#mv33 fic
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mrsfancyferrari · 7 hours ago
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My Saviour
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Summary: You are the first woman to be racing in Formula 1 and you and Max are already best friends. To Jos' dismay. PT 4 - Finale
Song: Pyramids - Frank Ocean
Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3
Author’s note: CW: sexist comments, domestic violence (not from Max). I'm still salty about Daniel Ricciardo's exit to Formula 1 so I decided to add him a little here. I hope you got your popcorn ready for this finale! I made this the best ending I ever could. I've loved writing this series and hoped you loved it too. Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶
Taglist: @ahhhhhm, @daniskywalkersolo, @friendshipis-magic, @tellybearryyyy, @lanadelray1989, @owl778, @almostuniversallyface, @maluzets55, @dying-inside-but-its-classy, @noooway555, @unknownmystery22, @forensicheart, @a-beaverhausen, @moonstruck-poet, @mendes-bae, @czennieszn, @widow-cevans.
Word count: 27.8k
MASTERLIST - F1
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The news hit you like a rogue wave, leaving you gasping for air. "My mom and sister are coming over in two days," Max had said, his voice casual as he stirred the pasta sauce.
He hadn’t looked at you, too focused on the simmering pot, and for a moment, the kitchen seemed to shrink, the walls closing in. Two days.
That wasn’t enough time, not nearly enough time. You stared at the chipped tile of the kitchen floor, the image of Max’s father’s clenched fist flashing behind your eyelids. The last time you saw it, he had been so angry, his face contorted with a rage you still didn't quite comprehend.
Now his mother and sister were coming to this house. The house you’d built together, brick by brick, or rather, box by unpacked box. The house you had slowly and tentatively been turning into a home. The thought of them seeing you, of them judging you, sent a shiver of dread down your spine.
You didn't answer Max, and he finally turned from the stove, a questioning look on his face. "Hey," he said, gently, reaching out to touch your arm.
His touch, usually a source of comfort, felt like a brand, reminding you of how utterly vulnerable you’d felt that day, and how hard he’d fought to protect you. “You okay?”
You managed a weak smile. "Yeah, just...two days. It's fast."
He moved closer, his brow furrowed with concern. "Is it too fast? I can push it back if you want."
You shook your head, the lie forming on your lips. You couldn't ask him to push it back. It would be rude. It would be cowardly.
“No, no, it’s okay. I just want everything to be perfect.” You hated how your voice trembled almost imperceptibly.
“Perfect?” He lifted a hand to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin. “It doesn’t need to be perfect. They’re just my mom and sister. They’re… I mean, they’re good people. You’ll like them.”
You tried to believe him, tried to summon up some of the excitement he clearly felt, but the knot of anxiety in your stomach refused to loosen.
“What if they don’t like me? What if…what if they’re like your dad?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, raw and laced with the fear that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks.
Max’s face darkened. His hand dropped away, and he took a step back, his eyes clouding. "They're not like my dad," he said, his voice low and firm. "They're not even remotely like him. You know that.”
But you didn't know. All you knew was the lingering memory of his father's face, the vitriol in his voice, the power in his fist. You felt so ashamed of yourself.
You didn’t want to bring this baggage to his family, and you had just done that. "I just...I'm still a little shaken up about what happened with him," you confessed in a small voice.
He reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. "Look at me," he said, his gaze direct and unwavering. "My mom is… she's kind. She's funny, she's warm. And my sister, Victoria, she's... she's a bit of a free spirit. You'll get along with her, I promise. And neither of them will ever be like my father."
He squeezed your hand, his grip strong and reassuring. “I won’t let them be, not ever.”
You wanted to believe him, to let his words wash over you and erase the fear. But you couldn’t shake the feeling of vulnerability, the knowledge that you’d seen a side of Max's family, a dark and ugly side, that you couldn't unsee.
“What about him?” you asked, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “Will he be here?”
Max’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing dangerously for a moment. “He is never welcome in our house, ever. My mom and sister despise him, you don’t have to worry about that.” He pulled you into a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around you.
“I know you’re scared. But you don’t have to be. They’re coming here to meet you. They’re excited to meet the person I’m dating, the person I…care about very much.”
You clung to him, burying your face in his shirt, inhaling the scent of laundry detergent and his own unique, comforting smell. "It's just...I don't want to mess things up for you," you mumbled, your voice muffled against his chest. "I don't want them to think I'm not...good enough."
He pulled back slightly, tilting your chin up so he could look you in the eye. "You're more than good enough. You're amazing. And anyone who doesn't see that isn't worth your time. Including my family. But trust me, they will.”
He smiled, a genuine, heart-melting smile. “And if they don't? Then I'll deal with it. Okay?”
You nodded, a small, hesitant nod, but it was a start. He had the power to ground you, to calm the storm within you. You wished you had that power yourself.
"Okay," you said, your voice a little steadier now. "Okay, I can try."
He kissed you then, a soft, lingering kiss that tasted of hope and reassurance. "That's all I ask," he murmured against your lips. "Just try."
The next two days were a flurry of activity. You cleaned the house until it shone, you planned a menu that you thought would please his family, and you even ventured into the field closeby to pick some wildflowers to put in a vase. Max helped, of course, but mostly he seemed focused on keeping you calm, his eyes constantly searching yours for any sign of distress. The morning they were due to arrive, you felt your stomach drop into your boots. You stood in front of the mirror, scrutinizing your outfit, second-guessing every decision you’d made.
You changed your top three times before Max came up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist.
“You look beautiful,” he whispered, kissing the back of your neck. “They’re going to love you.”
You turned in his arms, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one about to be interrogated.”
He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “They’re not going to interrogate you. They’re just going to try and steal you from me.”
You smiled, finally feeling a small flicker of genuine excitement. “Don’t let them,” you teased, a bit of your old confidence returning. "You're the one who said I'm your favorite person."
"Definitely my favorite person," he agreed, giving you a quick kiss on the lips.
The doorbell rang, shattering the comfortable bubble of the moment. You took a deep breath, trying to settle the butterflies in your stomach.
“Showtime,” you said, a mix of excitement and trepidation in your voice. Max squeezed your hand, giving you a reassuring smile. “We’ve got this.”
He opened the door to reveal Sophie, her warm smile radiating familiarity, and Victoria, who had inherited her brother's playful charm. Both women stepped inside, their eyes wide, taking in the space you’d so carefully curated.
“It’s beautiful!” Sophie exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine admiration. “You’ve done an incredible job.”
Victoria echoed her mother's sentiments, adding, “It’s just as Max described, only even better in person.”
She looked at you, her expression softening. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you. Max has been…rather vocal about how wonderful you are.”
You laughed, the tension easing a little at their warmth. “It’s wonderful to meet you both too. Come in, come in. Let me show you around.”
The next hour passed by in a flurry of introductions, compliments and laughter. You guided them through the house, pointing out the features you were most proud of – the carefully chosen artwork, the cozy reading nook, the spacious guest room you’d set up.
At one point, while you were showing Victoria the herb garden on the back patio, Sophie cornered Max, her voice a low murmur.
You watched, a fond smile playing on your lips as you tried not to eavesdrop, though you did catch the tail end of her words in Dutch. “… so happy for you, Max. She’s wonderful.”
Lunch was a relaxed affair, you’d prepared a simple pasta dish, one you’d perfected over time. The conversation flowed easily, shifting between Formula 1, your respective families, and shared travel experiences.
Victoria, who was close to your age, was particularly interested in your life as a driver, asking pointed questions about the pressure, the challenges, and of course, the exhilaration.
You found yourself opening up, sharing anecdotes about grueling training sessions and the unwavering support you'd received from your team, and, of course, Max.
You even recounted a particularly comical pit stop mishap, earning a burst of laughter from everyone at the table.
“She handles herself so well under pressure,” Max said, a note of pride in his voice, as he looked at you across the table. “It’s one of the many things I admire about her.”
Sophie beamed, her eyes sparkling with warmth. “We do, too, Max. She’s incredibly impressive.”
Later, after lunch, as the afternoon light began to mellow, you found yourself alone with Sophie in the living room. Victoria and Max had retreated to the back patio, their laughter drifting in through the open windows.
Sophie turned to you, her expression serious, but kind. “You’ve made our Max very happy,” she said simply. “It’s a good thing. He deserves to be happy.”
You felt a lump form in your throat. “He’s made me incredibly happy too, Sophie. More than I ever thought possible.”
She nodded then turned serious, bowing her head low. "I heard what their father had done to you. I'm extremely ashamed of his actions," she said, her voice now soft.
A shiver ran down your spine, as if the chill of the day you had tried so hard to forget had returned. You hadn’t wanted to burden Max’s family with the memory, especially today.
You had hoped, perhaps naively, that it wouldn’t come up. You shifted uncomfortably.
“Sophie, it’s okay, really,” you responded, trying to keep your voice even. “It was just… a moment. It’s in the past.”
She looked up at you, her eyes filled with concern. “No, it isn’t okay. It’s never okay to lay hands on another person, especially not in anger. What Jos did was inexcusable.” Her voice held a steel edge, a stark contrast to her usual warmth.
You looked down at your lap, tracing the pattern of the rug with your finger. The memory surged back with a visceral clarity. The heated argument, Jos’s face contorted in fury, the sudden, sharp pain in your ribs as his fist connected.
The way your breath had been knocked out of you. The memory was still vivid.
“He was mad,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. “I was trying to find Max but I found him instead. I tried to leave him but he just had to say something bad to me, we argued and then he...”
“He hit you,” Sophie finished for you, her gaze unwavering. “He heard something he didn't want to hear. You are brave for speaking your mind to him." Her voice was almost a sigh as she admitted this.
You didn’t know what to say. You couldn’t blame her for being angry, and you certainly couldn’t justify Jos’s actions. You knew, deep down, that you would never fully forget the moment, that it would always be a shadow lurking in the corners of your mind. Jos would never admit he was wrong either, and that was what hurt the most.
“Max knows?” Sophie asked, her voice gentle.
You nodded. “Yes, he stopped Jos. He was really… upset,” you said, choosing your words carefully. "And still is" you added under your breath.
Sophie reached out and took your hand, her touch surprisingly strong. “He’s angry for you. He loves you, you know that?”
“I do,” you replied, a genuine smile finally reaching your lips. “And I love him.”
She squeezed your hand. “Good. Because he needs you. And you deserve to be treated with respect, always. No one has the right to hurt you, ever.”
Your eyes welled up, not from sadness, but from an overwhelming sense of gratitude. You had never expected to find such an ally in Max’s mother, and her unwavering support meant more than you could ever say.
“Dank je wel, Sophie. Dat betekent veel voor mij.,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. Thank you, Sophie. That means a lot to me.
Before she could even react from your sudden Dutch, the back door slid open, and Max walked in, a perplexed look on his face. “Everything okay in here? You both look a bit serious?”
Sophie released your hand and smiled at her son. “Everything is perfect, darling. Just making sure that she knows how lucky you are.” She winked.
Max looked at you, his brow furrowed with concern. “Is everything alright?”
You smiled reassuringly. “Everything’s fine. We were just… talking.”
He still looked unsure, but he didn’t press the issue. He knew when to back off, when you needed space. He stood beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. You leaned into the embrace, feeling his warmth seep into your soul. He placed a gentle kiss on your temple.
"Max, you didn't tell me that Y/N speaks Dutch?" Sophie said, a hint of surprise in her voice.
Max grinned proudly, which made your heart do a funny little flip. “I did mention it a while back, Mom, when we first started dating. You must have forgotten. She’s been practicing a bit.”
You hadn’t been practicing a bit. You’d been learning the language voraciously for months, a secret project born out of your love for Max and his heritage.
It was the same with Sophie, the occasional Dutch idioms she would use, her native language was like a piece of her. And you wanted that connection, a shared language with them both.
"It's still a work in progress, though," you admitted, a little bashfully. "But I’m trying."
"Well, I'm impressed," Sophie said, clapping her hands together. "I knew there was a reason I liked you so much. You're full of wonderful surprises. You should speak Dutch more often, it sounds charming on you.”
Max kissed your temple again. “I agree. It suits you.”
Later that evening, after Sophie and Victoria had left, you and Max were curled up on the sofa, the house quiet and calm. “What did you and my mother talk about?” he asked, his voice low.
You hesitated for a moment, then decided to be honest. “She asked about… your father.”
Max stiffened beside you. “And?”
“She was angry. She said what he did was inexcusable,” you told him.
He was silent for a moment, his jaw clenched. “He doesn’t understand,” he said finally. “He never will.”
You turned to face him, your hand cupping his cheek. “It’s okay, Max. I understand.”
He looked at you, his eyes filled with so much love and tenderness that your heart ached. “I wish he hadn’t hurt you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
“It doesn't matter, it was a long time ago, I’m fine," you assured him.
“It does matter. You deserve better. I deserve better. I will never allow anyone to treat you that way again,” he said, his voice fierce. You knew he meant it.
You leaned in and kissed him, pouring all your love and gratitude into the embrace, making up for the words you couldn't find. His arms tightened around you, his lips moving against yours with desperate hunger.
You had each other. And that, you realised, was all that truly mattered.
The hum of Max's private jet was a low, comforting thrum against the anticipation buzzing through you. In a few days, the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix would be upon you, the last race of the season, and the pressure was palpable, even at 30,000 feet.
You were nestled between Max, who was engrossed in reviewing some documents on his tablet, and Charles, who was idly scrolling through his phone, a small smile playing on his lips. Lando, of course, was the catalyst of the chaos, sprawled out on the opposite couch, a mischievous glint in his eye.
A staff member, a young woman named Maya, approached you all and asked if she could take a quick picture for social media. You always needed to keep the public engaged, and a photo of the three drivers plus you, the public's new and exciting addition, was definitely good content.
Max briefly looked up, gave a small nod, and then returned to his screen. Charles straightened up, and Lando struck a dramatic pose, leaning back into the cushions and throwing up a peace sign with a goofy grin. You felt a little awkward, but you did your best to smile naturally as Maya snapped a few shots.
"Okay, perfect!" she chirped, showing you the picture on her phone. You all looked pretty relaxed, albeit slightly posed. "Thanks everyone! Enjoy the rest of the flight."
As soon as Maya was out of earshot, Lando, of course, had to open his mouth. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and gave you a very knowing look. “So,” he drawled, his voice full of amusement, “How’s the couple doing?”
Your cheeks warmed immediately. Max finally looked up, a slight frown creasing his brow as he glanced from Lando to you, his hand instinctively reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “What are you on about, Lando?” he said, his tone a low rumble.
“Oh, nothing, nothing,” Lando said, his eyes widening innocently, “Just observing the… lovebirds. You know, the picture just screamed ‘power couple’ to me. You guys are practically glowing.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Charles chuckled, burying his face in his hands, but you could see the amusement dancing in his eyes. You shot a glare at Lando, who only grinned even wider, and then looked over at Max who was watching you closely, a gentle smile softening the sharp lines of his face.
“We’re doing fine, thank you,” you said, trying to keep your voice even, although you felt like your heart was doing a little tap dance. Dating Max was still new, a thrilling, somewhat surreal experience.
“Yeah, we’re fine,” Max echoed, his hand now resting on your knee. The simple touch sent a shiver down your spine. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious, you know,” Lando said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "It's been all the gossip, hasn't it? Max Verstappen finally settling down. The world is in shock."
He pretended to faint dramatically against the seat cushions, earning a louder laugh from Charles.
“Oh, come on, Lando,” Charles said, shaking his head. “You’re just jealous because you’re still playing the field.”
“Hey!” Lando exclaimed, feigning offense. “I’m… strategically assessing the options!”
"Strategic, huh?" you said, finally finding your voice amidst the gentle teasing. "Or is it just that you can't commit?"
He gasped dramatically. "How dare you! I'd have you know I'm just waiting for the perfect woman..." He paused, looking at me with a theatrical expression. "...or man. Whatever."
You all burst into laughter, the tension from the earlier conversation dissipating. Even Max cracked a small smile, shaking his head at Lando's antics.
“So, onto more important things,” Charles said, clapping his hands together. “Anyone want to discuss sector times?”
You four spent the next hour dissecting the data from the last practice runs, the atmosphere shifting from playful banter to serious strategy. Even Lando fell silent, his usual boisterous energy replaced with a focused intensity as they discussed the intricacies of the track.
As the flight wore on, the conversation drifted again. You talked about moving in together, the places you had visited over the short holiday, and the pressures of life under the spotlight.
You found yourself more and more comfortable with Max, your connection growing stronger with every shared laugh and gentle touch.
Later, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the cabin, Lando and Charles were sleeping peacefully with the exception of occasional snores from Lando.
You felt Max’s hand gently tracing patterns on your arm. It was a simple gesture, a touch that sent a jolt of warmth through you, a silent acknowledgment of the secret bond you shared.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice low, the rumble of it vibrating through your body.
“Yeah,” you murmured, leaning your head against his shoulder, the scent of his cologne filling your senses. “Just thinking about… everything.”
He moved his head slightly, his cheek brushing against your hair. “Everything?” he repeated, his hand continuing its soothing pattern on your skin.
You nodded into his shoulder. “Everything. This race. The pressure. Us.” The confession was out, a soft exhale, the truth you had been holding onto now released into the space between you.
He went still for a moment, his hand stopping its gentle tracing. Then, he turned his head to look at you, his gaze soft, reassuring. “Us?” he echoed, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “What about us?”
You lifted your head, meeting his eyes, the vulnerability in your chest exposed. "It's all so… precarious, isn't it? One wrong move, one slip up, and everything could come crashing down. The media, the scrutiny, our careers… I just… I don't want to lose us, Max."
His expression softened even more, his thumb now tracing your cheekbone. "Lose us?" he repeated, the words a soft question. “That’s the furthest thing from my mind.”
He paused, then added, his voice even quieter, “You think I would intentionally do anything to lose you?”
You shook your head. "No, but…" you trailed off, unsure how to articulate the fear that gnawed at your insides. "The pressure can get to anyone. And we both know how unpredictable this world can be.”
He took your hand in his, his fingers intertwining with yours. "I'm not anyone," he said firmly, his voice laced with a confidence that seemed to seep into you. "And you're not just anyone either. You're the most incredible, amazing woman I know, and you think that because of the craziness of this world I would let anything ever happen to us?”
He paused and then looked directly into your eyes, the honesty in his gaze almost overwhelming, “I won’t let anything happen to us. I promise you that.”
You stared right back at him for a moment, feeling your heart bloom – it always did every time you were with him, every time he looked at you with such raw affection. “You say the right things, you know that?” A smile now bloomed on your lips.
He leaned in, his breath tickling your ear. “I only mean the right things when it comes to you.”
You could feel your cheeks flush, your breath catching in your throat. “You’re going to make me cry.”
He chuckled, the sound a warm rumble that vibrated against your ear. “I’m not going to make you cry. I’m just stating the truth. You worry too much,” he squeezed your hand slightly, “I know that, and I hate that because you never need to with me.”
Your fingers tightened around his. “It’s hard not to when everything is so… big. This race… this season… all of it.”
“I know,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the back of your hand. “But try to focus on me. Focus on us. Just for a little while. Let all the other big things be big later.”
A small smile played on your lips. “Easy for you to say, Mr. 3x Formula One Champion.”
He grinned, a flash of mischief in his eyes. “I am pretty good at what I do.”
You laughed softly, the sound genuine and free, a stark contrast to the anxiety that had been swirling within you just moments before. “You are. Okay. I’ll try. But only because you asked so nicely.”
He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear again. “I have other ways of convincing you, you know.”
You shivered at his words, a thrill running through your veins. "Oh, really?" You whispered, turning your head slightly to meet his gaze.
His eyes darkened, a promise smouldering within them. "Oh, really."
The roar of the jet engines finally subsided, replaced by the gentle hum of the cabin’s ventilation system. Outside, the sun beat down on the tarmac of Abu Dhabi International Airport, a stark contrast to the cool, manufactured air surrounding you.
You stretched in your plush leather seat, feeling the residual stiffness of the long flight slowly begin to fade.
You glanced in front of you, where Lando was curled into a seemingly impossible ball, his head lolling precariously close to the aisle. On your right, Charles was a picture of elegant slumber, his dark hair perfectly tousled across his forehead.
A small smile played on your lips.
A sudden, sharp shove sent Lando tumbling forward, his muffled yelp echoing through the cabin. Max, a mischievous glint in his blue eyes, was grinning down at him.
"Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead!" he said, his Dutch accent thick with playful teasing.
You gently reached out, shaking Charles’ arm. "Charles, we’re here," you murmured, your voice softer than you intended.
He blinked sleepily, his hazel eyes focusing on you with a disoriented charm.
“Already?” he mumbled, stretching his arms above his head. “It felt like I just closed my eyes.”
"Time flies when you're sleeping," you quipped, earning a tired chuckle from him.
You watched as Lando rubbed the sleep from his eyes, his usual lively energy quickly returning. “Not cool, Max,” he grumbled, though there was no real heat in his tone. “Almost made me faceplant into the floor.”
Max just laughed, a low, rumbling sound that resonated through you.
"Come on," Max said, clapping his hands together, "let's ditch this flying sofa and get to the hotel."
As you moved to gather your things, your fingers brushed against Max’s. A spark, small but undeniable, ignited between you.
You looked up at him, your heart skipping a beat as his blue eyes met yours. He gave you a subtle, almost imperceptible wink, and a rush of warmth flooded your cheeks.
A small army of hotel staff swarmed the plane, efficiently unloading luggage and ushering you towards a fleet of waiting cars. It was a familiar scene, the controlled chaos that preceded every race weekend, a strange comfort after the long hours spent suspended in the artificial stillness of Max’s private jet.
You followed Max, Lando and Charles into the hotel, the lobby a dizzying spectacle of polished marble, towering floral arrangements, and the hushed murmurs of staff. The receptionist, a woman with a warm smile and efficient hands, greeted Max by name.
You shifted your weight, feeling the fatigue of travel settling deep into your bones. You were so used to this pre-race routine that you could perform it on autopilot.
The adrenaline of the upcoming race, the pressure of qualifying, it was all still to come, and for now, a quiet hotel room and a long nap seemed like a distant paradise.
“Mr. Verstappen, Ms. L/N, here are your keys,” the receptionist said, sliding the cards across the polished counter.
You thanked her with a polite nod, your eyes already searching for the elevator. Lando and Charles, keys in hand, had already disappeared into the throng of people. You and Max made your way towards the elevators, the chatter of the lobby dimming to a background hum. Max, his usual energy subdued by travel fatigue, muttered, “Room 312,” as you both stepped into the elevator.
You leaned against the mirrored wall, your eyes closed, letting the subtle hum of the elevator carry you upwards. You couldn’t even be bothered to check your key card.
All you wanted was to crash on the bed. The elevator doors opened with a soft ding, and you followed Max down the hallway, the carpet thick and plush beneath your feet.
Finally, you stood before room 312. Max stopped, his hand already on his key card. He turned to you, a brow raised. "Which room are you in?" he asked, his voice quiet, a touch of the Dutch accent coloring his words.
You finally looked down at your key card. Your eyes widened in disbelief. "It's… 312," you said, your voice a mix of surprise and amusement. "How is it 312?"
Max’s lips quirked into a small smile. “Well, that's a surprise.” he chuckled. He held up his own key card, and as he flipped it you could make out the number, it was indeed 312 too.
A laugh escaped you. “What are the chances of that happening.”
“Guess they really wanted us together” Max said, looking at you with his intense blue eyes, making your heart skip a beat.
“Guess so,” you murmured, your gaze lingering on his face. You felt a familiar warmth bloom in your chest.
"Well, are we going in or are we going to stand here all night?" Max asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
You shook your head, a smile playing at your lips. He had a way of bringing you back down to earth, always. You swiped your key card, the light flashed green, and the door clicked open.
You stepped inside, the room instantly enveloping you in its cool, quiet embrace. It was a spacious suite, tastefully decorated in neutral tones with dark wood accents. A king-sized bed dominated one side of the room, and a seating area with a plush couch and a small coffee table occupied the other. A balcony overlooked the glittering cityscape, providing a mesmerizing view of the sprawling metropolis.
Then he spoke, his usual calm demeanor settling in. "You're taking the bed," he said, already moving towards the sofa.
Your heart sank, a sharp pang of disappointment echoing in your chest. Two weeks. Two weeks of dating Max, and in those two weeks, despite living in the same house, you never once shared a bed. He had always opted for the couch or the guest room - never yours. The pattern was starting to feel deliberate, and a nagging insecurity began to take root.
Did he not want you? Was this a sign? Was all this too fast for him?
The questions, like tiny needles, pricked at your confidence. You knew he wasn't the most emotionally expressive person, but this felt… more than that. It felt like a polite, yet firm, rejection. You weren't going to let the uncertainty fester any longer.
You moved quickly, cutting him off before he could fully settle on the couch, your body a tangible barrier in his path. He stopped, his eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Max,” you said, your voice even, trying to project an authority you weren't quite feeling.
He blinked slowly, his gaze studying you, those intense blue eyes searching yours with an intensity that always made your pulse quicken, even now, amidst your anxiety. "Yes?"
You took a deep breath. "Why?"
He frowned, a crease appearing between his brows. "Why what?"
“Why are you taking the couch?" You knew you sounded more demanding than you intended, but you were done tip-toeing around this.
He looked down at the couch, then back at you, his expression shifting to one of genuine confusion. "Because… you’re taking the bed."
"Yes, I know. But why aren’t you?"
His jaw tightened slightly. "I just... I'm more comfortable on the couch."
The answer, so simple, so easily spoken, only served to infuriate you further. "Comfortable? Really, Max? Or is it something else?"
He shifted on his feet, his gaze darting towards the balcony, a nervous tick you had noticed when he was uncomfortable. "It's just… I sleep better on the couch. It’s… smaller.”
“Smaller? What does that even mean?” You crossed your arms, unable to keep the frustration from creeping into your voice. “We’re dating, Max. Don't you... want to be closer to me."
You tried to keep the hurt from showing on your face. "This isn't about sleep, is it? Is this about… me?"
He finally met your eyes, a flicker of something unreadable in their depth. "What do you mean?"
You took a deep breath, forcing the words past the lump forming in your throat. “Usually couples sleep in each other's arms, and well, I don't get that. It's okay if you don't like that or feel uncomfortable about it, just tell me now because I feel like you don't want me,"
The vulnerability was raw, exposed, but you had reached a point where you needed the truth, whatever it may be. You had held back for so long in fear of rejection, but you realized it was time to stop.
Max waited patiently for you to finish speaking. When you did, you stared at the floor, the floral pattern of the rug suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. Other than your ex, you didn't have much knowledge in relationships, so you didn't even know if sleeping on the couch was a normal thing.
You wondered if you were reading too much into it, but your past experiences had taught you to trust the nagging feeling in your gut.
Max sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of unsaid things, before he crossed the room and pulled you in for a hug. His arms wrapped around you, warm and solid, and you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
“It's not that,” he finally said, his voice barely a whisper, thick with something you couldn't quite name. “It's… I don't want to make you uncomfortable."
You blinked, surprised. The statement was so unexpected it almost knocked you off balance. You pulled back slightly, looking up at him, his face a mask of concern.
"Uncomfortable? Max, you're my boyfriend. How could you sleeping in the same bed as me make me uncomfortable?" You were completely baffled.
You wanted him there, close to you, not across the room. You saw his face turn a shade of red, his cheeks flushing a vibrant hue. He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous gesture you were beginning to recognize.
"People say that I'm really clingy when I'm asleep or hardly conscious," he muttered, avoiding your gaze. "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable in the night so I decided to keep myself away. I do want to be closer to you and I do want you," he rushed the words out, as if finally admitting something he’d been trying hard to suppress.
You stared at him, mouth slightly agape. Clingy? Was that the reason? He thought he was protecting you by sleeping on the couch when all you wanted was to be wrapped in his arms?
You couldn’t help but feel a surge of warmth wash over you. He wasn’t pulling away, he was trying to be considerate.
It was a level of care and thoughtfulness you hadn’t expected, especially so early in the relationship.
"Max," you said softly, reaching out to cup his face in your hands. His skin was soft beneath your touch, and his gaze met yours, vulnerable and filled with an earnestness that made your heart ache.
"I'm not going to be uncomfortable. In fact, I'd probably be more uncomfortable sleeping alone after having you just a few meters away. We're dating. This is what couples do, right? We’re trying new things and we’re not alone in this experience, if you're clingy in your sleep, I can just… push you off with my mighty strength and you’ll learn eventually!”
You couldn’t help but smile at how adorably insecure he was. All this time, you had thought he wasn't interested in you physically, but it turned out he was just worried about being too much.
A small smile touched his lips, and for a moment, the tension seemed to dissolve, replaced by a quiet understanding. “So… you’re okay with… the clingy thing?” he asked, a hint of hesitancy in his voice.
You chuckled, “I’m more than okay. I actually find it pretty endearing. But you’re going to have to show me how clingy you really are.” 
He nodded, a blush still coloring his cheeks.
“Are you sure?” he asked again, a flicker of uncertainty still lingering in his eyes.
You nodded, a soft smile gracing your lips. "I'm sure. And maybe, just maybe, we can figure out this whole sleeping-together thing, together." You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. 
The hot water pounded against your skin, a welcome assault after the long, cramped flight. You let out a sigh, the steam swirling around you like a comforting embrace. Your muscles finally began to unwind, releasing the tension that had been coiled tight like a spring.
here you are, clean and fresh, ready to begin this new chapter. Well, almost ready. You couldn’t help but replay the image of Max from earlier.
Just before you'd stepped into the bathroom, you'd seen him fidgeting by the bed, his usually confident posture replaced with a nervous energy. He’d been running a hand through his already tousled dirty blond hair, his eyes darting towards the closed bathroom door.
You’d even caught him taking a deep, shaky breath before you had shimmied into the shower.
A soft smile curved your lips. It was endearing, this vulnerability he was showing. You knew he was excited, just shy. You found him utterly adorable.
You turned off the water, the sudden quiet amplifying the gentle sounds filtering in from the rest of the apartment. A shuffle of feet, the quiet clinking of glass – probably him getting a drink of water – and then, silence again.
You wrapped a towel around yourself, taking a moment to smooth it over your skin before stepping out of the shower stall and catching sight of your reflection. Your hair was damp and slightly wild, your cheeks flushed from the heat.
You took another moment to run your fingers through the tangles, trying to give it some resemblance of order. You had a feeling Max wouldn’t mind the little disarray.
He seemed like the 'messy hair is sexy' type.
You opened the bathroom door, your eyes immediately finding Max at the foot of the bed. He was perched on the edge, his back to you, but you were sure that he had been looking at the door.
His shoulders straightened with a slight jolt as he heard the door click open. He turned around, and that familiar, slightly nervous smile returned to his face.
"Hey," he said, his voice a little lower and huskier than usual.
"Hey," you responded, your own voice a gentle purr. You moved towards him, the towel making a soft rustling sound as you walked.
You could feel your own heart thumping with anticipation. You noticed there were two mugs on the bedside table, warm drinks likely made while you were in the shower, which warmed your heart.
He stood up as you approached, closing the distance between you. You were finally close enough to feel the low thrum of heat radiating from him, his eyes looking directly into yours.
You took it as an invitation, reaching out to gently cup his cheek with your hand. The stubble on his chin scratched at your palm, and you couldn't help but give a soft sigh.
“You okay?” you asked softly, your thumb gently caressing his skin.
He swallowed, his gaze flickering down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “Yeah, just… yeah.” He chuckled, the sound a little nervous, but no less endearing.
You smiled, your own nervousness melting away under the warmth of his gaze. “You seem a little tense,” you teased, your voice laced with affection.
He ran a hand through his hair again, the gesture making you giggle. “I’m just… excited,” he admitted. “And maybe a little… overwhelmed. This is… nice.” He gestured between you with his hand, his eyes softening on you.
“Nice?” you asked, a playful smirk tugging at your lips.
He nodded, a soft blush creeping up his neck. “More than nice,” he corrected, his voice barely above a whisper, “Amazing. Terrifying. But like, in a good way?” He could finally meet your gaze head-on, a genuine warmth replacing his earlier trepidation.
You laughed, the sound echoing softly in the room. "I know exactly what you mean.” You took a step closer, your body almost touching his, and looked up at him with a teasing smile. “Terrifying in a good way too, huh?”
He mirrored your smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He reached out and took your hands in his. His fingers were a little rough against yours, a comforting contrast to your soft skin.
“Absolutely," he said, and he finally dared a small tug, bringing your body closer. You were finally close enough, your legs finally tangling together, your breaths finally in sync.
“So, uh,” he continued, his voice a little rougher now, “Now what?”
"Now," you purred against his lips, your eyes sparkling with adoration, "you take a shower, you stink," you teased, a playful glint in your eye.
His eyes widened, a confused look replacing the earlier nervous warmth. "I do?" he said, sniffing at his own arm. You couldn’t help but laugh, a bright, melodic sound that seemed to erase all the awkwardness of the past few minutes.
“I’m kidding, silly.” You reached up and gently pushed a stray lock of hair off his forehead. “You smell like planes and nervous energy, but you don’t stink, not really.”
He relaxed slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. "Oh. Right." He chuckled quietly. "I was about to say, I showered this morning."
“I know, I know,” you said, your tone softer now. “But seriously, the shower is nice. You’ll feel even better.” You tugged his hand gently, leading him towards the bathroom. “And besides, you’ve been doing absolutely all the work setting up the hotel room and everything while I've been showering, the shower is the least I can get you to do."
He let you guide him, his earlier nervous energy replaced with a playful smirk. "Wow, such a hard worker. You wound me, truly."
"I know, I'm terrible," you said, giving him a mock pout. "You're just lucky you're cute."
He chuckled, leaning against the bathroom doorframe, watching you. “And you’re… well, you’re something else.”
You raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in your look. “Oh? Something else, huh? Is that good or bad?"
He stepped closer, his hands finding your waist, pulling you gently into his embrace. “Definitely good,” he murmured, his lips finding the sensitive skin behind your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Very, very good.”
“Good to know,” you whispered back, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer still. "Now, go take that shower. I can already tell you smell like lavender, you really went overboard with the perfume."
He groaned playfully, pulling back slightly. "You're right, I got carried away." He stepped into the bathroom, throwing a roguish grin over his shoulder. "Just wait for me.”
“I will,” you said, leaning against the doorframe, watching him in the reflection in the mirror, a soft smile gracing your face. You listened to the sound of the water starting again, a calming rhythm that seemed to echo the contentment settling in your heart.
Leaning back against the wall, your thoughts swirled. It was funny, how just a few weeks ago, Max was a friend and a teammate. Now, he was this endearing, slightly awkward man, who got flustered at the idea of cuddling.
It felt so natural, you knew that this was something special, this connection you had with him. You wanted to know everything about him. Every bad movie he liked, every quirky habit, every childhood fear. You wanted to be there through every high and low.
The rhythmic drumming of water against the shower tile was starting to feel less like a comforting lullaby and more like a countdown.
You shifted on the edge of your bed, the soft cotton sheet beneath your fingers feeling like a life raft in a sea of butterflies. You’d picked out the softest pajamas, a pale lavender set you’d bought specifically for this occasion, thinking they were a subtle nod to the romantic, blushing anticipation you were feeling.
Max had been adorable, a bundle of barely-contained nerves, when he'd packed his suitcase, a shy smile playing on his lips as he’d pulled out a grey hoodie, claiming it was his "coziest."
The water sounds had been going on for what felt like an eternity. You bounced your leg, a nervous tick you’d been trying to control. You picked up your phone, scrolling aimlessly through Instagram, barely registering the pretty faces and perfectly curated lives.
You put it down again. This was ridiculous, you thought. Why were you so worked up? It was just cuddling. Just holding someone close while you slept.
Except, it wasn't just cuddling. It was Max cuddling, and that was a whole different ball game.
You started to imagine it. His arm around your waist, the warmth of his body pressed against yours... your breath hitched. A shiver, not entirely from cold, ran down your spine.
You got up and walked over to your dresser. You opened the top drawer and stared down at your perfume bottles. Should you put some on? Something light and floral? Or something warmer and more seductive?
You hesitated, pulled back your hand. It was just cuddling. Don't be ridiculous.
The water stopped. The silence that had followed felt amplified, like a sudden, pregnant pause in a conversation. Your heart hammered against your ribs, each beat echoing in your ears.
You heard the gentle squeak of the shower door opening, then the soft thud of bare footprints against the bathroom tiles. You quickly sat back on the edge of the bed, trying to school your expression into something resembling casual composure.
He emerged, a towel wrapped low around his waist, water still beading in his dark hair. He looked good. Ridiculously good. He caught your eye and a soft, hesitant smile spread across his face.
"Hey," he said, his voice a little husky. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.
"Hey," you replied, trying to sound calm and collected. Instead, your voice came out a little breathier than you intended. You cleared your throat. "Took you long enough to get clean." You teased.
He let out a nervous chuckle. "Yeah, sorry. I uh... I might have been... procrastinating a little."
You couldn't help but smile. "Procrastinating?" You raised an eyebrow playfully. "What could you possibly be procrastinating?"
He walked towards the bed, his eyes on the floor. He reached for his bag on the floor, avoiding eye contact. "Nothing," he mumbled. "Just, you know... towels are interesting."
You laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Interesting, huh? What are they saying these days?"
He looked up, a sheepish grin forming. "They're... telling me to put on clothes." He grabbed his grey hoodie and a pair of sweatpants.
"Good idea," you agreed, your gaze lingering on his bare chest for just a moment too long. You turned your head away to not make it awkward.
You could tell this was a big deal for him despite it seeming so casual to the rest of the world.
He finally settled onto the edge of the bed, a noticeable space separating him from you. You could feel the tension radiating off of him; his leg was bouncing in a silent rhythm against the mattress.
He was practically vibrating, a human tuning fork about to go off-key. Your heart did a little flip, it was actually kind of cute seeing him like this.
"So, are you ready?" you asked, a playful lilt to your voice, trying to ease the tension.
"I, uh..." He hesitated, his eyes darting to yours and then away again, focusing intently on some abstract point in the far corner of the room. "I've never... really, you know... done this before."
A small laugh bubbled up, completely involuntarily. You reached out and gently touched his arm, the warmth of your hand contrasting against the coolness of his hoodie. “Max,” you said softly, your voice a soothing balm, “it’s just cuddling. It’s not that big of a deal, is it?”
He turned to face you, his eyes wide and a little panicked. "No, I mean... yes? I don't know! I just... I really like you, okay? And I don't want to... mess things up."
The honesty in his voice melted your heart. You'd only been dating for two weeks, but in that short time, you'd come to truly appreciate Max’s genuine nature, his shy smile, and the way he looked at you when he thought you weren't watching.
You understood his hesitation, the fear of doing something wrong, especially with someone he cared about.
"Hey," you started, squeezing his arm gently, "you’re not going to mess anything up. Just relax. This is supposed to be fun." You patted the space beside you invitingly, “Come here.”
Slowly, hesitantly, he shuffled closer until you were side by side. It was a bit awkward at first, this careful dance between two people still getting to know each other's rhythm.
You decided to take the lead, your earlier confidence resurfacing. You maneuvered so your head was nestled comfortably on his shoulder, one arm lazily wrapping around his torso, and then you casually swung a leg over his.
You felt his body tense, then slowly relax.
The silence that fell wasn't uncomfortable, but rather a comfortable lull, the quiet hum of two people finding their space together. You knew Max was still a little on edge, you could feel the slight tremor in his chest beneath your cheek.
"Should I sing that Dutch song to calm you down?" you muttered, your voice muffled by his hoodie.
He laughed, the sound rumbling against your cheek. “Please,” he said, his voice almost pleading.
You didn’t need to be asked twice. You started, your voice soft and low, the words of the silly little Dutch song rolling off your tongue with practiced ease, a tune you'd picked up during your semester abroad and used ever since to calm your nerves.
“Kleine bloempjes, gele blaadjes, dansen in de wind…” you sang, the melody lilting and playful. You felt him relax ever so slightly beneath you, his breathing becoming a bit more even.
You continued, your hand tracing gentle patterns on his arm. You didn’t need to look at him to know he was smiling, his heart was as loud as a drumbeat in your ear.
When the song was over, the silence that followed was different. It was a comfortable silence, a shared space of warmth and quiet affection.
“Better?” you whispered, your breath tickling his ear.
“Much,” he admitted, his voice still a little hushed. He turned his head, his eyes meeting yours, and you got lost in the deep blue of them all over again.
"I think I'm starting to like everything you do," he admitted, his voice low and a little husky. He shifted slightly and rested his hand on your back, a light, tentative touch.
"Well, I am pretty amazing," you teased, enjoying the way he blushed. Then, you grew serious. "But seriously, you don't have to be nervous, Max. I'm not some fragile flower that will break if you touch me the wrong way."
"It's not that," he rushed to explain, "it's just that... well, you're… you. And I want to make sure I'm doing things right."
You lifted your head a bit, looking directly into his eyes. “Doing what right, Max? You know how to cuddle me, right now.”
He swallowed, his eyes dancing with an unspoken depth. “I guess I was more nervous about what happens after cuddles.”
You laughed again, this time a genuine, heart felt laugh that warmed you. “What could possibly happen after cuddles?” you mocked. “The snuggle monsters will come and steal our socks?”
He laughed too, the sound lighter than before, and you felt a wave of happiness wash over you. Being able to make him laugh always seemed to be a highlight of your day.
"Okay, okay, I get it," he said, his hand moving a little more boldly across your back, his fingers tracing soft circles. "I just want to make you happy, I really do.”
“And you do, Max.” You leaned back down, tucking your head under his chin. The position was perfect; you could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong beneath your ear. “You make me really happy.”
He tightened his hold slightly, and suddenly the nervous tension was gone, replaced by something warmer, comfortable, soft. You both were finally just enjoying each other’s company.
"Do you like this position?" you asked, your voice sleepy. The warmth of his body, the weight of his arm around you, was making you feel incredibly content.
It occurred to you just how easily comfortable you were with each other.
"Yeah," he murmured, his voice thick with sleepiness. "Yeah, I really do."
You stayed like that for a long time, a comfortable silence enveloping the room. Occasionally, one of you would shift slightly, adjusting to be a little closer.
You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your head, and the soft scratch of his hoodie against your cheek. The quiet was punctuated only by the occasional sounds from outside, a car driving by, the laughter of distant voices.
Later, as the sky outside began to darken, you felt yourself drift off, the events of the day melting away. You didn't even register when Max shifted, pulling the soft duvet over you both.
Only when his arm tightened a bit more, pulling you closer to him, did you stir slightly.
"Are you still okay?" you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.
"More than okay," he replied softly, his lips brushing against your hair. "This is perfect."
And as you drifted off to sleep, his words echoing in your mind, you knew he was right. It was perfect, this first awkward, beautifully hesitant cuddle, the beginning of something real, something special. And you couldn't wait to see what else would come.
Later, you were still drifting in that blissful space between sleep and consciousness when you felt a weight on your side.
You opened your eyes slightly and saw Max, his face buried in your neck, his arm thrown possessively across your waist, and his leg tangled between yours. He was practically clinging to you, his body pressed flush against yours.
You smiled, this was definitely a clingy sleeper. He was your clingy sleeper.
The golden afternoon light, a warm, honeyed blanket, spills through the gaps in the curtains, painting stripes across your face. You stir, a deep contented sigh escaping your lips.
It's the kind of sleep that wraps you in a soft cocoon, the kind that leaves you feeling like you've been reborn anew, refreshed and light. You stretch, a slow, languid movement, and that's when you realize something’s amiss.
Or, rather, two somethings. Two very solid, very warm somethings.
Your eyes flutter open, and the first thing you see is the curve of Max's arm, draped possessively across your waist. His fingers are tucked into the hollow of your hip, pressing you flush against the length of his body.
Another arm, equally insistent, is wrapped around your chest, his hand curled just below your shoulder blade. You’ve forgotten, in that blissful, post-nap haze.
You’ve forgotten the reason you slept so well. It’s the first day you and Max shared a bed together.
A soft laugh bubbles up in your chest. You'd known Max was a cuddler, a natural contact-seeker, but ‘clingy sleeper’ felt like a vast understatement staring at you, quite literally, across the bed.
He’s a human koala, apparently, and you’re the eucalyptus tree.
You turn your head, careful not to jostle him (or, more accurately, to displace his carefully curated system of limbs) and find him still asleep. His face is relaxed, the usual playful crinkle around his eyes smoothed out.
A stray lock of dark hair has fallen across his forehead, and you're struck by a wave of tenderness so strong it almost physically hurts. You reach out a finger, tracing the line of his jaw, the slight stubble that always feels like the softest sandpaper to your touch.
You’ve always admired him, the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, the way his smile could light up the darkest room.
Now, seeing him so unguarded, so vulnerable, a different kind of admiration, something deeper and richer, blossoms within you.
You watch him breathe, the slow rise and fall of his chest, a steady rhythm that somehow grounds you. It feels so natural, so right, to be here, tangled in his limbs.
The room, bathed in the warm, golden glow, seems to hum with a soft, content energy.
But the urge to move, the need to stretch properly, becomes too much. You decide to attempt an escape, a careful, calculated manoeuvre meant to free you from his embrace without waking the sleeping beast. You slowly, painstakingly, ease his hand from your waist. He murmurs something, a low, incoherent sound, and tightens his grip.
“Max?” You whisper, your voice barely audible.
He hums again, his face nuzzling into your shoulder. “Mmm, five more minutes?” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.
You smile. He's absolutely adorable, and your heart does a little flip. “Max, it’s the afternoon.”
He shifts slightly, his eyes cracking open, revealing the warm, ocean blue that you've grown to love. He blinks a few times, as if trying to focus, and then a slow, lazy smile spreads across his face.
“Oh,” he says, his voice still husky, “did you sleep well?”
“I slept wonderfully,” you reply, your voice warm. “But I'm trapped.”
He chuckles, a low rumble that vibrates against your body. “Sorry,” he says, but his grip doesn’t loosen.
“You’re not, though, are you?” you tease, your fingers playing with the soft hairs at his nape.
He shakes his head, a playful glint in his eyes. "Nope. Not even a little bit.” He lifts his head to look at you, his expression turning serious, almost vulnerable. "Is it...is it okay? That I’m like this?”
You feel a wave of affection wash over you. “Okay? Max, it’s more than okay. It’s… nice.” You reach up and cup his cheek in your hand. "You're like a human weighted blanket."
He smiles, his eyes sparkling. "I'll take that as a compliment." He pauses, his gaze searching your face. "You’re not… uncomfortable, are you? I know I can be a bit much."
You lean in slightly, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Never. You’re perfect.”
His smile widened, a genuine, beaming smile that always made your chest ache. “Good, now let’s go back to sleep,” he muttered, nuzzling his head back into your shoulder, his arms tightening around you again.
"Max!" You let out a small gasp, a laugh bubbling in your throat. "Didn't you say you planned something today?"
He buried his face in your hair. "We can push it back," he replied, his voice muffled. "This is much more important.”
You knew there was no winning this battle. Max was, as you had quickly discovered, a hopeless romantic and a very clingy sleeper – and a very clingy morning person. You sighed, a mock exasperation in your tone, but secretly you were thrilled.
“Okay, but we’re not staying here all day. I’m starving.”
He pulled back slightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I can always order something, you know.”
“No, we’re getting up. I need to move.” You gave his arms a slight push, attempting to wiggle out of his grasp. He didn’t budge.
“Not yet,” he said, pulling you back into his chest. “Just a little bit longer.”
You sighed again, giving up the fight for now. “Fine, but you have to tell me what you were planning.”
He chuckled, the sound rumbling against your ear. “I was thinking of taking you to that fancy museum restaurant you were talking about.”
Your eyes widened. “The one with all those modern sculptures?”
“The very same.”
“Max, that sounds amazing! And why are you only telling me now?”
He shrugged, an apologetic smile on his face. “I wanted it to be a surprise. But I guess I’m not very good at surprises.”
“You’re adorable, is what you are.” You leaned up and kissed him again, a lingering kiss that made your heart beat faster. “And yes, we are still going. But we absolutely need to get out of this bed first.”
“Fine, but I get one more kiss,” he said, his eyes twinkling.
You laughed, shaking your head, but you didn’t deny him his kiss. Several kisses, actually. It took a while, and some gentle, but firm, reminding him of the day ahead, but eventually, you managed to extricate yourself from his embrace.
Max, however, decided not to get up – at least not yet. He sat up in bed, watching you with those sparkling blue eyes as you started digging through your drawers for clothes.
“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he said suddenly, his voice soft, earnest.
You paused, your hand hovering over a dress. You turned to him, a shy smile playing on your lips. “Thank you, but I’m sure I look like a mess.”
He shook his head. “No, you don’t. You always look beautiful.”
Your cheeks flushed. “You’re sweet.”
He grinned. “I try.” He then stretched out, long and languid on the bed. “But seriously, you’re like a ray of sunshine in the morning, even if it’s the afternoon now.”
“And you’re like a big, fluffy bear,” you retorted.
He laughed. “A fluffy, clingy bear.”
“Very clingy.” You turned back to him, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Are you going to get up, or are you planning on staying there all day?”
He sighed dramatically. “Fine, I will get up. But only because you’re making me.”
He finally pushed himself up, and you let out a laugh, the sound light and airy. It was the start of a beautiful day, a day that had begun with unexpected warmth and affection, a day that was a testament to the connection, the love, that you and Max shared.
And as you watched him stretch, his muscles rippling beneath his skin, you knew that this was just the beginning of many more mornings, and afternoons, spent together, in each other’s arms.
And you couldn't wait.
The cool, silken fabric of your dress glided against your skin as you adjusted your earring, the small diamonds catching the light. You knew the dress was a statement, a bold choice for a first date, but you felt confident, powerful even.
Max, you knew, would be waiting. He'd been pacing the apartment for the last hour, his anticipation palpable even through the closed bathroom door. You’d heard the rustle of his perfectly tailored tuxedo as he checked his reflection in the hall mirror, the soft hum he subconsciously made when he was nervous.
Taking a final glance at yourself, you decided you couldn't delay any longer. You pushed the door open and strutted into the living room, your heels clicking softly on the hardwood floor.
"How do I look?" you asked, your voice a playful purr, as you fastened the delicate clasp of your other earring.
Max, lounging on the sofa, swiveled around to face you. You watched as his eyes traveled down your form, taking in the low-cut neckline of your dress, the way it hugged your waist, and fell elegantly over your hips.
His mouth parted slightly, his usually composed demeanor shattering for a moment. "I-uh- You look- You look great," he stammered, his gaze lingering on your décolletage, a hint of color rising in his cheeks.
You laughed, a soft, knowing sound. "Yeah okay, let's keep our thoughts innocent," you said, shaking your head with a smirk. The way he looked at you, captivated and slightly flustered, was intoxicating.
He blinked, looking up to meet your eyes, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "Right. Innocent. Of course," he replied, clearing his throat. He stood up and offered you his arm. “Shall we, then? Or are you going to make me stare at you all night.”
You slipped your arm through his, the fabric of his tuxedo jacket smooth beneath your fingertips. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it,” you teased, as you walked towards the door, his hand resting possessively on your lower back.
The ride to the museum was a symphony of nervous excitement bubbling beneath the surface of casual conversation. Max filled you in on the details of the museum, explaining that it was a private collection, hidden away from the public eye.
His enthusiasm was contagious, and you found yourself leaning closer to him, drawn in by his passion.
Arriving at the imposing, unmarked building, you were a little surprised. It looked more like a bank than a museum. As you walked inside, the cold, marble floors reflected the dim lights of the main hall.
You were greeted by a dapper older man in a dark suit who looked like the kind of man who wouldn't break a law, but would bend them if needed.
"Ah, Mr. Verstappen, pleasure to see you again," the man said, his voice a low rumble. "And you must be the delightful…." he trailed off expectantly, his eyes on you.
"This is…" Max started, placing his hand on the small of your back again, “This is… this is my companion for the night.” He gave you a brief smile, “This is Y/N.”
“Ah, wonderful, a pleasure to meet you, Miss Y/N, Mr. Verstappen has exquisite taste I must say,” the man smiled. “I will leave you to your tour. Feel free to wander as you wish, and if you need anything, please do not hesitate to ask.”
As the man left, you turned to Max, a small smile playing on your lips. "Exquisite taste? Really?" you teased.
He blushed, the tips of his ears turning a delightful shade of pink. "Well, I do, don't I? I mean, look at you," he said, his eyes sparkling with genuine admiration.
The museum was a treasure trove, the kind you could spend days exploring. Ancient artifacts, forgotten masterpieces, and strange, unexplainable objects filled the dimly lit rooms.
You walked hand in hand, Max pointing out his favorite pieces and telling you the stories behind them.
He was a wealth of knowledge, and you loved seeing his eyes light up with passion.
You can’t help but feel as though you’ve been transported to another world, a world where only the two of you exist.
"This is amazing, Max," you say, your voice soft. "I’ve never seen anything like it."
He turns to face you, and his gaze holds a warmth that makes your heart flutter. "I wanted to share it with you," he says, his voice a little lower than usual. “I knew you’d appreciate it.”
You smile, the corners of your eyes crinkling. The quiet intimacy of the museum feels perfect, a secret world built just for the two of you.
Eventually, the setting sun begins to cast long shadows across the museum, painting the walls in hues of orange and gold.
Max guides you toward the outer restaurant, a haven of modern elegance that contrasts sharply with the old-world charm you've just explored.
The restaurant's large windows offer a breathtaking view of the sunset, the sky ablaze with vibrant colors. You instinctively reach for your phone, wanting to capture the moment.
You start recording, the lens catching the fiery hues of the setting sun, the silhouettes of the surrounding landscape, and finally, you pan the camera towards Max, a soft smile playing on his lips as he watches the sunset.
"Oh, sorry! Did I ruin the video?" he asks, his brow furrowed with worry.
You shake your head, laughing lightly. "No, Max, you made it better," you assure him, your gaze lingering on his face. “You just added the main attraction to the video.”
He grins, relieved. “Okay, good.”
The warm light of the sunset turns his eyes to crystal blue, and you can’t help but stare for a moment. You snap some photos of him, his features illuminated by the golden glow, his smile a captivating mixture of shyness and genuine joy.
After showing him the photos, you guide him on how to take pictures of you. He takes a few, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tries to capture the perfect angle, following your playful prompts.
You giggle when you see the final result - he's a natural.
"Okay, one for ourselves." Max suggests, pulling out his phone and extending his arm.
You lean into him, your cheek brushing against his, and take a selfie. You both glance at the picture, a visual record of the shared joy in your eyes.
The public wasn't ready for this relationship, not yet anyway. This moment, this happiness, was meant for just the two of you, a secret you guarded like one of the treasures hidden within the museum.
“This whole day has been amazing,” you say, tucking your phone away.
Max’s hand finds yours on the table, his touch sending a pleasant shiver through you. “It was perfect,” he says, his gaze locking with yours. “And it’s only just beginning.”
A playful grin spread across your face. "Good, because I need more pictures for when I have to soft-launch this relationship," you said, your eyes sparkling with mischief.
You watched his brow furrow slightly, a charming look of confusion that made you want to laugh.
"What's a soft-launch?" Max asked, his voice tinged with curiosity. He squeezed your hand gently, his thumb caressing the back of your palm.
You tilted your head playfully. "Oh, you know," you drawled, "it's when you start dropping little hints, subtle clues that you might be seeing someone without explicitly saying it. Like posting a picture of a restaurant we went to, but not showing our faces. Or maybe a shot of your hand holding a wine glass, and mine is just barely in the frame. It's all very strategic," you added with a wink.
Max laughed, a low, resonant sound that made your stomach flip. “Strategic, huh? So, you’re already planning our big reveal, even before our first date is over?” he said, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“Well, a girl has to plan ahead,” you replied, your tone light but sincere. “This whole thing, with keeping it a secret for a while… it’s exciting, but it’s not sustainable forever, right? I think our friends are starting to suspect something."
Max took a moment to digest this, his gaze thoughtful. "I guess you're right," he said finally. "It's been nice, having this just for us. Like we have our own little secret world in the middle of all the chaos."
“Exactly!” you exclaimed, your fingers intertwining with his. “And when we do decide to tell everyone, we get to decide when and how. The soft-launch is just a little… prologue to the main event, I suppose.”
“I like the way you think,” Max said, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “So, what kind of pictures are we going to take tonight to fuel the soft-launch?”
You giggled, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Well, seeing as we’re surrounded by so much beauty, I think we have a lot of choices. Maybe a silhouette against the city lights?” you suggested, turning your head to admire the twinkling skyline.
“Or perhaps a shot of our hands together, holding an ancient artifact? Something artsy and mysterious.”
Max’s smile widened. “I’m in. You’re the expert. But," he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “I have one suggestion of my own.”
You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh?”
He leaned in even closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “Let’s take a picture of us kissing, in front of that ancient Egyptian mural. Something that screams passionate romance, but that we keep private, for now, just for us. Something for us to look back on when this is all public and we want to remember what it felt like when it was just us in our secret world.”
Your breath hitched. The idea was undeniably thrilling, a delicious secret between two people who were navigating a very public life. “That,” you whispered back, your heart thumping in your chest, “is a brilliant idea.”
And so, you spent the next little while taking seemingly innocuous pictures, careful not to give away the intimacy of your relationship, while knowing the picture you were both looking forward to was safely stored away on your phone.
You laughed, you whispered, you reveled in the space between you both. You were no longer just living in a secret, you were thriving in it.
You were a team, making tiny decisions on how you would slowly show yourselves to the world. It was a shared excitement that buzzed through you both.
As the moon climbed higher in the sky, casting long shadows across the museum’s terrace, you realised that the night had flown by. The museum, once an unfamiliar and grand space was now somehow warm and comforting.
It held the secrets of you and Max, a space where you both could be yourselves, a space that gave you both this intimate peace.
“I think,” Max said, his voice soft and contemplative, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between you, “that I’m going to enjoy this soft-launch process more than I thought. And,” he added, his eyes meeting yours with a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat, “I’m really enjoying being able to share this with you.”
You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "Me too," you whispered, pulling back to gaze into his eyes. "More than you know."
As you walked back through the halls of the museum, hand in hand, you knew that this was only the beginning. Your relationship, like a rare and precious artifact, was just being unearthed, and you were both ready to share it with the world, in your own time, at your own pace.
The secret had been sweet, but the future, you suspected, was going to be even more extraordinary, a journey of love and discovery that you were both eager to embark on together.
And you had the perfect, secret picture to carry with you, a reminder of every moment leading up to this one. . . .
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The harsh studio lights beat down on you, reflecting off the polished table separating you from the rest of the Formula 1 pack. You could feel the tension in the air, thick enough to cut with a scalpel.
The interviewer, a woman with a carefully constructed smile, had just asked you, "Y/N, do you think that Red Bull will finally win the constructors this week?"
The question hung in the air, a blatant attempt to ignite a feud between Red Bull and Ferrari, the two teams locked in a bitter battle for the championship.
Your heart hammered a bit faster, not from the pressure, but from the awareness of Max, sitting just a few feet away. He was your best-kept secret, your forbidden pleasure, and the man you were now forced to appear coldly professional towards.
"Well, looking at the data and the car," you began, your voice smooth and practiced, "I think there's a high percent chance to win it." You kept your gaze fixed firmly on the interviewer, the practiced calm of a seasoned driver radiating from you.
You refused to even glance in Max’s direction, knowing that a single flicker of recognition could expose your secret.
The interviewer, clearly disappointed by your diplomatic answer, quickly moved on to Charles and Carlos, peppering them with similar questions, their responses just as measured and professional.
You could feel Max's eyes on you, a warm weight on your skin, and the urge to meet his gaze was almost overwhelming. You focused instead on your fingernails, the glossy paint a small anchor in a sea of chaos.
The questions kept coming, each one designed to stir up controversy, to extract a juicy headline. They asked about car development, track strategies, and the pressure of the championship, and you answered them all with the same practiced detachment.
You had learned to compartmentalize, to separate your personal life from the brutal honesty of the racing world. It was how you kept your relationship with Max safe, a delicate balance between public rivalry and private passion.
During a short break, you reach for your water bottle, the plastic crinkling loudly in the sudden silence. You feel a slight brush against your hand, and your eyes flick down to see one of Max’s discarded pens.
He's watching you from the corner of his eye, a small, playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. You want to laugh, to reach out and touch him, but you simply pick up the pen and gave it back to him, your face a mask of indifference.
The interview continued, and you found yourself becoming numb to the constant probing. You noticed in your periphery that Max has started to subtly moved closer to yours, an inch at a time.
You almost smiled at his audacity, his need for you, but you kept your composure. The interviewer, sensing the subtle shift, tries to steer the conversation towards the relationship between teammates.
"Y/N, you've been battling Max neck and neck all season. What's it like, being such a close rival?"
Your mind raced. You couldn’t tell them the truth – that you and Max had been battling not only on the track, but in your own hearts, trying to reconcile the demands of the sport with your growing affection for each other.
You settled on a careful, albeit vague response.
"It's a challenge," you said, your voice measured, "we push each other, and that's ultimately good for both of us." You felt Max's gaze intensify, and you finally allowed yourself a brief, almost imperceptible glance in his direction.
He was watching you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.
The questions continued for another agonizing thirty minutes, and you began to feel like a puppet, your words carefully chosen, your emotions buried deep beneath the surface.
"Y/N, two more question. What's your prediction for this weekend’s race?"
Max looked at you, his eyes sparkling with an unspoken challenge. You knew what he wanted, the thrill of the race, the sheer audacity of hoping to beat him on the track.
He wanted you to openly admit, within the confines of your professional persona that you were coming for him. You almost laughed at the audacity of that situation.
You straightened your back, a confident smile playing on your lips. "I intend to win," you said, your gaze unwavering.
It was a statement of intention, a promise to yourself and a silent acknowledgment of the silent game you were playing with Max, the push and pull of your hidden romance.
A low chuckle rumbled from beside you. You could feel Max’s amusement, his thrill at your audacity. It was a reaction you understood well, a kind of shared language only you two could speak.
“Okay, and the last question,” the interviewer continued, a glint in their eye, “how does it feel, this being your last race in Red Bull, since Perez is still registered to race next year?”
The words landed like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath out of you. Your face fell, a flicker of surprise and hurt momentarily taking over.
You hadn't discussed it with Christian, not officially, not in a way that would solidify your position within the team. You had been focusing on the race, the chance to prove yourself, to earn your place. You hadn't wanted to think about the possibility of leaving, not yet.
The interviewer had gotten the reaction they wanted, the crack in your otherwise impenetrable facade.
You took a deep breath, forcing a smile back onto your face. “Well, depending on my performance this week, you might be seeing me more often,” you joked, trying to keep the lightness in your tone.
The interviewer, however, looked unconvinced. The air still felt heavy with the question.
The interview wrapped up shortly after, leaving you feeling like you’d just completed a grueling qualifying session. The lights were still too bright, the tension still too thick.
You wanted to escape, to find a corner where you could just breathe.
“You okay?” Max’s voice was low, his hand brushing against your arm as you stood up. It was a fleeting contact, a whisper of affection in public, but it was enough to send a shiver through you.
“Yeah… just a bit blindsided by that last question,” you admitted. You moved away from the cameras, walking towards the quieter corner of the room. He followed, always the gravity to your orbit.
You both found solace in the small, closed off corner, the noise of the media room fading into a dull murmur.
“You said you wanted to win,” Max stated, his voice laced with the teasing note you’d grown so fond of. “You confident, are you?”
You leaned against the wall, folding your arms. “I always am, Max.” You met his gaze, the unspoken connection between you bubbling to the surface.
“Even against me?” He stepped closer, his presence filling the space between you.
“Especially against you,” you whispered, the words laced with a secret challenge.
He chuckled, that deep, rumbling sound that always made your heart skip a beat. “Good,” he said, his eyes sparkling with a dangerous light. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
The conversation shifted, as it always did, away from the public eye and into the realm of your carefully guarded private world. “Did you see Christian after the qualifying? He was in a mood. I think they expect something big from both of us this weekend,” You began, trying to shift the focus away from the news.
Max let his hand graze your arm again, a fleeting touch that sent a wave of warmth through you. "I did," He took a cautious look around the corner before continuing, "He seemed very uneased which is very unusual for our boss."
You both shared a silent laugh, the understanding of your complicated situation binding you closer.
"I'm going to see Christian now," you said determined for your future in Red Bull.
The studio lights were harsh, reflecting off the polished table separating Christian Horner from Toto Wolff. It felt like a battlefield, not a talk show set.
Christian shifted in his seat, a forced smile plastered on his face, while Toto, ever the picture of composed elegance, offered a curt nod. Sky Sports, in their infinite wisdom, had decided this was good television – pitting the two most dominant, and arguably most antagonistic, team principals against each other for a season-review segment.
"Hello, this is Sky Sports, and I'm with Toto Wolff, the team principal of Mercedes, and Christian Horner, team principal of Red Bull," Steve Jones announced cheerfully, oblivious to the simmering tension.
"Red Bull is currently leading in the constructors, and Max has already secured the drivers' championship. Mercedes is third, but if they perform exceptionally well this last weekend, they could potentially snatch the constructors from Red Bull and Ferrari."
Christian bit back a sarcastic comment about the ‘exceptionally well’ part, focusing on the fact that Ferrari was also in the mix. They were here to be subjected to a parade of carefully selected clips from the season – highlights, lowlights, and everything in between.
It was a cruel exercise in reliving the year’s triumphs and tribulations, especially when shared with the man who had been his constant nemesis.
The first clip flickered onto the screen, a montage of Max Verstappen's dominant wins. Christian couldn't help but smile genuinely.
It had been a phenomenal season for Red Bull, a testament to the hard work and dedication of his entire team.
"Max really has been on another level this year, Christian," the interviewer prompted.
"He has," Christian replied, his gaze flickering towards Toto, who remained impassive. "The whole team has worked tirelessly. It's been a well-deserved championship." He made a point of subtly emphasizing “well-deserved”.
The next clip was a Mercedes pit stop blunder, a chaotic few seconds that cost them valuable time during a race early in the season. Toto’s jaw tightened slightly, though his expression remained remarkably controlled.
“Toto, that looks like a pit stop you’d rather forget,” Steve said, a hint of mischievousness in his tone.
“These things happen in racing,” Toto said, his voice cool, “It’s a complex sport, and mistakes are inevitable. We learn from them and move forward.” His tone suggested the conversation was closed. Christian, however, was far from finished.
"Indeed," Christian said, leaning forward slightly, "though, some mistakes seem more… recurring than others." He offered a polite, but undeniably pointed, smile. Toto's eyes narrowed, a barely perceptible flicker of anger behind the carefully crafted facade.
The clips continued – a Red Bull mechanical failure, a heated moment from a team radio message, a Mercedes podium celebration following a rare victory.
Each clip served as a new opportunity to poke, prod, and subtly undermine the other.
The show was nearing the end when a clip of Christian celebrating a win showed up. He was laughing heartily, his arm around Max, a picture of pure elation.
“You seem genuinely happy there, Christian,” Steve said.
“We had a good day. There have been many good days this year,” Christian said. He glanced at Toto who was watching him with an unreadable expression.
“And you Toto, how does it feel to watch your rival celebrate?” Steve asked, clearly trying to stir up some drama.
“It’s part of sports,” Toto said diplomatically, “They were good this year. We will be ready next year.”
They were both masters at this game, the subtle jabs masked by polite smiles and carefully worded platitudes. Christian had to admire Toto's coolness, even if he hated the man.
The segment continued, a carefully curated dance of veiled antagonism, going over their season highs and lows, the victories and the defeats. Until the screen flashed a video clip, a stark shift in tone.
It was from the press conference, just hours ago, the forced cheerfulness replaced by a raw vulnerability.
The interviewer's voice cut through, "Okay, and the last question," he continued, a glint in their eye, “how does it feel, this being your last race in Red Bull, since Perez is still registered to race next year?”
The camera zoomed in on Y/N's face, her smile faltering for just a moment, betraying the hurt she was clearly trying to hide.
She took a deep breath, forcing the smile back onto her face, the lightness in her tone almost too practiced, "Well, depending on my performance this week, you might be seeing me more often," she joked, trying to keep the lightness in her tone, though a hint of steel was there too.
The clip ended there. It had been a great final race, one of her best which made the question all the more hurtful.
Christian felt a pang of guilt, watching Y/N's forced smile. He knew why she looked mad. He still had to make an important decision, a decision that was tearing at him.
Perez was the seasoned veteran with consistency, but Y/N, the rookie with speed and an audacity that lit up the track, was a force to be reckoned with.
Toto, ever the opportunist, decided to strike. A wide grin spread across his face, the kind that made Christian want to punch him.
"Oh Christian, you're letting go of Y/N, right? Perfect! I'm sure George will be happy about finding his new teammate," he purred, his eyes gleaming with a calculated malice.
It was a low blow, and Christian knew it. Everyone knew Lewis was having a bad season, but to suggest so openly that they would kick him out for a great rookie, was cruel.
He knew that would get to Christian and it did.
“Wow, so now you want both of my drivers? That’s called being greedy,” Christian shot back, his own placid demeanor cracking under the pressure.
He had been perfectly happy with Toto's veiled insults but this was too far. He was coming for his drivers.
"Just stating the obvious," Toto simply replied, giving a small shrug. It was a blatant attempt to unsettle him, to make him doubt his own decision. And it was working.
“You’re forgetting there’s another driver in Mercedes,” Christian retorted, forcing a chuckle, “are you ready to throw your champion out?”
“He will be back, do not worry, just like you’re going to stick with Perez next year,” Toto said, his tone oozing with a false sympathy. “Let me tell you, you will regret not having Y/N, that girl will be a champion one day.”
He looked straight at Christian. “When she wins, don’t come crawling back to us to get her.”
"Who said I'm letting her go? She's already a big part of Red Bull's family and it's going to take a lot for her to go away," Christian said, his voice now raised.
Toto smiled at him. “Excuses, excuses. I’ll make sure to add you to my speech of how you helped her at the start,” he said with a sly smile.
Christian gave the mic to a staff member before leaving with Y/N. They walked in comfortable silence, the noise of the paddock fading away with each step.
She knew Christian was waiting for her to say something, to make a decision, but she wanted to process everything in her own space, away from the prying eyes and endless negotiations.
As they entered his office, a space that reflected his organized yet focused persona, Y/N finally broke the silence.
“An hour, Christian?” she said, her voice still carrying a hint of amusement. “Really? You couldn’t have wrapped it up in 30 minutes?”
Christian chuckled, leaning back against his desk. “I was enjoying baiting Toto. You have to admit, he takes the bait every single time.”
“I think you both enjoyed it far too much,” Y/N retorted. “You know that whole scene is a performance, right?”
“Of course it is,” he said, his eyes meeting hers, “But it’s an important performance. We need to show the world why Red Bull is the best option.”
“And what about what I want?” she asked. “Is that considered?”
Y/N didn't hesitate. The words were out before she could even fully form them in her mind. "I want to stay in Red Bull," she stated, the statement ringing with conviction.
There was no room for doubt or second-guessing. Despite the allure of Mercedes and the challenge of a new environment, her heart was firmly rooted here.
Christian raised an eyebrow, a small smile returning to his lips, a mixture of surprise and relief flashing through his features. “Are you sure?” he asked, the question almost rhetorical.
“Yep,” she replied, her voice firm, a genuine smile finally breaking through her earlier tension. The relief was palpable, washing over her in a warm wave. A decision, finally, made.
Christian nodded, a satisfied expression settling on his face. “Okay, I'll see what I can do. You will know by the end of this week,” he said, his tone indicating the discussion was over and he was moving onto the next item on his never-ending list of tasks.
He settled back into his chair, turning his attention to the paperwork strewn across his desk.
You lingered for a moment, your mind buzzing. You had spoken your truth, laid your cards on the table. Now, it was a waiting game.
You made your way out of the office, heading back to the garage.
Max was there, his engineer deep in discussion with him, the usual debrief in full swing. He caught sight of you and gave you a quick, almost imperceptible nod, a subtle change in his expression indicating he knew something was up.
You two might be discreet in public, but you had an understanding, a silent language spoken between two people who shared so much, not just a team, but a life.
Later, back at your hotel room, after both had showered and changed, you finally found the words to break the silence that had settled between you.
"I spoke to Christian," you said, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching Max as he paced in front of the window.
He turned, his blue eyes meeting hers, a flicker of something akin to anxiety in your depths.
"And?" he asked, the single word laden with questions.
"I told him I want to stay," you stated simply, watching his reaction carefully.
The tension that had been coiled within him seemed to unwind, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. A small smile played on his lips as he walked over and sat next to you.
"Good," he whispered, taking you hand in his.
"Good?" you echoed, tilting your head, your eyebrow arched in amusement. "That's it?"
Max chuckled, squeezing your hand. “What else is there to say? I’m glad,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “I want you here.”
"I know," you replied, your own smile widening.
"This whole thing has been... annoying," Max admitted, his usual confident swagger replaced by a flicker of vulnerability. "It's not like you're not good, you're amazing, I don't want you to leave, but I also don't want you to feel like you have to stay. It has to be your choice, not because of me."
You understood. He had been walking a tightrope, wanting you to stay, desperately, but also knowing it had to be you decision, not influenced by your relationship or the pressure of the team.
“I know, Max,” you said, squeezing his hand back. “It’s my choice. And I choose to be here.”
"Then that's all that matters," he replied, pulling you into a hug, burying his face in your hair.
You stayed like that for a while, the silence comfortable, a shared understanding passing between you two. You were both drivers, both driven, but together, you were something more. . .
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The roar of the crowd is a physical force, vibrating through your bones, through the very air you breathe. It's a familiar sensation, one you've learned to both crave and ignore. Today, though, it feels different.
More…intense. This isn't just another qualifying session; this is it. The final showdown, the battle for pole position. You're in the cockpit, strapped in, the familiar scent of fuel and hot rubber filling your senses.
Your hands grip the wheel, knuckles white, the leather warm against your skin. This is your domain. You are one with the machine, a perfect symbiosis of human and engineering.
Your eyes flick to the timing screen. Okay, you’re P2 heading into this final run. Your teammate is some distance back. Max's name glares at you from the top spot, a bright, taunting beacon. A smile tugs at the corner of your lips.
He's fast, no doubt about that, the fastest today in fact – but you're not about to let him take it without a fight, especially not when you know you have the pace.
Especially when you want to make him work for it.
You take a deep breath, the tension in your chest a knot you need to unravel. ‘Ok y/n just focus,’ Joseph, a calm voice amidst the chaos, crackles over your headset. ‘Tyres are warmed, engine temp okay. Let’s go show them.’
You acknowledge with a nod, although he can't see it, and grip the wheel tighter. The green light snaps on, and you’re away, the car launching forward with a brutal, exhilarating surge of power.
The first corner is a dance of precision, every input deliberate, every movement calculated. You apex perfectly, feeling the tyres bite into the asphalt. The G-force presses you into your seat, a heavy hand forcing you to stay locked in.
You’ve been working hard to perfect that corner all weekend. This is your track, you know every bump, every camber change. You’ve poured every ounce of your energy into this run.
You shift up through the gears, the engine screaming behind you like a furious beast. You throw the car into the next chicane, the tyres protesting with a high-pitched squeal, but you're in control, a masterful conductor of speed and precision.
The car feels alive beneath you, surging forward in a symphony of mechanics.
You push, and push harder, daring to go right to the limit, every inch, every hundredth of a second, matters now. You see the sector times flashing on your steering wheel. Purple. Purple. Purple.
A surge of adrenaline floods your veins, a heady mix of excitement and focus. You’re on a flyer, everything is falling perfectly into place.
You navigate through the hairpin, the car teetering on the edge, the slightest misstep and you could be in the wall. You dance with the car, balancing it on a knife's edge. And you nail it.
As you accelerate out, your eyes flick to the timing screen again. You're on course, right there, on pace with Max. The final sector is your strength, the fast, flowing curves where the car is allowed to breathe.
You push the car to its absolute limit as you begin to glide through the section, each corner a blur of colour and speed. You flow through the corners effortlessly.
You power out of the final corner, pushing the pedal to the floor, the engine roaring in protest. You feel the car give its all, vibrating as if it could explode under the pressure. You shoot across the finish line, the car shuddering to a stop.
The pit wall explodes in chatter. Your engineer's voice rings loud in your ears. ‘Y/N, that was incredible!’.
And it was. You can feel it.
You take a deep breath, hands still gripping the wheel, waiting for your final time to register. It appears on your steering wheel. Your jaw drops. You've done it! But then… your heart sinks a little.
You’re in second. Max has gone faster. By just a fraction.
You plastered a fake smile on your face, attempting to engage with the journalists.
You answered their questions with practiced ease, praising the team, thanking the sponsors, and saying you tried your best, before rushing into the Red Bull building, desperate to escape.
After your debriefing, you retreated to your drivers’ room, locking the door behind you. 
You didn’t want to see anyone, especially not Max. You felt like a failure. You thought that, today, you would beat him in qualifying, and it was just not happening, no matter what you do. 
A soft knock echoed through the room, and instinctively, you knew who was on the other side. “Y/N?” Max’s voice filtered through the door, a gentle rumble that was usually enough to make your heart flutter. 
Now, it just felt like another layer of pressure. He knew you too well. 
“Go away, Max,” you called out, your voice surprisingly rough. 
You didn’t want to talk, not right now. Especially to him. Not in this state. 
“No,” he replied simply. That was the thing about Max. Once he wanted something, or to talk to someone, he was persistent. 
Usually, you loved him for that. Today, however, it just made you feel more irritated. 
“Please, just leave me alone,” you said, your voice laced with that irritation. 
“I’m not going anywhere, Y/N.” He knocked again; this time, the sound had a gentleness to it, almost pleading. “I just want to talk to you.” 
You sighed, leaning your head back against the door. “What is there to talk about, Max? You won, I lost. Again. You’re better than me, end of story.” The words were sharp, laced with the bitterness of disappointment. 
A moment of silence passed before Max spoke again, “That’s not true, and you know it. Qualifying is just one part of the weekend. I know you pushed. I could see it.” 
You scoffed softly to yourself, “Oh really? Could you ‘see it’ from pole position?” 
“Don’t be like that, Y/N. I know you’re upset, but I’m not trying to rub it in. I’m here because I care about you.” He let out an audible sigh and you heard him lean against the door. “Can we just talk?” 
You knew you should just open the door, you wanted to open the door. He was your boyfriend after all, even if it was a secret to the rest of the paddock. 
But that just made it worse. You knew that you could be vulnerable with him, but the constant competition and him being better was just eating you alive. 
“No, Max. I don’t want to talk.” You could hear the plea in your own voice. 
“So you’re going to stay locked in there? You need to get some rest, we have the race tomorrow,” he said with a sigh. You could hear the worry in his voice. 
“I will. Just not now.” 
“Fine.” His voice was low now, defeated. “But I’m not going far. If you need anything, I’ll be here.” 
You heard his footsteps walk away, and you felt a pang of guilt with his tone and words. You didn’t want to hurt him or make him feel as if he was the reason you were upset. He was the one of the reasons you were okay. 
You sighed once more and got up to open the door. You knew that if you let this linger, it will keep eating at you, and with the race tomorrow, you wanted to feel better. 
You softly opened the door and his eyes met yours instantly. He hadn’t gone far after all. Standing there in his racing suit, and his hair slightly messed up, he looked more handsome than ever. 
You knew, deep down as you looked at him, that even though the competition was difficult, what you had with him was worth it. 
“Hey.” You said softly, and in an instance, he had stepped between the doorway and pulled you into a hug. 
“Hey,” he whispered back, his face buried into your hair. “I’m sorry you feel this way. You were amazing today.” He pulled back slightly to look at you straight, his blue eyes concerned. “And I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.” 
You shook your head gently and snuggled into his chest again, “I know, Its just… I wanted to beat you today.” 
He let out a soft chuckle and pulled you into the room, shutting the door behind you. “I know that too.” 
“It’s just… this competition… it’s relentless,” you admitted, finally letting your guard down.  
He held you tighter and placed a soft kiss on the top of your head. “I know. But you have to remember why you do it.” 
You shrugged. “I don’t even know anymore. Maybe I’m just not good enough.” 
He quickly pulled back and raised his eyebrow. “Don’t you ever say that. You’re incredibly talented, Y/N. The best in the paddock. Even better than me.” He smiled gently at you. “We both know I just got lucky today.” 
You looked up at him, not believing his words. He knew you well and he knew that you always doubted yourself. “Sure.” You said, rolling your eyes jokingly. 
“I’m serious, you know? You have so much potential. And to be honest, I love the competition with you. It makes me better.” He took your hands and looked at you dead in the eye. “And you will beat me one day. I know it.” 
You smiled, feeling the tension ease away. “You really think so?” 
“I do.” He grinned and squeezed your hands. “Now, how about we get some food and just relax before the race tomorrow?” 
A smile spread across your face. “I like the idea.” 
He kissed you softly, and you forgot, for a brief moment, the pressure of the competition, the frustration of losing. All that faded away with the touch of his lips.
As you pulled away, you knew, deep down, that as much as you desired to be on the top step, the most important thing was what you had with Max and that was something more special than winning. 
You would never give that up. And you knew, as you looked into his eyes, that you would indeed beat him one day.
But until then, you were happy to just try. Together. 
You followed Max out of your room, towards your shared space, and you knew, that as long as he was by your side, you could face anything. Your competition, with him and against the rest of the grid, would push you. 
But your love for Max would make you stronger. . . .  
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The roar of the crowd is a distant hum, a low thrumming against the frantic rhythm of your pulse. You grip the steering wheel, knuckles white, the leather slick against your palms.
The air in the cockpit is thick with anticipation, the scent of burning rubber and high-octane fuel a heady, almost intoxicating mix. The red lights above the start line blaze, each one a hammer blow against your already strained nerves.
You’re acutely aware of the weight of the moment - the last race of the season, the last race of your career if you don't pull this off.
“Lights out and away we go!” David Croft's voice explodes through your headset, a sudden, almost jarring jolt. You react instinctively, your foot slamming down on the accelerator, the car lunging forward like a caged beast freed.
The world becomes a blur of color and motion. You’re in second, to your left, is the crimson and navy blur of his car. Max.
The first few laps are a brutal ballet of speed and precision. You weave through the pack, battling for position, your heart pounding against your ribs. There's a crash behind you, the sickening sound of tearing metal and screeching tires.
The safety car is deployed, bunching the cars together, a brief lull in the chaos. You exhale deep, trying to calm the storm raging inside you.
The safety car pulls in, and the green flag flies again. The race explodes back into life. Max accelerates, pulling away slightly. Your eyes narrow. You’ve never been one to back down from a challenge.
This isn't just about the race anymore; it's about proving something to yourself, to everyone who ever doubted you. And maybe, just maybe, to him.
You push your car, inching closer, taking every corner with calculated risk. You can feel the heat radiating from your engine, the vibrations of the tires screaming against the asphalt.
You’re glued to Max’s rear wing, calculating every move, searching for an opening, a single mistake that might give you the edge.
The laps tick by, each one a grueling test of your skill, your endurance, your will. You’re breathing hard, sweat stinging your eyes, your muscles aching.
You’re pushing yourself beyond the limit, chasing the tail of his Red Bull, the finish line growing closer with every agonizing lap.
You see an opportunity on the next corner, the perfect turn, the perfect braking point, the perfect chance. It’s a risky move, one that could easily send you spinning into the wall if you miscalculate.
But you have to try. This is it.
You lock your brakes, your tires screaming in protest, and cut to his inside, your car lunging forward. Your heart is in your throat, the world narrowing to the car in front of you and the sliver of asphalt you're now occupying.
You’re neck-and-neck, your wheels inches apart, the air thick with the tension.
There's a moment of pure, raw speed, adrenaline coursing through your veins. You are pushing yourself and your car to the max. This is it; the final corner, in the final lap, of the race, before the end of your career
You hear Joseph’s voice, sharp and urgent, “Y/N, be careful!” He knows the risk you’re taking.
You don’t reply, your focus laser-sharp. You keep your foot on the gas, your knuckles white as bone, and then, you do it. You’re ahead, the nose of your car inches into first place, the finish line a blur of colors and emotions.
You cross the line, the world exploding in cheers and the deafening roar of the crowd. You’ve done it. You've won.
Your mind struggles to catch up. You barely register the immense relief that washes over you, the adrenaline still flooding your body. You glance to your right and through the fence you see a sign being held aloft.
Your team.
And it reads, just as you hoped, ‘Y/N P1, Max P2, and Constructors' Champions.’ The confirmation you’ve been longing for, the culmination of a season of dedication and teamwork.
You pull into the pit lane, your heart pounding, your hands shaking. As you unbuckle your helmet, you can barely believe what you’ve just accomplished. You and Max were the champions. You’ve won it.
You run, not walk, to the pit wall, your team is already celebrating. Christian stands proudly in front of the crowd, and as you reach him, his face breaks into a fatherly grin.
You embrace him tightly, a hug that holds more than just victory—it’s a lifetime of shared dreams and unwavering support.
"You did it, kid," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "You absolutely did it."
You pull back, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. “We did it, Christian,” you correct, “All of us.”
He chuckles, a warm, rumbling sound. “Aye, we did. You just went and made sure of it, didn't you?"
The crowd is chanting your name now, a rhythmic wave of sound that washes over you. You want to soak it all in, every single second of it.
As the celebrations continue, you scan the crowd, your eyes searching for a familiar face. Max.
Max approaches you, his eyes wide with a mix of admiration and disbelief. He pulls you into a tight hug, his body trembling against yours.
“You were incredible,” he whispers, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Absolutely incredible.”
"It was a wild one," you say, still catching your breath. He pulls away slightly, his hand cupping your cheek, his eyes searching yours.
“You scared me, Y/N. That move was…insane.” There's a mixture of concern and affection in his expression.
“I had to,” you say, a small smile playing at the corner of your lips. “I wasn’t going to let you get away with it.”
“I know,” he says, his eyes sparkling. “You never do.” He leans in, his lips a breath away from yours, the tension suddenly building between you in this very public space.
The air crackles with unspoken tension, a magnetic pull that draws you closer. The roar of the crowd recedes further, replaced by the roaring in your own ears. You want to kiss him so badly, to taste the victory on his lips and share this moment of triumph.
But you know, with a sharp pang of reality, that thousands of cameras are trained on you. The world is watching. Your private romance is anything but.
As if on cue, the team swarms around you, a joyous cacophony of cheers and backslaps.
They engulf you and Max, creating a human shield, obscuring you from prying eyes. It’s a coordinated effort, a protective circle forming around you two.
“Kiss, kiss, kiss!” they chant, their voices a chorus of encouragement. The sudden change is disorienting, the privacy you had for a moment now replaced with raucous enthusiasm.
Your heart hammers in your chest, a mixture of nerves and excitement flaring through you. You glance at Max, who is looking at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
He raises an eyebrow, a silent question passing between you.
You take a deep breath, knowing he reads your every expression. The world might be watching, but the only opinion that matters right now is Max’s. You nod once, a small, decisive motion.
With a grin that could light up the entire paddock, he leans back in for what feels like the longest kiss of your life. There is no hesitation, no reservation as your lips finally meet. It tastes of victory and relief, the culmination of weeks of tension and pressure.
His hands move from your face to clutch the back of your neck, as if to pull you deeper. The kiss is everything you imagined, fierce and tender, a perfect blend.
When you finally break apart, you’re both breathless. The team is in uproar, cheering as if you’ve just won another race.
He nuzzles his face within the crook of your neck, his voice a low murmur, "Well, that was something."
You giggle, the tension finally starting to ease out of your body, "I think we just gave them a show."
"They've been wanting it for a while though," You can hear the grin in his voice.
The team started to separate, a sign that the interviewers would be waiting for you both. You subtly pulled away from Max, the silent agreement to continue with the charade still in place.
Nobody could know, not yet anyway. Max headed off first, giving you a small wink before disappearing into the waiting crowd. You shook your head, a smile playing on your lips.
He was such a tease.
Your time came soon after, you took a deep breath and smoothed down your fire suit and walked out into the fray.
The cameras flashed, the voices of the interviewers assaulted you, but you kept your smile plastered and your answers as vague as you could manage.
The interviewer, a woman with a microphone the size of your fist, was already beside you, her bright smile a stark contrast to the sweat clinging to your brow.
"Absolutely incredible race, you just won the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix," she began, her tone a blend of excitement and professional poise. "How does it feel to finish the season with such a monumental victory?"
You managed a grin, the corners of your mouth stretching tight with the effort. "Honestly," you breathed, your voice still raspy from exertion, "it feels incredible. It's been a short season for me yet a tough season, and to end it like this… it's just… wow."
“You seemed to really pull it through in the last part of the race, what was going through your mind when your closest competitor was right behind you?” she asked.
“I was just trying to stay focused, that’s all.” You responded, smiling.
The questions kept coming, but you were well versed in keeping the conversation on the racing and not on you.
You knew you couldn't slip, not out here, not yet.
"So has there been an official talk about next year? Will you be replacing Perez, or going to a different team?" the interviewer asked, a knowing grin plastered across his face.
You were waiting for this one, the inevitable question that skirted the edge of your secret.
"Yeah, there has been, but I'd rather not say until the announcement is made. Red Bull is my family after all," you stated, your tone light, casual, but your inner voice was screaming.
The truth was more intricate, more nuanced, than any simple team transfer. Your future wasn't just about a car or a team; it was inextricably linked to a man.
The interview moved on, finally deeming you squeezed dry of any revealing information.
A sigh of relief escapes your lips as you make your way to the cool down room. It's a sanctuary, a place where the pressure of the race can begin to dissipate before the long night of media duties and debriefing.
The door slides open, revealing Max and Charles already settled on the plush sofas, their eyes glued to the monitor on the wall. The race replay is unfolding, a ghost of the events that just transpired.
"There you are," Charles says, tilting his head in acknowledgment as you enter. He offers a small, genuine smile, one that reaches his eyes. "Congratulations, you were absolute dynamite out there."
"Thank you," you reply, settling onto the empty sofa opposite them. Your gaze slides towards Max. He's watching the screen intently, his jaw clenched slightly, a telltale sign of the intensity that still lingers.
You know him so well. You see the pride swimming beneath the surface, the subtle tightening of his shoulders. It’s a different kind of pride than if you were someone he saw as a rival.
It’s the pride of someone who loves you.
"Insane drive,” Max finally says, turning his attention to you, a genuine grin spreading across his face. “You were untouchable.”
"Thanks,” you say, your heart doing a little flip-flop at the way he's looking at you, a mix of admiration and something deeper, something only you would recognize.
It’s a look that makes the exhaustion start to fade, the adrenaline beginning to settle into a warm comfortable thrum. “It wasn’t easy though.”
The replay on the screen has reached the crucial point in the race, where you made that daring overtake, the move that sealed your victory.
Re-watching it now, it still takes your breath away, the sheer audacity of it all.
"That move," Charles murmurs, shaking his head in disbelief, "I still can't believe you pulled that off."
"Calculated risk," you say, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.
"You’re sure it wasn’t just blind luck?” Charles laughs, and you roll your eyes playfully. “It really was amazing though, you were on fire all weekend."
"Maybe both," you say, turning serious for a moment, “I’ve been working real hard this whole season to be able to do those kind of moves.”
Max shifts his position slightly, leaning back on the couch. His eyes meet yours once more, and a silent understanding passes between you.
In that brief, unspoken moment, you feel a wash of comfort, a sense of belonging that comes from sharing a secret with someone you love.
The knowledge that he sees you, truly sees you, is almost a greater reward than the victory itself.
The room settles into a comfortable quiet as the race unfolds on the screen, the commentary filling the space. The tension from the track begins to release, replaced by a quiet camaraderie.
You steal glances at Max, the easy familiarity between you like a warm blanket on a cold night. It’s always like this when the two of you are around Charles.
You’re both relaxed, and while you are not displaying it, there is a clear feeling of warmth between you. It’s the kind of relaxed feeling that you’re sure Charles can’t help but notice.
"So," Charles says, breaking the silence, his gaze moving between you and Max, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Big celebrations tonight? Champagne showers?"
You laugh, a genuine laugh that echoes in the quiet room, "Probably, if the team has anything to say about it."
Max snorts, a sound of quiet amusement, "They usually do."
"I know what I'm going to do," Charles continues, his eyes twinkling, "I'm going to party until tomorrow."
"I could say the same," you said. “We’ve got celebrate the whole night."
The end of the race replay starts to come to a close, and Max shifts his attention from the screen to you, his lips twitching into a teasing smile.
"So, who’s going to make the drinks for the post-race party tonight? Surely the race winner has to."
"I'm sure there's someone more talented than me in that department," you say, your eyes meeting his challenge, a playful energy dancing between you. "I’m sure that you will do a better job."
“Oh I’m sure I will,” Max says, standing up and offering you his hand to help you to your feet, “but the champion needs to practice being a gracious host.”
You accept his hand and let him pull you up, a smile playing on your lips. Your touch sent a rush of excitement through your body, a silent signal that always passed between the two of you.
The walk to the podium felt like wading through a dream. The air crackled with energy, a symphony of cheers, whistles, and camera flashes. You saw the podium ahead, three steps waiting for their occupants.
The announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers, building the anticipation. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve all been waiting for! For third place, representing Ferrari, please welcome Charles Leclerc!”
The crowd erupted as Charles, with his signature charming grin, stepped onto the lowest tier. He waved to the masses, his eyes sparkling with a mix of pride and good-natured defeat.
Then, it was Max’s turn. “In second place, representing Red Bull Racing, your champion, the one and only Max Verstappen!” The roar intensified, a wave of orange crashing through the air. Max, ever stoic, offered a small nod of acknowledgment before taking his place.
He caught your eye, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, and gave you a quick wink. Your heart skipped a beat.
Finally, the announcer's voice reached its crescendo, "And now, for the winner of the final race in first place… Y/N L/N!!" You could barely hear your name being yelled over the collective scream of joy.
You felt a surge of adrenaline, a second wind fueled by the sheer adoration of the crowd. You took a deep breath, a smile stretching across your face, and stepped onto the top step of the podium.
The bright lights felt hot against your skin, but you barely noticed. You raised your arms in victory, taking in the magnificent sight of thousands of people cheering for you. It truly was magic. The national anthem started and you felt a beautiful sense of pride fill your heart. 
The champagne bottles were popped, and the podium was engulfed in a spray of bubbly liquid. You laughed, brushing the droplets from your hair, your eyes meeting Max’s across the small space.
After what felt like an eternity, the podium celebrations came to an end. You were being ushered towards the press area when you felt a hand grasp your arm.
You turned to see Max, his eyes a mix of impatience and amusement.
“Meet me in my room later,” he whispered, his voice low.
You nodded, a warm sensation spreading through your chest. “I’ll be there,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.
The rest of the evening was a blur of questions, flashing cameras, and polite smiles. You answered the questions with practiced ease, your mind drifting back to the quiet intensity in Max’s eyes.
The constant chatter of journalists faded into background noise as you yearned for the peace of your garage and the promise of Max’s company.
Finally, the interviews were over. You could feel the exhaustion pulling you down, but a surge of anticipation kept you moving. You quickly made your way back to the garage, the place where you felt most at peace when you weren’t on the racetrack.
You found the door slightly ajar and with a gentle push, you entered the dimly lit space.
He sat on the small, worn sofa, his head tilted back against the cushion, eyes closed. You paused just inside the doorway, watching him. He looked relaxed, the tension that always seemed to coil within him seemingly absent.
He looked, in that moment, utterly vulnerable.
You cleared your throat softly, and his eyes snapped open, focusing on you with an intensity that always managed to make your breath catch.
"You're here," he said, his voice a low murmur, a hint of relief coloring his words. He smiled, a slow, genuine smile that reached his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners.
You walked towards him, the silence between you comfortable and intimate. You sat down beside him on the sofa, the worn leather yielding to your weight.
For a moment, neither of you spoke, content in the quiet intimacy of the space.
Then, Max reached out, his fingers brushing against your hand, sending another warm shiver through you. He laced his fingers with yours, the contact both grounding and electrifying.
“You were incredible out there today,” he said, his gaze locked on your eyes, his thumb stroking the back of your hand.
A flush of pleasure warmed your cheeks. "So were you," you countered, a smile playing on your lips. "You were pushing hard."
He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that always made your heart skip a beat. "Someone had to try and keep it interesting," he teased, his eyes sparkling with playful mischief. “But you stole the show, as usual.”
You glanced down at your interlocked hands, a surge of emotion flooding your chest. Despite the public persona, the competitive edge, there was a tenderness in him, a vulnerability that only you seemed to see.
It was a side of him that you cherished, that you protected fiercely.
He smiled, a slow, genuine smile that reached his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear again, just like it had been before the interviews.
“I have to admit,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine, “I’m really glad you won today. It means I finally get you all to myself. No more cameras or journalists.”
Your cheeks flushed at his words, the warmth spreading through your entire body. He could always make you feel this way, with just a few softly spoken words.
You leaned in closer, mirroring his movement. “You know, it’s funny,” you said, your voice barely a breath. “I thought I was coming here to celebrate the win. But all I really wanted, was just to be here with you.”
He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. “You mean that?” he asked softly, the playful teasing gone.
You nodded, the honesty in your heart plain for him to see. “Always.”
He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer until your head was resting against his shoulder. The comfortable silence descended once more, this time even more intimate than before.
You could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.
A small, almost hesitant smile touched his lips, and he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek with a touch so tender it sent a jolt of warmth through you.
He kissed the top of your head, his touch feather-light, and a small contented sigh escaped your lips.
“God, I’ve missed this,” you murmured into his shoulder, the tension finally leaving your body.
He chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated against you. "Missed what?" he teased, his voice a smooth caress.
You pressed closer to him, nuzzling your face into the warmth of his neck. "This," you whispered, "just... this."
He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer until your head was resting against his shoulder. The comfortable silence descended once more, this time even more intimate than before.
You could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, grounding you, reminding you that you were real, that this was real.
He pressed a small kiss to the top of your hair before shifting slightly, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.
You could feel his shy smile curve against your neck as he peppered small kisses there, each one sending a fresh wave of warmth through you. You turned your head slightly, offering him more access to your damp skin.
The shyness in his touch was endearing, a stark contrast to the confident racer the world saw. It was this side of him, only for you, that made your heart swell.
"We're going to party so hard," Max muttered, his voice a low purr against your skin. "We deserve it."
You chuckled softly, the sound muffled against his neck. “We absolutely do," you agreed. "I think I can finally feel all the tension leaving my body. I was so nervous before the race, I was practically buzzing.”
The roar of the crowd was still a tangible thing, vibrating under your skin and making your heart thump like a hummingbird's wings. The confetti, a glittering storm of victory, tickled your face.
You held the trophy aloft, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat of the moment, the weight a solid reassurance of the triumph you had just achieved.
"3.. 2.. 1..!" the team admin's voice boomed, cutting through the din. Then, the collective roar, a joyous, guttural yell that vibrated in your bones.
Champagne erupted, the sweet, sharp tang filling the air, soaking into your racing suit, adding another layer of sensation to the already overwhelming experience.
Max, standing beside you, mirrored your pose, his own trophy gleaming under the stadium lights. He caught your eye, a familiar warmth flickering in his gaze before he offered a wide, celebratory grin to the cameras.
You both knew the drill. Hold the trophies high, look ecstatic, spray the champagne, and be the perfect picture of sporting camaraderie.
The flash of cameras punctuated the moment, capturing the manufactured joy. Smiling until your cheeks ached, you followed Max’s lead, swigging from the bottle and spraying the effervescent liquid with abandon.
Later, the team announced the location for the after-party. Not the usual quiet bar, but a nightclub big enough to hold the entire grid. A place that promised a night of uninhibited celebration.
A genuine space for everyone to let loose.
As exciting as the prospect was, you found yourself craving a moment of quiet before the storm. You caught Max's eye across the throng, a silent understanding passing between you.
He offered a small, almost imperceptible nod, a promise of sanctuary. You both made your excuses to the team, promising to meet them at the club later.
The short drive back to the hotel was filled with a comfortable silence, the earlier adrenaline slowly giving way to a calm satisfaction. In your shared room, the relief was palpable.
You kicked off your shoes, your clothes feeling suddenly cumbersome.
"That was… something," you said, your voice husky.
Max chuckled, running a hand through his already tousled hair. “Something is an understatement. You were incredible.”
His eyes, so often serious and focused on the track, held a warmth that always made your stomach flip. “But yeah, shower?”
“Definitely shower,” you agreed, already peeling off your clothes.
The hot water was a balm to your tired muscles, washing away the grime and stress of the race. As you stood under the cascading water, you couldn't help but smile.
You’d won, you’d done it, and you had him, waiting for you on the other side.
When you finally emerged, a towel wrapped around you, Max was dressed, looking utterly devastating in a simple black top and trousers. His hair, still damp from his own shower, was styled just so.
And then, the detail that made your heart skip a beat - a silver chain nestled against his collarbone.
"Wow," you breathed, unable to stop staring. "The chain. You actually wore it."
He smirked, that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. "After some serious persuasion," he admitted, a playful edge to his voice. "You look good, too," he added, his gaze lingering on you.
"I figured it was only fair," you said, heading to your suitcase and pulling out an identical black dress, pairing it with tailored black heels.
Max watched you as you changed, a silent appreciation in his gaze that made you blush. Getting dressed was always easier when he was in front of you, admiring you openly.
You had fallen for him hard, and the private world you shared, hidden from the prying eyes of the racing world, made your love feel all the more precious.
Downstairs, Max's car was already waiting. The short drive to the club was filled with a sweet anticipation. The bass from the music vibrated through the car, a promise of the chaos to come, but also a reminder of the secret you both shared.
The nightclub was even more enormous than you’d imagined, pulsating with strobe lights and the throb of electronic music. The air crackled with energy as drivers, team personnel, and their plus-ones mingled on the dance floor.
You spotted your friends already in the thick of the party, their faces flushed with excitement.
Max took your hand, his fingers interlacing with yours. "Ready?" he asked, his voice a low murmur against the noise of the club.
You squeezed his hand. "As I'll ever be," you said, a thrill coursing through you.
The night unravelled in a blur of music, laughter, and celebration. You danced with your teammates, you toasted with the other drivers, but always, your eyes sought out Max.
His presence was a constant anchor amidst the chaos. You occasionally met his gaze, a shared smile, a silent communication that spoke volumes.
You were laughing at something Sarah had said, her arm slung on your arm, when suddenly you felt a familiar heat against your back.
Max’s arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The soft press of his chest against your back sent a jolt through you, a spark that had nothing to do with the strobe lights.
“You know you can drink as much as you want, it’s your party and I’m driving,” he murmured into your ear, his breath sending a delightful shiver down your spine.
You nodded, a smile playing on your lips. “Are you sure you can handle me?” you teased, turning to face him, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.
He grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief under the club lights. “I’m pretty sure I can handle anything you throw at me.” He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “Especially a race winner who’s celebrating a season well-won.”
You could feel your cheeks flush. Even after months of stolen moments, his gaze still had the ability to make your heart race.
You leaned against him, enjoying the feel of his arms around you as he talked to some people from his team. You knew he was the leader, the one everyone looked to.
He was charismatic, a natural in front of the camera, but here, in the soft light of this lounge, you saw a different man.
A man who was quieter, more thoughtful, more…yours.
"Hey, you," a voice interrupted your thoughts. You turned to see Sarah, her bright pink dress a stark contrast to Max’s dark suit.
She was already holding a bottle of champagne, and you knew that look in her eyes – it was a look that promised a night of unadulterated fun. "You just made history! We need to celebrate properly."
You laughed, "Sarah, I think I've had enough champagne to last me a lifetime."
"Nonsense," she scoffed, already popping the cork. "Tonight, we drink like champions! And I have a feeling you're not going to be the only ones celebrating, there is a certain someone celebrating on the sidelines." She threw a playful glance at Max, who chuckled.
"Go on," Max murmured, leaning against the lounge’s velvet wall, "Have some fun. I'll be here." He winked, that flash of playful mischief again.
You knew he wasn't genuinely worried, he knew how close you and Sarah were. He also knew how much you deserved to let loose after the pressure of the season.
You allowed yourself to be pulled away by Sarah, laughing as she poured you another glass. "To the future legend," she declared, clinking her glass against yours. "And to finally kicking that season into the dust."
The rest of the night was a blur. You drank, you danced, you laughed until your sides ached. You and Sarah traded recent stories, some old, some new, some best left untold. You talked about the season, your favorite moments, the times you almost gave up.
Hours later, the room had thinned out. You were sitting on a plush velvet sofa, your head resting on Sarah's shoulder, both of you giggling over some ridiculous inside joke.
You were definitely drunk, your thoughts a little fuzzy, your speech a little slurred.
"You are the best," you mumbled, nuzzling closer to Sarah. "Best friend ever."
"And you are the best driver, ever," she replied, squeezing your hand. "You deserve all of this."
A shadow fell over you. You looked up and saw Max, his expression a mixture of amusement and mild concern. “Okay, ladies, I think it's time to wrap it up. You’ve both had enough excitement for one night."
You blinked up at him, your vision a little blurry. "But…but we were having fun," you protested, your words slurring.
He chuckled, kneeling down beside you. "I know, schat, but tomorrow is going to be a long day. Remember how bad your hangover gets?".
“Oh, right,” you mumbled.
"Come here," Max said softly, helping you to your feet. His touch was gentle, steady, a stark contrast to the chaos that had begun to swirl in your head.
Sarah was grinning, a knowing look in her eyes. "Alright, love birds," she teased, "I think I'm going to grab a taxi home. See you tomorrow?"
"Yeah, see you," you mumbled, leaning heavily on Max.
He nodded at Sarah, then guided you out of the lounge and towards the back exit. Your head was spinning, the alcohol making the world tilt precariously.
But when Max's arms were around you, you felt a sense of calm settle in your chest.
As you stumbled into the cool night air, you felt his hand slip into yours. You squeezed it tightly, grateful for the warmth and the strength he exuded.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice low.
"Yeah," you whispered, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Just a little…fuzzy."
He chuckled, pulling you closer. "I figured. You and Sarah were having quite the party."
"She's the best," you said, a small smile playing on your lips. "You know, she’s like...my sister."
"I know," he replied softly. "And I'm glad you have her."
The silence that followed was comfortable, the quiet hum of the city surrounding you. You walked hand in hand to his car, the cool night air slowly beginning to clear your head.
Once inside the car, the soft glow of the dashboard lights illuminated his face. You looked at him, really looked at him, and a wave of affection washed over you.
Even after all the champagne, all the laughter, all the chaos, he was still the most beautiful person you had ever known.
“Thank you, Max,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “For…for everything.”
He smiled, a soft, gentle smile that melted your heart. “You don't have to thank me. You earned this. All of it.”
He started the car, and as it rolled out of the parking lot, you leaned back against the headrest, a quiet sigh escaping your lips. The city lights blurred into a vibrant streak of colors as he drove.
You knew in that moment, as Max drove you home, that the victory was so much more than a trophy, it was the moment you knew you had someone who would always be there to celebrate the highs and navigate you through the lows.
He led you towards a small, unmarked door, the entrance to a private elevator used for discreet entrances. Inside, the metal walls reflected your image back at you: flushed cheeks, bright eyes, a victorious but tired smile.
But it was Max who held your attention. He stood beside you, his presence filling the small space. He was too damn hot. The adrenaline was still coursing through your veins. But it now mixed with a different kind of energy, a desire that was making your face flush with heat.
You could feel your body temperature rising, a warm sensation spreading from your chest to your face and beyond.
You stared at him, your heart hammering against your ribs, a frantic rhythm that echoed the earlier roar of the race.
He shifted slightly, his eyes meeting yours, and you knew he felt it too—the silent tension that crackled between you.
“You’re staring,” he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you.
“Am I?” You asked, trying to sound casual, but your voice came out breathy.
He took a step closer, his body almost touching yours. “Yes. Like you want to eat me.” His eyes held a playful glint, but there was something else there too, something hungry.
“Maybe a little," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. You felt your cheeks burn redder. “You’re just…well, you’re very distracting right now.”
He grinned, a slow, sensual smile that sent another wave of heat through you. “Distracting? Is that a problem?”
“It could be,” you said, your gaze dropping to his lips, imagining the feeling of him kissing you.
The elevator doors slid open, and for a brief moment, you forgot where you were. It was just you and him, two hearts beating in time, wanting so much more.
He took your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. “Let’s not worry about it here,” he whispered, pulling you out of the elevator and into the dim hallway. “There are better places to be distracted.”
He led you towards the suite, the luxurious space a far cry from the sterile atmosphere of the paddock. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the lamps creating a sensual ambiance.
He closed the door behind you, the soft click sounding like a promise.
The weight of secrecy lifts subtly, a permission granted to be solely yourselves. You turn to face him, your heart hammering in your chest, his eyes are dark, pupils dilated, mirroring the intensity you’re feeling.
He steps closer, his body heat radiating towards you, and the tension in the air thickens like honey.
“You were incredible today,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. “Absolutely incredible.”
"So were you," you admit, your voice barely a whisper, though you know he didn't place as high as you.
The humility in his eyes when he came to congratulate you was endearing, your victory was as much his as it was yours.
He leans in, his eyes locking onto yours, and your breath hitches in your throat. It's not just the victory, or the adrenaline, it’s the pull, the magnetic force between you that has always been there, simmering beneath the surface of stolen glances and whispered conversations, now unleashed.
His lips brush against yours, a featherlight touch that makes you tremble, and then they are on yours, a heated claim, a silent demand for more.
The kiss isn't gentle – it's urgent, hungry, fueled by the pent-up desire you’ve both held captive for too long. Your hands find their way into his soft hair, tugging gently as you deepen the kiss, not caring about being careful.
You can taste the champagne on his tongue, the lingering sweetness mixing with the heat of your passion. His hands roam, finding the bare skin of your arms, sending shivers down your spine as they trace the curves of your body.
He nibbles on your lower lip, a playful bite that makes you moan, and the sound is like music to his ears, a melody that only he is privy to within the four walls of this room.
There is a heavy breathing against your neck and you match him in rhythm.
He pulls back slightly, his eyes filled with a desire that ignites a fire within you. “I’ve been waiting for this all day,” he murmurs, his voice husky with want.
“Me too,” you admit, the words a breathless sigh against his lips.
He moves then, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you flush against his hard body. The wall, cold against your back, makes the heat of his body feel even more intense.
He braces his arm above your head, trapping you with his gaze, his eyes dark and intense. You tangle your fingers in his hair again, pulling him closer for another heated kiss.
He tugs at your dress, his touch sending sparks along your skin, and you reciprocate, your fingers finding the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up over his head. He breaks the kiss and begins kissing down your neck, his teeth gently grazing your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
Your head falls back against the wall and you gasp quietly as his hands explore your body, mapping the curves and valleys of your skin with a practiced intimacy.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, his breath tickling your ear, his hands leaving goosebumps in their wake.
You’ve seen him at his worst, sweat-soaked and frustrated after a bad race, and at his best, confident and triumphant. But here, in the privacy of this room, he’s simply Max – yours.
He pulls away just enough so he can look at you. His eyes roam your face, taking you in, and there’s a raw hunger in his gaze. He leans back in, his body pressing against yours.
His legs went between yours and you moaned, the sound catching in your throat.
“Max,” you whisper, your voice husky and low, your hands reaching for him, pulling him closer to the wanting ache that had been begging for release ever since the race had ended.
Your fingers dig into his shoulders, your nails scoring the skin. “Please,” you beg, needing his touch, craving the shared release that only came when you were both wrapped up in each other.
He hesitated, his body still as he moved his hands down, cupping your face between them. “You’re drunk,” he says, his voice a low rumble. It’s not a question, but an observation, a gentle reminder that you’re not entirely in control right now.
The words break through the fog of champagne and adrenaline a little, and you realize he's right. You were a little tipsy, the victory buzz mixing with the after-party atmosphere had left you wanting, but hazy.
You reach up, your hands capturing his against your face. “I am,” you admit, your fingertips tracing the lines of his face, the roughness of his stubble. “But I still want you. So much.”
The intensity in his gaze deepens, and for a moment, it's almost frightening. He wanted this too, you could feel it in every fiber of his being. He steps back, his hands releasing your face, his eyes now searching.
“We can’t,” he stated, his voice firm but laced with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. “You are still drunk and I want you to be sober when we do it.”
“Please,” you repeated shamelessly, your leg moving instinctively, humping against his. The brazenness you wouldn’t usually allow yourself felt entirely natural in this moment.
A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Don't worry schat," Max muttered, his eyes sparkling with that familiar glint, "I can please you in other ways."
With surprising ease, he scooped you up in his arms, his strength a comforting reassurance. You let out a small yelp of surprise, but quickly wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face against his warm skin, inhaling the scent of him.
The room spun for a moment, but with Max holding you tightly, you felt grounded, safe. . . .
The harsh, fluorescent light of your bathroom felt particularly cruel this morning, mocking the throbbing in your skull. Last night’s celebratory party – or, more accurately, the aftermath of that party – was a monster you were still wrestling with. You squinted at your reflection; dark circles underscored your eyes, your hair was a tangled mess, and the faint smell of stale champagne clung to you like a persistent ex. Today was the day. The day you found out if you'd be back for another season on the racing circuit. The weight of it settled in your stomach, heavy and cold, a stark contrast to the residual warmth from the alcohol.
And then there was Max.
He was currently draped over you like a particularly affectionate koala, his arm a dead weight across your back as you tried, and failed, to tame your unruly hair. “Don’t go,” he mumbled into your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. “Stay here.”
You sighed, a sound that was half-exasperation, half-affection. “Max,” you said, your voice still rough from sleep, “I have to, you know, function. Or at least try to.”
He shifted, nuzzling his face further into your neck, his grip tightening. “But you smell so good,” he purred, his voice thick with a morning-after huskiness that always made your heart do a little flip. “And you’re warm.”
“You smell like a brewery and I’m probably radiating regret,” you retorted, finally managing to wrestle yourself free enough to reach for your toothbrush. You squeezed a generous dollop of toothpaste onto the bristles. “Besides, I have an appointment.”
"Oh," he said, his earlier playfulness dissipating, replaced by a hint of anxiety. "The... the thing?"
You nodded, your mouth full of toothpaste. The ‘thing’ was the dreaded meeting with team management. It wasn't just a formality; it was the culmination of your season, the final judgment on whether they saw potential in you, or if your time with the team was over.
You rinsed your mouth and turned back to face him, leaning against the sink. He looked like a lost puppy, his usually vibrant blue eyes clouded with concern. "It'll be okay, Max. Either way, it'll be over."
He frowned, pushing a stray strand of hair from your forehead. "But... you're amazing, you know? You're the best. They'd be stupid not to keep you."
You knew he meant it, his unwavering belief in your talent always a comforting constant in your life. It was one of the reasons why you'd fallen so hard for him, the hidden depths behind his public persona. “You’re biased,” you said, managing a small smile. "And thank you. For everything."
He pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you, his touch reassuring. "I just... I don't want to see you upset. Not today."
You rested your head against his chest, inhaling his familiar scent of engine oil and a hint of expensive cologne. It was a comforting chaos, a reminder of the world you both occupied, a world of adrenaline and speed and relentless competition.
"Then wish me luck," you murmured, pulling away. "And maybe make some coffee while I get dressed?"
He grinned, the anxiety momentarily banished. "Coffee? Coming right up. Anything for the best damn driver I know."
The drive to the team headquarters felt like entering a pressure cooker. Every street sign, every red light, felt like a countdown, each second ticking away towards either elation or heartbreak.
You parked the car, the engine ticking in protest as it cooled. Taking a deep breath, you smoothed your clothes, trying to project an air of calm you didn’t feel. You walked through the familiar halls of the headquarters, the silence amplifying the nervous flutter in your stomach. Each step felt heavier than the last.
You reached the conference room, the door standing ominously closed. You paused, your hand hovering over the handle. There was no going back now. Taking another deep breath, you turned the handle and went in.
Helmut Marko was already seated at the long table, his expression unreadable. You sat down, your back ramrod straight, trying not to fidget. He offered a curt nod, his eyes, however, didn't meet yours.
“So,” he began, his voice devoid of any warmth. “Let’s get straight to it.”
Your heart pounded against your ribs.
He spent the next twenty minutes discussing your performance throughout the season. He highlighted your strengths, acknowledged your weaknesses, and spoke in a monotone that offered no hint of his final verdict. He referenced stats and figures, each word further tightening the knot in your stomach. You listened, nodding occasionally, your mind racing, trying to decipher his cryptic language.
Finally, he stopped, the silence that followed almost deafening. He looked at you, a flicker of something unidentifiable in his eyes. “So, here it is.”
You held your breath, your heart thudding in your ears.
"We have decided... to offer you a seat for next season."
The relief that washed over you was so intense, it almost made your knees buckle. You let out a breath, a quiet, almost disbelieving sound. “Really?” you managed to say, your voice a little shaky.
He nodded, a rare, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Your potential is undeniable. There are things to work on, but we believe you have what it takes.”
You felt a grin spread across your face, a genuine, unadulterated smile of pure joy. “Thank you,” you said, your voice overflowing with gratitude. “Thank you so much.”
The rest of the meeting was a blur of contract details and future plans. You nodded, agreed, and signed, your mind still reeling with the good news. You practically floated out of the room, the weight that had burdened you for so long finally lifted.
You pulled out your phone, your fingers trembling as you typed a message to Max. "I got it!"
His reply was instantaneous. “Finally! You had me worried. I’m buying you pizza to celebrate tonight!”
And just like that, the world seemed brighter, the hangover a distant memory. You made your way back to the car, a smile playing on your lips, the prospect of seeing Max again filling you with a warmth that had nothing to do with celebratory drinks and everything to do with love. You couldn't wait.
The soft glow of dawn hadn't quite conquered the darkness yet, but it was enough to paint the room in a gentle, hazy light. You stirred, a slow, languid stretch rippling through your body. A warm weight pressed against your back, a familiar comfort. Max.
You could feel the steady rise and fall of his breath, the gentle heat emanating from his body, and it was the most perfect thing to wake up to on Christmas morning.
You turned carefully, mindful not to disturb him, and faced the man whose presence had transformed your life in the most wonderful way. His dark hair was tousled against the pillow, a stray strand falling across his forehead. His face, usually animated with laughter, was placid in sleep, a peacefulness that tugged at your heart. He looked younger, somehow, more vulnerable, and you couldn't resist the urge to reach out and trace the line of his jaw with your fingers.
Your touch must have been more than the softest feather, because his eyelids fluttered open, revealing sleep-hazed brown eyes. He looked at you, the corners of his mouth curving upwards into a sleepy smile that made your stomach flip.
"Merry Christmas," he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.
"Merry Christmas," you whispered back, your voice equally soft, "Did I wake you?"
He shook his head, his eyes never leaving yours, "Just the perfect way to wake up." He reached for you, pulling you closer, and you settled against him with a contented sigh.
"We should probably get up," you said after a moment, even though all you really wanted to do was stay tangled in his arms forever, "Presents, remember?"
"Presents can wait," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead, then your cheek, and finally your lips. It was a gentle, lingering kiss, full of warmth and affection, a silent promise of all the love you shared. You kissed him back, your hands cupping his face, savoring the moment, the feeling of his lips on yours.
When you finally broke apart, you were both slightly breathless. You managed a small laugh, a nervous flutter in your chest. "Okay, presents it is then." You reluctantly pulled away, the cool air hitting your bare skin, a stark contrast to the warmth you’d just known in his embrace.
You both padded barefoot into the hallway, the scent of pine needles and cinnamon from the Christmas tree in the living room filling the air. It was the first Christmas in your shared home, a landmark you’d both been looking forward to with a mixture of giddy excitement and nervous apprehension. Would it be as magical as you’d both hoped? So far, it was proving to be even more enchanting.
The living room was bathed in the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights, its branches laden with shimmering ornaments, each one a tiny reflection of the light, and of the love you’d built together. There was a small pile of beautifully wrapped presents under the tree, each carefully chosen and thoughtfully placed.
You both stood there for a moment, just taking it in, the magic of the day settling around you like a warm blanket.
"This is...perfect," you said, your voice thick with emotion.
Max slipped his arm around your waist, pulling you close to his side, "It is, isn't it?" he said, his voice full of tenderness.
You both sat down on the rug, your legs touching, the warmth of his body a comforting anchor. You began to carefully unwrap the presents, each one a small gesture of love and understanding. He gave you a soft, cashmere scarf in your favorite shade of blue, a leather-bound journal with a quote from your favorite author engraved on the first page, and a delicate necklace with a tiny silver charm of a star.
You, in return, gifted him a vintage record player he’d always talked about wanting, several new records by his favorite artists, and a handmade, knitted beanie in his favorite colour. You'd spent hours carefully making it, a labor of love that you'd hoped he would appreciate.
He pulled it out of the box, his eyes widening as he instantly recognised what it was. "You actually knitted this?" he asked, his voice laced with a mixture of surprise and delight.
You nodded, a shy smile playing on your lips, "I did. I hope you like it."
He pulled you closer and kissed you again, a long, lingering kiss that spoke more than words ever could, "Like it? I absolutely love it. Thank you," he whispered. You snuggled into his arms, a sense of contentment washing over you.
"I'm starving," Max said after a few minutes, pulling away and ruffling your hair playfully. "What do you say we actually make some breakfast instead of only giving gifts?"
"Sounds perfect," you replied, getting to your feet. You followed him into the kitchen, the familiar sounds of clanging pans and sizzling bacon filling the air.
While he cooked, you poured the orange juice, the two of you working side by side, a comfortable rhythm developing between you. You felt a sense of belonging, of home, in this shared space, in this shared life.
As you ate breakfast, the morning light streamed through the window, casting long shadows across the floor. You looked at Max across the table, his face lit up by that signature smile, and you felt a rush of love so deep it almost took your breath away.
"This is the best Christmas," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but he heard you, his eyes twinkling with happiness.
"It is," he echoed, reaching across the table for your hand, his fingers lacing through yours, "And it's just the beginning."
You squeezed his hand, his words sending a shiver of excitement through you. You knew that this was just the start of your journey together, a journey filled with love, laughter, and the soft comfort of shared moments like this.
This first Christmas with Max, in your shared home, was a beautiful promise of the magic to come. And you knew, without a doubt, that you were exactly where you were meant to be. . . .
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maxverstappen1 It's been a year, a full revolution around the sun, since I first fell head over heels for you. A year of laughter, whispered secrets, and building a world together, a world that feels so uniquely ours. And yet, despite this beautiful year, there's still one mystery that eludes me: what exactly is a "hard launch?" Happy birthday, schat. Thinking back to this day last year, it makes my heart swell to remember I was so bold as to ask if I could be yours. To be invited into your amazing world, to share life with such a remarkable woman – that's been the greatest gift. Happy birthday again, and yes, for those who might be wondering, I am dating Y/N, and she's everything I had never imagined wanting and so much more.
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yourusername just posted.
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yourusername Another year older, and this one feels extra special! It's my birthday, and I'm beyond lucky to be celebrating it alongside our first anniversary. Max, this past year with you has been more incredible than I could have ever dreamed. Every moment, every laugh, every shared experience has meant the world to me. You make life an adventure, and I’ve loved every second of it. Feeling so grateful for today and for you. Here's to many more birthdays and anniversaries together! 💙
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thepitlanepress · 12 days ago
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WHAT ARE YOU DOING? –
↳ max verstappen + gf!mom!reader
⌗ :: masterlist
⌗ :: a/n: since i have the emotional and mental stamina and strength of a decaying cabbage rn this idea has graciously been given to me by my other half @arqbella so big thanks to her for this <3 this is also a short one bc as stated earlier decaying cabbage
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"liefje?" max's calls out from the kitchen.
he usually expects an answer within the range of three to forty seconds. if you're super distracted a minute tops. you've alway had this thing- no matter what, whenever max calls you, you somehow hear him every time.
he thinks you also just like it when he calls you liefje or any nickname in dutch. your favorite is liefje though, as you've told him oh so many times.
because who wouldn't want to be called liefje by max verstappen are the exact words you use.
so when you don't answer him for a solid five minutes, he goes searching. he's hopeless at this recipe and needs your expertise before he blows the kitchen up.
"liefje?" max calls out again, still no answer. you must be upstairs somewhere with the baby then.
when he reaches the second floor he calls out your name again, but still no answer.
what is going on?
and being the dedicated boyfriend that he is, he gives up on his search and starts to return to the kitchen hoping things didn't explode in the kitchen while he was gone. surely he can work out how follow the instructions and have a perfect little surprise for you when you come down stairs.
just when he reaches the top step he hears your voice. its higher pitched and it sounds like you're mumbling nonsense so you must be talking to the baby.
whenever he stumbles in on you with the baby you always seems to be singing, or talking, or even gossiping to your little girl, who stares back at you with wide eyes - and an adorable face.
he decides the kitchen will be safe without him - what a mistake that was - and follows the two of his favorite sounds in the world. your voice and your baby's laugh.
he gently pushes the door open and leans on the door frame as he- what are you singing?
"du du du du max verstappen," you coo to the little bundle in you arms. "du du du du max verstappen!" you bounce about causing a little laugh to erupt out of your daughter.
"what are you doing, liefje?" max asks a mix between a smile and a frown on his face.
"i'm singing our daughter a song that i like," is all you supply.
"really because it sounds awful lot like the song that i don't like."
"i'm educating our child on how her papa is a famous f1 driver."
"i think the excessive amount of f1 things in this room will do- its practically a shrine, liefje."
"i happen to like it," you huff at max and smile at your daughter. "and so does she, look at her face, see? she loves it."
"i think she loves the fact that her mama is singing and dancing with her," he points out he says pushing off the doorframe and coming to stand beside you and look over you shoulder at the little girl in your arms.
you both stand there for a mometn just savouring the little peace and memory that you'll most likely keep for a long while.
well that was until, "du du du du max verstappen."
"really?"
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2025 © thepitlanepress | please do not steal, use, translate or repost any of my works
– comments and reblogs appreciated
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mariahcarreyyy · 10 months ago
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max making u wear a pendant with his initials/driver's number engraved around ur neck coz he likes to watch it swing when u ride him
# 📝 send a prompt and a driver for me to write a short blurb or scenerio ! nsfw 18+ below beware⬇️⬇️
mariahcarreyyy's 2k celebration announcement post
"Where's the necklace?"
Max's words had made you halt. He placed a gentle hand on your collarbone, pushing you gently from where you were mouthing at his neck and stroking his thumb where the gold of his initials should be.
With furrowed brows, you craned your neck down to follow his disheartened glare. The absence of the cool chain around your neck didn't seem quite as important as the growing need for max, max, max.
"Dunno," you mumbled dismissively, rolling your hips from where you were straddling his legs on the bed. "Ah—bathroom, 'think, t-took it off to shower."
Your boyfriend hummed sweetly before lightly tapping the side of your thigh. "Get it."
Barely forcing down a whimper, you bit your lip, tugging on the hem of his baggy shorts. "Max, please, just—"
A taunting, raised brow was enough to have you huffing and hauling yourself off of his lap. The walk from the bathroom and back to Max's arms, barely ten steps, made your eyes glassy and the pleasure stirring in your stomach boil.
You made the mistake of catching your reflection in the mirror: flushed cheeks, hair sprawled in various directions, and an evident pout etched onto your face. The necklace was expensive; you'd known that, but had Max really needed to stop you mid-foreplay to run and get it?
Judging by his cocky smirk and the fact that he'd fumbled out of his clothes in the ten seconds you'd left, you guessed so. Your eyes drifted down his body, past the sweaty abs, and onto his hand, lazily stroking his hard cock. You wanted it inside you, in your mouth—fuck, he was making it really hard to stay annoyed.
"Happy?" you grumbled, your facade slipping when Max swiftly pulled you into his lap, shivering slightly as he nearly ripped the shirt off of your body, the cold air hitting your nipples and Max's wet tongue trailing kisses down your neck.
Moans slip past your lips, and you slide a hand down to the angry, red tip of Max's length. You grin wildly when he groans, the vibrations rippling against your skin and shooting straight down to your core. "More than." He cups the swell of your ass with his massive palms and lifts you up to hover over his dick. "C'mon, shatje, make y'self feel good on m'cock."
And who were you to deny Max that?
The stretch of his cock burned like it always has, spikes of pleasure overcoming the momentary pain. Max's desperate moans mixed with yours, echoing across the room. After a few seconds, Max's palm impatiently striked at your ass, making you jolt and bite your lip to avoid the embarrassing sound that would have left your lips. "M-Max, oh, fuck."
You lifted your hips, almost slipping Max's slick-covered dick out of your wet pussy before dropping back down. Max's eyes were half-lidded, a hazy grin plastered on his face; he watched the gold swing recklessly, worrying his bottom lip at the fast pace you'd set.
Max rolled his hips upward to meet your movements, and the loud yelp that left your lips made you flush. "Fuckk, s'good, baby—ah, all mine, yeah? All. Fucking. Mine."
Punctuating each word with a sharp thrust, Max almost came when your wet pussy clenched around him. "All yours, m'all yours, Max."
That was what the initials on your collarbones stood for, didn't they?
authors note. i havent written in so long pls forgive me everyone
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norrisainz33 · 2 months ago
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friend of a friend || MV33
☆ summary: max meets his dream girl through his friends good friend, pato o’ward
☆ pairing: max verstappen x mexican!reader
☆ fc & warnings: gala montes & poorly translated spanish and slightly suggestive! you are responsible for the content you consume
☆ requested: yes!! thank you for requesting and apologies for the delay 🫶🏻
゚. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ゚
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maxverstappen1: enjoying some much needed sun and relaxation before we head to vegas 😴
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user1: max i’ll meow if you need another cat
user2: i’m sorry who in the heck is in the last slide
user4: is he soft launching rn??? at a time like this???
user6: so this is why he still looks happy despite rbr woes
user7: is that his girlfriend?!
user8: max please give us the tea
user9: f1gossip im begging you to figure out who this is
redbullracing: happy you’re getting some r&r max 🤍
ynuser: mi novio es tan bonito [my boyfriend is so pretty]
[liked by maxverstappen1]
user9: now hold up ….. who is this and why did max like
f1gossip: taking note of this interaction
user12: ugh she’s private so we can’t even snoop but she’s followed by pato and elba oward, carlos, rebecca, rbr and checo
user13: this is pato and elba’s childhood friend!!! she’s good friends with them
user12: everyone say thank you user13
user3: the shirtless photos?? the soft launch??? how am i supposed to be normal
charlesleclerc: 👀
user4: i’m gonna miss ur fine ass when i scroll
user5: sometimes you just gotta say damn and move on
ynuser has added to their story 🔒
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[staying here forever]
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yourbff: in monaco???? no gracias. you can’t leave me like that 😭
ynuser: yes monaco!! it is so beautiful 🥹
yourbff: you’re not just saying that because of a certain man?
ynuser: oh no i am saying that bc of a certain man 😮‍💨 he is a dream come true bestie
yourbff: ugh do elba and pato have any other hot millionaire friends they could set me up with???
ynuser: i’ll ask them im sure they do
yourbff: preferably one who’s name rhymes with pranko dolapinto
ynuser: HAHAHA mi amiga
carlossainz55: te gusta monaco? [you like monaco?]
ynuser: yes!! i love it. you, me, rebecca and max should grab dinner one night while im here!!
carlossainz55: i’d love that
maxverstappen1: you can always move 🤷🏻‍♂️
ynuser: maybe one day 🤔
elbaoward: my work here is done 🥹
ynuser: you are a magician. how’d you know we were perfect for each other?
elbaoward: bc i know my best friend 🤍
ynuser: te amo elba 🫶🏻
redbullracing: can’t wait to see you in vegas!
patriciooward has made a post
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liked by ynuser, elbaoward, yourbff, maxverstappen1, landonorris, and 321,345 others
patriciooward: gentle mornings with my hermanas
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user12: oh max is in the likes 👀
ynuser: why do you insist on picking the worst photos
patriciooward: it’s my brand
elbaoward: 💁🏻‍♀️
maxverstappen1: send me the last pic
patriciooward: done!
ynuser: PATO wtf
user12: user13 you were right
user1: oh to have gentle mornings with pato 😭
user3: i love that he calls y/n his sister too
ynuser has made a post 🔒
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ynuser: la vida últimamente [life lately]
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yourbff: ugh the red hair suits you
ynuser: i agree 🥹
maxverstappen1: prettiest girl in the whole world
ynuser: mi amor 🥹 i love you 🤍
maxverstappen1: te amo
elbaoward: the spanish 😭🥹🩷
maxverstappen1: i’m working on it!
iamrebeccad: dinner last night was so fun. let’s do it again 🤍
ynuser: i’d love that!! see you in vegas darling
patriciooward: oh so you’ll post but not answer my texts
ynuser: yes exactly
friend1: hermosa chica [beautiful girl]
maxverstappen1 has posted to his story
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user2: max emilian the man that you are
user4: screaming crying throwing up. i can’t believe he’s off the market
ynuser: my man my man my man 😍
maxverstappen1: that’s me baby
ynuser: thanks for inviting me to vegas with you
maxverstappen1: schjate you’re invited everywhere with me. i never want to be without you
ynuser: omg you big softie
charlesleclerc: oh she’s got you dressing up now too?
maxverstappen1: i want to look nice for my girl what can i say
charlesleclerc: oh he’s in love
maxverstappen1: 🤭 maybe
user5: i ! can’t believe you’re not wearing skinny jeans. the power she must have
schecoperez: i like this girl 😉
maxverstappen1: me too
user6: the emoji???????? max i’m speechless who are you
ynuser has added multiple stories 🔒
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yourbff: god you’re gorgeous. have so much fun at the race baby
ynuser: thank you bebe. vegas is amazing - i am having the best time
yourbff: living vicariously through you 🥹
maxverstappen1: you have no business looking this good especially when there’s nothing i can do about it 😫
ynuser: win me the race and you can have me as a prize later 😉
maxverstappen1: you got it baby
elbaoward: are you in red bull hospitality??? come to mclaren i want to see youuuuu
ynuser: yes i’m in red bull but will cross enemy lines for you gorgeous
patriciooward: hermana donde estas? [sister where are you?]
ynuser: omw patito
f1gossip has made a post
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f1gossip: in an interview earlier today max confirmed his relationship with, y/n y/l/n. y/n is childhood friends with elba and pato o’ward and it turns out that the siblings introduced max and y/n in miami earlier this season. the pair hit it off immediately according to max and “it was the closest thing to love at first sight he’d ever experienced.” she’s in attendance today at the grand prix! let us know if you get the chance to meet her and if there’s any further intel you get
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user1: ohhhhh max 🥹
user2: this interview melted my heart. he looked so genuinely happy to be talking about her
user7: i love seeing him happy
user3: i’m obsessed with them already. perhaps my new favorite wag
user4: love at first sight???? i’m not crying! you are!!
user6: the way max also talked about trying to learn spanish for her because she’s mexican and how he’s also trying to teach her some of his language too 🥹😭
user8: this is the sweetest thing. that is true love idc what any of yall say
user5: i hope a love like this finds me one day
maxverstappen1 has made a post
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maxverstappen1: vegas you were a fun one - thanks for having me and y/n/n!
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user2: y/n/n 😭
user4: crying my eyes out
user6: yayyy maxie!!! glad to see you on the podium again
ynuser: te amo mucho vegas 🤍
maxverstappen1: and you te amo mucho me too right?
ynuser: omg yes maxie. i love you endlessly
user14: SIMP
user15: max asking for validation has done something to me.
charlesleclerc: great drive max!
patriciooward: take care of my girl ok?
maxverstappen1: you got it pato! no need to worry
redbullracing: our champion 💪🏻
user8: jealousy isn’t cute on me but here we are
゚. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ゚
a/n: thank you for reading!! reblogs, feedback and likes are very appreciated 🫶🏻
゚. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ゚
disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction
© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform
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bunny-jpeg · 1 month ago
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thinking about older brother’s best friend!max who takes little innocent virgin you home after you got too drunk at a party. you trust him so much and he’s sooo dreamy but you can’t figure out how you ended up in his lap with his fingers up your miniskirt, other hand locked around your neck and skimpy lace thong stuffed in your mouth. but you don’t want to annoy him when he’s finally paying attention to you, so you furiously nod and drool when he tells you to be his good girl, his stupid little slut, and bullies his big, aching cock into your pussy. it’s soo wet and sticky but it doesn’t matter cause maxie promised he was wearing a condom…right? Right?
thank you so much for sending this to me! this is a crazy ass prompt and i love it. thank you so much! and for the people at home, send me your shit! i love insane prompts to write! give them to me, i need to write! i went with the tried and trued method of a leclerc!reader so add a little extra zest to it. i changed a few things around so i hope that's okay, all the pieces are still there just a few tweaks!! i hope you enjoy <3
max verstappen
cw: smut/pwp, leclerc!reader, drunk sex, dubious consent, lying, unprotected sex, size difference/kink, crybaby!reader, dark-ish fic, missionary position, fingering, (slight) choking, (technical) virgin!reader, filth(!!!)
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"thank you so much for doing this. i told her not to go out tonight because i was out of town and couldn't get her if she needed help. you're a big help, mate. i owe you." charles' voice was clear on the other end of the phone.
max was grabbing his keys, "you owe me nothing, charles. i'm happy to help. wasn't up to much else tonight." he got his shoes on and headed out the door, "i'll let you know when i get her." then hung up the phone.
he got in his car and drove to the club you were supposed to be. max had known you for about as long as he had known charles, you were the curious little thing that liked being around your brother. you were close in age, but max hadn't seen you in years.
charles said that university had prevented you from ever really hanging around as much as you used to. which was a shame because max always thought you were cute, even if you were a little bit a cry baby.
he pulled up to the address of where you were supposed to be and got out of the car. it was late into the evening and there were a few people outside. the sight of him turned a few heads and some whispers. but he had to pick you out of the crowd.
he leaned against the car and did the tried and true method of finding a leclerc. he cupped his hands around his mouth and said, "hey! leclerc!"
and then as it had worked a million times with charles over the years, your voice rang out, "holy shit, max! what are you doing here?" and you got out of the crowd in front of the club.
that was when max's heart stopped.
he remembered you in your high school uniform and baggy t-shirts with various bands on them. he remembered when you had braces and that bad haircut in tenth year. but, now, are a twenty-something year old woman, you were beautiful.
you practically stumbled over to him, you tripped over the curb and against his chest. but you clung to the front of his t-shirt, "oh my god, it's you!" you howled laughter, "where's charlie?"
max steadied you back on your feet and looked over you to see the other people who were murmuring. he looked down at you, his hands still on your shoulders, "i'm going to take you back to my place tonight." even though charles said to bring you back to his place, there would be a slight detour.
plus, what if something happened? max needed to protect you, or at least he had self appointed himself with the role.
"god, i haven't seen you in like what, five years? still got those chubby cheeks though." you giggled drunkenly as you pinched at his face.
max could feel the heat rise in his face, didn't help that your plump breasts were pressed against him and he got a good view of your cleavage. he said to you, "c'mon, let's get out of here." he gave you a smile, "i think we're turning too many heads."
you nodded innocently before max helped you into the car. even going as far as to buckle to you in and closing the door. as he rounded the car he exhaled deeply, this was not what he was expecting.
you looked at him and giggled, "holy shit, it's actually you. why are you picking me up? i called charlie?"
max sighed and buckled himself in, he patted your knee, "how much have you had to drink? your brother is out of the country for most of the summer break."
a few seconds ticked by before you made an 'o' shape with your mouth, you snapped your fingers and pointed to max, "i was supposed to call lorenzo!"
max's eyebrows knitted together, "how much have you had to drink?"
you shrugged, "i don't know. there was this nice guy who kept buying me drinks and he was like super nice. but then, my friends kinda got me away from him and told me to call my brother and i said, 'which one?', because you know. i have three brothers and i don't very well want arthur to see me THIS drunk so i called charles... but i wasn't supposed to call charles, i was supposed to call lorenzo."
max wanted to kiss you really badly at that moment. and when he squeezed your thigh for reassurance, you moaned. then max's brain went silent for a moment.
you looked at each other and you felt the heat rise in your cheeks as you said, "sorry.... over sensitive." you licked your lips, "you can still hold my thigh if you want."
this was going to be a long night, and max wanted to see how deep this could go. after all, you both had about five years to make up.
"i hate being this drunk." you whined, as you padded across his home. you were out of the skimpy dress you wore to the club, much to max's pleasure. you looked better in no bra, one of his t-shirts and his socks that you pulled as high as they could go, "i wish i could stop being drunk the moment i got home."
he was on the couch, a glass of water and some tylonel was on the table. he patted his thigh and suggested, "i think i know something that can help." his brain had been trying to think of a clever way to get you closer to him, but you were too easy.
"water and rest?" you asked as you got closer to him. your arms across your chest.
he leaned back into the sofa a little and said, "no. why don't you come here to find out?" he could tell in the slight wave of your stance that you were still quite drunk. he chuckled as he watched you come over to him, were all leclercs curious like cats?
you perched yourself on his thigh and he pulled you into his lap. being so close to you made his cock throb in his jeans. you yelped and admitted, "i'm a virgin!"
"what?"
you looked at him so innocently it almost broke the driver's brain in half. you had your hands up near your face and your bottom lip was wobbling, "i've... i've never had sex before. i mean... i technically let a guy finger me." you swallowed, not knowing why you were admitting this, "but.. but he didn't even make me cum, i lied to him and faked it."
max's hungry gaze remained on you, "so... so no one's actually... had sex with you."
you looked like you were going to cry. you were in your twenties and a virgin (he wasn't going to acknowledge the curl of jealousy in his gut at the thought of some loser at your school poorly trying to finger you). that had all the lights going off in max's brain.
leclerc's little sister was a virgin, drunk and on the verge of tears in max's condo. shivering like a leaf. max never thought of himself in terms of animals, but at moment he felt like a big scary lion. and you a poor little deer. the signature leclerc doe eyes only added to his point.
"it's alright." he said, "how about this, you let me finger you properly. i don't think your technical first time should've been spent with you faking an orgasm."
you had to admit, you had feelings for max. when you were younger and your brother would race him, you'd follow him around afterwards asking about max. it annoyed the hell out of your brother.
even the guy who fingered you was almost an exact fit to max, the blond-brown hair, blue eyes and a big nose. but it didn't quite cut it. max had been the subject of your fantasies for years now.
you blushed, "i mean... i don't want to force you or anything. i don't want it to be a pity fuck."
he laughed and curled a strong arm around you, "no, no, not you. to make you cum would be an honour." catch more flies with honey than vinegar. catch the pretty sister of a fellow driver with soft words.
he got your panties off with a little help and put them in your mouth. the sight of your mouth full of your lacy thong made all the blood in his body pool into his cock. he brushed your cheek and chuckled at your lack of resistance, "aw, does someone like to be roughed up? i bet you're just so used to everyone treating you like glass. the only daughter." he cupped your pussy with his wide hand, "how would charles feel about this? or lorenzo? they'd have my head." he kissed at your neck.
you whined, liquor swam in your head still as you squirmed a little, "don't talk about my brothers while you're fingering me." you tried to say around the panties in your mouth.
max grazed his fingers across your pussy, "alright, alright." his breath was hot in your ear as his other hand came and was placed around your throat. he shuddered a little, oh you were just a perfect fit weren't you?
now max really had to make sure that you weren't going to run off to your private university and fooled around with other boys.
maybe a baby would have to do.
he held you close to him by the throat and played with your pussy. soon he sank two digits into you and you whined around the panties in your mouth. you felt a hot flash go through you.
this was totally different, you felt the pleasure bloom in your gut as he roughly fingered you. you held onto his wrists, but remained pressed to him as he occasionally rubbed his clothed erection against your backside.
"oh, you're beautiful." he said softly, "you are so painfully beautiful. i'm surprised you haven't made yourself a whore at school. why? scared that your brothers would kill whoever touched their sister?" he kissed your cheek as he heard your whimper.
your body felt loose and your brain felt like it was working overtime. it was beyond adorable, the little cry baby with tears in her eyes. don't worry, max will make it all better.
"but you don't want anyone else, do you? you wanna be my good girl? you know so little about sex, poor thing. but don't worry, i'll make you a nice little whore for my cock." he pressed on your throat a little harder as he really started to work his fingers inside of you.
you didn't know what to think, everything around you felt oppressive but the liquor and lust short-wired your brain. you nodded and tried to speak around the fabric in your mouth, but it all came out like a jumbled mess.
max could feel the heat rise in his body, his cock grew more stiff. he liked the sight of this. you in his clothes, letting him explore your body. you were untouched territory. all for max's taking.
you wanted to cover your face from the embarrassment of being finger-fucked by your crush. but max squeezed your throat a little tighter.
"don't hide yourself from me, i want to see it all." he pressed a hard kiss onto your shoulder and watched your shudder. your pussy clenched around his fingers which only spurred him to keep bullying them into you.
you whined something around the panties in your mouth and max continued his kisses. you felt amazing on him. he hissed against your back as you hit your climax and whined loudly. you coated his entire hand in your wetness.
max moved you by your neck and kissed you on the cheek, he said, "good girl. see, orgasms aren't that hard." he let go of your throat and took the panties out of your mouth.
you were panting heavily as you said, "holy shit." your heart was hammering and you felt hot all over. you felt his arms around you waist and his mouth in your ear.
"we're not done yet." he said.
before you knew it, you were on max's bed. the shirt you had borrowed was on the floor and your bra was right next to it. when max took off your socks, you whined and he pressed all his weight on top of you. leaving one sock left on you.
he was naked on top of you, his cheeks were pink and he felt hot all over. you could see your eye bug out a little from the sight of his naked body. he pulled away soon after and grabbed you by the hips then rubbed his hard cock against your slick pussy.
"i wish your brother brought you to the track more." he chuckled as he continued to rub up against you, "you would've been so cute hanging around, you were always so curious. but, i don't know if i could contain myself if you were around often."
you blushed, "oh c'mon, stop it, max. you're going to kill me!"
max was over you, "i would never do that. i like you very much alive. you're perfect. i think it would be the best strategy your brother ever did if he had you around the paddock. i'd have to fight off every other driver to get to you."
you admitted, "i'd only want you, max."
max grinned, "is that why you're letting me take your virginity? giving yourself over to me? i bet a part of you wished i showed up, maybe that was all the plan for you." he pressed the tip of his cock up against your entrance, "someone has a crush." he was teasing, but the look on your face showed that he had you all figured out.
you squeaked, "i do! i'm sorry! i've had one for years!" you looked like you were going to cry again.
max almost came from the sight before him, he swallowed to keep himself together as he reached for your face with one hand and looked into your eyes, "you like me."
in your inebriated state you replied, "more like love you."
he chuckled, "really now? after all the times i beat your brother, you had all these feelings for me." he pressed his chest up against you, as he guided his cock into your slick slit.
you clutched onto his shoulders and tried not too tense up too much. this was a wet dream come true. you croaked, "i've always have."
"well, aren't i lucky." he said as he kissed you gently, "taking the virginity of the most beautiful woman i've ever seen." he was a snug fit in you but, he peppered your cheeks with kisses to help relax you. thankfully you were painfully wet.
he felt a curl of possession in his gut. like he needed to have you by his side. it wouldn't be hard to convince charles to let the two of you date, even if he was protective of you. he knew that max was a good man, he'd be a loving, caring boyfriend. maybe even an eventual husband.
he moved his hips slowly, not to push too much on you at once. you were still painfully drunk, all of these were admissions under intoxication. the consent of the situation was murky at best, but the way you looked at he pushed his cock into you excited him.
"do you want this?" he asked.
you nodded, your gaze unfocused, "of course. why, why would you ask that?" you really were so cute. your brain was polluted with liquor and pleasure, maybe he should've put you to bed before this all got out of hand.
but in all fairness, max was a little too far gone. he always held feelings for you, he was just better at covering them up. but, as he thrusted into you, your legs around his waist as he rutted against you. it was like the little flame from his youth came alive into an inferno.
oh, this was the woman he was meant to marry.
he kissed you once more, and picked up the pace. he held your sides, feeling your warmth against him as he felt the intense feelings bloom in your chest. call him an obsessive freak, but he should've known all those years ago.
stupid teen max, look what was right in front of him! you two could've been married by now. had a family and everything. but as he was balls deep inside of you, he believed everything happened for a reason.
you were now in his arms, under him as he moved against you. the blunt end of his cock, hit against the beginning of your cervix. a promise of what was to come. that you'd get nice and pregnant by him.
by the time he was finished with you, you were going to be at least five percent dutch if not more, you two had a whole week together. this was just the start. you two lazily made out.
the lust throbbed in your head as the liquor still coursed through your system. your mouth felt dry but you couldn't do much else but lie under him. his kisses were domineering and strong. his cock was buried up inside of you like it belonged there.
he believed that you two were two halves of a same whole. he wish he had gotten a glimpse of you sooner. seen how much you matured, he melted a little at the feeling of you. beyond perfect for him.
the pleasure was getting to your head, even in your intoxicated state. you clung to him like a life line as he moved against you. your sweet noises and that your eyes were barely open.
"beautiful." he said, "and all mine."
you swallowed, "you're wearing a condom, right?"
he staggered in his pace for a moment, but he gave you best media smile as he lied through his teeth, "of course, can't have any accidents." he kissed you once more. and you just melted into it so easily.
you then let out a sweet noise as you felt orgasm grip you. you panted heavily as the lust flooded your brain. you held onto him tightly as he continued to move against you. this all felt like a dream, and the noises you made as you came had max panting heavily.
"please."
"i need you." you said with tears in your eyes. the orgasm has torn through you and you were left a sputtering, hot mess under him.
he continued to rut against you, his pace was erratic as he moved against you. his heart raced at the sight of you. he was fully gone for you, he wanted you. tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that. he wanted his cock buried in your sweet pussy.
it was fine, obviously there was a connection. he just had to seal the deal, and with a few more strokes of his cock. he was putting all of his weight on top of him. he finished inside of you and you made a small pathetic noise.
"fuck." he groaned.
you whined, "please, max."
when he pulled away, he wasn't away long. he soon pulled you in for a searing hot kiss while he let his cock stay inside of you for a moment longer. to feel the closeness. you were a lucky girl, you were now max's newest obsession.
he licked the bead of sweat off your neck, his cock twitched inside of you. perfect.
he curled up beside you soon after, his grip on you was possessive at the least and obsessive at the most. he felt like a lion with prey between its jaws, not biting hard enough to kill it. but just to keep it still. you were a sweet little thing in his arms.
maybe it was smart for you not to be around the track as much because of school, because if max had gotten a glimpse of the little crybaby leclerc all grown up, you two would've already been married by now.
but don't worry, be a good girl and you'll have a pretty ring in your future. the thoughts pooled in max's gut and made his softening cock twitch a little.
before he could go another round with you, you were fast asleep next to him. your soft snoring could be felt in his chest. he may have had to a little lying and manipulating before, but he wasn't going to fuck that sweet cunt while you were asleep.
he wasn't a monster. but that didn't mean he got out of your sleepy grasp and grabbed his phone from his jeans pocket to take some photos. not to share of course, he doesn't share. they'll be for his personal collection when you eventually go limping back to your brother.
come morning you were wrapped up in max's arms. you woke up with a throbbing headache and the sun that came through the window made you want to die. when you tried to wiggle in his grasp, he held on tighter.
he kissed you on the back of the neck, "good morning."
the sound of his low voice was like a shock to your system as you woke up quicker. you looked over your shoulder at him and swallowed. last night was barely pieced together. but you were naked next to him under the covers with one of his cats scratching at the door demanding breakfast.
when you tried to pull away he only pulled you back to him. your back against his broad chest. he said, "you're not getting away that easily." he rested his head on your shoulder, his arms around you tightened.
"what happened last night?" you croaked.
"ah don't worry. just tell your brother your safe and sound. you can stay here until he gets back home." he rubbed his cock up against your behind, "a woman like you shouldn't be alone in a city like this. lots of bad men out there that could hurt you."
"but not you?" you felt something bloom in your chest. the familiar pang from your youth.
he kissed your jaw and said, "of course. i'll always keep you safe." as if his cum wasn't dried to your inner thigh. but don't worry, he'll freshen it up once that pesky headache of yours is gone. after all, your sweet older brother was gone for another week.
-
"you know." charles said sometime later, he was in max's drivers room picking at the food on the table, "i feel like i should kill you for fucking my sister."
max was seated across from him, one leg over the other. he smirked, "and what's stopping you?"
charles shrugged, "i don't have to hear her talk about you all the time. i mean, at least i can vouch for you. you are practically family, better than some random guy that she met at school." he looked at his fellow driver, "will not forgive you for getting her pregnant though. and outside of marriage too. you should've heard our mother when she told her." he rubbed his forehead.
max chuckled, "well that'll be dealt with after the season. it feels wrong scheduling it between races. she deserves a lovely wedding."
"good, good. and i better see my nephew! we live in the same city, you better not lock her away!" charles shook his finger at max.
max laughed, "don't worry don't worry. but i cannot promise that he race for monaco when he grows up." then winked at his fellow driver (and future brother in law).
in the end, max hobbled together a narrative of the night you spent together. which led to a week together, which led to you getting pregnant by him. no one could've suspected that he could ever hurt a hair on your head. he was too in love with you, almost to an obsessive degree. he took your virginity and now you were taking his last name. <3
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multicohn · 2 months ago
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summary: max’s gf seems to be getting more love than him
warnings: highkey sucks, short
pairing: fem! reader x max verstappen
genre: fluff, drabble
author note: about time i wrote max
✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦
flashback:
max has always been a private person and after his breakup with kelly piquet, he became even more closed off. it was even rare for him to even participate in streams nowadays. however, what no one knew was max had been taking time to reflect ( not do anything stupid — gp ) and managed to bump into y/n.
now, monaco isn’t a big place, but he’s never seen her before.
max was oddly intrigued, but he had just ended a relationship — but, it didn’t hurt to be friends, right?
it took him two full days of just staring before finally making a move.
“what brand is your laptop?”
okay, it wasn’t the best, but it was something.
y/n looked up at the strange and furrowed her eyebrows.
“um — ( brand name )?” he nodded and walked off
✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦
even to this day, y/n still teases max about it. back then, in his mind, he was proud of himself for actually saying something, but y/n thought he was a bit strange.
when they eventually became more friendly and comfortable around each other, he asked her out on a date. y/n was hesitant. she found out who he was and who he previously dated, his fans weren’t exactly the most supportive and she worried that it’d be the same, but max reassured her that he would say something if needed.
however, what none of them expected was how much love y/n would gain from them.
[ “he may be a 3 time world champion, but i will never understand how he bagged someone like her” ]
[ “MAX MOVE IM TRYING TO SEE Y/N” ]
[ “if i was dating someone like y/n, you would have to pry me off her — AWOOGA” ]
every time he posted, there would be comments asking about her. however, there was always one in particular would catch his eye.
[ “is your girlfriend single?” ]
he would just stare.
of course she isn’t single, they’re literally dating?
“you’re in the trenches mate” was what alex told him when he asked what they meant ( he needed someone who understood the internet )
“what?”
“it’s a good thing, don’t worry”
max didn’t think so.
call him possessive, but he felt the need to make them back off and posted a set of pictures for their anniversary along with a lengthy caption.
sadly, it didn’t work.
[ “i can call her the love of my life in a different language too” ]
[ “6/10 for spelling, 4/10 for punctuation, 3/10 for creativity” ]
[ “i could write more” ]
just like what alex said, max is in the trenches.
1K notes · View notes
orangeblossomsintheair · 7 days ago
Text
GRIEF ASIDE (1/4) | MV33
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summary : You fancied your fiancé, you realized with horror. Oh, God. You fancied your fiancé.
wc : 13k
an : this took.. a while ☹️ anyway
For as long as you could remember, you had been engaged to Max Emilian, scion of House Verstappen.
On paper, it was a triumphant match, a union to secure your house's fortunes for generations. To be betrothed to the son of a duke was a dream most could only aspire to.
Yet, no one envied House Button’s lovely heiress.
Instead, the court pitied you.
Jos Verstappen, your future father-in-law and Duke of the North, was a name steeped in infamy. Known as the Butcher of the North, his reputation was as frigid and cruel as the land he ruled. Whispers of his war crimes haunted corridors, and songs of lament cursed his name in taverns.
To marry into such a legacy meant tying yourself to shadows you could never escape.
But duty had bound you to this path as tightly as the chill of the northern wind now clung to your skin.
Raised to bridge alliances and strengthen bonds, you had no illusions about the weight of your role.
Now, you stood before the towering iron gates of the Verstappen estate, carriage behind you, your wool cloak and one of your knight’s heavy coats offered little respite from the North’s unforgiving cold.
“Keep your chin up, my lady,” Lily murmured beside you, adjusting the trunk she carried, her voice nearly drowned by the howling wind. Her cheeks were flushed from the frost, and her attempts at reassurance felt as thin as your cloak.
You nodded mutely, clenching your chattering teeth. Complaining about her poor preparation, or your shared underestimation of the northern winter, would achieve little.
The gates groaned open, revealing the sprawling estate beyond.
The fortress-like walls loomed high, their grey stone stark against the snow-laden landscape. Narrow windows glinted like ice shards under the weak winter sun.
Smoke curled lazily from the distant stables, a muted sign of life in an otherwise bleak expanse.
“Cheerful place,” Lando muttered behind you, his voice dry. He pulled his hood lower, trying to shield his face from the biting wind.
“More like a tomb,” Oscar replied, tone low. His eyes scanned the walls warily, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
Crossing the threshold of the estate, you were greeted by a cavernous main hall that carried little more warmth than the outdoors. Though a fire crackled at one end, its heat barely touched the far corners of the room.
The scent of pine mingled with the cold tang of iron, likely from the spiked chandelier that loomed overhead, casting jagged shadows across the floor.
“Presenting Lady (Y/N) of House Button,” the steward announced, his voice echoing up the vaulted ceilings.
The words washed over you, irrelevant compared to your struggle to stop trembling. The knight closest to you, Oscar, shifted closer, his presence a silent bulwark, but you scarcely noticed.
A figure descended the grand staircase, drawing your attention despite the icy haze clouding your mind.
Max Emilian Verstappen.
He moved with a grace that could only be borne from years of court presence, strides measured and deliberate yet still managing to not look stiff.
Pale hair neatly combed, save for a few strands that fell across his forehead, softening the otherwise hard edges of his face. His broad shoulders were draped in a heavy black coat lined with fur, swallowing what little light the room offered.
You had heard tales of him: a skilled warrior, an even better horseman, and a temper so fierce people began claiming the Verstappen rage was a hereditary trait.
His eyes fell on you then, surprise flickering across his face before being quickly replaced by a furrowed brow and the unmistakable air of annoyance.
“Gods,” he muttered under his breath, his tone cold enough to make you flinch.
You stiffened, unsure whether to speak or remain silent.
Was that usually how the Northern Lords greeted their betrothed?
Max’s eyes roved over you, taking in your trembling form, pale cheeks, and the inadequate cloak clutched around your shoulders.
His frown deepened, and he turned sharply toward your knights, his expression hardening.
“Why in the seven hells is she dressed like this?” he demanded.
Sir Lando bristled but maintained his composure. “My lady insisted, Lord Verstappen, that we keep ourselves alive. We offered additional layers-”
“She’s half-frozen. Who cares if you're alive if your Lady is dead?” Max cut him off, already shrugging out of his own coat.
You opened your mouth to protest, to insist you were fine, but before you could utter a word, he was draping the fur-lined garment over your shoulders.
The residual warmth from his body enveloped you, burying you under the scent of pine and leather.
“Your stubbornness will kill you,” he muttered, crouching slightly to adjust the coat. His tone was still sharp, but his hands were steady and careful as they brushed over you.
You glanced at Lily, who hovered nearby, her eyes darting between you and Max. “Fetch tea,” Max ordered, voice brooking no argument.
She hesitated, clearly unsure whether to take orders from a person who was decidedly not her Lady, but a sharp look from him sent her scurrying away.
Max turned back to you, his expression unreadable as his hand brushed over your elbow, guiding you forward. “Sit,” he gestured to the high-backed chair closest to the hearth.
You sank into the seat gratefully, abandoning the appearance of grace in lieu of the warmth of the fire and the heavy coat easing the worst of your shivers.
Max crouched before you, his face illuminated by the flickering light. “You were standing in the cold far too long,” he said, softer now as though talking to an injured bird.
“I didn’t realize…” you started, but your voice faltered.
Max’s lips quirked in a faint, reluctant smile. “Not even when you were shivering like a leaf?”
He leaned back, regarding you for a moment before adding, “The North will swallow you whole.”
His words should have stung, but you found it hard to be insulted for there was no malice in them, only a hint of amusement.
The tea arrived swiftly, Lily handing it to you with a pinched expression, steam curling from the delicate porcelain as if reluctant to break the stillness of the hall.
You wrapped your frozen fingers around the cup, savoring the way the heat kissed your skin, thawing the numbness in your fingers.
Max walked to stand a few paces away, matching your knight and maid's distance, watching you with a detached sort of interest, his arms still crossed over his chest.
The flickering firelight carved sharp angles along his face, illuminating the high cut of his cheekbones and the stern set of his jaw.
“You look better now.” His voice was quieter this time. “At least you have some color in you.”
You weren’t sure if that was meant to be a kindness or merely an observation, but you offered a polite nod regardless.
“Thank you, my Lord.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Max will do.”
The correction startled you. Men of his station, sons of dukes especially, rarely made such allowances. Betrothed or not.
“As you wish… Max.”
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it vanished just as quickly.
“I imagine you have questions.”
Of course, you did.
Too many, and yet none seemed appropriate to ask.
You had spent years preparing for this union in theory, but now that you were standing on the threshold of it, the rehearsed words died in your throat.
“Only a few,” you said carefully.
He hummed, a noncommittal sound. “Then ask.”
You hesitated. “Your father… the Duke… is he here?”
Max’s expression cooled.
“No. My father is at the border fortresses, inspecting the garrisons. He will return before the winter feast to welcome you.”
Relief and dread tangled in your chest. It was a reprieve not to face Duke Jos immediately, but you knew it was temporary at best.
“And your father will be joining us soon enough as well, won’t he?” Max’s tone was unreadable, though something sharp glinted beneath it.
You nodded. “Yes. My father will come north after his duties are finished. To meet with the Duke and… formalize the engagement.”
The words felt heavy on your tongue. This visit wasn’t just a quiet retreat to adjust to your future home. It was a public commitment. Before long, the entire North would know you belonged to him.
You dreaded what that would do to your public image.
Max’s jaw tightened although his expression remained carefully distant. “Of course.”
He turned slightly, gaze sweeping the cold stone hall.
“You’ll find the North is not like the South. Comfort is scarce, and the people scarcer. They will not warm to you easily.”
His words felt more like a warning than a courtesy.
“I don’t expect them to.”
That seemed to surprise him. Perhaps he had been expecting you to be one of those Southern ladies that demanded everyone to bend over backwards for their comfort.
His eyes flicked back to you, studying you in a way that made you want to shrink under his coat.
“Good.”
The fire cracked loudly, sending a shower of sparks upward. Max tilted his head toward it, the flicker of light catching in his pale hair.
“You’ll need to adjust quickly. My father won’t tolerate weakness in his house.”
“And you?” The question slipped out before you could stop it.
Max’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes hardened.
“I won’t coddle you, if that’s what you’re asking.”
It wasn’t. But the way he said it made your stomach twist.
Still, you straightened your spine. “I wouldn’t ask for that.”
A tense silence settled again, though this time, it felt more contemplative than cold.
Max’s gaze drifted from you to the door behind you.
“You must be tired from the journey. I’ll have your rooms prepared.”
“I thought we would stay in the west wing,” you said, recalling the arrangements made in the letters exchanged between your families.
Max’s lips pressed into a thin line.
“The west wing is being repaired. Storm damage. You’ll stay closer to the main hall until it’s finished.”
It was a small thing, perhaps, yet it unsettled you.
The west wing was meant to be yours. A space to adjust quietly, away from the imposing grandeur of the estate.
Now, you were being denied that distance.
But what could you do? Refuse? Argue?
“Very well,” you said softly.
Max nodded once then turned to the waiting steward.
“Have the rooms near the library prepared. And make sure the fires are lit.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Oscar and Lando approached then, boots scuffing against the stone floor as they stopped just shy of your side.
Their eyes darted toward you, assessing your posture, searching for some silent confirmation that you were unharmed.
You gave them a small nod, and the tension in Oscar’s broad shoulders seemed to ease, though Lando’s hand remained near the hilt of his sword, his body coiled like a spring.
Max’s sharp gaze swept over the two knights, his expression unreadable but undoubtedly calculating.
“Your people will stay nearby,” he said, his voice firm but unhurried. “Your maid is not to wander without escort. Your men may walk around but not too far from the fortress. I'd rather not deal with the politics of a Southern knight dying in my land.”
Lily bristled at the casual remark, her cheeks coloring with indignation. “We Southerners aren't as fragile as you seem to think,” she said sharply, her words cutting the silence like a knife.
“Lily,” Oscar said quietly, catching her arm before she could step forward. His grip was gentle but firm, head shaking in a silent plea for restraint.
Max didn’t even flinch at her outburst, his cool demeanor unwavering as his gaze flicked back to you.
“Your people are bold.” His tone was tinged with something akin to amusement. “Let’s hope they’re wise enough to temper it.”
“They’re loyal,” you replied evenly, meeting his eyes without faltering. “I wouldn’t have brought them otherwise.”
“Loyalty is admirable but it doesn’t mean much if it gets you killed.”
Lando shifted beside you, jaw tight. “With all due respect, my lord,” he began without much respect at all. “We’re more than capable of keeping her safe.”
“I’m sure you believe that.” Max’s gaze settled on Lando. “But I’ve seen capable men bleed out on these stones for lesser causes. My rules are for your protection as much as mine.”
Lando’s grip on his sword tightened, but Oscar’s hand on his shoulder stilled him.
“We’ll abide by your rules,” Oscar confirmed, voice calm.
“Good.” Max turned back to you. “Come. I’ll show you the library. You should know where it is if you’re to live here.”
The offer caught you off guard. The scion of House Verstappen switched conversations so casually he seemed to slap you with his casualness.
“The library?”
“You can’t spend all your time staring at the snow,” Max replied evenly, though there was a faint lilt to his words.
Was that… humor? It was hard to tell with him.
“Well..” You tugged your coat tighter. “It is very captivating snow.”
Max’s brow arched. “And yet, I think you’ll survive without it for an hour.”
You blinked, taken aback by the dry remark.
Was he… teasing you?
Shaking off the ridiculous thought, you rose from your chair, trailing behind as he turned and strode toward the door.
You glanced at your companions, giving them a small and, hopefully, reassuring smile before stepping forward to follow Max.
Max’s pace was long, purposeful, and you found yourself scrambling to keep up without looking breathless.
(You decidedly ignored Sir Lando's small snort of laughter.)
The manor was a labyrinth of cold stone and dim corridors, the walls lined with tapestries dulled by age.
Shadows flickered where sparse torches burned, giving the place a haunted sort of stillness.
You found it hard to ever imagine yourself calling this place home.
Max moved through the halls like someone who had been shaped by this place, his presence carved into the very bones of the estate.
His stride was confident, measured, purposeful.
You, on the other hand, felt like an outsider, a stranger, each step heavy on the cold stone floor.
Finally, Max stopped before a pair of massive oak doors, their wood darkened with age. He didn’t look back at you as he spoke, his voice low, but managing to carry through the quiet hall.
“Your men stay outside. Your maid may enter,” he said, the command clear.
Your knights exchanged a brief look.
Lando’s lips curled into a smirk, clearly less than thrilled with the command. He let out a sigh, posture straightening with a resigned huff.
With a dramatic roll of his eyes, he moved to one side of the door, giving a theatrical bow as though he were playing a part in some grand performance.
Oscar shook his head but followed suit, taking his place at the other side, hands clasped with a more restrained expression.
Lando’s voice broke the silence, dripping with mock sweetness. “Enjoy the library, my Lady. Try not to get too lost in there.”
You laughed, unable to contain yourself and bid them a silent goodbye.
Without another word, he pushed the doors open, the hinges groaning in protest, and led you and Lily inside.
The library was vast and dim, lined wall-to-wall with shelves that stretched high into the shadows above.
Dust motes floated lazily in the beams of light filtering through the narrow, arched windows, painting the room in shades of gold and gray.
You inhaled deeply, the scent of aged paper and polished wood filling your senses.
“It’s beautiful…” you breathed, the words slipping out unbidden.
“It is,” Max replied, stepping farther into the room. “And it’s yours to use as I allow while you’re here.”
You followed him in, your fingers brushing the spines of the books closest to you. They were thick and heavy, their titles embossed in faded gold.
“Are these… first editions?” you asked, your voice hushed, as if speaking too loudly might awaken some slumbering beast.
“Many of them, yes,” Max said, his gaze sweeping the shelves as if cataloging them in his mind. “You’ll find original prints of histories, poetry, philosophy. Most of it quite rare. Some of the works were commissioned specifically for this collection.”
“Commissioned?” you echoed, eyebrows lifting in surprise.
He nodded. “Yes. House Verstappen has always valued knowledge. There are some volumes here you won’t find anywhere else.”
You let your hand fall from the books and turned to face him. “You must spend a lot of time here then.”
“Not as much as I should,” he admitted, his tone crisp. “But I’m familiar with the layout. If you’re planning to lose yourself, I can point you in the right direction.”
The corner of your mouth quirked up at his phrasing. “Lose myself?”
“It happens.” He shrugged, glancing away.
You laughed softly. “Is that your way of warning me?”
“A mere suggestion,” he corrected, his lips twitching in what might have been the hint of a smile. “Start with the poetry under the windows. It’s a good place for… wandering minds.”
“Poetry under the windows,” you repeated the words under your breath, glancing toward the far end of the room where a faint glow spilled across the shelves. “Any other recommendations?”
“The histories on the east wall are worth your time.” He gestured briefly. “And if you’re feeling adventurous, there’s a collection of letters on the upper mezzanine. They’re in French, though.”
“I can manage French,” you said with a small smile.
His eyebrow arched faintly. “Good. Then you’ll also find some rather colorful accounts of court scandals tucked in the back corner. A few are probably embellished, but they’re entertaining nonetheless.”
Your laughter came easier this time. “Court scandals? I didn’t expect you to recommend something so… frivolous.”
“Frivolity has its place,” he said dryly. “Just don’t let the staff catch you reading them. They might talk.”
“Noted.” You attempted to suppress your grin.
For a moment, the two of you stood in companionable silence, the quiet weight of the library wrapping around you like a cloak. You turned back to the shelves, running your fingertips lightly over the spines once more.
“This is incredible,” you murmured.
You glanced over your shoulder at his lack of a response, catching a faint glimmer of something softer in his eyes, though it vanished almost as quickly as it appeared.
Max seemed to compose himself, clearing his throat. “You will be fetched come dinner time.”
The heavy doors of the library groaned shut behind him, leaving you and Lily in the cavernous stillness.
As soon as the sound of his footsteps faded, Lily let out a sharp exhale, breaking the silence. “I thought he’d never leave,” she muttered, her voice pitched low but urgent.
You turned to her, startled by her tone. “Lily-”
“He’s impossible to read!” she interrupted, her hands gesturing animatedly as she paced a small circle near the door.
“One moment, he’s scowling like the world owes him something, and the next, he’s… he’s practically pointing you toward the best books for a cozy evening! What am I supposed to make of that?”
You blinked, caught between amusement and exasperation. “I don’t think it’s meant to be deciphered, Lily.”
“But it should be!” she shot back, stopping abruptly to face you. “You’re supposed to marry him. How are you supposed to live with someone who switches moods faster than the weather?”
“I don’t think he’s as unpredictable as you think,” you said cautiously, though you weren’t entirely convinced of your own words. “He’s… reserved.”
“Reserved?” Lily snorted. “He looks like he’s trying not to bite anyone’s head off half the time.” She softened slightly, adding, “Although, I’ll admit, it was nice of him to show you this place.”
Her eyes wandered around the library, her earlier frustration melting into a quieter awe. “It really is something, isn’t it?”
You nodded, letting your gaze sweep the towering shelves. “It is. I could lose hours in here.”
“Maybe you’ll have to,” Lily said, her tone lighter now. “If he’s not going to be forthcoming about himself, you might have to dig through the history books to figure him out. Perhaps you'll even find a diary of his.”
You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I think even the books might not have the answers to that mystery.”
Lily gave you a sly grin. “Well, if anyone can figure him out, my lady, it’s you.”
With a roll of your eyes, you turned back to the shelves. “My betrothed's dour personality aside.. help me find that poetry section he mentioned.”
Lily smiled, stepping closer to follow you deeper into the quiet sanctuary of the library.
“Of course, my lady.”
Hours later, as the manor stirred for the evening meal, a servant was dispatched to your quarters. The boy found it strange that the two knights he'd heard his Lord's betrothed had come with weren't stationed by the door.
A sharp knock echoed once. Then again, louder, more insistent.
“My lady?”
Silence.
The servant hesitated, damp palms against the polished wood.
“My lady?” He said again, voice cracking. “My lady, may I come in?”
“...My lady, I'm coming in.”
Then, cautiously, he pushed the door open.
The room was untouched. The bed still perfectly made, the hearth’s fire reduced to flickering embers. Shadows stretched long across the walls, and a chill crept in where warmth should have lingered.
Panic tightened his throat.
He checked the adjoining rooms. The empty sitting area, the silent halls. Nowhere.
Not even your guards and maid were present.
Sweat gathered at his brow as he hurried through the winding corridors, heart hammering as he sought out Lord Verstappen.
He found Max standing near the great hall’s window, dusk spilling through the glass in muted gold.
“My lord,” the servant panted, voice tight. “She’s- she’s gone.”
Max turned slowly. “Gone?”
“I searched her chambers, the halls, the west wing-”
“And the library?” Max’s voice was sharp, cutting through the servant’s stammering explanation.
The servant faltered. “The… the library, my lord?”
“Yes,” Max said evenly, already striding toward the east corridor. “She’s there.”
The servant froze, his jaw slackening. “You… you allowed her inside?”
“Are you questioning me?” Max didn’t even glance back as he continued down the hall, his boots echoing sharply on the stone floor.
“N-no, my lord!” the servant stammered, bowing reflexively. “But should I-”
“Stay where you are,” Max ordered. “I’ll handle this myself.”
Your two knights stood sentinel by the library doors when he approached, arms crossed, their expressions a mixture of boredom and indifference.
They barely acknowledged him, their attention elsewhere as the echo of his boots rang down the corridor.
Max didn’t slow his pace. “Is she still in there?”
Lando flicked a glance toward Oscar, then shrugged. “Yep. She's buried in a book or something,” he said with a nonchalant flick of his wrist, as if it were of little concern.
Max’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t think to remind her of the time?”
Oscar raised a brow, voice dry. “A certain scion has, unfortunately, forbidden our entry, my lord.”
Max sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose, but Lando was quick to interject with a smirk. “And it’s a lost cause trying to pry our Lady away from a good book. Trust me, we’ve tried.”
Max’s frustration bubbled over into a short, exasperated laugh as he pushed the heavy doors open.
And there you were.
Curled into a high-backed chair, utterly absorbed in the thick, ancient book resting open in your lap.
A few other volumes lay scattered around your feet, their spines cracked open, as if you’d moved through them in a frenzy of curiosity.
Max’s gaze lingered on the sight before him. On the way your head tilted slightly as you read, your brow furrowed in concentration.
His grip on the doorframe loosened, but his jaw remained tight.
“My lady.”
You glanced up, startled but then smiled when you saw him. “Oh, my- Max, What are you doing here again?”
Max’s brow arched slightly at your casual tone. His irritation wavered.
He knew you were about to say ‘my Lord’ again, knew it was a mere slip of the tongue, court etiquette taking over before personal sense.
But.. my Max. Yes, he supposed he was indeed yours.
He couldn't say that though so when he spoke, it was only a disinterested, “It’s dinner time.”
You blinked, glancing toward the tall windows where the light had shifted to deep amber.
“Already? I hadn’t even realized-” You glanced down at the book in your lap, reluctant to put it aside. “I haven’t even finished this chapter.”
His gaze dropped to the title in your hands. “Faust,” he noted, tucking the information away. “You read German?”
You blinked, caught off guard. “I… only at an elementary level.”
Max's eyebrow arched slightly. You were either a liar or terribly humble.
“Faust,” he repeated dryly. “Hardly a book for someone with only elementary German. Your skills are passable, at least.”
“Just enough to get by,” you admitted, more honest now, brushing invisible dust from your skirt as you stood.
Max offered his arm, and you took it without hesitation this time.
He noticed, though he said nothing about the change, afraid that if he voiced it out you'd withdraw again.
“You might find Faust more rewarding if you read it in context,” he remarked as you walked down the hall, your knights and maid following behind.
You glanced up at him, curious. “And what context would that be?”
“Understanding Goethe’s philosophical explorations, for one. Or at least recognizing the poetic structure in its original form.”
You tilted your head. “So now you’re saying my German isn’t good enough?”
“I’m saying it’s a pity to read something monumental in fragments,” he replied. “Not a criticism.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” The corners of your lips quirked upward.
“Take it as you like.” He offered you a small shrug, though there was the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes.
A beat of silence passed before he spoke again. “Which German do you struggle with?”
“Official documents,” you admitted. “The kind that's full of overly formal phrasing and unnecessary flourish.”
Max hummed, thoughtful. Most official documents were indeed like that. “I could assist with that, should the need arise.”
You blinked at him, caught off guard by the offer. “You would?”
“If I find myself having time.”
“Thank you.”
He shook his head, brushing off your words. “And don't sit too close to the mezzanine shelves,” he added. “They’re unstable.”
Your brows rose. “Unstable?”
“I don’t need you buried beneath three hundred years of German history,” he said, his tone casual but his meaning clear.
A laugh bubbled up before you could stop it. “You’d miss me, then?”
“More likely, the servants would revolt,” he said, gesturing to the doors to the dining hall. “Dinner then, shall we?”
The dining hall was an expansive, imposing space, its vaulted ceilings casting long shadows over the vast table.
Candles decorated much of the available surfaces in a surprisingly tasteful way.
Their flames flickered weakly, struggling to combat the cold that clung to the stone walls like it was a living, breathing thing.
The table stretched far ahead, but only two places were set.
Max took his seat at the head without so much as a glance in your direction, and you slid into the chair opposite him.
Lily quietly withdrew to prepare for your night routine while Lando and Oscar remained a fair distance away, leaving the two of you some privacy to discuss.
Servants moved efficiently, placing the first course on the table: roast venison, honeyed carrots, and freshly baked bread that had already begun to cool in the chill air.
The earlier conversation about books had petered out, leaving a quiet in its wake.
Max ate as though entirely alone, his focus on the meal before him.
You shifted in your seat, the faint scrape of your fork against the plate feeling almost intrusive.
"You know," you began tentatively, "for someone who seems to enjoy books, you’re surprisingly difficult to talk to about them."
Max’s knife paused mid-slice, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.
There was no hostility in his gaze, but his expression was unreadable all the same. “Talking about books is rarely as rewarding as reading them.”
“That sounds suspiciously like an excuse,” you said, trying to inject a bit of lightness into the moment. “Or maybe you just don’t know how to have a proper discussion about them.”
His lips twitched slightly, as if the idea amused him, though he didn’t smile. “Do you often accuse your dining companions of conversational ineptitude, or am I a special case?”
“That depends.” You tore off a piece of bread. “Are you going to prove me wrong?”
Max tilted his head, studying you with quiet curiosity, like someone turning over a puzzle piece in their mind.
“Very well.” He set his knife down carefully. “What would you like to discuss? Goethe? Schiller?”
“Bold of you to assume I am especially fond of German authors. Perhaps I just picked up Faust in the library on a whim.” You smiled. “But if you must know, I’ve been working through Balzac recently.”
He raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting slightly, though still difficult to read. “Balzac? Ambitious. And how are you finding him?”
“Dense,” you admitted with a laugh. “Brilliant, but dense. Definitely not light reading.”
“Few worthwhile things are,” he replied, returning to his meal. “Though I’ve always found Balzac’s fascination with ambition rather… tiresome.”
“Really?” you asked, curious. “Why?”
He took a measured sip of wine before answering. “Because I’ve seen enough ambition in reality to find little appeal in it as fiction.”
You smiled faintly, tilting your head. “And yet, here you are. A product of generations of ambition.”
His gaze darkened slightly, though not in anger.
There was a flicker of something, maybe hesitation, before he spoke. “Careful,” he said, his voice low and quiet. “You’re treading close to dangerous ground.”
“Am I?” you asked, though your tone was gentler now, almost teasing. “I thought we were just talking about books.”
Before he could respond, the servants re-entered, clearing the first course and placing the next before you.
The interruption softened the tension, and you let the moment breathe.
When the room was quiet again, you spoke, this time more cautiously. “Alright, then. Enough about me. What about you? What are you reading?”
Max’s fork paused mid-motion, and he set it down with deliberate care. “Does it matter?”
“Of course, it matters,” you replied, leaning forward slightly. “How else am I supposed to judge your taste?”
For a moment, you thought you saw the faintest glimmer of a smile. “If you must know, The Sorrows of Young Werther.”
You blinked, surprised. “Goethe’s most sentimental work? I wouldn’t have guessed.”
“Sentimentality has its uses,” he said dryly, though there was no real bite to his words. “Even you might agree.”
“Are you suggesting I’m sentimental?” you arched a brow.
“I’m suggesting you’re curious,” he replied, his tone even. “Perhaps overly so.”
“Fair.” You conceded with a small laugh. “But I’m curious.. what draws you to it? The tragedy? The unrequited love?”
He hesitated for just a moment, his gaze dropping briefly before he answered.
“The futility,” he said quietly, lifting his wine glass. “Of longing for something you cannot have.”
For a moment, you didn’t know how to respond, the honesty in his tone catching you off guard. When he didn’t elaborate, you picked up your own glass, letting the silence linger without pressing further.
“You have a rather bleak outlook, don’t you?” you asked finally, your voice softer now.
“Realistic,” he corrected, not unkindly, his gaze flicking back to yours. “Not everyone has the luxury of optimism.”
You frowned slightly, not entirely sure how to reply. “It’s not about luxury,” you said after a pause. “It’s about perspective.”
“Perspective is shaped by reality.” His eyes met yours, boring. “And reality is rarely kind.”
The conversation lulled again, but this time it felt less uneasy and more thoughtful.
As dinner wrapped up, Max glanced at your knights before settling on you, his tone lightening as he spoke. “I trust you can find your rooms?”
You nodded, standing from your chair. “Yes, I think so.”
“No late-night wandering, then?” he asked, his voice carrying the faintest trace of amusement.
Max’s lips twitched again, softer this time, as if he might actually be considering a smile. “Good. I’d hate to have to rescue you from some misstep in the dark.”
You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “What makes you think I’d need rescuing?”
“Experience,” he said simply, the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes.
The air between you shifted slightly, the earlier sharpness fading into something more subdued.
You allowed yourself a small laugh, breaking the lingering tension. “I’ll have you know I’m quite capable of finding my way around.”
“Is that so?” he replied, leaning back in his chair. His tone had softened, the sharp edges dulling to a quiet curiosity. “Well, then. I suppose I’ll trust you.”
“Trust,” you repeated, letting the word hang between you. “A bold move, considering we’ve only just met.”
Max regarded you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Bold, perhaps. But necessary.”
You hesitated, unsure how to respond. There was something in his voice, quiet, measured, and entirely unexpected, that made you pause. The weight of the moment settled around you like the faint flicker of the candlelight, warm yet fragile.
“Well,” you said finally. “I suppose I should be flattered.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
He rose from his seat with practiced ease, the flicker of warmth in his eyes quickly hidden behind his composed demeanor. “Goodnight, then.”
You watched him as he left the dining hall, his steps measured and deliberate, the echo of his footsteps fading into the vast, empty space.
For a moment, you sat in the quiet, your gaze lingering on the door where he had disappeared.
Finally, you stood, the faintest smile playing at your lips. “Goodnight, Max,” you murmured to the empty room.
—-
The first light of dawn crept through the heavy drapes of your room, painting the walls in soft hues of gold and silver. The air carried a sharp chill, the promise of frost lingering just outside the thick panes of glass.
Everything was still, save for the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth and the soft rustling of fabric as Lily moved about with quiet precision.
She bent over a polished wooden chair, her deft hands smoothing out the folds of the attire she’d chosen for you.
A cloak of deep crimson lay draped across her arm, its rich, heavy fabric catching the faint light. You stirred in your bed, watching her through half-lidded eyes as she worked.
“Good morning, Lily,” you murmured, sitting up and drawing the blankets closer against the morning chill.
Lily turned with a warm smile, setting the cloak on the bed beside you. “Good morning, my Lady. Did you sleep well?”
“Well enough,” you replied, your fingers brushing the thick velvet of the cloak. You tilted your head, examining it with curiosity. “I don’t recall seeing this in my wardrobe before.”
“It was delivered just this morning,” Lily explained, her tone light but tinged with amusement. “A gift, I believe, from Lord Verstappen.”
Your brows lifted as you traced the intricate embroidery along the hem, tiny silver threads woven into delicate patterns. “From Lord Verstappen?”
She nodded, folding her hands in front of her. “He must have assumed the worst given your attire yesterday.”
“It’s rather heavy,” you remarked, holding it up to feel its weight.
Lily gave you a knowing smile, her tone dry but affectionate. “I think I speak for all of us when I say that I’d rather you walk with less grace than freeze, my Lady.”
You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you draped the cloak over your shoulders.
It was impossibly warm, the kind of warmth that seeped through your skin and settled in your bones. “You’re not wrong. I suppose there’s no room for vanity when winter comes knocking.”
“None at all,” Lily agreed, moving to adjust the cloak, fastening the silver clasp at your throat. “Besides, the color suits you. Lord Verstappen has surprisingly good taste. I'd have assumed he’d just grab any old thing and force you into it.”
You raised a brow at the tone that laced her words, giving her a sidelong glance. “Flattery for him, Lily? Are you trying to curry favor? And here I thought you were quite ready to sock him just yesterday.”
She feigned innocence, stepping back with a twinkle in her eye. “Not at all, my Lady. But if he keeps sending gifts like this, I might just start.”
Your laughter filled the room, chasing away the last remnants of sleep. You were somewhat glad Lily saw him as redeemable after yesterday.
After all, she was usually a good judge of character.
As you stood, the cloak fell around you like a royal mantle, its weight grounding but comforting.
By the time you entered the dining hall, Max was already seated at the long table, a vision of composed efficiency.
His pale hair was still perfectly swept back, not a strand out of place, and a small stack of documents sat before him.
His pen moved steadily across the paper, his focus unbroken even as the golden morning light softened the sharpness of his features.
“Good morning, Max,” you said, sliding into the chair across from him, your tone deliberately chipper.
Max glanced up briefly, eyes meeting yours with the barest flicker of warmth.
“Good morning,” he replied, setting his pen down with the precision of a man who never did anything carelessly. “You’re up early.”
“It’s rather difficult to stay in bed when the frost feels like it's climbing up to sleep with you,” you said, grabbing a warm roll from the plate near you. “Do you have a deal with the weather to ensure I never sleep in?”
A faint smile tugged at his lips. “I’ll admit to nothing. But if the frost succeeds, perhaps I should reward it.”
“Ha! I’d like to see you try,” you said, tearing a piece of bread and slathering it with butter. “I’ve made my peace with it, though. I realized there was a charm to the winter once I got over the whole ‘freezing to death’ aspect.”
Max arched a brow, his eyes sparkling faintly with what you hoped was amusement. “A charm, you say? I wasn’t aware you were so poetic in the mornings.”
“Oh, I’m a veritable bard before breakfast,” you said. “In fact, I was just composing a sonnet about how frostbite builds character.”
He snorted softly as he reached for his tea, the sound barely audible, but it felt like a victory. “I’ll be sure to commission a copy of it for the library.”
You leaned back in your chair, feeling emboldened by his rare moment of humor
“Speaking of things worth writing about, I was thinking of spending some time in the garden today. It looks magical with the frost.”
Max paused, his teacup halfway to his lips, and gave you a look that bordered on incredulous. “The garden? In winter?”
“Yes, the garden,” you said, undeterred. “You do realize it’s still a garden, even when it’s cold?”
He set his cup down slowly, as if trying to process your words. “You are aware that nothing grows in the garden during winter, yes? Unless you count the weeds, which I doubt have much aesthetic appeal.”
“There are flowers that survive in winter,” you said with a pointed look.
He tilted his head, his expression blank. “Like what? Frozen dandelions?”
“Snowdrops, holly, winter jasmine,” you listed off, ticking them off on your fingers. “I saw some while passing by yesterday. Honestly, do you even know what’s in your own garden?”
Max leaned back slightly. “I delegate. Why bother when there are people who are willing to brave the frost to catalog it all for me?”
You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your grin. “How magnanimous of you.”
He inclined his head slightly, as though you’d paid him a genuine compliment. “It’s a skill.”
“You should come with me,” you said suddenly. “A little walk in the fresh air couldn’t hurt. Who knows? You might even enjoy it.”
He hesitated, his fingers tapping lightly against the rim of his teacup. “I appreciate the invitation,” he said finally, his tone carefully polite. “But my duties don’t often allow for such… luxuries.”
“Luxuries?” you raised a brow. “Surely even a Lord like yourself deserves a moment to himself.”
He chuckled softly, the sound low and rare, but it faded quickly. “Perhaps another time.”
You nodded, masking your disappointment with a practiced smile. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to distract you from your responsibilities.”
“Distraction,” he repeated, his gaze lingering on you longer than necessary.
Something unspoken flickered in his eyes, and though his expression remained composed, there was the faintest hint of something warmer beneath the surface.
“Perhaps,” he said again, this time softer, almost to himself.
You glanced down, heat creeping up your cheeks, and busied yourself with your breakfast.
—-
The steady scratch of a quill against parchment filled the room, broken only by the occasional shuffle of papers.
Max leaned over his desk, eyes scanning the dense columns of reports.
The study was dim, the late afternoon light barely filtering through the heavy curtains. The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting long, flickering shadows across the walls.
Yet, for all his focus, his pen paused mid-sentence.
His thoughts drifted. Again.
To you.
He could see it vividly in his mind: the garden cloaked in frost, each branch thin and brittle beneath the weight of winter.
You would be there, wouldn’t you? Bundled in that wool cloak you favored, breath curling in the cold air as you traced the icy edges of dormant rose bushes.
You had mentioned it offhandedly this morning, your plan to spend the afternoon outside despite the chill.
Max let out a slow breath, frowning at the parchment before him.
The words blurred, meaningless.
It was ridiculous.
You were likely gone by now, the cold too sharp to endure for long.
Rationality urged him to stay, to finish the reports that demanded his attention.
Yet the thought persisted.
Why did it matter if you were still there?
It shouldn’t.
And yet.
The chair scraped quietly against the floor as he stood.
He didn’t bother with his coat. The cold would be a brief inconvenience.
His steps were measured as he left the study, though there was a certain tension in his stride, as if he was trying to convince himself this was a simple walk and nothing more.
The manor’s halls gave way to the biting air of winter, and Max inhaled sharply, the cold seeping through the thin fabric of his sleeves.
The gravel path crunched beneath his boots as he crossed into the garden.
The world was quiet here. Still.
The pale sun sagged low in the sky, casting a silver sheen over frost-laced branches and brittle hedges. Even the air felt suspended, holding its breath.
He scanned the expanse, expecting, no, hoping, to see a flicker of movement among the barren trees.
Nothing.
Max’s jaw tightened.
Of course. You wouldn’t have waited. Hours had passed. Why would you linger in the cold for him? The thought was absurd.
He moved forward anyway, slow and deliberate, his hands clasped behind his back as if that could restrain the growing restlessness in his chest.
Each turn of the path yielded only more empty frost-covered stone.
Once.
Twice.
A third time around, and still nothing.
Perhaps this was a mistake.
He turned to leave.
Then, faintly, the sound of movement, a soft rustle of fabric.
His head snapped up.
And there you were.
Tucked into the curve of a stone bench, half-hidden by the skeletal branches of the hedgerow.
A book lay open in your lap, your gloved fingers idly turning the page.
Max stared.
You hadn’t left.
A strange feeling settled in his chest, something between relief and unease.
He didn’t speak, not immediately. For a moment, he simply watched you, the way your breath misted in the cold, how your hair caught the pale light.
He wasn’t sure why he’d come out here.
But now that he had, he found he didn’t want to leave.
Max exhaled quietly, letting the breath curl away into the cold.
He stood perfectly still, half-concealed by the bare limbs of the hedgerow, his figure blending into the stark winter landscape. The cold gnawed at him, a sharp wind threading through the thin fabric of his sleeves, but he didn’t move.
His breath escaped in thin, controlled streams of vapor, dissipating into the frigid air.
And still, his eyes remained fixed on you.
You sat quietly on the stone bench, bundled in the cloak he'd ordered a servant to bring to you last night come morning, its edges stiff with frost.
A book rested in your lap, your gloved fingers lazily tracing the brittle page edges as you turned them.
Every now and then, you paused, eyes lifting to watch the pale sun as it sagged toward the horizon, before returning to your reading.
Max’s hands tightened behind his back.
He shouldn’t be here.
There was no reason to be.
And yet, he didn’t leave.
He told himself it was coincidence, that his steps had simply led him here after hours of restless pacing in his study.
But even that excuse felt thin, crumbling under the weight of his own unease.
He exhaled slowly, the breath catching in the cold.
Why didn’t you go inside? The air was sharp and biting.
Anyone with sense would’ve retreated to the warmth of the manor by now. Yet you sat there still, as if waiting for something.
Or someone.
A ridiculous thought.
Max’s jaw tightened.
"You know," a dry voice cut through the stillness, "standing there staring is a bit creepy, my Lord.”
Max turned sharply, his cold glare snapping to the armored figure leaning casually against the frosted stone archway.
Oscar.
The knight stood with an infuriating air of nonchalance, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword, the other shoved lazily into the crook of his elbow. His breath misted lazily in the cold air, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“You’re out of line.” Max’s voice was flat, the warning unmistakable.
Oscar only raised an eyebrow, entirely unbothered. “Probably. But you’ve been standing long enough that I figured someone should say something.”
Max’s glare deepened.
Oscar tilted his head slightly toward the garden. “You could just speak to her, you know. I’m half certain she wouldn’t mind.”
“I have no intention of interrupting her,” Max said coolly, though the words rang hollow even to his own ears.
Oscar made a thoughtful noise, tapping a gloved finger against his chin. “No, of course not. That’s why you’re skulking in the hedges instead of being a normal person and saying hello.”
Max’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “You have duties. Attend to them.”
Oscar chuckled under his breath. “Oh, I am attending to them. Protecting the lady, making sure her suitors aren’t lurking about. You know, the usual.”
Max’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
Oscar didn’t flinch.
“Did she not mention this morning she hoped you’d join her out here?” the knight asked offhandedly, brushing frost off his shoulder. “But maybe I heard wrong. Could’ve been the wind.”
Max didn’t respond.
Oscar let the silence stretch for a moment before shrugging. “Well. Suit yourself.”
With that, he pushed off the archway and strode casually toward you, boots crunching against the frost-laden gravel.
Max didn’t move. His gaze followed Oscar with a cold, sharp focus, but his feet remained planted, weighed down by something heavier than pride.
Oscar’s figure grew smaller as he neared you.
And then, you looked up.
Your face softened in recognition, lips curving into a faint smile as your knight approached. Max’s chest tightened inexplicably.
“You’ve been out here a while, my lady,” Oscar remarked lightly, stopping beside the stone bench.
You laughed softly, the sound carrying faintly through the still air. “Longer than I meant to. Has it gotten that late already?”
“Late enough,” Oscar said, leaning slightly against the stone edge. “Cold enough too, I imagine.”
You exhaled, watching the breath curl away. “The cold’s not so bad.”
Oscar smirked. “If you say so. Though I passed Lord Max earlier. He was out here too.”
Your eyes lifted, blinking in quiet surprise. “Was he?”
Oscar hummed. “Looked like he was thinking about joining you. Or maybe just staring at you. Hard to tell with him.”
Your gaze flicked toward the distant paths, searching the empty garden.
Oscar watched you carefully. “Still might be lurking somewhere. Shadows seem to agree with him.”
You smiled faintly, but your eyes lingered on the hedgerows, thoughtful.
Oscar nudged a frost-coated pebble with his boot. “You know… if you wanted him here, you could just call him out. Maybe the shame will make his feet move.”
You glanced at him, arching a brow.
He smirked. “Just a thought, my Lady.”
Oscar pushed off the bench. “Come on. You’ll catch cold if you stay out much longer.”
As they turned to head back toward the manor, Max stood still, hidden beyond the hedges.
His hands clenched slowly at his sides.
And then, finally, he turned and walked away.
The frost crunched beneath his boots, louder than before.
The rest of the month at the Verstappen estate unfolded in slow, deliberate strokes, like the steady brush of winter wind against frosted glass.
The walls of cold formality between you and Max didn’t crumble overnight, but there were cracks now. Thin, hairline fractures where something softer threatened to seep through.
Max remained composed, distant, his every word and gesture measured. Yet every so often, something flickered.
A hesitation before he spoke. A glance that lingered longer than necessary.
Small, fleeting moments that barely seemed to matter, but they did. They built something fragile and new, fragile as frost on stone.
It started with the garden.
You had grown fond of the winter gardens. Quiet, stark, and untouched. The biting air sharpened your senses, and the stillness gave you space to breathe, something you often struggled to find within the Verstappen estate's cold, towering walls.
You were seated at the breakfast table one morning, fingers curled around your tea for warmth.
Your eyes traced the frost-laced hedgerows beyond the tall windows, lost in thought.
“I’ll accompany you today.”
The voice was quiet but certain, breaking through your reverie.
Your head snapped up.
Max stood across the room, a stack of documents in hand, his expression unreadable.
“…Pardon?”
His gaze didn’t waver. “To the gardens. I’ll walk with you.”
You stared at him, caught off guard. “You want to… walk. Outside. In the cold.”
A slight tilt of his head. “Yes.”
“You?”
His jaw tensed, a muscle ticking. “Is that so difficult to believe?”
“Frankly? Yes.” You set your teacup down carefully, studying him. “Don’t you have something far more important to do than trail after me like some-”
“I hardly think safeguarding my betrothed is beneath me,” he cut in smoothly, though something in his tone lacked its usual sharpness.
You raised a brow. “Safeguard me? Max, it’s a garden, not a battlefield.”
He didn’t answer, only held your gaze steadily.
A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “Well, far be it from me to refuse the protection of a lord.”
Max inclined his head, as if the matter was settled.
The cold met you both immediately as you stepped into the garden.
You drew your coat tighter. Max, of course, didn’t seem to notice the cold at all.
His steps were measured, boots crunching against the frost-dusted path. He kept half a step ahead of you, his hands clasped neatly behind his back.
The silence stretched. And stretched.
Then, abruptly-
“Those are evergreens.”
You blinked.
“…Yes. They are.”
Max gave a small nod, as if confirming a fact. “They endure the winter well.”
"That is typically how evergreens work."
Silence.
You bit your lip, fighting the smile threatening to surface.
Max cleared his throat, his eyes flicking forward again. "I thought it was worth mentioning."
"It was very insightful," you teased lightly.
His jaw tightened, though you noticed the faintest flush at the tips of his ears.
The silence stretched again, but it didn’t feel so suffocating now.
"I don’t…" he started, then stopped. His hands flexed behind his back. "I’m not particularly… good at this."
You tilted your head. "At walking?”
A sharp exhale, half a laugh, half frustration. "At this. Talking. Being-" he paused, as if the word itself burned. "-approachable."
You considered him for a moment. "You’re not as terrible as you think."
His eyes flicked to yours, uncertain.
"You just talk about trees a lot."
That earned a genuine huff of breath. Not quite a laugh, but close.
"I’ll… keep that in mind.”
Days slipped by like soft falling snow, quiet and unhurried. And so did the walks.
The first few outings had been brittle, every step and word sharp with awkwardness. But little by little, the stiffness began to melt.
It wasn’t anything grand, no sweeping gestures or sudden confessions, but something quieter. Subtle.
Max no longer fumbled for conversation, and you no longer waited for him to.
Sometimes you spoke. Sometimes you didn’t. And somehow, the silences became easier.
There was comfort in it, like the steady crunch of frost beneath your boots or the way your breath curled in the cold air.
It started with small things.
One morning, as you walked past a thicket of frost-covered hedges, Max slowed his pace, watching you with a flicker of curiosity.
“You always stop here.”
You glanced at him, surprised he noticed. “It’s peaceful.”
His eyes followed yours to the bare branches dusted in white.
“Hm.” He made a low sound of acknowledgment, then fell quiet.
The next day, you noticed he lingered near that spot, as if waiting for you to pause first.
He didn’t say anything, but it was enough.
Another morning, you stumbled slightly on the uneven path, your boot catching on a patch of ice.
Before you could right yourself, a steady hand caught your elbow.
You blinked, looking up.
Max’s hand hovered there, his grip careful but sure.
His expression was unreadable, but his touch was steady.
“You should watch your step,” he murmured.
You stared at him for a beat too long.
“I was,” you said finally, a little breathless.
His hand dropped back to his side, and he turned away before you could see the faint pink creeping up his neck.
The next day, the path had been salted.
You never mentioned it. Neither did he.
But the air between you felt lighter.
Then, there was the matter of the scarf.
It was colder than usual that morning. Bitter wind snuck through the layers of your coat and scarf, nipping at your skin.
Max noticed.
“You’re cold,” he said flatly.
You glanced at him, defensive. “It’s winter. Everyone’s cold.”
He was quiet for a moment. Then, without a word, he unwound the dark wool scarf from his neck and held it out to you.
You blinked.
“…What are you doing?”
“You need it more than I do.”
You stared at the scarf, then at him. “Max, I’m not going to take your scarf. That’s ridiculous.”
“It’s practical,” he replied, tone perfectly serious.
You huffed a laugh. “Oh, is it? And what about you?”
“I’ll manage.”
His expression didn’t waver.
After a long pause, you sighed and took the scarf from his hands.
It was warm. Warmer than yours, and it smelled faintly of cedar and something crisp, like winter air.
You looped it around your neck, hiding a small smile.
“Happy now?”
Max gave a short nod. “Good.”
The next day, he wore a thicker coat.
You said nothing.
Neither did he.
But his gaze lingered on the scarf around your neck.
And that was enough.
The silences softened after that.
Some days, Max would walk slightly ahead, hands behind his back, eyes on the path.
Other days, he matched your stride, quiet but near.
Once, as you passed a row of brittle rose bushes, you paused, brushing your glove over the thorns.
Max stopped beside you.
“They won’t bloom again until spring.”
“I know.”
He was quiet for a moment.
“They’re still... nice to look at,” he admitted.
You glanced at him.
“That’s surprisingly sentimental of you.”
A slight shrug. “They’re resilient. Even now.”
You smiled, soft and secret.
Another day, you caught him watching you when you laughed at something small. A small squirrel darting through the snow, slipping and scrambling back up a tree.
Max didn’t laugh, but something flickered in his eyes.
Not amusement.
Something warmer.
He looked away when you caught him, but you didn’t tease him for it.
The walks stretched longer. The conversations grew softer.
There were no grand declarations, no sweeping changes.
Just the slow, steady thaw of winter.
And for now, that was enough.
—-
It happened on an ordinary day, so ordinary that you couldn’t have guessed it would stand out for any reason at all.
You were sitting in the common room, absentmindedly flipping through a file, your thoughts half on the task and half on the cup of tea cooling beside you.
You were aware of Max nearby, as you always seemed to be. The two of you had taken to spending your quiet moments together for some reason.
He was seated at the far corner, half-hidden behind a stack of papers, his focus presumably locked on his work.
Or so you thought.
It wasn’t until you reached for your tea, your eyes lifting momentarily, that you noticed it. His gaze.
Max was staring at you.
It wasn’t a casual glance or a quick flicker of attention. His eyes were fixed, steady, like he was studying you without even realizing it.
There was something almost unreadable in his expression, his usual guarded demeanor softened by a hint of… curiosity? Thoughtfulness? You couldn’t quite place it.
For a moment, you froze, unsure what to do. Should you look away? Pretend you hadn’t noticed? Confront him?
The options raced through your mind in a tangle, but before you could decide, Max blinked, as though snapping out of a trance.
His gaze shifted back to the papers in front of him, his movements abrupt and uncharacteristically awkward.
He cleared his throat quietly, shuffling the documents with more focus than necessary.
You felt your cheeks warm, a faint heat creeping up your neck. It wasn’t like Max to lose his composure, even slightly.
You wondered what he’d been thinking. Or if he’d even realized what he was doing.
“Everything alright?” you asked, breaking the silence before it could stretch uncomfortably long. Your voice was casual, light, as though the moment hadn’t happened.
Max didn’t look up immediately, his jaw tightening for a fraction of a second. “Fine,” he said, his tone clipped, but there was a faint edge to it, something almost defensive.
You tilted your head, studying him for a beat longer. “You sure? You looked… distracted.”
He finally met your gaze, his expression unreadable again, but this time you thought you caught the faintest flicker of something.
Embarrassment, maybe, or irritation at being caught.
“I’m sure,” he said, his tone more even now.
“Alright,” you said lightly, turning back to your file with a small shrug. But your heart was still racing, and you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering what had just passed between you.
As the moments ticked by, you resisted the urge to glance at him again, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of his earlier stare.
The two of you found yourselves in the library again, a rare moment of calm amidst the usual chaos.
Max sat across from you, his attention drifting between the book in his hands and the room around him.
For once, he wasn’t buried in paperwork or fielding endless questions from others, and the quiet was almost comforting.
The soft rustle of turning pages and the muted hum of your own reading filled the air.
It was a stillness that wrapped around you both, unspoken but shared, a silence that felt like an unacknowledged truce.
Until the peace fractured.
A faint groan of wood sliced through the quiet, subtle at first but growing louder, sharper. You frowned, your eyes flicking upward from your book.
Max noticed the sound too, his head tilting slightly as his attention shifted.
“What was that?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
Max didn’t answer right away, his eyes narrowing as the groaning intensified. “Stay here,” he muttered, already rising from his chair.
But before either of you could move further, the source of the noise revealed itself.
The tall shelf in the corner swayed unnaturally, its weight shifting in a way that made your stomach twist.
“Max-” you started, panic creeping into your voice.
And then it happened. The shelf gave way.
Books tumbled from its upper shelves like a cascade of water, filling the air with dull thuds and sharp cracks.
The massive structure pitched toward you, and you froze, your feet rooted in place.
“Move!” a voice yelled.
You barely registered the shout before a strong hand grabbed your arm, yanking you back with such force that your book flew from your grasp.
Your back slammed into something solid. Someone’s chest.
A deafening crash filled the room as the shelf slammed into the ground, its impact sending vibrations through the floor.
Books scattered in every direction, some sliding to a stop at your feet.
“Are you okay?” Max’s voice was sharp, edged with panic. His hand still gripped your arm, his knuckles white from the effort.
You turned toward him, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps. “I… I think so.”
His eyes darted over you, scanning for any sign of injury. “Did it hit you?” he asked, his voice quieter but no less urgent.
“No,” you managed. “I’m fine. Just… shaken.”
Max exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging as some of the tension left him.
He dropped his hand from your arm, stepping back to give you space, but his gaze stayed locked on you.
“I should’ve seen it coming,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I knew it was old..” He trailed off, his jaw tightening.
You shook your head, still trying to steady your breathing. “You couldn’t have known it would fall like that.”
His brow furrowed, frustration flickering across his face. “I should’ve checked it. What if-” He cut himself off, his jaw working as he looked away.
“It didn’t,” you said firmly. “You pulled me out of the way. That’s what matters.”
Max’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, his frown deepened. “This shouldn’t have happened in the first place. I should’ve-”
“Stop,” you interrupted, your voice firmer than you expected. “Max, you can’t blame yourself. You didn’t push the shelf. You didn’t make it fall.”
He met your gaze then, his eyes dark and filled with a storm of emotions. “But I could’ve stopped it,” he said quietly, almost to himself.
You hesitated, unsure how to respond. The raw guilt in his voice surprised you. It was rare to see Max shaken. You didn't even think it possible.
“You did stop it. At least for me,” you said softly.
He stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable.
Finally, he sighed and stepped toward the wreckage. “This is a mess,” he muttered, his tone shifting to something more clipped, controlled. “I’ll get someone to clean it up. You should go sit down. Get some air.”
You followed his gaze to the pile of broken wood and scattered books. The sight made your stomach twist, but you forced yourself to speak. “I’ll help. I was here too.”
“No,” Max said quickly, holding up a hand. “You’ve had enough of a scare for one day. Just… take a break, alright?”
You hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “Fine. But only because you asked.”
Max gave a short, almost reluctant nod in return. “Good. I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again.”
As you turned to leave, you glanced back at him. He was already moving toward the debris, his focus shifting entirely to the mess. But the tension in his shoulders hadn’t eased, and you knew he’d be carrying the weight of what could have happened for a while.
And so would you.
—-
The realization that you fancied Max struck with all the subtlety of a thunderclap.
You fancied your fiancé. Oh, God. You fancied your fiancé.
The thought struck you like a bolt of lightning, the weight of it settling heavily in your chest as you paced back and forth across your room.
With each step, the walls of the room seemed to shrink around you, the air thick with the suffocating pressure of your own spiraling thoughts.
How had this happened? Why him? Of all people, why Max?
Stoic, distant Max, the man you barely even knew.
“It’s a trick of the mind. A reaction to circumstance,” you whispered, the words directed at your own reflection in the mirror.
Your face was pinched, your brow furrowed, and your eyes wide with a mixture of dread and something… else.
You rubbed at your temples, as though the act might banish the errant thoughts swirling in your mind.
“It’s admiration,” you said aloud, as if hearing the words would make them true. “Respect for his… demeanor. His resolve.”
You faltered, the image of Max flickering to life in your mind.
His measured gaze, the faint crease at the corner of his mouth when he was deep in thought.
The way his presence seemed to command the air around him.
Stop it.
“Lily!” you called out suddenly, your voice higher than you intended, panic rising sharply in your throat. “Lily, please, come here!”
The door creaked open, and Lily entered with her usual composed air, her eyes softening as soon as she took in the sight of your distress.
“My Lady, what’s wrong? You look...” she trailed off, hesitation in her tone as she glanced at you, clearly noting the unease written across your face.
“Don’t even say it,” you interrupted quickly, pressing your palms to your temples in an effort to stave off the rising panic. “I’m losing my mind, Lily. I think... I think I have feelings for Max.”
Lily regarded you for a long moment, her expression unreadable, but there was a subtle shift in her eyebrow.
A hint of intrigue that you couldn’t quite place. She did not seem surprised.
“Max?” she asked, her voice calm, though the faintest hint of something stirred in her eyes. “As in, your betrothed, Lord Max Verstappen?”
“Yes! That Max!” you exclaimed, turning toward her with wide, frantic eyes, feeling the chaos inside you deepen with every word you spoke. “What other Max would I be talking about?!”
Lily paused for a moment, her eyes assessing you, the soft lines of her face betraying no judgment, only careful understanding.
Finally, she spoke, her tone even, but with an edge of something like amusement.
“Well,” she said thoughtfully, “I’m glad it’s not hatred you’re feeling.”
You blinked, surprised at her response. “What?”
She gave you a small, wry smile, her hands folding gently in front of her. “I’m glad you don’t detest the man you’re engaged to. That’s a start, isn’t it? At least you’re not loathing him.”
You gaped at her, your mind still reeling from the gravity of your own emotions. “But this isn’t nothing, Lily! This isn’t just some passing fancy. I can’t stop thinking about him. Every time he’s near, I feel like I’m going to lose my mind. I don’t know how to act around him. It’s like- like he’s too close and I’m too far from myself.”
Lily’s gaze softened, but she did not rush to soothe you with easy words.
She tilted her head slightly, her voice measured but firm. “Feelings like these don’t appear overnight, My Lady. They don’t disappear either. But you’re right. You don’t know him very well yet. You’ve got time to work this out, slowly. You don’t have to have it all figured out now.”
You nodded, but the knot in your stomach only tightened as a new wave of uncertainty washed over you.
“I don’t know what to do with all of this, Lily. What if I say something wrong? What if I act like a fool in front of him? What if... what if he doesn’t care at all?”
Lily stepped closer to you, her presence steady, constant.
“Then he doesn’t,” she said simply. “If he doesn’t care, then... then you’ll be no worse off than you are now, My Lady. But know this: no other woman is taking him from you. He’s already yours. That’s settled.”
Her words settled over you like a weight.
He was already yours.
There was no escaping the finality of it, the truth in her calm tone.
The idea that you didn’t need to chase after him, that he was already tied to you in ways you couldn’t control, both unsettled and reassured you.
“I’m not even sure I want him, though,” you murmured, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “I don’t even know what this is. What if I’m just... confused? What if it’s just... attachment? I mean, he’s always there, he’s my betrothed, but- he’s not-”
“Stop,” Lily’s voice sliced through your spiraling thoughts. “You don’t need to understand it all right now. You don’t need to be sure of your feelings just because you’ve realized them.”
You took a slow breath, your chest tight as you tried to keep your composure.
Her words were soothing in their simplicity, but they didn’t change your feelings. “I just... I don’t know what to do with all this. It’s too much. Too fast. I can’t keep up.”
You let the words hang in the air, unsure if you were speaking to her or to yourself.
Lily gave you a small, understanding smile, though it was tinged with a trace of amusement.
She didn’t speak for a moment, as though carefully weighing her response. “Then take it slow, my Lady. You’re allowed to feel all of this, in your own time. You don’t have to rush to make sense of it. No one’s going to force you to figure it out on anyone else’s schedule.”
A tiny sense of relief swept over you, but the knot in your stomach still refused to loosen.
You glanced at the door, as though the mere idea of being near Max would send everything crashing down again.
“So... you’re saying I can avoid him... for a while?”
Lily raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with the suggestion. “Avoid him?” she repeated, the edge of disbelief creeping into her voice. “My Lady, if I may-"
“But I can?” you pressed, cutting her off, eyes wide with urgency. “You said I could take my time, right? Well, avoiding him sounds like taking my time to me.”
Lily sighed, the sound long and heavy, as though you were testing her patience. “Yes, My Lady, your free will does indeed allow you to avoid him, if that’s truly what you wish.”
A spark of triumph flickered inside you.
“Perfect.” You stood straighter, a plan forming in your mind. “Call for Sir Landon and Sir Oscar.”
Lily’s eyebrows furrowed as she eyed you suspiciously. “What for, My Lady?”
You gave her an almost manic grin, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease slightly as your plan took shape. “They’re going to help me.”
“Help you... with avoiding your betrothed?” Lily asked slowly, a hint of disbelief creeping into her voice. She crossed her arms, studying you with a bemused expression.
“Yes,” you replied firmly, not an ounce of hesitation in your voice. “They’ll help me stay away from him. They’ll distract him, tell him I’m busy with... other things.”
Lily opened her mouth to respond but stopped herself, narrowing her eyes at you as if you had just suggested something ludicrous.
“My Lady,” she said, her voice dipping into a tone of mild reproach, “I must say, I don’t think that’s the most productive course of action.”
“Oh, please.” You threw your hands up dramatically. “I’m just trying to buy myself some time here. I can’t face him, not with these... feelings…whatever they are…bubbling up every time I even think about him. If I can just avoid him for a little while, I can breathe again.”
Lily shook her head, a small, resigned smile playing on her lips. “I don’t think this is the solution you’re looking for, My Lady. But if you insist on this... strategy, I can’t stop you.”
You raised an eyebrow, suddenly intrigued by the shift in her tone. “You can stop me, can’t you? You’re my lady’s maid. You’re supposed to stop me from making poor decisions.”
Lily raised an eyebrow right back at you. “I’m also supposed to help you navigate poor decisions, not prevent them entirely. And right now, this is just one of many decisions I’m going to let you make on your own.”
She paused, eyeing you carefully. “But just know, avoiding him isn’t going to give you the answers you need. It’ll only prolong the inevitable.”
You smiled sweetly, still not convinced. “Sometimes, a little delay is exactly what I need. Besides, it’s not like he’s going anywhere. We’re betrothed, after all.”
“That you are,” Lily replied, her tone becoming slightly sharper. “Which is exactly why you shouldn’t be avoiding him. You’ve got time, but you also have a responsibility to work through your feelings. Even if it’s uncomfortable.”
You glanced toward the door, already plotting the next phase of your plan. “I’ll figure it out. But in the meantime, I’m going to need some assistance.”
Lily sighed again, louder this time.
She didn’t speak for a long moment, her gaze flicking to the door as though she were silently debating whether or not to humor you.
Finally, she gave a small nod. “Very well. I’ll fetch Sir Landon and Sir Oscar. But I’m warning you, My Lady, this avoidance strategy won’t last long.”
You grinned triumphantly as she turned to leave. “Thank you, Lily. You’re the best.”
As she stepped out of the room, you sank back into your chair, letting your mind wander to the next step of your plan.
You weren’t entirely sure what you were doing, but it felt better than facing Max and trying to make sense of the chaos swirling inside you.
For now, avoiding him was the only option that seemed remotely manageable.
When Lily returned with your knights, they each looked at you with varying degrees of confusion and amusement, but you gave them a firm, confident look.
This plan was going to work.
You could make it work.
“Alright,” you said, standing tall, as though the sheer gravity of your decision had transformed you into a seasoned military strategist. “Here’s the plan. We’re going to make sure Max never sees me again.”
A pause hung in the air, heavy and expectant.
“Or at least… not for a while.”
Lando and Oscar exchanged a glance. Lando’s lips twitched upward, the beginnings of a grin playing at the corners of his mouth, while Oscar’s furrowed brow and pursed lips betrayed his confusion.
“Right,” Lando said finally, leaning back and crossing his arms. His tone was equal parts incredulous and amused. “This ought to be good. What, exactly, do you want us to do, my Lady? This sounds like it’s going to be excellent for my boredom.”
Oscar’s expression tightened further. “You can’t be serious,” he muttered, half to himself, his arms now folded.
You straightened your back, summoning all the confidence you could muster. “I am entirely serious. From this moment forward, I have suddenly become… extremely busy.”
Oscar blinked. “Busy,” he repeated flatly.
“Yes, busy,” you replied, the words tumbling out with an exaggerated air of importance. “So busy, in fact, that I won’t have a single moment to spare. And I need you two to help make sure that’s… believable.”
Lando arched an eyebrow, a grin now fully blossoming on his face. “Wait, let me get this straight. You want us to..what? Fabricate your life for a bit?”
“Exactly,” you said with a flourish of your hand, as though the absurdity of your request was irrelevant. “A little misdirection here, a well-timed excuse there. Between the two of you, I’m sure you can come up with something convincing.”
Lando let out a low whistle, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “So, you’re asking us to keep Max, the man who has been running this house like a clock, distracted? To throw him off the scent entirely?”
“Precisely,” you said, lifting your chin.
Oscar looked less amused and more concerned, his practical nature coming to the forefront. “And what exactly is this plan supposed to achieve? You think if we keep him occupied for long enough, he’ll just… forget about you? You do realize who we’re talking about, right?”
“I don’t need him to forget,” you replied quickly, your voice rising slightly in pitch. “I just need him to be… preoccupied. Thoroughly distracted. He can’t be allowed to think about me, let alone come looking for me.”
Oscar stared at you for a long moment, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “You do realize how ridiculous this sounds, don’t you?”
“Ridiculous or not, it’s necessary,” you said firmly. “I can’t have him breathing down my neck right now. Not while I’m trying to..” You stopped abruptly. “..Figure things out.”
Lando, who had been quietly observing, suddenly burst out laughing. “This is incredible. You’re trying to dodge the one man who could probably find you in his sleep.”
“Lando,” you said sharply, glaring at him.
“No, no, I’m on board,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I just want it on record that when this inevitably backfires, I’ll be there to say ‘I told you so.’”
Oscar sighed, his skepticism undiminished. “Even if we manage to keep him distracted, it won’t last long. He’s too sharp for that.”
“Then we’ll just have to be sharper,” you shot back, planting your hands on your hips.
Lando snorted. “Sharper than Lord Verstappen? Oh, my Lady, you’ve got high hopes. But fine, I’ll play along. What’s your grand strategy?”
You hesitated, realizing you hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Uh… I don’t know. Just make something up. A task, a duty, whatever it takes. You’re both clever. Use your imagination.”
Lando grinned like a cat who had just been handed a saucer of cream. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll come up with something. This is going to be very entertaining.”
Oscar, meanwhile, was still frowning. “This is reckless,” he said quietly.
“Reckless or not,” you replied, “it’s happening. So, are you in or not?”
Oscar sighed again, clearly reluctant but unable to resist your determined expression. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Excellent,” you said, clapping your hands together. “Now, let’s get to work.”
As Lando leaned back in his chair, still grinning, and Oscar reluctantly nodded his agreement, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of triumph. Surely, this would work. How hard could it be to outmaneuver Max Emilian Verstappen?
You tried to ignore the nagging voice in the back of your mind whispering that you might have just made a very, very big mistake.
—-
Permanent tag list:
@papichulomacy
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dreamauri · 25 days ago
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♪ — 𝗨𝗦𝗘𝗥 𝗜𝗦 𝗧𝗬𝗣𝗜𝗡𝗚 . . . 𝗺𝗮𝘅 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗻 max verstappen x fem! reader (fluff, crack) fic summary . . . random texts between you and your boyfriend
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( main master list | more of max verstappen ) ( requests )
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no one asked for more but i wanted to (I have even more)
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maplesyrupsainz · 1 year ago
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˖⁺。˚⋆˙private, not a secret | MV1˖⁺。˚⋆˙
pairing: max verstappen x wife!reader y/n (she/her)
genre: social media au, established/secret relationship
warnings: very fluffy :))
summary: in which you and your husband like to keep things on the low so much so that none of his fans know about the family you have together
a/n: i luv this req tbh i lowkey luv writing kids in it's sooo cute im lowkey broody af atm too 😭 helllll
request!!!: Hi!! Could I request an smau with max where he has a secret family or something idk I just think it could be really cute !
fc: various blonde girls from pinterest
my masterlist
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twitter ->
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instagram ->
yourusername
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liked by maxverstappen1, carlossainz55, and others
yourusername my beautiful life
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maxverstappen1 my girls
yourusername 💓
carlossainz55 god i look so cool
yourusername hahahhh yeaaa
carlossainz55 ???
yourusername nothing mate😄
yourbff aww i need to come see you guys
yourusername yes please omg 😧 alice said she misses her fav aunt !
only accounts that follow yourusername may see this post
messages ->
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instagram ->
maxverstappen1
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liked by yourusername, danielricciardo, and 88,928 others
maxverstappen1 beach day
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user7 omg hi y/n
user8 YES A Y/N FEATURE
user9 omg he let her out of the basement
user10 💀
danielricciardo go off
maxverstappen1 yessss!!! whatever that means
user11 lol
charles_leclerc tell y/n we want her at the next race please
maxverstappen1 she will come if the babysitter is free 👍
*comment deleted by maxverstappen1*
maxverstappen1 she said she'll think about it 🧠
user12 WHAT
user13 Urmmmmmmm did you guys see the deleted comment
user14 do max & y/n have children?
twitter ->
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yourusername let's ignore max's deleted comment slip up shall we
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charles_leclerc i am sorry on his behalf y/n 🙏
yourusername hahah dont worry about it charlie
oscarpiastri get him on a time out asap
liked by yourusername
yourbff aww the world deserves to know about little alice
yourusername they will soon we're keeping her childhood safe for now
maxverstappen1 you already know she's gonna come watch her dad race soon 😎
yourbff im sure she'll find that very fun max
yourusername hahah that's what i said
maxverstappen1 😒
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interview ->
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transcript (sorry if it's hard to read😭) ->
there is always going to be rumours ahout my relationship considering we keep things to ourselves, neither of us find it necessary to comment on them very often. *laughs* i've never heard anyone say i'm hiding y/n, no. we have always been private but never ever a secret and that's how it will remain for the most part
twitter ->
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maxverstappen1
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liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, and 1,124,293 others
maxverstappen1 a small insight into our (family) life
tagged: yourusername
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user21 NOOOO WAYYYYY
user22 this is so so so so precious
user23 omg i feel so honoured that this is being shared with us even tho it's only a small piece of their lives 🫶
user24 max being a girl dad JUST MAKES SENSE
liked by yourusername
yourusername i love you!!
maxverstappen1 i love you more ❤️
user25 this is so special
charles_leclerc love you guys
liked by maxverstappen1, yourusername
danielricciardo congratulations again bro you have a such a beautiful family
maxverstappen1 thank you daniel 😄
twitter ->
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yourusername this account will never go public gang dont worry!! especially because im pregnant again 🤫
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oscarpiastri omg congratulations y/n
maxverstappen1 and me?
oscarpiastri oh right yea sorry max forgot, congratulations mate
danielricciardo congratulations guys 🫶
liked by yourusername, maxverstappen1
charles_leclerc so so happy for you guys
yourusername ❤️❤️❤️
yourbff 🤰 ur glowing
yourusername i heart you
maxverstappen1 you are so beautiful
yourusername stop it you im blushing
maxverstappen1 i love making you blush
yourusername i love you
maxverstappen1 i love you my girl 💗
only accounts that follow yourusername may see this post
THE END ❤️
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cllightning81 · 3 months ago
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Red Bull? Really?
Summary : You're dating the three time world champion that's in a championship battle with your twin brother. However, you haven't told him about the relationship
Pairing/s: Max Verstappen x Norris!Reader
Word Count :
Masterlist Max Verstappen Masterlist Want to be included in my tag list? Click HERE
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You and Lando always had a good relationship. You didn’t have any twin telepathy, but that didn’t mean that neither of you couldn’t tell what was going on with the other. That was why Lando now knew that you were hiding something from him just by your body language. 
You were in a serious relationship with his on track rival where the rivalry was just heating up second by second. How could you come clean about that? It was bound to break your relationship with Lando and Lando’s relationship with Max. 
While all the commentators assumed the races would be what broke their relationship off track, it was about to be you. You had spoken to Max before the summer holidays and decided that before you left to go on holiday with him, you’d confess to Lando. 
Your original idea was just to text Lando from another room in his house while he was streaming so that his reaction couldn’t be too extreme but Max told you not to do that and that he was your brother. He wasn’t going to be too extreme. 
How wrong Max was about to be. Another debate you’d win. 
Lando had just finished streaming and was now coming downstairs to get some food that you’d cooked – in hopes to butter him up – you smiled over at him as you answered a text from Max F about a project you had coming up together. 
“So” Lando said, sitting down on the couch opposite you. You could feel your heart rate starting to rise knowing that you actually had to tell him now. Having previously told him, you needed to talk. 
“You can’t lash out” You started, and he raised his eyes. You really wish you had done it your way and just locked yourself in the bathroom so he couldn’t get near you. 
“That’s not a good start Y/N” You bit your lip, looking over at him briefly 
“So I’m dating someone” You whispered as Lando sat forward a little with a smirk crossing his face 
“Do I know them?” He asked, and you nodded slightly as he raised his eyebrows, getting a little more suspicious now. 
“Look, it was never my intention to hurt you. When we first started seeing each other, it was before anything ever happened. You’ll always be my brother before anything else. Please don’t do anything harsh” You rambled, stopping due to the knock on the door. You quickly took it as your chance to leave the conversation, hoping that Lando and yourself could forget about it. 
Except when you answered the door, your problem was, stood at the other side of the door. You let out a long breath, letting him into the house. 
“Max! I was just about to find out who Y/N is dating. You can join me” Lando hummed as you closed the door, taking a deep breath. You could see the smirk crossing Max’s face 
“Erm yeah Lan I think I’ll finish this conversation when we’re alone” You wandered off to your bedroom despite Lando’s complaints. 
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You hadn’t brought up the conversation again to Lando and had quickly avoided any conversation he brought up. 
That was until you were, stood in your own house, Max was, sat on your couch scrolling  through the TV, trying to find something for you both to watch. 
“Kindje” (Baby) Max called as you poked your head through from the kitchen with a smile 
“Yeah?” You asked, walking over to him standing between his legs. 
“Movie or TV show?” He asked, looking up at you as his arms wrapped around your waist
“Let’s go TV show. Movies are long and boring” You answered, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips, and he nodded, pressing a kiss back to your lips. Pulling you on top of his body so that you were straddling his lap. Your head resting in the crook of his neck breathing in his scent as one of his hands rubbed circles on your back 
“Still avoiding the conversation with Lando?” He asked, and you nodded 
“You and him keep getting your elbows out on track. I think that would make it worse” You sighed. It would make it worse. Lando and Max were violent on track enough as it was. You couldn’t imagine Lando’s violence if he found out about you and Max. 
“How about we abandon the TV show, go to bed, and just cuddle?” He suggested, and you nodded. 
“That sounds like a plan,” you hummed. Max stood up within one move, one of his hands hooked under you to carry you to the bedroom. Normally, you stayed at Max’s house however, Max decided to come over to your house tonight to surprise you. 
Max settled you on the bed before getting settled in next to you. Your body curling into his as he wrapped his arms around you. The silence was nice. Max’s hand under his shirt that you were now wearing drawing, comforting shapes on your back. 
You were both getting comfortable and about to fall asleep when there was a loud bang followed by someone shouting your name however, it didn’t compute who it was. 
“Y/N. Where are you?” Lando shouted, and that’s when it hit. Lando. You and Max both quickly jumped up as you glanced at Max, shutting the bedroom door as you walked to the living room to avoid Lando walking into the bedroom. 
“Lando it’s late” You complained, and he just shrugged. 
“And? I’ve got exciting news” He shrugged as your rolled your eyes. Lando’s eyes narrowed as he looked back at you from his spot on the couch. 
“What? Is that a red bull shirt?” He asked loudly as you glanced down at the top you were wearing. Shit. Fuck Max for not owning any other shirts. 
“I erm. I borrowed it from Checo and just never gave it back when I spilt coffee down myself that one time” You lied. It was a really obvious lie. The massive 33 on the top gave that away. Lando started to take a couple steps away from you, falling over the couch as he did. You couldn’t help but laugh a little after all he was your brother. Lando glared at you 
“Look Lando. I’ve been trying to tell you. I just didn’t know how. Please don’t be mad” You whispered 
“How long?” He asked quietly 
“About five months” You whispered, looking down as he continued walking towards the door, not saying anything loudly, just shaking his head and muttering to himself. “Lando please” you looked over, and he quickly opened the door and left slamming the door behind himself. 
You sat on the couch, dropping your head into your hands as a pair of hands wrapped around your body. The tears slowly falling down your face as Max’s hand rubbed your arm softly, pulling your body into his 
“It’s okay kindje” He whispered, holding you close despite you trying to push him away “Hey don’t fight me. I’m not going anywhere no matter how much you fight me” You were too distressed to understand what Max was saying. 
You’d hurt your brother. That’s the worst feeling that you’d ever felt in your life. What hurt more is the fact he didn’t even say a word to you. You never expected him to be happy about it, but you expected him to maybe say something to you. 
You didn’t want Max’s comfort. You felt like you didn’t deserve Max’s comfort, not after the harm you just caused your brother. You deserved to feel the harm as well. Siblings never mind twins were meant to harm each other. 
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A couple weeks later, at the next Grand Prix, Lando still wasn’t talking to you. You’d phoned him a couple times a day, texted him multiple times a day, and even attempted to show up at his house. Max stepped in after a week also trying to speak to Lando. You’d even went through your family to try and speak to Lando, but he wasn’t having it. 
Now Max had convinced you to come to the Grand Prix just so that you wouldn’t be in the house moping as he had said. And well, in all honesty, his cats were little devils, and they could manage a week or two with a cat sitter.
Max’s hand rested on the small of your back as he spoke to the driver thanking them for driving you to the hotel. As you were about to walk in Max spotted a guy standing just off the side to all the team members and other people turning to you with a sly smile before his hand dropped and he walked over to the guy. Who clearly backed out of just asking Max to sign something, but you liked how even though he was prepared, he still respected the privacy. 
Max soon walked back over his hand, going back to resting on the small of your back as you smiled up at him 
“Ready kindje?” He asked, and you nodded with a smile 
“Think so” You hummed, walking into the hotel with him and up to the room he had been assigned. You were hoping that Lando was going to be here, but deep down, you knew that they had their own hotel sponsor and would probably be staying there, but one could wish. 
Max had also been invited to an event with sponsors, and after a lot of convincing, you decided to go with him. It was better than being stuck in a hotel room alone and there was free food which did work out as a bonus because those savings don’t last long when you refuse to let your boyfriend pay for your things wanting to be independent. 
Now, getting ready in the hotel room for the event, deciding on just a simple dress that matched Max’s suit. Your hair, in the simplest style you could do and make up just simple as well. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to put effort in and more that you just didn’t have any effort. 
Trying to get Lando to talk to you had taken up most of your energy and effort. There was nothing else for you to give, and you needed a break to reset that. Max walked up behind you in the mirror, wrapping his arms around your waist with a smile 
“You look beautiful” He hummed, pressing a kiss to your neck. You turned around in his arms, wrapping your own arms around his neck 
“And you look very handsome” You smiled, looking up at him. 
“Are you almost ready to go? The car is downstairs waiting” He smiled, and you nodded 
“I just need some help putting this necklace on, then I’m all finished” You smiled, holding up the necklace that you were planning on wearing. Lando had bought you it when you both turned 21. It was a matching one with one of his bracelets. 
Max carefully took the necklace out of your hands, and you lifted your hair up. Gently resting the necklace upon your chest before tying the clasp at the back of your neck. You smiled at Max through the mirror, and he couldn’t help but smile back. 
You were still in pain, but you couldn’t deny that Max was making that pain go away day by day. 
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A short drive later, you and Max were not at the large ballroom for the event. Filled with sponsors for all ten teams, drivers from all ten teams, along with team principles and other important members of the teams. 
You weren’t even looking for Lando knowing that he’d just ignore you. Instead, you found yourself talking to his teammate and his girlfriend. You and Lily had always gotten along from the second Oscar joined the team, having many things in common. 
“How was your summer break?” You asked Oscar, knowing his plan was to go back to England however you hadn’t seen him since 
“It was nice. Typical British weather, but you know. Couldn’t have asked for a better time” He smiled, turning to look at Lily, who could only smile at her boyfriend “How was yours?” He asked, and you took a deep breath 
“It could have been a lot better” You replied 
You had thought Max was away talking to Cristian and Checo until there was a large hand settling on the small of your back. When you turned your head, Max was smiling down at you 
“You couldn’t have saved me?” He asked, and you shook your head slightly 
“No, unfortunately, I couldn’t have. I thought you were with Checo and Horner” You shrugged, and he shook his head. 
“No. I got dragged into a conversation with the Pirelli guy and some other sponsor” He replied, and you giggled. Leaning back into his warm touch. Max finally looked up to see who you were talking with “Oh hey Oscar” He smiled, and Oscar only nodded his mouth slightly ajar. Lily had a sly smirk on her face that only you picked up on. 
“Are we still on for padel?” Oscar finally asked, allowing the boys to get into their own conversation so Lily could drag you away to the bar. 
“Oh my god! What’s that?” She exclaimed, and you bit your lip 
“The reason Lando’s being such an ass to me” You replied before ordering a drink for both you and Max
“Ah so that’s what his mood is all about” Lily nodded, understandingly as you nodded turning to look at her. She still had that smirk on her face “So” She dragged out as you raised your eyebrows at her 
“So what?” You asked
“So what’s he actually like behind closed doors?” She asked as you leaned your back against the bar with a small smile 
“Lils he’s perfect. Like honestly so perfect” You sighed, looking over to him. It didn’t help that he currently looked very good. Although he always did, that suit was just doing something for him. 
“Wanna share more?” She asked, and you hummed tapping your nose 
“Nope that’s all the information I shall share” You smiled, picking up your drinks before walking back over to Max and Oscar. You spotted Lando talking with a sponsor as you handed Max his gin and tonic. His arm wrapped around you as you leaned into him with a slight smile. 
“Enjoying yourself?” He whispered, leaning down to kiss you 
“Better than your cats” You shrugged, and he faked offence, holding his chest as you giggled 
“They’re menices!” You exclaimed, and he shrugged a little 
“Yeah, I guess that’s true” He smiled, leading you back to the table you were due to be sat at. Pulling out your chair allows you to sit down before sitting down. You turned your head to look at Max as you placed your drink on the table 
“Is he still ignoring you?” He asked, and you nodded slightly, looking over to where Lando was now sitting “Shit. I didn’t mean to bring it up like that” He sighed, resting his hand over yours as you shrugged a little 
“It’s fine. I just wish he’d get over it even just to say hello. He’s still my brother” You sighed, looking up to thank the waitress as she brought over the food for the table you were sitting at. 
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Back at the hotel room the alcohol in your system had made you forget about the whole situation with Lando and Max had taken your phone so that you wouldn’t answer any of Lando’s texts now that the alcohol had made him realise what was going on. 
Max had helped you get ready for bed before getting in next to you. Your head rested on his chest as he wrapped one arm around you, the other resting on your waist as he drew shapes on it. 
“It doesn’t matter what Lando thinks as long as you're happy. Please never forget that Schat (darling)” He explained. You nodded along with his words 
“I’d be happier if Lando had anything nice to say” You looked up at him from his chest as he leaned down, pressing his lips to your own
“He’s been texting you but I think you should look at them when you’re a little more sober as much as I know you’d sleep better reading them but I’d rather you have a clear mind reading them” He explained as you looked up at him pulling away from his lips 
“Have you read them?” You asked, and he nodded 
“I did. I figured reading them before you would help me comfort you if needed” He explained 
“You don’t need to explain love. I just wanted to know” You replied, pressing your lips against his. Moving so that you were laying between his legs, your head still on his chest as both his arms wrapped around you, sliding under your shirt, allowing him to draw shapes on your bare back. 
No matter what, Lando ended up saying you were more than happy being wrapped in Max’s arms. Maybe it’s time for Lando to feel what you had felt. 
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mrsfancyferrari · 3 months ago
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Summary: You are the first woman to be racing in Formula 1 and you and Max are already best friends. To Jos' dismay.
Song: Me and Your Mama by Childish Gambino
Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 Author’s note: CW: sexist comments, domestic violence (not from Max). I'm still salty about Daniel Ricciardo's exit to Formula 1 so I decided to add him a little here. THIS WILL BE A SERIES AND THANK YOU FOR THE 500 FOLLOWERS! Please like, reblog and share this! <3 ALSO IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!
Word count: 10.8k
MASTERLIST - F1
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You are making history as the first woman to compete in Formula 1 with the Red Bull team, stepping in for Sergio Perez.
This groundbreaking achievement not only highlights your talent but also paves the way for future generations of female racers in a sport traditionally dominated by men.
Your personality shines through with a warm and friendly demeanor that makes you incredibly approachable. Colleagues and fans alike find you likable, creating an inviting atmosphere wherever you go.
This charm not only endears you to those around you but also helps foster a supportive environment within the competitive world of racing
Some have affectionately dubbed you the "Mini Honey Badger," a nod to the legendary Daniel Ricciardo. This playful comparison reflects your fierce determination and tenacity on the track, qualities that resonate with fans and fellow racers.
Your unique blend of charisma and competitive spirit is sure to leave a lasting impression in the world of Formula 1.
Luckily, you found yourself paired with one of the most talented drivers in the sport, Max Verstappen.
From the very beginning, you and Max clicked effortlessly, perhaps due to your shared sense of humor or the lighthearted way you both approached life outside of racing.
Max, known for his fierce competitiveness on the track, also had a playful side that drew you in. Whether it was sharing funny anecdotes from your childhood or engaging in friendly banter about each other's driving styles, the connection felt natural and invigorating.
You both understood the pressures of the sport, yet you managed to find joy in the little moments, whether it was a shared laugh over a silly meme or a light-hearted debate about the best racing video games.
This bond not only made your time together enjoyable but also fostered a sense of trust and teamwork that would prove invaluable as the season progressed.
During your initial week in Formula 1, the team was treated to a mix of corny jokes and uproarious laughter, creating an atmosphere that was both fun and relaxed.
It was clear that the camaraderie between you two was something special, and it didn’t take long for everyone to notice. The garage, usually filled with the tension of competition, transformed into a space of joy and lightheartedness.
You and Max would often engage in playful challenges, like who could come up with the worst dad joke or who could impersonate the team’s engineers the best.
These moments not only broke the ice but also helped to build a strong team spirit.
The mechanics and engineers, who often worked long hours under pressure, found themselves smiling more often, and the overall morale of the team improved.
It was as if your infectious energy had a ripple effect, reminding everyone that while racing was serious business, it was also about passion, fun, and the love of the sport.
Christian Horner, the team principal, seemed to recognize this chemistry right away.
He confidently remarked to the media about the dynamic of having a girl and a boy on the same team, suggesting that he had a good feeling about the partnership.
His words resonated with the fans and the media alike, sparking conversations about the evolving landscape of motorsport and the importance of diversity within the sport. It was evident that the two of you were destined to make waves together on and off the track.
Christian’s faith in your partnership only fueled your determination to succeed.
You both knew that the expectations were high, but instead of feeling overwhelmed, you embraced the challenge.
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"Joseph, can you give me an update on the gap behind?" you inquired, your voice steady as it crackled through the radio to your race engineer.
The sound of your own heartbeat echoed in your ears, a reminder of the high stakes at play.
"You're looking at a 5-second lead over Norris, Y/N," Joseph Duke responded, his tone calm and focused.
As you navigated the track, the adrenaline surged through your veins, heightening your senses.
The smell of burning rubber and the roar of engines filled the air, but your focus remained solely on the asphalt ahead.
Max was currently leading the race, and you were right on his tail, just a heartbeat away from making a decisive move.
With the world championship points on the line, every second counted, and the team’s strategy was crucial.
"Copy that, Joseph. I’m feeling good about this pace. Should I push to overtake Max?" you asked, weighing your options.
The tension in the air was palpable, and you could almost hear the roar of the crowd in your mind, their cheers and gasps fueling your determination.
You could picture the fans waving flags, the excitement building as the race unfolded.
"Remember, he’s leading the championship, so those points are vital for him," Joseph reminded you, his voice steady and measured.
You took a deep breath, considering the risks and rewards of your next move. The thought of overtaking Max was tantalizing, but the consequences of a miscalculation loomed large.
"Understood. But if I don’t make a move soon, he might pull away," you replied, your mind racing through the possibilities.
You could see the track ahead, the curves and straightaways that could either make or break your race.
"Just keep your head in the game, Y/N. Focus on your lines and stay patient. The opportunity will come," Joseph advised, his experience guiding you through the chaos.
You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you, reminding yourself that patience was key.
As you approached the next turn, you felt the car respond to your every command, the tires gripping the asphalt with precision.
You could see Max’s car just ahead, a flash of blue and white, and the urge to push harder surged within you.
"Alright, I’ll hold back for now, but I’m ready when the moment strikes," you said, determination lacing your words.
The opportunity to seize the grand prix had slipped through your fingers, leaving you with a bittersweet taste of second place as Max celebrated his victory.
It wasn’t that you felt anger towards him; after all, the stakes were high, and the competition was fierce.
You had performed admirably, even outshining Checo this season, and Red Bull was finally back to their P1-P2 glory.
As you stepped out of your car, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, you spotted Max waiting for you, his helmet off and a look of concern etched on his face.
He rushed over, his expression serious as he enveloped you in a quick hug. “You don’t hate me, do you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
You couldn’t help but chuckle at the unexpected question. Removing your helmet, you met his gaze with a warm smile. “Of course not! But don’t think I’ll go easy on you next week,” you replied playfully, your competitive spirit igniting once more.
Max’s face lit up with a genuine smile, the tension dissipating. “Mate, I won’t go down that easy!” he shot back, his eyes sparkling with the thrill of rivalry.
As you made your way to celebrate with the team, you noticed the difference in how they treated you compared to Max. While he was hoisted into the air, receiving enthusiastic cheers and bone-crushing hugs, you felt a more cautious approach directed your way.
It was a subtle reminder of the gender dynamics at play in the sport. You brushed it off, focusing instead on the camaraderie and the shared passion that brought you all together.
The post-race atmosphere was electric, filled with the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional shout of joy.
You joined in the celebrations, clapping your hands and cheering for your teammates, but a part of you remained introspective.
You replayed the race in your mind, analyzing every corner, every overtaking maneuver, and every missed opportunity.
The thrill of competition was intoxicating, but so was the desire to prove yourself, not just to the team but to the world.
As the evening unfolded, you found yourself lingering at the periphery of the lively celebration, your gaze fixed on Max as he reveled in the spotlight of his victory.
He was the star of the night, the one everyone clamored to congratulate, while you stood in the shadows, merely the second driver.
Christian approached, giving your shoulder a friendly pat, a gesture of appreciation for your support. Yet, it felt insufficient.
You masked your feelings with a bright smile as you watched Max raise his glass, laughter spilling from his lips as the clock inched toward midnight.
“Goodnight, Max,” you called out, aware that your boyfriend, Jake would be less than pleased if you lingered too long.
“Goodnight, best friend! Did I mention you look lovely tonight?” Max replied, his words slightly slurred as he pulled you into a warm embrace.
You felt your cheeks heat up. “No, you didn’t! Thank you, Max. You look great too!” you managed to say, your heart fluttering at the compliment.
As the night wore on, you exchanged goodbyes with the others, the atmosphere buzzing with joy and celebration.
You decided it was time to head home, opting for a taxi since you had indulged in a few drinks earlier.
Once inside the cab, you leaned back against the seat, reflecting on the evening. The laughter, the cheers, and the way Max had shone like a beacon of success.
It was hard not to feel a twinge of envy, but you pushed it aside, reminding yourself of the bond you shared.
The driver navigated through the city streets, and you pulled out your phone, scrolling through the photos from the night.
There was Max, grinning ear to ear, surrounded by friends, and there you were, a supportive figure in the background.
Just as the car turned, your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you glanced down to see a message from Jake.
“Where are you?” he texted, the words appearing on your screen like a gentle reminder of the warmth waiting for you at home.
You smiled, feeling a rush of affection as you typed back, “Just left the party! On my way home now. Can’t wait to see you!”
The taxi weaved through the city streets, and you could almost picture him waiting for you, perhaps pacing a little, his brow furrowed in that adorable way he did when he was worried.
You could hear his voice in your head, teasing you about how you always took too long to say goodbye, but you knew he loved it just as much as you did.
As the taxi pulled up to your building, you felt a flutter of excitement. You paid the driver and hurried inside, your heart racing with anticipation.
As you stepped into the apartment, a heavy scent of alcohol hit you like a wave, and your heart sank.
The cheerful anticipation you had felt moments before evaporated, replaced by a knot of anxiety in your stomach. You knew Jake had been struggling lately, and the telltale signs of his mood were all around you.
Empty bottles cluttered the coffee table, their labels peeling and faded, remnants of nights spent drowning sorrows that seemed to multiply with each passing day.
Taking a deep breath, you cautiously made your way further inside, hoping to find a glimmer of the warmth you once cherished, a flicker of the love that had once filled this space.
“Hey, babe, I’m home!” you called out, trying to inject some cheer into the atmosphere, but your voice felt small and fragile against the oppressive silence that enveloped the room.
The silence that followed was deafening, and you could feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating.
Just then, he emerged from the shadows of the living room, his eyes glassy and unfocused, as if he were peering through a fog that had settled deep within him.
“Oh, look who decided to show up,” he sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm, each word laced with bitterness. “Did you have fun pretending to be normal out there?”
You felt a chill run down your spine as he continued, hurling insults that cut deeper than you wanted to admit.
It was as if he was trying to push you away, to create a chasm between you that felt insurmountable.
And yet, amidst the hurt, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for the man you loved, the one who was lost beneath layers of pain and anger.
“Why do you always have to do this?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly, the vulnerability in your tone betraying the strength you wished to project. “I just want to help you.”
He scoffed, dismissing your concern with a wave of his hand, the gesture almost theatrical in its disdain. “Help? You mean control. You think you can just waltz in here and fix everything? You’re just like everyone else, trying to tell me what to do.”
The words stung, and you felt the weight of his accusations pressing down on you, each syllable a reminder of the distance that had grown between you.
“I’m not trying to control you,” you replied softly, “I just want to be there for you. Can’t we talk about this?”
But as you looked into his eyes, you realized that the man you once knew was slipping further away, lost in a haze of his own making.
His gaze, once so full of life and passion, now seemed clouded, distant. It was as if he was peering through a murky window, unable or unwilling to see the vibrant world outside.
You could see the shadows of his struggles etched on his face, the lines of worry and anger deepening with each passing day. It pained you to witness this transformation, to see the light in him dimmed by his own fears and insecurities.
“Why can’t you see that I’m trying to help?” you pressed, your heart racing as desperation crept into your voice. “I’m not your enemy. I want to understand what you’re going through.”
You took a tentative step closer, hoping to bridge the gap that felt insurmountable.
But he recoiled slightly, as if your words were a physical blow, and the distance between you felt more pronounced than ever.
“Understand?” he scoffed, his tone laced with bitterness. “You think you can just waltz in and understand? You have no idea what it’s like to feel trapped, to have every choice taken from you. You don’t know the weight of this burden.”
His voice cracked, revealing a flicker of vulnerability beneath the bravado.
As soon as you opened your mouth to speak, Jake brushed by you, grabbing his coat and shoes in one swift motion.
"I'm heading out for a walk. Don't even think about following me," he snapped, his words laced with the sting of alcohol.
You simply nodded, feeling a mix of concern and frustration, but you stayed rooted in place until you heard the door slam shut behind him.
With the sound echoing in the silence, you finally exhaled, the tension in your chest easing just a bit. You glanced around the room, the remnants of the night scattered everywhere—empty bottles and crumpled napkins littered the floor.
"Guess it's cleanup time," you muttered to yourself, bending down to gather the bottles. As you worked, your mind raced with thoughts of him.
Just then, your phone buzzed on the table. It was a message from your best friend, Sarah.
"Hey! How's everything? You okay?"
You sighed, typing back quickly. "Not great. He just stormed out after a fight. I’m cleaning up the mess now."
A moment later, your phone chimed again. "Want me to come over? I can help."
You hesitated, glancing at the door. "No, it’s fine. I just need to sort things out."
"Are you sure? You shouldn’t be alone right now."
You paused, considering her words. "I’ll be okay. I just need to think."
As you continued to tidy up, you replayed the argument in your mind. It had started over something trivial, but the alcohol had turned it into a full-blown fight.
You could hear his voice in your head, the way he had raised his tone, the way he had dismissed your feelings.
"Why does he always do this?" you whispered to yourself, frustration bubbling up again.
You were well aware that he wouldn’t be returning anytime soon.
After tidying up the house, you decided to treat yourself to a long, relaxing bath.
The warm water enveloped you, washing away the day’s worries. Once you felt refreshed, you slipped into your favorite pajamas and crawled into bed, the soft sheets providing a comforting embrace.
He hadn’t always been this way—filled with anger and lost in the depths of alcoholism.
You both had shared a beautiful love story, starting as high school sweethearts. You could still remember the way he used to look at you, his eyes sparkling with affection, mirroring the love you felt for him.
As you lay there, memories flooded your mind. You recalled the laughter, the late-night talks, and the dreams you had built together. But now, those dreams felt like distant echoes, overshadowed by the weight of his struggles.
Maybe it was the pressure of work that was taking a toll on him. You thought back to the last time you had a heart-to-heart.
“Do you remember when we used to talk about our future?” you had asked him one evening, the two of you sitting on the porch, the sun setting in a blaze of colors.
He had sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I remember. It feels like a lifetime ago.”
“Things can get better, you know. We can work through this together,” you had urged, your heart aching for the man you once knew.
He had looked away, his expression clouded. “I don’t know if I can. Sometimes it feels like I’m drowning, and I don’t know how to swim anymore.”
You had reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “You’re not alone in this. I’m here for you, always.”
But as the days turned into weeks, the distance between you grew. The man you loved was slipping away, replaced by someone you barely recognized.
Now, lying in bed, you couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever find his way back to you. Would he remember the love you once shared? Would he fight against the demons that haunted him?
With a heavy heart, you closed your eyes, hoping that tomorrow would bring a glimmer of hope, a sign that the man you loved was still inside, waiting to break free.
As you settled into bed, the glow of your phone screen illuminated the dark room, revealing a flurry of notifications that had accumulated while you were winding down.
Most of them were filled with excitement, congratulating you on your impressive second-place finish in the race. However, amidst the sea of cheerful messages, one stood out—a private note from Max.
While some comments stung with negativity, suggesting you didn’t belong in the world of Formula 1, Max’s message was a beacon of warmth.
“Thanks for coming to celebrate with me 👍,” it read, and a smile crept across your face, momentarily pushing away the weight of the harsh words.
You felt a mix of emotions swirling within you, and for a moment, tears threatened to spill over. But instead of succumbing to the sadness, you decided to respond to Max.
Your fingers danced over the screen as you typed, “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, you deserved it! 😁” The moment you hit send, a sense of relief washed over you.
It was a reminder that amidst the criticism, there were still those who appreciated your presence and celebrated your achievements.
You could almost hear Max’s laughter echoing in your mind, a sound that always seemed to lift your spirits.
Just as you were about to put your phone down, a new message popped up from Max. “You really made the night special! I’m glad you were there. Let’s catch up soon?”
His words filled you with warmth, and you could picture him grinning with alcohol still in his system, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.
“Absolutely! I’d love to,” you replied, feeling a renewed sense of purpose.
After setting your phone aside for the night, you drifted off to sleep, the soft hum of the world outside fading into a distant memory.
When you awoke, you were enveloped in a warm embrace, the kind that felt like home. Instantly, you recognized the familiar presence of Jake, his body radiating warmth against yours.
The scent of alcohol lingered in the air, a reminder of his previous night out with friends, a detail that both amused and concerned you.
A smile crept across your face as you turned to see him, his features relaxed and serene, a stark contrast to the tension that had marked his demeanor the night before.
Curiosity sparked within you, igniting a flurry of questions as you pondered where he had spent his time, what stories he might have to share, and whether the night had been as wild as you imagined.
You felt a rush of affection for him, a desire to know every detail of his adventures, to understand the man who had captured your heart so completely.
Despite the warnings from your friends urging you to reconsider your relationship, your feelings for him remained steadfast, unwavering like a lighthouse in a storm.
They claimed he was a source of trouble, a tempest that could jeopardize your career and stir up scandals that would ripple through your life.
Yet, deep down, you understood him better than they did, seeing the layers of his character that they overlooked. You believed in his integrity, in the goodness that lay beneath the surface, and you knew he wouldn’t intentionally cause chaos in your life.
Their concerns echoed in your mind, but they felt distant, like the sound of waves crashing against a far-off shore.
You were determined to forge your own path, to trust your instincts, and to embrace the love that had blossomed between you, even if it meant standing alone against the tide of skepticism.
Although your relationship was already in the public eye, with whispers and speculation swirling around you like autumn leaves caught in a gust of wind, he had yet to join you in the paddock due to his work commitments.
You felt a mix of anticipation and longing, a bittersweet ache in your chest as you navigated the bustling environment without him by your side.
As you glanced at your phone, the screen illuminated the early morning hour, signaling it was time for your daily jog.
You carefully extricated yourself from Jake's embrace, trying not to disturb his peaceful slumber.
Just as you were about to tiptoe out of the room, you caught a faint mumble escaping his lips, a mix of sleep and concern. “Where are you going?” he murmured, his voice thick with drowsiness.
You paused for a moment, torn between the urge to reassure him and the need to stick to your routine.
“I’m just going for a quick run, love. I’ll be back before you know it,” you replied softly, hoping to ease any lingering worries. His brow furrowed slightly, even in his sleep, as if he sensed your departure was more than just a morning ritual.
“You always run too early… what if someone sees you?” he muttered, a hint of jealousy creeping into his voice, even in his dreams.
With a gentle smile, you leaned down to plant a quick kiss on his forehead. “I’ll be fine, I promise. It’s just me and the open road. You know I love my morning jogs.”
You could feel the tension in the air, a familiar weight that often accompanied your outings. “Okay,” he finally said, though the uncertainty lingered in his tone.
You quickly changed into your jogging attire before stepping out of the house. With a sense of urgency, you slipped into your comfortable workout gear, ready to embrace the fresh air outside.
The fabric of your favorite moisture-wicking shirt clung to your skin, and the soft elastic of your running shorts felt familiar and reassuring.
You laced up your well-worn sneakers, the soles still resilient from countless miles, and took a moment to stretch your legs, feeling the anticipation build within you.
Once dressed, you felt the excitement of the run ahead, eager to hit the pavement and enjoy the rhythm of your feet against the ground.
The world outside beckoned, vibrant and alive, as you opened the door and stepped into the crisp morning air. The scent of dew-kissed grass and blooming flowers filled your lungs, invigorating your spirit.
You took a deep breath, letting the coolness wash over you, and with a quick glance at the sky, you noted the sun just beginning to rise, casting a golden hue across the horizon.
As you began to jog, the familiar cadence of your heartbeat matched the steady thump of your feet on the pavement. Each stride felt liberating, a release from the confines of the day-to-day.
You could feel the tension of the week melting away with every step, replaced by a sense of freedom and clarity.
The rhythmic sound of your breath mingled with the rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds, creating a symphony of nature that accompanied you on your journey.
As you were enjoying your morning jog through the park, the rhythmic sound of your feet hitting the pavement was suddenly interrupted by a group of enthusiastic voices.
A cluster of women and girls approached you, their faces lighting up with excitement. "Excuse me! Miss Y/N! Can we get your autograph?" one of them exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with admiration.
You paused, a bit surprised but also flattered, and smiled at the eager crowd. "Of course! I’d be happy to," you replied, pulling out a small notepad from your pocket.
Amid the chatter, a young girl stepped forward, her cheeks flushed with excitement. "I want to start go-karting because I want to be just like you!" she declared, her voice filled with determination.
You could see the passion in her eyes, and it warmed your heart. "That’s amazing! Go-karting is such a fun sport," you encouraged her. "What do you love most about it?"
The girl beamed, her confidence growing as she shared her dreams of racing and the thrill of speed. "I love the idea of being in control and going fast! It looks so cool!"
You nodded, feeling a sense of responsibility to inspire her. "You know, every champion starts somewhere. If you really want to do it, just keep practicing and never give up. Surround yourself with people who support you, and you’ll go far," you advised, hoping to instill a sense of belief in her.
The girl’s eyes widened, and she nodded vigorously. "I will! Thank you so much!"
As the group dispersed, you felt a renewed sense of purpose, realizing that your journey could inspire others to chase their dreams, just as you had. . . .
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As the days rolled on, the team decided to spice things up a bit before race week by organizing a fun game called "How Well Do You Know Each Other."
The idea was to not only entertain the fans but also to give everyone a glimpse into the camaraderie between you and Max.
You found yourself standing in front of the camera, a mix of excitement and nerves bubbling inside you, while Max lounged comfortably on the sofa behind you, his headphones snugly in place, unable to listen in.
The staff kicked off the game with a playful tone, "Alright, let’s start with you! The first question about Max is… what is Max's favorite food?" You grinned, confident in your knowledge of your teammate.
"Oh, I know this one! Max is a huge fan of both Italian and Dutch cuisine, while I personally lean more towards Spanish dishes," you replied, your voice filled with enthusiasm.
The crew chuckled, clearly enjoying the banter, and you could see Max nodding in agreement, a smirk on his face even though he didn't know what you said.
After a few more questions, it was time for the roles to reverse. You took a seat on the sofa, and Max stood in front of the camera, a playful glint in his eyes.
The staff asked him the same question, and he leaned forward, a teasing smile forming. "Well, I know my teammate pretty well! She loves her Spanish food, but I think she secretly wishes she could cook like an Italian chef," he joked.
"You better be getting this right, I wanna beat Charles and Carlos' record," you said, feeling the competitive in you to beat Ferrari's record of 18 out of 20 right.
Max only turned around and gave an okay sign since you couldn't hear him, adding a little small wink for the tease but it was caught on camera.
In the end, both you and Max aced all the questions, and the excitement bubbled over as you jumped up and down, your energy infectious. Max stood nearby, a wide grin spreading across his face as he watched your enthusiasm.
"See, everyone! Red Bull is clearly the superior team compared to Ferrari, so make sure to support us this week!" you exclaimed, wrapping up the video with a flourish.
As you turned to Max, you noticed he was still gazing at you, lost in thought. It took you by surprise.
"Max, do you want to add anything to what I just said?" you asked, a playful grin on your face as you nudged his shoulder gently.
Snapping back to reality, Max turned to the camera, a hint of sheepishness in his expression.
"Oh, umm, yeah… Red Bull domination, I guess?" he replied, his voice a mix of uncertainty and enthusiasm.
You couldn't help but burst into laughter at his response, and Max's smile widened, clearly pleased that he could make you laugh.
"Alright, everyone, that's a wrap! We'll catch you all soon. Fingers crossed for another P1-P2 finish, but maybe next time we can switch things up a bit," you said, waving enthusiastically at the camera.
As the camera clicked off, you turned to the crew with a warm smile, expressing your gratitude for their support. You shifted your focus to Max, who was standing nearby, a mix of anticipation and amusement on his face.
"Hey, Max," you began, a playful glint in your eye. "How does it feel to be the most compatible drivers on the grid?"
Max's eyes widened slightly at the phrase "most compatible," and you could see a hint of color rising to his cheeks. But as soon as he processed the word "driver," his expression shifted to one of mild disappointment.
"It feels nice, I guess," he replied, a smirk creeping onto his lips. "Just another thing to brag about to Lando, right?"
You chuckled, knowing how much Max loved to tease his fellow drivers. "Oh, absolutely! I can already picture it—Lando rolling his eyes while you go on about how you and I are the ultimate duo."
Max laughed, shaking his head. "He'll probably come up with some ridiculous comeback, like how he’s the best driver in the world or something."
"Well, he does have a knack for that," you said, leaning against the wall, enjoying the banter. "But let’s be honest, you two are like an old married couple. Always bickering but secretly caring for each other."
Max rolled his eyes dramatically. "Please, I’m not ready for that kind of commitment. I can barely handle my own sleeping schedule!"
Max shrugged, a hint of humility creeping into his demeanor. "But honestly, having you around makes it easier. You bring a different energy to the team."
You felt a warmth spread through you at his words. "Thanks, Max. That means a lot coming from you. I think we balance each other out pretty well."
He nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Yeah, it’s like we have this unspoken understanding. You know when to push me and when to let me breathe. It’s refreshing."
"Exactly! And it’s not just about racing; it’s about the camaraderie we build off the track too. Those late-night strategy sessions and the random moments of laughter—they all add up."
Max chuckled, recalling a particularly ridiculous moment from a previous race weekend. "Remember that time we got lost trying to find the catering tent? We ended up in that random fan zone instead!"
You burst out laughing, the memory flooding back. "Oh my god, yes! And those fans were so excited to see us, they thought we were there for a meet-and-greet! We ended up taking selfies with them for an hour."
"Right? And then we finally found the catering tent, only to discover they were out of your favorite pasta!" Max added, shaking his head in disbelief.
"That was a tragedy," you said, feigning a dramatic sigh. "But it turned into one of the best days. I wouldn’t trade those moments for anything."
Max’s gaze softened as he looked at you, a genuine smile breaking through. "Me neither. It’s those little things that make all the hard work worth it."
You both stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the camaraderie between you palpable. The atmosphere around the paddock buzzed with activity, but in that moment, it felt like you were in your own little world.
"Alright, enough of the mushy stuff," Max said, breaking the moment with a playful nudge. "Let’s get back to business. We’ve got a race to prepare for, and I can’t let you steal all my glory."
You laughed, shaking your head. "Oh, please! You know I’m just here to make you look good. Besides, I wouldn’t dream of overshadowing the reigning champion."
What you two didn't know was that the cameras didn't stop but recorded your little moment, which went viral in the few minutes that it was posted. . . . .
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You knew that the public would start shipping you and Max together sooner or later but you weren't bothered with it.
You had a boyfriend who you cared for deeply, someone who had been your rock through the ups and downs of your racing career. Yet, his reaction to the swirling rumors about you and Max took you by surprise.
You never imagined he would be so affected by the gossip that seemed to spread like wildfire through the paddock and beyond.
Here you were, caught in a web of emotions, torn between the thrill of a new chapter and the loyalty you felt towards your current relationship.
As you stepped through the door of your home, the familiar scent of your shared space enveloped you, but it did little to ease the tension that hung in the air.
You found Jake lounging on the couch, his eyes glued to his phone, the glow of the screen illuminating his furrowed brow. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken words, and you could sense that something was off.
“Hey, babe,” you greeted him, trying to sound cheerful despite the weight on your shoulders. He barely looked up, his fingers scrolling furiously, as if searching for answers in the digital chaos.
“Did you hear about you and Max?” he finally snapped, his voice laced with irritation, cutting through the silence like a knife. “It’s all over social media. Are you really going to let this get to you?”
You felt your heart sink; you had hoped for a different reaction, one that would reassure you that your relationship was strong enough to withstand the storm of rumors.
“Come on, it’s just rumors,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, though the tremor in it betrayed your inner turmoil. “You know I’m committed to only you.”
You watched as he shot you a skeptical glance, his jealousy bubbling to the surface like a volcano ready to erupt. “Yeah, but how can I trust you when you’re out there with him all the time? It’s not just a coincidence that everyone is talking about it.”
The words stung, and you took a deep breath. "Babe I love only you-"
"Please, don’t even think about it! You know I’m stuck here because if I walked away, your fans would make my life a living nightmare," Jake exclaimed, his voice laced with frustration.
The words hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you reeling from the harsh reality of your situation.
It was as if he had taken a knife and twisted it, exposing the raw vulnerability you had tried so hard to hide.
You could feel the sting of tears welling up in your eyes, but you fought to keep them at bay. "I didn’t ask for any of this," you replied, your voice trembling slightly.
The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, and you could sense the tension between you growing thicker by the second. It was a battle of emotions, and you were losing ground.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I know it’s not fair, but you have to understand the pressure I’m under. It’s not just about us; it’s about my career, my fans. I can’t let them down."
His eyes softened for a moment, revealing a glimpse of the man you fell in love with.
"But I don’t want to lose you. Can’t we find a way to make this work?" You pleaded.
"I don't know," he muttered, not lifting his eyes from his phone before standing up and walking past you to get his coat and shoes. "i'm gonna take a walk,"
This has been a pattern for weeks now. You would come home, he would start an argument then make up an excuse to leave the house, leaving you to either pick up his mess or go to sleep without your partner. To only wake up with him cuddling you in the morning and apologise for his action last night.
You were getting sick of it but you still love him too much to break up with him. . . .
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The days that followed were a blur of introspection and emotional turmoil. Each time you caught a glimpse of Jake’s name on your phone, a knot formed in your stomach.
You had always been the type to see the good in people, to believe that love could conquer all, but the reality of your situation was becoming harder to ignore.
The moments of tenderness were overshadowed by the growing unease that settled in your chest like a heavy stone.
You spent more time with Sarah, who seemed to sense your internal struggle. She filled your days with laughter and distraction, taking you out for coffee, long walks in the park, and movie marathons that kept your mind off the impending decision.
Yet, no matter how much you tried to push it aside, the thought of Jake lingered like a shadow, reminding you of the grip he had on your heart—and not in a way that felt safe or loving.
One evening, as you and Sarah sat on the balcony watching the sunset, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink, she turned to you again.
"Y/N, I know it’s hard, but you have to prioritize your happiness. You can’t keep living in this limbo," she said, her voice steady and unwavering.
You looked out at the horizon, the beauty of the moment contrasting sharply with the turmoil inside you.
"I know," you replied, your voice thick with emotion. "But what if I’m wrong? What if he really can change?"
The fear of making the wrong choice loomed large, a specter that haunted your thoughts.
"Change is possible, but it has to come from him, not from you hoping for it," Sarah said gently. "You can’t be the one to fix him. You’re not responsible for his happiness or his growth. You deserve to be with someone who respects you and makes you feel safe."
Her words struck a chord deep within you. You thought back to the last time he had gripped your arm, the way his eyes had darkened, and how you had brushed it off as a moment of frustration.
But now, in the light of day, you could see it for what it was—a warning sign that you had been too afraid to acknowledge.
That night, as you lay in bed, the silence of your room felt deafening. You replayed every moment of your relationship, the good and the bad, and slowly, the scales began to tip.
The holiday seemed to fly by in the blink of an eye, and soon you found yourself stepping into the paddock alongside Sarah and Jake.
As you walked, you could feel the tension in the air; Jake wore a strained smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, gripping your hand a little too tightly.
“Hey, look at all the fans!” you exclaimed, trying to lighten the mood as you waved enthusiastically at the crowd, signing autographs for those who called out your name.
Sarah, taking a break from her hectic job, had decided to join you, her laughter ringing out like music amidst the bustling atmosphere.
“Isn’t this amazing?” you said, glancing at Sarah, who was snapping pictures with her phone. “I can’t believe how many people came out today!”
She nodded, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “It’s like a mini-celebration! But where’s your boyfriend? He seems a bit off today.”
You shrugged, trying to brush off the concern. “I don’t know, maybe he’s just tired. We haven’t really talked much since we got back.”
You stole a glance at him, who was still smiling, but it felt forced, like he was putting on a show for everyone around.
You made the decision to invite Jake into your driver’s room for a heart-to-heart conversation. As you settled into the familiar space, you turned to him with a gentle concern.
“Hey, are you doing okay?” you asked, your voice soft and inviting.
Jake looked at you, his expression a mix of regret and longing, as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. “I’m alright, really. I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting lately,” he replied, his tone sincere.
In that moment, you felt a rush of warmth; you had missed the comfort of his touch more than you realized.
“Jake, I need to let you know that I have to leave soon,” you murmured, trying to keep the conversation grounded. But he seemed lost in his own thoughts, his gaze intense and filled with desire.
“Why don’t you just quit your job already? I can take care of you, I promise,” he suggested, his voice dripping with temptation.
The idea hung in the air between you, and for a fleeting moment, you felt the pull of his offer.
It was tempting, but the passion you had for Formula 1 was a flame that burned too brightly to extinguish for anyone, even someone as captivating as Jake.
You took a deep breath, weighing your options. “Jake, you know how much this means to me. Formula 1 isn’t just a job; it’s my dream,” you replied, your heart heavy with the conflict.
He stepped back slightly, his expression shifting from desire to disappointment. “I get it, but can’t you see how much I care about you? I want us to be together, and I thought you felt the same way,” he said, frustration creeping into his voice.
You could see the struggle in his eyes, and it pained you to know that your passion for racing was creating a rift between you.
“I do care about you, but I can’t just walk away from everything I’ve worked for,” you insisted, hoping he would understand.
As you stand there, the tension weighs heavily in the air, palpable and thick, as Jake's frustration spills over, his voice tinged with a mix of hurt and desperation.
"But what about me?" he asks, his eyes searching yours for an answer that you know is difficult to provide. "Since you started this job, we haven’t done anything together. All you've been doing is hanging out with that Max boy. Don’t you see it?"
His words cut through the silence, piercing the surface of your mind and forcing you to confront the tangled web of your life that feels all too overwhelming at this moment.
As you gather your thoughts, aware that the job has transformed your priorities and the once-familiar relationship with Jake has shifted, you attempt to articulate your feelings, to bridge the widening chasm of misunderstanding.
"Jake—" you start, your voice tremulous, hoping to weave a delicate thread of connection that can pull you both back to a place of understanding, but he interjects, the intensity of his emotions propelling him forward before you can offer your perspective.
"I’ll show you—don't worry," he mutters, the frustration lacing his tone beginning to dissipate as he suddenly wraps his arms around you, pulling you close in a gesture that is both protective and possessive.
The warmth of his body against yours sends a shiver down your spine, a reminder of the bond you once cherished.
Feeling the urgency of the moment, his lips find yours, a kiss that ignites a flicker of hope amid the turmoil of doubt and fear swirling around you. . . .
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After the holiday break, you had started to act differently, almost as if a shadow had fallen over their usual camaraderie.
Whenever he approached to nudge her shoulder playfully, she would flinch, a look of surprise crossing her face as if she were bracing for something unpleasant.
It was a stark contrast to the easygoing banter they once shared, and he couldn't help but notice how she had become more withdrawn, often lost in her thoughts, her laughter replaced by a distant gaze.
He believed you were feeling down because the team was struggling to achieve the results they had hoped for.
Typically, his father would reach out to him after a disappointing race, sometimes even resorting to physical punishment if the outcome was particularly disheartening.
It was a routine he had come to accept, thinking it was a common experience shared by many.
However, everything changed when his therapist pointed out that not everyone endured such treatment, which sparked a rebellion within him against his father's harsh ways.
"Why do you always have to be so hard on me?" he had shouted one evening, frustration boiling over.
His father, taken aback, responded with a stern look, "Because I want you to be the best, Max. You need to learn that life isn’t always fair."
But Max felt differently; he wanted to be supported, not punished.
As he pondered your situation, he couldn't help but wonder if you had faced similar challenges.
"Do you have someone in your life who treats you badly?" he asked cautiously, trying to gauge your response.
Your eyes widened at the sudden question before you shook your head, a small smile breaking through the clouds of doubt.
"No, not like that. Everyone is really supportive of me these days."
Max felt a wave of relief wash over him, grateful that you had not been in that cycle of abuse he had been so familiar with.
In many of the recent races, both you and Max found yourselves finishing in the P2 to P4 range, or sometimes not making it to the podium at all, which left the team feeling quite disheartened.
The once-promising season had turned into a series of missed opportunities, and the weight of expectations began to take its toll on everyone involved.
The atmosphere in the garage was thick with tension, and the engineers were working overtime to analyze data and strategize for the next race, but the results were still falling short of what the team had hoped for.
This situation also prompted Max's father, Jos, to plan a visit during the race weekend. He intended to check in on his son and perhaps give him a much-needed reality check, quite literally.
As the race day approached, Jos observed his son engaging in cheerful conversation with you, rather than focusing on the engineers to gather crucial insights, a routine Max typically adhered to before a race.
This deviation from his usual pre-race preparation did not sit well with Jos.
He had always believed that the hours leading up to a race were critical for mental conditioning and strategy formulation. To see Max laughing and joking instead of poring over telemetry data or discussing race strategies with the engineers was concerning for him.
Jos's frustration grew as he watched the interaction unfold. He believed that your presence was a distraction, pulling Max away from the intense focus required for peak performance.
In his eyes, the bond you shared with his son was undermining Max's potential to excel on the track.
He felt that friendships weren't important and they should not come at the expense of Max's dedication to his craft.
Jos was determined to address this issue head-on, convinced that a serious conversation was necessary to realign Max's priorities. . . . .
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In the midst of a lively discussion filled with laughter and camaraderie, Jos abruptly interjected, "Max, I need to talk to you right now."
His tone cut through the jovial atmosphere, drawing the attention of both you and his son. The laughter faded, replaced by a sudden stillness as everyone turned to witness the unfolding scene.
Max's expression shifted from joy to disappointment as he glanced at you, yet he managed to offer a reassuring smile before reluctantly following his father away from the group.
"Yes, Father?" Max responded in Dutch, his voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of apprehension. The way he spoke suggested a mix of respect and wariness, as if he were bracing himself for a conversation he knew would be anything but easy.
Jos wasted no time in launching into his concerns, his words spilling out with a sense of urgency.
"You must distance yourself from that girl; she is a distraction that will hinder your performance in the race," he asserted, his tone firm and authoritative, as if he were delivering a decree rather than a request.
The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, a stark contrast to the lightheartedness that had just moments ago enveloped the gathering.
Max, however, was quick to defend you, his loyalty evident in the way he stood a little taller, his brow furrowing in determination. "No, she doesn't distract me, Father. She's my teammate," he stated, his voice steady and resolute.
The conviction in his tone reflected a bond that transcended mere friendship; it was a partnership built on shared goals and mutual respect.
Yet, as he spoke, the tension between father and son thickened, a palpable clash of wills that seemed to reverberate through the quiet space around them.
Jos, sensing the resistance in Max's voice, shifted his approach, employing subtle manipulation to sway his son’s perspective.
"Think about your future, Max. You have so much potential, and I only want what is best for you," he continued, his voice softening slightly, as if trying to appeal to Max's aspirations.
The words were carefully chosen, designed to instill doubt about your influence, to paint you as an obstacle rather than an ally.
Max hesitated, caught between his father's expectations and his own feelings.
The internal struggle was evident on his face, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features as he grappled with the conflicting loyalties that tugged at his heart.
"It is evident in your results over the weeks, you've been falling off the high scores recently, hardly been able to reach third place because of that girl!" Jos stressed out and Max became quiet, letting those words sink in.
"Max, think about it," Jos continued, his tone shifting to one of persuasion. "You need to focus on your game and not let distractions get in the way. She's not worth it."
Max felt a mix of emotions swirling inside him. He had always admired his father's wisdom, but now he sensed a subtle manipulation at play. Jos was trying to steer him away from his feelings, and deep down, Max knew it.
Yet, the idea of disappointing his father loomed larger than his own desires.
"Okay, Father," Max finally replied, his voice barely above a whisper.
He felt a pang of regret as he agreed, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was losing a part of himself in the process. As he walked away, he contemplated the choices ahead of him.
Was it worth sacrificing his happiness for the sake of competition?
As he walked away, the sound of his father's footsteps fading behind him, he contemplated the choices ahead of him.
The internal struggle was just beginning, and Max knew he had to find a way to balance his passion for the game with the complexities of his heart.
He thought of you—the woman who had sparked something within him, a light that had ignited a warmth he hadn't been able to feel like Daniel left.
After he began to distance himself from you, he noticed a change in your demeanor.
You seemed more withdrawn, putting on a facade of happiness with a constant smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. You were hiding behind long-sleeved coats, even in the warm weather, creating a barrier between yourself and the world around you.
The vibrant laughter that once filled the air when you were together had been replaced by a silence that hung heavily between you, punctuated only by the occasional forced chuckle or polite nod.
Max could see the way your shoulders slumped slightly, as if the weight of unspoken words and unshared feelings was pressing down on you.
Your eyes, once bright with enthusiasm and mischief, now seemed clouded, reflecting a deep-seated sadness that you tried so hard to conceal.
He remembered the long pointless conversations, the dreams you both had shared, and the plans that now felt like distant memories. It pained him to witness your struggle, yet he felt powerless to bridge the growing chasm between you.
Despite the guilt that gnawed at him, Max couldn’t help but recognize a shift in his own performance on the racetrack.
He found himself consistently finishing on the podium, a stark contrast to your struggles as you remained trapped within the top ten.
Each trophy he lifted felt heavier than the last, a reminder of the friendship that had once fueled his passion for racing.
He could hear the cheers of the crowd, feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, but all he could think about was how you used to be there, celebrating alongside him, your face alight with pride and joy.
While he celebrated his achievements, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something important was missing.
The camaraderie they once shared seemed to slip further away with each passing race, leaving him to wonder if the price of success was worth the cost of their connection.
He often found himself glancing over at the empty spot in the pit where you used to stand, your eyes sparkling with encouragement, your voice ringing out with advice that had always kept him grounded.
As the races continued, Max felt a growing urgency to reach out, to break through the walls you had built around yourself.
But his father kept him grounded and not letting that thought come to life anytime soon. . . .
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As you maneuver through the winding turns of the racetrack, adrenaline surges through your veins, a heady blend of focus and exhilaration.
"Joseph, what's the gap to Max?" you inquire, your voice steady despite the chaos enveloping you as you glance at the rearview mirror, noticing Charles's fierce pursuit as he falls into your peripheral vision, momentarily eclipsed by your recent strategic overtaking maneuver.
"2.3 seconds in front of you, Y/N," Joseph replies, his tone equally crisp yet slightly strained, hinting at the intensity of the moment.
The hum of the engine, the vibrations of the car, and the distant roar of the crowd blend into a symphony of speed, and as you negotiate the track, your mind sharpens with determination.
You consider your next move with meticulous care, knowing that a split-second decision could alter the course of the race.
Holding tightly to the steering wheel, you then ask, “Do I have permission to take over?”
Pause hangs in the air like a fragile breath, and you can almost anticipate Joseph's reply, especially given the longstanding tradition wherein hesitance often blankets these life-altering decisions.
Sure enough, after a fleeting silence, you prepare for the inevitable response that would echo in your ears like an unwelcome refrain, one you were all too familiar with.
But just as you brace yourself for a “no,” the radio crackles to life again—this time with a tidal wave of unexpected urgency.
"Yes! Y/N? Can you hear me? The team has approved the overtake of Max! Go for it!" Joseph’s voice bursts through with a burst of energy, jolting you from your reverie.
Instinctively, your foot plunges onto the accelerator as you channel every ounce of skill, focus, and ambition into propelling yourself forward.
You swiftly navigate the corner, your car gliding through the air like a bird released from captivity, and in that moment of pure adrenaline, you find yourself eclipsing Max, reclaiming the lead with undeniable ferocity.
As you settle into your newfound position at first place, the tension morphs into an exhilarating electrification coursing through your body.
Max, having momentarily lost his grip on the lead, now battles to fend off Charles and Lando from making any hazardous moves that might threaten your dominion at the front.
In the heat of the moment, the radio blaring with strategic updates fades into the background as your vision narrows solely on the track ahead—you are a race car driver, a gladiator in this battle of speed, and nothing else matters.
The world dissolves into monochrome, your focus unwavering as you grip the wheel like it’s a lifeline.
Distant cheers from the crowd seep through your concentration, yet you silence those voices, drowning out distractions as you become acutely aware of the weight of the race, the dreams that hang delicately in the balance—everything is at stake.
You feel sweat trickling down your temple and a syrupy mix of anticipation and fear soaring through your chest, but as you approach the final laps, triumph struggles to emerge from the depths of your hardwork.
Amidst the exhilarating distractions, your attention sharpens when you catch a faint echo of Joseph’s voice cutting through the chatter. "Y/N! You did it! You won!"
The joyous eruption on the other end floods your senses with disbelief, a tidal wave of emotions crashing over you.
In that electrifying moment, as you maintain your grip on the wheel for the last few seconds, reality begins to wash over you like an exhilarating wave, and the tears you could feel brewing now threaten to spill, your triumph intertwining with your vulnerability.
With the checkered flag waving triumphantly in the air, you ease down on the accelerator, the sensation of victory swelling inside you as you let a muffled cry of delight escape your lips.
You slow your car and finally breathe, releasing all the pent-up energy, as the realization of your success resonates in every fiber of your being.
"You did it, Y/N! You won the grand prix!" Joseph's voice dances through the radio, resonating with an infectious glee.
A burst of laughter escapes your lips, and for the first time, the roar of the crowd—a melodic blend of cheers—warms your heart.
As you roll to a stop, the world around you crescendos into a celebration of your harrowing journey—each twist, each turn, each heartbeat racing in sync with the rhythm of victory.
The moment is surreal, and as you step out of the car, you are not just a racer anymore; you are a triumphant force that turned dreams into reality, and no title could encapsulate the pride swelling within you.
You parked the car in front of the first-place stand, your heart racing as the adrenaline coursed through your veins. Stepping out of the vehicle, you took a moment to absorb the victory that had just unfolded; it was surreal, almost like a scene plucked from your wildest dreams.
You stood on the hood of your car, exhilaration bubbling up inside you as you raised your fists in triumph, thrusting them into the air with a euphoric fist bump that echoed your unrestrained joy.
The cheers of the crowd swirled around you, a chorus of celebration, and for a heartbeat, the entire world felt like it paused in honour of your hard-fought achievement.
The weight of every early morning, every late night, every moment spent honing your driving in the shadows now seemed beautifully light, overshadowed by the sheer thrill of the moment.
As you jumped off the car with a renewed sense of vitality, you sprinted toward your team, their faces lit up with genuine happiness.
It marked a pivotal moment, one where they no longer treated you as fragile or merely a woman in a male-dominated sport; instead, they embraced you like a teammate, a winner.
You felt the warmth of their hugs wrapping around you, their joy infectious in a way that washed away any lingering doubts you had ever held about your place in this fierce and demanding environment.
“I can’t believe we did it!” you exclaimed, looking around at their beaming faces, heart swelling.
Some laughing tears glistening in their eyes, as they crowded around you, lifting you momentarily off your feet, celebrating not only your victory but the growth of a team bound together by perseverance and shared dreams.
Max eventually pulled up in front of the second-place station, his car’s engine rumbling to a soft stop just a few feet away from you. He stepped out, the sunlight catching the edges of his helmet as he removed it, revealing a look of pure delight plastered across his face.
It was a sight that brightened your heart; his genuine smile mirrored your own, a silent acknowledgment of the fierce competition that had just transpired on the track.
You could hardly control the emotions that swelled within you. With an impulsive rush, you charged toward him, unable to contain the joy of your victory.
In a flurry of excitement, you leaped into his arms, a spontaneous act born from the adrenaline still dancing through your body. He caught you effortlessly, his hands cradling your back protectively, and in that moment, the world shrank down to just the two of you.
“I won!" you declared, breathless, your voice a mixture of disbelief and sheer happiness, as if saying it out loud might make the victory feel more real.
A grin split Max's face wider, and you could see the pride sparkling in his eyes. “Yeah, you won! Congratulations!" he echoed, his voice turning melodic with the thrill of your accomplishment.
His embrace tightened around you, and you melted into the moment, filled with a sense of camaraderie and respect that had blossomed between you two over the course of your racing journeys.
As he set you back on your feet, laughter bubbled up once again, infectious and wildly free.
"I hope I didn't catch you off guard with that leap," you admitted, a hint of embarrassment creeping into your voice as you took a sip from your drink.
"Not at all! I’m just thrilled for you," Max replied, his cheeks flushed with excitement as he gave you a friendly pat on the back.
After the interview with the top three winners, you, Max, and Charles settled into the conference room, the atmosphere buzzing with excitement as the race replay flickered on the screen. The tension was palpable as the footage captured the thrilling moments of the competition.
"Wow! That was such a turn!" Charles exclaimed, wiping the sweat from his brow, clearly still feeling the adrenaline from the race.
He was referring to the intense maneuver where he nearly overtook Lando, a moment that had everyone on the edge of their seats.
As the race continued to unfold on the screen, you found yourself lost in thought, your mind racing with the events that had just transpired.
You focused on your breathing, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. You had actually won.
Max, sitting beside you, noticed your silence and turned his attention toward you, his eyes filled with concern.
"Hey, are you alright?" he asked softly, breaking the tension in the room. His voice was steady, a comforting presence amidst the chaos of the race replay.
You nodded slowly, appreciating Max's concern but still feeling the weight of the moment. "Yeah, just processing everything," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.
After the conference wrapped up, the divers were given the freedom to either retreat to their driver’s rooms or celebrate with their teams and families.
However, the atmosphere was tinged with concern. The race winner was notably absent, and everyone had been eagerly anticipating a celebration for your first victory.
But after you dashed out of the conference room in a flurry, you seemed to vanish without a trace.
Everyone, especially Max, who had reached out to congratulate you repeatedly, was waiting, eager for you to join them in the festivities.
Max had noticed your absence almost immediately after the conference ended. The smile that had danced on his lips dimmed when you didn't join the team to celebrate; he frequently glanced toward the driver’s room, a sense of unease gnawing at his gut.
The more he thought about it, the more his concern deepened; it wasn't like you to shy away from such moments of triumph.
As teammates and family began to cheer and revel in the evening's wins, Max made the decision to search for you.
His quest took him to the paddock and then to your garage, but each passing minute only heightened his worries. "Where could you be, Y/N?" he murmured to himself, frustration lacing his voice as he traversed the familiar paths of the circuit, searching desperately for a glimpse of you.
His heart raced with anxiety; he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.
Finally, his gaze landed on the door of your driver's room, slightly ajar, like a whisper beckoning him to enter. Without a second thought, he approached and knocked gently, "Y/N, are you in there?"
Listening intently, he leaned closer to the door and was met with faint whimpers that sent a chill down his spine.
Panic surged through him.
This wasn’t just a moment of celebration for you; it felt like a cry for help, echoing through the cold corridor.
Without waiting for a response, he pushed the door open wider, bracing himself for whatever he might find—though nothing could have prepared him for the sight that met his eyes when the door creaked open.
The scene unfolded before him like a nightmare; your so-called boyfriend stood menacingly above you, his hand raised as if poised to strike, while your frail form displayed clear signs of distress—your face bruised, tears streaming down your cheeks, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disbelief.
Time seemed to freeze for a moment as he took stock of the situation, the cruel contrast of celebration outside and the terrifying reality inside your room.
"What the hell is going on here?" Max's voice cut through the air, laced with fury as he stepped into the room, instinctively placing himself between you and the looming threat.
In that instant, your boyfriend's grip on your collar slackened, surprise washing over his features as he turned to face Max.
“Stay out of this, Max! This has nothing to do with you,” your boyfriend snarled, his bravado faltering under the sudden scrutiny.
But Max remained steadfast, stepping closer, his presence commanding as he glared at the man who had dared to raise a hand against you.
“You’re wrong. It has everything to do with me. Y/N is my friend, and I won’t let you hurt her,” he replied, his voice steady yet filled with palpable tension.
Your eyes met Max's, a flicker of hope igniting amidst despair, and despite everything, the warmth of that friendship washed over you.
Max's voice echoed through the room, a mix of frustration and urgency. "You need to leave now!" he shouted, his eyes locked onto your boyfriend, who stood there with clenched fists and a scowl that could cut glass.
The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to slice through. Your boyfriend hesitated, his anger simmering just beneath the surface, but something in Max's tone made him reconsider.
"Fine," he finally muttered, his voice low and filled with resentment. "I’ll go, but this isn’t over."
With that, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him, leaving you and Max in a heavy silence.
“Max, please…” you managed to choke out, your voice hoarse as the fear and pain slowly ebbed. “I just…I just wanted to celebrate, but I didn’t know who I could trust. I thought…”
Your voice faltered as the tears resumed their steady flow. Max's gaze softened as he turned back to you, the protective barrier he had formed in front of you embodying more than just physical defense.
“You can trust me, Y/N,” he said firmly, his expression shifting to one of concern.
With Max's unwavering support behind you, the resolve within you began to build.
“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice trembling, but a hint of strength colored your tone.
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gguk-n · 1 month ago
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Dreamer's compass (Max Verstappen x Reader)
Summary- In a world where soulmates exist. Some people can see glimpses of their soulmates in their dreams. Max is happy his soulmate is also a cat mom.
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Y/N grew up not really thinking about soulmates until she was nine or ten when she had the most vivid dream of being in some sort of racing car. It didn't look or feel like a car but it was going fast, really fast. There was no one on the track, just her soulmate, going round and round at a really high speed. She woke up startled because this wasn't her thought of a nice day or even a fun activity to do with her friends. She recounted her dream to her best friend and they tried to decipher what that could've been. Until, her brother told her what she was describing was a kart and her soulmate was probably into karting, professionally or recreationally. She couldn't wrap her head around why someone would do that, but to each their own.
The second time she saw her soulmate was many years later. She saw her soulmate in a racing set up. It was on a chair behind a screen. After a quick google search, she found out that was called a iracing set up. She was glad her soulmate had moved on from driving out by himself. This seemed a lot more safer. His house looked big and luxurious; he must be a streamer. She did try to find people who would fit the bill, but there were a lot of streamers and this was proving a lot difficult than she had hoped.
Max spent his whole life racing. For him, he knew nothing but Formula One. So, being able to see parts of his soulmate in a dream was a breath of fresh air. The first time he saw his soulmate was when he was seven or eight and she was singing songs, they were songs you hadn't heard on the radio but songs about the mundane tasks she was performing. She sang about watering her fake plants or cleaning up her toy area. Max woke up with a smile, thinking about his soulmate.
The next time he saw her, she looked beautiful. The sun's ray's were shining down on her, he couldn't make out her face properly but she was sat with two sheets in hand, as she strum her guitar, she wrote down the lyrics and the notes. She looked like she was having fun and laughing along to the lyrics she was writing down. He didn't want to wake up from that dream because from some of the words he could make out, she was writing about him, her soulmate.
Max had had a tiring day and fell asleep as soon as he got home. The scene that greeted him when he awoke, gave him a shock. There were not one, not two, not three but five cats in his living room. The five of them were doing there own thing. He knew he had a problem but he didn't remember picking the other two up. He was about to scream when a voice called out; "Dinner's ready" and Max turned to find his soulmate; in his house, cooking. He knew this was a dream; one he would think about till he met his soulmate. The pair chatted, her face still not clear, he could barely make out the features. To Y/N too, who was simultaneously in the dream, watched as her soulmate interacted with her cats. But she couldn't see his face, what cruel fate. The two enjoyed the domestic bliss that would be their reality if they met, until they woke up. Y/N woke up with a smile but was deeply saddened as to why she hadn't met him yet. Max felt like he hadn't felt this happy in a really long time. He wanted to meet his soulmate as soon as possible.
Just like that one of these days, Max came around a petstagram for two cats called pbndj with a brown and a orange cat, who looked eerily similar to the cats in his dream. He ended up following the page and as he found out more about the owner, only glimpses in the post but his heart felt like she was the one. He ended up dming her that he was her soulmate. She was rightfully shocked but when she found his iracing set up, it looked very similar to the one in her dream and decided to believe him. They ended up chatting for a really long time.
Eventually, they were able to plan a meeting time. They decided to meet at cafe. Max was nervous, he had reached earlier. He waited for her, checking every time the door dinged. Finally, Y/N walked in. Max stood up from his seat, when their eyes met, they knew. They were right, it was like all the memories of their dreams cleared up and they saw the face in their dreams clear up. They knew it was them. They walked towards each other and awkwardly shook each other's hands, soon falling into a comfortable conversation.
"I never understood that dream of you strumming your guitar and writing down something" Max stated, months after they met. "But now I do" he explained. "It's because you're a song writer" he smiled. "Bingo" she cheered. "I can't believe I have to deal with anxiety about your profession" she laughed shaking her head. "I'm so good, I'll manage" he cocked his head. "Sure you are, four time champion Max Verstappen" she smiled kissing his lips. "I just wish you were actually a streamer. You look hot" she stated. "Not while racing" he pouted. "I can't see you at all. You're a bobble head" she said. Max laughed deeply and nodded, "Agreed" he said. "You're coming right?" he asked. "If I can find a cat sitter" she stated. "Let's take them too." Max said throwing his hands up in the air. "That country has too many regulations. It'll take us months" she replied. "Mood kill" he stated. "Practical" she replied. "I'll make it. Don't worry" she kissed him on the cheek. Max smiled at her while she helped pack his bag for the next race.
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tpwk-formula1 · 8 days ago
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Biggest Fan - MV1
Max Verstappen x Dancer! Reader
AN: Sorry this took me so long! Literally been sitting in my drafts almost done but had a lack of motivation but it's a new year so we need to relive this blog!
Summary: Just Max being madly in love with his dancer girlfriend
Face Claim: Rylee Arnold
Max Insta Stories
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Twitter
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Youruser Insta
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Liked by maxverstappen1, yourbff, landonorris, and 1,890,879 others
tagged maxverstappen1 and stephen_nedoroscik
youruser life lately <3
user1 I love being able to watch you every week!
user2 you two better win this year or I will riot
maxverstappen1 I can't wait to see you two perform
youruser I'm so glad you're coming!
user3 I love knowing that those 2 are both dominating in their respective field... power couple of the century
user4 I love how max posts Y/N like he's there with her. Like we KNOW he's sitting down every week to watch Y/N and Stephen dance
landonorris yes... and most of the time he ropes everyone else into watch youruser Lando... don't act like you didn't make Max facetime to last week to tell me how amazing I did.... landonorris damn... catching strays user4 lmao... I didn't realize my comment would create such discourse
Max’s Insta
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Likey by your user, landonorris, redbullracing, and 3,809,899 others
tagged yourusers
maxverstappen1 4 time world champ and I still didn't beat Y/N karting
user5 what are the odds he let her win?
youruser wow... that little faith? Remember Oscar defending in Baku? Ya that's me behind the wheel
user6 I'm sobbing at the fact that Y/N watching races so intently she can bring in references
user7 I still can't believe he's a 4x world champion
youruser I am so beyond proud of you love! My Champion <3
maxverstappen Ik hou meer dan woorden van je
landonorris congratulations!
user8 LFGGGGGGG!!!
Youruser Insta story
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Max’s Insta
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Liked by youruser, landonorris, yourbestie, and 2,094,632 others
maxverstappen1 I've loved every moment with you
tagged youruser
user34 I love seeing these two together! And the way he's always posting her
user42 perfect perfect
youruser I love every moment with you too!
landonorris GAG
user13 Im cryinggggg! Lando be nice youruser ya be nice!
user22 I have a feeling Y/N helped with the aesthetics of this post but I am STUNNED that Max didn't sneak a RB pic in
Max’s Insta Story
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cheriladycl01 · 4 months ago
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Kinktober 01/10/2024 Max Verstappen- Voyerism
Plot: Max cannot help but take pictures or videos of you whenever you guys get heated! But what happens when he’s leaving you for a long time.
Warnings: Kinktober, Smut, pillow humping, VOYERISM, masturbation, watched unknowingly etc. 18+ Minors DNI
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Max was obsessed with you.
Not in like a creepy stalker way, but in a more … you were his person kind of way.
Every time you came to a race, all he would do is follow you around. His team? Didn’t exist. Christian Horner? Who is that? Sergio Perez? Not sure who you mean.
His interviews were 90% staring at you and 10% listening and answering the interviewer. It actually got to the point, that even though it wasn’t affecting his driving Christian threatened to black-list you from all F1 races.
Max of course didn’t take this lightly.
Due to Max’s obsession with you, when you couldn’t attend race weekends he was sort of lost, just in this limbo area of his mind with nothing to do. Especially if you were doing a modelling gig and didn’t have much time throughout the day to answer him.
So he started to film you, in your more intimate moments to feel closer to you when you were away as the more you started to do, the bigger you were getting and the bigger you got the more you were booked in for.
But it didn’t stop there, once he got to a race weekend and became particularly frustrated he realised how much these videos helped him let off some steam when you weren’t there to help him.
Of course you knew about the videos. It was something fun for you and Max to do to liven up your sex life when you were together.
But then Max became obsessed with the idea of you not knowing when he was playing these videos just for himself. You were unassuming at a shoot, strutting your stuff and he was there tangled up in the sheets of a hotel room in Italy, using one hand to jerk himself off while the other held up his second video of the two of you of the night.
When he would come home, he’d start to watch you get undressed and shower from the crack in the bathroom door that he needed to get fixed but because he felt like he was never home he didn’t ever bother. He would make sure to tell you wrong times that he would get home, just at the off chance he might be able to catch you in a private moment to yourself, hearing those little noises you made and calling out his name as if you knew he was there.
Then came the bedroom camera. Max never told you about this camera, why would he … it was his apartment after all. That’s what he told himself when he was thinking of the idea.
It was one of those motion-activated ones, and he installed it just before a triple header, above the wardrobe in between two show boxes, and unless you were looking specifically for a camera you definitely wouldn’t be able to see it.
“Bye baby I’m going to miss you! Look I’ll try and make it out to your home race. But good luck for the first ones, I love you so so much” you smiled at him kissing all over his face.
“Mmmm I’ll miss you too, don’t know how I’ll last without my gorgeous girl” he sighs before leaving.
But that was a lie, he knew exactly how he would last without you. He knew that camera in the bedroom would make him feel as though he was at home with you. Even if he was just watching you sleep or get changed like he normally did when you both got ready with each other in the mornings.
He waited and waited, pulling his phone out every-time the custom haptic vibration he’d made for the app that linked the camera to his phone so he knew what it was buzzed..
Mostly it was just you doing house chores and bringing washing back to the bedroom to put it away in the closets or changing the bedsheets now that he’d be gone for three weeks so they’d be fresh for when he was back home. He missed you changing the first time because he was out with Lando, Oscar and Charles playing Paddle and his phone was in his gym bag.
He of course rewatched it but he just sort of found it sweet watching you do the same routine you did even when he wasn’t there, only missing out a few steps that normally involved him.
It wasn’t until the night before his first race that he was laying in his hotel room, exhausted from the day he’d had in qualifying and staying late to train on the sim against the teams orders that he saw you more intimately on the cameras.
You’d come into the room rather naturally actually. You had a large cup of water with ice and a straw which wasn’t uncommon for you before you went to bed. You then sat on top of the duvet covers with your back propped up with the pillows against the back board as you put something on the TV.
And you pretty much got through the whole film just watching it drinking your water slowly and eating the snacks you’d brought with you.
He saw you get a little fidgety towards the end but you never were one for sitting still for long periods of time. So he didn’t think anything off it and nearly clicked off for the night until you got your phone up.
He immediately saw the bite of your lip as you started scrolling.
He sat up more awake and alert than he had been the last hour of watching you on and off while you watched your film. He was curious about what was on your phone that was making you bite your lip.
However once he heard the audio come from your phone he was all too familiar with what you were watching. It was a video he’d taken during the last time you guys had had sex with one another. He knew immediately because of what he said at the start of the video.
“Are you going to be a good girl for me while I’m gone?” And when he heard himself say that, he could feel something in him stir.
It excited him, the thought that you were just as desperate and needy as he was.
He watched as one hand travelled down into your silk shorts as you spread you legs open giving you easier access. He watched as you hand grazed over you clit, he couldn’t see much right now with those shorts still on but the light airy moan that he heard through the cameras audio was enough to let him know what your fingers had just brushed against.
He couldn’t even really tell if you were just rubbing yourself through your panties or if you’d pulled them to the side and he wanted to know more. He wanted and needed to see more.
When you made that face, the one where something stated to feel really good that’s when he knew you’d dipped your fingers in a little further, only to test the waters. Your legs closed around your hand as he could hear those sweet noises still coming from you.
You attempted to prop the phone up against your knees but he could see your frustration as it kept sliding down at an angle you could view it.
Max was already hard as a rock from just watching you lightly touch yourself but when you spun round so that you were facing away from him, propping the phone up on the top of the headboard and placing a pillow underneath you he pulled himself right out of his pants.
He almost felt like a pervert but he convinced himself if he told you what he’d done or was doing you’d love the idea. He knew you better than you knew yourself.
His hand rubbed quickly up and down his length as he watched you hump a pillow, which was of course one of his usual ones. Your moans came through the camera way clearer than he had expected.
What caught him and nearly had him letting go of that growing feeling was when you moaned his name.
“Max, fuck please” you’d groaned and the camera had picked it up perfectly, his jaw dropped and his hand sped up seeing the stuttering of your hips into the pillow meaning you were also close.
He kept watching you completely obsessed with everything he was seeing.
“Come on baby, come for me” he called and as if you’d heard him you were shaking, moaning and gasping into the other pillows while your hips drove down into the pillow riding out your high.
Max came watching that wet spot grow on your panties from the angle your currently were at. He couldn’t believe that this was only the begging of the night. And when you turned round pulling your underwear off and you went into the special draw by your shared bed, he knew you’d both be in for a long long night.
Taglist:
@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount
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norrisainz33 · 2 months ago
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announcement || mv33
☆ summary: max and his private wife have been keeping a big secret
☆ pairing: max verstappen x private!nonfamous!wife!reader
☆ fc & warnings: amata alp & mentions of pregnancy
☆ requested: yes! thank you for your patience 🫶🏻
゚. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ゚
ynverstappen has posted to their story 🔒
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maxverstappen1: glad you’re with y/bff tho i do wish you were here my love
ynverstappen: i wish i was there too. i hate having to miss your races
maxverstappen1: i know you do sweetheart but you’ve got big things to worry about right now 🤍
ynverstappen: i know i just wish you were here to worry about them with me!
ynverstappen: ugh i’m sorry i know you have no choice in the matter
maxverstappen1: don’t apologize liefje. i know this is not like the easiest time for me to be away! i will be home so soon so i can help take care of you
carmenmundt: y/n where have you beeeeeeen it’s been so long!!
ynverstappen: been very busy with work and with holding down the fort here in monaco!! i hope to be back at some races soon 🤍
alexandrasaintmleux: gorgeous girl i miss you
ynverstappen: i miss you too babes
yourbff: my baby
ynverstappen: my girl
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f1gossip has made a post
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f1gossip: during todays redline stream the chat was flooded with questions about the whereabouts of y/n verstappen who has been absent from the paddock for the past couple of months. while y/n is relatively private and we don’t usually get many social media updates from her outside of her interior design firm’s posting, she almost never misses the opportunity to support max on a race weekend let alone several in a row. max assured the chat that y/n was ok and that she was just taking some time to herself and that she’d be back in the paddock soon enough. what do you all make of this?
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user1: i’m so glad y/nmax are fine
user2: you could even hear her in the background at one point asking max what he wanted for dinner!! glad we are getting some crumbs
user4: omg ok good!! i thought that was her but couldn’t tell
user3: i was about to email her interior design firm to ask if she was ok thank god max updated us
user4: walk with me here guys…. what if we haven’t seen her bc she’s…… pregnant???
user6: oh my god you might be on to something!! they have been married for almost 2 years now
user7: no this is so believable!!! they’d make the best parents
user5: y/n’s ability to stay under the radar and unbothered is incredible
user8: y/n is the coolest wag i wish she was chronically online like so many of the others
user7: ugh fr!! i wish we could follow her on literally anything 💔
ynverstappen has posted to their story 🔒
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francisca.cgomes: are you redoing part of your house? is this why you’ve been so busy and i haven’t seen my best friend for WEEKS
ynverstappen: partially yes!! we are redoing the spare room. BUT you’ll see me this weekend for my party kiks
francisca.cgomes: and my god i can’t wait!! i miss you
ynvertsappen: i miss you too
landonorris: plans for what?
ynverstappen: idk 🤷🏻‍♀️
landonorris: liar!
maxverstappen1: they’re going to have the sweetest room 🤍
ynverstappen: yes they are 🤍 i’m so proud of how it’s turning out
georgerussell63: the 🤭 makes this feel like i’m on the outside of an inside joke
ynverstappen: you just might be georgie!!
georgerussell63: well what does that even mean
yourbff: i am brimming with excitement i can’t wait for you to tell everyone this weekend
ynverstappen: me too!! keeping this secret has been so tough but ultimately it’s been really nice to have something that’s just for me and max even if just for a short while
yourbff: no i totally get that y/n/n!! max has to share his life with the whole world so im sure it’s nice to have those private moments
yoursibling: i need you to facetime me when you tell carmen and kika bc they’re going to lose their minds
ynverstappen: oh i absolutely will
ynverstappen has made a post 🔒
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ynverstappen: i’m so glad all my favorite people could come celebrate the news 🩷 baby verstappen due in january 🤍 mommy and daddy love you endlessly already 💙
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carmenmundt: i can’t wait to be an aunty!!! best news ever 🤍
ynverstappen: and i can’t wait for you to be an aunty!! baby v is going to be so loved
carmenmundt: they already are!!
francisca.cgomes: can’t believe my favorite person in the world is going to be a mom 🥹
ynverstappen: love you kika 🥹
maxverstappen1: 💙🩷
ynverstappen: 😘😘
iamrebeccad: you’re going to make the perfect mom
ynverstappen: i really hope so 🤍
georgerussell63: blimey! i can’t wait to meet the little one!!
ynverstappen: only 3 more months!!
landonorris: uncle lando is reporting for duty
ynverstappen: baby v is going to love their uncle lan!!
maxverstappen1: baby v is already lucky to have you mate
alexandrasaintmleux: the most beautiful maman 🤍
ynverstappen: don’t make me cry again 😭
maxverstappen1 has made a post
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maxverstappen1: grateful for moments like these away from the track. next week is race week again in vegas but for now, enjoy some family photos 🤍
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user1: my favorite couple maybe ever
user3: y/n sign of life!!
user4: sticking to my delulu and thinking he said family bc she’s having a baby
landonorris: see you all soon🤍
ynverstappen: see you soon lannyyyyyy
user4: he’s feeding into my delusions here…. bc why did he say you all instead of you both
user6: omg does this mean y/n will be in vegas????
ynverstappen: i love our little family 🫶🏻
maxverstappen1: me too gorgeous
user2: not me crying over this post?? the heart shaped pizzas sent me over the edge
redbullracing: looking forward to seeing you back on track!
ynverstappen has added to their story 🔒
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maxverstappen1: i have a tracker on your flight. i think the anxiety of you and the little one being on a plane without me is going to eat me alive
ynverstappen: we will be ok maxie i promise!! im on air max, it’s safe here
maxverstappen1: it is but also i’m not there so it’s not as safe as it could be
ynverstappen: my sweet boy, take a deep breath. you have quali soon
maxverstappen1: yes yes yes i’m breathing deeply
francisca.cgomes: well thank GOD i need you in the paddock
ynverstappen: pls come stay in rb hospitality w me
francisca.cgomes: for you i will just don’t tell pierre
charlesleclerc: on a scale of 1-10 how stressed is max
ynverstappen: 16
redbullracing: we can’t wait to see you!!
iamrebeccad: yayayayayayya!!!!!!!
ynverstappen: 😘😘😘😘😘😘
maxverstappen1 has made a post
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maxverstappen1: for all of you wondering where y/n has been…. needless to say we’ve both been a little busy getting ready to welcome baby verstappen. only a few more months till the little one makes us a family of 3 🤍
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user1: best news ever!!!!
user4: i knew it!!! omg 🥹
charlesleclerc: congratulations mate! i am so excited for you both
maxverstappen1: thank you charles 💙 baby v is so lucky to have an uncle like you
user16: im violently sobbing over this interaction you don’t understand
redbullracing: having a mini rb20 made for baby v as we speak
ynverstappen: oh gosh admin no
maxverstappen1: admin yes!!
redbullracing: uh oh awkward
landonorris: yayyyyyy!!!!!!!! i can’t wait to babysit!!
ynverstappen: you’re going to be the best babysitter ever
user7: she is glowing
user9: max and y/n are going to make the most beautiful parents
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f1gossip: here to share a recap of max’s first interview since announcing y/n’s pregnancy mere minutes after qualifying. he said he wanted to announce it before sunday because y/n was absolutely adamant about being in the paddock for vegas and there was no hiding her baby bump at 6 months. max said “i can’t wait to be a dad! it’s honestly something i’ve been dreaming of for years and i’m so grateful to my beautiful wife for giving me the greatest gift.”
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user2: this is by far the happiest i’ve ever seen max and i am crying
user4: i love max and y/n so much i cant
user15: the way he talked about their baby ??? he already loves that little one so much
user18: i think having a baby is healing his inner child
user3: i love love love love love these 2
user19: crying screaming throwing up
user20: project verstappen!! lfg!!! next wdc champion incoming
user5: her refusing to miss another race is so real of her
user8: thank god she’s gonna be back in the paddock max needs her luck
゚. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ゚
a/n: thanks for reading!! likes and reblogs always appreciated 🤍
゚. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ゚
disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction
© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform
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bunny-jpeg · 2 months ago
Text
love is a kick to the stomach
max verstappen - sequel to: lust is a loaded hand gun
tags: smut/fluff, pregnancy & kids, falling in love, dad!max, body worship, tenderness, plot, cowgirl position
a/n: this was made possible by the support of over a dozen people asking for a sequel! i hope you enjoy it <3
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"are you sure you're going to be fine on your own?" your former teammate charles asked as he helped you pack the last of your suitcases. your apartment in monaco was bare, and for good reason, you were going home.
you replied with a shrug, "i'll be fine. i mean if i could sustain a driving career for as long as i did. i can handle raising a baby." you rubbed your lower back a little bit.
charles said,"i guess so, you know, monaco isn't a terrible place to raise a child." he gestured to himself with raised eyebrows.
"as much as i'd love to." you said, "i think people will start to raise eyebrows when they see max's look-alike running around. plus, i guess it's a way to get away from it. something simpler for my kid."
you hadn't spoken to the father of your son, max didn't know you were pregnant. and it was the best for everyone if he never knew that you had a child with him.
you remember the first time you held nicolas in your arms, it took you close to ten hours for you to deliver him. you had to say, the aches and pains of racing were nothing compared to the rising anxiety and pain of delivering a child. didn't help he was stubborn like this father. you tried not to think about max too much during the moments of lessened pain. part of you wanted him there, while you were determined to raise your child alone. the moments of weakness you felt during delivery made you want to hastily unblock max's number and call him before the next contractions came.
"okay, okay. just you and me, baby, just you and me." you told yourself as you laid in the hospital bed with your belly swollen from the months of carrying your son. you hissed through your teeth as another contraction hit.
in the end, you had nicolas. or nico as you called him. tired, over-heated as you pushed out your baby. the nurse told you it was a boy. wrapped in a blanket as he was placed on your chest. you could only describe it as maternal warmth as you cried. this was your baby. your little nico. "congratulations." the nurse told you as you held onto him gently. when you gave birth to your son, max was in monaco streaming with the rest of the redline team. fully unaware that you just had his child.
you lived a quiet life after that, but sometimes you could still feel the rumble of the track in your soul. it pulled you in, there was no reason for it to come back. there was no way you could, nico needed his mother and you made the choice to start a family of your own.
"nico!" you giggled towards your toddler, nico was now close to three years old! you picked him up from his spot at the coffee table, surrounded by papers and markers. you gave him a kiss on the cheek and said, "remember uncle charlie?" you swayed a little with the child in your arms.
the little boy nodded, "uh-huh." charles sent you and nico christmas presents every year. he even visited once or twice during summer break and spent a week with the two of you, he loved the time away from the hustle and bustle of racing. nico knew uncle charlie mostly because of leo, you had to teach him how to be gentle with the dog.
"well, he is inviting us somewhere. we're going to see him race, just like what mama used to do." it was the pre-season testing, it would be nice to see everyone. see how things changed in the three years since you left, "i know you've been asking about the cars." you smiled at the little boy.
nico really was the son of two racers, even now he was colouring pages of cars and he learned some of his colours from the cars in your neighbourhood. his expression light up, "the cars?"
you chuckled and said, "yes! we'll see the cars go really fast." it felt somewhat silly to say that raising a child felt more fulfilling than any of the titles you won.
it was almost more challenging with more rewards. driving was intense and lit an inferno in your stomach. but, you were constantly swarmed by the media with people yelling in your ear at all times. you were both hated and loved by the press, the organization and the fans. and while parenthood was harder in a lot of ways, it was nice. it was quieter. you saw friends, you found interest in painting, you read all the books you bought on your travels as a racer. the best part about having a kid was having a travel buddy. you weren't your stats or your trophies, you were just you.
but driving was a drug, and you also wanted to see the cars go very fast. so within a couple of weeks you were on the track for the pre-season.
"and that nico, is a racing car." you pointed towards the red ferrari car. a similar one to the one you drove. and you watched your young son light up the way you did all those years prior.
-
you knew you were going to see max. it was stupid to think that you could not see him. he had won the previous year's wdc, he was everywhere. so while you spoke to lewis and charles, you caught sight of him. and he caught sight of the toddler in your arms.
charles looked over to where your gaze was and said, "oh shit." then tried to shift over to sort of usher you and nico away from the gaze of max. but you reached out and touched your former teammates shoulder.
"it's fine..." you assured him. the past year, as it felt like nico was growing so much everyday. the feelings about max had resurfaced. while you believed that you and your network of friends and family could raise nico just fine. max didn't know that nico existed. a night of passion was just that in max's mind.
you shifted your toddler in your arms and looked over to max. you smiled and gave him a small wave. and you could see the expression cross max's face.
nico let go of the front of your shirt and made child's grabby-hands towards the man. and max took a bold step forward, and then another, and then another before he was crowded in your space. an expression across his face as he looked down at you and nico.
"hey." you said.
"hi." he replied. he raised his hand for a moment, but stopped himself. he swallowed and asked, "who is this?"
you looked down at the boy who was holding onto your shirt once more. you smiled at max, "nicolas. but everyone calls him nico. he's my son."
our son.
max swallowed and looked at the boy. he patted him on the top of the head and smiled, "well, hello nico. your mama was an amazing driver." he looked at you once more before you were pulled away by charles to see the rest of the ferrari team. max watched you walk away, just as he did all those years prior.
-
"can i watch nico?" charles asked while
"i can watch him just fine. i've been doing it for three years." you chuckled as you grabbed a chip from the bag and ate it.
charles crossed his arms and looked at you, "when was the last time you had a break? plus me and alexandra are thinking about, maybe, having a child once my career winds down." he smiled a little, "want to make sure that i can handle a three year old."
you looked to your son on the carpeted floor playing with the duplo blocks that you had brought with you. you then looked to charles and asked, "so you're probably assuming that if you can handle the son of me and him, you can handle your own child?"
charles nodded, "the child of ferrari's princess and mad max. must be a handful." he laughed a little.
"he's not the son of satan, charles." you playfully shoved your former teammate. and he shrugged. you were thankful in a way that you didn't go with charles' plan for him to father your child. you felt like that would've been more complicated than what you had now, since you liked charles' current partner.
"take the night off or at least a few hours. go do something for yourself." charles gave you a sympathetic glance. and you had no choice to concede.
he was right, since nico's birth you had no time for yourself unless he was asleep. but usually you fell asleep too. in the end you dressed nicely, in a pencil skirt and a white blouse. you had your purse on hand and told charles to text you if there were any issues. and you made nico promise you to be good. you kissed the boy's cheek before you headed out.
you ended up at a bar. it wasn't busy and you blended in with the other patrons. the press didn't bother you too much, you had been out of the spotlight for long that it was mostly making the public aware that you still existed and now you had a kid.
"well, well, well." a man's voice caught your attention. you looked up from your phone to see max by your table, "has ferrari's princess finally come back to her castle."
you swallowed, "hi, max."
"where's the little one?"
"with charles tonight."
max nodded, "i was going to make a joke about him being the father... but i know that's not true." he sat down across from you at the table. he rested his forearms on the table, his watch shined in the low light of the bar, "what happened?"
"nothing happened. i just retired."
"with my son... a son i knew nothing about." his voice was low, "why didn't you tell me? do you think so low of me i wouldn't have tried to help? you ran off back home and blocked me..." there was a look in his eyes.
"i didn't want to burden the world champion." you lied as you took a sip of your stiff drink. you felt tension in your shoulders as you took a sip. your heart rattled in your chest, "i didn't expect you to do anything. i didn't need you to."
max reached across the small table and took a hold of your wrist to bring your closer. then he locked his fingers with yours. he said, "maybe i wanted to... did you never think i wanted to be a father?"
you swallowed, "no." you assumed he didn't. not after everything, you heard enough of his father's berating in your karting career. the angry dutch words followed by insults in english so everyone knew what was being said. and that apprently only scratched the surface of what had been done to him. you thought max was a good fit because he would be so disinterested in being a parent. but as he looked at you, hand in yours. you realized you made a grave error. you said, "being a parent isn't easy."
max chuckled, "i know. i'm not stupid. i thought about that night we shared, it comes back to me. i've never wanted someone the way i wanted you. and to know you carried my child, it only pulls me in more."
you took another sip of your drink with your free hand and said, "and what are you going to do about it, verstappen?" you may be a mother now, but you were ferrari's princess, the temptress on wheels. you'd still go toe-to-toe with any man.
max simply smiled.
-
you ended up in max's hotel room. his hands on you like they were all those years ago. he touched you the way a lover would as the two of you passionately made out. you moaned against his lips and you held onto his strong shoulders.
"i thought about you every day of your retirement. i wanted to know what happened. i thought you were sick." he kissed along your neck, his hands at your waist.
"i mean, i did have quite the stomach bug. took ten hours to get him out." you moaned a little bit as his lips grazed over your pulse point. you could feel a surge of pleasure through you. you had been with anyone intimately since max. you didn't have time for dates let alone hook-ups.
"i should've been there. i would've been there in a heartbeat. you, me, nico... a family." he said as he looked to you once more and you toyed with the material of his shirt, "i always had a fondness for you. you let nothing stop you."
you smiled, "i always thought you wanted a model... not a driver."
he pressed his chest against yours and looked into your eyes, "maybe in another time. i wish i could've seen you pregnant." he swallowed as his hands touched your breasts.
you chuckled lowly, "someone wanted a milf?"
he shook his head as he pressed his forehead to yours, "no, no. i wanted to see your body change from what we made. the child we made together."
"but racing..."
he groaned, "fuck it. choose between another trophy taking up space in my apartment... or a home with you and nico. such a hard choice, don't you think?" he chuckled as he held you so close to him. he groped your breasts, "a man who finds more fulfillment in pieces of plastic and metal than having a home to go to is a stupid man."
you chuckled, "i guess i didn't want to be your wag either."
he shook his head, "i don't think you can be a wag if you played the sport. if you are worried about there being expectations placed on you, then don't worry. if you can't drive, then i'll drive twice as hard for us. any ten second gap i have will be twenty seconds, because i know you only expect the best."
you felt warmth in your cheeks. and eventually he led you to the bedroom. you ended up on the bed with max undoing your button up. you giggled, "ah, does someone like mothers?"
he groaned with his nose against your heated skin, "only when they had my kid... nico looked exactly like me." he said as he got the button up off your shoulder.
you moaned, but then yelped as he pushed you back onto the bed. you looked up at him, "i'm on birth control." you licked your lips as you got out of your bra and max took off his t-shirt, "fuck, now i remember why i wanted to have a baby with you."
he put his hands on his hips and smiled. tiny waist, broad shoulders. a certain strength to him, but he didn't look like a dehydrated mess. he was strong in a way that excited you, but you also knew that he loved a good meal. long before he gorged himself on your cunt, he happily ate the meals you cooked. you remember he even said, "you'd make a great wife." which honestly sowed the seed that led to nico.
the night of passion that led to the making of your son. you could feel max's eyes wander across your body and he licked his lips. he said, "you look good. bit more curves than when we last were like this."
"yeah, i had an eight pound baby." you chuckled as you got the rest of your clothes off. max's hungry gaze lingered, "i got a few more curves that a track as carry him for nine months, you know he was three days overdue."
"stubborn." max laughed as he unzipped his jeans, "just like his mama."
you narrowed your eyes, "no, just like his old man." and max was all over you. the kissed became hungry and needy. neither of you had been intimate with another person since the night you made nico. three years ago. you were busy with a baby while max couldn't get you out of his head. he tried to find another woman, he tried to be close to someone. but you always pulled in the back of his mind.
both of you were into the hotel room and max kissed at your breasts. your breasts were roughly average size before you got pregnant. the training and weight guidelines for racing prevented you from having a big chest. but you went up at least a cup and a half during your pregnancy. and max loved kissing the heated skin.
"fuck." you gasped. both naked on the bed, moved against one another. it was like being in a familiar place. you knew max's body just as you did all those years ago. you kissed him and ended up straddled max's waist.
he was up against the pillows and your knees on either side of him. your hands roamed his chest and he shuddered. he looked up at you with those blue eyes, "please, fuck. please, give me a chance. give me a chance to be there for you and nico.."
you swallowed, you never expected that from max. a man on the top like that wouldn't easily quiver at the aspect of being a father. but max wanted it. he wanted the family. he wanted a home. you sighed to yourself, you guessed an apartment full of trophies wasn't enough.
you put a hand on his chest before you sank on his cock, "max. if nico decided not to peruse racing.... would you still love him?" that was a conversation you had to have with yourself. you loved racing, that was your passion for years. but you promised yourself to never be the parent that you saw early in your career. twisting their children to make them conform to the parent's standards. to force them into racing.
he said, those blue eyes gazed up at you, "if nico wanted to race. i'm behind him a hundred percent. if it doesn't, nothing changes... he is still my son. i'm behind him through everything."
you leaned down to kiss max on the lips, "fuck, max." you sank down onto his cock and continued to kiss him. you splayed your hands across his broad chest and continued to move against him.
"shit." he shuddered. he felt a certain euphoria that left him needy for more. never had he had soemthing like this. not since the last time he had you. it was a amazing. to have you so close once more. he wrapped his strong arms around you and moved against you. the kisses shared between you two were hot and heavy, it left him feeling tense in a good way. to have you on top of him, close to him was a feeling he wished he could never forget.
even after three years you still occupied his mind in ways that left him shuddering against you. after three years, after all this time, he still wanted to map your body with his tongue. even the changes post-pregnancy. he held onto you and kissed at your heated skin. he wished he was there, seeing the progress of you carrying nico. to be a father. he moved against you, he held you. he loved you, but he had been holding onto that love for some time. unable to properly display it, and to find out you had a child with him only fueled the passion for you. the two of you moved against one another, you both felt the intense pleasure from the heated movements against one another.
this was how you should've been a long time ago. if max had known you wanted a baby, he would've happily had one with you. but he should've been there for every moment of it. even if you couldn't race because of the pregnancy, max would kiss every winning trophy in your honor, he'd race for both of you. and then come to the paddock with you and nico, a family of three. a family he always wanted.
he wanted to kiss you in front of the cameras. even if you were retired, he wanted to make you feel that every winning was for both of you. he kissed at you heated skin and you moaned, he felt the warmth of love in his gut. you two should've been married by now, a house somewhere quiet. it didn't even have to be in monaco. max would happily pack up his racing sim gear and his cats, and move to anywhere you desired. he hoped that you two could be a family.
to come home after a triple header and see you and nico. the boy looked so much like him. those round cheeks, those wide eyes. the excitement on the track and his need to be close to his mother (you). it screamed a young max, but max wanted to be a better father. he wanted to be present, he wanted to be there for his son.
he groaned, "please, please. let me into your little family." he kissed as your larger breasts and moved against you. the pleasure was deep inside of him. to have you once more felt like a dream.
you held onto his short hair for a moment, you groaned a little bit as you felt the immense heat between you two. you leaned down and kissed him on the head with such tenderness. this wasn't the kind of sex you had all that time ago, this was something more softer. more gentle. less like a means to an end, and more like you two were becoming familiar with each other's bodies again.
"you look perfect," he said lowly, "i'm surprised you hadn't picked uo a husband after all the time." he held on a little tighter and worked your body against him. the pleasure shot through the both of you which only spurred you on the move faster.
your bucked your hips against his, you felt the inferno in your belly as you held his face and kissed him once more. if he wanted to be in nico's life then you'd allow it. you'd let max be involved, be the father he wanted to be. you thought his trophies were more important, but seeing him, his eagerness to be in nico's life made you realize that he wanted a family, a home. you kissed him once more as the two of you thrusted against one another.
you knew racing would always pull you back in eventually. it had that effect on people. it was infectious, even tucked away in your domestic life. you still sat on the couch with your rambunctious toddler and watched the races at odd hours.
"why do you want a life with me and nico, you could have any-"
"i don't want to hear it. nico deserves a father and you deserve a loving partner... hell, maybe even a husband." he said with total conviction as he moved against you. the pleasure felt like it was going to boil over soon.
you moved against him, eagerness in your movements. you couldn't think of anymore things to prevent max from being part of your family. your movements staggered and you felt the pleasure bloom into something more. you hissed, "fuck," while you moved against him. you felt the inferno in your soul, the need for him in ways you didn't need any other man.
this was the father of your son, and you carried feelings for him just as you carried nico. the combination of you two, the affection you had for one another in a brief moment. it was something you wanted to expand on. you wanted to love max verstappen.
you held onto the father of your child. you came around his cock and arched your back. you felt the fury of lust through your body as you moved against him. you laid a heavy kiss on his lips as your pussy clenched around his cock, "fuck." you said, words muffled by the kiss. max wrapped his strong arms around you and moved against you further. you felt his cock nudge against some of your softest areas and it made you toes curl through climax.
he groaned into the kiss and continued to move against you. a few more heavy strokes and he finished inside of you. he practically melted against you and you smiled against his lips with affection. his brain felt swamped with emotion as he said, "i love you."
and without thinking you replied, "i love you too, max." then kissed him once more with total affection for one another.
max swallowed as he held you as you slowed your pace to a stop. he craned his neck to press his cheek against your soft stomach, "don't leave again... please."
"max." you panted and combed your fingers through his hair. he held onto you tighter as if you were going to slip away.
he said, in a tone you never thought you could hear from a world champion, "don't.. don't leave." this was supposed to be simple. max was a means to a child, but he wanted to be in nico's life. he wanted to be a father.
you wrapped your arms around him and held him close to your abdomen. you exhaled deeply and said, "i don't want to pressure you into being a father... if you're going to be in his life, you're going all in. he needs stability."
max lifted his head to look at you. those blue eyes dazzled in the low light of his hotel room. he held onto you a little tighter, not enough to bruise however. he said, "i'm all in. you, me, and nico." like a promise.
maybe it was the post-orgasm hormones or maybe because you became a tad more in touch with your emotions after having a child. but when max said that, you cried.
-
"go nico! go, go!!!" you shouted as your nine year old sailed past the finish line in first place and you broke into a grin. your husband wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close into a kiss. you laughed into the kiss and said to your husband, "oh man. ow, ow. okay, okay!" you looked down at your swollen middle, "someone isn't happy about the excitement."
"sorry there, little one." max's hand rubbed your swollen middle. his wedding band gleamed in the afternoon light. you were welcoming a son in four months and could already feel the commotion of racing.
you smiled at max for a moment before your son got out of the cart and you were moving as fast as you could to greet him. with his helmet off, you cupped your son's chubby cheeks. he was looking more like max every day, but smashed records the way you did.
you were soon a family of four. you didn't live in your home country and max had moved away from monaco when you got married. max was a good father, as he picked up nico with ease.
"you did amazing, nico. good job!" he beamed at the little boy and the boy beamed back at him. you knew that people shouldn't have children to heal a part of themselves. you learned that when you were pregnant the first time. but when max gave praise to your son, he was giving the young boy the support he never got. that if nico was going to eventually end up in formula one, it wasn't going to be the way that max was brought up.
he'd do it right.
stern when he needed to be. you'd both push nico to be the best, but also give him the love a wide-eyed, chubby cheeked boy needed. and as you leaned down as best as you could to kiss your son on the cheek. you felt like a family. it felt like home.
you were confident that you could've raised both nico and your future son by yourself. but it was an adventure you'd rather share with max. <3
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