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Chapter Text

The Mercedes hospitality was buzzing with activity after the race. Engineers trying to have everything settled and organized before loading everything to the trucks to be transported for the next race. George doing his “dad routine”, meaning - fussing and running like a headless chicken trying to get Kimi to eat something that wasn’t gummy bears. Outside, Max Verstappen walked by, looking bored because Laurent was still busy with the media.

“Max!” Kimi perked up immediately.

“Yo, kiddo. Nice drive. Didn’t crash into anyone, that’s an improvement.”

George instantly tensed, crossing his arms looking at Max like he just murdered Toto. “He did a lot more than simply avoid crashing, Verstappen. His tire management was superb.”

“Relax, Papa Bear. I’m not insulting your cub.”

Big mistake. Just as the word "cub" came out, Kimi hid his face in Max's chest and clung to him like a baby koala.

“…Mama,” he mumbled.

The room went silent.

“WHAT?” Max blinked.

“You smell nice. You’re my Mama now.”

Engineers are debating if they need to call the medics as George was on the verge of a full meltdown. “Pardon me? No. Absolutely not! That’s my cub. Let him go Kimi! Right this instant, or no more gummy bears for you!”

Kimi only latched on tighter like an anaconda “No! Papa mean. This is my Mama.”

Max gave him a clumsy pat. “Oh for fucks sake! Do I need adoption papers for this? Or a car seat?”

Half the engineers were choking on their drinks while the other half were pinching themselves if they are dreaming.

“Max, stop encouraging him!” George snapped so loudly that it even made Max worried that he was going into cardiac arrest right there and then. “This is not funny!”

“Oh, come on Russell. Look, he’s so cute! Little cub calls me Mama and clings to me like a baby. Maybe I’ll keep him.”

“Keep him?! He’s not some stray cat you found outside!”

Kimi growled when George tried to pry him off. “Mama said I can stay.”

“I literally didn’t, but sure, whatever.”

That was the moment when Toto walked in, looking like someone had dragged him there against his will. He took one look at the scene - Kimi wrapped around Max like an anaconda, George growling like a manic t-rex - and sighed so hard it can be heard in the Red Bull Hospitality.

“Do I even want to know?”

“He imprinted on him!” George shouted like a banshee.

“Of course he did,” Toto muttered.

Max just smirked. “What can I say? Cubs love me.”

“This is not happening! This is a disaster! The FIA will hear of this” George was now running a hand through his hair, clearly seconds from pulling it out. “Max, you can’t just be his Mama!”

“Why not? You’re Papa, I’m Mama. Mercedes–Red Bull Happy Family. FIA will love it.”

“That is NOT—”

Kimi looked up then, all innocent plus sparkly eyes. “So Papa and Mama are friends now?”

George groaned like his soul left his body, asking God if he’s a criminal on his past life to experience this.

Max was laughing so hard he could barely breathe, while Kimi clung like superglue. George looked two seconds away from calling Laurent to complain about “cub theft.”

“Relax. He’ll grow out of it.”

“Nope,” Kimi said cheerfully.

“I’m never letting you near him again,” George muttered.

“Good luck with that,” Max grinned. “Your cub loves his Mama.”

And just like that, Kimi Antonelli became the paddock’s first case of accidental cub adoption—George’s worst nightmare, Laurent’s incoming headache, and Red Bull’s next meme campaign.

Chapter Text

When Laurent Mekies accepted the position of team principal of Red Bull Racing, he already expected odd, extravagant and over-the-top things happening—it's Red Bull after all—but what he never expected was seeing his star driver playing Mama Lion to the cute rookie of their number one enemy, well, number two now because, you know, McLaren.

Kimi remained as devoted to be attached to Max like a newborn koala when Laurent caught him in the Red Bull motorhome. George appeared to have been dragged into purgatory as he continues to put a hole in the motorhome’s carpet.

Laurent eyebrows went up seeing the bizarre sight. “So…is there anyone in class going to explain to me why the Mercedes’ rookie is calling my driver Mama?”

Max smiled broadly, he’s clearly enjoying it. “Don’t look at me. He did it all by himself.”

“Mama,” Kimi confirmed, grinning like a cat that ate the canary, hugging the Dutch driver tighter.

George then loses his shit. “He’s not your cub! He’s Mercedes! He’s — arrgggghhhh — Laurent, tell him this is crazy!”

As calm as ever, Laurent leaned on the table and nodded as if he had just discovered the answer on how to unlock the potential of the RB21. “This is perfect.”

“Perfect?! Help me God!” George sputtered. “It’s a disaster! He can’t imprint on Max Verstappen!”

“Why not tho?” Laurent smirked. “Mercedes keeps on saying Max is bad for the sport, yadda yadda, but clearly he’s wholesome family material. Mama Verstappen. The fans will eat it up.”

Max burst out laughing. “You’re actually gonna call me that?”

“You think I’m not printing shirts by tomorrow?” Laurent shot back.

George looked like Toto fired him. “For the hundredth time, this is not funny! This is a serious issue! Kimi is confused and —“

Kimi peeked up, puppy eyes on. “Papa, stop yelling at Mama.”

The room collapsed. Max doubled over, wheezing so hard you’ll mistake him having an asthma attack. Laurent nearly toppled over on how hard he is laughing. Even the Red Bull comms guy had to bolt outside, laughing so hard he nearly cried.

George groaned. “Oh for god’s sake!”

Laurent was already dialing on his phone, giving instructions to the Red Bull marketing team. “Get graphics started. Hashtag Mama Verstappen. Meme pack by six. And make sure there’s a joint custody joke in there.”

“You are NOT putting this online!” George lunged.

“Too late,” Laurent said, smirking. “By tonight, #MamaVerstappen will be trending and making news online.”

Max wiped tears from his eyes. “This is one of the fucking best day of my life.”

George collapsed into a chair as if he had lost a fight with an elephant. “I fucking hate you both.”

Kimi nestled tighter into Max’s side. “I love Mama.”

George buried his face in his hands. “I can’t believe this is my life.”

By the next morning, the news broke the internet.

HEADLINES:

BREAKING: Antonelli Calls Verstappen “Mama,” Russell Reportedly in Shambles

Motorsport.com

Red Bull’s New Family Dynamic: Mama Max, Papa George, Baby Kimi

Sky Sports F1

Russell Loses Custody Battle to Verstappen

The Guardian (satire section)

Mama Verstappen T-Shirts Already on Sale

F1 Merch Watch

Red Bull Racing Official Account (@redbullracing)

Family is everything ❤️🧑‍🧑‍🧒

#MamaVerstappen #PaddockFamily

Attached: a photo of Max hugging a very cute and smiling Kimi with George in the background looking like someone hasn’t renewed his contract extension.

Mercedes-AMG F1 (@MercedesAMGF1):

Kimi is still a Mercedes driver.

That’s all we’re saying, in case anyone forgets.

Lando Norris (@LandoNorris)

Mama Max, Papa George, baby shower when?👶🎈

Carlos Sainz (@Carlossainz55)

Vale… does that make me Uncle Carlos then?

Fernando Alonso (@alo_oficial)

Max mi hijo, I am not ready to be Grandpa.

Alex Albon (@alex_albon)

Please have someone create a custody chart, I need to understand the family tree.

Oscar Piastri (@OscarPiastri)

But think carefully, if Max is Mama, does that mean Laurent is Grandma? #GrandmaLaurent

George Russell (@GeorgeRussell63)

This is getting out of hand. There is no Mama. There is no Papa. Kimi is not anyone’s cub.

Please stop tagging me in memes.

Replies under George’s post

@MaxVerstappen1: Uh oh… Papa’s mad 😂

@redbullracing: Co-parenting isn’t easy, George ❤️

Red Bull sold out of their limited edition "Mama VerstappenTM" shirts by the end of the week, and Mercedes PR had to issue a sobering statement regarding "driver development programs," which no one read because everyone was too busy posting George memes with the caption "Single Dad Energy."

The press conference hadn’t even started yet but George already looked like he was undergoing a vasectomy. He sat stiff as a board, arms crossed, letting out a “ask me one question and I will disembowel you all with a fucking fork” sinister aura.

Of course, the very first question and the highlight of the afternoon is none other than Mama Verstappen.

“George, how are you feeling now that you have joint custody of Kimi?”

George looked like he tasted a lemon, a very sour lemon. “There is NO custody situation. Kimi is a Mercedes driver. End of discussion.”

Max leaned into his mic with the smuggest smile ever. “I have to apologize for Papa’s behavior, he’s still on denial stage.”

The whole room went batshit crazy. Reporters were laughing so hard, photographers snapping away.

“STOP CALLING ME PAPA!” George barked.

Next question. “Max, how’s the Mama life so far? Have you encountered problems adjusting? Sleepless nights? Post-partum?”

The reporter was clearly trying not to burst out laughing after saying that one.

Max spread his arms like a showman. “It’s easy. Kid eats, sleeps, follows me around. Honestly? I think I’m a natural.”

Kimi nodded seriously beside him. “Mama’s the best.”

George’s soul visibly left his body, his dignity gone. He dropped his head on the table. “This is hell.”

Reporters were cackling. Lando was live-streaming from the back row. Carlos was grinning like Christmas comes early. Even Alonso muttered, “I am not Grandpa,” while trying not to lose it.

Another journalist tried to ask with a straight face, “George, how does it feel to be part of F1’s newest family?”

George sat up straight, looks at the press with wild eyes. “It feels like TORTURE! There is no family. You are all delusional. Max is not Mama. I am not Papa. Kimi is —“

Kimi cut him off, sweet as a peach. “Papa, you’re yelling again.”

The room absolutely erupted. Max nearly fell off his chair, laughing so hard he wheezed into the mic. “It’s okay, cub. Papa’s just stressed.”

George pointed at Max like he sabotaged his car. “YOU. STOP. THIS.”

Max leaned back, smug. “Tell that to your kid.”

Kimi waved at George. “Hi, Papa.”

George looked ready to retire from Formula 1 on the spot.

And that’s how the Thursday press conference turned into a live custody battle, with Max happily playing Mama, Kimi being Kimi, and George dying inside while the entire paddock enjoyed the show

Chapter Text

Montreal was supposed to be George Russell’s crowning glory this year. Mercedes finally looked quick after nine races of their car behaving like a boat sailing in the Doldrums, the upgrades worked smooth like oil, and George had been sharp all through practice. But of course, the paddock was obsessed with one thing: Mama Verstappen.

By Saturday, Kimi Antonelli amazed everyone by sticking his car P4 in qualifying, proving himself as the best rookie in the grid so far.

During the press conference, Kim looked so proud but a bit uncomfortable with all the media attention he’s receiving. “I’m happy, the car felt good. And Mama helped me with the data last night.”

The entire media room burst out laughing.

George nearly died choking on his water with Alex not so gently patting his back. “MAMA HELP YOU WITH — oh my god, KIMI! YOU SHOWED HIM OUR DATA? HE’S NOT YOUR ENGINEER!”

Max just leaned back, smug as fuck. “Always happy to help the cub.”

Race Day (Sunday)

George launched clean from pole and held off Max into Turn 1. Behind them, Kimi went wheel-to-wheel with Piastri and muscled his way into P3. Not bad for a rookie.

The race turned into a pure strategy fight. George and Max traded fastest laps, both on two stops, while Kimi kept it cool and stayed within striking distance. Late in the race, the McLaren boys decided to ignore the papaya rules and self-destruct, with Norris and Piastri colliding. Suddenly, Kimi was clear to fight for his first podium.

George crossed the line first, Max right on his tail just 0.2s behind, and Kimi came home in third — only a second off the win. His very first podium in Formula 1.

Parc Fermé

George jumped out, fists in the air, finally a winner again after six months three weeks and two days — is he counting? No — But the cameras didn’t follow him. They caught Kimi instead, running straight into Max’s arms.

“Mama! Podium!” Kimi yelled.

Max laughed and hugged him tight. “That’s my cub. First podium! Yay!”

George couldn’t believe his eyes. “KIMI! WHY ARE YOU CELEBRATING WITH HIM?! MERCEDES DRIVER? HELLO?!”

Laurent Mekies casually strolled in with a grin. “Relax, Russell. This is history. Mama and Cub on the podium. Beautiful story. Great PR.”

George’s voice cracked. “PR?! THIS IS CRIME AGAINST HUMANITY!”

The Podium

George stood on the top step, trophy high, but instead of the expected cheering of his name, the crowd was chanting: “TU TU DU DU! MAMA VERSTAPPEN!”

Max is just casually waving at them from P2.

Kimi, standing on the third step, is giddily jumping. “That’s my Mama!”

George looked like he wanted the podium floor to swallow him whole. “Just kill me now.”

Cooldown Room

George collapsed on the couch, feeling like he run a hundred marathon. “Agghhh, finally a win! Took long enough.”

Kimi sat right beside him, buzzing with an energy god knows where he’s finding. “Mama, did you see my overtake on Oscar? I sent it!”

Max grinned and nudged him playfully. “Simply Lovely.”

George sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Seriously? I won, but nobody even asks me about the race.”

Kimi turned to him, wide-eyed like a fucking lemur. “It’s alright Papa, you were really good too.”

George blinked. “I’m not your Papa”

Kimi shrugged, totally serious. “Why not tho? You’re alpha. You’re my Papa.”

Max nearly fell off his chair laughing. “See? Family complete.”

George groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh my god, no. No. I refuse —”

Then Kimi leaned against his shoulder, completely unbothered, just this happy little rookie with his first podium. “Thanks, Papa. First podium feels better with you guys here.”

George froze. For half a second, he almost melted. Then he pointed a shaking finger at Max. “This is all your fault.”

Max smirked, stretching out on the couch. “Don’t fight it, George. You’re Papa now.”

George muttered, “I hate this,” but didn’t move Kimi off his shoulder.

The cameras, of course, caught the whole thing.

Chapter Text

If the Spanish GP was already chaos with Max imprinting on Kimi, the cooldown room of the Canadian Grand Prix made it worse. Somehow, Kimi Antonelli had managed to also imprint himself to George Russell — live on camera.

The short clip became an internet favorite within minutes. Kimi leaning on George’s shoulder, looking like a golden retriever cub saying “Thanks, Papa. First podium feels better with you guys here.”

George looking like the apocalypse is here and the mischievous Max in the background, smirking like he’s the one who won the race.

Twitter, TikTok, Instagram, name it all, it’s a instant hit.

F1 Twitter Reactions

@redbullracing

Papa makes three 🧑‍🧑‍🧒 The family expands ❤️#MamaVerstappen #PapaRussell #CubAntonelli

@MercedesAMGF1

We don’t support this narrative

Replies

@redbullracing: Sorry Papa, it’s canon now

@mclaren: Kinda cute tho ngl

@astonmartin: George, congrats on parenthood

Lando Norris posted a selfie with popcorn

I take one race off the podium and suddenly we’re in Family Guy.

Carlos Sainz tweeted

Congrats Kimi! Don’t forget your real family though. Call your parents

Fernando Alonso

I am NOT ready to be a grandpa. Stop tagging me.

Fan Edits

-George photoshopped into a “#1 Dad” mug meme.

-Max and George in matching “Mama” and “Papa” sweaters, Kimi in a “Cub” hoodie.

-TikTok of Kimi overtaking with “He did it for Mama & Papa 🥹

FIA Press Bulletin (fake, but trending)

The FIA would like to clarify there are no rules against a driver being simultaneously classified as a Mama and a Papa. However, we are monitoring the situation closely.

George tried to fight back with an Instagram story

“I’m George, not Papa.”

But the comments were flooded

-Yes Papa

-Papa deny < Papa confirm

-PapaRussell >>>

Within hours, the hashtag #PapaRussell was trending worldwide.

Even Toto Wolff looked like he’d aged ten years when he was asked about it on Sky:

“We are here to race, not to discuss family arrangements. Please stop calling George Papa.”

The interviewer grinned. “But isn’t he though?”

Toto: visible malfunction noises

Silverstone 2025

Silverstone. George Russell’s stomping grounds. His Alpha turf, and this, His moment.

He’d been waiting for this all throughout the season  — the roar of a home crowd, the boundless energy and don’t let him start with the banners. The banners with his name on it.

His great expectations shattered when a bunch of them didn’t say “George.”

They said “Papa.”

And some, to his absolute horror, said “Mama Verstappen.”

George stopped dead outside the paddock gates, staring at those abysmal banners. “This is supposed to be my moment, my race.”

Max holding his essential bottle of death — aka Red Bull drink — walked past, cool Omega calm wrapped around him like a second skin. “Relax, Papa. It’s harmless. They’re just showing support.”

George glared hard. “Don’t call me that.”

Max leaned in, voice low, scent sweet and smug. “But they already do.”

George’s jaw tightened. This weekend was going to kill him, he’s sure of it.

Press Day

The journalists didn’t waste time and jumped on him smelling the blood in the water.

“George, you leave England a single man and return as a certified alpha parent, how does it feel?”

George gave a sigh. “I’m not here as anything else, I’m just here as an alpha and as a Mercedes Driver. That’s all.”

Max smiled, body turning towards Kimi. “But Kimi said you’re Papa now.”

Kimi who is sitting quietly three chairs down perked up instantly. “Yep Papa. That’s what I feel.”

George stared at him incredulously. “Kimi!”

The room broke down in laughter. Everyone was in stitches, well aside from George and probably his PR person with camera flashes going off like fireworks.

Practice Sessions

George on track looked sharp and all business.

Off track, well to put it simply, everything is a disaster.

Half the grandstands were waving “GO GEORGE” banners while the other half had things like MAMA + PAPA = CUB.

To make matters worst, he constantly saw Kimi drifting into Red Bull’s garage. He was scenting and pacing anxiously like a scared kangaroo out of his mother’s pouch, until Max turned on the Mama Lion mode and settled him down.

George at his wit’s end finally pulled him aside, Alpha command creeping into his tone. “Kimi. You’re a Mercedes Driver for Christ’s sake. You’re my responsibility. So stop going inside the Red Bull Garage.”

Kimi fidgeted, clearly anxious. “But Mama makes me feel safe.”

George huffed audibly, annoyed by the situation. “He doesn’t own you.”

Max leaned lazily against the garage entrance, Omega scent calm and infuriating. “Don’t worry cub. Don’t listen to Papa. Mama is always here.”

George’s hands clenched. “This is MY omega. MY team.”

Laurent Mekies was already jotting notes. “Perfect storyline. Keep going.”

George is going to kill someone soon.

Qualifying

Max nailed it again. Pole. Another one for Red Bull. Smooth, clinical, and smug as ever.

George? P4. Not bad, but not good enough for his home turf.

And Kimi? P7. Rookie strong, but not anywhere near his Miami/Canada highs.

In the drivers room after quali, George sulked in his chair while Max stretched in the couch like a cat. Scent calm and infuriating.

George muttered, “This is my race. It’s supposed to be mine.”

Max didn’t even open his eyes. “Then maybe don’t let Mama beat you by half a second.”

Kimi piped up softly on his place beside Max, still flushed from his qualifying lap. “Don’t worry, Papa. Tomorrow’s another day.”

George dropped his head in his hands. Great. Even his cub thought he needed cheering up.

Race Day

It’s Lights out and away we go.

The roar at Silverstone was deafening.

George got a decent start, but traffic swallowed him alive. He wrestled with the car all afternoon, stuck in midfield scraps, instincts screaming that he should be leading, controlling, showing his pack strength. Instead, every overtake was a fight, every lap a grind. He limped home in P10, fucking P10.

Max wasn’t much happier. A scrappy race left him fighting balance and traffic, no clean air to show his pace. He crossed the line P5, helmet radio full of frustrated Dutch swearing that can make every grandmothers blush.

And Kimi? Poor Kimi. His rookie Silverstone dream ended in the gravel, an early DNF after a tangle mid-pack. His omega scent had gone sharp and shaken as the marshals guided him away. The kid looked devastated.

Parc Fermé & Aftermath

The media pen was in no other words, a battlefield.

George stood there tall with a mic shoved in his face trying to keep his Alpha composure intact while reporters asked stupid things like:

“George, what a chaotic race. How does it feel to only score a single point at your home race?”

“Max still out-raced you — do you think you still have what it takes to be a champion?”

“Any words for Kimi after his DNF? He looked heartbroken.”

George’s jaw ached from answering the same stupid questions as much patience he can muster. “We’ll regroup. It wasn’t my cleanest weekend, but the car —“

From behind the corner of his eye, he saw Kimi hovering behind the media pen looking like someone killed his puppy in-front of him.  Head ducked with his scent tinged with embarrassment. And next to him, hovering like a mama lion is Max, who should’ve also been sulking about his own dreadful P5 was leaning in and murmuring to Kimi like it was a school playground pep talk.

George finally snapped. “Excuse me.” He ditched the mic, grabbed Kimi by the wrist, and marched him toward the Mercedes debrief.

The cameras followed.

Of course they did.

Inside Mercedes hospitality

Kimi sat on the edge of the sofa, shoulders tight and probably ruining his lips skin cells with how much he was chewing on it. “I’m sorry. I ruined it.”

George crouched down in front of him. His Alpha scent slipping protective without realizing it. “You didn’t ruin anything. You’re a rookie. Silverstone is a highly technical circuit, especially fucking Maggots and Becketts and the Chapel complex. You did your best.”

Kimi peeked up at him with wide tearful eyes. “Really?”

“Really. You’ll come back stronger.”

Max wandered in like an uninvited supermodel, plopping himself down on the arm of the sofa. “See? Papa’s good at pep talks. You should keep him around.”

George groaned. “Max, not now.”

But then Kimi leaned forward hugging the British driver in the waist and pressing his forehead briefly against George’s shoulder. His scent curling soft and sweet again. His omega instincts seeking comfort from the one he considered as his alpha parent. George instantly froze — every Alpha nerve in his body lighting up, feeling protective and fierce.

Without even thinking, he wrapped an arm around the kid and gently steadying him. George with his instincts already sliding reached out with his scent. Just a brush enough to tell Kimi he was safe.

Unfortunately for him, Max caught it.

“George.” Max’s voice was low, teasing but pointed. “Did you just scented us both?”

George blinked, heat crawling up his neck. “No. I — I didn’t.”

But Max leaned closer to the two hugging drivers, smug Omega smile spreading getting wider. “You did. You scented me too. Protective Papa instincts all over the place.”

Kimi giggled softly and just like that the tension had lifted. “See Mama? He’s really Papa.”

The room went deadly quiet except for the media cameras outside, who had caught just enough through the glass wall to set Twitter on fire.

George buried his face in his hands. “I hate all of you.”

Max grinned. “No you don’t.”

George muttered, “Unfortunately.”

Kimi beamed as his scent spread sweet as sugar. “Best family ever.”

George groaned again — exasperated but he didn’t let go.

It took minutes.

One shaky fan video from outside Mercedes hospitality made it to Twitter. George Russell, an Alpha, crouched in front of omega Kimi Antonelli, soothing and hugging him with the most obvious protective scenting anyone had ever seen. And what’s worse? Max Verstappen was there. Smirking like the smug Omega he was, looking like a proud Mama Lion presenting his cub on the top of Pride Rock.

The caption read

“GEORGE JUST SCENTED HIS WHOLE FAMILY LIVE ON CAMERA 💀 #MamaVerstappen #PapaRussell #CubAntonelli”

By the end of the hour, it had 2 million views.

Twitter/Instagram/X chaos:

@f1fanatic: so george tried really hard to deny of him being papa and then just publicly marked them both huh

@teamLH: lewis is never letting him live this down 💀

@redbullracing: FAMILY COMES FIRST 💙 #MamaVerstappen #PapaRussell

@mercedesamgf1: no comment.

Driver Reactions

Lando Norris: “Didn’t know silverstone was a wedding ceremony. Congrats to mama & papa 🍼”

Oscar Piastri: “Who gets custody when Max and George eventually fight?”

Lance Stroll: “I refuse to be an uncle. Don’t ask me.”

Fernando Alonso: “Stop calling me abuelo. I am still not grandpa.”

Charles Leclerc: “So guys, I’m curious. If Max is mama and George is papa… am i the godfather? 🤔”

Lewis Hamilton: “George said he wasn’t papa, now look at him. Full time dad, so proud of him!”

Daniel Ricciardo: “Please let me babysit cubantonelli, i promise not to break him. Swear.”

Pierre Gasly: “Guys, just imagine the christmas cards. And secret santa 😂.”

Esteban Ocon: “This is what happens when omegas team up.”

Fans in the replies:

“Mercedes PR in shambles right now 😭😭😭”

“Someone check on Toto he’s gonna pass out”

“Kimi smiling like the happiest cub alive. Protect him at all costs 🥺”

“George scenting max too. Yesh they’re mated in my head now.”

Meanwhile, Laurent Mekies at the Red Bull Motorhome

Posted a photo of Max, George, and Kimi side by side with the caption

Our favorite new grid family ❤️ #MamaVerstappen #PapaRussell #CubAntonelli”

George, under the post

DELETE. THIS.

Max liked it.

Kimi added three heart emojis.

Chapter Text

The Mercedes hospitality was nearly deserted by the time night settled. Staff were packing away leftovers and the big screens shut off. Kimi sat curled up in a booth in the farthest corner looking like a drowned puppy. Hoodie pulled over his head and staring at his untouched dinner like it had insulted him.

George slid in opposite the opposite chair with his arms crossed. “You’re still sulking.”

Kimi didn’t even look up.

“One DNF. Happens to everyone. You’ll bounce back.”

Kimi just stubbornly pulled his hood lower.

George leaned forward with voice softening but still edged with authority. “Kimi. Hey cub, Look at me.”

Reluctantly, Kimi glanced up. His eyes were still red and the omega sting of loss still clinging to him.

George exhaled. “There. Better. Listen, you don’t suddenly lose your talent because of a hydraulic failure. You had a strong quali. That’s still yours.”

Kimi muttered “Nobody remembers P7.”

George thought for a beat. Debating if it’s safe then stood up abruptly. “Fine. Get up.”

Kimi blinked “What?”

“Midnight Ice cream run. NOW.” George grabbed his arm before he could argue.

Half an hour later in Milton Keynes

George wearing a hoodie with matching sunglasses and baseball cap at midnight was already a comedy sketch. Dragging a sulky omega rookie toward the only open shop selling tubs of ice cream just sealed the deal.

And then of course Max appeared in the frozen aisle smirking firmly in place with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s in hand.

George groaned “Oh, fucking brilliant. Of course you’re here.”

Max shrugged casually “What? Thought I’d check if Papa was taking care of the cub properly.”

George’s neck went hot “Don’t call me that.”

Kimi cracked a tiny smile from under his hood. “He did take care of me.”

Max tilted his head looking at Kimi with grin growing. “Yeah. I could smell it.”

George froze mid-step “You what?”

“Oh come on.” Max leaned closer. Lowering his voice just enough to sting. “Cooldown room? You practically drenched him in alpha scent. Everyone noticed.”

George’s ears went red “That was instinct. He was upset.”

Max hummed. Face deliberately smug. “Sure Papa. Just instinct.”

Kimi who is utterly oblivious was busy pointing at the freezer. “Can we get pistachio and chocolate chip?”

George muttered under his breath “Kill me now.”

Outside - sitting on the curb

Three drivers with their three tubs of ice cream and their three flimsy plastic spoons. Kimi was eating straight out of his pint. Finally looking more like a kid than a driver with a DNF.

Max nudged him with his spoon. “See? Not the end of the world. Next race you’ll smash it.”

Kimi leaned against Max’s shoulder purring with content. “Thanks Mama.” Then almost offhandedly he added “Papa too.”

George nearly choked on his ice cream. “Kimi! Please stop saying that in public.”

Max clinked spoons with Kimi. “Don’t fight it anymore Papa. You smell like him already.”

George buried his face in his hands. “This is a nightmare.”

But he didn’t move an inch when Kimi leaned against him. Wedged safe and warm between the two of them.

The next morning

The photo wasn’t even that good.

Grainy and tilted.

Caught under the sickly glow of a Milton Keynes streetlamp.

But somehow it had everything.

George his hoodie up and shoulders tense like a man who regretted every life choice that led him to this curb.

Max cross-legged on the pavement with spoon dangling from his mouth and looking far too smug for someone eating ice cream at midnight and without the permission of his nutritionist.

And Kimi who is wedged comfortably between them with his hood slipping back and cheeks puffed with a mouthful of pistachio ice cream, grinning for the first time all day.

The caption under the first viral post:

Russell. Verstappen. Antonelli. Family therapy session, £4.99 from Tesco’s freezer aisle

Within an hour, Twitter/Instagram/TikTok was in flames 🔥

Fans

THEY LOOK LIKE DIVORCED CO-PARENTS TAKING THEIR KID OUT AFTER COURT 💀

Papa in denial. Mama thriving. Cub just happy to have ice cream.

George looks like he’s babysitting his boyfriend and their child.

You can smell the awkward alpha energy even through the blurry pixels.

And by morning the top trend worldwide was simply: #TescoFamily.

Mercedes HQ - Brackley

It’s Monday morning at Brackley and George walked in battle ready. The whole factory felt charged with unexplainable energy. The mechanics nudging each other and engineers smirking when he passed. He actually heard someone actually humming a lullaby as he crossed the atrium.

He didn’t even make it to his assigned desk before Susie caught him by the arm and whispered. “Good luck in there, Georgie” with the pitying smile of someone about to watch a man getting killed in combat.

Toto was already waiting by the time he reached the main conference room. Arms folded with clenched jaw and a neat stack of printouts arranged in front of him like evidence of a crime. Kimi was already perched at the far end of the room swinging his legs and sipping from a juice box while looking entirely too relaxed for someone who had DNFe’d yesterday.

George sat down slowly. Getting himself ready for the eventual shitstorm that will happen.

Toto slapped the first page down.

The Tesco photo.

Blurry and grainy but unmistakable.

George crouched beside sulky Kimi at midnight. Both holding tubs of Ben & Jerry’s and right there with them hood up and spoon hanging in his mouth was no other than Max Verstappen.

George buried his face in his hands “Shit not this one.”

Toto’s voice was cold. “Explain to me why my alpha and my junior omega were photographed at one in the morning, outside a convenience store, with a Red Bull driver.”

“He was—” George gestured vaguely at Kimi, who was still sipping his juice “—upset. I was cheering him up. Max just… showed up.”

“I wanted pistachio and choco chip” Kimi said quietly.

Toto’s eyes narrowed. “This is not kindergarten. This is Formula One. If Red Bull wants ice cream then let themtake care of it.”

He slapped the second page down. The Silverstone cooldown room. George bent over Kimi, his scent unmistakable and Kimi visibly melting into it.

George groaned. “Instinct, okay? I didn’t mean to—”

“Instinct,” Toto repeated, his voice dripping sarcasm. “Do you know how many emails I have received with subject lines like PapaGate, Papa Scandal, PapaRussell? This is not the legacy I wanted for Mercedes.”

Before George could reply, Toto slammed down the third page. Another still from cooldown. This one of Max. George too close and his scent cloud covering both drivers.

George nearly fell out of his chair. “That was—! That wasn’t—! He was—” He gave up and groaned. “Fuck.”

“You scented your cub and your rival in front of half the world,” Toto barked. “Do you know the chaos you’ve unleashed? Laurent Mekies has already called me twice just to laugh down the phone. He hung up to laugh again. Red Bull’s social media team is still spamming #MamaVerstappen. I am humiliated.”

Kimi unbothered, muttered into his straw. “I liked it though.”

“Kimi!” George snapped.

Toto’s hands clenched into fists on the table. “You—” he jabbed a finger at George “—will control your instincts. You—” now at Kimi “—will stop encouraging him. And if either of you breathe the word Papa in front of a camera, I swear to God, I will bench you both and call Stoffel.”

George slumped down. “Yes, sir.”

The room was silent for a beat. Then Kimi leaned in, whispering, “Still liked it though.”

George groaned, head hitting the table with a thunk.

And Toto muttered something in Austrian so filthy the windows shook.

Chapter Text

Spa weekend started before anyone even hit the track.

The FIA’s Friday morning driver briefing was already tense. A fresh line had been added to the regulations packet nestled between articles about on-track conduct and pit lane speed limits:

No scent marking or scent-related behavior is permitted in official FIA areas, including but not limited to: driver briefings, cooldown rooms, press conferences, and podium ceremonies

George nearly choked on his water when he saw it “You’ve got to be kidding.”

One of the officials cleared their throat. “This is a direct result of certain incidents in Silverstone.”

Max raised his hand. His expression dead serious. “So what if it’s instinct? What if someone is sad? Do we get a penalty for even caring now?!”

Muffled laughter can be heard around the room.

Kimi who had been leaning on George’s shoulder mumbled “What if I need it?”

George went bright red. “Kimi please not now.”

The FIA rep looked like they wanted to melt into the floor “If someone needs comfort, please restrict yourselves to non-scent-based gestures.”

“Like a handshake?” Lewis snorted. “Yeah sure. That will surely calm an omega meltdown.”

Meanwhile, the media had already gotten wind of the clause. By midday certain hashtags like #NoScentRule, #FreePapa, and #MamaBan were all trending.

Mercedes went into full-blown crisis mode. Their Friday press release was clinically painful to be honest.

Mercedes-AMG PETRONAS is committed to maintaining professionalism at all times. While we support our drivers’ bonds, we respect the FIA’s clarification on appropriate conduct in official areas.

But over in Milton Keynes, Red Bull leaned in like sharks smelling blood. The team’s cheeky Friday tweet has the go signal of Laurent Mekies himself.

Sometimes you just need a hug. Sometimes you just need ice cream. Sometimes you just need Mama. #MamaVerstappen 🍼🍦

It racked up a million likes in under an hour.

Half the grandstands at Spa were already filling with homemade signs by the time the afternoon hit.

LET THEM SCENT

PAPA CAN’T DO IT ALL ALONE

FIA OUT, MAMA IN

George was livid and stalking through the paddock like a thundercloud. “This is ridiculous. They’re treating me like some kind of a soap opera character.”

Max passed him with an energy drink in hand smirking “Maybe because you are one now.”

Kimi trotting behind George with wide eyes had tugged at his sleeve. “Papa, I don’t like the rule.”

George groaned and muttered, “Oh for fuck’s sake” while the FIA officials lurking nearby scribbled frantic notes on their clipboards.

It was clear the FIA had gone full surveillance mode by Saturday morning in Spa with the way they’re following the trio everywhere. Every time George or Max so much as walked into the same hallway, some poor steward with a clipboard materialized staring like they were about to commit a crime punishable by death.

When George stopped in front of Mercedes hospitality to grab a coffee, immediately two FIA staff parked themselves across the paddock walkway and watching him closely like an international wanted criminal. One scribbled in a notebook and the other just sniffed the air.

George groaned. “This is insane. I can’t even go to the toilet without someone thinking I’m plotting a terrorist scent attack.”

Kimi meanwhile is tucked against his side with his hood up whispered “Maybe they’re scared you’ll do it again.”

George pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s not funny.”

Kimi blinked up at him. “I wasn’t joking.”

Meanwhile, Max was sulking inside the Red Bull hospitality located on the other side of the paddock. Every time he tried to wander near Mercedes garage, a FIA personnel subtly intercepted him. One even stepped right in front of him when he veered down the wrong corridor.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me” Max muttered. “I’m not trying to steal state secrets and this is not the fucking Pentagon! I just want to see my cub!”

But the FIA wasn’t listening.

And the fans? The fans were having none of it. By FP3, Spa grandstands had turned into a riot of cardboard and paint. Homemade banners everywhere.

LET HIM SEE HIS CUB

DOWN WITH THE SCENT BAN

FREE PAPA AND MAMA

One particularly large banner stretched across La Source “LOVE IS NOT UNSPORTING BEHAVIOR.”

During the Sky Sports broadcast, the cameras couldn’t help but pan over it. Crofty, half-laughing and half-baffled said, “Well, that’s not a message I thought I’d ever read at a Formula One circuit.”

George nearly combusted like a Renault engine when he saw the clip in the garage. “This is humiliating. I am not a —“ He caught himself just as Kimi leaned against him again stubborn little omega heat radiating off him “oh for God’s sake.”

Everywhere he went the FIA’s eyes followed. Even in the cooldown room after free practice stewards hovered by the door with arms crossed as if waiting for George to pounce.

When Max breezed past him with a grin, muttering “Miss me Papa?” under his breath. George just about snapped.

Qualifying was a mess. Rain showers, red flags, and tension so thick you could smell it even under the fuel fumes.

When the final times came in, the board told its own story:

Lando Norris stunned with pole.

Max managed only P4, shoulders tense, his expression flat.

George put it P6, jaw clenched tight while watching Max the second they stepped out of their cars.

And Kimi, poor Kimi struggling in the slippery middle sectors have wound up P18. His radio had been quiet the last few laps — too quiet.

Max wanted nothing more than to comfort the young omega but every time he moved too close an FIA marshal materialized like a hawk.

“Eyes front, Verstappen” one of them muttered under their breath and it took every ounce of control not to bare his teeth.

Race Day - Belgian Grand Prix

From the lights alone you could tell it wasn’t going to be smooth.

Max ran steady in P4 but never looked fully himself. The usual fire muted without the grounding he got from Kimi’s presence.

George pushed the Mercedes hard, clawing up to P5 but it felt like driving with a hole in his chest. Every lap, his eyes flicked to the timing screen for Kimi.

And Kimi? His race never found rhythm. He fought, slipped and fought again but finishing P16 felt like a defeat before the checkered even waved. By the time he climbed out and tugging his helmet off, his eyes were wet and red. An omega left cut off from the ones he trusted most.

The separation wasn’t just cruel.

It was wrecking performance.

Cooldown Room - Spa

George entered first, unpeeling his gloves. Max came next, towel around his neck and not meeting anyone’s eyes. Then Kimi slipped in, quiet and trembling from frustration.

The FIA delegate by the door stood straighter with their clipboard at the ready.

For a moment it looked calm.

Max sat, breathing shallow.

George leaned on the counter, keeping space. Kimi hovered, trying so hard to pretend.

Then he caved. He stepped right up to George’s side with his shoulders pressed in, small and unashamed. George froze, his pulse spiking as the delegate shot him a nasty look.

“Kimi…..” George whispered, pleading.

But Kimi’s voice cracked as he said “ I couldn’t do it. Not without Mama. Papa can’t do it alone.”

Max’s head jerked up at that eyes a bit glassy but fierce. In two steps he closed the gap separating them. A soft defiant scent rolled through the room instantly making Kimi finally breathe easier.

George swore under his breath then gave in too. Wrapping an arm around Kimi and pressing his jaw against Max’s hair as if to stake the claim outright.

The FIA officer nearly dropped their clipboard. Cameras caught the rest.

The shot that went viral:

George braced between them, holding Kimi close and Max tucked under his chin with Kimi laughing through his tears at something Max muttered.

It didn’t matter what the FIA wrote in their reports. The world had already chosen its headline.

Papa can’t do it alone.

And outside the cooldown room, the fans had taken up a chant:

LET THEM SCENT! LET THEM SCENT!

By dinner time, every major sports outlet had picked up the clip from the Spa cooldown room.

Sky Sports plastered it across their homepage:

Papa Can’t Do It Alone: Verstappen & Russell Defy FIA Ban

ESPN ran with:

Scent-Gate? FIA Under Fire After Verstappen and Russell Reunite with Antonelli

And the hashtag #MamaVerstappen was trending worldwide again joined by a fresh one: #PapaRussell.

Mercedes HQ Statement (issued at 1:07 PM)

Mercedes-AMG PETRONAS does not endorse the violation of FIA regulations. However, we firmly believe that the welfare of all drivers, especially the rookies must come before bureaucratic enforcement. Our priority remains supporting Kimi Antonelli as he grows into his Formula 1 career.

Translation according to F1 Twitter:

George is Papa, leave him alone.

Red Bull Racing Statement (issued at 1:19 PM)

At Red Bull, we are proud of Max Verstappen’s dedication not only as a competitor but as a natural caretaker in the paddock. We will continue to support him and if the world wants to call him Mama Verstappen, who are we to argue? #MamaVerstappen

They attached a photo of Max grinning in sunglasses, captioned: “Mama energy.”

The replies were chaos.

Fan reactions flooding Twitter/X

Mercedes trying to play serious while Red Bull is selling Mama merch by Friday, watch

Any lawyer here? Can FIA ban parenthood?!

George Russell looks one kid’s drawing away from framing it on his fridge

Imagine trying to control omegaverse dynamics with paperwork 💀💀💀

Driver commentary (aka the paddock roasting session)

Lando Norris: I mean, I just wanted to win. Didn’t think I’d be upstaged by co-parenting.

Carlos Sainz: You both look very natural, to be honest. Like a Spanish telenovela.

Fernando Alonso: I said I wasn’t ready to be a grandpa. After Spa? I’m retiring for real.

Alex Albon: Can someone ask if Kimi gets a bedtime now or is that against FIA regs too?

By the time evening rolled around, Red Bull’s online store had quietly added a black hoodie with white letters: PAPA CAN’T DO IT ALONE.

Sold out in two hours.

Meanwhile, Mercedes comms were frantically deleting posts after fans flooded every reply with “🥺🐻 PAPA GEORGE” memes.

And the FIA? Their official statement, posted at 6:30 PM was buried under fifty thousand quote tweets that read “LET THEM SCENT.”

Chapter Text

Monday After Spa

The Summons

The mood in Geneva was cold.

No one smiled when the teams arrived.

Red Bull and Mercedes sat across from each other in the small FIA meeting room.

Papers on the table. *check*

Cameras outside. *check*

Everyone tense. *check*

Max sat between Laurent and their PR chief with his arms were crossed, wearing his signature Red Bull polo.

George came in with Toto, jaw tight and suit neat as always.

The FIA chair cleared her throat. “Let’s start. Both teams were told about the new conduct rule.”

Toto folded his hands. “Yes. And we’ve followed it to the best of our ability.”

She looked at him. “Your driver scent-marked an omega from another team. In public. Again.”

George’s shoulders stiffened. “That wasn’t — It wasn’t planned. Kimi was scared. It was instinct.”

The woman didn’t blink. “Instinct is not an excuse for breaking a professional code of conduct.”

Across the table, Laurent gave a sharp little smile. “Then maybe you should stop pretending this sport is human-only.”

Max nudged his knee under the table trying not to laugh.

George shot him a glare.

The chair sighed. “We understand these… dynamics. But the line must hold. The cooldown room is not a nesting zone.”

That made Max snort. “It’s not like we built a nest in there.”

Laurent muttered under his breath. “Not yet.”

Toto gave a low warning. “Please.”

The chair straightened her notes. “The FIA is issuing a formal warning to both Red Bull and Mercedes. Any further violation — physical scenting, marking or displays that imply a bond will result in penalties.”

“Penalties?” George asked.

“Fines. Suspensions. Disqualifications if needed.”

The room went quiet.

Max leaned forward. “You’re punishing us for being what we are.”

“It’s not punishment.” she said. “It’s regulation.”

Max shook his head. “Same thing.”

Toto finally spoke. “We’ll cooperate. But I can’t promise instinct won’t surface again.”

Laurent smiled, calm and dangerous. “Neither can we.”

The meeting ended with no one shaking hands.

Outside, the press waited. Cameras flashed.

“George! Is it true you scented both Max and Kimi?”

“Max! Are you and George really fighting the FIA together?”

“Will you follow the rule in Hungary?”

Neither answered.

Max stopped near his car and muttered. “They can’t stop us from caring.”

George gave a short laugh. “Yeah. Try telling them that.”

Both walked off in opposite directions.

The air between them smelled faintly of ozone and restraint.

The week after Spa felt tense. The FIA doubled down.

A new directive was released.

No physical scenting, marking or bonding displays in official paddock zones.

It was stricter than before. The fines were higher. Repeat offenders would face penalties.

Teams were furious.

Mercedes called the rule “dehumanizing.”

Red Bull called it “ridiculous.”

Even McLaren and Ferrari backed them quietly.

It was the first time in years that every team seemed to agree on something.

Headlines flooded the news feeds

BBC Sport: FIA Faces Backlash Over ‘No Scent’ Rule

Autosport: Teams Unite Against FIA Crackdown

Motorsport.com: Drivers Speak Out: ‘We Are Not Machines’

The Guardian: FIA Accused of Policing Natural Behavior in Omegaverse Paddock

The fans were louder than all of them.

Protests appeared outside the Hungaroring gates.

Some held banners that said “LET THEM SCENT.”

Others wore shirts that said “MAMA + PAPA FOREVER.”

The FIA tried to quiet things down.

Security was tighter. Reporters were warned.

But every camera still searched for Max, George and Kimi.

Red Bull used the attention.

Their trailers were covered in #MamaVerstappen stickers.

Mercedes refused to play along but their garage had tiny stuffed bears hidden on the shelves.

It became clear no one was listening to the FIA anymore.

Kimi returned to the paddock with his head high.

He looked tired but more confident.

Max greeted him with a small nod across the paddock.

George kept his distance, eyes sharp and protective.

Everyone noticed.

The FIA’s desperation showed.

Officials lingered too close.

Pen inspectors followed every move.

But the drivers, the fans and the teams had already chosen sides.

The Hungary weekend hadn’t even started yet

but the rebellion had already begun.

The FIA’s “no scenting” rule had turned into a joke by Thursday morning. Every press conference had at least one question about it. By Friday, no one was even pretending to take it seriously anymore.

“Pole for Ferrari.” someone muttered as the qualifying results came in. Charles looked smug under the bright paddock lights.

George landed P4, Max P8 and poor Kimi down at P15.

In the Mercedes garage, Toto sighed, rubbing his temple. “You held it together.” he told George, though his tone was flat. “That’s what matters.”

George only nodded, his mind elsewhere. The pup had looked lost on track. “He kept asking over the radio if Max could hear him.” he murmured quietly, guilt lining his face.

“Not your fault.” Kimi’s engineer said, patting his shoulder later in the motorhome. “You did your job.”

But George couldn’t shake the image of Kimi’s eyes, wide and confused after the race.

By Sunday, the grandstands were a blur of banners. “LET THEM SCENT” was plastered across more than a few. One fan even wore a wolf mask with Mercedes and Red Bull stickers glued together.

When the race ended, Norris took the win with Leclerc close behind. George crossed the line P3. Max finished P9, Kimi P10 — a small miracle but the gap between them was visible in every lap.

After the cooldown room, George found himself staring at the empty space beside him. “He didn’t even wait.” he muttered, glancing at the monitors that showed Max already gone for interviews.

In the Red Bull pen, Max’s tone was careful and polite but distant.

“We follow the rules.” he told the reporters. “Even when they make no sense.”

“Is it hard being apart from your… friends at Mercedes?” a journalist asked.

Max smiled — tight and professional. “We all race. That’s what matters.”

Behind the cameras, the FIA President grinned like a man who smelled victory. “Perfect answer.” he said. “Keep it calm, keep it sweet.”

Meanwhile in the Mercedes hospitality, George watched the replay of Max’s interview. Kimi leaned against his side, small and tired.

“Can I go to him after?” Kimi mumbled.

George hesitated. “Maybe later, cub. Let’s not start another headline today.”

Kimi frowned but nodded, curling against him.

Headlines that evening:

FIA’s No-Scenting Policy Fails to Hold Teams in Line

Red Bull’s Max Verstappen Questions Rule: “Makes No Sense”

Fans Demand Repeal as ‘Let Them Scent’ Trends for the Third Weekend in a Row

Mercedes and Red Bull Silent After Spa Cooldown Tension

The paddock was half-empty already when Max found Kimi sulking beside a stack of luggage, cap pulled low and phone clutched tight.

The omega cub looked tired, eyes drooping and George was standing a few steps away, deep in a conversation with a Mercedes staff member — probably something about protocols again.

Max stopped right in front of Kimi, arms crossed.

“Pack your things, cub. You’re flying with me.”

Kimi blinked up at him. “Mama? You mean — with you? On your jet?”

Max nodded. “Yeah. Monaco’s got better weather. You’ll like it.”

George immediately turned, like someone just set off a fire alarm.

“Absolutely not!” he said walking over fast. “That’s against the rules!”

“What rules?” Max shot back, eyebrows raised.

“The no scenting rule!” George snapped. “You and Kimi can’t be in the same space unsupervised. That’s literally what the FIA said.”

Max grinned. “They said ‘no scenting in official FIA zones.’ We’re not in an official FIA zone now, are we? The race is over. It’s summer break.”

George opened his mouth, then shut it, clearly searching for a loophole to throw back.

“That’s — that’s not how it works!”

“It’s exactly how it works, Dear George.” Max said cheerfully. “I checked.”

“You checked?”

“Laurent called legal. He laughed for five minutes and said it’s fine.”

Kimi, still watching them, quietly asked “So… I can go with Mama?”

Max crouched a bit to meet his eyes. “Only if you want to. You’ve had a rough few races. Monaco’s quiet. I’ll get you away from all this FIA nonsense.”

George sighed hard, rubbing his face. “You’re going to get me suspended.”

Max smirked. “No, George, I’m going to get you a tan. You can come too if you stop pouting.”

“I’m not pouting.” George grumbled, clearly pouting.

Kimi giggled — a small sound but it made the alpha and omega pause. “You two sound like parents arguing over summer custody.”

That did it.

Max lost it laughing while George just stared at the sky like he was begging for divine help.

“I’m serious.” George said finally. “If Toto finds out —“

“He’ll thank me for giving his young omega a break.” Max said with a shrug. “Now come on, cub. My jet leaves in thirty.”

Kimi hesitated, glancing at George. “I’ll text you every day, Papa.” he said gently.

George sighed again, defeated but softening. “Fine. But if you come back smelling like Verstappen’s diffuser, I swear —“

Max cut him off, grinning. “Relax, Papa. I’ll return him safe and unscented.”

“You can’t even say that with a straight face!” George groaned while Kimi laughed so hard he nearly dropped his phone.

By the time Max’s jet took off, the FIA’s “no scenting” memo had already leaked online.

Fans were having a field day.

Someone posted a blurry photo from the tarmac captioned:

BREAKING: Verstappen kidnaps baby Antonelli for summer break. Russell powerless.

The top comment read:

Papa can’t do it alone ✈️ #MamaVerstappen

Chapter Text

The world thought Formula 1 went quiet for summer.

It didn’t.

Engines stopped, yes.

But the chaos?

That only got louder.

Week 1 - Monaco

Max had promised himself he’d rest. NO PR, NO drama and NO FIA breathing down his neck.

Except there was now a small omega on his couch wrapped up in one of his hoodies, munching through his snack drawer like it was his job.

Kimi looked entirely at home. Bare feet tucked under a blanket, remote in hand and pretending to watch a movie but very clearly half-asleep.

Max leaned on the doorway, amused. “You planning to move in?”

Kimi didn’t even look up. “You said I could stay for a few days.”

“That was five days ago.”

Kimi blinked lazily. “Still a few.”

Max laughed, grabbing another blanket and tossing it over him. “You’re lucky you’re cute cub.”

Laurent dropped by later, saw Kimi asleep on the sofa and muttered “This is going to make the FIA combust.” before stealing one of Max’s drinks and leaving without context.

Week 1 - Brackley

Meanwhile, George Russell was having the least relaxing break in F1 history.

He was in the gym at 7 a.m., the simulator by 9 and pacing by noon because everything online was about Max and Kimi.

Mama Verstappen adopts Antonelli.

Papa Russell abandoned by family. #LetThemScent trending for the third day straight.

Toto had messaged him that morning

Do not read Twitter. Do not react. Do not scent anyone.

George replied

I wasn’t going to.

He absolutely did both.

Week 2 - London

By the second week George couldn’t take it anymore.

The house in London felt empty. The bed was too big and every news clip still played the “no scenting” drama.

He lasted nine days. Nine days.

On the tenth, he packed his bag and left. He told Toto it was “personal time” and flew straight to Monaco.

When he got to Max’s villa, chaos met him at the door.

Kimi ran past holding a water gun, squealing. Max followed barefoot, hair a mess and laughing.

George froze by the doorway.

Max smirked. “You look tired, Papa.”

George frowned. “You’re not supposed to call me that.”

Max grinned. “Kimi started it. I just follow the cub’s lead.”

“Mama!” Kimi yelled, running back and wrapping his arms around Max’s leg. “Papa’s here!”

George sighed but smiled. “Hey, little one.”

Kimi tugged his hand. “We were playing! Mama cheats!”

“I don’t cheat.” Max said, mock-offended. “I just win creatively.”

George laughed. “You two are hopeless.”

Max tilted his head. “You missed us.”

George didn’t answer but he didn’t deny it either.

An hour later, Max tossed him a towel.

“Come on. We’re going out.”

George squinted. “Out where?”

Max grinned. “To see my new shiny baby.”

Kimi gasped. “Mama bought a boat! It’s huuuge!”

George blinked. “You bought a boat?”

Max nodded proudly. “A super yacht. Perfect for family trips.”

George gave him a look. “You’re insane.”

“Happy insane.” Max said. “Now move before I leave you.”

Kimi cheered. “Papa’s coming too!”

George sighed, defeated. “Yeah, yeah. Papa’s coming.”

Two Days Later - Ibiza

The internet found them first.

A drone photo showed Max lounging on deck of the yacht in sunglasses. Kimi sat between them with a bright orange hat. George tried and failed to hide under a towel.

Within hours, headlines popped up

THE VERSTAPPEN-RUSSEL FAMILY VACATION MELTS THE INTERNET.

MAMA, PAPA, AND CUB TAKE OVER IBIZA.

KIMI ANTONELLI’S SUMMER SMILE BREAKS HEARTS.

Max saw the posts and laughed so hard he nearly dropped his drink. “Look, Papa. We’re trending again.”

George groaned. “We’re going to give Toto another headache.”

Kimi looked up from his popsicle. “Did we win summer, Mama?”

Max leaned over, kissed the top of his head. “Yes, cub. We won summer.”

George sighed, watching the sea. “You two are going to be the death of me.”

Max smiled softly. “Good way to go, though.”

George couldn’t even argue. He just smiled back.

Yacht Night - Somewhere off Ibiza

The sea was calm that night.

The yacht rocked gently under the stars.

Inside, Kimi was asleep in the small cabin, curled up between two stuffed dolphins he’d won earlier that day.

George leaned against the rail, a drink in hand. Max joined him, barefoot again with his hoodie pulled over his head.

For a while, they just listened to the waves.

George broke the silence first. “You know, Toto’s going to kill me.”

Max snorted. “Laurent will send him flowers.”

George groaned. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Of course.” Max said, smiling. “You’re the one who scented both of us in front of cameras. I’m just living the consequences.”

George turned red. “You’re not gonna let that go are you?”

“Never.” Max said, eyes twinkling. “Papa went full alpha mode. I almost fainted.”

George looked away. “You didn’t exactly stop me.”

“Didn’t want to.” Max said simply.

That shut George up. The words hung there for a moment. Quite, warm and honest.

The wind picked up. Max leaned his shoulder against George’s. “He missed you, you know. The cub. He’s been grumpy since Silverstone.”

George smiled faintly. “He’s still my boy.”

Max nodded. “Our boy.”

George glanced at him. “You sound like you mean that.”

“I do.” Max said. “Doesn’t mean I’ll stop teasing you though.”

George laughed softly. “You’re impossible.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

They fell into silence again, watching the lights of the shore. Somewhere below deck, Kimi shifted in his sleep and mumbled. “Mama… Papa…”

Both of them froze.

George chuckled. “He’s got us wrapped around his finger.”

Max smiled. “Yeah. And he knows it.”

George sighed then set his glass down. “So… what happens when the FIA calls again?”

Max grinned. “We tell them it’s summer break. Private scenting’s allowed.”

“That’s not a rule.”

“It will be.” Max said, smug. “They’ll have to make one just to deal with us.”

George laughed, shaking his head. “You’re dangerous, Verstappen.”

Max leaned closer, smirking. “You love it.”

George looked away, but he didn’t deny it.

Summer Break, Week Three - The Monaco Menagerie

By the third week, Max’s villa had officially turned into a zoo.

Kimi had claimed the guest room. George had stopped pretending he was “just visiting.” And Max? He was loving every second of it.

That morning started like every other.

Loud and chaotic.

Nino, Max’s tiny dachshund barked at the door like he was guarding a fortress.

Jimmy and Sassy, the Bengal cats were chasing each other up and down the sofa.

Donut, the lazy Scottish Straight cat sat on the kitchen counter like a judgmental cloud, staring at everyone.

George appeared in the hallway holding a leash. “I’m not sure I signed up for this.”

Max looked far too cheerful. “Family walk time.”

“Family?” George raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah.” Max said with a grin. “You, me, Kimi, Nino, the twins and Donut.”

Kimi came running in, wearing sunglasses that were way too big for his face. “Let’s go, Mama! Papa’s slow!”

George sighed. “I’m not slow. I’m questioning my life choices.”

Max patted his shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Nino likes you.”

The moment George opened the door, Nino darted out like a rocket. The leash nearly slipped from George’s hand.

“Nino! Slow down!” George yelled, half jogging, half tripping after the tiny dog.

Kimi giggled so hard he almost dropped Donut’s carrier. “Papa’s running!”

Max leaned against the doorway, laughing. “You’re a natural, Papa.”

“Shut up, Verstappen!” George shouted back, trying to untangle the leash.

They ended up walking along the Monaco marina with Max holding Jimmy’s harness, Kimi proudly leading Sassy and George reluctantly holding Nino’s leash like it was a ticking bomb.

People stared.

Of course they did.

It wasn’t every day you saw an F1 champion, another driver and a teenage prodigy parading cats in tiny harnesses down the pier.

“Mama.” Kimi said seriously, “Sassy’s judging Nino again.”

“Sassy judges everyone.” Max replied.

Donut, safe inside Kimi’s backpack, let out a lazy “mrrrrrppp”

George sighed. “Even the cat’s mocking me.”

Max grinned. “They can smell fear.”

“Good.” George muttered. “Maybe they’ll leave me alone.”

“They won’t,” Kimi said, cheerful as ever. “You’re Papa.”

By the time they got back to the villa, the paparazzi had already gotten their shots.

That evening, social media exploded:

🐾 The Verstappen Family Pet Parade: Mama, Papa, Cub, and Four Furry Menaces.

📸 Jimmy the Bengal looking like he pays the mortgage.

🐶 Nino the Dachshund dragging George like he’s training for Silverstone.

🐱 Donut the Scottish Straight, unbothered. As always.

Top comments rolled in fast

This isn’t F1 anymore, it’s a sitcom.

Someone please protect George from the sausage dog.

FIA about to ban family walks next.

Max scrolled through the posts on his phone, laughing so hard he nearly dropped it. “We’ve reached peak chaos.”

George leaned over to look. “We’re trending again.”

Kimi climbed onto the sofa, Sassy curled in his lap. “Are we famous, Mama?”

Max smiled, ruffling his hair. “Yeah, cub. The most famous zoo in Monaco.”

George just shook his head but couldn’t hide his grin. “You two are unbelievable.”

Max leaned back, smug. “Admit it Papa. You love it.”

George looked at the three of them. Kimi giggling, Max relaxed for once, Nino sleeping across his feet and sighed.

“Yeah.” he said softly. “I really do.”

Week 4 - The End of Summer Break

The house was quiet except for the hum of Max’s PC and the sound of his keyboard clicking. He had been streaming iRacing for almost an hour now. A mug of coffee sat half-empty beside him and Nino snored softly at his feet. Behind him, Jimmy and Sassy were curled up on the couch while Donut watched the screen lazily from the armrest.

“Alright, chat, this lap is for pole.” Max said, eyes sharp on the screen. He leaned forward a little, focused and relaxed in the way he only was when he forgot he was being watched.

Then footsteps sounded from the hall.

George walked in, fresh from a workout. Towel around his neck and hair still damp. He was shirtless with sweat catching the light from the monitor.

“Still streaming?” he asked, voice casual.

“Yeah.” Max said without looking away. “Just a few more laps.”

George hummed, heading straight to the fridge for water. He opened it like he had done it a hundred times before. “You didn’t eat dinner yet, did you?”

“I did.” Max muttered. “Maybe.”

George raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter. “That’s a no then.”

Chat had already exploded.

Discord - MaxVerSim Fan Server

🏎️ LilBunny46: WHO TF IS THAT BEHIND HIM 😭😭😭

🧃 RBRFan99: IS THAT GEORGE??? IS THAT HIS KITCHEN???

🐾 JimmySassyStan: HE’S SHIRTLESS AGAIN??🍞 NinoMom: HE JUST ASKED IF MAX ATE DINNER 😭 THAT’S SO DOMESTIC

🧢 TeamLH_27: The way he opened the fridge like it’s his house oh my god

🧁 SoftieVerRuss: They act like parents who forgot to tell their kid they’re not actually married🫠 Pasta4Lunch:“Still streaming?” “Yeah.” I CAN HEAR THE MARRIED ENERGY

😭 ChaosAdmin: This isn’t a rivalry this is CO-PARENTING ENERGY

“Maybe you should eat something,” George said, pulling out a bottle of water and tossing another to him. “You’re useless when you don’t.”

Max caught it easily still focused on his screen. “I’m not useless. I’m winning.”

George smirked. “You’re in P4.”

Max shot him a glare. “You wanna drive?”

“I’d be faster.”

Max snorted but didn’t look up. “In your dreams.”

George laughed, low and amused before disappearing down the hallway. “Don’t stay up too late then Mama” he called teasingly.

Max froze. He knew George was joking. They had been teasing each other like that ever since Kimi called Max mama and George papa at the yacht but still, it made him flush.

And of course, chat caught it.

🥐 F1Feral: HE CALLED HIM MAMA???????

💀 PaddockSpy: “Don’t stay up too late, mama” — SIR THIS IS A STREAM

😭 KimiIsBaby: HELP THEY’RE SO ACCIDENTALLY DOMESTIC

🍒 RBRRage: Max just froze. HE FROZE.

💬 TotoStan_77: You just know the PR team is sweating

Max coughed, eyes wide. “Okay chat, I think that’s enough for tonight.” He waved quickly at the camera. “Bye bye.”

Stream ended. Silence.

Max leaned back in his chair and groaned. “Oh my god.”

From the living room, George shouted “What?”

“You just called me Mama on stream!”

George laughed. “Well, you are Kimi’s mama. Someone’s gotta balance it out!”

Max threw his hands up, laughing despite himself. “You’re impossible.”

George grinned from the doorway, towel draped over his shoulder. “You love it.”

Max rolled his eyes. “No, I tolerate it.”

George smirked. “Sure.”

Outside, the sea breeze swept through the open balcony doors. The cats stretched. Nino barked once in his sleep.

And online?

#PapaAndMama trended again. Only this time, even Red Bull’s official account joined in.

By sunrise, the clip had exploded across every corner of the internet.

One soft “Don’t stay up too late then Mama.” from George, said while shirtless and passing behind Max’s iRacing stream was all it took to detonate F1 social media.

Twitter / X Highlights

🐝 @KimiCubCentral: GEORGE. CALLED. MAX. MAMA. ON STREAM. I’M ON THE FLOOR.

🏎️ @TracksideGossip: This man walked into Max’s house shirtless and dropped a casual “night, mama” like that’s NORMAL??

🐾 @CatsofTheGrid: Even Jimmy looked shocked. Sassy blinked twice. Nino barked once. Pure chaos.

💬 @F1TeaCorner: FIA banned scenting but forgot to ban public domesticity apparently.

😂 @GridMoments: We’re officially back to the Verstappen-Russell Family Cinematic Universe™.

News Outlets jumped right in

Autosport

Verstappen Stream Goes Viral After Russell’s Late-Night Cameo — Fandom in Meltdown.

Motorsport.com

‘Night, Mama’: George Russell’s Comment Sparks Another Summer Break Frenzy.

BBC Sport

Verstappen-Russell Clip Trends Worldwide After Accidental ‘Mama’ Moment.

De Telegraaf (Netherlands)

Verstappen Livestream Causes Chaos - Russell Seen at His Monaco Home.

Marca (Spain)

Papa, Mama, and the Cub: The F1 Family That Refuses to Go Offline.

Fan forum chaos

💅 @SoftKimi: Papa George being all domestic while Mama Max just freezes mid-game. Peak cinema.

🥹 @CubDefenseSquad: Kimi’s gonna be so proud when he wakes up.

🧢 @F1DadEnergy: Toto’s probably already drafting three different statements and a therapy voucher.

😂 @RedBullSpice: Laurent Mekies is 100% printing this on a mug.

🧃 @PaddockGossip: The FIA can’t ban love. Or whatever this is.

By midmorning, even the official team accounts were adding fuel to the fire.

@redbullracing

🏋️‍♂️ Papa just finished training. Mama just finished breaking the internet. #TeamWork

@KimiCubFanClub (Unofficial)

Mama streams. Papa checks in. Cub watches the replay. Family goals.

Back in Monaco, George walked into the kitchen holding his phone.

“Do you have any idea what’s happening online right now?”

Max blinked, halfway through feeding Nino. “Did someone leak another telemetry sheet?”

George glared. “You streamed me saying ‘Night, mama’. The whole world thinks we’re —“

Max interrupted, smirking. “Co-parenting Kimi? Yeah, we kind of are.”

George groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re trending.” Max said, turning back to his cereal. “Again.”

George sat across from him, exhaling hard. “I swear, I can’t take one break without you turning it into PR.”

Max grinned. “Not my fault your shirt had the same work ethic as Ferrari’s pit wall.”

George gave him a long look then broke into reluctant laughter. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it.” Max said softly, spoon tapping against the bowl.

Outside, the sun glinted over Monaco’s harbor and across the internet, the world still screamed about Mama and Papa Verstappen-Russell.

Bonus Scene - Toto’s Heart Rate Monitor Can’t Handle This

It was barely 7:30 a.m. in Brackley when Toto Wolff’s phone started vibrating like it was trying to escape his desk.

He blinked at the notifications. Then blinked again.

Headline #1:

George Russell Caught Calling Max Verstappen ‘Mama’ During Stream.

Headline #2:

Papa George and Mama Max - The F1 Family You Didn’t Know You Needed.

Headline #3:

Mercedes and Red Bull Co-Parenting Era Begins.

He scrolled once more.

The Red Bull official account had posted a picture of Max gaming with the caption:

Mama multitasking again 💅 #MamaVerstappen

Toto nearly dropped his phone.

“NEIN. ABSOLUTELY NOT.”

Susie poked her head into the office, coffee in hand. “You okay, love?”

He just stared at the screen, horrified. “They’re calling him Mama. And George — George is Papa!”

Susie raised a brow. “Well, it’s sort of adorable.”

Toto pointed dramatically. “ADORABLE? The internet thinks my driver lives with Verstappen!”

His phone pinged again, an alert from Mercedes PR.

URGENT: “#MamaAndPapa” is trending #1 worldwide. Red Bull posted three memes already.

He opened the attachment.

It was Laurent Mekies’ smirking face on a meme captioned: “At least Red Bull making family values work.”

Toto made a strangled noise somewhere between a groan and a prayer. “I’m going to fight Laurent.”

Susie tried not to laugh. “Oh, come on. It’s harmless.”

Toto scrolled again. The FIA had apparently released a statement reminding everyone that “personal relationships between competitors should remain professional.”

Beneath it, Red Bull replied with a photo of Max, George and Kimi labeled “Family outing 💕.”

Toto slammed the laptop shut. “Professionalism is dead!”

“Have you talked to George?” Susie asked gently.

“I TRIED!” Toto snapped. “He said, ‘Don’t worry, Mama’s making breakfast,’ and hung up!”

Susie bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Maybe you should take a break.”

“I’ll take a break…” he muttered darkly, grabbing his jacket, “when Laurent stops weaponizing memes.”

She watched him storm out toward PR. “You know,” she called after him, “you could just… let them be a little happy?”

He froze mid-step. “Happy? They are making my blood pressure trend!”

Later that morning, Mercedes PR would swear they heard Toto muttering in his office

First scenting, now parenting. Next thing you know, they’ll ask for family leave!”

Meanwhile, Laurent in Milton Keynes leaned back in his chair, sipping espresso with a grin.

“Ahhhh” he said to no one in particular, “the family content writes itself.”

Chapter Text

The summer break was over.

The chaos was back.

And Max was done pretending to be civilized.

He rolled into Zandvoort in full smug mode. Sunglasses, grin and the kind of confidence that made Laurent sigh before they’d even reached the paddock gates.

“Max, please.” Laurent begged. “One normal weekend. No headlines. No biting the FIA.”

“I never bite them.” Max said innocently. “They come too close.”

⸻

Inside, the FIA marshals were out in force again. Standing like perfume-hating scarecrows with scanners.

The “no scenting” rule signs were plastered everywhere. Bold, red and slightly passive-aggressive.

One marshal stepped forward the second Max passed through.

“Mr. Verstappen, reminder - no scenting, no marking, no touching.”

Max deadpanned. “Do I look like a Labrador?”

“You look untrustworthy.” the marshal replied flatly.

Laurent quietly dragged him away before he could test that theory.

⸻

Qualifying was chaos as usual.

Piastri on pole, Norris P2, Max P3, Isack Hadjar P4, George P5, Kimi P11.

It was tight, sweaty, and loud.

Everything Max loved.

Afterward instead of heading to debrief, he detoured straight to the Racing Bulls hospitality.

Laurent didn’t even try to stop him this time. “Fine.” he muttered. “Go bond with your bad decisions.”

Inside, Isack was slumped on a sofa. His hair still wet from the helmet, fireproofs half unzipped and expression caught between disbelief and panic.

“You look alive.” Max greeted.

Isack looked up. “Barely. I didn’t think I’d make Q3.”

“You made P4.” Max said. “That’s not luck, that’s talent.”

“Feels like luck.” Isack said, scratching the back of his neck.

“Then drive like you earned it.” Max replied. “You’re here now.”

It was casual. Easy even.

Until Max turned to leave.

And paused.

Because the air around them had shifted to something thicker and warmer. The kind that made every omega instinct in him twitch.

He ignored it.

He always ignored things that felt too big.

Race day.

Zandvoort thundered like the gods were fans.

Rain teased the sky but never came.

Max fought Piastri to the end, Lando snapping at their heels.

Behind them, Isack ran the race of his life.

Final results flashed:

P1 – Piastri. P2 – Max. P3 – Isack. P4 – George. P6 – Kimi.

The crowd lost their minds.

Double podium for the Red Bull family.

On the podium, Max was grinning again.

He could feel it. That addictive rush, the noise, the warmth and the pride.

And then there was Isack.

Wide-eyed, trembling and trying to hold his first F1 trophy like it wouldn’t disappear if he blinked.

Max laughed and nudged him. “You’re supposed to spray the champagne, not look like it’s holy water.”

Isack blinked, then grinned. “It’s heavy, okay?”

“Get stronger then cub.” Max teased.

They both laughed. And then it happened.

The faint scent shift. The pulse that synced for a second too long. The air locking around them.

Something inside Max’s chest snapped softly into place, like a puzzle piece he didn’t know he’d lost.

He froze.

Oh.

Oh no. OH NO

He looked at Isack again.

Oh yes.

Isack’s smile faded. “What was that?”

“Static.” Max said too fast.

“That didn’t feel like static.”

“Then your static is broken.”

“Max —“

“Shh. Celebrate. We’re not talking about this.”

⸻

They didn’t make it ten meters off the podium before the FIA struck.

“VERSTAPPEN! HADJAR!”

Three officials, one compliance officer and a man holding a scanner like it was a holy relic.

“Step aside!” the officer said sharply. “There’s been a breach of scenting protocol.”

Max groaned. “Are you serious? We just finished a race.”

“Yes.” the officer said. “And your scent just tripped every monitor from pit lane to hospitality.”

“Maybe I’m just that good.” Max muttered.

“Or maybe,” she said icily “you imprinted in an FIA-controlled area.”

“Imprinted?” Isack blinked. “That’s — wait. You can smell that?”

“Everyone can smell that!” the officer snapped. “You two are practically fog machines!”

Max winced. “That’s rude.”

Then it got worse.

One of the marshals reached out, just a hand on Max’s arm to guide him aside.

That was all it took.

Isack’s alpha instincts slammed into gear like a red flag dropped in his brain.

He moved fast, eyes flashing gold for half a heartbeat. His body between Max and the marshal.

“Don’t touch my mama!”

The room went dead silent.

Max blinked. “What? Your what?”

The marshal froze, hand half-raised. “I — I just wanted —“

Isack growled low in his throat. “Step back.”

Max rubbed his temple. “Fantastic. Now I’m a parent. Again.”

The compliance officer looked horrified. “Did he just call you —“

“Yes,” Max interrupted “and I’m filing a noise complaint about your tone.”

Laurent arrived mid-chaos, GP on his heels both already pale.

“Oh for fuck’s sake” Laurent whispered. “We leave you alone for five minutes.”

“It wasn’t me!” Max defended. “He started it.”

Isack, still bristling, muttered “He touched you first.”

“See?” Max pointed. “He’s logical.”

The FIA was not amused. Papers were waved, warnings issued and Max got hit with the words formal review and possible penalty three times before they let him go.

Outside, the media exploded.

#MamaVerstappen trended in under ten minutes.

#BabyBull, #HadjarBond, and #TheZandvoortIncident followed closely.

Sky Sports didn’t even pretend to be professional . One commentator said, “At this point, Verstappen’s building his own grid.”

Max just walked past the cameras, stone-faced.

“I’m never hugging anyone again.” he muttered.

Behind him, Isack trotted like an anxious guard dog. “Mama, wait —“

“Don’t start.” Max warned.

But there was no stopping it.

Because everyone had already heard it.

And by nightfall, the paddock knew:

Max Verstappen had accidentally imprinted on a rookie. Again.

And the rookie had called him Mama.

The moment the words “Don’t touch my Mama!” hit the paddock feed, all hell broke loose.

Inside the Mercedes hospitality, everyone stopped moving.

Even the espresso machine hissed like it knew something terrible had happened.

George blinked at the screen. “He didn’t just —“

Kimi gasped. “He did.”

On the monitor, Isack Hadjar, Red Bull’s youngest alpha was practically growling at an FIA official who had tried to stop Max.

Max looked half furious, half proud and somehow like he’d just accidentally adopted another cub in public.

George groaned. “Oh for — he did it again.”

Kimi started laughing. “I have a big brother now.”

George turned to him. “No! Absolutely not! You’re not adopting anyone.”

Kimi grinned. “Too late. Mama did.”

⸻

Five minutes later, Toto stormed into the lounge with a tablet in hand.

His face was red, his accent thicker than usual and he looked one bad headline away from cardiac arrest.

“WHAT is this?!” Toto shouted, slamming the tablet on the table.

The screen replayed the exact moment Isack bared his teeth at an FIA marshal and shouted, “Don’t touch my Mama!”

Max, in the background was yelling, “He’s fine! Leave him alone!” while Laurent looked like he was questioning all his life choices.

Toto jabbed at the screen. “EXPLAIN this madness!”

George rubbed his face. “Max… imprinted. Again.”

“On a Racing Bulls driver?” Toto’s voice cracked. “Why can’t he imprint a non-driver? Like the utility worker or a cameraman?!”

Kimi giggled. “Because Mama is special.”

“Don’t call him Mama!” Toto barked.

“But he is my Mama.” Kimi said softly.

Toto looked ready to pass out. “You… you stay out of this young man.”

George sighed and leaned back. “Look, Toto, I can’t believe what just happened. And we don’t know the full details yet, maybe it’s just —“

“Don’t say it.” Toto interrupted.

“—instincts.”

Toto pinched the bridge of his nose. “We just finished putting out the ‘Papa George’ fire. And now? Now we have two cubs calling him Mama in front of live cameras!”

Kimi shrugged. “At least they’re happy.”

Toto groaned. “I am not.”

George looked at the screen again. Max was now being half-carried by Laurent as Isack followed closely behind, glaring at every FIA marshal in sight like he’d bite someone if they got too close.

He couldn’t help it — George started groaning.

“This is unbelievable.”

“It’s perfect!” Kimi said. “Our family is growing.”

George shot him a look. “This isn’t funny, Kimi. We’re in public. Toto’s about to have a stroke.”

Toto snapped, “I am having one!”

The next hour was pure chaos.

Mercedes PR tried calling Red Bull.

Red Bull PR ignored them.

Laurent texted Toto a single photo — Max smiling with Isack and a caption: “Meet the new cub.”

Toto nearly threw his phone. “He’s taunting me!”

Kimi peeked over his shoulder. “Mama looks happy.”

George groaned. “Stop calling him Mama!”

“Papa is jealous.” Kimi teased.

George shot him a glare. “I’m not jealous. I’m concerned.”

“Jealous” Kimi repeated.

“Kimi.”

Toto slammed both hands on the counter. “ENOUGH. Nobody goes near Verstappen. Nobody calls him Mama. Nobody even thinks about imprinting.”

Kimi raised his hand. “Too late. I already thought about visiting.”

Toto spun on him. “NO!”

George leaned in. “Let’s just wait till after the race. Then we’ll talk to Max.”

Toto’s voice dropped an octave. “You will do no such thing. You stay in this hospitality. You will drink your water HERE. You breathe quietly HERE. That’s it!”

George stared blankly at Toto, unsure if he heard that right.

“You’re not allowed to go to Max.” Toto said firmly, crossing his arms. “Do you understand me, George? You and Kimi stay right here.”

Kimi blinked from where he sat on the couch, swinging his legs. “Why?”

“Because the FIA is still investigating what happened.” Toto said, tone sharp. “And I don’t want either of you caught in another headline!”

George sighed, rubbing his face. “Toto, come on—”

“No. I mean it.”

There was a beat of silence. Kimi glanced up at George, eyes big and innocent. Then, in the smallest whisper, he said, “Papa, he said we can’t see Mama.”

That was all it took.

George froze, jaw tightening. “Right.” He turned to Kimi. “Get your shoes.”

“But Toto said -/“

“I know what he said,” George muttered, grabbing his jacket. “But we’re not listening to that today.”

“George!” Toto barked, voice booming through the Mercedes hospitality. “You’re not going anywhere!”

But by then, George already had Kimi by the hand and was halfway out the door.

Kimi giggled as they jogged down the paddock, waving at some confused staff. “Papa’s fast!”

“Yeah, well.” George said, glancing over his shoulder. “When your boss is Austrian and angry, you have to be.”

They dodged a photographer, a couple of FIA marshals and one confused journalist before finally spotting the orange wave of the Red Bull garage. The noise, the smell of champagne and the faint buzz of Max’s scent hung in the air.

Kimi let out a happy squeal. “Mama!”

George sighed. “Yeah, yeah, Mama. Let’s hope he hasn’t started a full-on diplomatic crisis again.”

From inside, they could already hear raised voices. Laurent arguing with a furious FIA delegate and Max sounding absolutely unbothered, laughing as if he hadn’t just caused chaos across three departments.

Kimi tugged George’s hand harder. “Come on! Mama’s waiting!”

“Kid,” George groaned, “you have no idea how much trouble we’re walking into.”

“Then you better walk faster.” Kimi said seriously.

George blinked. “You’re definitely your mama’s kid.”

They reached the entrance right as Max turned, spotting them. His eyes softened instantly and even through the tension of FIA agents and furious staff, the omega’s expression brightened.

George let out a resigned sigh. “Well,” he muttered, “too late to turn back now.”

And as Kimi ran forward yelling “Mama!” at the top of his lungs, every camera in Zandvoort turned in their direction. Capturing the exact moment Mercedes’ strict orders went spectacularly ignored.

Chapter Text

The Mercedes hospitality had been loud before but by the time George stormed into the Red Bull garage with Kimi in tow, it was like walking into a storm. Laurent was mid-rant, GP looked ready to quit and Max with hair wild, shirt half untucked, sat on a stool looking like he’d survived a war and was too tired to care.

Laurent was waving a paper at an FIA official. “You cannot fine someone for existing! Do you all want us to stop breathing next?”

GP sighed. “Laurent, maybe don’t yell at the man who writes the reports.”

Max groaned quietly, rubbing his forehead. Beside him stood Isack, stiff and alert with eyes sharp like a guard dog ready to bite. Every time someone came too close, Isack’s scent flared. Protective and possessive.

Then came the sound that made Max perk up instantly —

“Mama!”

Max turned just in time for Kimi to barrel toward him. “Kimi, what are you doing here?”

“Papa brought me.” Kimi said proudly, clinging to Max’s arm.

Max blinked. “He what —?”

“Hi.” George said flatly from the doorway, arms crossed.

“Oh, great.” Max muttered. “Did Toto finally explode?”

“He’s working on it.” George said. “Half the hospitality might be ash by now.”

Kimi looked up. “Mama, is he really…?” He pointed at Isack who was watching George like a wary hawk.

Max hesitated. “That’s… Yes.”

“I’m his cub, he’s my Mama.” Isack said, almost defensively.

George groaned. “And declaring that in International television, for fuck’s sake.”

Laurent threw his hands up. “It’s imprinting! Completely natural! But noooo, the FIA thinks love is a violation!”

George clenched his teeth. “Really Max, you — what were you thinking? Why do you always act that everything is just a joke?!”

“I wasn’t thinking!” Max shot back. “He called me mama! I couldn’t just walk away!”

Isack shifted, tense. “They were being rough with him. I didn’t like it.”

George groaned. “Of course not. Fantastic. Another alpha in the family.”

Kimi gasped, delighted. “I have a big brother now?”

“Yes.” Max sighed. “Apparently you do.”

Kimi hugged Isack, who froze like a cat seeing water. “We can share snacks!”

George pinched the bridge of his nose. “We are not collecting cubs like Pokémon, Max.”

Laurent gathered his papers dramatically. “I’m going to appeal this nonsense before I combust. Don’t destroy each other while I’m gone!”

“Not promising anything!” Max yelled after him.

When Laurent left, the air changed. George started pacing, his voice sharp. “You know this is bad, right?”

“It’s not bad.” Max argued. “It’s just… complicated.”

“Complicated?!” George barked a laugh. “You imprinted on a driver from another team! Again! We’re already walking on eggshells with the FIA and you’ve just gone and kicked the nest!”

“I didn’t choose it, George!”

“Oh, you never do, do you? You just act first and deal with the fallout later. And guess who cleans up afterward? Me!”

“I didn’t ask you to!”

“No, but I always do!” George shot back. “Because if I don’t, you crash and burn. And I can’t just watch that happen!”

Kimi’s small voice trembled. “Papa…”

That single word cracked the tension for half a second. Isack put a protective arm around Kimi’s shoulder, his own scent wavering uncertainly.

Max’s voice came quieter, hurt. “You think I like being the one they target? You think I want this chaos?”

George ran a hand through his hair. “I think you never stop to think, Max! You don’t even take this seriously, everything for you is a joke!”

Max’s anger snapped back. “Then maybe you should stop trying to control me!”

“Someone has to!” George’s tone turned sharp again. “Because you won’t! One imprint, one penalty, one scandal. It’s always something! I can’t keep doing this.”

“Then don’t!” Max fired back. “Because we’re not even mates, George! You don’t owe me anything! We’re just co-parenting, that’s all this is!”

George froze. His expression flickered with something raw, something that almost hurt but then he straightened, his face unreadable.

“Yeah.” he said quietly. “I guess you’re right.”

Kimi whimpered again, the sound small and frightened.

George looked at him, then at Isack. Both pressed together, uncertain. Then he stepped back, his voice low. “I’m done, Max. With this, with the issues, with everything. You want to keep pushing the FIA? Go ahead. Do it without me.”

Max’s breath hitched. “George —“

But he was already gone.

The door slammed so hard that the sound seemed to echo long after George was gone. Max stood there frozen, the air around him heavy and sharp, like all the words they hadn’t said still lingered in the room.

Kimi’s quiet sniff broke through first. The little omega’s ears drooped as he clung tighter to Isack’s arm. “Mama… is Papa leaving?”

Max blinked, his chest tightening. “No, no, Kimi. He just needs a bit of time.” He crouched down, forcing a shaky smile. “Papa’s just mad. You know how he gets when everything’s messy.”

Kimi’s eyes watered. “But you always fix it after…”

“Yeah.” Max said softly. “I always fix it.”

Isack looked down at them both, his expression caught somewhere between angry and confused. “Why did he yell at you?”

Max sighed. “Because he’s scared. And when alphas get scared, they roar instead of talk.”

Isack frowned. “He shouldn’t yell at you.”

“I know.” Max said, his tone gentle but tired. “But he’s not really mad at me, not deep down. He’s just tired of fighting the world.”

Isack crossed his arms stubbornly. “Then he should fight with you, not against you.”

Max couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “You sound like Laurent.”

“I sound smart,” Isack corrected, making Kimi giggle through his tears.

Max took both of their hands. “Listen, nothing’s breaking, okay? We’re still family. We’ve been through worse, haven’t we?”

Kimi nodded weakly. “Like Monaco when you made smoke come out of Toto’s head.”

“Exactly.” Max grinned. “If we survived that, we can survive this.”

That finally got a watery laugh out of Kimi. Isack just sighed and muttered “I still don’t like him yelling at you.”

“Me neither.” Max admitted quietly. “But we’ll sort it out. Together.”

By the next morning, the paddock was chaos again but this time not because of racing.

The moment someone leaked footage of George storming out of the Red Bull garage, the internet detonated.

@GridDrama: GEORGE RUSSELL LEAVES RED BULL GARAGE AFTER HUGE FIGHT WITH MAX VERSTAPPEN. IS THIS THE END OF PAPA AND MAMA???

@F1GossipHub: Sources say shouting was heard inside. Kimi reportedly cried. Isack went full alpha mode. FIA security was ‘concerned for everyone’s safety.’

@TeamLH44: Bro… they just need family therapy, not penalties.

@F1Anon: George: ‘I’m done with this!’ Max: ‘We’re not even mates!’ 💔💔💔 I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE.

@RBInsider: Laurent Mekies reportedly broke a pen in half during the FIA debrief. GP just sighed and said, ‘Same old, same old.’

Then came the edits. Oh, the edits.

There was dramatic black-and-white footage of George leaving the garage to sad piano music. Another had Max’s face photoshopped onto a telenovela poster with the caption “Betrayed by Love, Saved by Instinct.”

And then — because F1 fans never know when to stop, #MamaVerstappen and #BringPapaBack started trending again.

One clip in particular went viral:

Kimi peeking out of Red Bull hospitality, holding Isack’s hand and whispering something like “Mama said he’ll come back.”

Fans turned that into a thousand edits. Soft music, sparkles and captions like “even cubs believe in second chances.”

The FIA released a brief statement that made everything worse:

We remind all teams that emotional displays between drivers should not interfere with official proceedings.

Within minutes, the replies were chaos.

@GridGirlEve: They said emotional displays like it’s PDA 😭😭😭

@MaxieNation: LET MAMA SEE HIS PAPA.

@GeorgeRussellOfficialFan: I’m on my knees begging Mercedes PR to lock him in a room with Max.

@TotoWatch: Toto spotted at Brackley staring into space whispering, ‘I’m surrounded by idiots.’

Meanwhile, Max stayed silent.

Inside the Red Bull motorhome, he sat on the couch, one hand absently running through Kimi’s hair as the cub dozed off beside him with Isack still sitting alert at his other side.

Max stared at the muted TV showing highlights of the race. His second place flashing across the screen and for the first time, it didn’t feel like winning.

He whispered softly, almost to himself, “He’ll come back.”

Kimi stirred, half-asleep. “You promise, Mama?”

Max swallowed hard. “Yeah,” he said. “I promise.”

Outside, the cameras kept flashing.

Inside, their little world stayed quiet and just barely held together.

The paddock was almost empty. Trucks rolled out one by one. The noise faded, leaving only the hum of tired workers and the buzz of lamps overhead. Max didn’t move. He stood by the Red Bull motorhome, still in his race suit and staring at nothing.

His head was a mess. The fight with George played in his mind again and again. We’re not mates. He’d said it and it stuck like a thorn he couldn’t pull out.

Kimi held on to Max’s arm, his small face tilted up. “Mama… is Papa angry?”

Max blinked, forcing a soft smile. “No, baby. Papa’s just tired.”

Kimi frowned. “But you yelled.”

Max smoothed Kimi’s curls. “Sometimes grown-ups fight. It doesn’t mean we don’t like each other.”

Kimi looked at him, unsure. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

Isack stood a few steps away, quiet. His hands were buried in his pockets. He couldn’t even meet Max’s eyes. The guilt was eating him alive. “Mama.” he mumbled, voice small. “I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”

Max sighed and pulled him closer. “No, pup. It’s not your fault.”

But Isack didn’t believe him. He only nodded, eyes wet and whispered, “Still feels like it.”

Across the paddock, Yuki called out, “Isack! Come on, the van’s leaving!”

Isack turned. “Yeah, coming!” He looked back at Max one last time. The tired omega holding one cub close while another watched him like he was scared to break him. It hurt to walk away.

That night, Isack couldn’t sleep. His phone wouldn’t stop lighting up with notifications

Hadjar Imprints on Verstappen — FIA Investigates Chaos at Zandvoort.

Red Bull Family Drama: Mercedes Furious After Verstappen Scene.

Fans React to ‘Mama Max’ Trend.

The last one made him groan. Someone had already made a meme of him yelling Don’t touch my mama! at the FIA official.

He buried his face in a pillow. Then he sat up again. His chest was tight. He needed to fix things.

By midnight, he was outside in a hoodie and slipping through the quiet streets. George’s hotel wasn’t far. He didn’t even know what he’d say. He just knew he had to.

He found George sitting on a bench near the lobby entrance, staring at the vending machine like it had personally offended him.

“Uhhhhh” Isack started, voice awkward. “You look like you’re losing a fight.”

George turned his head slowly. “It ate my coins. Fitting, really.”

Isack shuffled closer. “I came to say sorry.”

George sighed. “For what? Turning the entire paddock upside down?”

Isack winced. “Yeah. That.” He hesitated. “I didn’t mean to. I just… smelled Mama panicking and my instincts —“ he stopped, cheeks red.

George’s expression softened. “Hey. Stop. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Isack blinked. “I didn’t?”

“No.” George said, shaking his head. “You’re an alpha. Instincts kick in. It’s not your fault.”

Isack looked relieved. “Thanks, Papa.”

George froze. “What did you just —“

“Uhhh — sir. George. Mister Russell —“

“Oh no.” George said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “There’s two of you now.”

Isack tried not to laugh but failed. “Mama said that too.”

George groaned. “Of course he did.”

They sat in silence for a bit, the night air cool around them.

“He misses you, you know.” Isack said softly. “He was really sad after you left.”

George looked down. His voice was quiet. “Yeah. I miss him too.”

They sat a little longer before George stood. “Go back to your hotel, pup. Tomorrow’s going to be chaos.”

“Yes, Papa.” Isack said again, grinning this time.

George shot him a warning look but there was a small smile tugging at his lips. “If you call me that again, I’m making you clean Toto’s office.”

Isack snorted as he walked away. “Goodnight, Papa.”

George laughed despite himself. He shook his head and muttered, “God help me. I’m raising two of them.”

And for the first time that night, the tight feeling in his chest finally eased.

Chapter Text

It was two days after Zandvoort. The summer glow was gone. The Verstappen villa in Monaco felt too quiet. The espresso machine hissed but Max didn’t drink the coffee. He just stood there, staring out the window at the sea.

Nino barked at nothing. Jimmy jumped on the counter. Sassy knocked over a cup. Donut rolled on his back like life was fine. But Max wasn’t.

Kimi sat on the floor in his pajamas, building Lego. “Mama, why are you sad?”

Max blinked. “I’m not sad.”

Kimi tilted his head. “You look sad.”

Max sighed. “I’m just tired, baby.”

The teenager frowned. “Papa make you tired?”

Max opened his mouth. Then closed it again. “Maybe a little.”

Kimi gasped. “Did you and Papa divorced?”

Max choked on air. “What — no — we’re not even —“ He stopped, rubbing his face. “Oh my God.”

Kimi looked serious. “If you divorce, I want to live with Mama.”

Before Max could reply, Laurent walked in through the open patio door. “Max, you have a media call in twenty minutes —“ he stopped mid-step. “Oh. You’re still in your pajamas.”

Max muttered “It’s Monaco. It’s legal to be depressed here.”

Laurent sighed. “You’re an omega, not a ghost.”

“Feels the same.” Max said.

Meanwhile in London, George sat in his flat staring at the ceiling. His phone buzzed nonstop. He ignored Toto’s messages. He ignored team press. He even ignored Lando, who sent a meme of Max and Isack with the caption ‘Family Goals?’

He groaned and buried his face in a pillow. “Why did I get involved in this circus?”

His phone rang again. It was Toto.

George answered on the fifth ring.

“George” Toto started, voice tight. “We need to talk about Kimi.”

George rubbed his forehead. “What about him?”

“You need to bring him back. Mercedes property. No more Verstappen house sleepovers. No more Red Bull influence.”

“He’s a kid, not an engine part.”

Toto ignored him. “Send him back to Brackley for the week.”

George groaned. “You want me to fly to Monaco just to pick up a ten-year old?”

“He’s nineteen.”

“Same thing.” George muttered.

Back in Monaco, Max got a message.

George: Send Kimi back to Mercedes. Toto’s losing it.

Max frowned.

Max: He’s watching cartoons with me.

George: He’s not supposed to be there.

Max: He’s my cub.

George: He’s my junior.

Max: He calls you papa. You can’t win this.

There was a pause. Then George replied:

George: I’m flying tomorrow.

Max groaned. “Why is everyone flying here? I just wanted peace.”

Kimi looked up from his Lego tower. “Is Papa coming?”

“Yes.” Max said. “To steal you.”

Kimi gasped. “Kidnapping?”

“Basically.”

Later that night, Isack came to the kitchen. He had his phone in one hand and his backpack on the other. “Mama.” he said quietly. “I have to go back to Faenza.”

Max blinked. “What? Now?”

“Yeah. They need me for sim work. Alan said.”

Max frowned. “Tell them no.”

Isack bit his lip. “I can’t. It’s for the next race.”

Max sighed. “You’re all leaving me. George is angry. Laurent is mad. You and Kimi are being shared like Lego pieces.”

Isack smiled weakly. “You can visit.”

“I can’t even scent anyone in public anymore” Max muttered.

Isack hugged him. “It’s okay, Mama. I’ll message you every night.”

When Isack left, the villa felt even emptier. Kimi lay on the couch with a blanket watching cartoons. Max sat beside him, holding his phone.

Kimi looked at him. “Mama, are you and Papa okay?”

Max forced a smile. “We’re fine.”

“Then why do you look like Sassy when she drops her toy in the pool?”

Max let out a small laugh. “Because life’s hard, baby.”

Kimi nodded like he understood everything. “If Papa comes tomorrow, I’ll hide.”

Max blinked. “What?”

Kimi whispered “We can run away. Me, you, Isack and the cats.”

Max laughed for real that time. “Good plan. I’ll think about it.”

The next day, George’s plane landed.

Toto had sent him twenty more messages.

“Bring the boy back.”

“Do not get distracted by Verstappen.”

“Avoid omegas with emotional damage.”

George read them all and sighed. “Too late.”

He stood outside Max’s villa and rang the bell.

Inside, Kimi whispered to Max “He’s here.”

Max muttered “Act natural.”

Kimi opened the door. “Papa!”

George smiled despite himself. “Hey, kid.”

Kimi wrapped his arms around his waist. “You can’t take me.”

George blinked. “What?”

“Mama said you’ll kidnap me.”

Max groaned from the kitchen. “I did not — well, maybe a little.”

George gave him a hard look. “Of course you did.”

Max popped out from the kitchen, sighing. “Can we not fight before lunch?”

George turned to him. “I’m taking Kimi to Brackley. Toto’s orders.”

Kimi immediately shook his head. “NO! I stay with Mama.”

Max stepped forward. “You’re not taking him. He’s fine here.”

George’s voice tightened. “He’s not your driver.”

“And you’re not his alpha!” Max shot back.

For a second, the whole villa went silent except for the faint hum of the fridge.

Kimi’s eyes darted between them. “Are you fighting again?”

George exhaled. “We’re just… sorting things.”

Kimi frowned. “Sorting sounds like divorce.”

Max’s voice cracked. “We were never married.”

George muttered “Thank god.”

That hurt more than Max expected. He turned away, jaw tight. “Take him then. If it makes you feel better.”

George blinked. “You’re serious?”

“You already made up your mind” Max said quietly. “Go ahead.”

Kimi clung tighter to Max. “Mama, no —“

Max forced a smile. “It’s okay, cub. You’ll visit soon.”

Kimi’s eyes watered. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

George picked up Kimi’s small bag, trying to keep his expression calm. He looked at Max one last time. “We need to stop this madness, Max. The FIA, the chaos, all of it. I’m done being the bad guy because of you.”

Max didn’t look at him. “Then stop pretending we’re a family.”

George froze. “What?”

“We’re not mates, George. We’re just co-parenting. That’s all.”

For a moment, neither said a word.

Then George nodded once, stiffly. “Right.”

He took Kimi’s hand. “Come on, kid.”

Kimi looked back over his shoulder, eyes shining. “Bye, Mama.”

Max waved weakly. “Be good.”

The door closed behind them.

The villa was quiet again — just the sound of waves and Sassy knocking something off the counter.

Max sat down, buried his face in his hands, and whispered “This is getting ridiculous.”

Chapter Text

The Mercedes motorhome was quiet that morning. Even their espresso machine sounded nervous.

George arrived first, sunglasses on, headphones in and walking like a man who had definitely not been up at 3 a.m. reading old messages. The crew pretended not to notice. Even Toto didn’t comment as George went straight to his room and closed the door.

Kimi arrived a few minutes later, dragging a small suitcase and looking like someone being dropped off for shared custody weekend. The mechanics waved awkwardly. Nobody knew whether to ask if he’d seen Max.

Toto was already pacing. “This weekend, no drama” he said. “No omegas, no imprinting and no Verstappen. We are here to race.”

Kimi raised a hand. “But Mama —“

“No!” Toto snapped. “We do not say that name.”

George appeared in the doorway, perfectly calm on the surface though his jaw was tense. “It’s fine, Toto” he said. “We’re focused. I’m focused.”

He wasn’t.

Half the team flinched when his phone buzzed on the counter. He glanced at it once, saw the name and turned the screen down.

“Was that —“ Kimi started.

George didn’t look up. “Don’t.”

The air went thick. Someone coughed. A tire engineer dropped a pen.

Finally, Kimi slumped in his chair, mumbling, “Mama would’ve at least brought snacks.”

Across the paddock, a sleek black car pulled up to the Red Bull hospitality. Max stepped out wearing a Red Bull polo and jeans. No racing suit. No helmet. Just Max looking annoyingly calm while carrying a small duffel bag.

Isack followed behind, backpack slung over one shoulder and looking thoroughly unimpressed. “Mama” he muttered, “do we really have to walk into this?”

Max shot him a look. “Yes. Public appearances are mandatory. And also because Laurent said so.”

Isack shrugged. “Laurent always says that.”

Max groaned. “I hate Laurent.”

The paddock buzzed instantly. Fans whipped out cameras, reporters whispered and every monitor in the hospitality suite already had a headline: Red Bull Returns to Monza — Mama Max in the Wild.

Max tried to act casual. He waved, smiled and kept his chin high. Inside though, he was panicking.

“Stay calm” he muttered to Isack. “Do not call me Mama in public. Do not look at me like you’re about to imprint on anyone else. Do not —“

“Relax, Mother” Isack said, smirking. “I got this.”

Max blinked. “Do not call me that either!”

Meanwhile, George was still brooding in Mercedes hospitality. He had gotten wind of Max arriving. He peeked through the glass doors and saw Max in the Red Bull polo and carrying himself like he owned the place with Isack right behind him.

His jaw tightened. “Of course.”

Kimi, who had somehow found a spot near the window, nudged him. “Papa, they look… happy.”

George muttered “Happy. Right. Because everything they do is a declaration of war.”

Kimi rolled his eyes. “Papa, it’s just Mama and Isack.”

George pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes. And I’m going insane.”

Max navigated the paddock like a king returning to his court. He shook hands, posed for photos and even laughed at a few reporters’ jokes. But every so often, his eyes flicked toward the Mercedes motorhome. His omega instincts flared.

He spotted George, looking impossibly stern and broody and Kimi sitting nearby like a little general observing the enemy. Max’s stomach twisted.

Isack noticed. “Mama” he said softly, “you okay?”

Max forced a smile. “Perfect. Totally fine. I’m professional.”

Isack snorted. “You’re sweating like a mech at 100% load.”

Max groaned. “I am not sweating!”

Fans were already noticing the divided setup on social media. Photos circulated instantly:

Red Bull vs Mercedes — The Divorce Edition.

Comments poured in:

@F1Fanatic99: Max and George look like they just split custody. Kimi and Isack are the kids stuck in the middle.

@SpeedQueen87: Mama and Papa F1?? I can’t.

@TracksideTroll: Max is smizing like he’s at a wedding while George looks like someone stole his wallet. Iconic.

The reporters picked up on it immediately. “Max, are you stressed about Monza?” one asked.

“Not at all” Max said, perfectly still while internally screaming. “Absolutely fine. Totally fine. Don’t even think about it.”

Meanwhile, George got a question about Max. “Do you think Max will dominate this weekend?”

George’s lips twitched. “Uh… we’ll see.”

Kimi elbowed him. “Papa, say something mean!”

George scowled. “I’m not allowed to insult him in public.”

Kimi smirked. “Exactly. Like a divorce.”

Back in Red Bull, Isack leaned against Max, whispering, “Mama, they keep taking pictures.”

Max groaned. “Of course they are. Everyone is documenting the divorce weekend.”

The omega massaged his temples. “Do I look like I signed up for this?”

“Only emotionally” Isack said. “And you did.”

At Mercedes, George looked out the window. Kimi tugged at his sleeve. “Papa, do you miss Mama?”

George snorted. “Do not talk like that.”

Kimi smirked. “Yes you do.”

George growled softly, pinching the bridge of his nose again. “I’m already losing my mind.”

The cameras kept flashing. Fans were live-streaming every moment. Memes exploded online: “Split Custody GP”, “Mama Max vs Papa George”, “Kids in the Middle”.

Laurent Mekies, watching from the Red Bull side, muttered to a photographer, “I swear this is under control.”

Max raised an eyebrow. Under control? Sure.

George muttered to Kimi “We’ll get through this. Somehow.”

Kimi grinned. “Divorced but still together.”

George groaned.

The sun was high over Monza. The paddock smelled of hot asphalt, espresso and nerves.

Max and Isack arrived early. Mama omega mode activated. Max checked every detail of his car, pacing and muttering. Isack followed, alpha instincts tense, watching every FIA official like a hawk.

“Mama” Isack whispered “Don’t forget the tire temps.”

“I know, I know!” Max snapped then immediately forced a smile for the cameras. “Everything is fine. Totally fine.”

Isack rolled his eyes. “You’re sweating.”

“I AM NOT SWEATING” Max hissed but he grabbed a water bottle anyway.

Across the paddock, George and Kimi were in Mercedes hospitality. George tried to focus but every glance toward Red Bull made his jaw tighten.

“Papa” Kimi said, “Mama looks… scary.”

George growled. “He always looks scary. Especially when he’s about to go fast.”

Kimi giggled. “Do you think he’ll be on pole?”

George muttered “I hope not.”

Qualifying ended:

P1 – Max

P2 – Norris

P3 – Piastri

P6 – George

P7 – Kimi

P16 – Isack

Qualifying had just ended. Max had taken pole but the paddock was a frenzy. Cameras clicked nonstop, officials shouted and the FIA were hovering like predators.

Max tried to walk calmly but his omega instincts were on full alert. Every step, every official and every camera pushed him closer to breaking.

He brushed past Isack and the scent hit the young alpha instantly.

“Mama!” Isack barked, stiffening. “What are you doing?!”

“I — I didn’t mean —” Max stammered, panic rising.

An FIA official lunged. “Mister Verstappen! You breached the no-scenting protocol!”

Max snapped. “WHAT?! I didn’t — THIS IS RIDICULOUS!”

They tried to grab his arm. Max flailed, yelling, a touch of hysteria creeping in. “DON’T TOUCH ME! I CAN’T —“

Isack lunged, growling. His alpha instincts flaring. “MAMA! BACK OFF!”

Max shrieked, voice cracking. His knees buckled. “I… I… I CAN’T… I JUST… I—”

He sank to the floor, hyperventilating violently. His breaths came fast and shallow. Hands shook. Sweat poured down his face.

Laurent crouched beside him. “Max, calm down. Look at me. Slow breath.”

Max shook his head wildly. “I CAN’T! I CAN’T! THEY—THEY—EVERYONE—”

Isack pressed closer, nuzzling him anxiously. “Mama, breathe! I’m here! You’re okay!”

But Max’s panic didn’t let up. He gasped, clutching his chest and rocking slightly. Incoherent words spilling out. “I… I… POLE… THEY… TOU— I HATE IT… CAN’T… CAN’T—”

Laurent’s hand stayed on his shoulder but his eyes widened with concern. “Max, breath. We’re fine. You’re fine…”

Max shook violently. “I… I… I CAN’T… I CAN’T… I CAN’T HANDLE THIS…”

Isack growled, nudging him gently but even the alpha could see Max spiraling. “Mama! Look at me! Breathe! I got you!”

Minutes passed. Max’s breaths were rapid, erratic with his hands trembling. Every ounce of composure gone. Laurent tried every calm, grounding word. Isack pressed against him, growling low.

Still, Max could not slow. His chest heaved. He was trembling, eyes wide, hyperventilation rising like a storm.

Then footsteps echoed in the paddock. George and Kimi arrived, rushing toward the commotion, faces wide with alarm.

George’s jaw tightened. “What the hell is going on here?”

Kimi’s eyes widened. “Mama? Is… is he okay?”

Max froze, chest heaving, hyperventilation still raging. Isack pressed closer protectively, Laurent holding on, all three facing the sudden arrival of George and Kimi.

The chaos hung in the paddock, the FIA backing off slightly, cameras still flashing, fans outside already livestreaming as George and Kimi stepped into the scene, tense and worried, unsure what to do first.

George and Kimi had just finished debriefing in the Mercedes hospitality. Qualifying hadn’t gone perfectly — George P6, Kimi P7 — so they were quietly trying to shake off the tension, joking about tire choices and missed lines.

“I swear, if I had a straight line speed like Mama……” Kimi muttered, rolling his eyes.

George chuckled, tight-lipped. “Focus on what you can control. Don’t think about what Mama does.”

Kimi froze. “Mama?”

George’s jaw tightened. “Yeah… he’s in the paddock. Something’s happening.”

Suddenly, a frantic voice carried over the noise.

“WHAT?! I… I CAN’T… DON’T TOUCH ME!”

Another sharp bark followed: “MAMA! BACK OFF!”

George’s eyes narrowed. “And that’s Isack.”

He grabbed Kimi’s arm. “Come on. We need to see this.”

They pushed through the crowd. Officials were shouting. Max’s voice cracked, slightly hysterical, while Isack’s alpha growls cut through the chaos.

Rounding the corner, they froze.

Max was on the ground, hyperventilating violently. Isack pressed close, growling at the FIA officials trying to step closer. Laurent Mekies crouched nearby, hands up and trying to calm the situation.

Then one of the FIA officials tried again to move toward Max.

George snapped. His alpha instincts flared. He stormed forward, chest out, eyes blazing. “HEY! STEP BACK!”

The FIA official froze, trying to remain professional but George didn’t wait. He shoved the man hard, just enough to make him stumble back. “I said, DO NOT TOUCH HIM!”

The official raised his hands. “Mister Russell, please—”

“I DON’T CARE WHO YOU ARE!” George roared. “He is my family. You will NOT touch him. Not one inch!”

The official tried to take a step closer, raising a finger toward Max. George lunged, grabbing the wrist and twisting it firmly, not enough to hurt but enough to make his point. “BACK OFF!”

Kimi clutched George’s arm, eyes wide. “Papa… calm down…”

George’s voice was low and dangerous. “Calm? CALM? You think it’s easy watching them treat him like this?” He jabbed a finger at the official’s chest. “You have no idea what happens if you lay a hand on him again.”

The official’s face turned pale. He raised his hands higher. “Sir… please… we’re just enforcing the rules—”

George took a threatening step forward. “Rules? Rules? He’s on the ground, shaking and hyperventilating. You want to explain that to him? To his cubs? Step the hell back!”

At that moment, Toto arrived, rushing forward, hands out. “George! Stop! You can’t—”

George whirled, eyes blazing. “Toto, he’s touching him again! He is MANHANDLING him!”

Toto tried to grab George’s arms to hold him back. “I know, I know! But we have to do this carefully!”

Isack growled at the officials again, sensing George’s anger and the threat to Max. Max’s breathing was still rapid, hyperventilation intense. He clutched Isack, leaning heavily against him, body trembling.

Laurent Mekies crouched beside Max, shouting over the chaos. “Stop it! You are all not helping!”

George’s glare swept across the FIA. “You want me to lose control? Try touching him again!”

Toto struggled to restrain him but George’s alpha presence was overwhelming. Kimi’s small voice tried to anchor him. “Papa… please… Mama… look at him…”

Max’s chest heaved violently. “I… I… I… CAN’T… I CAN’T…”

Isack pressed closer, growling low and keeping anyone from coming near. Laurent muttered “We’ve completely lost control here…”

The paddock was frozen. Cameras clicked. Fans watched, livestreaming. Social media had already exploded. George, hands shaking with fury, refused to let anyone get near Max, even as Toto held him back, trying desperately to keep the situation from escalating further.

For a moment, Max leaned into Isack, trembling, eyes wide, hyperventilating violently. George and Kimi were both there, full of concern and fury and Laurent tried to calm him. The chaos of Monza was at its peak.

George’s hands were shaking, rage still simmering. He finally took a deep breath and stepped closer to Max, careful but determined. “Max…” he murmured, voice low but full of concern.

Max’s hyperventilation didn’t slow immediately but he felt George’s presence pressing in, grounding him. George wrapped his arms around Max, firm but gentle. “I’ve got you” he said, nuzzling slightly, letting his alpha scent wrap around him.

Max shuddered, a small whimper escaping him. The scent calmed some of the panic even if his breaths were still fast and shaky. Isack pressed closer to Max, growling softly but even the alpha pup relaxed slightly seeing George there.

Kimi hovered nearby, eyes wide. “Papa…” he whispered.

George murmured against Max’s temple, letting the scent linger. “It’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe.”

Max’s trembling slowed fractionally. His chest heaved but the panicked look softened as he leaned into George, letting himself be comforted. Isack’s protective growls lowered to soft rumbling.

Laurent Mekies muttered something about “never seen anything like this “ but even he couldn’t stop the moment.

For the first time since the confrontation began, Max felt a tiny anchor in the storm. His cubs beside him and George’s alpha presence shielding him. Even in the chaos of Monza, for a few precious seconds, the world felt a little less overwhelming.

Chapter Text

The paddock was still chaotic. FIA officials whispered nervously, unsure what to do. Max’s chest heaved in short and rapid gasps. He was trembling and unable to focus on anything else.

George held him firmly in his arms, rocking him gently. His Alpha scent pressed against Max, steadying him. Kimi and Isack flanked them, staying close, alert and protective.

“Mama… it’s okay” Isack muttered, pressing against Max’s side. “We’ve got you.”

Kimi nodded, clutching George’s arm. “Mama… we’re right here.”

Max could barely speak. His breaths came in shallow bursts, body shaking uncontrollably.

Laurent Mekies stepped forward, glaring at the FIA officials. “Hands off. We move him. Not you. And let me make this clear. If you touch him again, Red Bull will file a harassment complaint. We will not stop until it is officially acknowledged that what you did was wrong.”

The officials muttered nervously. Some glanced at each other unsure how to respond. Isack growled low, muscles coiled. Every official who stepped forward hesitated, unwilling to provoke him.

George whispered softly into Max’s ear. “It’s okay, Max. I’ve got you. We’ve got you. Just breathe.”

Kimi leaned closer to Isack, murmuring “We’re all here. Mama’s safe.”

Slowly, with George’s steadying presence and the cubs flanking them, the group navigated the paddock. Fans and media tried to get photos but nobody dared approach too close. Every glance from Isack or warning from Laurent kept them at bay.

Finally, they reached the Red Bull hospitality. George guided Max inside, still holding him tightly.

Isack stayed close, tense but alert.

Kimi followed, keeping near Isack.

Inside, Max sank into the couch, trembling. George stayed beside him, holding him and scenting him trying to provide calm. Kimi and Isack pressed close, ready to intervene if needed.

Laurent turned to the FIA officials lingering outside, voice sharp. “File your reports. Call your meetings. He is not leaving this hospitality until he is ready. And remember what I said. We will not stop until this is recognized as harassment. Understood?”

The officials muttered and retreated, defeated.

Max’s breathing slowly evened out under George’s embrace. He whispered shakily “Thank you… I couldn’t…”

George pressed a hand to his back. “You didn’t have to. We’re here. We’ve got you.”

Outside, the media were already posting online. Fans were trending #FIAHarassment.

Inside, Max finally relaxed fully against George and Isack. His breathing slowed and the tension bleeding from his body. Kimi snuggled closer to Isack. George pressed a soft kiss to Max’s temple. For the first time since the paddock chaos, Max’s eyes closed and he fell asleep, safe in the arms of his family.

Nothing — not rules, penalties nor Monza chaos could reach them here.

The paddock was quiet. Monza’s lights cast a soft glow over the Red Bull hospitality. Max slouched against the couch, exhausted. George sat beside him, tense but trying to stay calm.

Kimi and Isack were curled up together on the other couch, finally asleep after the chaos of the afternoon. Their soft breathing was steady, a small comfort in the otherwise tense atmosphere.

George took a deep breath. “Max, about Zandvoort…” He hesitated. “I was angry. When you imprinted Isack… that… that made everything worse. We were already under the FIA’s eyes. I felt like you were making more problems for us.”

Max let out a small, shaky laugh. “I didn’t mean to, George. It just… happened. After the podium, I went to Racing Bulls and instinct took over. I didn’t think.”

George rubbed his eyes. “Instinct or not, we were on thin ice already. I got furious. I thought — no, I knew, I couldn’t let it spiral further.”

Max sighed, voice soft. “I know. And I can see why you were mad. I… I panicked too. I just didn’t know how to handle it with everything else. FIA, the cubs, the weekend. It was too much.”

George’s expression softened but he still looked tired. “I just… I was worried for all of us. For the cubs. For you. I didn’t want them or you to get hurt because of… this.”

Max’s voice dropped. “I never wanted to cause more stress. I just, I didn’t think. And then everything blew up. I guess I expected you to understand instinct… but I see now, I should have told you before.”

George leaned closer, brushing a hand lightly over Max’s shoulder. “We’re both idiots sometimes. But we can fix this. Together. I don’t want this to hang over us. For the cubs. For everything.”

Max nodded, letting out a shaky laugh. “Yeah… together. I guess even when I screw up, you’re still here.”

George’s lips quirked into a small smile. “Always. Even if you keep creating problems.”

Max leaned back, eyes softening. “I don’t want to create problems. I just… I want to protect the cubs.”

George exhaled slowly, placing a hand on Max’s knee. “I know. I want that too. For all of us.”

There was a long pause. Both of them just sat there, breathing in the quiet and letting the tension drain. Max’s arm twitched as if he wanted to reach for George but didn’t. Finally, George moved a little closer, letting his shoulder rest lightly against Max’s. Max tilted his head, finally letting himself relax into the small, grounding contact.

A soft noise stirred from the other couch. Kimi’s eyes blinked open, half-lidded, still groggy. “Mama… Papa?”

Isack stretched, blinking at the dim light. “Mama… Papa… are you guys okay?”

Max chuckled softly, whispering, “We’re okay, pups. Just talking.”

Kimi yawned and scooted closer to Isack. “Can we stay with you?”

Max’s heart melted. “Of course. Come here.”

Kimi and Isack climbed gently onto the couch, snuggling against Max and George. Max’s arms instinctively wrapped around both of them. George’s hand rested over Max’s, letting the cubs fall between them.

“This is nice.” George muttered, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Even with all the chaos, this… this feels right.”

Max’s face softened. “It does. We just need moments like this. To remember why we’re doing this.”

Kimi nestled closer, resting a head on Max’s chest. Isack draped an arm over Max’s side. Max’s arms tightened around them and for the first time in days, he could breathe. He could feel safe. He could feel… home.

George leaned his forehead against Max’s shoulder, quietly, letting the warmth of the family sink in. “We’ll get through everything… together.”

Max finally let out a long exhale. “Yeah… together.”

The four of them stayed like that for a long while. Outside, Monza hummed softly. Inside, in the quiet of the Red Bull hospitality, Mama and Papa— well, Max and George and their two cubs finally had a moment of peace.

Max’s eyelids drooped. George’s arm stayed on his shoulder. Kimi and Isack were asleep again, warm and safe. Max’s last thought before sleep took him was that, even in the chaos of FIA, races and Zandvoort mistakes, this little family was exactly where he belonged.

The paddock was buzzing early. The sun had barely risen but mechanics, media and team staff were already moving like clockwork. Drivers were finishing breakfast, checking setups and trying to focus on the race ahead.

Then came the news.

The FIA had released a statement:

Max Verstappen would receive a 5-place grid penalty for breaching the “no scenting in official areas” rule during qualifying.

The paddock exploded. Phones buzzed constantly. Social media lit up instantly. Fans, journalists and commentators all reacted.

FIA AGAINST MAMA MAX? Unbelievable 😡

This is harassment at this point. #SupportMax

How can they penalize someone for literally hugging their cub???

Max has the FIA losing it, Red Bull deserves every bit of justice

Inside the Red Bull motorhome, Laurent Mekies slammed his hand on the table. “This is ridiculous! This is harassment! We’re filing an official complaint. The FIA will not get away with this.”

Max sat quietly, arms crossed, jaw tight. His eyes darted to Isack, still curled up on the couch and he felt a protective surge. “I don’t care what they say.” he muttered. “I’ll make them pay on track.”

Isack, already up and stretching, gave a small nod. “Mama, we’ll get through it. We can still show them.”

Meanwhile, at Mercedes, George and Kimi were watching the news feeds. George ran a hand through his hair. “I cannot believe this. They’re penalizing him for… this?” He gestured vaguely at the screen showing clips from qualifying and the infamous paddock scenting incident.

Kimi frowned, annoyed. “It’s not fair. Mama didn’t do anything wrong.”

George sighed. “I know. But the FIA wants to make an example. We need to support them.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Toto Wolff spoke up. His stern voice carried weight. “George, Kimi, you’re allowed to go. Go to Max. Offer your support. He needs you both. And I… I want you to be there.”

George blinked, stunned. “Really?”

Kimi’s face lit up. “YES! Thank you, Toto!” He practically bounced. “We’ll save Mama!”

George and Kimi both raised a hand and waved at Toto as they left the Mercedes hospitality. “Thanks, Toto!” Kimi shouted. “You’re the best!”

George muttered under his breath as they walked, shaking his head. “I can’t believe this. I’m thanking him like a child.”

Kimi giggled, poking him in the side. “Relax, Papa. You’re waving at him like you actually enjoy it.”

George rolled his eyes. “Enjoy it? I’m not waving. I’m — fine, maybe a little.”

By the time they reached the Red Bull hospitality, Max and Isack were waiting. The cubs immediately snuggled closer, sensing the tension but George and Kimi were already making the place feel like a little chaotic family reunion.

The media frenzy continued to build online. Clips of Max hugging Isack during qualifying went viral again. Fans rallied: hashtags like #JusticeForMamaMax, #ProtectTheCubSquad, and #FIAOverreach trended worldwide. Every major F1 news outlet covered the story, framing it as a combination of racing drama and parental chaos.

By mid-morning, the paddock was in a heightened state of anticipation. Drivers whispered in hallways, mechanics glanced nervously toward the Red Bull garage and the cubs, Kimi and Isack sat quietly, sensing the tension but drawing comfort from their Mama and Papa nearby.

Max stood by the garage door, helmet under his arm, eyes sharp. “Let’s remind them why they can’t touch us.” he said.

Laurent Mekies stood beside him, arms crossed and giving a final pep talk. “Listen up. Grid penalty or not, Max, you’re going to race like a storm. We show them what happens when they mess with Mama and her cubs. Nobody touches you. Nobody touches Isack or Kimi.”

Max cracked his knuckles, a low growl escaping his chest. “They think they can control me? They’re about to find out how wrong they are.”

On track, the start was chaotic. Max, starting five places back, surged forward aggressively, weaving through the midfield. Every move radiated protectiveness, power and precision.

George, Kimi and Isack were focused in their own cars. George in P6, Kimi in P7 and Isack P16. All three were aware of Max ahead, blazing his way through the pack and all three felt the tension of the FIA penalties looming over them.

Fans in the grandstands erupted at every overtake. Social media trended #MamaRampage and #ProtectTheCubSquad as Max sliced through the field. Meanwhile, George, Kimi and Isack were all holding their own, keeping Max in sight but also focusing on their own performance.

In the Red Bull garage, Laurent was pacing. “Yes! Yes! This is how you show them! Even if they try to silence Mama, we’ll show them on track.”

By mid-race, Max had fought his way to the front. George, Kimi and Isack were all in striking positions, pushing hard. The paddock cameras caught every tense glance, every strategic move.

Fans couldn’t get enough. Clips of Max overtaking went viral. Tweets flooded in:

Mama Max is UNSTOPPABLE 😭🔥 #MonzaChaos

George Russell looks like he’s trying not to throw his steering wheel at the FIA 😂

Isack defending Mama like a true alpha 👏

By the end of the race, the finish line shook the paddock: Max won, Norris P2, Piastri P3, George P5, Kimi P9, and Isack P10. The chaos on track matched the chaos off it.

The track was still buzzing with engines cooling, cameras clicking, and teams bustling as Max climbed out of his car, grin breaking across his face despite the grid penalty earlier. His win was hard-earned and he radiated that Mama energy. Protective, fierce and proud.

George, Kimi and Isack were already making their way toward the Parc Ferme from their own cars. George had Kimi in tow, Kimi practically bouncing with excitement. Isack strode with his usual alpha confidence but eyes on Max like he was about to defend his mama from anyone who dared interfere.

Just as they were about to reach Max, a pair of FIA officials stepped forward, hands raised and blocking their path. “Drivers, you are not allowed —“

“Not today.” Lewis Hamilton said sharply, stepping into the path with arms crossed. “If you try to separate them, I promise you, we will boycott the next races. Full stop.”

Fernando Alonso appeared beside him, giving a hard glare. “I will not let you ruin this family moment. Let them celebrate. Or we walk out. Simple as that.”

The FIA officials froze, clearly caught off guard by the united front of the two legends. They looked like deer in headlights, muttering to each other and unsure how to respond to threats from drivers they usually didn’t dare contradict.

Max’s jaw relaxed slightly as George, Kimi and Isack approached. The cubs, Kimi and Isack rushed to him first, little grins plastered on their faces. Max scooped them both up instinctively. “Mama’s proud of you two.” he said, voice full of warmth.

George, slightly exasperated but grinning, hugged Max’s other side. “Congrats. You did it.”

Kimi squeaked, “Mama, you’re amazing!”

Isack, still clutching Max’s arm, added, “Mama, we won! Best mama ever!”

The FIA officials had no choice but to stand back as the small family moment unfolded. Cameras were everywhere. Fans on social media exploded:

FIA tried to stop it. The family still celebrated. LOVE THIS 🥹 #MamaRampage

Lewis and Fernando defending Mama Max. Iconic 😭🔥

George Russell + Kimi Antonelli + Isack Hadjar running to Mama like heroes. We stan 🐾 #ProtectTheCubSquad

Max hugging two alpha/omega cubs while FIA freaks out. Absolute chaos. I love it.

Journalists scrambled to write about it, cameras catching every hug, every laugh, every exasperated glance from George. The story went viral within minutes. Clips circulated of Lewis waving off FIA officials, Fernando glaring, and the Red Bull family united.

Inside the Red Bull garage, Laurent Mekies was pacing, grinning. “This is perfect. They cannot touch him. They cannot touch the cubs. We will file complaints, and the world will know what harassment looks like. Let’s get ready to celebrate.”

The media meltdown was just beginning. Every major outlet ran headlines:

FIA Harassment of Max Verstappen Sparks Outrage — Fans and Drivers Unite

Mama Max and Family Chaos: Monza 2025’s Most Viral Moment

Red Bull Threatens Complaint After FIA Interference

Even other teams got involved. Ferrari, McLaren, Aston Martin and Williams released statements expressing support:

We stand by Max and the family. FIA’s actions were unnecessary and heavy-handed.

Drivers should be able to celebrate without interference.

We hope for fair treatment and respect for personal boundaries.

The fan reaction was enormous. Memes, posts, and hashtags flooded in:

Mama Max, Papa George, and the cubs taking over Monza. Absolute legends.

FIA tried, but they failed. Mama and her family reign supreme.

If anyone tries to separate them again, the fans will revolt. #ProtectTheCubSquad

By the time the celebration in Parc Fermé wound down, the moment had cemented itself as one of the most chaotic, heartwarming and defiant family victories in F1 history. Max held the cubs tight, George by his side and even Isack’s alpha intensity couldn’t hide the contentment in the group.

The FIA looked on, flustered but powerless. The media had already captured the moment, fans were enraged in the best way on social media and no amount of rules could undo the chaos that had just unfolded.

Chapter Text

Red Bull Racing Press Statement — Monday, Post-Monza

Red Bull Racing formally expresses concern regarding the conduct of FIA officials during the Monza Grand Prix. On multiple occasions, our driver, Max Verstappen, was subjected to direct interference that resulted in undue stress and attempted separation from accompanying team personnel and individuals under his care, including Kimi Antonelli and Isack Hadjar. These actions are inconsistent with FIA regulations regarding the safety, well-being, and personal security of competitors.

Red Bull Racing requests a formal review of these incidents and urges the FIA to recognize the adverse impact such interventions have on team operations and driver welfare. We emphasize that all team members and individuals accompanying drivers must be treated in accordance with existing protocols and protected from harassment or inappropriate interference during event operations.

We are committed to pursuing all available formal avenues, including filing official complaints, to ensure that future events are conducted with the highest standards of professional conduct, safety, and respect for competitors and their teams.

Red Bull’s formal press statement hit the wires by mid-morning. The language was precise, technical and firm. Fans immediately noticed the difference from Red Bull’s usual funny tone.

Red Bull went full lawyer mode. Mama Max untouchable AND professional 😭🔥

Formal complaints and FIA protocols? They mean business. #ProtectTheCubSquad

Max Verstappen and his cubs are literally untouchable. No more jokes, FIA.

Media outlets dissected every line. Motorsport journalists debated over wording like ‘undue stress’ and ‘attempted separation from accompanying personnel’. Every sentence in the release was quoted, analyzed and tweeted.

Motorsport Today: Red Bull Racing’s statement is unusually formal. But the message is clear: FIA overstepped.

F1 News Network: Verstappen, Antonelli, and Hadjar were directly impacted. FIA faces backlash.

SpeedLine: Red Bull threatens formal complaint. Public opinion heavily favors Verstappen family.

Other teams didn’t hesitate to weigh in. Ferrari, McLaren, Aston Martin, and Williams issued supportive statements, carefully echoing Red Bull’s language while condemning FIA interference. Mercedes released a statement highlighting George Russell and Kimi Antonelli’s support, noting the family dynamic and emphasizing driver welfare.

Fans went absolutely wild online. Clips from Monza, showing Max cradling Isack and Kimi, were everywhere. Social media exploded with hashtags:

#ProtectTheCubSquad

#MamaMaxUnstoppable

#PapaGeorgeIconic

Memes and GIFs flooded timelines.

Max with laser focus, Isack standing like a miniature alpha defending his mama, George pacing protectively and Kimi trying to sneak hugs wherever possible. Fans joked about how the FIA was now officially the villain of the F1 world.

FIA Main headquarters : Place de la Concorde, Paris

Inside, senior officials sat in the long glass meeting room, their faces pale under fluorescent light. The press release from Red Bull was printed, highlighted and scattered like evidence from a crime scene. Overnight, hashtags like #JusticeForMax, #FIAOut, and #MamaMaxDeservesBetter had trended worldwide. Even rival teams had condemned the governing body. Sponsors were calling. TV networks were demanding statements. The PR department had stopped answering phones because they’d given up trying to keep up.

Then came the worst sound imaginable.

The double glass doors opened.

Laurent Mekies walked in — sharp suit, icy stare, and a folder tucked under his arm like a weapon. Behind him, Helmut Marko and a wall of Red Bull lawyers followed, dressed in tailored suits and holding briefcases that screamed: We mean business.

“Gentlemen.” Laurent said, voice low but cutting. “We need to talk about harassment, abuse of authority and breach of conduct.”

The FIA President looked like he wanted to melt into his chair. “Mr. Mekies, this isn’t —“

“Save it.” Helmut interrupted, his voice sharper than usual. “You touched our driver. You manhandled him. You gave him a penalty based on bias and emotion, not regulation. We have the video. We have eyewitnesses. We have Lewis Hamilton and Fernando Alonso on record threatening to boycott if it happens again. Would you like to explain that to the media?”

Someone coughed. Someone else muttered something about “procedure.”

Laurent dropped a thick folder onto the table. The sound echoed. “These,” he said “are statements from the paddock. You’ll find names like Wolff, Vasseur, Stella, Krack and Vowles. Every one of them supports Red Bull’s claim. Every one of them condemns your handling of the Monza incident.”

He leaned forward, voice colder now. “You wanted control. You’ve lost it. And now you’ll fix it publicly or we’ll escalate this to the Court of Arbitration for Sport.”

The silence after that was deafening.

Helmut adjusted his glasses. “We’re not here to negotiate. We’re here to make sure this never happens again. You will issue a formal apology to Verstappen. You will retract the penalty. And you will review your internal conduct policy. If not —“

He smiled, the kind that made interns flee. “—we’ll see you in court.”

The FIA President’s aide tried to interject. “This is… this is a misunderstanding —“

Laurent cut him off. “You harassed an omega in distress. You made a mockery of protocol. This isn’t a misunderstanding. This is a violation.”

Red Bull’s lawyers placed their binders neatly on the table. One slid a USB drive across to the FIA legal head.

“Evidence.” she said simply.

Outside the headquarters, journalists were already gathering. News vans lined the street. The rumor had leaked — Red Bull had gone to war.

By noon, headlines read:

Red Bull Legal Team Storms FIA Headquarters

Laurent Mekies Leads Corporate Counterattack

Helmut Marko Declares ‘We Will Not Be Intimidated’

Meanwhile, back in Milton Keynes, Pierre Wache was reportedly on every call with Liberty Media, demanding an independent ethics review.

Inside Mercedes, Toto Wolff, for once looked impressed. “They finally snapped.” he told Shovlin, shaking his head. “About damn time.”

In the Verstappen-Russell garage chat group, GP messaged a photo of Laurent leaving the FIA building surrounded by lawyers like a celebrity entourage.

GP: He didn’t just go to Paris. He declared war.

Kimi: Mama would be proud.

Isack: They’re gonna need therapy after that meeting 😭

George: I’ll buy the popcorn.

By the end of the day, the FIA had released a one-line statement:

The FIA acknowledges the concerns raised by Oracle Red Bull Racing and has initiated an internal review.

Which, in FIA language, meant: we’re terrified but pretending we’re not.

Laurent just smirked when he saw it on his phone.

“Step one.” he said to Helmut as they walked out into the Parisian sun. “Now let’s see how long before they start begging for peace.”

The lights of Place de la Concorde burned well past midnight. The usually stately facade of the FIA headquarters now looked like a fortress under siege. Guards posted at every entrance, press vans idling outside and an unending stream of legal advisors slipping through the revolving doors.

Inside, the air was thick with exhaustion and fear. The extraordinary closed-door session of the FIA Executive Council had begun two hours ago and still, no one dared to say the word “defeat.”

An agenda glows on the giant screen:

Emergency Session: Public Relations & Conduct Crisis – Verstappen Incident, Monza

Chair: Interim Compliance Director

Objective: Draft new behavioral and scenting policy before next Grand Prix.

“Damage control first.” one legal advisor says, voice shaking. “We’ll rename it The Revised Conduct and Scenting Regulation Policy. Make it sound like we’re improving, not apologizing.”

Another mutters “And for the love of God, remove every mention of ‘omega harassment’ from the draft before it leaks again.”

A younger staffer timidly raises her hand. “It’s already trending, sir. #JusticeForMax, #MamaRampage, #LetThemScent - all top five.”

The room groans in unison.

Helmut Marko’s icy voice over speakerphone cuts through the noise.

“You have forty-eight hours to fix this.” he says calmly. “Or Red Bull’s lawyers will start asking about every FIA procedural inconsistency from the last three seasons.”

Click. Silence.

Laurent Mekies, still in Paris after storming the building earlier, sits in the lobby with his legal team. Legs crossed and expression terrifyingly pleasant. He’s scrolling through Red Bull’s official statement again, the one that sounded more like a legal declaration than PR fluff.

Red Bull Racing regards the treatment of Mr. Verstappen at Monza as a breach of professional integrity and personal dignity. The team will seek formal acknowledgment of misconduct and immediate procedural reform. Pending review, Red Bull reserves all legal rights under Article 7 of the International Sporting Conduct Charter.

It wasn’t just a press release.

It was a warning.

Meanwhile, the FIA’s legal head sweats through his collar.

“Draft a section about scenting limits. Make it sound medical.”

Someone reads aloud the first version:

‘Competitors must refrain from scenting, marking, or physical comforting behaviors that may be perceived as distracting, intimate, or non-professional within paddock areas unless medically justified.’

A PR intern winces. “That sounds worse.”

“Then reword it!” the director snaps. “Call it ‘Interpersonal Regulation’. Keep it vague!”

By midnight, they’ve produced a ten-page monstrosity titled:

FIA Revised Conduct and Scenting Regulation Policy — Draft 0.3 (Confidential)

It includes:

Clause 2.1: Competitors must maintain neutral scent conduct.

Clause 2.3: Imprinting and familial declarations are not to be conducted in public without authorization.

Clause 3.0: Emotional stabilization through scent contact requires pre-approval from the Medical Delegate.

Someone quietly mutters, “We’ve officially lost our minds.”

Morning: Monaco

Max wakes up to sunlight spilling through the curtains. George is beside him, still asleep and one arm draped over Kimi who somehow migrated across both of them during the night. Isack’s curled up at the foot of the bed, holding one of George’s Mercedes caps like a stuffed toy.

Max reaches for his phone.

The headline nearly makes him choke on his own breath.

FIA INTRODUCES NEW ‘SCENT CONDUCT’ RULES AFTER MONZA INCIDENT.

Fans question sanity of motorsport’s governing body.

George wakes, blinking blearily. “…They didn’t.””They did.” Max mutters, scrolling. “Clause 2.3 — ‘No unauthorized imprinting.’ George, I think they made a law because of me.”

George snorts into the pillow. “Congratulations Max. You’re now officially a legal category.”

Downstairs, Laurent’s already in a video call with Red Bull PR, sipping espresso like a general before war. “Good.” he says, watching the headlines explode. “Let them write their little policies. We’ll shred them in court before Baku.”

Helmut texts a single message to Laurent:

“Prepare everything. They blink first.”

Media Reactions

SkyF1 Analyst: The FIA’s trying to regulate biology now. This is unprecedented and ridiculous.

BBC Sport: Public backlash grows as fans call the new scenting rule ‘a desperate farce.’

Fan Tweet: We went from tire pressures to scent conduct in one season. F1’s unhinged and I love it.

Another Tweet: Mama Verstappen broke the FIA so hard they’re legislating emotions now 💀💀💀

Even Ferrari posts a thinly veiled jab:

Scuderia Ferrari supports all athletes’ right to safety and dignity — on and off track.

And from Mercedes’ official account:

Team conduct starts with respect. Always has, always will.

(George liked the post. Max reposted it with a heart emoji.)

Laurent just smiles when he sees that. “Perfect.” he murmurs. “Let them underestimate us one more time.”

Outside, Monaco glitters in the morning sun. Inside the Verstappen-Russell household, the cubs are piling on the couch and fighting over cereal while Max leans on George both exhausted but finally at peace.

Because no matter what the FIA writes or rewrites — the world’s already chosen its side.

It begins with an email.

Subject: FIA Conduct Policy Implementation — Mandatory Compliance Briefing

From: FIA Communications Office

To: All Teams, Drivers, and Technical Personnel

Effective immediately, the Revised Conduct and Scenting Regulation Policy will be in force at the Azerbaijan Grand Prix. Attendance to compliance briefings is mandatory. Non-attendance will result in disciplinary measures.

Every driver receives it before sunrise. Most burst out laughing.

Lando sends a screenshot to the group chat:

“no scenting??? bro how am i supposed to high-five my engineer without violating clause 2.3💀”

Esteban replies with a gif of cats fighting under “when you scent without authorization.”

Fernando simply writes:

“They’ve gone insane.”

George, meanwhile, is trying not to choke on his tea as he reads it. Max, sitting at the kitchen table in Red Bull pajamas, scrolls through the same email with one raised eyebrow.

“So… they’re seriously enforcing it,” Max says flatly.

“Apparently.” George mutters. “Next thing you know they’ll issue scent detectors at the paddock gates.”

From the couch, Kimi pipes up, spoon halfway to his mouth. “What’s scenting?”

George groans. “Ask your Mama.”

“Ask your Papa.” Max says at the same time.

Laurent, on call with Helmut, mutters, “We’re going to annihilate them in Paris if they try this on track.”

Thursday – FIA Briefing Room, Baku

Every driver sits in rows like it’s detention. The FIA delegate clears his throat nervously in front of a massive PowerPoint titled:

Professional Interpersonal Conduct in Motorsport: Respecting Boundaries and Managing Instinctual Behavior.

The first slide reads:

Scenting, marking, or comforting contact between drivers must remain professional at all times.

A hand shoots up. It’s Fernando. “Question. What exactly qualifies as comforting?”

The delegate blinks. “Physical or emotional contact that —“

“So a hug?”

“Yes.”

“What about a high-five?”

“Depends on intent.”

“Intent?!”

The room dissolves into chaos.

Lando leans over to Oscar. “Bro, imagine the stewards having to review replays like, ‘Was that a platonic hug or an instinctual scent exchange?’”

Oscar snorts so hard Max can’t help but smirk. A dangerous, knowing smile that screams trouble.

George elbows Max lightly. “Don’t even think about it.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Max whispers back.

“You’re thinking about doing something.”

“Maybe.”

Friday – Practice Day

Security checkpoints now include “Conduct Monitors,” whose job is apparently to watch for “unprofessional scent contact.”

One unfortunate official tries to stop George from putting an arm around Max before FP1.

“Sir, physical contact is restricted —“

George just stares him down.

Max already irritated, says sweetly, “Do you want me to hyperventilate again?”

The official turns white. “N-no, sir proceed.”

In the Red Bull garage, Laurent’s pacing with his headset, barking into the radio.

“Keep it clean, keep it sharp and for the love of God, no scenting near cameras!”

GP replies dryly “We’ll try to keep our mammalian instincts under control, boss.”

Helmut, from the pit wall, adds: “If the FIA wants to regulate hormones, they can start with the media.”

Saturday – Qualifying Chaos

Max takes pole with a lap so fast even the commentators go silent for two seconds before exploding.

George and Kimi qualify close behind — fifth and fourth.

Isack nails eighth.

The paddock buzzes. Fans online lose their collective minds:

The Verstappen-Russell Pack just dominated Baku!

No scenting, no problem — they just annihilated everyone out of spite.

Mama Max racing like he’s suing the FIA personally.

The FIA compliance team meanwhile looks physically ill. Their brilliant “scenting policy” has turned into the most viral meme since “multi-21.”

Even Sky Sports runs a headline:

FIA Cracks Down on Affection — Verstappen-Russell Family Strikes Back with Speed.

Sunday – Race Day

The heat is brutal. The atmosphere electric.

The cameras catch Kimi and Isack running to hug Max on the grid — and every FIA steward watching the monitors has a collective breakdown.

“Unauthorized contact! Unauthorized contact!” someone yells.

Too late. The crowd is already screaming.

The Red Bull pit wall is chaos — Laurent slamming his fist and shouting, “Let them try and penalize that! They’ll look like lunatics!”

Helmut just laughs, muttering “We’ve weaponized family affection.”

The race itself is fierce and beautiful — Red Bull, Mercedes and Ferrari all throwing everything at each other.

Max wins again, George in P2, Kimi in P4 and Isack P10.

But the real show comes after the flag — the four of them walking side by side to parc fermé, ignoring the officials yelling about conduct clauses, while the crowd chants “Justice for Max!” loud enough to shake the paddock.

Post-Race Fallout

FIA statements flood social media within an hour:

The FIA will review the events of the Azerbaijan Grand Prix to ensure full compliance with conduct regulations.

Red Bull responds instantly:

The FIA is welcome to review all they wish. Our drivers followed every rule — and a few of their own.

Mercedes posts a subtle jab:

We’re proud of the sportsmanship and unity shown across teams today.

(Toto liked it. Laurent reposted it with a 🔥emoji.)

The fans? Utterly unhinged.

They’re unstoppable. Mama and Papa just humbled the FIA again.

We went from DRS zones to emotional zones.

If they fine Max for hugging his kids, we riot.

In Paris, the FIA board stares at the footage in silence.

Someone finally whispers “Maybe we… should just let them scent.”

Post-Race in Baku

The sun had long dipped beneath the Baku skyline and the city lights reflected off the Caspian Sea like liquid gold. The race was over, the celebrations were loud and somewhere in Paris, the FIA headquarters was metaphorically on fire as every official scrambled to deal with the fallout.

At the Red Bull motorhome, things were… less frantic though only barely. Laurent was on his third glass of champagne, laughing in disbelief that they’d “won and survived,” while GP was muttering about fuel calculations like it was therapy.

Max, for once was relaxed. The tension from Monza had eased, the anger had burned itself out on track and even George had smiled at him from across the parc fermé barrier — the kind of quiet and proud smile that said more than words.

Now, with the chaos of the day behind them, they were heading out for a rare night as a family.

Hotel Lobby

The Racing Bulls and Red Bull teams shared one of Baku’s sleek hotels, a mix of modern steel and marble that smelled faintly of jet fuel and exhaustion. George and Kimi had gone ahead to secure a table — Toto, surprisingly had even waved them off with a resigned “Just don’t make the news again, Russell.”

That left Max and Isack waiting in the lobby for their car, Isack bouncing on his heels, still wired from adrenaline.

Then Max spotted someone by the elevators — Liam Lawson, in his Racing Bulls polo, duffel slung over his shoulder, scrolling through his phone.

Max blinked, then smiled faintly. “Isack, come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“To say hi.”

“Liam!”

The New Zealander looked up, startled and his tired expression melted into a grin. “Max! Isack! Hey, congratulations! That was insane.”

Max smiled back. “You weren’t too bad yourself. P5 in Baku? That’s not easy.”

Liam rubbed the back of his neck. “Thanks. I just tried not to crash into my own teammate this time.”

Isack laughed. “You almost overtook me!”

Liam smirked. “I let you have that position. You’ve got to keep the family rankings clean.”

Max chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You drove well. Really. You’ve been solid since FP1.”

Liam looked genuinely touched. “Thanks Max. Coming from you, that actually means a lot.”

There was a pause. That faint, awkward quiet between respect and something heavier. Max studied him, seeing past the tired smile. There was still disappointment lingering there. The kind that didn’t fade easily.

Max’s voice dropped lower. “You should still be in that Red Bull seat, you know.”

Liam blinked. “Max…”

“You earned it.” Max continued simply. “You did everything right. What happened to you wasn’t fair.”

Liam hesitated. “That’s just how it goes sometimes. Team decisions and all that.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s right.”

Isack nodded in agreement. “You’re still part of the family, Liam. Racing Bulls is just the satellite house.”

That earned a soft laugh from Liam. “Still calling him ‘Mama,’ huh?”

Isack grinned. “Obviously.”

Max groaned lightly. “I’m never living that down, am I?”

“Not a chance.” Liam said, and his smile turned genuine.

Their car pulled up outside. Tinted windows and Red Bull logo, the usual “we’re definitely hiding something” energy. Max hesitated a moment before stepping away.

Then on impulse, he turned back to Liam. “Hey. Come to dinner with us.”

Liam blinked, surprised. “What?”

“Dinner!” Max repeated. “We’re going out to celebrate. You deserve a proper meal that isn’t from catering.”

Liam hesitated, looking down at his bag. “I don’t want to intrude —“

Isack cut in, crossing his arms. “You’re not intruding. And Mama already decided.”

Max smirked. “He’s not wrong.”

Liam laughed quietly, a little flustered. “Alright, fine. You sure?”

“Positive.” Max said. “Come on. I know a place where even the FIA wouldn’t dare show their faces.”

That made Liam laugh harder. “Now that’s convincing.”

The car ride was easy, filled with the hum of the city and the cubs’ chatter. Isack was explaining to Liam how Kimi had somehow managed to convince the Mercedes chef to make him a milkshake mid-race weekend while Max stared out the window, his expression soft.

It was a small thing, inviting Liam but it felt right. He’d always hated how drivers were tossed aside like parts, valued only when they were useful. Liam deserved better.

Beside him, Isack leaned against the seat. “Mama?”

“Yeah?”

“You did good today.”

Max smiled. “So did you.”

“Still. I think Papa’s gonna be proud.”

That earned a small, private chuckle. “Yeah. I think so too.”

When they arrived at the restaurant, George was already outside with Kimi, waving them over. He froze for a second when he saw Liam, then just sighed with a smile.

“You picked up another one, didn’t you?”

Max grinned, unbothered. “What can I say? I’m magnetic.”

George rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Not when Kimi had already attached himself to Isack’s arm and Liam looked like he’d walked into chaos and found peace.

For once, the night was calm. No FIA, no penalties and no rules. Just them. A strange, mismatched family and one slightly confused New Zealander — sitting around a table, laughing too loudly and pretending the world outside didn’t exist.

The restaurant was a quiet escape tucked in a corner of Baku’s old city. All warm light, stone walls and the faint scent of saffron.

George had chosen the place himself. A little miracle found between Mercedes briefings and Max had to admit, it was perfect.

They sat in a large corner booth that curved like a crescent, Kimi already squeezing between George and Isack while Liam hesitated at the edge of the table.

“Sit.” Max said simply, gesturing to the open space beside him.

Liam smiled awkwardly. “You sure?”

“If you don’t, Kimi will steal your seat.” George said, not looking up from the menu.

Kimi nodded solemnly. “I will.”

That made Liam laugh, tension breaking as he slid into the booth beside Max.

The night started quiet enough. Good food, shared jokes and a round of congratulations that felt too warm to be political. Kimi and Isack traded stories from the paddock, George nursed a glass of wine with a rare smile and Liam slowly started to relax.

For the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel like an outsider.

“So…” George said dryly, “how does it feel to nearly beat your own ‘mother’ on track?”

Liam nearly choked on his drink. “Excuse me — what?”

Isack and Kimi burst out laughing.

“Mama’s Max” Kimi explained between giggles. “Papa’s George. You’re sitting next to Mama, so you’re already halfway to being part of the pack.”

Liam looked between them, amused but bewildered. “Do you always talk like this?”

Max, ever composed just sipped his drink. “Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?” George said, smirking. “You were the one who started it.”

“That’s debatable.”

“No, it isn’t.”

The boys were already leaning into each other laughing and even Liam couldn’t stop smiling. The noise, the teasing, the warmth — it felt alive.

Halfway through dinner, Isack and Kimi started a contest to see who could balance more breadsticks on their nose. It ended with Kimi declaring himself “Omega of the Table” and George muttering, “He gets that from you,” to Max.

Max just shrugged, amused. “At least he’s confident.”

“Confident? He’s challenging the waiter to a duel.”

“Still your cub.” Max said sweetly.

Liam laughed so hard he had to wipe his eyes. It was the first time Max saw the exhaustion fade from him completely, replaced by something light, open and young.

Then it happened.

It wasn’t dramatic, not like the first two times. No flash of light or growl of instinct. Just a quiet invisible tug in the air.

Liam turned to say something to Max. Something about how good the food was but his voice faltered as their eyes met.

For a heartbeat, Max forgot to breathe. His pulse thrummed low and steady. The same pull deep in his chest that had once caught him off guard with Kimi then again with Isack.

It was the same bond, unmistakable and undeniable.

Liam blinked, confused. “Max?”

Max swallowed. “Oh… no.”

George looked up sharply. “No? What do you mean, ‘no’?”

Kimi tilted his head, watching curiously. Isack, however gasped. “Mama?”

Liam frowned. “Wait, what’s going on?”

Isack was already grinning. “You did it again, didn’t you?”

“Did what?” Liam asked.

Max buried his face in his hands, laughing helplessly. “I think I… may have… accidentally imprinted again.”

Liam’s eyes widened. “You what?”

Kimi cheered immediately. “We have another brother!”

Isack clapped his hands. “Yes! Now we’re three!”

Liam blinked, utterly lost. “I— what— hold on— what does that even mean?”

George groaned into his napkin. “Oh, for the love of— Max!”

The entire table broke into chaos. Kimi and Isack hugging Liam from both sides, Max laughing too hard to explain and Liam just sitting there, caught between confusion and disbelief.

George leaned back, rubbing his temple and muttering something about fate having a cruel sense of humor.

Then, finally with all the weary authority of a man who had accepted that his life would never be normal again, George sighed and called out across the laughter —

“MAX!”

Max just tilted his head, smiling like sunshine and mischief.

“Oops?”

George dropped his fork with a resigned clatter.

And Max started laughing all over again.

The suite at the Red Bull hotel was quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside. The celebration had ended hours ago. The boys finally asleep in the connecting room, three tangled shapes under the blankets, Kimi’s tiny hand resting on Liam’s arm like he’d been there his whole life.

George stood by the window, still half in his Mercedes jacket, staring out at the glowing skyline.

Max emerged from the bathroom in one of George’s shirts, towel-drying his hair, humming softly under his breath. He stopped when he saw George’s face.

“Okay.” Max said, setting the towel down. “You’re brooding.”

George turned, crossing his arms. “You imprinted on Liam Lawson.”

“Yes.” Max said easily. “I noticed.”

“Do you realize what that means?”

“That I have three cubs now?”

George pinched the bridge of his nose. “Max, this isn’t funny.”

Max’s mouth twitched. “It’s a little funny.”

George groaned. “You imprinted. Again. After the FIA nearly burned down their own office over Isack. And now we’ve got another child added to the roster —“

“He’s not a child.” Max interrupted calmly. “He’s a twenty-three-year-old driver who was eating lamb kebab and minding his own business.”

“That’s not the point.”

Max tilted his head, all feigned innocence. “Then what’s the point, Papa Bear?”

George glared but it only made Max grin wider.

“Max.”

“What?”

George took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice. “Do you understand how this looks? You’ve accidentally imprinted three times in less than a season. The FIA is already rewriting half their handbook because of you. Laurent’s about to start a war in Paris and Helmut — God help us, looks like he’s actually enjoying it. And you —“

“— am perfectly within regulations.” Max said lightly, cutting him off.

George blinked. “I’m sorry?”

Max perched on the edge of the bed, all calm smugness. “The imprinting didn’t happen in an FIA-regulated environment.”

George stared. “You’re joking.”

Max shook his head. “Restaurant in the old city, public zone. Not paddock, not garage, not track-adjacent. There were no officials, no marshals and no FIA staff. Therefore…” He smiled sweetly. “No violation.”

George just stood there, caught between disbelief and exasperated laughter. “You cannot possibly be using technicalities to justify imprinting on another person.”

“Why not?” Max said, stretching out on the bed. “The FIA does it all the time.”

George stared for a beat then gave a strangled laugh despite himself. “You are impossible.”

“And yet,” Max said softly, his smile turning real now, “you still choose me.”

That disarmed him completely.

George exhaled, shoulders dropping. The tension bleeding out of him. He crossed the room and sat beside Max, fingers brushing over the damp edge of his hair.

“You drive me mad.” he murmured.

Max’s voice softened. “But you still stay.”

George didn’t answer right away. He just leaned in and hugged him. The kind of hug that said I’m tired but I’m still with you anyway.

When they finally pulled apart, Max chuckled under his breath. “You’ll calm down by morning.”

“Doubtful.” George said, though his tone had softened.

They fell into silence then. Max curling against his side, George’s arm slipping around him, the hum of Baku outside their window.

From the next room came a soft noise, Kimi’s sleep-heavy voice mumbling, “Papa, Mama…” followed by Liam’s uncertain, sleepy laugh and Isack whispering, “Go back to sleep, Liam.”

George smiled faintly. “Our family just keeps getting bigger, doesn’t it?”

Max, already half-asleep, mumbled, “Hmm. FIA should start a whole new rulebook for us.”

George laughed quietly. “They’re probably already writing one.”

He was right. Miles away in Paris, the FIA’s emergency legal team was still drafting clauses and sub-clauses into the night.

But in that hotel room, with three cubs sleeping and Max breathing softly against him, George decided, for tonight at least to stop worrying about rules.

He kissed the top of Max’s head and whispered, “You win.”

Max smiled against his shoulder without opening his eyes. “I usually do.”

Chapter Text

By sunrise, the news had already escaped.

A grainy fan photo taken in a dimly lit Baku restaurant had gone viral overnight.

Max Verstappen laughing with George Russell, Isack Hadjar, Kimi Antonelli and Liam Lawson at a round table overflowing with food. The caption said it all:

THE VERSTAPPEN–RUSSELL FAMILY EXPANDS?!? MAX AND GEORGE DINNER WITH LIAM LAWSON AFTER BAKU WIN 💀💀💀 #MamaMax #PapaGeorge #FamilyOfFive

It might’ve stayed harmless if Liam hadn’t posted an Instagram Story at 1:30 a.m. A blurry shot of the dessert tray with Kimi’s hand reaching for cake, tagged “Dinner with fam ❤️”.

The internet exploded.

By 7:00 a.m., #MamaMax and #PapaGeorge were trending again worldwide.

By 7:10 a.m., Red Bull’s PR phones started ringing nonstop.

And by 8:00 a.m., the FIA’s official email inbox had crashed from the sheer volume of complaints, memes and one very long, very detailed open letter from the “Fans for Fair Treatment of Omegas in Motorsport.”

Inside FIA headquarters in Paris, the mood could only be described as nuclear.

An emergency call had been scheduled for 9:00 a.m. sharp. Except most of the board members were already pacing the halls by 8:30. Someone had printed out screenshots of the viral posts and pinned them to the whiteboard under the label: NEW INCIDENT (POST-BAKU)

The headline above it read:

ALLEGED THIRD IMPRINTING EVENT — LAWSON, LIAM

Silence filled the room.

This can’t be real.” one director muttered.

“It’s Verstappen.” said another. “Of course it’s real.”

The legal advisor rubbed his temples. “Was it on track?”

“No. Restaurant in the city.”

“So… not technically a violation.”

A long pause. Then someone sighed. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Down in Milton Keynes, the Red Bull campus was a controlled hurricane. Laurent Mekies was already in the media room, sleeves rolled up and holding three phones at once.

“No, we will not comment on the bonding nature of our drivers,” he barked into one. “Yes, Lawson is still a Racing Bulls driver. No, Verstappen did not break FIA policy. We checked the jurisdiction map twice. Goodbye.”

He hung up, turned to Helmut Marko and muttered “I’m going to combust.”

Helmut only smirked. “At least the boy has good taste.”

Meanwhile, at the Mercedes garage in Brackley, Toto Wolff was reading the news with a pained expression.

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his forehead. “He imprinted again?”

Susie, from across the room, didn’t look up from her tablet. “Apparently so.”

“And where was George?”

“With him.”

Toto stared blankly for a moment. “Of course he was.” Then, after a beat: “I’m starting to think the FIA needs a Verstappen–Russell department.”

By midmorning, the motorsport world had fully erupted.

Sky Sports:Another cub for Mama Max? FIA faces renewed scrutiny after viral Baku dinner sparks imprinting rumors.

Autosport:Sources confirm FIA reviewing recent Verstappen-Lawson interaction.

The Guardian:Public outrage mounts as FIA fails to clarify harassment investigation — Verstappen-Russell family gains further sympathy.

BBC Sport (headline edit within one hour):

Liam Lawson joins Verstappen–Russell family dinner

(Updated: FIA declines comment on alleged bonding event.)

Even other drivers joined the chaos:

Carlos Sainz tweeted At this point, FIA should just give Max a parenting award.

Alex Albon quote-tweeted a meme of a stressed FIA official and wrote, Please release the family tree chart soon, I’m lost.

Fernando Alonso simply posted, Justice for Mama Max 🧃

Lewis Hamilton liked three posts calling out the FIA for hypocrisy and added, Good to see the family happy.

By noon, Red Bull had to make it official.

A sleek, carefully worded press release went live across all platforms:

STATEMENT FROM ORACLE RED BULL RACING

Following online speculation regarding the interaction between our driver Max Verstappen and Liam Lawson after the Baku Grand Prix, we wish to clarify that no FIA Sporting or Conduct Regulations were breached.

The team fully supports Max and his family.

We continue to advocate for fair, safe and respectful treatment of all alpha, beta and omega participants within motorsport.

Oracle Red Bull Racing Communications Office

The tone was cool, factual and deeply ominous to anyone who could read between the lines.

Helmut Marko summed it up to a reporter bluntly outside the paddock:

“Max didn’t break rules. If the FIA wants to punish him for breathing, we’ll see them in court.”

Meanwhile, the Verstappen–Russell suite was a study in chaos.

Kimi and Isack were playing cards on the floor. Liam was trying not to make eye contact with anyone, looking like he’d been hit by a truck of emotions.

George was sitting on the couch with a hand over his face.

Max was beside him, scrolling through Twitter and snickering.

George finally muttered “You know the FIA is probably having a crisis meeting right now.”

“They should.” Max replied mildly. “They keep making my life harder.”

“And you just made theirs worse.”

Max grinned. “That’s called balance.”

From the floor, Kimi looked up. “Papa, can we get pancakes?”

George groaned. “Yes. Please. Anything normal.”

Max laughed, ruffling his hair. “Pancakes for everyone. Including our new cub.”

Liam choked on air. “I’m sorry — what?”

Max only smiled, impossibly calm. “Welcome to the family.”

George just buried his face in a pillow.

Outside, the world burned with hashtags and hot takes.

Inside, the Verstappen–Russell household was making breakfast.

By dawn the next morning, Paris was awake for all the wrong reasons. The FIA’s hastily assembled “Conduct and Scenting Regulation Policy” a 47-page patchwork of legal panic dropped into the inboxes of every team principal, press office, and motorsport journalist on Earth.

The email subject line read, in bold:

URGENT: Implementation of Revised Conduct and Scenting Regulation Policy — Immediate Effect.

Within minutes, it was everywhere.

The new policy’s highlights were… something.

Section 3.1 — Driver Conduct and Pheromonal Management:

Drivers are reminded that scent-based bonding, imprinting, or other instinctive interspecies contact constitutes an “unauthorized biological interaction” when occurring within FIA jurisdiction.

Section 3.2 — FIA Zone Boundaries:

Hospitality units, paddocks, garages, pit lanes, and media zones are hereby designated “Regulated Olfactory Environments.”

Section 4.5 — Enforcement:

Any detected pheromonal activity exceeding 0.02 ppm in FIA zones will trigger investigation.

Section 5.0 — Family and Pack Affiliation:

Drivers must disclose familial or bonded relationships to ensure transparency regarding shared instinctive responses or protective behaviors.

By 9 a.m., “#ScentGate” was trending.

Fans had a field day. Memes flooded social media — from doctored FIA press statements reading “We regret to inform you that love is banned” to photos of FIA inspectors holding air-quality meters in the paddock. Someone even remixed the document into a fake perfume ad: “Introducing: Eau de Regulation, by the FIA.”

The teams weren’t far behind.

Red Bull’s official X account posted a dry, devastatingly short statement:

We confirm that all Red Bull drivers remain compliant with the FIA’s newly defined olfactory zones. The team continues to focus on performance — and hygiene.

Mercedes followed with George’s repost and the caption:

Our drivers smell of victory, not controversy.

Ferrari, never one to be left out, released a playful team photo of Charles and Lewis laughing beside a bottle of cologne labeled ‘Scuderia No.16’, with the caption:

No scent stronger than teamwork.

By noon, even journalists were cracking jokes. Sky Sports’ Ted Kravitz opened his segment with:

So, after banning jewelry, political statements, and fun — the FIA’s new rulebook now includes scent emissions.What’s next, regulating smiles?

Behind the scenes, though, chaos reigned.

Red Bull’s legal department was sharpening knives. Mercedes’ PR team was in gleeful meltdown mode. Ferrari’s comms director was halfway between laughing and crying.

And in the midst of it all, the Verstappen-Russell family was having breakfast in their suite, watching the news scroll by.

Kimi pointed at the TV. “Mama, they made a rule about you again!”

Max squinted at the screen, chewing a croissant. “Technically, it’s about everyone.”

George gave him a look. “Max, the FIA literally defined what a ‘Regulated Olfactory Environment’ is because of you.”

Isack was scrolling on his phone. “Liam’s trending too. Look — they’re calling him the ‘Third Cub.’”

Liam, who’d joined them again that morning looking slightly traumatized but fed, groaned. “Can we not?”

Max only grinned, pulling him into a side hug. “You’ll get used to it.”

George pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is chaos.”

Max winked. “Correction. This is championship-winning chaos.”

The TV anchor was still talking: “The FIA has not commented on whether the Verstappen-Russell household will be investigated for potential violations, given the incident reportedly occurred in a restaurant outside FIA jurisdiction—”

George sighed. “They’re going to make your life hell for this.”

Max popped another piece of croissant into his mouth, utterly unbothered. “Then they’ll have to catch me first.”

The camera panned back to the FIA headquarters in Paris, where Laurent Mekies and a visibly exhausted Helmut Marko were seen exiting a meeting room, surrounded by lawyers. Behind them, the FIA’s official banner read:

Integrity. Discipline. Neutral Scents.

Twitter promptly exploded again.

By Monday morning, the FIA’s headquarters might as well have been under siege.

Reporters were camped outside the gates. Drones hovered over the courtyard. Every major outlet from BBC Sportto Motorsport.com had already plastered headlines about Red Bull’s quiet but absolute annihilation of the FIA’s “Scenting Regulation Policy.” Even The Economist ran an article titled “When Bureaucracy Meets Biology.”

Inside, the atmosphere was grim. The corridors of Place de la Concorde usually filled with clipped footsteps and the faint hum of printers were now buzzing with frantic whispers. No one dared say it out loud but they all knew: they’d gone too far, and Red Bull had called their bluff.

By 9:00 a.m., Mohammed Ben Sulayem had assembled an emergency task force in the main conference room. The long table was scattered with printouts of social media reactions, articles and one very regrettable meme of Laurent Mekies photoshopped onto Daenerys Targaryen with the caption “I am not here to be queen of the ashes.”

Ben Sulayem rubbed his temples. “This has gotten out of hand.”

The communications director nodded grimly. “We’re at ninety-two percent negative sentiment online. Teams are openly mocking the policy. Ferrari just tweeted a perfume ad that says ‘Catch us if you can.’ Mercedes followed with ‘No scent can hide victory.’”

Another official added “And Red Bull posted… just a photo of Laurent and Marko leaving headquarters.”

Ben Sulayem’s head shot up. “That’s it?”

“Yes, sir. No caption. It’s already at 3.2 million likes.”

He groaned softly. “They’re mocking us in silence now.”

The legal chief looked exhausted. “Sir, we can’t defend this policy. It’s scientifically baseless, legally indefensible, and socially catastrophic. And now —“ He gestured helplessly at the papers. “— we’re being accused of discrimination and overreach by three teams, five sponsors and an EU labor commission inquiry.”

A long silence followed.

Finally, Ben Sulayem exhaled. “Fine. We issue a compromise. Something neutral. Something that makes us look… reasonable.”

“What kind of compromise?” asked a junior officer.

There was a pause. Then, with all the weary dignity of a man trying to untangle his own disaster, Ben Sulayem said, “We’ll say the FIA will ‘review and clarify’ the Conduct and Scenting Policy. We’ll frame it as an update. A collaborative effort with teams and drivers to ensure fairness and biological inclusivity.”

Someone typed furiously. “Should we apologize?”

“Absolutely not!” Ben Sulayem said. “We’re clarifying, not apologizing.”

By noon, a statement was drafted:

FIA Statement — Policy Review Announcement

The FIA acknowledges the recent feedback regarding the Conduct and Scenting Regulation Policy.

In keeping with our commitment to maintaining a fair, respectful and biologically safe environment across all paddocks, the FIA will initiate a full review in collaboration with team representatives, driver associations and independent biological consultants.

Until further notice, all scenting-related clauses will be suspended pending revision.

It was diplomatic, clinical—and most importantly, it didn’t admit defeat.

But the internet immediately translated it for what it was: a bow.

The FIA folded faster than George in front of Kimi’s puppy eyes.

They should just rename it the Max Verstappen Clause.

When Red Bull lawyers say sit, FIA sits.

Within hours, even team social media accounts joined in:

Ferrari posted a picture of cologne bottles lined up like trophies with the caption: ‘Ready for Baku: Eau de Competence.’

Mercedes replied, ‘No artificial scents detected.’

Red Bull just retweeted both with a single emoji: 😌

And the fans? They were having the time of their lives. #ScentGate trended for three days straight.

Meanwhile, Laurent Mekies sat in the Red Bull motorhome, calmly sipping espresso as the news played on the TV. Helmut Marko scrolled through Twitter, looking more entertained by the minute.

“They gave in,” Helmut remarked dryly.

Laurent smiled without looking up. “Of course they did. They have reputations to protect. We have results.”

Across the room, Max was sprawled on the couch with George, Kimi, Isack, and the newly imprinted Liam, all watching cartoons with matching tired smiles.

George muttered, “I can’t believe all this happened because you laughed at dinner.”

Max snorted. “Not my fault the FIA can’t handle happiness.”

Kimi perked up from where he was nestled against Max. “Does that mean we win again?”

Helmut looked at Laurent. “We always do.”

And somewhere, in a quiet corner of the FIA office, the comms director sighed while typing the headline for internal distribution:

Crisis Averted: FIA Collaborates with Teams to Ensure Harmony.

Even as he hit send, he added in the private memo beneath it—

Translation: We surrendered.

The flight from Baku to Nice had been suspiciously peaceful.

Which, in George’s experience, only meant trouble was waiting in Monaco.

By the time they reached the villa overlooking the marina, Kimi had already made it his mission to cannonball into the pool fully dressed. Isack was arguing with the coffee machine and Liam stood by the balcony doors like a polite guest who’d wandered into a madhouse.

Max dropped his suitcase, sighing in bliss. “No debriefs, no media, no FIA statements. Just peace.”

George kissed his temple. “That’s the most delusional thing you’ve ever said.”

The next morning began with chaos and chlorine.

George’s yell echoed from the terrace: “Kimi! That’s not a toy boat, it’s my phone!”

Max stumbled out of the bedroom, still half-asleep. Kimi was crouched by the pool, watching a plastic container float proudly on the surface. Inside, George’s phone was sinking under a toy RB20.

“Penalty.” Kimi said with conviction when Max appeared.

George looked like a man on the brink. “Penalty for what?”

“Being bossy, Papa.” Kimi replied.

Max burst out laughing. “He’s not wrong.”

“Et tu, Max?” George muttered, fishing the phone out with a pool net. “I live with gremlins.”

Isack appeared with sunglasses and a smoothie. “Morning. Did we have a crash?”

“Kimi tried to start a race.” Max said dryly. “George lost pole position.”

Breakfast was no better.

Isack had insisted on cooking to “earn his keep.” George hovered nervously by the counter while Max supervised from a safe distance with coffee in hand.

Liam, bless him had taken a seat, looking halfway between impressed and terrified.

“Uh… is it supposed to smell like that?” he asked.

“It’s called caramelization.” Isack said proudly.

“It’s called burning.” George corrected.

“Experimental cooking.” Isack said, flipping something that hit the ceiling.

Max didn’t even blink. “That’s the experiment failing.”

Kimi clapped from the stool. “Papa’s doing pit stop!”

George groaned and grabbed the extinguisher. Smoke followed. So did laughter.

Ten minutes later, they were all out on the balcony, eating the few pancakes that survived. The rest had been declared a safety hazard.

In the afternoon, they took a walk by the marina. Monaco in the sun gleamed like something unreal. Yachts, perfume and expensive calm.

Fans snapped photos from a distance but everyone here was used to pretending famous people were just normal.

Liam walked beside Max, quiet but finally smiling. “You know… it’s strange seeing you like this.”

“Like what?” Max asked.

“Relaxed. And loud. And —“ he hesitated, then grinned, “ — motherly.”

Max gave him a mock glare. “You’re not supposed to say that part out loud.”

George laughed behind them. “You’ve doomed yourself now.”

They stopped for gelato. Kimi immediately tried to steal everyone’s cones, Isack gave him brain freeze warnings that went ignored and George spent most of the time trying to stop them from sprinting toward the pier.

Liam watched all of it with a quiet fondness that made something in his chest twist.

Then, as they walked back, he blurted it out without thinking. Soft, awkward and genuine:

“Thanks for the day, Mama. And you too, Papa.”

The words just hung there in the warm air.

Max blinked. George actually stopped walking. Kimi gasped dramatically.

“Ohhhhhh!” Kimi whispered, “he said it!”

Liam turned red. “I—uh—sorry, it just—”

Max grinned, eyes bright with affection. “Don’t apologize, Liam. You’re family now.”

George sighed, trying and failing to hide his smile. “That’s it, isn’t it? One dinner and I’ve got three grown children.”

“Correction.” Max said smoothly. “Four, counting yourself.”

George shot him a flat look. “You’re sleeping on the couch.”

“You say that every week.” Max said sweetly.

That evening, the villa was finally calm. The pool lights shimmered blue through the windows. Kimi had passed out in a blanket pile between Isack and Liam, the three of them snoring like an oddly shaped hydra.

George leaned back against the couch, eyes on Max. “You think Singapore will be worse?”

“Always is.” Max murmured, smiling faintly.

From the other side of the room, Kimi mumbled in his sleep, “Love you, Mama… Papa…”

Then, after a pause: “And Liam too.”

George groaned softly. “Great. Now we’ve officially adopted him.”

Max chuckled. “We didn’t even violate any FIA regulation this time. It happened in public.”

George covered his face. “You are never living that down.”

Max’s laugh filled the room, bright and unbothered. “George…” he said, mock-sweet.

George looked up, resigned.

“What?”

“Family expands naturally.” Max said innocently.

George sighed, voice heavy with long-suffering affection. “Max.”

Max just laughed harder.

Monaco mornings were supposed to be calm. Sunlight bouncing off the marina, gulls calling softly and coffee steaming on balconies.

In the Verstappen–Russell household, it was a full-scale disaster zone.

“Has anyone seen my passport?” George’s voice echoed through the villa.

Kimi’s muffled response came from under a couch cushion: “No!”

Max appeared from the kitchen, chewing toast. “You said last night you’d keep it somewhere safe.”

“I did! Which means it’s in a really safe place.” George said, rifling through the drawers like a man hunted.

From the hallway came the sound of Isack’s suitcase zipping open then the unmistakable crinkle of snack wrappers.

“Are you seriously packing chips?” Max asked.

Isack shrugged. “Singapore flights are long.”

Liam, meanwhile was folding clothes in quiet, methodical piles. The only adult in a room full of chaos until Kimi tried to “help” and accidentally sat on them.

“Kimi…” Liam said, voice flat, “you’re wrinkling my shirts.”

Kimi smiled innocently. “They’re travel texture now.”

George finally found his passport — inside the fridge.

Everyone stared.

“I remember putting it there for safekeeping.” he muttered. “It made sense at the time.”

Max leaned on the counter, smirking. “Because nothing bad ever happens in the fridge?”

“Exactly.”

By the time their cars arrived to take them to the airport, the suite looked like a warzone: towels, chargers and one mysteriously empty Nutella jar scattered like debris.

Kimi insisted on carrying his small backpack like a hero on a mission.

Isack was half-asleep against the elevator wall.

Liam double-checked every bag.

George was stress-managing the schedule.

And Max? Max was unbothered. Coffee in hand, sunglasses on and walking as if the morning chaos were someone else’s problem.

“Max,” George said tightly as they stepped out into the hotel lobby, “we are already late.”

“I’m calm.” Max said.

“You’re too calm.” George muttered. “That’s suspicious.”

Outside, the scene was already swarmed.

Fans. Cameras. Reporters shouting questions like bullets.

“Max! George! How’s the team dynamic after Baku?”

“Are you planning to appeal the FIA’s decision?”

“Is it true you adopted another driver?”

That one made George groan audibly.

Liam froze mid-step. “They mean me, don’t they?”

“Probably.” Max said cheerfully, waving at the cameras. “Smile for the family photo, Liam.”

“I am not smiling!”

Kimi and Isack, of course were already posing behind him, flashing peace signs.

The photographers went wild.

Social media would later call it the most chaotic family departure photo in F1 history.

Security escorted them through the crowd but even in the van to Nice Airport, the noise didn’t die down.

The group chat was exploding — drivers, team staff and even journalists sending memes of the “Verstappen–Russell Clan.”

Carlos texted:

Are you starting your own junior team?

Alex added:

Kimi is the boss, clearly.

George sighed, watching Max scroll and chuckle. “You’re enjoying this.”

Max smiled. “They’re scared of us but they’re also obsessed. That’s power.”

“Please stop saying things that sound like FIA violations waiting to happen.”

At the airport, the chaos continued.

Red Bull staff were waiting to shepherd Max through security, Mercedes handlers hovering nearby for George. For a few seconds, both entourages overlapped and promptly dissolved into laughter as Kimi tried to hand out stickers of cartoon cars he’d made the night before.

One Red Bull engineer proudly stuck his on his badge.

A Mercedes comms officer whispered to another, “Why is this actually adorable?”

The cameras caught everything. Max holding Kimi’s hand through security, George juggling passports, Liam trailing behind with the expression of a man who’d accepted fate and Isack balancing an absurd number of snacks.

The photos hit social media before they even boarded.

#FamilyTakeoff was trending within the hour.

Comments flooded in:

They’re chaos incarnate and I love them.

George looks like the only adult on a field trip.

Protect Mama Max at all costs.

Even Sky Sports couldn’t resist a segment titled:

The Verstappen–Russell Family vs. Singapore: Who Will Survive?

On the flight, peace finally descended.

Kimi was asleep across two seats, Isack drooling quietly beside him and Liam watching a movie with his headphones slipping off.

George leaned back, exhausted while Max rested his head on his shoulder.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this again.” George murmured.

Max smiled softly. “You like it.”

“I like you, not the chaos.”

“Same thing.” Max said, eyes closing.

Outside, dawn broke somewhere over the Indian Ocean — bright, clean, and calm.

The calm before Singapore.

Singapore greeted them like a flashbang.

The moment Max stepped off the jet, the humidity hit him like a wall.

Kimi immediately made a noise of disgust.

“It’s like breathing soup.” he muttered, fanning himself dramatically.

Isack snorted. “You are soup, Kimi. You’re ninety percent drama and five percent Red Bull.”

George, already sweating through his shirt, groaned. “Can we please just get to the cars before someone melts?”

Max looked unfairly composed, sunglasses on and sleeves rolled up just enough to make George glare at him. “You’re not used to heat anymore, Englishman?”

“I’m used to civilized weather.” George grumbled, waving at the reporters already pressing against the arrival barriers.

The chaos began before they even reached immigration.

Fans filled the terminal’s glass walls, waving banners:

WELCOME HOME MAMA MAX!

PAPA GEORGE PROTECTOR OF CHAOS!

KIMI 4 PRESIDENT!

ISACK AND LIAM = BEST BROTHERS EVER.

Security groaned audibly.

Liam blinked at one sign and muttered, “They actually drew me as a baby in a stroller.”

Max grinned. “You’re the youngest imprint, it’s accurate.”

Liam groaned. “I’m twenty-three.”

“Cubs come in all ages.” Max said serenely, and George made a strangled noise somewhere between disbelief and affection.

By the time they reached the hotel, it was clear no one had told the FIA that the family planned to stay in the same building.

Half the Red Bull staff were stationed in the lobby, the other half outside trying to hold back fans. Mercedes PR looked one cold sweat away from fainting. Racing Bulls’ liaison simply sat down on her suitcase and whispered, “Not again.”

“Max, the FIA called.” said Laurent’s assistant, jogging toward them. “They’re asking if you plan to attend the press dinner tonight.”

Max blinked. “Why?”

“They said… uh… they want to ‘monitor your conduct.’”

George’s expression went instantly murderous. “Monitor? After what happened in Monza? They can —“

Max put a hand on his arm, smiling like he was two seconds from committing arson but wanted to look polite about it. “It’s fine. Let’s unpack first.”

The hotel lobby was chaos personified.

Luggage everywhere, flashing cameras outside, team staff trying to maintain some semblance of order while Kimi and Isack played “catch the keycard” and Liam looked like he wanted to melt into the carpet.

George was halfway through arguing with the receptionist about their room configuration when a hotel manager appeared, starstruck and sweating.

“Mr. Verstappen, Mr. Russell, we’ve… upgraded your suite,” she said.

Max smiled graciously. “Thank you. You saved this building.”

She laughed nervously, clearly not sure if he was joking.

Upstairs, the suite looked more like a penthouse than a room. Three bedrooms, a massive living space and a balcony overlooking Marina Bay.

Kimi immediately claimed the biggest bed by flopping across it.

Isack found the minibar and began analyzing its contents like a scientist.

Liam stood by the window, quietly marveling. “This view’s insane.”

George was unpacking already, muttering about jet lag and humidity.

Max wandered around, hands in pockets and smiling faintly as if just watching the scene settle him.

It felt almost normal.

Almost.

Until George’s phone pinged.

He glanced at the screen and groaned. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“What?” Max asked.

“The FIA’s issued another statement.”

The group froze.

Even Kimi stopped mid-bounce.

Isack grabbed the remote, pulling up the news feed.

BREAKING: FIA RELEASES ‘SUPERVISION PROTOCOL’ FOR HIGH-PROFILE OMEGA CASES

The statement was brief, vague and obviously reactionary. Something about “ensuring professional boundaries,” “new monitoring measures,” and “restoring decorum within paddock zones.”

Max blinked.

George pinched the bridge of his nose.

Liam stared in disbelief. “They’re making it sound like you’re a biohazard.”

Isack muttered, “They should’ve just said ‘we don’t know what we’re doing.’”

Kimi, deadpan: “Maybe they’ll install scent alarms.”

Everyone went quiet.

Then Max started laughing.

Not a polite laugh. A full, breathless, uncontrollable laugh that made George’s irritation melt into helpless amusement.

“Oh my God.” Max wheezed. “They’re so scared they’re writing sci-fi.”

George shook his head, smiling despite himself. “They deserve Laurent again.”

“Laurent’s in Paris still.” Max said, catching his breath. “But I think his ghost is haunting them.”

Outside, the streets below were still filled with fans chanting and waving lights.

The cameras kept flashing, and hashtags were already trending before the FIA could even respond:

#MamaMaxIsNotTheProblem

#LetThemRace

#FIAInShambles

#PapaGeorgeForPresident

Meanwhile, inside the FIA offices in Geneva and Paris, staffers were desperately refreshing social feeds, watching the mockery unfold in real time.

Someone whispered, “Do we still have the draft for that ‘Pheromone Safety Plan’?”

Another answered, horrified, “Delete it. Delete it now.”

Back in Singapore, the family finally settled.

George sat on the couch, reading emails with a sigh.

Max leaned beside him, their shoulders brushing. “We’ll survive this.” he said softly. “We always do.”

Kimi was trying to convince Liam to join him for a late-night swim.

Isack was already halfway asleep on the armchair.

George turned his head, met Max’s eyes and smiled faintly. “Yeah. But one day, can we just have a normal Grand Prix weekend?”

Max tilted his head thoughtfully. “What’s that?”

George groaned. “Exactly.”

Dinner was supposed to be quiet.

Max had said it himself while fixing his hair in the mirror. “Just a small dinner.” he’d promised. “No drama, no headlines.”

Famous last words.

They’d booked a private table at a restaurant overlooking the marina — something peaceful, away from the constant buzz of the paddock. But “peaceful” had never existed in the Verstappen-Russell household.

Kimi arrived first, proudly holding the restaurant’s kids’ menu and asking if it included ice cream.

Isack followed, arguing with Liam over who had worse jet lag.

George was last, looking like he’d just accepted his fate as the designated adult.

And Max — Max looked like the sun decided to dress in linen and walk around being infuriatingly unaware of his effect on everyone.

The waiter tried to keep composure while recognizing the family that broke the FIA.

“Welcome, Mr. Verstappen, Mr. Russell —“

George politely corrected, “Just George, please.”

The waiter nodded, trembling slightly. “Of course… Mama Max, Papa George, this way.”

Max groaned. George choked on a laugh. The cubs looked delighted.

“See, Papa, they know you.” Kimi said.

“I want to die.” George muttered but the tips of his ears turned pink.

Dinner started light.

Isack ordered something spicy just to prove he could handle it.

Kimi tried to order a cocktail and got betrayed by his ID check.

Liam accidentally used the wrong fork and Max leaned over to quietly correct him like a parent teaching table manners.

George watched it all. The way Max smiled at each of them, patient and gentle even when Kimi spilled water for the second time. The way he laughed, open and bright, when Isack told a bad joke.

He wasn’t supposed to stare.

He did anyway.

Every time Max looked up, George would look away, pretending to study the menu or his glass. He was subtle or thought he was.

Kimi was not subtle.

He leaned across the table, whispering far too loudly to Liam and Isack.

“Papa’s staring again.”

Isack nodded sagely. “It’s like the fifth time this hour.”

Liam whispered back, “Should we do something?”

“Yeah.” Kimi said. “We should make Mama smile more so Papa dies faster.”

George looked up. “What are you whispering about?”

Kimi’s face was pure innocence. “Nothing, Papa.”

George buried his face in his hands. “Please stop calling me that in public.”

“You’ll always be Papa.” Isack teased, smirking. “Even the waiter knows.”

Max chuckled softly. “You all are impossible.”

George looked at him, helpless. “You love it.”

Max smiled. “Maybe.”

And that “maybe” hit George like a punch wrapped in silk.

Dinner drifted into easy conversation — racing stories, travel plans, complaints about FIA humidity sensors that probably didn’t exist.

Liam started to relax, laughing when Kimi accidentally kicked him under the table.

Isack filmed them for his stories, narrating dramatically: “The cursed family tries to act normal.”

When dessert arrived, the waiter brought an extra plate “compliments of the chef” a little chocolate plaque that read ‘To the fastest family in F1’.

Max laughed so hard he had to wipe tears away.

George didn’t even try to hide his fond smile anymore.