grid kids or cupids?— mv1
smau + written blurbs
max verstappen x !driver reader
2025 rookies x !platonic driver reader
your ex cheated. you dumped him. simple, clean, no tears—just a block, a race win, and an innocent instagram post. you are over it. but your rookies? not so much.
somehow, they’ve formed a secret matchmaking club and are now trying to set you up with half the grid. you know. max knows. (he’s your very smitten, very amused boyfriend.) but neither of you say a word.
because watching them try? is way too entertaining.
fc : luvstruck on ig (love a tattooed baddie as a face claim)
original request is here.
(a/n) : this was so much fun for me. i hope you all enjoy! love youuuu
—
yourusername
liked by kimi.antonelli, olliebearman, isackhadjar and 4,550,700 others.
yourusername : his loss.
—
view 285,003 other comments.
username000 : did she finally leave that ugly demonic man?????
liked by yourusername
↳ username1 : oh thank god. we got our baddie back🙏🏻
liked by yourusername
yourbff : man just couldn’t handle having a baddie. the funny thing is he can’t watch the race without seeing your name or face 😏
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : he shall never know peace.
liked by yourbff
yoursister : i can hear the streets callin’🧏♀️
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : call me pluto cuz im alr in them
liked by yoursister
↳ yoursister : where are your children? its rare i make it here before they do.
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : oh they will be here within like the next 10 seconds
liked by yoursister
↳ olliebearman : heyyyy so what’s his address? so i can send a hitman.
liked by yoursister, yourbff and yourusername
isackhadjar : if i see that man IT IS ON SIGHT.
liked by yourusername
lando : if i were him id never leave the house ever again, not just because of the 6 angry children at my door but just out of sheer embarrassment from what i fumbled.
liked by yourusername
kimi.antonelli : im small but i can bite ankles. he is a dead man. im going to kill him
liked by yourusername
gabrielbortoleto_ : yn i cannot handle these vague captions. pls answer the group chat. im spiraling and about to hire someone to do horrible things.
liked by yourusername
↳ isackhadjar : i feel sick to my stomach.
liked by yourusername
↳ olliebearman : i just threw up
liked by yourusername
↳ kimi.antonelli : i am pacing
liked by yourusername
↳ jackdoohan : just threw my phone across the room
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : guys, im fine. truly. it was for the best. i will call you all later!
↳ kimi.antonelli : yn did he hurt you?? i destroy his entire bloodline
↳ isackhadjar : stop lying. you are ignoring our texts. you never do.
↳ olliebearman : ok well he hurt you so we will just find him and kill him. its all taken care of
↳ gabrielbortoleto_ : cannot believe you are just ghosting your six emotionally unstable children.
username07 : the rookies falling apart in the comments while yn is unfazed is taking me OUT.
alex_albon : he peaked in high school and drives a toyota 💀 and now fumbled an f1 driver…him being him is punishment enough
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : i can’t with you 💀
oscarpiastri : absolutely no clue what happened but i instantly take your side. he is a dick.
liked by yourusername
alexandrasaintmleux : he fumbled so i could have you😇
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : mmm yes gimme (making grabby hands at you)
liked by alexandrasaintmleux
olliebearman : yn we are coming over
↳ kimi.antonelli : you let us in or we break the door down
↳ yourusername : im sure that breaking and entering is already somewhere on oliver’s crime list so lets not add to it. come on over kids.
↳ gabrielbortoleto_ : YAYYYYYYYY
↳ jackdoohan : on my way! (already outside of your apartment)
↳ isackhadjar : i have been sitting in the hallway since this was posted.
↳ yourusername : get in here🙄
username15 : these kids love their grid mum 🤧
—
flashback
You hadn’t expected the night to end in a breakup. But maybe you should’ve.
It started with his phone—left unlocked, screen facing up, buzzing like a warning. You hadn’t meant to look. But you did. A message preview lit up like a punch to the chest.
last night was the best;) miss you already xx
You didn’t open it. You didn’t need to. The way your stomach dropped told you everything you weren’t ready to admit.
You sat there for a few seconds, staring at the screen. His voice filtered in from the bathroom—some off-key humming, clueless and careless. It made you feel numb. Or maybe free. You weren’t sure which yet.
When he walked back in, grinning like he still had you, you held the phone up.
“You should really be more careful with your passwords,” you said calmly.
His expression dropped. “Babe, it’s not what it looks like—”
“It looks like you’re sleeping with someone who isn’t me.”
You didn’t yell. Didn’t cry. Didn’t even let him finish his half-assed explanation. You just grabbed your heels, your pride, and your keys, and walked out the door like it owed you nothing.
You texted your girls on the way out.
club. now. i finally left the bum.
By midnight, you were wrapped in black mesh and revenge-red lipstick.
The bass vibrated through your bones, and the margarita in your hand burned in the best way. Your friends were already dancing like the world was ending, and for the first time in months, you felt alive.
And then you saw him. Max.
Standing at the bar with a half-finished drink and that usual unreadable expression—until he looked up and saw you.
His eyes flicked over you once, slow and deliberate, before his lips curled into the smallest smirk. He lifted his drink in silent acknowledgment, and you raised your brow like, Don’t test me. But he didn’t walk away.
No, he walked toward you—unhurried, completely sure of himself, like he’d been waiting for you to show up all night.
“You good?” he asked, leaning in just enough to be heard over the music.
You shrugged, grinning. “Better than ever.”
He studied you for a second longer. “You look free. Like you finally let go of that one thing that was dragging you down.”
You met his gaze head-on. “Maybe I did. But I don’t regret it.”
Something about your voice—clear, certain, maybe a little dangerous—made him nod slowly. Like he knew that version of you. Like he’d met her before in himself.
He didn’t say anything for a moment, just offered his hand. “Come dance with me.”
And God help you, you said yes. One song bled into another, and suddenly you were dancing like your skin was on fire, like the world couldn’t touch you anymore. Max wasn’t just keeping up—he matched you. Step for step, stare for stare, like the two of you spoke the same language in a rhythm only you could hear.
You didn’t remember leaning in. You didn’t remember whose hand touched whose waist first.
But you do remember the way his lips brushed yours, soft and warm and slow at first—like he was asking a question. And how you answered with a kiss that tasted like tequila and freedom.
When you finally pulled away, breathless, Max just looked at you with that same amused smirk and said, “Definitely his loss.”
You laughed. You weren’t just fine. You were starting over.
—
The sunlight hit your face before the memory did. Warm. Gentle. Relentless.
You blinked a few times, groggy and still wrapped in that heavy limbed softness that comes from too many drinks and not enough regrets. The room smelled faintly of something distinctly Max—clean, expensive, and just a little smug.
You rolled over. He was already awake.
Lying there, one arm folded behind his head, chest bare, the sheets dangerously low on his hips. His other hand held his phone, which he casually tossed aside when he noticed you looking.
“Morning,” he said, voice rough, sleepy.
You groaned into the pillow. “Tell me we didn’t do something stupid.”
Max tilted his head. “Define stupid.”
Your eyes narrowed. He smiled.
“We danced,” he said. “You kissed me. Twice. And then you tried to start a debate about tire compounds in the elevator.”
You winced. “Sounds like me.”
He laughed under his breath, that low rumble sending a shiver down your spine.
“But no,” he added, softer this time. “You were upset. So I brought you back here. You changed into my shirt, stole all the covers, and fell asleep with your face in my shoulder.”
You blinked. “I didn’t kiss you again?”
He hesitated. “You almost did. Then you said something about how ‘this doesn’t count when you’re drunk’ and knocked out cold.”
You groaned again. “God. Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said, without missing a beat. “It was the best night I’ve had in a long time.”
You looked over at him, eyes soft. “You sure? I was kind of a mess.”
Max shrugged. “You were real. That’s what I want to see.”
For a second, the air stilled between you. No jokes. No tension. Just quiet understanding. You’d kissed him the night before thinking it was a one time thing—sparked by adrenaline, tequila, and heartbreak. But lying here now, in his bed, wearing his shirt and breathing in his space.
He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. “So… breakfast?”
You blinked. “You’re offering to feed me now?”
“I’m offering to bribe you with pancakes so you don’t ghost me later.”
You smirked, climbing out of bed and grabbing your phone.
“I don’t ghost,” you said, pausing by the door. “But fair warning—once I post a thirst trap, our children are going to lose their minds.”
Max grinned, already reaching for his shirt. “Perfect. Let them panic.”
And as you headed to the bathroom, still wearing nothing but his t-shirt and a smirk, you realized something—You really, really didn’t miss your ex.
—
present day
It’s been a few weeks since that night. Since tequila and heartbreak and Max Verstappen.
You’ve seen him a few times since then—quiet dinners in hotel rooms, lingering handholds between debriefs, shared glances across the paddock that made your stomach flip like a rookie on their debut lap. It’s easy, exciting, safe in the strangest way. No pressure, no labels.
And somehow, for once, no noise. Just the two of you, figuring it out behind closed doors. Which is exactly why you should’ve known that post would send the entire grid into DEFCON 1. Because you barely have time to finish brushing your teeth when it sounds like your whole front door is being broken down.
You freeze, toothbrush halfway to your mouth. Then—
DING DING DING DING.
“YN OPEN THE DOOR RIGHT NOW.”
You peek through the peephole. And there they are. All six of them. Kimi. Ollie. Isack. Jack. Franco. Gabriel.
Every last one of them in complete disarray. Jack’s hair is still wet. Gabriel’s holding a box of oreo’s, one stuffed into his mouth. Franco has absolutely no shoes on.
You blink. “Good morning?”
“You can’t just post that and disappear,” Ollie blurts.
“Disrespectful,” Franco agrees. “Honestly rude.”
“You owe us answers,” Jack adds, pushing inside like this is a crime scene. “Did he cheat? Did you dump him? Do I need to start training for violence?”
“I’m already in shape for violence,” Isack mutters.
“I brought Oreo’s,” Gabriel says, holding them up as a gift of peace.
Kimi just crosses his arms and stares you down. “What happened.”
You close the door behind them and sigh.
“Nothing crazy,” you say, voice steady. “I found out he wasn’t who I thought he was. So I ended it.”
You head to the kitchen and start making coffee. Like this isn’t the opening scene of a Netflix special where the 2025 F1 Rookies begin a manhunt.
“But… are you okay?” Franco asks gently.
You turn and smile. “Honestly? I’m great. It’s probably the healthiest decision I’ve made in years.”
Kimi leans against the counter. “You don’t have to be fine right now, you know.”
You sip your coffee and shrug. “I am fine. Genuinely. I don’t miss him. There’s nothing to cry over.”
There’s a beat of silence. Six sets of eyes narrow, exchanging looks like they’ve rehearsed this. You can feel the shift in the air. The whisper of an unspoken plan forming. But no one says it. No one says “we’re going to find you someone better.” No one says “we’ve already made a list.”
Instead, Gabriel sits beside you. “Okay. Well, if you’re fine… we’re still staying for brunch.”
“Obviously,” Franco says.
“Non-negotiable,” Isack adds.
Ollie leans forward, fake-casual. “So… no one new in the picture yet?”
You raise an eyebrow. “Are you taking attendance for my love life now?”
He shrugs. “Just making conversation.”
You laugh. “Well, no. There’s nothing to report. I’m enjoying being single.”
Half-true. You take another sip of coffee and hide your smirk. They all nod slowly. Quiet. Suspicious. Too quiet.
Gabriel’s already texting someone under the table. Jack’s typing into his Notes app. Franco looks like he’s trying to remember every eligible man on the grid. Kimi is definitely plotting a background check. You say nothing.
Because letting them believe you’re freshly single, emotionally vulnerable, and in need of saving? Is way too fun to correct.
—
The brunch was meant to be a quick thing. A little comfort, a little check-in, maybe a pastry or two.
But somewhere between the third round of pancakes and Kimi yelling at Jack for putting ketchup on eggs, it turned into something else.
You knew you were doomed the moment Ollie declared, mouth full of toast.
“You’re not allowed to be alone today. We’re going with you.”
You’d laughed. Thought it was a joke. But now it’s two hours later, and they’re all still here. You walk into the training facility like usual, hoodie up, bag slung over your shoulder, calm and collected. Behind you? Six men trailing in a chaotic single file like toddlers on a leash.
Gabriel’s rapidly texting on his phone. Franco’s wearing sunglasses indoors. Jack’s humming. Isack is trying to arm wrestle Kimi mid walk. Ollie keeps speed walking ahead of you, then backpedaling like a mall cop on edge.
“You guys don’t actually have to stay,” you say for the fifth time, mildly exasperated.
“Yes, we do,” Ollie insists. “What if your ex tries to talk to you again?”
“I blocked him.”
“What if he makes a burner account?”
“I blocked five burner accounts.”
Kimi snorts. “I told you she’s too smart for him.”
Isack stretches like he’s preparing for a UFC match. “Still. You’re emotionally delicate right now.”
You raise an eyebrow. “I’m emotionally fine.”
“She’s in denial,” Jack whispers. “Classic phase two.”
You groan, swiping your pass at the entrance and holding the door open for your band of feral ducklings.
—
You’re halfway through your warm-up laps when it happens. You jog around the corner of the facility and pass by a small group of guys—some local trainers and junior athletes. You nod politely at them, earbuds in, barely noticing.
But they notice you. One of them—tall, maybe twenty-five—stares for a second too long. Not creepy. Just curious. And apparently, that’s enough to start World War III. Because from across the room, you hear a voice yell.
“HEY. EYES UP, BRO. THAT’S MY MOM.”
You stop in your tracks. Spin around. Ollie is storming toward the guy with a hand on his chest like he’s about to deliver the sermon of the year.
The poor guy looks so confused. “I—what?”
“She’s a national treasure,” Ollie says, dead serious. “You don’t ogle national treasures.”
You jog back over, cheeks already burning from embarrassment. “Ollie. He just wanted an autograph.”
“No he didn’t.”
“Yes. He’s holding a pen.”
The guy timidly raises his hand. “I just wanted to say hi. I’m a fan.”
Ollie glares. You sigh and pat the fan on the shoulder. “It’s okay. I appreciate it.”
Behind you, Isack leans toward Franco. “Should we start screening everyone she interacts with?”
“Already doing it,” Franco says, typing something into his phone. “I have a form.”
—
By mid-afternoon, they’ve followed you to recovery. Then to the simulator. Then back to your place, where they claim they’re “just checking your locks.” Kimi installs a door camera. Jack offers to sleep on your couch. Gabriel keeps offering to cook for you.
Every time you so much as look at your phone, someone leans over your shoulder.
Ollie squints, head on my shoulder. “Who’s that?”
You sigh and chuckle. “My nutritionist.”
Franco looks up at you. “Okay. What’s his intention?”
”My nutrition.”
Eventually, you collapse onto the couch, arms folded, finally fed up.
“Guys,” you say flatly, “I’m not a baby deer in a storm. I am fine. No one needs to be screened. I don’t need a 24-hour security team. And I definitely don’t need—”
Ding. Your phone lights up. A message from Max.
You alive or are they still holding you hostage?
You smile at the screen—just a little. Just enough for Isack to notice.
He leans forward. “Who was that.”
“Just… a friend.”
Six heads whip around.
“WHO.”
You roll your eyes and stand. “I’m going to shower. Please, for the love of god, do not follow me.”
They groan like they’re being abandoned on a battlefield. And as you shut the bathroom door behind you, you hear Jack whisper.
“We need to escalate. Operation Boyfriend starts now.”
—
f1gossipgirls
785,090 likes.
f1gossipgirls : Mercedes driver YN LN made her first paddock appearance since her rumored breakup — and if anyone’s heartbroken, it’s definitely not her. Looking radiant and unbothered, she was welcomed with a big hug from teammate Kimi Antonelli and closely tailed by Isack Hadjar, who appeared glued to her side all day.
The real kicker? Her full squad of rookie ducklings followed her everywhere — from the garage to the grid walk to the drivers parade, forming what can only be described as a personal security detail (or cult? unclear). But we love this new and radiant Grid Mum!
—
view 185,090 other comments.
username000 : kimi hugging her like a baby koala was not on my 2025 bingo card but i’ll take it
username00 : ollie: “she doesn’t need us” also ollie: breathing down the neck of anyone who looks at her for more than 0.2 seconds 😭
username0 : franco, gabriel, jack, ollie, kimi, and isack acting like sons to a woman only a few years older than them… peak formula 1 content
username1 : Grid Mum is such an accurate title like they would all FOLLOW HER INTO BATTLE 😭
username5 : i’ve never been more proud of a woman i’ve never met in my LIFE. she won. she’s glowing. she has six rookies as her army. iconic behavior only.
—
The date with Carlos was scheduled with precision.
Ollie booked the restaurant himself, despite forgetting to ask whether you were allergic to seafood. Isack made a shared Google Doc of outfit suggestions. Franco literally coached Carlos on what not to say during the car ride there. Gabriel told you to “just act natural,” which was rich coming from someone who panics ordering coffee.
Carlos, for his part, handled it like a champ.
“You know they sent me a PDF,” he tells you, raising an eyebrow as the waiter pours wine.
You blink. “A PDF?”
He nods, fighting a smile. “Title was ‘So You Think You Can Date YN.’”
You nearly choke on your water. “I swear to God.”
He grins. “Very detailed. They had a whole section on things not to mention. Like your ex. Or 2019 qualifying in Monaco.”
“Fair,” you say, smirking.
To his credit, Carlos is very good at this. Charming, confident, a little teasing, but never pushy. He asks about your training, your favorite circuits, the meaning behind the small tattoo on your wrist. He compliments your eyes like he means it.
And for a second, you let yourself lean into it. Until you spot them. Behind Carlos, tucked into a booth near the corner?
The Ducklings.
Poorly disguised in sunglasses, hoodies, and baseball caps—like a weird boyband on the run.
Jack has a menu held upside down. Gabriel is clearly filming on his phone. Ollie is wearing a fake moustache. Franco waves when you make eye contact. Kimi sits with his arms crossed like a bodyguard. And Isack’s just… staring at Carlos. Like he wants to wrestle him across the table.
You bite back a laugh. Carlos follows your gaze, glancing over his shoulder. He turns back, grinning.
“Should we tell them I saw them an hour ago?”
“No,” you say, sipping your wine. “Let them have their fun.”
He raises his glass. “To the worst spies in F1 history.”
—
You don’t know how they convinced Pierre to do this. Maybe it was Franco’s charm. Maybe it was the rookie group chat descending into madness after “Carlos Date Day.” Or maybe Pierre’s just here for the chaos, as always.
Either way, here you are. Dress. Dinner. Dim lighting. And Pierre, in an offensively good shirt, holding out a chair like he was born for this.
“I must say,” he smirks, “the moment they approached me with the idea, I said finally. Someone’s letting me take the prettiest driver on the grid out.”
You snort. “Do you use that line often?”
He grins, absolutely unapologetic. “Only when it’s true.”
You sit, trying not to smile too much. The restaurant is all low lighting and flickering candles—Pierre’s choice, obviously. He orders a bottle of wine in French, and the waiter actually blushes. You already regret letting Franco be in charge of the location.
“So,” you say, narrowing your eyes playfully, “what did the Ducklings promise you?”
“Ah,” he leans back dramatically, “they said if I sweep you off your feet, I get Kimi’s sim time for the month.”
You blink. “That’s… weirdly generous.”
“I know.” He raises his glass. “They’re getting desperate.”
You clink. “They are insane.”
“Insanely devoted to you,” he corrects.
You pause. Let that sit. Because he’s not wrong. And that’s when you spot them. The Ducklings. At it again.
Ollie and Isack behind the wine rack. Kimi pretending to be a server with an apron and a scowl. Jack crouching behind a decorative plant that is way too small. Gabriel and Franco sitting two tables over with fake menus covering their faces, whispering like spies.
You sigh into your wine. “They are so bad at hiding.”
Pierre glances over, raises an eyebrow, and smirks. “Should we give them something to talk about?”
You lean forward, amused. “Like what?”
He doesn’t answer. Just raises a brow and slowly reaches across the table to take your hand, smooth and steady. In the background, someone gasps audibly. Definitely Isack. Pierre doesn’t flinch.
“They need to believe I’m a threat,” he says lowly, thumb brushing your knuckles. “Otherwise, what’s the fun?”
You shake your head, trying not to laugh. “You’re dangerous.”
“I’m French,” he says with a wink. “Same thing.”
—
over with the rookies…
“HE’S HOLDING HER HAND. HE’S HOLDING HER HAND.” Ollie panics into his little earpiece.
Isack sighs. “Deploying emotional damage protocol. Permission to interfere?”
Kimi sets the glass of water down at the table he is pretending to serve. “Negative. We observe. We do not assassinate.”
Gabriel smiles from behind the menu. “She just looks so pretty. I wouldn’t be able to let go either.”
Franco starts panicking and fanning himself with said menu. “Guys. She’s smiling.”
Jack puts his head down. “It’s Carlos all over again. This is a spiral.”
Ollie face palms. “I told you we should’ve gone with Alex first. He would’ve been soft. Safe. Pierre has an agenda.”
—
Pierre’s still holding your hand when you laugh—genuine and loud and a little tipsy. The date has been fun, even if it feels like an elaborate school play. He’s charming, flirty, just the right amount of dangerous. But still…
Not the one who sent you a photo of your coffee order this morning. Not the one who smirks every time the rookies panic. Not the one who hasn’t stopped texting you versions of “good luck surviving them” all day.
You finish dessert—chocolate tart and rookie glares—and stand with Pierre as the waiter brings the bill. He leans close, lips brushing your cheek.
“Merci, chérie,” he murmurs, warm and quiet. “This was fun.”
And it was. But the second you step outside and the rookies swarm you, dramatic as ever—
Ollie checks you over quickly, holding your arms. “ARE YOU OKAY? DID HE POISON YOU WITH COMPLIMENTS?”
Isack rushes over, out of breath. “DO YOU HAVE EMOTIONAL WHIPLASH??”
Gabriel reaches up and brushes your hair. “Did he touch your hair???”
You just laugh, shrugging them off as you walk to the car. Because even though Pierre was perfect on paper— He wasn’t Max. And maybe the rookies haven’t figured it out yet.
—
You were promised a casual night.
“Low pressure,” Gabriel said.
“Light-hearted,” Jack promised.
“Just Alex,” Franco winked. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
Famous last words. Because ten minutes into sitting across from Alex Albon at a cozy Thai restaurant — one he picked himself — you clock all six rookies sitting in a booth across the room in matching black hoodies like they’re in a rogue choir.
Alex leans in, smiling wide as he watches you clock them. “So. We’re ignoring the Secret Service detail?”
“Apparently,” you deadpan. “Their idea of ‘stealth’ is coordinated outfits and Jack holding a menu upside down.”
Alex chuckles, offering you a piece of spring roll with his chopsticks. “I’ll admit, I kind of love the chaos. Makes me feel like I’m in a sitcom.”
You grin, accepting it. “Is this their idea of soft-launching us?”
“Please,” Alex says, mock offended. “If I was soft-launching you, it’d be on a boat, golden hour lighting, maybe a quirky caption.”
You laugh out loud. Truth be told, this is the most normal of the “dates” so far. Alex is sweet, calm, and effortlessly funny. He talks to you like you’ve known each other for years. No pressure, no forced charm. Just vibing over pad see ew and Thai iced teas. Still, something’s… off. Not with him, exactly. Just… something.
—
duckling commentary…
Ollie whispers lowly. “Why is she laughing that hard? What did he say? I need a transcript.”
Isack squints. “She looks relaxed. TOO relaxed.”
Kimi shrugs. “He’s got soft energy. I’m not threatened.”
Franco sighs. “But what if she likes soft energy.”
Gabriel with a mouth full. “I like Alex. He’s soft. Like tofu.”
Jack moves the menu from his face. “I will literally flip this table if he touches her hand.”
—
back to you and mr. albon…
“You know,” Alex says, mid-bite, “I told them this was ridiculous. I said, ‘She’s not looking for someone. She’s got that look in her eye like she already found someone and hasn’t told them yet.’”
You go still.
He looks up at you. “Sorry—was that too much?”
You stare at him for a second.
And then: “No. That was… very on point.”
Alex smiles, a little softer now. “It’s not me, is it?”
You shake your head slowly. “No.”
He sits back, letting out a small breath. “Didn’t think so. Just wanted to be sure before I told Isack to stop plotting date number four.”
You laugh. Like full body laugh.
“God, they’re so intense.”
“They’re obsessed with you,” Alex says easily. “I get it. You’re kind of their mum. But also their queen. Their general. Their—”
“Duck wrangler.”
“Exactly.”
You sip your drink. “You’re handling this well.”
“I like being a decoy,” Alex shrugs. “Gives me a front row seat to the Max Verstappen Situation.”
You choke. “The what?”
He smirks. “Oh, come on. You don’t think we all saw him volunteer for the draft room? He showed up like he’d already won.”
You press your lips together. “It’s… complicated.”
“Is it?” Alex grins. “Because I think the only people who haven’t figured it out are the rookies. And honestly? I’m not telling them. Watching this slow unraveling is the best thing to happen to the paddock since Pierre got stuck in that bathroom in Baku.”
—
You and Alex step out of the restaurant into the night air, the six rookies immediately materializing from inside.
Isack approaches quickly. “Rate the date. Out of 10. Be honest.”
Ollie checks you over, again. “Did he hold you?”
Kimi crosses his arms. “I brought pepper spray in case things got weird.”
Gabriel sighs dramatically. “Alex, are you in love with her?”
Jack stares at you. “Was it mid?? Be real.”
Franco stares down Alex. “You better not hurt her or I’ll flatten you on the sidewalk.”
Alex just throws his hands up. “Guys. I’m literally the safe option. You picked me for vibe control.”
—
The place is quiet. Max picked a rooftop bar just outside the city — warm lights, open air, panoramic views, and most importantly—no cameras. Well. Except the ones hidden behind a concrete planter across the deck. You glance toward it and spot the very obvious outline of Ollie’s curly hair. You don’t even say anything. Max sees it too. He smirks.
“They really don’t know how to blend in, huh?”
“Nope.”
“I think he is wearing the fake mustache again.”
“I give them points for commitment.”
You clink your glasses together — you with a ginger beer, Max with something dark and still half-ignored — and settle into the kind of silence that feels earned, not awkward. The breeze lifts your hair slightly. His eyes follow the movement, just for a second.
“You’ve been humoring them,” he says after a while.
You glance at him. “You’ve been letting them spiral.”
He grins. “I don’t intervene in things I already won.”
Your heart does a thing. You sip your drink to cover it.
—
meanwhile at the rookie watchtower…
Jack smiles, looking satisfied. “Okay, we’re officially in the final boss round.”
Isack eyes the both of you. “Do we think he’s actually playing the game or just… winning by default?”
Gabriel shrugs. “He’s not even trying to flirt and it’s working. I hate it here.”
Ollie squints at Max. “He’s got that smug ‘I already kissed her’ look—”
Franco shrieks. “Wait. Has he???”
Kimi eyes all of the boys. “Do we interfere if tongues happen.”
All of them erupt. “YES.”
—
back with you and maxie…
Back at the table, Max leans forward slightly, eyes on you like he’s choosing every word carefully.
“I’m glad you let them do this.”
“Yeah?”
“Gave me a front-row seat to your smile. And their chaos. Win-win.”
You raise an eyebrow. “So what’s your plan? You know they’re watching.”
He shrugs. “Not here to impress them.”
“Oh?”
Max sets his drink down.
“I’m here to kiss you in front of them and end this game.”
You go still. Heart? Racing.
“You’re serious.”
He stands. Offers his hand. You take it. And then he pulls you in gently, tilting your chin up just enough, and kisses you like it’s not even a question anymore. Like it never was. Warm. Certain. Slow. Soft. And behind you—
“OH MY GOD.”
“THAT’S ILLEGAL.”
“THAT’S AGAINST THE RULES.”
You don’t even break the kiss until Max pulls back with a laugh, turning just slightly toward the human pile of rookies currently losing their minds behind a planter.
His arm stays looped around your waist.
“That’s against the rules!” Ollie yells again, hands flailing.
Max smirks. Shrugs.
“I don’t follow rules,” he says simply, “when she’s already mine.”
Jack screams into a napkin.
Franco blinks in disbelief. “HE SAID WHAT—”
Isack looks like he is going to faint. “I NEED TO SIT DOWN.”
Gabriel clutching his chest. “I think I just blacked out.”
Kimi smirked. “I knew it. I KNEW IT.”
Ollie crumbles quickly. “They made us schedule a date with Alex when she was already WITH HIM—”
You turn toward Max, cheeks warm, heart light, still half-shocked and entirely melted.
“That was… dramatic.”
“Worth it.”
“You really planned to one-up the rookies?”
He grins. “No. I planned to end the game before they tried to match you with Lando.”
You laugh and kiss him again — brief, bright, completely yours. Alongside the two of you, six ducklings begin planning a joint wedding speech.
—
maxverstappen1
liked by gabrielbortoleto_, olliebearman, kimi.antonelli and 5,505,023 others.
maxverstappen1 : grid mom and dad making it official. love you, schat❤️
tagged : yourusername
—
view 250,000 other comments.
gabrielbortoleto_ : i feel like i found out santa isn’t real but also found out my parents are canceling the divorce on the same day.
liked by yourusername and maxverstappen1
↳ yourusername : idek what that means but okay my little ducky.
↳ gabrielbortoleto_ : im betrayed but overjoyed
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francolapinto : mama y papa
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olliebearman : we scheduled dates. we made color-coded spreadsheets. we googled how to flirt respectfully. AND YOU WERE ALREADY KISSING.
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↳ isackhadjar : i was ready to flatten pierre with my car for this woman. AND THIS IS HOW YOU TREAT ME???
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↳ jackdoohan : we booked a RESTAURANT. i WORE A COLLARED SHIRT. i told a waiter “it’s her big day.” for WHAT.
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↳ gabrielbortoleto_ : i was her emotional support water bottle holder. do you know how much responsibility that is???
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↳ kimi.antonelli : i knew. i always knew. but i let the others spiral because it was funny.
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↳ olliebearman : don’t even talk. i wrote her a DATING PROFILE. with bullet points.
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↳ isackhadjar : they KISSED ON THE DATE I WAS HIDING BEHIND A PLANT FOR. i need financial compensation.
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↳ olliebearman : HEY. i wore that itchy ass mustache four dates in a ROW.
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↳ yourusername : i would trust you all with my life. just not my love life ❤️
—
bonus scene!
The checkered flag waves. You don’t even hear the roar of the crowd at first — not over the static-crackling voice of your race engineer, screaming so loud he’s probably broken something in the garage.
“P1! YN, that’s P1 — you did it! YOU BLOODY DID IT!”
You’re not breathing. Your hands are shaking around the wheel, your visor fogged slightly with heat and adrenaline. You let out a noise — somewhere between a yell and a laugh and a sob — and punch the air so hard you might’ve dislocated something. And then another voice cuts in. Kimi. Completely unprofessional. Totally euphoric. “GRID MOM WINS. THE GRID MOM WON!!!”
You let out a laugh, heart racing, vision blurring. Your car rolls over the finish line and onto the cooldown lap, your fingers white-knuckled around the wheel.
By the time you’re climbing out of the car, the world is already screaming. Fans at the fence chant your name. The Mercedes crew is piling over the pit wall like lunatics.
You tear your helmet off and throw your arms in the air. You’ve barely taken a full breath when you’re tackled from the side — Kimi, jumping on you like a golden retriever with too much kinetic energy.
“I’M SO PROUD OF YOU,” he yells, muffled by your shoulder.
“You got your first podium!” you laugh, hugging him just as tightly.
“And YOU WON. So, respectfully — I will get in line, this is your moment.”
He lets you go with one last enthusiastic pat on the back, and that’s when you see him.
Max. Standing a few paces away, helmet off, hair messy, eyes only on you.
The way he looks at you? Like you painted the sky.
He doesn’t rush you. Just walks forward with that calm, smug patience he always has — but when you meet him halfway, wrapping your arms around his neck and laughing into his shoulder, he lifts you slightly off the ground without hesitation.
“You’re unbelievable,” he says softly into your hair.
You pull back just enough to see his face. “Still think you let me win?”
He grins. “Only because you’re hot.”
The champagne sprays. The flashbulbs explode. The crowd is still roaring when Max steps off his podium block, strides across to you — and kisses you. It's not subtle. It's not quiet. It's a hard launch in high definition. He pulls back only slightly, curls his arm around your waist. Your eyes go wide, but you're already smiling. Laughing, even. You press your forehead to his and exhale one word through your grin.
“Dramatic.”
“Correct.”
But before either of you can bask in it for too long— CHAOS.
Suddenly, there’s yelling. Sprinting. A commotion behind the barriers. And then— A ROOKIE STAMPEDE.
Ollie is first. He launches himself up the side of the podium steps like it’s the final stage of Ninja Warrior. Franco and Gabriel follow, scaling like climbers on caffeine.
Jack does a running leap. Isack vaults the barrier with no regard for ankle safety. And Kimi, of course, simply walks up — nods at the FIA official like this is normal, and joins the crowd. They pile onto the podium. No one stops them. Security gives up. Fans are shrieking.
Franco hugs your waist and yells, “MY MOM WON!!”
Jack flings an arm around Max and shouts, “DAD HARD LAUNCHED! HISTORY HAS BEEN MADE!”
Ollie collapses onto the floor of the podium and moans, “I feel so emotionally unsafe right now, but I’m also so proud.”
Gabriel is taking selfies mid-hug.Isack is clinging to your arm like it’s the last flotation device on the Titanic.
Kimi sighed happily. “It was time. The people needed to know.”
And in the middle of it all, Max just throws an arm around your shoulders and says with a completely straight face. “These are our children now.”
—
Later that night, Max throws his phone on the hotel bed and flops down beside you, still smiling.
“I think we broke the Internet,” you murmur.
“I think we adopted six grown men.”
You laugh. “Worth it.”
He turns his head, grinning. “They love you, you know.”
“I know.”
You pause. “They love us.”
He kisses you again — soft this time, slow — and the world outside fades. For now, it’s just the two of you. And the six rookies already planning family brunch in the group chat.
—
