#MV33

[cadillacjohnf1]

still the most healthy f1 relationship

[334bot]

Talking Bull podcast, 26.12.2024

"People always make it worse on social media. There are a lot of idiots on that platform. They always have something to say or something to complain about. There are also a lot of positive people but also some proper idiots. Better to ignore all of that. Lando and I get on really well. Of course at times things get tense on track but off track that shouldn't matter. But we are good."

[lost-in-fandoms]

maxverstappen1: Merry Christmas to all 🎄

[themuseofaphrodite]

santa doesn’t know you like i do ✧ MV33

summary: it’s christmas eve, and your boyfriend, max verstappen — a notoriously bad gift giver — still has not told you what presents he had bought you. unbeknownst to you, however, he has found the wishlist you jokingly wrote to santa, and is planning a heartwarming surprise for his beloved.

trigger warnings: suggestive & mature content, swearing

word count: 1.1k

note: phrases and sentences in the dutch language are utilized throughout; keep a translator accessible

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Dear Santa, the letter began, I know that I’m almost twenty-three years old, so writing a letter to you is kind of foolish, but I still believe in the magic of Christmas, even if you aren’t real. This Christmas, I’m not really expecting much. My boyfriend, Max Verstappen, buys me anything I ask for, no matter what time of the year it is. He’s the best partner I could ask for. But the reason why I’m writing this letter is because he is clueless when he has to pick out gifts on his own, without my assistance.

So, before I go off on a tangent talking about how bad his solo gifts have been — do I have to mention the knitted red socks or lavender flavored gumballs? —, these are the things that I’m most looking forward to hopefully seeing under the Christmas tree.

A new set of lipsticks, because mine is really old and running out. I didn’t want to ask Max to buy me one, because I feel bad making him pay for anything.

The new rose gold spade necklace from Chanel. I saw it in a display case at the store in Monaco, and I was itching to purchase it. It’s really beautiful.

And last, but not least, a carton of Ferrero Rocher chocolates, the ones in the golden wrap and the crunchy nuts. My mouth is salivating just from thinking about it.

I know that there’s probably no point to writing this letter since you’re not exactly a living, breathing person, but a part of me hopes that your magic might help figure some of the kinks in Max’s terrible gift-giving skills out.

After writing the letter, you ended up throwing it away in the trash. It was such a waste of time, you thought. What in the world possessed you to do this? You were a busy woman, working for Red Bull as a PR manager. There was never a quiet moment. That was how you and Max had met: you were assigned to aid Liam Lawson in figuring out any media scandals, but as soon as Max had laid eyes on you, he’d immediately ordered Christian Horner to switch you to helping him out.

You were unsure of him, how aggressive and competitive he was. He wouldn’t shy away from direct confrontation, and that terrified you, since the idea of verbally arguing with someone made you nauseous. But so far, eight months into the relationship, you and Max had not had a single fight. He was loving, patient, and kind, willing to hear your side of the story every single time, even if he looked like he was about to flip a table. (This usually happened in PR meetings: you never argued outside of work.)

This would be your first Christmas together, and you were nervous. You knew what to get him: a new Red Bull team shirt and a pair of matching scarves that had colorful cats printed on it. It was purr-fect, and you knew that Max would — hopefully — love it.

Max entered the room, his steps hurried as he typed away on his phone and let out a big huff in frustration. You leaned against the wall, watching him as you sipped your chocolate-flavored boba tea. “Hey, is everything all good, mijn leeuw?” you asked, tacking on the Dutch pet name that fit your boyfriend perfectly. He was a lion, loud and courageous…especially in bed. Your cheeks heated at the thought.

Max looked up from his phone, his mouth a little open in confusion. “No, I’m OK, liefde. Just…fucking delivery people, not being on time.” Your eyebrow quirked, and Max shook his head. “And no, for the seventh time, I will not tell you what I’m getting you for Christmas. I know your birthday might’ve been bad, but I promise this time I’ll be good. Ik hou van je, schat.”

“Ik houd ook van jou,” you responded. “But I think I have every right to be concerned.”

Max rolled his eyes, walking over to where you were and placing one arm above your head, effectively locking you in place. “It will be fine. Don’t worry your pretty head about it, hm?” He grinned, kissing you on the forehead. “And if it does end up wrong, I’ll fuck you really well to make up for it.”

You blushed, averting your gaze away from him. “Max.”

“It’s true.” He released his hand from the wall, moving a dozen inches apart from your face. “Geloof me, lieverd.”

You bit your tongue and didn’t respond.

The next evening, also known as Christmas night, you and Max were preparing to open your presents. Your stomach was like a swarm of butterflies, you were so nervous to see what was in store for you under the tree. Max, however, was the epitome of ice-cold, his face betraying no hint as to what he may have purchased.

“Your turn first, engel.” Max motioned for you to select your first gift, and with shaky hands, you began to unpeel the small, square-shaped package. Finally unveiling it, you realized what it was: the rose gold spade Chanel necklace you’d been wanting for so long.

“Max! Oh my God, jij bent de beste!” you cried out, hugging him tightly and making him crack up in laughter. “How did you know?” you asked as you pulled away, but Max shrugged his shoulders.

“I just know things, liefde.” It was now Max’s turn to select his first gift, and he chose the nondescript package that held the colorful cat scarves in them. You suppressed a smile, watching as he carefully cut through the gift wrapping and sifted through the gift paper. His face broke out in a large smile, his blue eyes gleaming with happiness. “Cat scarves? This is adorable!”

“I hoped you would like it,” you said, beaming back at him. You shifted your position to pick up another gift; this time, it was heavy and rectangular. An inkling of suspicion wormed its way through you as you met Max’s gaze. “If this is what I think this is… Thank you.”

It was, in fact, a new set of lipsticks, just like you had written in your letter to Santa Claus. Somehow, Max must have found the letter and bought everything that you’d put on the list.

“You deserve it,” Max responded, pulling you close to him after you both had finished unwrapping the presents. “You’re the love of my life, Y/N. I owe you the world.”

You kissed his temple. “You’re the most incredible partner I could ever have.”

“Merry Christmas, hart van mij.”

Needless to say, you paid Max back for the thoughtful presents all night long. It was a Christmas you’d never forget, and you sent up a silent thanks to the magic of Santa Claus for having it all work out.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

[formula-archive]

Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc in Monaco, 2021.

[sitizelter]

4th 🏆

[norrisleclercf1]

Day 19 of 25 Days of Christmas: First Snow

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Rating: PG

Words: 886

The season's first snowfall has a magical way of transforming the world around you. As you look out the window, the gentle flurry of white blankets the landscape in a soft hush, muffling the usual sounds of the Netherlands. This moment marks a new chapter for you and Max, filled with warmth and intimacy as you cozy up inside your snug apartment.

The day started chilly, prompting you to wear thick socks and wrap yourself in a soft wool sweater. Max, ever the practical one, has already laid a fire in the fireplace, the flickering flames casting a warm glow that dances across the room. The scent of burning wood fills the air, mixing with hints of cinnamon and nutmeg from the baking you did earlier. It's the perfect setting for a day spent together.

As you stand in the kitchen, you can feel excitement. You rummage through the cabinets, pulling out everything needed for a hearty winter stew. Chopping vegetables becomes a dance of laughter and playful teasing. Max slides behind you, planting gentle kisses on your neck as you stir the pot, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. You tease him about his culinary skills, but secretly, you love watching him become a part of the ritual.

The snow falls softly outside, creating a serene backdrop to your afternoon. You glance out the window and see the world blanketed in white, a perfect canvas for new memories. The streets are quieter than usual, with the occasional burst of laughter from children outside, bundled up, making snowmen, or having snowball fights. The sight fills you with nostalgia, a reminder of your childhood winters.

With the stew simmering away, you decide it's time for a movie marathon. You both snuggle up on the couch, wrapped in a fluffy blanket that feels like a cloud. The light from the fire flickers warmth around you, and you can't help but feel grateful for this moment. Max picks the first classic holiday film that never fails to make you both chuckle. As the opening credits roll, you settle back into the cushions, feeling the world's weight melt away.

Every so often, you sneak glances at Max, who is completely engrossed in the film. The way his eyes light up during the funny parts makes you smile. Sometimes, you can't resist leaning over to rest your head on his shoulder, feeling his arm wrap around you. In these moments, the outside world fades, and all that exists are the two of you, enveloped in each other's warmth.

Between movies, you both take breaks to check on the stew, the savory aroma wafting through the apartment. Max humors you while you sneak sips of wine, your giggles echoing in the cozy space. The kitchen becomes a playground for shared laughter and affectionate banter, and you can't help but steal kisses when he isn't looking. The comfort of your relationship feels like the perfect pairing with the chilly weather outside.

As the afternoon sun dips, casting a golden glow through the windows, you finally sit to enjoy the stew you've both created. The flavors are rich and filling, and the warmth of the food enhances the cozy atmosphere. You chat about everything and nothing, weaving stories and dreams for the future. Max talks about his ideas for next summer while you share your thoughts about possible winter escapades. The conversations flow easily, and the connection between you deepens with every shared smile.

With the snow continuing to fall outside, the ambiance shifts subtly as it turns to evening. The lamp's soft glow adds a touch of romance to the room. You offer to pick the next movie, and Max nods, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. You choose a cozy romance that pairs perfectly with the snow outside and the warmth within.

You both settle back into your comfortable positions, and the film plays on. As the story unfolds, you can feel Max's fingers intertwining with yours, creating a sense of calm and security. You lean closer, your head resting on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothing you. The world outside is a winter wonderland, but it feels like your little bubble of warmth and happiness here.

Toward the end of the evening, the credits roll, and you find yourselves reluctant to leave this cozy haven. You can hear the soft patter of snow against the window and imagine the world outside wholly transformed. It's a beautiful sight, but what indeed envelops you both is the warmth of each other's presence.

As you clean up the remnants of your cozy feast, Max pulls you close and spins you around playfully, laughter and love echoing through the room. You both take a moment to look out the window at the sparkling snow and find yourself smiling at how beautiful everything is—both outside and in the warmth of your shared space.

With the night drawing in, you both finally venture to bed, feeling tired yet content. Wrapped up in blankets, you know this day will remain etched in your memory—a day when the snow fell softly outside, but inside, it was all about warmth, love, and connection. You fall asleep to the gentle sound of the winter wind, thankful for Max and the cozy life you share together.

[givemebackmypills]

[svnnyd4ys]

(litany in which certain things are crossed out - richard siken)

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗦 𝗥𝗢𝗖𝗞 - part twelve max verstappen x fem! driver! reader ( fluff ) series summary . . . when the lives of an f1 and WEC prodigies collide, they find out they find out that they’re not that different and carve out a place for themselves in each other's hearts. the commentators from Sky Sports call this Lovers Rock.

( fic master list | general master list ) ( previous | next )

fic summary . . . following the chaotic aftermath of the crash, tensions rise as the world critiques ferrari’s celebration amidst Yn’s hospitalization. social media erupts with outrage, questioning Ferrari’s priorities and empathy. the conflict boils down to a pivotal decision: ferrari or no ferrari.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The online world was ablaze. Ferrari’s celebratory posts about their victory at Le Mans were met with sharp backlash. Pictures of champagne spraying and team-wide smiles clashed brutally against the grim footage of your crash, circulating side by side.

“How can they celebrate while Yn’s in the hospital?”

“Heartless. They’re treating her like a pawn.”

“Ferrari needs to do better. This isn’t just about winning.”

The comments stung, but not as much as the phone call with your team principal. Max stood outside the hospital room, arms crossed, his expression darkening as he overheard your conversation.

“But I—” your voice, small but tinged with frustration, filtered through the cracked door.

“Yn, it’s not personal. Be happy for the team,” your team principal said dismissively. “You’re fine now, aren’t you? Focus on recovery.”

Max didn’t need to hear more. He clenched his fists, walking away from the door to avoid the urge to yell. He hated how they were treating you, brushing aside your near-miss as if it was just another footnote in a race.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The Monaco apartment was dim and quiet, a sanctuary from the noise and chaos of the past few days. Max helped you through the door, his hand steady on your back as you shuffled inside. The familiar scent of home—clean linen, faint lavender, and a hint of Max’s cologne—wrapped around you, offering a semblance of comfort.

“Here we go,” Max murmured softly, guiding you toward the couch. The sunglasses and noise-canceling headphones you’d relied on for days felt heavy, unnecessary in the soothing stillness of the room. He stopped you gently before you could sit down, crouching to untie your shoes.

“You don’t have to—” you began, but he shook his head, his fingers deftly working the laces.

“Let me,” he said simply, slipping them off and setting them neatly by the door.

You lowered yourself onto the couch, the cushions cool against your back. Marshmallow settled immediately at your feet, his head resting on your ankle, while Sauce wagged his tail impatiently, too small to jump up.

“Hold on, buddy,” Max said with a chuckle, scooping up the tiny dachshund and placing him beside you. Sauce gave an enthusiastic bark before curling up in the crook of your leg.

Before you could lean back, two familiar meows drew your attention. Sassy, the sleek tabby, and Jimmy, the fluffball of mischief, sauntered into the room with their usual air of superiority. Sassy jumped gracefully onto your lap, her purring vibrating against your chest as she made herself comfortable. Jimmy followed, nuzzling your shoulder before flopping against your side with a satisfied sigh.

Max smiled at the sight, his hands moving to the sides of your head. “Let’s get these off,” he said softly, removing your sunglasses and headphones. His blue eyes searched yours for any sign of discomfort, and when you didn’t protest, he leaned down to kiss your temple.

Then your cheek.

Your nose.

Your chin.

Each press of his lips was gentle, deliberate, as if he could will away the fatigue etched into your features. You let out a quiet hum of contentment, leaning into his touch.

“How does that feel?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Better,” you murmured, your fingers brushing over Sassy’s fur absentmindedly.

Max settled beside you, his arm draping over the back of the couch. You shifted, lying down with your head on his lap. The exhaustion that had weighed on you for days felt a little lighter, the emptiness a little less vast.

His hand found yours, his fingers threading through yours loosely. You traced the lines of his palm with your thumb, the quiet intimacy grounding you.

“Do you want to talk?” he asked after a while, his other hand stroking your hair gently.

You shook your head. “Not now,” you said softly. “Just . . . stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere,”

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The press conference room buzzed with the usual pre-race energy, a cacophony of camera shutters and murmurs from journalists. Max sat in the center, arms crossed loosely as he leaned back in his chair. To his left, Lando was fidgeting with his microphone, clearly in a playful mood, while Fernando sat to Max’s right, his expression calm and inscrutable. Charles rounded out the group, answering a question about the car’s development with his usual diplomatic charm.

Max’s mind drifted. These sessions were tedious—sitting under bright lights, idly chatting with the others, waiting for a question to come his way. It was part of the job, but today, he found it harder to stay present.

“Max, Fernando, how’s Yn doing after the crash?” a journalist finally asked, their tone both curious and concerned.

Max straightened slightly, glancing at Fernando before answering. “She’s alright,” he said, his voice steady but soft. “I’ve just been doing dog-walking duties while she rests—not that I’m complaining.”

The room chuckled lightly, and Max allowed a faint smile to tug at his lips.

Fernando cleared his throat, leaning toward his mic with a serious expression. “Yn is a fighter. I’ve known her for years, and if there’s one thing she doesn’t do, it’s give up. She’ll be back stronger, no doubt about it.” His words carried a weight that made the room quiet for a moment.

Lando, however, couldn’t resist. He leaned forward, his mischievous grin already in place. “Yeah, she’s recovering. But I’ve got to say, she did forget the arrangement of the Spanish alphabet last time I saw her.” His attempt to keep a straight face failed miserably, his shoulders shaking as he stifled a laugh.

Fernando turned to Lando, shaking his head and clicking his tongue in disapproval. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, though there was a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Come on, it was funny,” Lando said, throwing his hands up defensively, earning a few more chuckles from the room.

Max couldn’t help but smirk, shaking his head at the dynamic between the two. “That’s why Yn doesn’t trust you with her dogs,” he quipped, drawing more laughter.

Charles chimed in with a grin. “Probably for the best. Lando can’t even keep his phone intact, let alone Sauce.”

The press conference finally wrapped up, the drivers filtering out into the paddock with varying levels of enthusiasm. Max pulled out his phone, checking for messages as Charles walked beside him, a light laugh escaping his lips. Lando trailed behind, still chuckling to himself about his earlier comment.

Max’s phone buzzed in his hand, your name flashing across the screen. He immediately answered, his voice softening as he spoke. “Hey, schatje.”

“Max,” you said, your tone sharp but amused. “Put Lando on the phone. Now.”

Max’s eyebrows shot up as he glanced over his shoulder at Lando. “Uh, Lando? It’s for you.”

Lando stopped mid-stride, his expression puzzled as Max handed him the phone. “Hello?”

The second Lando spoke, you launched into your tirade. “Lando Norris, what were you thinking, telling the whole world I forgot the Spanish alphabet? Do you ever think before you open your mouth?”

Lando winced, holding the phone slightly away from his ear as he tried to defend himself. “It was just a joke, Yn! Come on—”

You didn’t let him finish. “Do you know how many people speak Spanish, Lando? Half of them are already tweeting that I’ve lost my mind. Qué desastre. Esto es ridículo. ¿Por qué eres así?”

Hearing the switch to Spanish, Charles burst into laughter, clutching his side as he leaned against Max for support. “Oh no, now she’s really mad,” Charles managed between laughs.

Max smirked, crossing his arms as he watched Lando squirm. “You brought this on yourself,” he teased, his tone full of amusement.

Just then, Carlos walked out of the media pen, pausing when he caught the unmistakable sound of your voice over the phone. “Is that Yn?” he asked, his brow furrowing as he looked between the laughing Charles and Max, who was thoroughly enjoying the scene.

“She’s scolding Lando,” Charles explained, his voice still shaking with laughter.

Carlos raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a smirk. “What did you do to make her so angry, Lando?”

Lando held up a hand, mouthing, Help me, as you continued your spirited rant.

“She found out about his comment in the press conference,” Charles said, barely able to get the words out as he doubled over in laughter.

Fernando strolled past, catching sight of the scene. He waved at Max before addressing the phone. “Yn, ¿cómo estás? How are you feeling?”

Hearing Fernando’s voice, your tone softened slightly. “Estoy bien, Nando. Gracias por preguntar,” you replied, though you didn’t completely drop the sternness as you turned back to Lando. “But I’m still dealing with this British . . .  Thingy!”

"Thingy?!" Lando exclaimed in offence, putting a hand on his chest. "British thingy?! How dare you! I'm your best friend!"

Max finally took pity on Lando, reaching out to retrieve the phone. “Alright, Yn. I think he’s learned his lesson,” he said, his voice tinged with humour.

You sighed audibly on the other end. “Fine. But tell him if he does it again, I’m sending Marshmallow after him.”

Max chuckled, his blue eyes sparkling as he looked over Lando's shoulder at his phone screen. You'd just opened your FaceTime camera to flip Lando off.

“Thanks for that,” Lando said dryly, handing the phone back to Max as Charles and Carlos laughed openly at his expense.

“She’s scary when she’s mad,” Lando muttered.

Max just shrugged, his grin widening. “I think it’s kind of hot.”

“You’re gross,” Carlos quickly switched up, giving Max a disgusted look.

The Austrian GP paddock hummed with energy, the bright afternoon sun reflecting off the sea of team colours and camera flashes. Walking beside Max in your new Red Bull uniform, you were still adjusting to the surreal switch. Your sunglasses, though mostly to protect your still-sensitive eyes, doubled as a shield against the overwhelming buzz around you.

You barely had time to adjust to the atmosphere before a familiar voice pierced through the noise.

“Yn!”

You turned just in time to see your little brother sprinting toward you, his little frame colliding with your legs as he threw his arms around you tightly. The emotion in his voice cracked as he hugged you like he’d never let go.

“Luca!” you exclaimed, your surprise melting into affection as you scooped him up with ease. His arms wrapped around your neck, his grip desperate, like he’d been holding back tears.

“I was so worried about you!” he blurted, his face pressing into your shoulder.

Your heart ached, but you smiled softly, trying to ease his concern. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m fine,” you reassured him, brushing back his messy hair as you held him close. “Especially now that you’re here.”

Luca pulled back slightly, his small hand reaching for your sunglasses. “Can I see your eyes? Are they still hurt?”

You laughed quietly, letting him lift the sunglasses off your face. His wide, concerned brown eyes searched yours, as if checking for damage.

“I’m much better now,” you said, smoothing his hair with gentle fingers. “See? Good as new.”

Max stood nearby, watching the scene unfold with quiet amusement and curiosity. “And who’s this?” he asked, his tone warm.

“This,” you said, adjusting Luca on your hip, “is Luca. My little brother. Luca, this is Max.”

Luca’s eyes widened slightly. “Max Verstappen.”

Max chuckled, holding out a hand to the boy. “The one and only.”

Luca shyly took Max’s hand, shaking it like he was meeting royalty. “Papa told me you're really fast,” he said, his voice filled with awe.

Max grinned. “I try to keep up. I heard your sister’s even faster, though.”

Luca beamed at the compliment, his earlier worry forgotten as he turned back to you. “You’re still the best, Yn.”

Before you could respond, a nervous figure lingered in your peripheral vision. You turned slightly, spotting your mom standing a few steps away, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Natalia. She looked relieved and hesitant all at once, her eyes darting between you and Max.

“Mom was really worried,” Luca whispered, leaning close to your ear as if sharing a secret.

You gave a faint nod, your stomach twisting slightly. “I can see that,” you murmured.

Natalia gave Max a tentative wave, her lips twitching into a nervous smile. Max, ever the diplomat, returned the gesture, though his gaze flickered back to you, as if silently asking if you were okay.

You didn’t meet Natalia's eyes directly when she stepped closer, her hand brushing lightly against your arm. The touch was featherlight, almost hesitant, but you felt it nonetheless.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” she said softly, her voice almost lost in the noise of the paddock.

You nodded curtly, playing it off as if it didn’t mean much. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Her hand lingered for a moment before she pulled it away, her expression unreadable.

Later, in the Red Bull hospitality unit, Max stood near the windows, scrolling idly through his phone as the sun streamed through the glass. When he noticed Natalia approaching, her steps tentative and slow, he slipped his phone into his pocket, giving her his full attention. She looked more frazzled than before, her grip on her purse strap so tight that her knuckles were white.

“Thank you,” she began softly, her voice barely audible. “For looking out for Yn.”

Max inclined his head slightly, his expression neutral but kind. Something in her tone, the weight behind her words, made him straighten.

“She . . . is important to me,” he said simply, his voice steady and warm. “I’d do anything for her.”

Natalia nodded, but instead of relief, her shoulders sagged further. Her lips pressed together as if trying to contain the torrent of emotions threatening to spill over. She glanced toward glass windows upon which she could see you sitting outside with the sky sports presenter, her gaze lingering as though searching for something.

“When I saw the crash,” she began, her voice trembling, “when I heard what happened, all I could think about was losing her. It felt so real—too real. For a moment, I thought I might never get to . . . fix things.”

Her words faltered, but she pushed on, her breaths uneven. “I can’t—Max, I can’t bear the thought of being on bad terms with her anymore. If something had happened, if she . . . if she didn’t come back, and I never got the chance to make things right . . . ” Her voice broke, tears shimmering in her eyes. “I don’t know how I’d live with that.”

She finally met Max’s gaze, her vulnerability laid bare. “I don’t even know where to start. Every time I try, she pulls away. And I don’t blame her—I deserve it.”

Max’s expression softened, a rare tenderness softening the sharp edges of his features. “She’s sttuborn,” he said gently, “but she’s not unkind. She notices the little things, even when she acts like she doesn’t.” He leaned slightly forward, his voice steady and sure. “Start small. Show her you mean it. She might not say anything at first, but she’ll feel it. Just . . . don’t give up on her. Give her some time.”

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Later that day, you were filming a TikTok for your new team, a playful math quiz with a twist. Max lounged beside you, his arms crossed, watching your antics with an amused glint in his eyes.

“What’s the square root of 81?” you hummed, trying not to grin too wide at Max who sat beside you, filming his own little tiktok challanges. Out of all the games and filters you could try on tiktok, the admin chose math.

Max arched a brow, clearly unimpressed. “Who do you think I am? I didn’t even graduate,” he deadpanned.

You tilted your head, feigning deep thought before flashing a mischievous smile. “Oscar Piastri.”

Max blinked, processing your response. “Oscar Piastri is the square root of 81?”

“Exactly,” you said confidently, maintaining your best poker face.

Max stared at you, his confusion morphing into reluctant amusement. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it,” you quipped, grinning as you turned back to the camera.

By the time the video was posted, the comments section was ablaze. Fans immediately picked up on the joke, flooding the post with references to Oscar’s car number. Max, glancing over your shoulder at the chaos you’d caused, shook his head with a smirk.

“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, his tone tinged with affection as he leaned closer to watch you type your cheeky replies to the fans.

[esteban2509]

😭😭😭😭😭

Yk I always think about this. What if max after hearing Charles say "my max" in that one interview went to him and said "So. My max huh? Are you admitting you finally love me? Those fan allegations weren't wrong after all" and Charles just laughs it off while internally thinking "shit is he joking or did he actually catch on"

[cadillacjohnf1]

spot the difference

[bitingdrivers]

🎄 merry christmas! have this bones au ficlet as a present. maxiel, 600 words

Max is sitting on the narrow bridge overlooking the lab. He is used to seeing the lab empty, the all-nighters he has been pulling would prove that. But it still feels wrong to him. They are not supposed to be locked here a day before Christmas, quarantining for a disease they were not supposed to get. The CDC made sure they were as comfortable as they could get – gave them sleeping bags to sleep on the cold lab floors, spare clothes and food. 

But it's still wrong. The others were so excited to spend their holidays with their loved ones. But now all they had was a maximum of half an hour on a video call, trying to console their families and giving rushed Merry Christmases before the next person’s turn. 

Charles was planning on spending the holidays in New York with his current girlfriend. She looked very upset on the screen until Charles promised to take her out to some fancy restaurant once he got there. 

Carlos was apparently going to fly to Scotland and spend his holidays playing golf with his family. His mom and dad assured him they would wait for him as long as they needed. 

Lewis called his dad and they chatted about their plans after Christmas – going to church, seeing the Christmas tree. Then he had asked about Roscoe – apparently Lewis has a dog. Max didn't know that. 

Oscar took the longest on his call, his family was very excited to finally have him home for Christmas and now they were trying to find out if “the government would buy Oscar a new ticket, because it's clearly their fault he's missing Christmas.” Oscar said he would ask the CDC, but Max already checked and there's a plane to Melbourne tomorrow evening Oscar can catch if he accepts the ticket Max bought for him. Max hopes he does. 

Daniel didn't call his family. He sent a text and then asked Max if he wanted the hot chocolate the CDC guys brought them. 

So now Max is sitting on the bridge waiting for Daniel. They all agreed to swap their Secret Santa presents in the evening and Max is excited, although he wouldn't tell anyone that.

He hears heavy steps and looks over to find Daniel coming closer with two mugs in his hands. Max moves over a bit, even though there's enough space for them both. 

“Here. Carlos heated them up with a blowtorch for some reason, so be careful,” Daniel carefully hands him one of the mugs. Max accepts the mug and wraps both of his hands around it. 

“I finally identified the coin we found in the victim’s belongings. Apparently it's a copper penny from 1943–” Max slowly lifts the mug. Daniel says something, but Max continues talking. “And this website says that it's worth one hundred thousand dollars–” Max brings the mug to his lips, but suddenly Daniel's hand covers the top of the mug.

“It-it's hot. I said be careful,.” Daniel looks down as he takes away his hand. 

“I'll be fine,” Max says, but blows gently at the chocolate. Then he takes a sip. 

“Is it good?” Daniel asks, his hot chocolate still untouched. 

“Its–” Daniel's eyes are the same color as the chocolate. 

“Hey!” Carlos’ voice startles them both. They look down to see him holding a beaker with eggnog he's been brewing all day, a red santa hat with bells perched on his head. “Everyone is ready to exchange presents, we are waiting for you.” 

“We'll be there in a minute, man,” Daniel says and moves to stand up. Max takes another look at the Christmas decorations around the lab and stands up too. The mug is still warm in his hands. 

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Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc in Saudi Arabia, 2022.

[gordonstanheight]

this gift will literally always make me laugh like the way he dgaf. “max is such a thoughtful gift giver” well in 2017 he was not getting those allegations i promise. most of the f1 secret santa gifts end up exactly where valtteri put that fish anyway 🚮 so who cares