanced between the two of you, sensing the shift, and gave you a friendly smile before excusing himself to join another group. You watched him go, then turned back to Max noticing the tension still in his jaw.

“So, you came all the way over here to save me from pit lane stories?” you questioned.

Max shrugged, his expression casual. “I just didn’t want you to get bored. Thought you might appreciate something a bit more... entertaining.”

You turned to look at him, amused. “Uh-huh, or maybe you just didn’t want to be left out of the conversation.”

“Maybe. But I was doing you a favour, trust me. You’d have heard all of Adam’s best stories in the first five minutes.” He rolled his eyes.

"Seriously, what’s up?" you asked, genuinely confused by his behaviour.

Max didn’t respond immediately, instead glancing around the table, making sure no one was listening too closely before he spoke. "Nothing. Just... noticed you were getting along pretty well with Adam. I didn’t think he was was your type.”

You blinked, surprised by the unexpected comment. “Oh?” you replied, raising an eyebrow. “And what makes you think you know my type?”

Max shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Just an observation,” he said.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Is that so? And what exactly do you think my type is Max?”

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I don’t know." He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping lower. “I'd guess someone who doesn’t just talk big but can actually back it up. You know, a real challenge.”

You felt a flicker of heat rush through you at his words, the playful banter quickly taking on a different tone. “A challenge, huh?” you teased. “Funny, I don’t remember you being all that interested in challenges off the track.”

Max's grin widened, his eyes glinting with amusement. “I guess you’ve been paying attention to the wrong things then.”

Your breath faltered, and for a second you wondered if he was going to say something else, if he was going to push this conversation into territory you hadn’t quite prepared for. But then, just as quickly as it started Max leaned back, breaking the moment with a light laugh.

“Don’t overthink it,” he teased with a grin. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

You laughed lightly, shaking your head at his familiar cockiness. “You’re impossible.”

Max just grinned wider. “That's what they tell me.”

For a few minutes you fell into an easy rhythm of teasing each other, the tension from earlier fading completely. Max shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours under the table.

“So, what are you going to do for the break?” he asked, his gaze lingering on your face.

You shrugged, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach at the way he was looking at you. “Probably just spend some time with family, maybe catch up on some sleep. What about you?”

“Hmm, I’m not sure yet,” he said thoughtfully. “Might go back to Monaco, or maybe not. Depends.”

“Depends on what?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Max met your gaze, his expression unreadable for a moment. “Depends on if there’s anything... interesting keeping me around.”

There was a challenge in his eyes that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Or, maybe I’ll just catch up on sleep too,” he added with a wink, steering the conversation back into safer territory.

And before you could respond he reached out for his drink, his hand brushing yours briefly in a way that felt almost accidental. But the touch lingered, the heat of his skin against yours sending a jolt of awareness through you. Your eyes met again, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade away, the noise of the restaurant, the people around you. It was just you and Max, the world narrowing down to that single point of contact.

Race Weekend 20 – US Grand Prix

The Padel court was quiet, bathed in the late afternoon sun as you and Max stood on opposite sides of the net. This was meant to be a fun break from the track to let off some steam, but the second you both picked up your paddles it became clear neither of you were about to take it easy.

He’d been chirping at you since you got here, claiming he was going to wipe the floor with you. But you’d heard that song before.

"You sure you’re ready for this?" Max called from the other side of the net, casually tossing the ball up and catching it, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I mean, you can still back out. No shame in admitting defeat early."

You gave him a deadpan look, adjusting your grip on the paddle. "You talk way too much for someone who’s about to lose."

Max rested against his paddle, flashing that familiar smirk. "I’m just letting you believe you have a chance. Keeps things interesting."

You served the ball with a sharp flick of your wrist, sending it careening over the net. Max responded quickly, returning it with ease. The ball bounced between you, a quick exchange of volleys. His movements were swift, confident, but you weren’t about to let him get the upper hand so easily.

"Nice try," Max said after you missed a ball that bounced just out of reach. "You almost looked like you knew what you were doing there."

"Careful Verstappen," you shot back, repositioning yourself for the next rally. "I’m just warming up."

Max laughed, shaking his head. "If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re getting frustrated."

"I don’t get frustrated," you countered, serving the ball again, aiming straight for his side.

"Oh, you definitely do." He easily returned it, the smirk on his face only growing as you both rallied.

You grinned, already feeling the familiar rush of competition surging through you. This wasn’t racing, but it had the same energy—the need to outmanoeuvre, outthink, outplay. And if there was one thing you and Max did well it was push each other’s limits.

"You're really going to make me run for it, huh?" Max panted as he lunged to return a low ball, his paddle barely grazing it.

You smirked. "Wouldn't want you to get too comfortable."

After a particularly long rally, you smashed a shot just out of his reach, winning the point. Max groaned throwing his head back dramatically. "Unbelievable."

You pumped your fist, grinning from ear to ear. "And that’s how it’s done."

"Okay, okay," he wheezed, though his eyes were still bright with amusement. "I’ll give you that one. But don’t think I’m letting you win."

"Letting me win?" you repeated, wiping the sweat from your brow. "That’s cute Max."

Max walked to the net, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "Alright, you got lucky. One point, I’ll give you that."

"One point?" you scoffed, meeting him at the net. "Try four."

"Technicalities," he muttered, but the grin on his face betrayed his playful frustration. He watched you with a glint in his eye. "You know, you’re a lot better at this than I thought."

"Coming from you that means so much." you said dryly.

Max chuckled, his gaze still lingering on you. There was a moment of quiet, the sun casting long shadows on the court, the air between you thick with a kind of unspoken understanding.

"You’re not so bad yourself," you added, breaking the silence but not the tension. "For a guy who spends most of his free time gaming."

Max raised an eyebrow laughing again. "That supposed to be a compliment?"

You shrugged. "Take it however you want."

His grinned. "I think I’ll take it as a compliment."

Before you could reply, he stepped back, tossing the ball in the air. "Alright, rematch. Best two out of three. I’m not letting you walk away with that win."

"You just can’t handle losing to me can you?" you teased, taking your position, ready for another round. "I’m starting to think you just like seeing me sweat."

He chuckled, but the way his eyes lingered on you for a beat longer said more than his words did. "You’re not wrong."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, but there was no denying the subtle shift in the air. It wasn’t obvious or overt, but the dynamic between you had changed in the last few weeks. The teasing was still there, but there was a different kind of energy between you now, one that neither of you had quite acknowledged yet.

You cleared your throat, stepping back and spinning the ball in your hand. "Let’s finish this then. I’ve got a winning streak to keep."

Max’s grin returned, but it was softer now, less competitive and more… something else. "We’ll see about that."

Race Weekend 22 – Brazil Grand Prix

On race day, the tension was palpable. The roar of engines, the smell of burning rubber, and the hum of adrenaline filled the air. Max was standing next to his car helmet in hand, the pre-race jitters barely showing on his face. You caught his eye from across the garage, and for a moment, the world seemed to quiet around you.

You approached, trying to shake off the strange tension that always seemed to linger between the two of you lately. Max’s gaze met yours, steady but with an intensity that made your breath catch for just a second.

“Ready to lose today?” you asked, trying to keep things light, but your voice sounded a little shakier than you’d intended.

Max smirked, stepping closer than necessary. “In your dreams.”

You tried to roll your eyes, but the proximity made it hard to focus. There was a heat in his gaze and you found yourself holding your breath for a moment.

“Don’t get too cocky Verstappen,” you muttered, the playful tone masking the way your pulse raced.

He leaned in just close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. “I think that’s your job now.”

For a second, it felt like everything had stopped—the noise, the chaos of the track, all fading into the background. But just as quickly the moment passed, and Max stepped back sliding his helmet on.

“See you at the finish line,” he said over his shoulder.

You stood there for a second longer trying to steady your breath, knowing that this race and whatever was happening between you two was far from over.

End of the Season – Abu Dhabi Grand Prix

The season had been a rollercoaster filled with highs and lows. You had stood on the podium for the first time in Canada, a moment that felt surreal after all the hard work. But there had also been heartbreak, a crash in Austria that had cost you valuable points, a mechanical failure in Mexico that had seen you retire from a race where you could have scored big.

Through it all your relationship with Max had continued to evolve. You still raced on track, fighting for every inch of tarmac, but off the track things had changed. There was mutual respect, an understanding that had grown over the course of the season. The animosity that had once defined your relationship was gone, replaced by something more complicated.

The Abu Dhabi Grand Prix was the final race of the season, and the championship was on the line. Max was in a tight battle for the title, and the pressure on both of you was immense.

The night before the race you found Max sitting alone in the team motorhome, staring out at the glowing lights of the Yas Marina Circuit. He looked unusually quiet, his usual air of confidence tempered by the gravity of the situation.

“You ready for tomorrow?” you asked, leaning against the doorway.

Max didn’t look at you, his eyes still focused on the track outside. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

You stepped inside, sitting down across from him*. “You’re going to win it.”*

Max finally turned to face you, a small, almost tired smile on his face. “You sound pretty sure of that.”

“I’ve watched you all season. No one’s better than you out there,” you said simply, meaning every word.

Max shook his head, letting out a short laugh. “You’re not so bad yourself you know.”

You raised an eyebrow.

He shrugged, a playful glint in his eye. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

You had fought hard to get to this point, and though Max was still your fiercest competition, he was also the one person who, you now realised, might understand you better than anyone else.

Abu Dhabi Grand Prix – Race Day

Race day was electric, the air crackling with anticipation. The championship battle had come down to this — the final race of the season, and everything was on the line. Max was in contention for the title, but his rival wasn’t far behind. Every lap, every pit stop, every decision mattered.

You were focused on your own race, but there was an underlying pressure you couldn’t ignore. Max needed you to perform today. If you could help him by holding off the cars behind, or making sure the team strategy worked in his favour, you would.

The race itself was a blur. The car felt good and you pushed hard, determined to finish the year on a high.

As the laps ticked down, the tension in the pit lane grew. Max was leading, but his rival was closing in behind you, and the team was on a knifes-edge. Then, with just a few laps to go, you got the call from your engineer.

“We need you to hold position, keep the cars behind you. Max needs this.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. It wasn’t the call you wanted to hear, but you understood. This was the team game. You weren’t fighting for the championship, but Max was.

“Got it,” you replied, gritting your teeth as you focused on the task ahead.

For the next few laps, you fought with everything you had to keep the cars behind you, giving Max the breathing room he needed. It was arguably the hardest race of your life, the pressure almost unbearable. But when the checkered flag finally fell, you had done it.

Max crossed the line first, securing the championship, and you finished in a solid second place.

The roar of the crowd was deafening, fireworks lighting up the sky as Max stood on the podium, the World Champion once again. You watched him celebrate, a mixture of pride and satisfaction swelling in your chest. You hadn’t won, but in a way you had still achieved something important. You had proven that you could compete at this level, that you could stand with the best.

Later that night, after all the celebrations had died down you found Max sitting alone in the quiet garage, his championship trophy resting beside him.

“Not partying with the team?” you asked.

Max looked up, his face still glowing with the satisfaction of victory. “Needed a minute,” he said, his voice soft.

You stepped inside, sitting down beside him. “You did it,” you said, a small smile on your lips.

Max glanced at you, his blue eyes filled with something deeper than just the thrill of winning. “We did it,” he corrected, his voice sincere.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of the season, the challenges you had both faced, the fights on and off the track — it all hung in the air between you. But there was no tension now, no rivalry. Just understanding.

“You really helped me today,” Max said after a while, his voice quiet but firm. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

You shrugged, trying to play it off, but his words meant more to you than you’d expected. “Just doing my job.”

Max chuckled, shaking his head. “You did more than that.”

You turned to face him fully, your knees brushing against his, the closeness between you suddenly palpable. His eyes were on you, and the look he gave you sent a shiver down your spine.

You met his gaze smiling, the two of you had been through so much together, and now, sitting in the quiet aftermath of victory, it felt like the beginning of something new.

But then the playful smile faded, replaced by a more intense expression. His gaze flickered, dropping to your lips for just a fraction of a second, but it was enough to send your heart racing.

The space between you seemed to shrink. You felt your breath hitch as Max shifted closer, the warmth of his body brushing against yours. His hand moved, almost hesitantly, to your arm, his fingers grazing your skin in a way that made every nerve in your body stand on end.

You could feel it now, the weight of everything unsaid, everything that had built up over the season, all the unspoken moments between you. It was all right there, in the way his hand lingered on your arm, the way his breath caught as his eyes met yours again, more intensely this time.

“You’re not bad at this whole teammate thing,” Max murmured, his voice low.

You rolled your eyes, but the banter was thin now, the words barely a distraction from the way your heart was pounding in your chest. “I guess you're not so bad yourself.”

Max’s smile faded again, his gaze serious, and for a moment, everything else fell away. The garage, the race, the entire championship, none of it mattered. It was just the two of you, sitting there in the quiet.

And then, before you could even process what was happening, Max leaned in.

It was slow at first, as if he was giving you time to pull away, but you didn’t. You couldn’t. His lips hovered just above yours, the space between you almost unbearable, and then finally he closed the distance.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but it didn’t stay that way for long. There was too much between you for it to be gentle. His hand came up to cup the back of your neck, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, and you felt your body respond, your heart pounding in your ears.

It wasn’t a kiss born out of victory or celebration. It was something else, something more intense, like all the tension, the rivalry, the unspoken moments between you had finally come to a head. It was raw, charged, and for a moment, it felt like the world had stopped spinning around you.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, Max’s forehead rested against yours, his eyes still closed as he let out a shaky breath.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment. There was a shift now, something irrevocable between you, but it felt right. Like this was where you were always meant to end up.

“You know,” Max murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, “Next year’s going to be interesting.”

You let out a breathless laugh, still trying to catch your breath. “You have no idea.” you teased, nudging him with your shoulder. “Next year, I’m coming for you.”

Max grinned. “I’d like to see you try.”

And as you sat there, still wrapped up in each other you couldn’t help but smile. The season may have ended, but the story between you and Max was far from over.

With the people I come to know in my life there’s a tendency for me to take a Motherly attitude when I’m with them. This became a part of my personality since I was young because I’m just familiarized with being alone in the household as I’m an only child. Sometimes it harms me yet it benefits me in the sense that they understand my personality like this. I try to be the fun one but I tend to be the responsible one in the end.

welcome to vetteltea! ☕︎

i'm jay, (she/her,) always making bad content and life choices.

(prev. forteafy)

⊳f1 materlist

⊳request guidelines

⊳about me

note: some links on my masterlist will take you to my previous blog. at such time these posts are removed or deleted, i will re-upload them onto this blog. (i cannot bring myself to do it right now, apologies!)

—seven days. [ i ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

author's note: not beta-read. not edited. enjoy reading.

part 1. part 2. part 3. part 4. part 5. part 6.1. part 6.2.

You are not surprised when Max Verstappen won the 2023 Formula One season. Given how he dominated each Grand Prix in the season, except Singapore but we don't talk about Singapore, you kind of expected the results already. This is Max's third time winning the WDC title and that makes you the manager of a three-time WDC title holder now. As someone who worked with the guy the last five years, you are immensely proud of Max. You’ve been working as his manager ever since 2019—you, twenty-three, a fresh graduate of Mechanical Engineering and he, twenty-one, an aspiring world champion but you've known each other since 2018—so you knew better than anyone else, better than Christian Horner even, just how much it took from Max just to reach the place where he is standing right now. Furthermore, Red Bull Racing also won the Constructor’s Championship so everyone in the team cannot be any happier. Celebrations are in order, of course, but you have excused yourself to retire early in the evening instead. Max has asked you why. You replied that you're tired and that's the only truth you can offer him.

You draft your resignation letter whilst everyone at Red Bull is partying in some place else in Abu Dhabi. Good for them honestly. What better way is there to celebrate a victory than with alcohol? Fortunately, there's canned beer on the mini fridge so that's your share of the victory alcohol tonight while you're hunched over your laptop on the couch. Rihanna is playing from your laptop speakers in a Youtube playlist in another Google tab while you work on the letter on a separate Google Docs tab.

Dear ________,

Please accept this letter as my formal resignation from my position as the manager of Red Bull Racing first driver, Max Verstappen, effective seven days from today’s date, November 26, 2023.

I appreciate the opportunities for growth and development you have provided me during the five years I worked for this amazing team. Leaving is not an easy decision for me but in order to further my career, I have to spread my wings and explore. Please let me know if I can help with anything to make my resignation easier for the company staff.

Thank you, Red Bull, for giving me wings and the courage to fly. Now, I believe it is time for me to soar new skies. I will cherish the time I have spent here in Red Bull Racing.

Sincerely,

[First Name] [Last Name].

You read it over and over again, checking for errors in the spelling or the grammatical structure.

“Thank you Red Bull for giving me wings and the courage to fly….” you mutter. What Red Bull gave you was five decades worth of stress. One decade's worth of stress for each year since you were accepted in the team. “Cringy as fuck.”

Your phone abruptly rings and you jump in surprise, dropping your phone and your beer and oh shoot, you almost dropped your laptop, too. You scramble to pick up the canned beer, hissing slightly when you see the liquid form a pool on the tiled floor. Your initial response is to avoid it so you sidestepped and kicked your YSL heels away from the puddle. The heels are previously placed next to your feet neatly but now they're thrown haphazardly on the floor a few meters away. Your eyes quickly search for a towel, or anything you can use to wipe that shit off before it reaches the expensive hotel carpet, but there is no towel in your vicinity and the liquid is moving fast so you take off your Red Bull shirt—haha, you’re resigning anyways—leaving you in only your sleeveless undershirt. You throw it on the floor. Then, you crouch down and hurriedly wipe the beer.

Crisis averted! Beer - 0. You - 1. You pick up the call after, already knowing it's from Max even without reading the caller ID because you have set a separate ringtone for him, using that catchy Super Max sound, “Hello, [Name] here. Anythin’ I could help?”

Daniel’s voice is not something you have expected to hear, not from Max’s phone anyway, but then again, they should be together right now at the afterparty, “Hi [Name], we kind of got ourselves stuck in a situation here.”

Your brows furrow, forehead creasing, “Danny? Somethin’ wrong?”

“It's Max.”

You stiffen before slowly rising to a stand. Your head begins running at a speed of 300 kilometers per hour, the pace of a Formula One car, coming up with different scenarios where Max is in danger and a list of things you can do to get him out of those situations, “What's wrong with Max?”

That's how you found yourself in the middle of the Red Bull afterparty, navigating through the sweaty and drunk Red Bull employees with your eyes actively searching for a tall, broad-shouldered, blond-brown-haired, blue-eyed Dutchman. You find him nearly ten minutes after entering the party, in a corner, on the floor, next to a yellow puddle of disgusting liquid with his head hanging low and the two Alpha Tauri drivers, Daniel and Yuki, standing right beside him. Thank God they did not leave Max.

The fact that they are in a party full of Red Bull employees and none even tried to help Max bothers you greatly. Jesus, what is wrong with these people? You lower yourself in front of him, hand coming up to his nape while the other is on his forearm before gently guiding him away from the vomit pool just in case he accidentally touches on it. If he did, you know you're the one who’s going to clean him up and frankly, you aren't in the mood for dealing with that. Max follow your hands like it's second nature for him to follow your guidance, leaning into the warmth of your palm.

“What happened?” you finally voice the question you've been dying to ask once Max is a good distance away from the pool of vomit. Daniel is the one who answers you, “He asked for you.”

That doesn't answer your question. Thankfully, Yuki decides to be more helpful, “He broke up with Kelly this morning.”

Oh.

He raced while shouldering a broken heart and still won? Poor Max. But also, you are not surprised. Not even a bit. It's very much like him to prioritize the race over his feelings because Max Verstappen only wants one thing in the world and that is to emerge victorious at the sport he loved. To prove to the world that he is top one, to prove to Jos Verstappen that he is top one and that he will go down in history as top one and the world shall remember it even after he leaves the F1 racing scene for the young ones.

“Thanks, Yuki,” you turn to Daniel and nod. “Danny, I’ll take it from here.”

“Are you sure you don't need help?”

You shake your head and offer a tight-lipped smile. Dealing with a drunk Max is no biggie. You have worked with the guy for five years already, four as his manager. That's over a hundred podiums and defeats and in each defeat and each podium, alcohol and Max become the best of friends. You’re used to this; cleaning him up, picking him up, tucking him into bed, calling his girlfriend to deal with his drunk ass, and helping him nurse the hangover in the morning with an Advil and a good breakfast.

You roll the sleeves of your champagne-colored button-up to your elbows and in one swift motion, you lift Max in a fireman’s carry. That volunteer work you did at LAFD back when you're still in university paid off in these moments.

It was a comedic sight. A 5’5” woman in heels carrying an almost six foot drunk racer who is at least two times broader than her on her shoulders. The media has already caught a picture of a similar-looking moment one time in 2019 and another in 2021—such times are the beginning of those annoying dating rumors that involves you and Max—and you can say that Twitter is mostly impressed that the Red Bull manager was strong enough to lift a high-performance athlete. Some made memes of it. You'll never admit that you saved some of them, especially the ones that made fun of Max so you could put it above his head. Some even claimed that your YSL heels must be some sort of superhero power up because you do a lot of athletic things in those heels like running through the paddock as if you were just wearing a pair of Nikes, kicking a door down, driving a motorcycle around in Monza to buy Max's morning coffee, and getting in a physical fight with Max’s anti-fan back in 2022. In theory, you can and will absolutely kill a god in those heels and honestly, it's about time YSL sponsors you because you're giving their Opyum heels so much promotion.

What the public doesn't know is that Max is lighter than he looks and paired with your capability of lifting heavy equipment and people due to your history as a volunteer firefighter, it is incredibly easy to lift him without breaking a sweat and yes, even while wearing heels. People are too easily impressed nowadays.

You ignore the confused stares that are sent your way as you hurriedly walk to the comfort rooms. In a matter of seconds, you are power-walking yourself inside the male comfort room, sending an unimpressed look at the two Red Bull rookie employees making out inside. They are horrified when they see you. You can tell with the way their eyes widened and how they scrambled away from each other and hurriedly fixed themselves while muttering a thousand apologies. You don't even need to say anything. They are out before you could even tell them to.

You lock the door behind you before heading towards the bathroom sink and placing Max there. You put your hands on the back of his head and shoulders to support him until he's leaning against the mirror and sitting fully upright. You wish he won't topple over and accidentally hit his head on the tiles.

“Hey, hey,” you tap his cheek. “You good, Max?”

You sincerely hope he won't pass out. Unconscious people are heavier than conscious people when you lift them.

Procuring a water bottle inside your tote bag, you hand it to him. He accepts it wordlessly and down it in one go. You pull out an extra shirt from your bag, “Off with the shirt, big boy.”

Obediently, Max does what he is told and he peeled his shirt off him. You have to help him midway because he got it stuck around his neck. You toss the stinky shirt somewhere on the sink and hand him the shirt you brought. Again, you help him put it on because drunk Max has seemingly forgotten where the holes of the t-shirt are and which limb should enter a specific hole. Oh wait, that sounds wrong.

“You're taking good care of me.”

His voice sounds so small when he utters those words that it almost got swallowed up by the silence of the room and the muffled sound of the party outside.

“Aren't I always?”

You are paid to take good care of him after all.

“Always.”

You wet a towel in the sink and squeeze out the excess water in the wool. Your fingers gently cradle Max’s jaw as you wipe his face. He has a little vomit on his cheek.

You're used to looking at Max’s face up close but you still cannot help but be amazed by the beauty of it, you know? Some people will not consider Max as a conventionally beautiful man. Different people have different preferences. Honestly, you used to be one of those people. You met Max when he was twenty-one and that time, he looked like a fetus and greatly resembled Sid the sloth from the Ice Age movies. You used to tease him all the time about it, calling him a kid and pulling the age card when he needed to be reigned in or to annoy him until he submits into obedience, when you are only a year older than him. The stress of racing caused Max to age quickly but thankfully, he does not age badly. No, instead Max transitioned into an absolute daddy. Thank God he is more like his mother than his father, too. His mother’s genes saved him. Thank you Sophia!

You would have fallen for him, too, like the gazillion women all around the world who'll fall at his feet, but it’s hard to do so when you know he doesn't even know how to peel his own oranges. Drives a car going 300 kilometers per hour and can’t even peel a damn orange.

Twitter is always having a field day when they manage to snap a picture of you peeling oranges for him. Orange Peel Theory or whatever that is. Ludicrous bullshit, to be honest. The only theories you know are the ones taught in Physics class.

“I wonder if you know how much I need you,” he mutter. “I wonder if you can tell.”

“Very poetic,” you say flatly because Max has the tendency to say the most out of pocket yet soul breaking things when he's drunk and you are too tired to rationalize all his musings right now. We love a trauma-dumping king.

“You talkin’ ‘bout Kelly?” you ask, brow raising slightly. You continue to clean his face before proceeding to wipe his arms and his hands.

“I don't know.”

“Okay.”

He probably is talking about Kelly anyway.

Now that Kelly is gone, you’re beginning to get worried for Max. Earlier, as you wrote that resignation letter in your hotel room, the worry of leaving Max was not present. He has Kelly after all. Kelly can easily do the things you did for Max, not that she should do the work of a Red Bull manager because honestly, if she plans on taking up your job now, you’ll tell her to run and save herself. You mean the support you gave Max. You mean going all-out in protecting Max whether from haters or even his own father and especially his own darkness. You mean standing with him, inside that open cage that he can walk out of anytime but chose not to because Jos Verstappen still had his claws on him. You mean not leaving Max, no matter where he stood, may it be at the top of that glorious podium or at the end of the line. You mean taking care of Max the same way you did, even if he insists that helping him is nothing but rotten work.

But then, she left. Now what?

“I want to tell you something.”

You lift your eyes and met Max’s glazed blue ones.

“It is in my will that if I die—”

“You're not dyin’," you cut him off, not even the least bit amused about the idea of Max dying.

“Shush,” he playfully glares at you and you roll your eyes, itching to pull that I’m older than you so don't shush me card just to annoy him. “Let me finish. It is in my will that if I die, my cats will be taken care of by you. Oh come on, stop making that face. You look like you're having an aneurysm.”

“Shut up,” you swat his forearm with the damp towel, causing him to laugh at you. “Why’d you even do that? Give them to your Mom or somethin’.”

“But nobody is better at taking care of someone than you,” he says and his voice bled with rawness and honesty and so much sincerity that you're taken aback. “I want someone to take care of them like how you take care of me.”

You blink, mouth slightly agape. What can you even say to that? Thank you? I’m honored? Dude, what the fuck? Are you confessin’ to me or somethin’? You doin’ big shit over there by putting me in your will.

Now, you’re even more worried. Who will take care of Max after you're gone? The same way you took care of him?

Nonetheless, on December 13, you submit the resignation letter to Christian Horner. He reads the letter with a deep frown marring his face. It's funny how he had the same expression on his face, too, on the first day you met him when you were applying from Red Bull.

“Have you told Max?”

The guy is sleeping in his hotel bed as you speak and will probably be awake in a few hours with the world’s shittiest hangover. So no, you have not told him. Not yet, at least.

“No.”

“He wouldn't be happy with this.”

You know Max does not bode well with goodbyes, especially from the people he closely worked with leaving Red Bull. Look at what happened with Danny in 2018. Now, it is your turn. Two of his biggest friends in the Red Bull team, leaving in search of careers outside his shadow. Being in Max's shadow..... They are right after all. It is a curse.

While you love Max, platonically of course, being his manager is not what you wanted. You did not suffer through four years in engineering school just to become an errand girl for a racer. This is not what you applied for when you sent that application letter in Red Bull and Renault back when you were twenty-two. Renault didn't have an opening in their engineering team so your future with that team was quickly erased. Red Bull had no opening in their engineering team either but they had an open spot on the team as Daniel Ricciardo's manager for a whole season. You accepted their offer, naturally, hoping that their engineering team will have a place for you soon. When Danny left, you contemplated following him to Renault.

Then, Max told you to not go to Renault because they're a shitty team and perhaps he was right because in that sucky car they had, Daniel barely won podiums, but if Renault would give you the position you wanted and worth your student loans, then you'd take it.

"No, stay."

Demanding little prickly ass, he was, "I will win next year. When I become a world champion, I'll ask Horner to move you to the engineering team."

You did not know why you believed him.

2021—Max became world champion. You hoped he would ask Horner like he told you back in 2018.

2022—Max became world champion again but you're still stuck as his manager. You reminded him of his declaration in 2018. He told you he was already on it. Two rookie engineers entered the team that year, taking the spot that should have been yours years ago and you were stuck wondering if Max was really putting truth on his words.

2023—Max became a third-time world champion and you wouldn't even ask anymore.

“I know," you say, voice barely above a whisper. "I'll deal with it."

"I'll trust that you'll be the one who'll tell him?"

It amuses you how no one wants to deal with Max or drop him the big news. Everyone knew how crazy he could get when Max does not like something. He's a menace. He'll terrorize everyone. You're the only one who could hold the menace down.

"Of course, Sir. Leave it to me."

“Are you transferring teams? Are you still going to stay in Monaco near Max?”

Monaco is not home. Home is desert and heat. Home is Texas.

“Nah, goin’ back to Austin.”

Everybody knows Texas was your home, your accent and your manners spoke of it. Some Europeans look down on it, calling you a country bum and a cowgirl mascarading as a sophisticated sidehoe of a champion. Fuck 'em all.

“Everyone in the team is given two weeks off now that we’ve won so your resignation is immediately effective of today,” Horner says. “If the US GP is held at Austin next year, make sure to come by. Max would appreciate it.”

Christian Horner is an asshole but he is at least good to Max and that's what's important.

You get a text from Max an hour later.

him: i feel like shit

him: thanks for the advil and the soup

him: also im flying back to monaco tonight, fly with me

Tonight, you're flying to Monaco with Max Verstappen. Seven days from now, you're flying home alone.

HISTORY SERIES | Sebastian Vettel

f1 masterlist | request here!

sebastian vettel x wife race engineer!reader

for more information to the reader: ❥ this series consists on a journey around the 15 years seb and y/n got to experience in formula 1. ❥ it contains so many tropes, including slow burn romance, right person, wrong time, friends to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers, among others. ❥ some parts might include sensitive content. pay attention to trigger warnings at the beginning of each part. ❥ english is not my first language so apologies for any mistakes that you can read here!

started: AUGUST 25TH 2024 currently status: on going | last updated: august 25th

if you wanna be added to the tag list feel free to tell me!

© VETTELSVEE (2024). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

I. LIFE AS THE PADDOCK ROYALTY follow sebastian and y/n vettel's formula 1 journey, starting when the 19 years old girl started as a toro rosso intern, to when the couple started dating, got married and had three wonderful kids... after going through too many things together (or not)

⋆ 2008 season ⋆ 2009 season ⋆ 2010 season ⋆ 2011 season ⋆ 2012 season ⋆ 2013 season ⋆ 2014 season ⋆ 2015 season ⋆ 2016 season ⋆ 2017 season ⋆ 2018 season ⋆ 2019 season ⋆ 2020 season ⋆ 2021 season ⋆ 2022 season

II. RETIREMENT LIFE what are up to former formula 1 driver and race engineer, sebastian and y/n vettel, up to, since they decided to retire at the end of the 2022 season?

⋆ do you really want us to try?

III. SOCIAL MEDIA meet the most hated and loved formula 1 couple on their social media, or see what people are talking about them

About You Series Masterlist

Pairing: Sebastian Vettel x Webber!Reader

Summary: Everyone knows about the history of Sebastian Vettel and Mark Webber. But there's a well kept story within the paddock about Sebastian Vettel and another Webber. This is that story.

Part 01:

Two strangers that seems to be drawn with each other aka the humble beginnings of Y/N Webber and Sebastian Vettel.

Part 02:

Its the first year that Sebastian moved to Red Bull, what could go wrong?

Part 03:

The one where Jenson Button is a shit stirrer.

Part 04:

Tensions on track and tensions off track are escalating one by one. Which one of them would be the first to crack?

Part 05:

It is clear that the Red Bull garage is picking a side between the two drivers but everyone's wondering what Y/N is up to.

Part 06:

Sebastian Vettel's first championships and a series of events that happened before that.

Part 07:

Mick and Jenson is ready to protect her all the time but Sebastian is willing to commit war crimes on track for her.

Part 08:

A turbulent family relationship that causes Sebastian to keep his feelings hidden (for the mean time).

Part 09:

A little perspective about the thoughts of other people when it comes to their slowburn relationship.

Part 10:

its been a long time coming. lets enjoy the calm before the storm.

Part 10.5

The storm has arrived in the form of Multi21

Part 11:

Sometimes we make mistakes and we can say sorry. Most of the times, mistakes cannot simply be corrected by an apology.

Part 12:

selfless decisions and selfish decisions makes everything peaceful or complicated?

Part 13:

sometimes we have just to enjoy and live the moments we are in right now. we never know what will happen next.

Part 14

should we talk about things or should we leave things as it is, aka the consequences of the truth

Part 15

break-ups happen everyday you don't have to lose it. can anybody move on from this?

Part 16

and i promise to be there with you through good or bad or as long as you'll have me around.

Part 17

can anybody please change the prophecy?

Part 18

Say your goodbyes now. Its really going to hurt to love someone.

Part 19

Part 20

[ A/N: Finally created a general masterlist for the About You series. I have plotted it already and we will be having 20 chapters in grand total. Let me know if you want to be tagged for this fic ]

we used to have more pt. 2 | oscar piastri

part 1

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

summary: after oscar gets back with his ex you found yourself coping in the best way possible: running away

fc: different girls from pinterest

warnings: some very questionable work dynamics that i’m pretty sure are not accurate at all (good thing this is fiction and i can do whatever i want for the plot!)

a/n: thank you so so so much for all the love you gave to part 1! this story is like my baby and i’m truly so happy people liked it <3

—

liked by oscarpiastri, carlossainz55 and others

yourusername always ✨chaotic✨ in melbourne🦘

view all comments

username AHHHH i live for her weekly race posts

username the bag essentials ✨

username her ig is what my pinterest boards looks like 🥹

username manifesting this life truly

declanmurray first pic is unfocused

yourusername NO! WHAT?

username she’s so cool 😩

username the star girl of f1 ⭐️

lissiemackintosh i need that lipstick actually 😭

yourusername come and we’ll share 😭

[lissiemackintosh’s instagram stories] [yourusername’s instagram stories]

[caption 1: ✈️💗] [caption 2: lights out…]

liked by patriciooward, milesbaldwin and others

yourusername settling just fine 🍊🧿🍒

view all comments

username she’s working at indy now omg

username what nooo 😭😭 i love her in f1

username ahhh did not expect this at all

username as an indycar fan i love this

username and she posted a pic of the podium celebration i- 💞💞💞

username okay but the hands on the last picture ???

username girl whoooo 👀

username probably one of her friends she always with

patriciooward that podium pic 😩

yourusername it was a cool champagne trick!

liked by oscarpiastri, alexanderrossi and others

milesbaldwin survived our first week in america

tagged yourusername, lissiemackintosh, miguelsossa and declanmurray

view all comments

yourusername against all odds!

username ohhh so they are ALL in indy

username the timing of this is very curious ngl 🤣

username right like the season JUST started

miguelsossa we’re perfect 😉

davidmalukas perfectly deranged!

lissiemackintosh wow buddy i thought we were friends

davidmalukas ohhh you’re saying buddy like an american already ☺️

yourusername 👀👀👀

oscarpiastri have fun mate 👍🏽

liked by nolansiegel, patriciooward and others

yourusername another week, another race day🏎🏁

tagged davidmalukas and lissiemackintosh

view all comments

username the way this could’ve been about china but no! she’s in america 😭

username obsessed with the fact she posts only in mclaren

yourusername luckily here i can be biased 🧡🧡

username OMG

username girl come back to f1 you’re gonna miss all the fun races!

username y/n at indy was a must i didn’t knew i needed

username an lissie and declan and miles and miguel and

username you can’t physically separate them i’m afraid (liked by yourusername)

liked by yourusername, declanmurray and others

patriciooward nice afternoon🧡

view all comments

username second podium in a row yesss

miguelsossa congrats mate! (liked by patriciooward)

username guys you lost me i’m in love with a mclaren 😔

username no i get you because this is me with oscar 😔

milesbaldwin feliz navidad pato! (or whoever you say it) (liked by patriciooward)

username close! welcome back sebastian vettel

username i’m that champagne bottle actually

yourusername ahhh so well deserved 🙌🏽

patriciooward thank you!

—

taglist; @heavy-vettel @a-beaverhausen @astroniii @chunkpiboli @theonottsbxtch @eclecticcreatorweaselsalad @charli123456789 @stopeatread @coriyaps @nina-or-anna-or-nora @ninasw0rld @loveelylani @marauders-wife @dramallama9 @mxdi0 @piastrigate @ladyoflynx @prudyhoo @idkwtdwml123 @southernbaguette @ellelabelle @emryb @fastfactory

still tasting you lando norris x you (older piastri sister) rating – 18+ (sex, coarse language) requested by @sublimebarbie for monzamusings ✨

“I’m about to act up if we don’t get out of here soon.”

Lando's voice was hushed and close, barely audible over the loud music but you heard him; you heard the suggestion in his tone - eyes dark when you peered into them, scorching through your soul. 

The room was a blur – bodies everywhere, EDM vibrating through the floor and syphoning up the ceiling, making your head spin. The shots on the way in didn’t help your sense of direction, the tequila tasting bitter on the tip of your tongue as you followed your brother; a chain of McLaren employees all fighting their way through the dense crowd. It was loud, raised voices trying to figure out where we were being dragged. Truthfully, it was almost too much. 

Until you saw him. His navy button down shirt stuck to his tanned skin, black thick-rimmed sunglasses shielding his bloodshot eyes, bright toothy smile reflecting the flashing lights. He was the embodiment of ‘dance like nobody’s watching’ with his arm raised in the air, singing along to a remix of No Diggity. Carefree, giving zero fucks until he saw you. 

To the outside looking in, you two were friendly - he was your younger brother's teammate, after all. But in the shadows, there were unspeakable acts of pleasure occurring that had you both sworn to secrecy. Quick glances, ghosting touches, passionate make out sessions behind motorhomes and late night rendezvous in hotel rooms. It was the whole ‘sneaking around’ cliche and you loved it. 

Especially when he looked at you like that. 

Like you’d hung the stars in the sky, like there was nobody else in the room but you. He was ravenous and completely enamoured; rendered speechless every single time. 

Granted, you looked hot. Intentionally. You craved his undivided attention and you had it in spades. He’d slipped away from the DJ booth as soon as he saw you lining up for a drink - chatting away with his PR manager and pretending like you couldn't feel his searing presence behind you. 

“Hey guys,” Lando cooly greeted, smiling brighter than the sun.

“Hey hun, I'm ordering drinks - what do you want?” Sophie asked, waiting a beat for Lando’s answer and getting nothing in return, “Lando?”

“Huh?” he mumbled, tearing his gaze away from you to his media manager who was still waiting for his drink order, but now with a sly smirk on her face, “Couldn’t hear you over the music.” He tried to play it off and she simply hummed in agreement and turned back to the bartender.

“Smooth,” you whispered playfully, pulling him into a friendly side hug, “Congrats on the win… must feel amazing.” 

Lando nodded and ran his hands through his hair - you'd noticed he always did that when he was nervous. His cheeks would flush, eyes would dart to anywhere but yours and his fingers would find the frayed ends of his gorgeous curls. All tell tale signs that he was into you. 

“Yeah, it does…” he agreed, nodding and chewing the inside of his cheek, “Not as amazing as you look but still pretty good.”

He could turn it on when he wanted to. And it made you blush as your idle hands playfully swatted him away until you spotted your little brother strolling over to the two of you with a smile. 

“Hey mate,” Oscar greeted happily, patting his teammate on the shoulder, “Celebrating?”

“Absolutely,” Lando enthused and held up his vodka soda with a grin, “Is Lily here?”

“Yeah she’s talking to someone. Thought i’d just come over and make sure my sister wasn’t annoying you again,” he winked, knowing that you were the least annoying person he knew. 

So you rolled your eyes and started to walk away, “Rich coming from you, kid.”

Oscar simply laughed, none the wiser to your arrangement with his teammate, “Don’t have too much fun and remember which side of the garage you’re related to, yeah?” “Yeah, yeah.” you brushed him off and slyly grasped Lando’s wrist, dragging him off into the sea of sweaty bodies and debauchery. 

It didn’t take long for his hands to find a place on your swaying hips, entranced by the way they moved to the music reverberating through your chest. It was hot, in more ways than just the temperature rising in the room as capacity hit. Lando’s breath swept across the back of your neck as he leaned in, so close to pressing his lips to the soft spot between your ear and shoulder that gifted him with the sweetest sounds he had ever heard.

It took every ounce of will power to save it for the bedroom. 

But he was fighting a losing battle. 

“I’m about to act up if we don’t get out of here soon.”

You couldn't stop the smirk tugging on the corners of your lips as his confession washed over you. So you spun around in his arms and leaned in a little closer than "friendly".

But you didn't care – you needed him.

“Then take me somewhere and do something about it.”

That’s all it took. Five little words had you pressed up against the wall of the lavish bathroom. The lighting was dim, nothing but a single sconce illuminating the copper walls and the gorgeous vanity you were perched upon. It was clumsy, all teeth as you kissed the man holding you up, legs sprawled and mewls slipping from your ruby lips. Tongue tied and breathless, all the things to make a quickie, a quickie. 

“So fucking tight,” Lando grumbled as he pumped two fingers into you, the dampened string of what resembled a pair of panties haphazardly pulled to the side.

“Need to fuck me good then, hey.” It was a taunt fuelled by carnal need and desire - Lando simple nodded and lazily nipped at the skin exposed on your neck. 

“Gonna fuck you so good, baby.”

He was painfully hard, which made unzipping his ridiculously tight trousers even harder than usual. But he managed to do it without missing a beat, fingers still delving into the depths he craved to feel squeezing his aching dick. He’d thought about it all day, even had to have a cold shower because of how fucking obsessed he was with the way you felt around him, clenching like you were now around his thick digits. 

“We’ve gotta be quick so leave everything on,” you whispered with a devilish glint in your hungry eyes, fiddling with his belt buckle.

Lando wasn’t going to protest, in fact he loved the idea of having you like this - fully clothed with only your cute, black lacy panties pulled to the side for him to slide into. He couldn’t wait any longer. His trousers and pants were hastily shoved down just enough to free him, the slick coat of excitement cooled by the air and sending a chill down his spine. Until he removed his fingers and ran himself through your folds, eliciting the sound of an angel, heaven sent.

“We good?” he asked sweetly and you nodded with pleading eyes, sealing a layer of consent before nudging his tip into you. 

A chorus of moans harmonised between the two of you, pleasantly satisfied by the intimacy as he shuffled forward with a gentle huff. It felt too good to have him inside you, filling you up with a delicious fullness you constantly craved from him. It’s all you needed after a long day of yearning and discreetly glancing across the garages - all you could think about was this moment, where it was just you and him; so outrageously turned on that you couldn’t wait to get back to his hotel. Desperately devoted.

“Feels unbelievable, baby,” you praised in a breathy moan, head tilted back against the already steamed up mirror hanging behind you.

“Having you like this is a fucking dream,” Lando practically growled as he pulled down the top of your dress and kissed the tops of your breasts, “So beautiful.” 

Everything felt heightened as you relaxed against the vanity, fully trusting his tight grip and letting go of all inhibitions. That’s how you felt with Lando - walls down and no longer scared to feel it all with someone. And god, it felt good to purge all the pent up lust and aching to have him like this, panting and whispering filth into your ear; every word and jut surmounting to the knot in your stomach snapping to ribbons all at once. Your rushed words pathetically coming out in a whine.

“Lan… Baby I’m gonna- fuck, I’m so close.” 

“Shhh, I got you darling, come ‘f me…” he sweetly whispered, easing you over the edge as his fingers caressed the bundle of nerves between your thighs like precious cargo. 

You chanted his name over and over and over again, fingernails clutching his clothed back for leverage as you convulsed in pleasure, shockwaves hitting every nerve in your body as he spilled into you with an exasperated groan. He was beautiful, all flushed and fucked out as he pressed his forehead to yours, weary eyes locked in once again. 

“Some of our best yet, I reckon,” Lando whispered, his smirking lips ghosting yours. 

You chuckled and gave him a quick kiss as you slid down off the vanity, readjusting your panties to their usual position. There was a short beat before you glanced back up at him with a smile, fingertips instinctively tracing the angles of his sharp jaw. 

“Oh, we’re just getting started, baby.” 

a/n – something a bit different! i've always wanted to explore a lando x older piastri sister because well, this fic series exists and older reader stories just hit harder and are a lot easier for me to write. so let me know what you think!

click here for more writing...

The Alchemy Masterlist

Lando Norris x fem!reader

THE SEASONS

2019 season Norris and Button meet on their first year at Formula 1 and soon enough they're both attached to the hip.

2020 season Nothing much has changed between the pair, expect they now wear masks everywhere they go.

2021 season Norris and Button are two big idiots traveling the world together.

2022 season COMING SOON After the fiasco of the end of the 2021 season everyone expects them to be together by now.

2023 season COMING SOON It's happening, it's finally happening! Or... is it not?

2024 season COMING SOON Where's the trophy? He just comes running over to her.

BABY BUTTON

Baby Button paddock debut COMING SOON

Ice Man melted COMING SOON

Baby Button first crush COMING SOON

When I was in Senior High School I started taking down notes at first but I ended up just taking pictures which weren’t helpful at all tbh. For me doing this kind of thing exercises my mind because somehow I unconconciously review the lesson when I’m catching up with my notes. Also for college this would really help me a lot with subjects that involves the same topics. I need to do everything to pass college cuz Mapua life.