Drive To Survive, Azerbaijan GP 2018 | Post-race Show, Spanish GP 2024

Better Than Melatonin

Kinktober Day 1 → Cockwarming 💋 Toto Wolff

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

The room is dark, lit only by the dim, golden glow from the bedside lamp. Toto sits on the edge of the bed, watching you as you toss and turn. The sheets tangle around your legs, and your face is scrunched up in frustration.

“Can’t sleep?” He asks, his voice low, almost a rumble.

You freeze for a second, not expecting him to still be awake. “I’m fine,” you reply, though it’s clear that you’re anything but.

Toto raises an eyebrow, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “You’ve been moving around for the last hour. You’re not fine.”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t know … I just can’t seem to get comfortable.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, just continues to watch you, eyes narrowed as if he’s trying to figure something out. It’s unnerving, the way he studies you, as if you’re a puzzle he’s determined to solve. Finally, he speaks, his voice a deep, soothing timbre.

“Come here.”

You hesitate, unsure of what he’s planning. “Toto, I don’t-”

“Come here,” he repeats, more insistent this time. There’s a tone in his voice that makes it clear he’s not going to take no for an answer.

Reluctantly, you scoot closer to him, feeling the mattress dip under his weight. He’s so much larger than you, a wall of muscle and authority, and yet, there’s something undeniably comforting about his presence.

You rest your head on his chest, his steady heartbeat thrumming beneath your ear. For a moment, the world seems to settle, the chaos in your mind quieting down just a little.

But then you shift, trying to find a position that doesn’t feel so … awkward.

“You’re still tense,” he murmurs, his hand coming to rest on your hip.

You nod, biting your lip. “I guess … I guess I’m just not used to this.”

“This?” He prompts, his hand sliding up your side, his fingers trailing along your skin in a way that sends shivers down your spine.

“Sharing a bed,” you admit, your voice barely more than a whisper. “With someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” He echoes, and there’s a hint of amusement in his tone.

You huff, frustrated by your own inability to explain. “You know what I mean. You’re … you’re Toto Wolff. And I’m just … me.”

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through your entire body. “You’re not just anything, Häschen.” His hand cups your chin, tilting your head up so you’re forced to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, intense, and for a moment, you feel like you’re drowning in them. “You’re mine.”

The words send a thrill through you, a mix of excitement and nerves. “Toto …”

“Shh,” he hushes you, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. “Relax. Let me take care of you.”

You want to argue, to tell him that you’re fine, that you don’t need him to take care of you, but the words die on your tongue as he shifts, his body pressing you into the mattress. There’s no urgency in his movements, no rush, just a slow, deliberate claiming of space. His hands are everywhere, warm and sure, and before you know it, he’s positioned himself between your legs.

Your breath catches in your throat as you realize what he’s doing. “Toto, wait, I-”

“Trust me,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

He’s so close now, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

But you don’t want him to stop. You want this, want him, even though you’re still nervous, still unsure. There’s something about the way he touches you, the way he looks at you, that makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world.

So you nod, giving him permission without words. He understands, of course he does, and slowly, carefully, he presses into you, filling you in a way that makes your mind go blissfully blank.

You gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders as he settles deep inside you. He’s so big, so overwhelming, but it’s not painful. It’s just … intense.

“Easy,” he soothes, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Breathe.”

You do as he says, focusing on the rise and fall of your chest, the steady rhythm of your breathing. He stays still, just holding you, filling you, and somehow, that’s enough to calm the frantic thoughts racing through your mind.

After a moment, he pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression softening in a way that you don’t think you’ve ever seen before. “Better?”

You nod again, feeling a little dazed. “Yeah … better.”

“Good,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Now sleep.”

You blink up at him, confused. “Sleep? Like this?”

“Exactly like this,” he replies, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The idea of falling asleep like this, with him still inside you, is strange and yet … comforting. It’s as if he’s claiming you in a way that’s both physical and emotional, a silent promise that he’s not going to let you go.

“Okay,” you whisper, your body relaxing against him. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple.

You close your eyes, focusing on the steady rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of his body surrounding you. Slowly, the tension drains from your muscles, your mind drifting into a pleasant haze. It’s strange, but for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel safe. Safe and … loved.

Toto doesn’t move, just holds you, his hand resting on your hip, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin. You can feel him still inside you, a constant, grounding presence that lulls you into a sense of peace.

“Sleep, Häschen,” he whispers again, and this time, you don’t fight it.

You let yourself drift, the world fading away until there’s nothing left but the steady beat of his heart and the feeling of him, warm and solid, holding you close.

***

The soft, rhythmic click of the keyboard echoes through the dimly lit room. Toto’s office is a sanctuary of sleek modernity — glass, steel, and leather, with the subtle hum of computers creating a low, constant backdrop.

His eyes are glued to the screen, sharp and focused, his mind immersed in the layers of data that demand his attention. But despite the intensity of his work, he’s aware of the time — late, far too late for you to be awake.

And yet, there’s a soft creak of the door opening behind him, barely perceptible but enough to make him pause, his hands hovering over the keyboard. He glances up, his eyes narrowing as they adjust to the sight of you standing in the doorway, hesitant and small in the oversized t-shirt you’ve borrowed from him.

“Häschen?” His voice is gentle, but there’s an edge of concern. “What are you doing up?”

You shift on your feet, unsure how to explain. Your eyes are heavy with exhaustion, but there’s something else there too — a need, something unspoken but clear in the way you linger in the doorway. “I … I couldn’t sleep.”

Toto sighs, his expression softening as he leans back in his chair, taking in the sight of you. You look so vulnerable, standing there with your arms wrapped around yourself, as if you’re trying to ward off some unseen cold. He knows exactly why you can’t sleep — why you’ve been struggling on nights when he’s not in bed beside you.

“Come here,” he says, his tone a mixture of command and tenderness.

You hesitate, still unsure, but the pull is too strong. Slowly, you pad across the room, the cold hardwood floor making you shiver as you approach him.

Toto watches you carefully, his gaze never leaving yours as you finally reach his desk. He reaches out, taking your hand and pulling you closer until you’re standing between his legs, his warmth already seeping into you.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were having trouble sleeping?” He asks, his voice low as his hand comes up to caress your cheek.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you murmur, your eyes downcast. “I know you’re busy.”

He frowns at that, his thumb brushing against your lower lip in a gesture that’s become all too familiar. “You’re never a bother to me, Häschen. You should know that by now.”

You nod, but it’s clear you’re still holding back, your body tense despite his reassuring words. “I just … I can’t sleep without you.”

The admission hangs in the air between you, heavy with the weight of your vulnerability. Toto’s eyes soften, a mix of pride and concern flashing through them as he pulls you closer, his hands firm on your hips. “You need me that much, hm?”

You bite your lip, embarrassed but unable to deny it. “I guess I do.”

His response is immediate. Without a word, he lifts you effortlessly, turning you so that you’re perched on his lap, your legs straddling his hips.

You let out a small gasp, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders as he settles you against him. The warmth of his body, the solid feel of him beneath you, it all works to ease some of the tension from your muscles, but it’s not enough.

Toto seems to understand, his hands sliding under the hem of your shirt, finding purchase on your bare skin. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t push, just holds you there, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your spine. “Tell me what you need, Häschen.”

You close your eyes, leaning into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours. It’s a simple request, but it’s one that fills you with an odd mixture of longing and shame. “I need … I need you.”

His grip tightens ever so slightly, a reassuring pressure that grounds you. “I’m right here.”

“No,” you shake your head, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need you … like before.”

Toto’s hands still on your back, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ve pushed too far. But then, he shifts, his hand coming up to cup your chin, tilting your face so that you’re forced to meet his gaze. “You want me to fill you, Häschen? Is that what you need?”

There’s no judgment in his tone, only understanding and a deep, unyielding care that makes your heart ache. You nod, feeling a tear slip down your cheek, more out of relief than anything else.

“Then that’s what you’ll have,” he murmurs, wiping the tear away with his thumb before capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

He doesn’t rush, doesn’t demand. Everything he does is with a deliberate slowness, an assurance that he’s here, that he’s not going anywhere. His hands slide down to your hips, lifting you just enough so that he can position himself against you. You feel the hard length of him pressing against your entrance, and there’s a moment of hesitation, a brief flash of nerves that makes you tense up.

“Shh, relax,” Toto soothes, his lips brushing against your temple. “I’ve got you, Häschen. Let me take care of you.”

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to relax as he slowly lowers you onto him, filling you inch by inch until he’s buried deep inside. It’s a stretch, a fullness that’s overwhelming and yet, it’s exactly what you need. The tension that’s been keeping you awake, the restless energy that’s been gnawing at you, it all melts away the moment he’s inside you.

“There you go,” Toto whispers, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your back. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

You can only nod, your face buried in the crook of his neck as you cling to him, your body trembling with relief. He doesn’t move, doesn’t thrust or push, just holds you there, letting you get used to the feeling of being so completely filled by him.

Toto’s hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair as he rocks you gently in his lap. “You’re doing so well, Häschen. Just let go. I’ve got you.”

You close your eyes, focusing on the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of his body surrounding you. His hands are everywhere, holding you, grounding you, and it’s not long before you feel the exhaustion creeping back in, your body finally relaxing against him.

“That’s it,” Toto murmurs, his lips brushing against your forehead. “Just sleep, Häschen. I’ll be right here.”

You try to fight it, try to stay awake, but it’s a losing battle. The combination of his warmth, his scent, the steady rhythm of his breathing — it all works together to lull you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Toto doesn’t move, doesn’t shift even an inch as you drift off. He stays still, his hands keeping you anchored to him, his eyes softening as he watches you finally find the peace that had been eluding you all night.

The minutes tick by, the silence of the room only broken by the soft sounds of your breathing, the occasional rustle of the sheets as you shift in your sleep. Toto continues to work, his fingers moving deftly over the keyboard, but his focus is only half on the screen. The other half is on you — on the way your body relaxes completely against him, on the way your lips part slightly as you breathe, on the way you trust him so implicitly to take care of you.

It’s a feeling that stirs something deep inside him, something protective, something possessive. You’re his, in every way that matters, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re safe, that you’re happy, that you know you’re loved.

Time slips by unnoticed as Toto works, the hours stretching out as the night deepens. Every so often, he glances down at you, checking to make sure you’re still comfortable, still resting peacefully. Each time, he finds you just as he left you, your body still pressed close to his, your breathing even and calm.

It’s only when the first hints of dawn begin to creep through the windows, the sky lightening to a soft, pale blue, that Toto finally lets out a breath, his work done for the night. He looks down at you, still asleep in his lap, and a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

Carefully, so as not to wake you, he shuts down his computer, the soft whir of the machines fading into silence. Then, with the same gentle care, he shifts you in his arms, lifting you as he stands, cradling you against his chest.

You stir slightly, a soft murmur escaping your lips, but you don’t wake, your head resting against his shoulder as he carries you out of the office and down the hallway to the bedroom. The bed is still unmade from earlier, the sheets a tangled mess, but Toto doesn’t care. All that matters is getting you settled, making sure you’re comfortable.

He lays you down carefully, his movements slow and deliberate as he pulls the covers over you. For a moment, he just stands there, watching you sleep, a strange sense of peace settling over him. You look so small, so fragile in the big bed, and yet, there’s a strength to you, a quiet resilience that he admires more than he can put into words.

Finally, he slips into bed beside you, his arm wrapping around your waist as he pulls you close. You instinctively curl into him, seeking out his warmth even in sleep, and Toto can’t help but smile as he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

As he settles beside you, he gently lifts your leg over his hip, positioning himself against your entrance. With a slow, careful motion, he slips back inside you, filling you completely once more.

You sigh in your sleep, a contented sound that melts into a soft moan, and your body instinctively curls closer to him, seeking his warmth and strength. Toto holds you there, his presence filling you completely, a sense of belonging settling over both of you. He strokes your back, soothing and slow, his own eyes growing heavy with sleep as the night finally gives way to dawn.

With you nestled in his arms, warm and secure, Toto allows himself to drift off, knowing that you're exactly where you belong — in his arms, perfectly content and loved.

No but why can I see Checo and Leclerc! sister sending the overprotective brothers updates while they're on holidays or everyone sending pictures of Leclerc! Sister when she falls asleep in most random places.

Why do I feel so called out about the part where Leclerc!reader falls asleep at the most random places???

Since you’re the only female daughter of Pascale, your brothers tend to be overly protective of you, even when you got married to the point that they threatened Checo to send updates of you whenever you’re both on vacation or just together outside. So Sergio had no choice but to make a group chat of him together with your three brothers.

Your significant other and brothers kept this a secret from you as to not worry you or think that they don’t trust you. They do trust you, with their whole life, but they’re scared to lose you. After all, in their eyes you’re the princess, the lady Leclerc of the family aside from your mother, so they held great pride when it came to you.

It was summer break for both you and Checo so the two of you decided to getaway from the same place and go to Maldives. Your brothers didn’t know about this, but you had told your mother about it which she was okay with. When Charles was looking for you the next day, Pascale only shrugged saying she had no idea where you are. And that only left Charles to message the groupchat with Checo about your whereabouts.

When the notification popped up on Sergio’s phone, you were both having lunch in a bungalow. Checo looking at his phone, immediately saw Charles’ message, and when you weren’t looking, he snapped a photo of you sending it to the groupchat. When Charles received the photo, he nodded to himself before sending a “have fun” to Checo.

When three hours has passed, you decided to drag Checo and go scuba diving. While your significant other protested and thrashed, you were having none of it explaining to him that what was the purpose of having a vacation in Maldives if you weren’t going to scuba dive. Checo knowing that he won’t be able to argue anymore, let himself get dragged by you.

As he enjoyed himself getting pulled by you to the ocean, he took another candid photo of you, smiling to himself. He then sent it to the groupchat with the caption, “scuba diving” before leaving his phone at the given cupboard.

When Sergio saw you standing at the edge of the dock waiting for him, he smiled softly to himself as he admired you. He watched you as you basked in the warm, ethereal glow of the setting sun. The sun's gentle caress highlighting every contour of your face, casting long, romantic shadows. Your eyes sparkle, reflecting the hues of the sky, and your smile radiates pure happiness. In that fleeting moment, time seems to stand still, and Sergio was once again reminded of the beauty of love and nature coming together in perfect harmony.

When he was only an inch left away from you, he leaned down and captured your lips, pulling you into a soft and affectionate kiss. You were astounded by what he did, but you didn’t protest instead you pulled him closer wrapping your arms around his neck before pulling him with you to the ocean.

You both fell in the cold waters, and when you both got up to the surface, your husband was looking at you with furrowed eyebrows. You let out a gentle laugh as you swam closer to him, fixing his soaked hair and putting it to the side before pulling home into a kiss again, this time no more joking.

When he pulled away, he gave a cheeky grin then splashed your face with water. And let’s just stay instead of actually doing the itinerary, you and Checo instead just swam around the ocean, enjoying each other’s presence.

When the sun has set and the moon shone brightly on the dark sky, Checo decided that it was time for both of you to get out and have dinner. Hearing your stomach grumble, you followed him out the water, grabbing yourself and drying yourself up.

Checo noticing your shivers, covered you with his own towel before wrapping his arms around your shoulder, warming you up. You leaned yourself on him as he guided you to the bungalow.

When he saw you comfortably on the chair, he went up and grabbed dinner for the both of you. But when he sat down and arrived on your table, he was starstrucked at how you managed to fall asleep with your posture still fixed.

Holding back his chuckle, he took another photo and sent it to the group chat, this time the one with Pascale. Almost all of them immediately sent a reply, laughing and talking about how you’re always sleeping anywhere any time possible.

Checo knowing how tired you must be, tapped you softly on the shoulder and asked if you wanted to go rest instead of having dinner. You groggily shook your head, grabbing your utensils as you let out a gentle yawn making Sergio smile.

As you both finished eating, your husband took both your plates and placed it in their respective places before returning to you and helping you up. He guided you so that you were standing behind him before he crouched down and helped you get on his back while you half-sleepily wrapped your arms around him.

Carrying you in a piggyback ride, he slowly walked to your shared hut, humming quietly as he smiled to himself while thinking of those wholesome moment with you. It never ceases to amaze him how you have the ability to fall asleep anywhere, anytime as long as you’re exhausted. It doesn’t matter how uncomfortable it would feel after or what body part of you will ache, you will still fall asleep anyway.

When he arrived at your room, he gently placed you in the middle of the bed before disappearing into the bathroom and appearing again with a wet face towel. He went to your side and cleaned you up, removing your swimwear and replacing it with his own clean shirt. Finishing up with you, he covered your lower extremities with the thin blanket provided before taking one last photo of you then sending it to the groupchat and saying good night to your brothers as well as he cleaned himself too.

*fast forward after break*

As mentioned, it has been a weird habit of yours to fall asleep anytime and anywhere. And it’s no secret to your significant other, family members, and even co-drivers on how you are able to do that. In fact, even your fans know about that peculiar habit of yours and they adored you more ever since.

Since you were driving for Ferrari, you are team mates with your brother and let’s say the both of you are quite unstoppable when working together. But today, it seemed like none was going to your plans as two red flags have already occured and it’s just the second free practice.

The first red flag occured when Hulkenburg crashed into the barriers because of a break issue and that caused around 20 minutes of the first free practice to be wasted. What you did, however, was you asked your engineer to play soft classical music before dozing off in your car as you waited for the session to continue. When the cameras showed a display of you, everyone watching chuckled and shook their heads, clearly aware of your silly antics.

Now for the second time around, the red flag happened because even thought it was just the second free practice, everyone decided to play bumpy cars and crashed into one another, and by everyone you meant George, Max, and Lando.

But now instead of staying in your car, you went out of your car, and you sat beside your race engineer, deciding to talk about the upgrades brought into the car before you left and went to the Red Bull garage, specifically your husband’s garage.

On the way you greeted, Hugh Bird, Checo’s engineer and asking him where your significant other was. Hugh only shrugged, mentioning the last time he saw your husband was on his way to relieve himself. And upon deciding that you’ll wait for him, you sat at the little corner of his garage’s side.

Holding your knees to your chest, you leaned your forehead on top of your knees before even realising that you were falling into slumber. You only woke up from your power nap when you felt someone sit beside you. Looking up, you saw your husband, a wide cheeky grin plastered on his face before he kissed your cheeks.

“Nice nap, amor? No stiff necks?” He asked teasingly.

Scoffing, you nudged him softly and you rolled your eyes which made him laugh. And when he was done with his laughing fit, you leaned your head on his shoulder. Checo realising what you were doing, he guided your head on his shoulder before kissing the crown of your head.

“You can nap more, comfortably this time. I’ll wake you up when the session is green flagged.”

Yawning to his statement, you gently nodded your head to at least let him know you understood. He once more planted a kiss on your head before he took your hands in his and caressed it gently.

The next time you woke up, Checo was poking your legs and opening your eyes, you were greeted by the cameras of F1 medias and your brother, Charles.

Squinting as the flash hits your eyes, you looked at Checo who only gave you a sheepish grin as he stood up and helped you up too.

“Recharged again, mi cielo?” He asked softly and you nodded, stretching your body as you fixed your race suit.

Charles impatiently waiting for you, said good bye to your husband and grabbed your hands, dragging you outside your team’s rival garage and bringing you to your home turf.

Laughing to his childish behaviour, your laugh only disappeared when you saw the screen replay the video of you and Checo in the corner. Now it was Charles’ turn to laugh at your reaction, not until you punched him on the arm gently.

When your race engineers said that the session was resumed, you got ready and went into race mode.

MY GOD THIS TOOK FOREVER 😭

Lando 🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪🎉🎉🍾🍾🍾🍾

Oscar like: 🤨🤨🤨~🙂‍↔️🙂‍↔️🙂‍↔️~😒😒😒

“No, no, no! 𝕷𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖔, I can’t let u do that”

"You're not breaking this one!"🏆

Beneath the Surface

Warnings: Depression, Eating Disorder, Emotional Distress, Mental Health Struggles

Summary: Y/n, struggling with depression and an eating disorder, feels trapped in her own darkness, unable to confide in her husband, Toto Wolff, for fear of burdening him. Despite her attempts to hide her pain, Toto notices the changes in her and becomes increasingly concerned.

Pairing: Toto Wolff x reader

Word count: 869

If you need help please don´t shy away and confide in someone for help. your feelings are valid.

______________________________________________________________

Y/n stared blankly out of the window, her eyes tracing the familiar skyline of England. The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden hue over the city, but she felt nothing. The world outside was vibrant, alive with color and energy, but inside, she was a hollow shell, trapped in a gray fog that refused to lift.

Toto had left early that morning, heading to the Mercedes factory for yet another meeting. His life was a whirlwind of decisions, deadlines, and constant pressure. Y/n had always admired his drive and ambition, the way he could juggle a million things at once and still come home to her with a smile. But lately, that smile felt like a spotlight, one she couldn't bear to stand under.

She sighed, her hand drifting to the untouched plate of food in front of her. The thought of eating made her stomach turn, a wave of guilt crashing over her for the third time that day. The food wasn’t the problem—she was. Her mind was a battlefield, a war she had been losing for months now. The depression had crept in slowly, like a shadow lengthening in the afternoon sun, until it swallowed her whole.

And the eating disorder? That was her secret weapon, the twisted coping mechanism she clung to in a desperate attempt to feel some semblance of control. But the control was an illusion, and she knew it. It was a spiral, one that tightened around her like a noose, leaving her breathless and panicked.

She couldn’t tell Toto. The very thought of burdening him with her darkness made her chest ache. He had enough on his plate, running a Formula 1 team and maintaining the image of a calm, collected leader. He didn’t need her problems on top of that.

But Toto noticed. He always did.

He had seen the way her clothes hung a little looser on her frame, the way her smile never quite reached her eyes anymore. He noticed how she pushed food around on her plate, claiming she wasn’t hungry, or that she had eaten earlier. He watched as the light in her eyes dimmed, replaced by a distant, haunted look that broke his heart.

Toto was no stranger to pressure and stress, but the sight of his wife slipping away from him was a different kind of pain, one he didn’t know how to fight. He had tried to bring it up gently, asking if she was okay, if there was anything she wanted to talk about. Each time, she brushed him off with a weak smile and a quick excuse.

But Toto wasn’t fooled. He knew something was terribly wrong, and the longer she kept him at arm’s length, the more desperate he became to help her.

One evening, he came home earlier than usual, hoping to catch her before she retreated into the solitude of their bedroom. He found her sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly at a cup of tea that had long gone cold.

“Y/n,” he called softly, not wanting to startle her.

She looked up, startled anyway, and quickly forced a smile. “Hey, I didn’t hear you come in. How was your day?”

Toto walked over, pulling out the chair next to her and sitting down. He took her hand in his, noting how thin and cold it felt. “It was fine,” he said, keeping his voice gentle. “But I’m more worried about how your day was.”

Y/n’s smile faltered, and she looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m fine, Toto. Just a little tired, that’s all.”

He squeezed her hand, his heart aching at the way she tried to downplay her struggles. “Y/n, you’re not fine. I can see that something is wrong, and it’s killing me that you won’t let me in.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she quickly blinked them away, shaking her head. “I don’t want to burden you with my problems. You have enough to deal with already.”

Toto’s expression softened, and he reached out to gently cup her cheek, turning her face toward him. “You are never a burden to me, Y/n. You’re my wife, my partner in everything. If you’re hurting, then I’m hurting too. Please, let me help you.”

The dam broke then. The tears she had been holding back for so long spilled over, and she crumpled into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Toto held her tightly, his own eyes damp as he whispered soothing words, promising her that they would get through this together.

“I’m so sorry,” she choked out between sobs. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I feel so lost, so out of control, and I didn’t want to drag you down with me.”

“You don’t have to go through this alone,” Toto murmured, stroking her hair. “We’ll find help, Y/n. We’ll get through this, one step at a time. But you have to trust me, and let me in. We’re a team, remember?”

She nodded against his chest, the weight of her secret finally lifting, if only a little. “I’m scared, Toto.”

“I know,” he whispered. “But we’ll face it together, every step of the way.”

His Girl

Part 2

Summary: Lando loves his rich, girl boss, girl. Though he doesn't really know what she really does underneath. Until he does.

or

In which Lando finds out his girlfriend is not who she said she was.

Side note: I'm using names for reader, and spelling and grammar errors. This is fake, nothing is real. So don't send shit massages to me.

Warnings: Blood. Dead body. Guns.

Part One

Masterlist

2022

It had been two years since Bonnie and Lando met and started dating. In those two years, they had been so in love. Never felling like this with anyone else. Lando's family was so happy for them both seeing their love.

Lando had never questioned where she got her money as Bonnie had told him that her father was wealthy and left her with everything and the company.

He did question her about the bodyguards following her all the time, But Bonnie had just said that it had been like that since she was born as he father was a wealthy man.

He was in aww when he had first saw her two-story London home. It was set on an acreage and was huge. He had jockeying asked if she was in the mafia, what he didn't see was the color to drain from her face and her guards throw each other looks.

The first time Lando had ever been almost close to figuring it out was by accident. Something Bonnie had made saw never happened again. Because if she was ever going to protect anything in the world it would be Lando and their relationship.

It was an early morning in London. The sun not even rising yet. Lando had been staying with Bonnie for a bit in her home as they talked about buying an apartment or house together last night.

Bonnie was relucent, but she agreed it was the next step in their relationship. But she would be keeping her estate in London for business and travel.

Lando was so ecstatic for their move together. And they had celebrating, by having sex. Never a dull moment with Lando.

Bonnie woke as someone entermeted her room and shook her lightly. Lando's arm was around her waist and the other was under her head.

"Miss. Salvatore." A light voice whispered to her. Bonnie new that voice and the only person to ever wake her up would be her maid.

"Mary?" Bonnie asked confused as she sat up quickly, not to disturb Lando.

Her maid's face greeted her. "Someone's here to see you." She spoke her voice shaking lightly.

"Who? At this time?" She whispered to her maid as she carefully got out of bed and grabbed her robe from the floor. Lando rolled over to the other side quickly falling asleep.

"Mr. Lopez is here." Mary whispered terrified.

Bonnie froze from getting her slippers on and looked at Mary wide eye. Mr. Lopez was a rival mafia gang that had always had it out for her father and his operation. While her father dealed guns and money, Mr. Lopez dealed drugs. Something her father stayed away from.

"Get the men and stay here in case Lando wakes up." Bonnie order her maid as she bent down and lifted the rug from under bed and pulled her daggers from out of the floorboards.

Bonnie walked down the hall with her guards all around her. When she got to the grand staircase, she saw her other maids and she guested he was in the parlor room.

"Making yourself at home." Bonnie called as she walked in the room and saw him sitting on one of the black couches.

Mr. Lopez chuckled. "Why how are this fine morning, Bonnie." He smiled at her. But in a cruel way.

"It's Miss Salvatore to you." She snaped and crossed her arms and took a seat in front of him. Mr.' Lopez's back was facing the back where Bonnie's guards were. Ready to kill if needed. "What do you want that couldn't wait till the sunrise was up?" She asked annoyed.

A maid walked in the room with tea for Bonnie. She thanked her and faced the man. He raised his eyebrows. "No offerings for your guest?" He asked leaning back in the leather couch.

Bonnie shot him an annoyed look. "No." She bluntly told him as she added her sugar cubes to her tea. "Now get to it." She ordered.

"Your father dealed in guns and money but now that he's gone, don't think it's time you expanded." Mr. Lopex started as Bonnie listened closely.

"What are you proposing?"

"Drugs." He simply said. "You would be making more money than you do now." He smiled thinking money would get her to agree.

"No." She simply spoke as she crossed her legs.

Mr. Lopez frowned. "You didn't even think about it."

Bonnie shook her head. "I have. My father didn't like drugs and I don't like drugs." She told him. "If that's all you wanted to talk about, you can go now." She told him and leaned back in her seat with her cup of tea.

Mr. Lopez frowned at her and then smirked, "You don't want me to hurt Mr. Norris up in your bedroom, do you?" He taunted her.

Bonnie tensed. The maids and guards that were in the room tensed as well. They had seen firsthand how much Bonnie loved Lando. They knew what she would do to keep him safe.

"Are you threating me?" Bonnie asked as she put her tea down and narrowed her eyes at him.

"No, I'm threating your boyfriend." He smirked. "I want you to do drugs and split all your proferts with me."

"Or what?"

"Mr. Norris gets a rude awaking." Mr. Lopez smirked thinking he won. He leaned back in his seat as he watches Bonnie's face go from fear to blank.

"Do you know what my father always taught me, Mr. Lopez?" She asked as she stood up from her seat and out of the way. She moved to the fireplace martlet where photos of her and her father were sat.

"What?" He asked confused.

Bonnie smiled at a photo of her and her father. It was her sixth birthday. She turned to Mr. Lopez and smirked as her loyal guard got his silencer gun out of his jacked.

"He told me that you never enter a house without protection or backup. And you especially never threaten their family. And you Josphe Hunt Lopez have just made that mistake." She smirked and watched as he quickly shot up and turn around and a bullet was lodge in his head.

He fell back and dropped on her marble floors. Blood quickly falling out near his head. Bonnie looked at his dead body. "Never threaten someone's loved ones."

The maids quickly got to cleaning just as Marry come around the corner with a look in her eyes.

"Love?" Lando called. bonnie eyes widened and she skipped out of the parlor door and closed them behind her as Lando came down the staircase. His eyes lit up when he saw her. "There you are." He smiled.

Bonnie hugged him back when he hugged her. His head rested in her neck as he hummed. "What are you doing up?" She asked him and ran her hand through his hair.

"What are you doing up." He shot back teasingly. She shot him a grin and shook her head with a laugh.

"Business call." She answered with a smile. Trying to not sound nervous. Lando just hummed and Bonnie took him by the hand and started walking up the stairs. "Why don't we get back bed and try to get more sleep?" She suggested.

Lando hummed with a smile. "Yeah. I just saw you weren't up and wondered where you were." He spoke and shot her a small smile one she sent back.

"Sorry. Duty calls." She laughed lightly. When Lando's back was turned she shot a look at a maid, and she nodded before walking back into the parlor, to help clean the mess up.

Bonnie and Lando both walked back to their room as the maids and bodyguards cleaned up Mr. Lopez. It was something Bonnie didn't want to ever happen again in her home.

Maybe moving was good. Many people from her world didn't know where she lived but the rest that new where people that she trusted now. Her and her people getting rid of the people she didn't trust.

She wouldn't let anything happen to Lando. She wouldn't forgive herself.

Bonnie smiled at Lando as they both got back under the covers. Lando resting his head on her chest. "I love you." Lando told Bonnie as he was falling asleep by Bonnie's fingers running threw his hair.

Bonnie smiled and kissed the top of his head. "I love you, Lan." She whispered back. She felt Lando place a soft kiss on her chest and Bonnie listened to his breathing as he put back to sleep.

Bonnie would do anything for him. he was the best thing that ever happen to her. She hadn't loved much in her short life. But now that she had felt it, looked at it. She was never letting it go or letting anyone destroy what she had found.

Her parents were the only love she had ever seen growing up. Her father had loved her mother so much and it killed him when she died but he didn't turn out horrible like most dads, no he loved her so much. Did everything he could for her.

Her father always said that he didn't regret loving her mother, because he got to know what love was. And he wouldn't change that for that world. She wanted that. A love that will hurt you when it's over. Because then you know it was real.

"I would do anything for you." She whispered down to Lando who was asleep. She placed a light kiss to his cheek. "Nothing is ever going to happen to you on my watch. I'll make sure of it." She promises herself and asleep Lando.

Making promise you can't keep was always going to end badly. There was no dyeing that.

Part 1

Masterlist

Hope you liked it. Hopefully the next part won't be long.

😳

Can you please do driver reader is literally the absolute Angel of the paddock and everyone adores her, she’s the cutest sweetest little bean that you can’t help but love, she’s a Redbull driver and Christian always fawns over her and talks about his ‘daughter’ ( it’s clear she’s the favourite ). Even the older drivers love her e.g kimi, jenson, Seb, mark. Platonic pleaseeee

Omg, that is such a sweet idea. I did the format a bit differently, hope you don't mind.

Enjoy reading and send me some requests!!!

-XoXo

The Redbull Princess

YN YLN was a known name in the motor sport world. Not only was she the youngest driver currently on the grid - only 19 years - but she is the first female to ever drive for RedBull. Not oy that, but also the only woman on the grid.

Despite having a different gender, the other drivers never treated her bad. In fact, one could say that YN got the whole "Princess Treatment" from the drivers and teams. Each driver has taken a special place in her life.

Exhibit A: The protective one

The paddock was buzzing with energy, reporters swarming like bees near the Red Bull garage. YN was prepping for her media rounds, already feeling the weight of the spotlight on her. As she stepped into the press pen, a group of journalists immediately approached, firing off questions.

"YN, how do you feel about the pressure of being the youngest driver? Do you think it affects your performance?"

Before she could answer, Max appeared out of nowhere, slipping between her and the reporters with a grin that was anything but friendly. "I think that's enough for now," Max said, his blue eyes narrowing. "She’s got a race to focus on. Back off."

The reporters, visibly intimidated by the reigning World Champion, quickly shuffled away. YN let out a breath of relief, nudging Max with her elbow.

"You know, I can handle them."

Max chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, steering her away from the crowd. "Yeah, but why would I let them bother you when I can have fun scaring them off?"

"You're impossible," she laughed. "But thanks."

Exhibit B: The gossip King

YN walked into the Ferrari garage, still buzzing from practice. She found Charles leaning against his car, drinking water. His face lit up when he saw her.

"Charlie! Did you see that move I pulled in turn 9?" she said, excitedly plopping down next to him.

Charles grinned, instantly slipping into gossip mode. "I did! Smooth as butter. But did you hear about Fernando's radio message? He was furious about the tire degradation. Drama!"

YN's eyes widened. "No way! Spill all the tea, Leclerc."

Charles leaned in, whispering. "Apparently, his engineer told him to manage his tires better, and Nando snapped, saying, ‘I am managing them!’" He mimicked Fernando’s accent, making YN burst into laughter.

Exhibit C: The helping hand

The young RedBull driver just exited her car, when she felt someone grabbing her Birking Bag. When she quickly turned her head, she was meat with the sight of Carlos not only caring her bag in his hands and her coat on his arm, but carring his own stuff as well.

"Carlito, what are you doing? You don’t have to carry all my stuff for me." she told him, after they started walking towards the entrance.

Carlos mate an irritated sound, before responding to her. "Nonsense, hermana. Your job is to win this weekend. So let me help you with all the other things, comprende?"

Before Carlos could get an answer, she threw her arms around him, whispering a small thank you in his ear.

Exhibit D: The personal chef

YN sat in the Red Bull hospitality area, poking at her plate of food with a discontented look. Yuki walked over, noticing her lack of enthusiasm.

"Not good enough for you, huh?" Yuki teased, sliding into the seat across from her.

YN scrunched up her nose. "I don’t know what it is, but I just can’t eat this."

Without missing a beat, Yuki stood up. "I’ll make you something. What do you want?"

Her eyes brightened. "Yuki, really? You don’t have to!"

He waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, you’re picky. I know that. What do you want? Miso soup? Onigiri?"

YN tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Onigiri sounds perfect."

Within minutes, Yuki was back, placing a plate of freshly made onigiri in front of her. YN took a bite and sighed contentedly. "You're the best, Yuki."

He grinned. "I know."

Exhibit E: The "annoying" prankster

YN was busy trying to make sure her helmet and gear were ready when suddenly, her entire backpack fell off the counter with a loud thud, spilling everything.

"Lando!" she yelled, spinning around, catching the British driver grinning like a mischievous child.

"What?" Lando said, feigning innocence, hands up. "It slipped."

YN gave him a look but couldn’t help the smile creeping on her face. Lando always knew how to lift her spirits, even if it was through relentless pranks.

"One day, Norris, one day!" she warned, pointing a finger at him.

"I’ll be waiting," Lando chuckled, before helping her pick up her things

Exhibit F: The shoulder to cry on

"I just can't believe it. I was so close. How did I manage to bin the car into the wall on the last corner" muttered the 19 year old. Her face pressed in Oscars neck, who was busy stroking her hair. He knew better than to interrupt her during her rant. Knowing it would help her when she got everything of her chest.

After a moment, she shakily breathed out. Oscar knew that the only thing he could do now was to let her fall apart while he would catch every piece of her.

And that's what he did. While she cried her heart out, Oscar held her close to him, rocking them slowly in a soothing matter. It felt like nothing could happen to her in Oscars arms. He would protect her from the outside world as long as she needed

Sometimes actions speak louder than words

Exhabit G: The fashionista

Lewis stood beside YN, eyeing her racing suit critically before smirking. "That’s not gonna work."

"What do you mean?" she asked, confused.

He pointed at her boots. "Those shoes? No way. They don’t match the rest of the suit."

YN raised an eyebrow. "I'm not trying to walk the runway, Lewis. I’m racing."

Lewis rolled his eyes. "You can do both. Come on, let’s get you a new pair of shoes. You’ll thank me later."

And true to his words, YN received a new pair of racing shoes only a few hours later. They certainly looked better than her old pair.

Exhibit H: The mother-hen

George was hovering near the buffet in the paddock, watching YN closely as she piled food onto her plate. He narrowed his eyes as she bypassed the salad section.

"YN, you need to eat more greens. And have you had any water today?" George asked, his tone dangerously close to motherly.

YN groaned. "George, I’m fine. I had water this morning."

"That’s not enough," he replied sternly, filling a glass and handing it to her. "Drink. Now."

She pouted but took the glass. "Okay, Mom."

Exhibit I: The proud dad

During a press conference, Christian Horner stood beside YN, smiling at the reporters. "You all know my daughter here is the star of the show," he said, gesturing towards YN.

YN blushed at the comment. "Christian!"

The reporters laughed, but YN knew Christian wasn’t entirely joking. He had taken her under his wing from day one, treating her like family. And she couldn’t have been more grateful.

Exhibit J: Bwoah

In a rare quiet moment, YN had somehow convinced Kimi Räikkönen — the Iceman himself — to do a TikTok trend with her. As the camera rolled, Kimi deadpanned his way through the trend, barely moving but somehow nailing it.

"Thanks for doing this, Kimi," YN said, grinning as they finished.

Kimi shrugged. "Bwoah, don’t mention it, kid. But don’t tell the other drivers that you are my favourite"

YN laughed. "Deal."

to absolutely no one's request: an updated and expanded revision of the a ship chart I made back in august

ramblings about my thought process and clearer definitions of the catergories below the cut :3

plus a blank for your scientific purposes!! I'd honestly love to see other people's charts this was so fun to do

main - self explanatory, these are pairings I'm actively deranged about. always (actively seek out fic etc)

bros - non-romance category, these are pretty much the most prominent "main pairing's friendgroup" lines (plus carjack because I didn't want jack to be lonely lmao)

mentour-mentee - self explanatory (although you can't see it that well on the graph mb) most of these have to do with nationality and teammateship

real - I had a bit of trouble defining where the line between this category and "silly" would be, what I settled on at the end was "would you find this in my reblogs like, more than once" which has a large but not 100% overlap with "pairings I've actually read fic about"

silly - pairings I enjoy in the bg of fic, but wouldn't neccessarilly read about (with the exception of the Banger fic, which has a chance of tipping the pairing over into the "real" category

missing: Simi (would be in the "silly" category) I cannot believe I fucking fucking forgot them but I also could not be arsed to redo the 2nd graph entirely

I split the more negative category into two subcategories:

1. in romantic contexts no but as bros yes

I get it, but no - self explanatory, I can very much see the appeal but personally not interested for whatever reason

neutral/? - either just don't have feelings on it (but see it around enough that I'm not completely blank) or mixed feelings (lots of these didn't end up on this list ex: jendo and jondo. for the sake of entertainment sure but nah)

2. not my thing

NOT for me - I wouldn't say there's any pairings I "hate" per se but some just feel a bit icky (age differences + carlando lmao. I think the latter has more to do with carlos' typical portrayal in landoscar fics)

not convinced - self explanatory, just not compelled by their dynamic as I understand it (I am however, easily swayed)

hiiii i loveee your fics pls do more 🫶🏾

lando request where his love language is physical touch but y/n likes her space and ye i trust you to make up the rest!

i love u🩶

✮ To Feel - Lando Norris

lando norris x fem!reader

sy: after a long day of work, lando longs to console you with his physical affection.

a/n: completing a request has gotta be on the top5 most rewarding feelings ever. & i have 2 max and 1 carlos fics that im working on cause rn ive only being getting the lando reqs out the way🙈

warnings: nothinggg just fluff.

lando had to be one of the most clingiest guys to ever walk the earth. literally.

it was a daily, better yet hourly, struggle for him to have completely opposite love languages to you. he needed the closeness, the warmth and energy he would gain from touching you, holding you. unlike you, who needed your space and was definitely the furthest from being a touchy person.

it was a particular afternoon in Monaco, where you heard your boyfriend streaming in your shared game room, after you had completed a long and tormenting 9-hour shift.

you plodded tiredly through the door, with a slight wobble and instability. countless yawns pushed through straightaway, your limbs heavy and full with ache.

upon reaching the sofa, you flopped onto it in your lounge, swallowed by the plush cushions with contact.

as a secretary doctor, your hours would consume most hours of your day, also haunting you with lethargy. needless to say, it was a tensile job which required tons of worth ethic—causing you to fall into a slumber within seconds of arriving home.

just like today.

your eyelids were opaque, your posture slumped, and it was no surprise that you would soon become unconscious with the dull pressure resting on your shoulders.

“hey babe?” you heard lando ring out, his footsteps getting closer. “are you back? i heard the front door lock.”

your efforts to speak were impractical, as you managed to muster up a wordless mumble. lando located you sprawled across the sofa, cuddling a plush cushion close to your chest. lando recognised this from before: the way you would tightly smother something close to your body, feeling like that would wash the pain away.

it was almost like your signature gesture for when you were struggling.

“babe?” he called again, softer this time. he crouched down next to the sofa, hesitant to reach out; his features pulled into a small sympathetic smile. he found it difficult to console you in times like this, as he wasn’t as good with his words than he was touch.

guilt was flooding through his veins as he knew he was unable to help in what he does best: hugs.

“are you okay huh? another long shift?”

“yeah, just tired.” you responded lazily, voice thick with sleep. lando was concerned about your health recently, as this was the 4th time this week you had came home in a fatigued state, and it was only friday.

“we need to do something about this y/n, this isn’t healthy.” he said firmly, with an unmistakable sigh fanning heat into your face.

“im fine alright? i just need some sleep.” you respond with a yawn, only opening your eyes to just about see your boyfriend.

even with less than half of your vision, you could feel the worry lacing through his head, his brows furrowed with a sad frown curling at his lips.

lando complied, figuring this wasn’t the best time to argue about your mental and physical health.

as you eyes flutter shut again, his fingers crawled hesitantly closer to your arm, longing to console you.

lando couldn’t further resist the temptation, feeling submitted to plant a lingering peck on your forehead—it was gentle and unobtrusive, allowing you to drift a little closer to sleep without pulling away.

the soft touch tingled at your skin, but the exhaustion weighed down any discomfort that you would normally sense.

the brunette felt a rush of adrenaline, accepting the fact that you didn’t pull away this time which made him sheepishly smirk and cheeks pink.

“c’mere.” lando glided your flats from your feet, gently tossing them to the side; he lifted your legs onto the sofa, draping a blanket across your body.

from the little space left on the sofa, lando seats himself next to your head although still afraid to reach for you.

you could feel the tension between you two, how much he was longing to caress your cold skin. but as the seconds passed by, your breaths became shallow, and body more still.

you stretched ever so slightly, your arm now draping over lando’s knee and subconsciously rested your head upon his leg.

lando hesitated, “y/n?”

you didn’t reply: already fallen asleep with little snores erupting from your lips. lando felt his muscles relax at your touch, an unfamiliar feeling that he wasn’t used to, but loved.

“sweet dreams beautiful,” he whispered gently, subtly rubbing circles onto your temple. lando was afraid to do anymore, halting when you stirred in your sleep.

he appreciated the moment then, realising it wouldn’t last forever. he cherished the feeling of being able to comfort you after a long day—the way he finally wanted.

lando smiled to himself, rubbing his eyes as the drowsiness was creeping upon him too.

he carefully craned his neck down, close enough to your ear but far enough so he wouldn’t disturb you.

“i’ll be here when you wake up baby, i love you.”

Through The Looking Glass

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Lea Willems - Verstappen (OC)

Summary: Max Verstappen and his wife’s relationship as told by Twitter. 

Notes: So this came about, because I was on Instagram and looked at pictures from Alexandra Saint Mleux and was like…so what if a driver’s girlfriend looked more like me and less like her? 

Then it became a whole thing, and I went down a rabbit’s hole about people online boyshaming athletes’ wives and girlfriends. This is the result. Also, it’s incredible difficult to even find aesthetic pictures to use in a smau that depict women that are even just mid-size, not even plus size. As a in-between girlie, I tried my best.  

(Also I finally made a nice Lea 😂 I know somebody who will be very glad about that.)

Warnings: The internet being a horrible place. Nikita Mazepin bashing, but like…he is canonically a horrible person, so is it even bashing? Bodyshaming, fatphobic comments and the media being horrible. If I missed something, please let me know. 

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

@/gridarchives: The most underrated long game in F1 history is how everyone thought Max Verstappen’s marriage wouldn’t last. 

How Max and Lea Verstappen went from “mad max mistake” to “paddock’s power couple”. A thread: 

@/gridarchives: Let’s start with the basics: Max Emilian Verstappen, born 30 September 1997 in Hasselt, raised in Maaseik, Belgium. Lea Willems, born 12 April 1997, raised in Maaseik. 

@/gridarchives: They met as kids. Both came from racing families — Lea’s older brother ran the local karting rink where Max used to train. They were inseparable. They met at 8. Were dating by 14. Married at 18.

@/gridarchives: 2015 — Max’s F1 debut. Lea’s still in school. Doesn’t follow him to every race. Doesn't start an Instagram. Doesn’t chase a spotlight.

They do long-distance. Quietly.

And when he gets his first victory in 2016, she’s the one waiting in the garage. Not in the VIP suite. Just… there.

@/gridarchives:  max is 18. Fresh off a win in Barcelona. Deep in his Mad Max era—aggressive on track, icy in interviews, throwing elbows and collecting penalties like candy.

And then, seemingly out of nowhere, He marries his high school girlfriend.

And announced it on Instagram: 

@/gridarchives:  Red Bull had no idea. Reportedly, Christian Horner found out when the rest of the world did.

 Max showed up to the next debrief wearing a ring.

 When asked about it, he just shrugged and said, “We got married.” Like it was no big deal.

@/gridarchives:  Cue chaos. The media ripped it apart.

“Too young.” “Too fast.” “Is she pregnant?” “He’s ruining his focus.” Lea was called everything from clingy to irrelevant. She never said a word in response.

@/gridarchives: The Internet:

“This won’t last” “teenage hormones” “he’s too immature” “What is he even doing getting married?” “career suicide” “She’s just a karting fling, right?”

@/gridarchives:  After the announcement, the backlash wasn’t just about the when. It became about the who.

 The internet took one look at Lea Willems — now Lea Verstappen — and collectively lost its mind.

And not in a good way.

@/gridarchives: She didn’t look like what people expected. She wasn’t tall and wafer-thin. Wasn’t a size 0. She didn’t wear designer brands. She wasn’t a model, or a socialite, or someone famous in her own right. Wasn’t doing sponsored beauty campaigns or sitting front row at fashion week. She was a normal teenage girl who had the audacity to exist beside the fastest boy in the world. And that wasn’t enough for some people.

@/gridarchives: They called her fat.

They called her plain.

They called her a phase. 

They called her “a distraction.” They said she was “a mistake made by a hormonal teenager.”

@/gridarchives: Some actual headlines from 2017:

“The Wife Verstappen Doesn’t Want You to Know About” Like she was a scandal, not a person.

“Not Exactly A Model Marriage” “Can Verstappen Do Better Off Track?” “Too Much Wife, Not Enough Wow”

because she wasn’t a size 0, because she didn’t wear makeup, because she had hips and curves and didn’t fit the “WAG” mould.

@/gridarchives: It wasn’t just tabloids.

Comment sections. Fan forums. Reddit threads.

People picked apart her weight, her clothes, and her posture. Zoomed in on photos to circle “problem areas.” Compared her side-by-side with other girlfriends in the paddock like it was a contest.

@/gridarchives:  And she never defended herself. Not once. She didn’t clap back. Didn’t give an interview. Didn’t even post a Notes app statement. She just stayed by his side. Quiet. Steady. Private. Which, of course, only made them nastier.

@/gridarchives:  Comment sections were disgusting. Fashion blogs ripped her apart. Paddock gossip accounts used blurred photos of her in jeans and sneakers with headlines like:

“This is the woman who tamed F1’s hottest young star?” It was sexist. It was fatphobic. It was constant.

@/gridarchives: Two headlines from 2017:

“Not Quite Paddock-Ready: The Woman Behind Verstappen’s Downfall” Another: “The Weight of Love: Can Max Stay Focused With Her Around?”

It was cruel. Dehumanizing. And relentless.

@/gridarchives:  She wasn’t flashy. She didn’t care about glam paddock fashion. She wore baggy Red Bull hoodies and old Adidas. She didn’t post bikini pics. She didn’t post at all. She still doesn’t even have an Instagram account.  And for some reason, that made people furious.

@/gridarchives:  And it all came to a head in Malaysia. 2017. Max won his second career race. It was one of his best weekends. And then… that interview happened.

@/gridarchives: The interviewer, midway through what was supposed to be a fluff piece, decided to get clever.

“Now that you're a more high-profile name, have you ever thought of… upgrading the wife situation a bit?”

“I mean, she’s not exactly the grid’s most glamorous, is she?”

@/gridarchives:  Max went completely still. Didn’t blink. Didn’t smile. Didn’t speak. The silence lasted a full 5 seconds—uncomfortable, searing.

Then he stood up. Took off the mic. And walked out.

Didn’t say a word.

@/gridarchives:  Red Bull PR went into meltdown. The outlet tried to backpedal, claiming it was a joke. But Max? He was done. Hasn’t given that outlet a single interview since. Won’t speak to that journalist. Won’t allow access. Nothing. Complete blackout.

@/gridarchives:  When asked about it later, he said only: “I’ve tolerated a lot of things in this sport. Insults. Pressure. Hate. But you don’t get to insult my wife. Ever.”

And that was that.

@/gridarchives:  For nearly three years afterwards, Max refused to answer any questions about Lea. No interviews. No comments. If asked, he would shut it down with the same two words:

“No comment.” Sometimes cold. Sometimes biting. Always final.

@/gridarchives:  At one point in 2018, a reporter tried to ask about Lea’s “lack of media polish” during a press conference. Max didn’t flinch. Just stared them down and said: “Keep my wife’s name out of your mouth.” The room went silent.

@/gridarchives:  He wasn’t just protecting her—he was making a point. If the world couldn’t treat her with basic respect, it didn’t get to know her.

@/gridarchives:  Max Verstappen might be aggressive on track. But when it comes to her? He’s pure protection. No compromise. No apology.

@/gridarchives: Till this day, Max rarely posts about Lea on his Instagram.  And when he does, he shuts the comments off. Not for the attention. Not for the aesthetic. But because the internet has never deserved her.

@/gridarchives:  Once a year. Maybe twice. Usually on her birthday. Or their anniversary. Or something small and intimate—like a quiet photo of her walking ahead of him, holding their son’s hand, not even looking at the camera.

@/gridarchives: And the comments? Disabled. Every time.

 Not to avoid backlash. But to cut it off before it starts.

@/gridarchives: A fan once asked in a Q&A why he disables comments.

Max said, “Because she didn’t ask for this. And if you’re going to look at her, you’ll do it with respect. Or not at all.”

@/gridarchives: He protects her like he protects his lead on the final lap— With focus. With fire. With zero margin for error.

Because that’s love, in Max Verstappen’s language.

Not public declarations. But boundaries.

@/gridarchives: And then came one of the wildest moments of the 2021 season that never made Drive to Survive:  

@/gridarchives:  mid-2021. Tensions are sky-high. Max and Lewis are locked in one of the most intense title battles in F1 history. Every race is war. Every point counts. And through all of it, Lea is quietly there. Present. Steady. Visibly keeping her distance from the media.

@/gridarchives:  But as the summer break ends, rumours start. Whispers online. Tabloids are posting unflattering shots of Lea in the paddock. Comments like:

“Max’s wife letting herself go?” “Not paddock pretty.” “What happened to her figure?” And then… Nikita Mazepin opens his mouth.

@/gridarchives:  Overheard at a hospitality lounge, according to multiple sources: Mazepin, laughing with some junior sponsor rep, said: “No wonder Max is driving angry. Imagine going home to that every night.” Gesturing toward Lea.

Someone told Max.

@/gridarchives:  That weekend, Max cornered Mazepin. Not at the press. Not on camera. But behind the motorhomes. Multiple witnesses said you could hear him yelling. But the only quote that’s ever been confirmed?

“Talk about her again, and I’ll end your career before your car does.”

@/gridarchives:  Mazepin reportedly tried to laugh it off. Max didn’t flinch. Didn’t joke. Just turned and walked away—straight back to Red Bull. Team management never commented.

@/gridarchives: And then came the Instagram post: 

@/gridarchives:  The internet went feral. F1 media tried to scramble for quotes. But Max didn’t say another word. Not about the incident. Not about the pregnancy. He just showed up at the next race and put the car on pole.

@/gridarchives: And then? Abu Dhabi 2021. The title fight went down to the wire. 

@/gridarchives: According to multiple team sources, Lea stood quietly at the back of the garage the entire race. Didn’t pace. Didn’t panic. Just watched. Hands on her baby bump. When asked if she was nervous, she reportedly said:

“Why would I be? He was born for this.”

@/gridarchives:  A Red Bull mechanic was overheard saying, “I’ve seen engineers cry. I’ve seen Horner nearly faint. But Lea? Lea stood there like it was a normal Thursday.”

@/gridarchives:  When Nicholas Latifi crashed and the safety car came out, most of the paddock erupted into chaos. Lea? Sat down. Ate half a banana. Said, “He’ll take it. You’ll see.” Then leaned back like she knew something the universe didn’t.

@/gridarchives:  After the race, everyone was losing their minds. Celebrating. Crying. Lea? Still calm. Still glowing. Walked through the crowd, straight to Max. Hugged him. Kissed him. Whispered something in his ear.

No one knows what she said. But he started crying.

@/gridarchives:  Someone once asked Max what got him through that day. He said, Seeing my wife. Knowing she was there. If she was calm, I had no excuse not to be.”

@/gridarchives: Two months later, Max did maybe the funniest thing he has ever done:  announcing he became a father during a random team redline stream like it was a tire strategy update.

@/gridarchives:  February 2022. pre-season. Max is on a team redline stream.  Chat is flying. Comms are chill. He’s driving like a demon. And then someone asks why he missed the previous session.

@/gridarchives:  And Max, completely calm, goes: “Yeah, sorry, I was a bit busy. My son was born that day.”

Another driver on comms:

“Wait—WHAT?” “You had the baby?”

max: “Yeah. His name’s Kai.” casually overtakes three cars

@/gridarchives: Someone in the background (probably Jeffrey Rietveld) goes:

“Max, did you just soft-launch your child mid-race??”

Max:

“He’s perfect. Looks just like his mum.”

Icon. Legend. Zero chill. Zero Press. Just vibes.

@/gridarchives: Chat went FERAL. Clips instantly went viral. F1 Twitter lost its mind. Red Bull PR had to play catch-up for days.

@/gridarchives:  Barcelona 2022. Two months after Max casually announced the birth of his son mid-sim-racing stream, he walked into the paddock in black sunglasses, a Red Bull hoodie, and a baby carrier.

@/gridarchives: Inside the carrier: a tiny, snoozing Kai Verstappen, 8 weeks old. Wearing noise-cancelling headphones and a Red Bull baby onesie. Strapped to Max’s chest like the calmest accessory in the world.

“My son’s first race,” Max said. “He should get used to the noise early.”

@/gridarchives: Lea was right beside him. Soft jeans, a linen shirt, hair up, a tote bag with what was presumably enough diapers to survive a national emergency. No makeup. No fuss. The quiet core of a very loud world.

They looked like a family on a casual stroll. Not the title favourites in the middle of a high-stakes season.

@/gridarchives: The media tried to swarm. Max didn’t stop walking. Lea didn’t even blink.

@/gridarchives: A Sky reporter asked if he was more nervous racing now that he had a kid. Max said, “No. I’ve always raced to win. Now I just get a hug either way.” 

And then he smiled. Like a real one. And the internet broke.

@/gridarchives:  He won that race, btw. Then went straight back to the garage to take Kai out of the headphones and kiss his forehead.

“He slept through the whole thing,” he told Sky Sports, grinning. 

@/gridarchives: But Max wasn’t done for 2022. When the FIA banned jewellery in 2022, Max Verstappen responded by getting his wedding ring tattooed on. 

@/gridarchives:  So the FIA updated their rules: no jewellery in the car. No earrings. No chains. No rings. Supposedly for safety. Cue half the grid complaining, Lewis dragging them in interviews, and Max just going radio silent.

For about a week.

@/gridarchives:  Then someone spots it. On the Thursday of the next GP. A thin, clean tattoo around Max’s ring finger. Black ink. No embellishments. Just a simple band.

Someone asks about it, and Max goes: “The rule said I had to take the ring off. Didn’t say I couldn’t make it permanent.”

@/gridarchives:  Someone else asks if it hurt. “Not as much as leaving it off.”

@/gridarchives: Bonus: Christian Horner was reportedly told after the fact: 

“Max walked in, took his gloves off, and I saw the ink. I said, ‘Is that what I think it is?’ He said, ‘FIA can’t ban skin.’”

@/gridarchives: Let’s also talk about how much Max’s family loves Lea: 

@/gridarchives: Let’s start with Jos Verstappen. A man who, famously, trusts no one. But when asked once in a Dutch interview about his son’s success, he said:

“Max has two advantages. His talent. And Lea.” “She makes him better. She makes him calm.”

from Jos. That’s practically a sonnet.

@/gridarchives: Sophie Kumpen, Max’s mum, was the first to believe in Max & Lea. Sources say she knew from the start that Lea was “good for him.”

In a rare interview, Sophie said: “She’s grounded. She sees Max for who he really is—not the driver, not the number. The boy. The man. She’s calm. I like calm.” Mothers know. Mothers see.

@/gridarchives:  Then there’s Victoria Verstappen, Max’s sister. Fashion, fitness, mama of three—loved by fans. Has repeatedly said that she considers Lea a sister, not an in-law.

“She’s my family. Has been since we were teenagers. We grew up side by side. I trust her with everything.”

@/gridarchives: And they were all fiercely protective of her during the years. According to a Dutch journalist, Jos once called an editor directly and said, “Write another headline about her weight, and I’ll see you in court.” #DadEnergy

@/gridarchives:  Victoria has posted maybe a dozen photos with Lea in the past decade—quiet, untagged, casual: 

@/gridarchives: And every single time, without fail, the comments are a mess. Bodyshaming. Comparisons. “She’s not hot enough.” “Why does she look tired?” The usual sexist, vile garbage.

@/gridarchives: But Victoria? She’s not having it.

“You don’t get to speak about my family that way.” “If you wouldn’t say it about yourself or your sister, don’t say it here.” “Delete this comment and never come back.”

“Take your body issues elsewhere”

“You must be exhausted being this bitter online”

That’s in the comments. Publicly. Repeatedly.

@/gridarchives: At one point in 2021, she even posted a story about it: 

@/gridarchives: I am not done. Lea Verstappen is as much a part of Red Bull Racing as any race engineer or strategist.

Here’s what the people behind the scenes have said about her

@/gridarchives: Christian Horner (2017) – early days: “Max keeps his private life very private. We respect that. I’ve only met Lea a few times, but she seems like a lovely, grounded young woman.” (translation: Who is this girl and where did she come from?)

@/gridarchives: Christian Horner (2023) – post-Kai, post-3 world driver’s championship titles: “Lea’s been the calm in Max’s storm. She doesn’t need to be in front of the cameras to make an impact. She’s the reason he’s still sharp. Still here.”

@/gridarchives: Gianpiero Lambiase (GP), Max’s race engineer: “Lea is Max’s reset button. I’ve seen him go from zero to rage and back to calm in under a minute because of one text from her. She doesn’t raise her voice. She doesn’t need to.” Iconic.

@/gridarchives: Helmut Marko (2023): “I thought she’d be a distraction when they got married. I was wrong. She’s the opposite of a distraction. She made him… sharper. More dangerous, in a good way.” (yes. Helmut Marko said that.)

@/gridarchives: Red Bull comms team (2022), anonymously: “Lea has never, not once, asked for press management. No image control. No story spin. Her only request was: Don’t use Kai for content. And she said it so kindly, we printed it and taped it to the media room wall.”

@/gridarchives: Jonathan Wheatley (2022), Former Red Bull Sporting Director:  “She’s the one person I’ll never say no to in the garage. She brings us banana bread and keeps Max from threatening to move to endurance racing when he’s moody.”

@/gridarchives: One mechanic from Red Bull’s pit crew (2020): “When the media was tearing her apart in ’17, she brought us coffee in the garage.  No cameras. Just said, ‘Thanks for looking after him.’ I’ve worked 200+ races. That’s the only thank you I still remember.”

@/gridarchives: And the thing is? None of these quotes comes from trying to promote her. Lea has never once been part of the brand. She’s not a Red Bull ambassador. Not an image. Just a quiet presence who everyone, from Horner to the interns, has come to respect.

@/gridarchives And it’s not just Red Bull. Ask around the entire grid, and the way people talk about Lea Verstappen is with quiet awe.

@/gridarchives: Lewis Hamilton (2022): “She doesn’t show up for the cameras. She shows up for him. You can tell—there’s real love there. Real quiet. Real strong. I respect that.”

@/gridarchives: Daniel Ricciardo (2023): “Lea’s been around longer than most of the guys on the grid have even had race seats. She’s part of the Verstappen firmware. Comes with the engine. And her banana bread is terrifyingly good. Like… disarm-a-grown-man good.”

@/gridarchives: Charles Leclerc (2021):  “She used to sit on the karting fences next to my mum. Always quiet. Always watching. People talk about Max changing over the years, but I think the best parts of him were always there. She just kept them safe.”

@/gridarchives: And then there’s Kai. Lea and Max’s son. Now a paddock regular with noise-cancelling headphones and strong opinions.

@/gridarchives: A little boy who adores his parents… and who calls Daniel Ricciardo “Uncle Danny”.  Who calls Oscar Piastri “Car” and hugs his leg when he’s tired. (Oscar panics every time.) Who once tried to drive Lewis’s scooter, and Lewis let him.

@/gridarchives: It’s been almost ten years since Max and Lea Verstappen got married. They’ve weathered the spotlight. The storms. The silence. The wins.The losses The noise. The pressure. And through it all, they’ve never wavered.

@/gridarchives: Lea has never given an interview. Never done a press tour. Never gone on a podcast. There is no tell-all memoir. No YouTube vlog. No WAG content series.

Just: banana bread, Red Bull hoodies, and a quiet kind of grace that broke the mould.

@/gridarchives: Lea Verstappen didn’t come to the paddock to be famous. She didn’t come to be seen. She came to stand beside the boy she loved at 14— Who became a man. A world champion. A father.

And she never once let the world shake her.

@/gridarchives Max Verstappen doesn’t perform love. He protects it. And Lea Verstappen? She’s not just the woman behind the champion. She’s the reason he stayed human in a sport that tries to turn people into machines.

@/gridarchives: People tried to ignore her. Then tried to ridicule her. And when that didn’t work, they tried to erase her.

But she’s still here. Still Lea. Still standing exactly where she always has— Right next to Max.

@gridarchives Power couple doesn’t even cover it. Max & Lea Verstappen? They built something that lasted.

And in Formula 1? That’s rarer than a clean lap around Monaco in the wet.