#mac verstappen fluff

[lxndonorris]

doubts - Max Verstappen

Y/N x Max Verstappen Theme: a little bit of everything cheering up Max after a frustrating qualifying session x word count: 2500+ taglist: @cloud-55 I needed that.... open for requests. Gif by @countingstars-17 thank you bub!

The motorhome is quiet, almost too quiet, compared to the roar of engines that filled the air just a short while ago. The walls, adorned with racing memorabilia, framed photos of victories, and splashes of Red Bull blue, feel like a sanctuary from the outside world, a cocoon away from the glaring lights and curious eyes. 

But now, the energy inside is tense and heavy, almost suffocating.

Max is sitting on the leather sofa, his elbows resting on his knees, hands hanging down loosely as he stares at the floor. The upper half of his racing suit hangs limply around his waist, the fireproof undershirt clinging to his chest and back, soaked with sweat and frustration. His hair, usually slicked back, is tousled, his face a mix of fatigue and quiet anger.

The qualifying session was a disaster. A car that wouldn't behave, tires that wouldn't grip, and a series of small, infuriating mistakes left him far lower on the grid than he has any right to be.

And for a man who built his life on perfection, on pushing limits, on winning, this was unacceptable.

You watch him from the kitchenette, silently taking in his frustration, feeling the tension radiate off him in waves. 

You know this side of Max well—the one who lives for the thrill of the race, who feels every setback as a personal failure. It hurts to see him like this, wound so tightly that he seems ready to snap.

You move quietly, almost hesitantly, from where you are standing, as if afraid any sudden movement might shatter the fragile silence that settled between you.

The sound of your footsteps is almost inaudible against the soft carpet, but you can feel Max's eyes flicker toward you as you approach.

"Max," you say softly, sitting down next to him on the sofa. 

You reach out, resting a hand on his knee, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric. 

He doesn't pull away, but he doesn't respond either, his eyes still focused on the ground. You sense the storm brewing inside him—a mixture of exhaustion and self-recrimination—and you know you have to find a way to break through it.

"It wasn't your fault," you begin, your voice gentle but firm. "You did everything you could out there."

"Did I?" he mutters, more to himself than to you. His voice is low, rough, like gravel.

"Maybe if I had pushed harder or backed off in that last corner... maybe..." He trails off, his firsts clenching, the knuckles turning white.

You shake your head, even though you know he isn't really looking at you.

"You can't control everything, Max. Not the weather, not the track conditions, not even the car sometimes. You know that."

He sighs heavily, finally looking up at you, his blue eyes clouded with doubt and frustration.

"But I'm supposed to be able to handle it. That's what makes a champion, isn't it? Being able to deal with anything and everything?"

You give him a small, sad smile, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

"You're already a champion, Max. You don't have to prove that to anyone, least of all to yourself."

He closes his eyes at your touch, his shoulders slumping as some of the tension seems to drain away.

"I hate this feeling," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "This helplessness... like I'm not in control."

You lean in closer, sliding your hand from his knee to his stomach, feeling the taut muscles underneath the thin fabric.

"You're still in control, Max. Tomorrow is another day, another race. You can still turn this around."

He opens his eyes, looking at you with a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability that he rarely shows to anyone.

"How do you do that?" he asks quietly, his hand coming up to cover yours, pressing it gently against his stomach.

"Do what?" You ask, your fingers tracing small, soothing circles on his skin.

"Make me believe it's going to be okay, even when everything feels like it's falling apart."

You smile softly, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek, lingering there for a moment, breathing in the familiar scent of him—engine oil, sweat, and the faintest hint of his cologne.

"Because it is going to be okay," you murmur against his skin. "I believe in you, Max. And I'm not going anywhere."

He turns his head slightly, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tentative kiss that sends a shiver down your spine. You feel the warmth of his breath, the softness of his lips, and for a moment, the world outside ceases to exist.

It is just the two of you, cocooned in this small, private space, where nothing else matters.

When he pulls back, his eyes are softer, the tension in his body less pronounced. 

"I don't deserve you," he says quietly, his voice tinged with self-reproach.

You shake your head, cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you.

"You deserve all the love and support in the world, Max. You give so much of yourself to this sport, to your team, to the fans... it's okay to let someone take care of you too."

He doesn't say anything; he just leans into your touch, his eyes closing as he lets out a slow, shaky breath.

You feel him slowly relaxing under your hands, the storm inside him beginning to calm. You shift closer, tucking yourself against his side, your head resting on his shoulder, your hand still tracing soothing patterns on his stomach.

You sit like that for a long time, the silence between you no longer heavy or oppressive but comforting, like a shared understanding. You feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, the rhythm of his breathing slowing as the tension ebbes away.

"Thank you," he whispers after a while, his voice soft, almost fragile.

You lift your head, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. 

"For what?"

"For being here. For knowing what I need, even when I don't."

You smile, snuggling closer to him.

"That's what I'm here for. You don't have to go through this alone."

He wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer, his fingers gently brushing against your arm.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," he admits quietly, his voice so low you almost don't hear him.

"You'll never have to find out," you reply, your voice equally as soft.

He kisses the top of your head, his lips lingering there as he breathes you in.

"I love you," he whispers, the words carrying the weight of everything he can't say, everything he feels but can't express.

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, your heart swelling with love and affection for this man who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders but still finds the strength to let you in.

"I love you too, Max. Always."

He smiles then, a real, genuine smile that reaches his eyes, chasing away the last remnants of his frustration.

Leaning down, he captures your lips in a kiss that is slow, tender, and filled with unspoken promises.

Max's hand moves to the small of your back, pulling you even closer as the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more insistent. You feel the last of his tension melting away, replaced by a different kind of heat, a desire that is as much about comfort as it is about connection.

You shift, sliding onto his lap, your legs straddling his hips as you press yourself against him, feeling the hard planes of his chest against you.

His hands move to your waist, holding you there as he kisses you like a man who has been starved for affection, for touch, for the reassurance that he isn't alone.

You feel the fire in him, the same fore that drives him on the track, that pushes him to be the best, but here, with you, it is tempered by something softer, something more vulnerable. 

It is a side of Max that few people ever see—a side that he only ever shows to you.

When you finally break apart, both of you breathing hard, your foreheads resting against each other, you see the change in him.

The frustration and anger are gone, replaced by a calm determination, a quiet resolve that tells you he is ready to face whatever tomorrow will bring.

"I'm ready," he says softly, his hands still holding you close.

You nod, brushing a thumb across his cheek.

"I know you are. And I will be right there with you, every step of the way."

He kisses you again, a soft, lingering kiss that leaves you breathless.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you," he murmurs against your lips.

You smile again, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

"You don't have to do anything to deserve me, Max. You just have to let me love you."

He closes his eyes, leaning his forehead against yours.

"I can do that," he whispers.

As you shift on Max's lap, you let your fingers trace the contours of his chest, feeling the heat of his skin beneath the thin fabric of his undershirt.

Your touch is slow, deliberate as you move just beneath his pecs, right where you know he is most sensitive. His muscles tense momentarily at the contact, a shiver running through him, but then you feel him relax, his head tilting back against the sofa with a deep, contented sigh.

You smile to yourself, enjoying the way his body responds to your touch—how even in the midst of his frustration, you could find that one spot that makes everything else melt away.

Your fingers dance lightly across his skin, just enough pressure to coax a reaction, but not too much. 

You watch his eyes flutter shut, his breath hitches slightly before he lets out a soft growl of contentment.

"Mmm..." he murmurs, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. It is a low, rumbling noise that sends a thrill through you.

His hands move to cover yours, holding it against his chest as he opens his eyes to look at you, a lazy, satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

The tension that gripped him earlier seems to have evaporated, replaced by a warmth and ease that is rare for him in moments like these.

"Right there," he whispers, his voice a mix of amusement and pleasure. "You always know exactly where to touch."

You grin, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips.

"I know you too well, Maxie."

He chuckles, the sound rich and deep, vibrating against your lips as he kisses you back.

"Not that I'm complaining."

"Good," you tease, brushing your thumb across his skin again, watching as his eyes darkened with that familiar spark of desire.

Max's smile widens, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly as he relaxes completely against the sofa.

The frustration and weariness from earlier melted away, leaving behind the man you know so well—the man who thrives on competition but also craves the simple comfort of touch and connection.

He sighs contently, the sound almost a purr, as you continue to stroke his chest.

"You have no idea how much I needed this," he admits, his voice soft and low.

You lean in closer, your lips brushing against his ear. "I think I do," you whisper, your breath warm against his skin.

He turns his head slightly, his lips finding yours in a slow, languid kiss that speaks of gratitude, affection, and something deeper.

When he pulls back, his eyes are bright, a smile playing at his lips.

"Thank you," he says quietly, his fingers trailing up and down your arm in a gentle soothing motion.

"Not for that."

As the warmth of your embrace lingers, you feel Max's breathing slow, the tension fully drained away from his body. 

Sensing that he needs a moment of deeper comfort, you gently shift off his lap, sliding down to sit beside him on the sofa.

He looks up at you with a mixture of curiosity and contentment, the corners of his mouth still curved in that relaxed smile.

Without a word, you reach for him, your fingers threading through his hair as you gently pull his head down towards your lap.

Max doesn't resist, his body easily following the motion until he is lying down, his head resting comfortably against your thighs.

His eyes close as he settles in, a soft sigh escaping his lips, and you see him relaxing even more.

You look down at him, your heart swelling with love and tenderness for this man, so eager, so passionate, yet now he seems so at peace, so vulnerable in this moment.

You begin to caress his cheek, your fingers moving in slow, soothing strokes along the strong lines of his jaw, feeling the slight stubble that starts to form there.

Max leans into your touch, a soft hum of contentment vibrating in his chest. His body seems to melt even further into the sofa, his entire being surrendering to the comfort you are offering.

"This feels so goood..." he sighs, his voice barely above a whisper.

You lean down slightly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

"I'm glad," you breathe deeply, your fingers continuing their gentle dance across his skin. "You deserve to rest, Max. You work so hard, and sometimes... you need to let go."

His eyes flutter open, and he looks up at you with a gaze full of gratitude. 

"It's easier with you here," he admits. "You make everything easier."

"That's what I am here for."

He reaches up, his hand covering yours where it rests on his cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin in a mirrored gesture.

Max's breathing grows even slower, deeper as the exhaustion of the day finally catches up with him. His eyes drift shut again, and you could see the lines of stress and worry smooth out as sleep begins to take hold.

You continue to caress his cheek, your touch light and gentle, hoping to keep him in this peaceful state for as long as possible.

Watching him like this, so calm and serene, you feel an overwhelming sense of love for him. 

Max is so much more than the fierce competitor the world sees on track; he is kind, strong, vulnerable, and so incredibly human.

And it is moments like this that you feel closest to him, when he lets down all his walls and lets you in completely.

As you continue to stroke his cheek, your fingers moving in slow, rhythmic patterns, you whisper softly.

"I will always be here, Max. No matter what happens tomorrow or the day after, I'll be right here with you."

He doesn't respond, but the small smile that tugs at his lips tells you he heard you. His hand still rests over yours, warm and reassuring, even as sleep fully claimed him.

[duchesschameleon]

so @maxlarens tagged me in a wip game soooo....here goes nothing? there are so many wips in my googledocs and notes app

rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs

never mine - a max verstappen/daniel ricciardo fic based on august by taylor swift, possible one shot, may expand it to more. absolute angst and heartbreak

steal the groom - george russel/alex albon "made of honor" au

silver springs - max verstappen/charles leclerc angst/heartbreak based on silver springs by fleetwood mac

wedding season - drivers/reader series, mostly fluff and fun stuff

montana - untitled top gun: maverick fic being cowritten with the amazing @qvid-pro-qvo

what a day this has been - part of my top gun west wing au

lights will guide you home - pilot trio (jake seresin/bradley bradshaw/natasha trace) ranch fic

sweet home alabama au - bridgerton, kate sharma/anthony bridgerton based on the movie

campaign pains - more top gun west wing au

falling slowly, eyes that know me - more top gun pilot trio this time with a wedding

polin secret marriage au - i mean...the title says it all

olympics - more kate sharma/anthony bridgerton this time with the olympcis!

my youth is yours - pierre gasly/reader angst. there was happiness. but its not a happy ending

at sea at last - jake seresin/reader, secret relationship

icemav shabbat verse wedding - part of this universe I wrote for top gun in which many of our faves are jewish

hotch/ncis!reader - this was totally inspired by "a joyful future" by the amazing @winterscaptain and you should absolutely read that

eight dates of hannukah - bradley bradshaw/jake seresin the shabbat verse

Sonny x GN!Jewish Reader fake date - svu fic!

that's pretty much all or most of my wips. some of these are random and abandoned. some I may revisit! ask me about any of them please.

and if you wanna join this tag, please do and tag me so I can see it!!

[lxclerc]

𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭 | 𝐦𝐯𝟑𝟑

SUMMARY: trying to teach your daughter a new word is much harder than max thought. REQUEST: “i loved little verstappen a lot and i was wondering if you can write something again for dad!max? or even just a part 2 of little verstappen. either way is good, thank you!” WARNING: none, just fluff WARNING: mom!reader x dad!max verstappen WORD COUNT: 749

NOTE: please don't be shy to give feedback as it inspires me to write more. let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

masterlist

The day Max got a seat in formula 1, he thought it was the best day of his life. When he first won his championship, he thought that’s surely the best day of his life and yet the day his daughter came into the world, Max realized nothing would ever beat this. Watching the way her little eyes opened, staring at him, will beat every race win, every championship. 

When you told Max you were pregnant, he would be lying if he said he was the happiest man in the world. In fact, the moment he saw the positive pregnancy test, dread immediately filled him. He was terrified. Terrified a baby would ruin your perfect relationship, terrified his job would keep him from being the father your child deserves, being the partner you deserved. He’s barely sorted out his own traumas and you’re both so young. What did you know about being parents? 

But from the very first ultrasound, Max was a goner. Suddenly, the thought of losing this tiny baby terrified him more than anything. He was in awe, staring at the sonogram for so long that you were worried he might hurt his eyes if he didn't start blinking. 

Max loved your daughter the first time he saw her and the moment he got to hold her in his arms, his entire world shifted. Being her father now took precedence over anything in his life. He would learn to be gentler, be better, for her. He would climb any mountain and swim any ocean if it’s what brings her happiness. It was no longer the sun making the universe spin, but rather she does. 

“Can you say ‘dada’?” Max tried again, baby Scarlet bouncing on his leg. 

The little girl only giggled, little hands reaching to touch Max’s face, practically melting Max’s heart on the spot up until she decided to ruin the moment. “Momma!” 

Max grimaced. “No, no, Scar. Say ‘dada.’”

But she must truly be his child if her stubbornness is anything to go by. “Momma!” 

“Try again.” Mac tries to be encouraging. “Da-da.”

“Momma!” 

“Dada. Da-da. Dada!” 

But Scarlet only grins at him, one that looks so much like his, her bright eyes identical to his full of happiness as Max gives her free reign to pull at his hair. “Momma!” 

Max sighs. When the only word Scarlet knew was ‘kitty,’ he hadn’t minded it. He even thought it was cute whenever she’d start happily mumbling the word whenever the cats enter the room, but after your daughter spent the morning screaming momma again and again as you try to have a shower, Max was admittedly a little jealous. He knows he’s gone most of the time but he always makes sure not to go by a week without seeing you guys in person no matter how busy his schedule is and so realizing that Scarlet knew you and not him is, quite frankly, a little depressing. The kind of depressing that makes him overthink if he’s in his daughter’s life enough and if racing is still worth it.

One of the cats climbing a drawer and knocking over one of your scented candles broke Max out of his thoughts, turning as the candle fell to the floor with a thud, the glass shattering loudly against the floor.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath. 

Scarlet, who was completely busy playing with the chain hanging from his neck, immediately looked up at him, mischief in her eyes. “Shit!” 

Max’s eyes widened as he turned back to his daughter. “Nope. No, Scar. We don’t say that word.”

But it seems it’s already too late as Scarlet clapped her little hands together, giggles escaping past her lips. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” 

“What’s happening here?” By some cruel trick of the universe, you choose that exact moment to enter the room, still in your pajamas after the nap Max insists that you take.

“Momma, shit!” 

Max immediately covers his daughter’s mouth, eyes wide with slight panic at the way your eyebrows furrowed together.

“Scarlet,” you say in that voice you use whenever gently disciplining your daughter. “Where did you learn that word?”

Scarlet pulled at Max’s hand so she could talk. “Dada!” 

Max’s jaw falls at the complete betrayal. “Oh you cheeky little bas–”

“Max!” You cut him off before he can finish his sentence, trying to desperately hold in your grin. 

Max playfully rolled his eyes, hugging the toddler closer to his chest. “You know what, I’ll take it.”

taglist: @ricsaigaslec @dragon-of-winterfell @coffeehurricanes @rdtbattinson @privcherry7 @miniminescapist @sebsdaniel @strelcka @writing-about-current-obsessions @amsofftrack @lostinketterdam @bisexual-desi @cialovessirlewis