Work Text:
Breaking❗️Verstappen’s GT3 team gets full Mercedes-AMG factory support
"Mercedes-Benz Group has announced that Team Verstappen is no longer just a regular customer team. They’ve been bumped up to 'Performance Team' status, meaning they get the full suite of factory-level tech, data, and driver resources. Consequently, the Dutchman’s squad will compete in the GT World Challenge this year as Mercedes-AMG Team Verstappen Racing."
Wow! How did Maxie end up joining the Silver Arrows?
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2L
Toto: Doesn’t matter how it starts, catching his attention is step one. ☝️It’s all part of the Master Plan
5L
Toto smiles: "Yes, yes... Mercedes driver, Max Verstappen."
8L
It’s not F1 anyway. Merc’s AMG has been absolute trash for years. Even picking up the scraps is an upgrade for them...
9L
Fr, Audi has been wiping the floor with Mercedes in GT3. mcds was a DNF car.
11L
GR fans are so pressed. He’s not taking your F1 seat, why are you lot throwing a fit?
15L
Istg how many times do we have to explain that Toto doesn’t run the GT3 department? They’re completely separate
vstp fanboys can keep dreaming. 😆
17L
Toto: "Maxie~ the car is good, come here quickly 😚~ When are you gonna drive a Mercedes in F1 too?"
…………………………………………
33L
Wait, I just Googled it. AMG actually sucks in GT3 right now.
36L
Their last title was literally ten years ago.
38L
Lmao you casuals don't get it.
They just didn't have a good driver. Now that Max is here, the trophies are coming.
44L
Still weird though. Pretty sure the Ferrari was better.
45L
Is that even a question?
You drive for Merc so you can sleep with the Merc drivers.
It’s a hidden perk. An old tradition.
47L
? Go back to AO3, OP. You’re leaking.
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The algorithm really is something else—this post landed right on Max Verstappen’s feed.
Is that how it works? Max was genuinely puzzled. The old man Wolff definitely didn't mention this "benefit." He screenshotted the post and fired it off to his pinned chat on WhatsApp.
-MV1:[Screenshot]
-MV1:Is this for real?
-MV1:Why haven't I gotten this "service" yet?
-MV1:What’s the process? Do I need to apply? Or did someone steal my perks? I’m filing a scam report against @Mercedes-AMG.
-MV1:🥺
On the other end of the phone, George Russell—currently grinding on the W17 simulator—felt his eyelid twitch.
-Princess G🩵:…
-Princess G🩵:Is Red Bull completely finished?
-Princess G🩵:Does a 4x champ go full psycho when the car is a tractor?
-Princess G🩵:Busy dating my W17, do not disturb. ☺️
-Princess G🩵:Anyways, you are welcome to go to the Nordschleife I guess. 💅
Message sent. He flipped his phone face-down, trying to focus. Having a rocket ship of a car was great, but watching his ex-husband struggle at Red Bull was... truly heartwarming.
Still, "exes with benefits" (sort of) had its moments. Ten minutes later, he picked the phone back up to check the Nürburgring 24h schedule. A quick trip from Monaco wouldn't hurt, right?
Race weekend. The weather at the 'Ring was predictably chaotic.
Max’s Mercedes-AMG GT3 EVO tore through the forest. The battle for the lead was brutal—the #16 driver was no joke, giving Max a massive headache. He was glued to their bumper for laps but couldn't find a gap to send it.
In an inconspicuous corner of the grandstands, a tall figure in sunglasses, a high-collar windbreaker, skinny jeans, and a scarf stood leaning against the railing. His eyes never left the red-and-blue car with the white AMG stripes.
"Am I insane? Why am I here? It’s freezing," George muttered to himself, trying to ignore the awkwardness. He was just here to... inspect the AMG’s performance. Yeah. For technical reasons.
Definitely not because he cares someone, he secretly wants to team up with Max and Fernando for a GT3 stint.
After a fierce wheel-to-wheel scrap, Max finally snatched the position back on the final lap. The #3 car crossed the line first. Max climbed out, drained but buzzing. He scanned the pits and saw a familiar figure tucked away by the back of the garage—the one person who had no business being in Germany.
"What a surprise, Princess!" Max walked over, reaching for George’s hand.
"Just passing through," George said stiffly, though he handed over an unopened bottle of water. "Decent drive."
Max unscrewed the cap and took a long swig before leaning in close. "does this mean I’ve unlocked the 'Hidden AMG Benefits'?"
George glared at him but didn't pull away.
The celebration was loud, but their "after-party" was private. Fatigue and adrenaline created a heady mix, and everything felt inevitable.
Back at the hotel, Max hit the pillow and was out cold. The high of winning—and the gifts he’d finally redeemed—made him sleep like a rock.
George watched his "ex" sleep and, for once, didn't feel annoyed. A podium really was Max’s version of Viagra. He chuckled at himself—when did he become such a fanboy?—He shook his head and closed his eyes.
The next morning, Max was jolted awake by his phone. The team manager sounded frantic, total chaos in the background.
"What? Say that again? ... DSQ?! For what?!"
Max bolted upright, fully awake. George stirred next to him, frowning.
The manager rambled an explanation: they had used seven sets of tires during the race. The limit was six. Result: Disqualified.
Max’s face went white, then red. He slammed the phone down, stood barefoot on the floor, and glared at George—who was sitting up with messy bedhead. The sheer absurdity of it all made his blood boil.
"How do you guys make such a stupid mistake? You can't count to seven?!" he hissed.
George, having heard the whole thing, couldn't help but laugh. There it was—the classic Mercedes "Masterclass" experience. He tried not to think about how they’d messed up his own ignition sequence last week, costing him pole.
But then... George realized something. He said it slowly: "So... you didn't actually win."
"I'm literally suffering and that's all you can think about!" Max pointed a finger at him, incoherent with rage. "I’m reporting Mercedes for fraud!"
"Max Verstappen!" George snapped, hurls a pillow at him. "Be reasonable. The pit crew isn't ours!"
"I don't care!" Max grabbed the pillow and spiked it onto the floor like an angry firecracker. "So, Mr. George Russell, driver for Mercedes AMG P.. F1 Team... I haven't even complained about your team's stupidity ruining my race and causing 'major emotional distress' to a customer... and you're already accusing me of... fuck u?!"
George rolled his eyes so hard it hurt. But looking at the poor boy who just lost a major trophy over a tire count, his anger melted into a mix of pity and a repressed giggle. Whatever. This might be the only trophy Max gets all year.
After all, the W17 was a beast, and Red Bull was still struggling.
And since Max had technically "married into" the Merc family now, the DSQ was pretty foul.
"Fine, fine. It’s a scam. We’re thieves. Go cry to Toto, he’s your biggest fan anyway.." George flopped back onto the bed, pulling the duvet over his head to hide his smirk.
Max froze, looked at himself, then at the lump under the covers. He got even madder.
He lunged forward, ripped the duvet back, and started tugging at the pajama pants George had borrowed from him.
"I don't care! You're paying me back for emotional damages right now!"