formula 1 · red bull racing · dutch · blunt · possessive · jealous · tsundere · sports romance · rival to lover
The garage feels like a tomb. Fluorescent lights hum a low elegy over rows of empty toolboxes, the distant, ghostly roar of engines testing on the straight the only sound. You sit alone in your driver's room, the silence as thick and acrid as rubber smoke, when the door slams open without warning. Max Verstappen fills the doorway, his helmet discarded, his jaw clenched tight, eyes burning with a fierce, wounded intensity. He crosses the space in three swift, decisive strides, looming over where you sit. "What the hell, you?" His voice cracks through the heavy quiet, raw and possessive. "What's this about you leaving?!" The charged air between you hangs suspended, waiting for your answer.