Don't Blame Me | MV1
Don't Blame Me | MV1
Max Verstappen x Reader
Summary: Y/N would do anything for Max, even if it means falling from grace.
Warning(s): Mild Language, Minor character death, mystery, crime, y/n is a mob boss but I didn't specify that. Max supports his girl's rights and wrongs. This is like, my 'fuck you' to the new FIA regulations. I reccomend listening to Taylor Swift's " Don't blame me" it's heavily inspired.
"And baby, for you, I would fall from grace. Just to touch your face. If you walk away..I'd beg you on my knees to stay"
The lights of Las Vegas shimmered like scattered jewels against the dark Nevada sky, their glow reflected in the streams of champagne that had soaked the paddock. The grandstands were still buzzing as fans filed out, their chants and cheers echoing in Max’s ears even as he sat in the quiet solitude of his driver’s room.
He hadn’t changed out of his race suit yet—his gloves were tossed onto the couch, his helmet discarded on the floor beside his boots. His hands trembled slightly, a cocktail of adrenaline and raw fury coursing through his veins.
Max had been close—so close to securing his championship. With every lap tonight, he had felt it, tasted it, seen the finish line and the trophy. But it wasn’t the second-place finish that had soured his mood. No, it was what had happened after, live on international television, with millions of fans watching.
He’d sworn at an FIA official.
The memory burned like acid in his mind, replaying on a vicious loop. The moment had been fleeting—a frustrated curse muttered under his breath during the cooldown lap, caught on a hot mic. But in this sport, fleeting moments had consequences. The fallout had been immediate. As Max sat there now, scrolling through his phone, the headlines were already popping up.
“Verstappen’s Outburst: Will the FIA Penalize the Championship Leader?”
“F1 Star Caught Swearing at Official – Points Deduction Incoming?”
“A Championship in Jeopardy?”
He tossed his phone onto the table, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. He could still feel the weight of the Las Vegas heat, the oppressive pressure of the race, and now the heavy burden of his own temper.
The door opened softly, and he didn’t need to look up to know who it was. He would recognize her presence anywhere.
“Max?” Y/N’s voice was warm, soft, like the first rays of sunlight after a storm.
He glanced up, his breath catching for just a moment. She stood in the doorway, radiant as ever, her tailored black dress clinging to her figure with an elegance that made her look like she belonged in a royal court, not the chaos of the paddock. Her hair framed her face in soft waves, and her sharp eyes—the color of polished obsidian—seemed to cut straight through him, seeing everything he tried to hide.
Her beauty had always mystified him, but it wasn’t just that. There was something about her, something deeper, something he couldn’t quite name. It was the way she carried herself, with an effortless grace and a quiet authority that even the most powerful people respected. She was warm and affectionate with him, but beneath that, there was an edge—a darkness he couldn’t place.
But he loved her. He loved her fiercely, deeply, with every part of himself. And in moments like these, when the world felt like it was caving in, she was the only one who could steady him.
She stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. The soft click of the latch felt final, sealing them in their own little world.
“You were amazing out there,” she said, her lips curling into a small smile as she approached him.
Max shook his head, his frustration boiling over. “Amazing doesn’t matter if I lose everything because of a stupid mistake. Did you see the headlines? They’re already talking about a points deduction.” His voice cracked slightly, betraying the fear beneath his anger.
Y/N knelt in front of him, placing a hand on his knee. Her touch was light, soothing, but her gaze was steady. “Max,” she said softly, “you need to breathe.”
“I can’t,” he snapped, though his voice lacked venom when he looked into her eyes. “I worked so hard for this, Y/N. They’re going to take it away from me over One. Stupid. Word.”
Her other hand came up, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. Her touch lingered, gentle but deliberate, and Max felt his pulse quicken. She had that effect on him—always had. There was something intoxicating about her, something that made him feel like he was standing on the edge of a precipice, ready to fall but knowing she’d catch him.
“You’re not going to lose anything,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “Do you know why?”
Max let out a bitter laugh. “Why?”
“Because you’re Max Verstappen,” she said simply, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. “You don’t crumble. You don’t let anyone take what’s yours. And more importantly—” She leaned in, her lips brushing against his temple as she whispered, “—because I won’t let them.”
A shiver ran down his spine. There was something in her tone, something unshakable and resolute, that made his anger falter.
He pulled back slightly to look at her, his brow furrowed. “What does that mean, schatje?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.
Her smile widened, but it didn’t reach her eyes. There was something almost predatory in the way she looked at him—a sharpness that made his chest tighten. “It means..you don’t need to worry about the FIA. I'm sure they’ll come around.”
Max stared at her, his mind racing. There it was again—that edge, that darkness he couldn’t define. He didn’t know everything about her, and sometimes that scared him. But as he looked at her now, at the fierce determination in her gaze, he felt something else: safety. No matter how mysterious or dangerous she might be, he knew she would never let anything happen to him.
“Y/N…” he began, but she silenced him with a kiss.
It was slow, tender, and yet there was an urgency beneath it, a fire that made him forget the chaos of the night. Her hands slid up to cup his face, and he leaned into her, his anger and fear melting away in her embrace.
When she pulled back, her lips were curved into that same enigmatic smile. “Trust me, my love,” she said. “Everything is going to be alright.”
He wanted to believe her. He did believe her. But as he watched her stand and move to the window, her silhouette framed by the neon lights outside, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew something he didn’t.
“What did you mean when you said you won’t let them?” he asked cautiously.
Y/N turned to face him, her expression soft again, though her eyes still held that unreadable gleam. “It means I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you,” she said simply.
Her words should have comforted him, but instead, they sent a strange thrill through him—a mixture of awe and unease. He had always admired her sharp mind and unwavering confidence, but now, for the first time, he wondered how far she would go for him.
He stood and crossed the room to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. She fit against him perfectly, her warmth anchoring him. “You’re incredible,” he murmured against her hair.
She tilted her head up to look at him, her smile softer now. “So are you,” she replied. “And you’re going to win this championship. No one can take that from you.”
He nodded, resting his forehead against hers. “As long as I have you, I’ll be okay,” he said quietly.
Y/N’s smile widened, but there was something almost mischievous in it. “Always,” she promised.
Max held her tighter, burying his face in her shoulder. He didn’t see the flicker of satisfaction in her eyes, the way her lips curved into something darker for just a moment before she kissed his cheek.
Whatever storm was coming, she would handle it. For Max, she would do anything.
______________________
The hotel room was dark except for the faint glow of the moon filtering through the sheer curtains, it was quiet. Max lay sprawled on the plush king-sized bed, his body turned toward the door.
Sleep had found him reluctantly, but even now, as the faint hum of the air conditioner filled the room, his dreams flickered with images of the track and the ever-present storm of pressure swirling around him.
The soft click of the door opening stirred him slightly. His brows furrowed, and his body shifted on the bed, muscles taut for a brief second before he relaxed again. It was her. Even through the haze of sleep, he knew it was Y/N. Her steps were light, deliberate, as though she were trying not to disturb him. After all, it was past midnight, everyone was supposed to be asleep.
Max cracked one eye open, catching a glimpse of her silhouette. She slipped into the room with the quiet grace he had always admired, her figure lit faintly by the moonlight. She closed the door softly behind her, the latch clicking into place. He didn’t move or say anything, caught between sleep and wakefulness, but he tracked her as she made her way to the bathroom.
The soft sound of water running reached his ears, and Max’s lips twitched into a faint, sleepy smile. Y/N always had her routines. No matter how late it was, she would wash up, cleanse the day away before joining him in bed. Tonight, he noticed, she moved a little slower than usual, her pauses lingering as though tired and lost in thought.
The bathroom light clicked off, plunging the room back into darkness. He heard her padded steps as she made her way to the bed. The mattress dipped under her weight as she slid under the covers, her movements careful to avoid waking him.
But Max wasn’t fully asleep. His eyes fluttered open slightly, just enough to catch the outline of her face as she settled beside him. The faintest scent teased his nose, and his mind stirred in curiosity. It wasn’t her usual perfume—the luxurious, rich fragrance she always wore. No, this was something softer, floral, almost sweet. It clung faintly to her, just enough to be noticeable.
He made a quiet noise in his throat, half-formed words lost to the haze of drowsiness. Y/N turned slightly, her head shifting on the pillow, her movements almost instinctive.
“Shh, baby, sorry I was late” she whispered, her voice a soft murmur in the dark. Her hand reached out, brushing lightly against his arm. “Go back to sleep.”
But Max, even half-asleep, couldn’t resist her presence. He shifted closer, his body seeking hers as if by instinct. His arm looped around her waist, pulling her flush against him. His face buried itself in the crook of her neck, and the faint floral scent washed over him again.
“You smell different,” he mumbled, his words slurred with sleep.
Y/N let out a soft laugh, almost too quiet to hear. “Do I?” she replied, her tone light and teasing.
Max hummed, his lips brushing against the delicate skin of her neck. He didn’t have the energy to press further, the pull of sleep too strong. Instead, he kissed her there, his lips warm and lingering, a quiet gesture of affection that spoke volumes more than words ever could.
Her body relaxed against his, melting into his embrace. Max felt her fingers trace light, soothing patterns on the arm draped across her waist. He sighed contentedly, the tension he hadn’t even realized he was carrying slipping away.
“I love you,” he murmured, the words slipping out before sleep finally claimed him.
Y/N didn’t reply immediately, but he felt her fingers pause for the briefest moment. Then, she leaned her head back slightly, her lips brushing against his temple.
“I love you Max, I would do anything for you, anything, now go to sleep baby” she whispered, her voice like a lullaby.
The room fell silent again, save for the soft sounds of their breathing. Y/N’s eyes remained open for a while, staring at the ceiling, her mind far away even as her body stayed still, slowly her mouth turned into a smirk, and her eyes closed.
____________________________
The golden light of the Qatari sun filtered through the sheer curtains of the hotel room, casting faint patterns on the walls. Max stirred in the plush bed, the weight of sleep still heavy on his limbs. His mind clung to the remnants of dreams, hazy and indistinct, as the soft hum of the city below began to creep into his consciousness.
A faint vibration buzzed from his bedside table, pulling him further from the depths of slumber. With a groggy exhale, Max reached for his phone, squinting at the screen. It was a message from his team’s media coordinator, brief and urgent:
"Turn on the news. Now."
Max frowned, the words igniting a flicker of unease in his chest. He tossed the covers aside and padded over to the television mounted on the wall. The room was still dim, the only light coming from the muted glow of the TV as he switched it on.
The screen came to life, and the familiar logos of international news outlets filled the frame. A grave-faced anchor was speaking, her voice carefully controlled yet tinged with the urgency of breaking news.
“—confirmed that a high-ranking FIA official was found dead in his home late after midnight. Preliminary reports suggest that the death may have been caused by poisoning, though authorities have yet to release an official statement. The substance identified appears to be a botanical toxin, indicating a possible case of premeditated murder…”
Max’s heart thudded in his chest, a cold wave of disbelief washing over him. Poison? Murder? It was surreal, the kind of news you’d expect in a crime drama, not in the high-stakes world of Formula 1.
The footage shifted to an image of the official’s residence, a sleek and modern house surrounded by police cars and investigators. The camera zoomed in on a bouquet of delicate white flowers being carried out in a plastic evidence bag. The reporter’s voice continued in the background, detailing the discovery of the toxin in the flowers.
Max ran a hand through his hair, trying to process what he was seeing. His thoughts churned, tangled and scattered. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, staring at the screen in disbelief, before the soft creak of the bedroom door drew his attention.
Y/N emerged, wrapped in a hotel robe, her damp hair draped over one shoulder as she used a towel to gently dry the strands. The scent of her freshly washed skin reached him, a subtle blend of soap and something warm, clean, and uniquely hers.
Her eyes met his, and she smiled, a soft and familiar expression that always seemed to ground him. She crossed the room with effortless grace, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. Her touch lingered for a moment longer than usual, as if sensing the weight of his thoughts.
“What’s got your face looking like that?” she asked, her voice still husky from sleep.
Max gestured toward the TV, his gaze fixed on her as she turned to look. The screen was now displaying a photo of the deceased official, alongside snippets of speculation from various commentators.
Y/N’s expression didn’t change at first. She tilted her head slightly, her brows drawing together in a faint show of interest. But Max noticed the tiniest flicker in her eyes—a glint of something he couldn’t quite place. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by her usual composure.
“Well,” she said, her tone light but thoughtful, “that’s… unexpected.”
Max’s jaw tightened. “Unexpected doesn’t even begin to cover it. Poisoned flowers? It sounds insane.”
Y/N turned to face him fully, her towel draped over her shoulder now. She placed a hand on his cheek, her thumb brushing against his skin in a gesture meant to soothe.
“Maybe it’s best not to get caught up in it,” she suggested. “It doesn’t concern you, does it? You have a race to focus on.”
Her words were reasonable, logical even, but they didn’t sit right. Max searched her face, his gaze lingering on the curve of her lips, the serene confidence in her eyes.
“You’re not even a little curious?” he asked, his voice low.
“Of course I am,” she replied, stepping back toward the bedroom. “But there’s nothing I can do about it, and neither can you. Come on, Max. You should start getting ready.”
Max nodded slowly, though his eyes remained on her as she disappeared into the other room.
_______________________________
The sun beat down mercilessly over the circuit, its glare reflecting off the freshly polished cars and shimmering asphalt. Max stood near the paddock, his sharp eyes scanning the bustling crowd. The day was a blur of activity, with team personnel darting about, fans crowding the stands, and journalists swarming for their next soundbite. But amid the chaos, Max’s mind was elsewhere.
He had been pulled into a whirlwind of media duties almost the moment he arrived, barely getting a moment to himself, let alone to find Y/N. The gnawing guilt was persistent—he hated not being able to see her before the day kicked into full gear. It had become a ritual for him, a grounding moment amidst the madness of race weekends. Y/N had a way of centering him, her presence a soothing balm against the constant pressure of being the reigning world champion.
He sighed, adjusting the cap on his head as he prepared for yet another round of interviews. His answers came out on autopilot—stock phrases about tire strategy, team confidence, and the race ahead—but his gaze flickered restlessly over the sea of people, searching. And then, finally, he saw her.
Y/N was weaving through the paddock with an easy grace, her movements unhurried despite the frantic energy around her. She wore a light summer dress that flowed around her like a whisper of wind, her hair catching the sunlight in a way that made her look almost ethereal. Max felt his chest tighten, his lips twitching into a smile before he even realized it.
There was something about seeing her like this—calm, at ease, untouched by the frenzy of his world—that made his heart ache in the best way. It was moments like these that reminded him why he loved her so deeply. She was his sanctuary, his constant in a life that often felt like it was spinning out of control.
She noticed him then, her eyes lighting up as their gazes met. She waved, her smile wide and genuine, and Max’s guilt faded, replaced by a warmth that spread through his chest.
She was here, and that was all that mattered.
But before he could excuse himself to meet her, a journalist called his name, snapping him back to reality. Max nodded in acknowledgment, forcing himself to focus as the interview began.
He was midway through answering a question about tire degradation when the reporter paused, pressing a finger to the earpiece in his ear. The change in his expression was immediate—his brow furrowed, his posture straightening as if bracing for impact.
“Excuse me,” the journalist muttered, turning away abruptly.
Max blinked, thrown off by the sudden shift. “What’s going on?” he asked, but the man didn’t respond, already hurrying toward a group of FIA officials clustered nearby.
A loud chime echoed through the circuit, followed by an announcement over the PA system:
“Attention all personnel. The race has been postponed... All drivers are to return to their respective team garages..immediately.”
Confusion rippled through the paddock like a wave, whispers and murmurs growing louder as everyone scrambled to figure out what was happening. Max glanced around, his pulse quickening. This was unprecedented. Races didn’t just get postponed without an urgent reason.
He pushed through the throng of people, his eyes scanning for Y/N again. Relief flooded him when he spotted her standing near the Red Bull garage, her expression calm despite the chaos around her. She was waiting for him, her arms crossed loosely as if this were just another day at the track.
Max reached her in a few long strides, his hand immediately finding hers. Her fingers were cool against his, and he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze as they joined the rest of the Red Bull team heading into the garage.
“What’s going on?” Max asked her, his voice low.
“I’m not sure,” Y/N replied, her tone even. “I heard that some cops were here, but no one seems to know the details yet.”
Max nodded, though his unease only grew. The garage was bustling with activity as team members huddled around monitors, trying to piece together what little information they had. The drivers from other teams were filing into their respective areas, their faces marked by the same confusion that Max felt.
As they stood in the corner of the garage, Max turned to Y/N, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over her knuckles. “Where were you earlier? I didn’t see you before the interviews.”
Y/N tilted her head slightly, her expression thoughtful. “I was just catching up with someone I knew from before,” she said, her words casual.
Max raised an eyebrow, curious. “Will you see them again?”
For a moment, she didn’t respond, her gaze meeting his with an intensity that made his heart skip a beat. Then, a small, satisfied smile curved her lips, and she shook her head. “No,” she said simply. “I don’t think I will.”
Her answer lingered in the air, heavy with an unspoken finality that Max couldn’t quite decipher, and before he can ask her anything, he hears a commotion from the hospitality.
Max glanced at Y/N, his brows furrowing. “What’s that about now?” he asked, already walking towards the noise.
“I’m not sure,” Y/N replied, as she followed him out of the room.
The noise grew louder as they approached the main lounge, and Max felt the muscles in his shoulders tense. People were rushing toward the large television mounted on the far wall, their voices overlapping in a chaotic hum. Engineers, PR officials, and even a few journalists stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their eyes glued to the screen.
Max nudged his way through the crowd, Y/N close behind him. His heart skipped a beat as he caught sight of the bold, all-caps headline plastered across the news ticker:
BREAKING: FIA PRESIDENT ARRESTED IN CONNECTION TO MURDER OF OFFICIAL.
The image on the screen was enough to stop him in his tracks. Mohammed Ben Sulayem, the FIA president himself, was being escorted out of a building in handcuffs, flanked by stern-faced officers. His usually composed demeanor was gone, replaced by wide-eyed panic as he struggled against the officers’ grip.
“What the hell is going on?” Max muttered, his voice barely audible over the din of the room.
The reporter on the screen continued, her tone grave:
“Sources within the investigation have confirmed that the death of a high-ranking FIA official last night was caused by poisoning. Specifically, a toxin derived from the flower known as Lily of the Valley. Evidence linking FIA President Mohammed Ben Sulayem to the crime was uncovered earlier this morning, leading to his immediate arrest. The FIA has announced that a new acting president will be appointed while a thorough investigation into internal corruption is conducted.”
Max stared at the screen, his chest tightening as the implications sank in. The FIA president—the figurehead of their entire sport—was being accused of murder. And not just murder, but something so calculated and premeditated that it involved the use of a rare, deadly toxin.
Beside him, Y/N remained unnervingly calm. She didn’t gasp or murmur like the others; instead, she stood silently, her gaze fixed on the screen. For a fleeting moment, Max thought he saw the faintest flicker of something in her expression—amusement, maybe, or relief. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by her usual unreadable calm.
Before Max could even begin to process the shocking revelation, the tide of the crowd surged toward the exit. A new commotion was building outside, drawing people out of the hospitality lounge in waves. Someone muttered something about seeing it live—seeing him live—and the collective curiosity became too much to contain.
“Max, let’s go,” Y/N said quietly, her voice steady amid the chaos.
He didn’t think twice. Reaching for her hand, he let himself be pulled into the stream of bodies flowing toward the paddock. The crowd was a cacophony of voices—questions, speculations, and disbelief tumbling over each other in an endless loop. Max clung to Y/N’s hand, weaving through the throng until they found themselves near the front of the growing mass of spectators.
As they pushed closer to the source of the uproar, Max’s stomach twisted at the sight before him.
Mohammed Ben Sulayem was being escorted out of the FIA headquarters, flanked by two grim-faced officers. But this wasn’t the composed, authoritative man Max was used to seeing. This man looked broken, almost unrecognizable. His usually impeccable suit was now crumpled and stained with sweat, his hair disheveled, his face a mask of panic and fury.
He was shouting, his voice hoarse and raw with desperation. “I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it! You’re making a mistake!”
Max tightened his grip on Y/N’s hand, his heart hammering in his chest. The scene was chaotic, surreal. Journalists shouted questions, their cameras clicking furiously as they tried to capture every moment. Paparazzi pushed against the security barriers, their lenses trained on the disgraced president.
Sulayem’s struggles only made him look more deranged. His eyes darted wildly, his movements jerky as he tried to pull away from the officers.
“You have to believe me!” he yelled, his voice cracking. “This is a setup! I didn’t kill anyone!”
The officers remained stone-faced, their grips firm as they led him toward a waiting car. The crowd around them buzzed with speculation, their voices blending into a chaotic symphony.
“He looks insane,” someone near Max muttered.
“Can you believe this? Poisoning? This is wild”
Max barely registered the words. His gaze was locked on Sulayem, his mind reeling. This was the man who had presided over the sport, who had wielded so much power and influence. And now he was reduced to this—a wild-eyed, shouting man in handcuffs.
Suddenly, Sulayem’s gaze snapped toward the crowd, his eyes scanning the faces as though searching for something—or someone.
And then he saw Max.
For a moment, time seemed to slow. Sulayem’s eyes locked onto Max’s, and his expression twisted into something primal—anger, desperation, and fear all rolled into one.
“You!” Sulayem shouted, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade. “You don’t know! She’s crazy! She did this!”
Max’s breath caught in his throat. He wasn’t sure if Sulayem was even speaking to him specifically or just shouting into the void, but the intensity of the man’s gaze made it feel personal.
“She’s not who you think she is!” Sulayem screamed, his voice rising to a fever pitch. “She’s dangerous! She—”
The officers shoved him forward, cutting off his words as they guided him into the back seat of the car. The door slammed shut, muffling his continued shouting, and the vehicle began to pull away.
The crowd erupted into a frenzy, the sound of cameras clicking and voices shouting almost deafening. Max felt frozen in place, his mind struggling to process what he had just witnessed. Sulayem’s words echoed in his head, unsettling and inexplicable.
Beside him, Y/N’s hand tightened around his, grounding him. He turned to look at her, searching her face for… something. A reaction, an explanation, anything. But her expression remained calm, her gaze steady as she met his eyes.
“Let’s go,” she said softly, her tone gentle but firm.
Max nodded numbly, allowing her to guide him away from the chaos. But as they walked, Sulayem’s words continued to haunt him, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.
She’s not who you think she is.
____________________________
The hotel room felt like a cocoon of silence after the storm that had unfolded earlier in the day. It was as though the whole world had shifted, and everything outside these walls was just noise, a distant hum that barely reached their sanctuary. The soft, distant chatter from the streets of Qatar, the echoes of excitement and chaos from the track, were now muted as Y/N stood by the window, staring out at the city lights.
She had always been good at keeping her emotions in check, ever since she was young. The weight of the world had never felt heavy on her, because she had learned long ago how to let things slide off her, like water on a slick surface.
But today was different.
She could feel the pressure weighing on Max, could see how the events of the day were eating at him, gnawing away at the edges of his focus, his usual confidence. He was quieter than usual, his mind occupied by something far more unsettling than the drama that had unfolded.
Even after Christian had called to tell Max that the swearing ban had been lifted, and that his championship points would be reinstated, it had done little to cheer him. The smile that had stretched across Max’s face had been brief, barely a flicker before the weight of everything else crushed it again. His eyes, once vibrant with determination, were now dull and distant, fixed on something he couldn’t touch—something he couldn’t solve in the way he would his car’s setup, or the strategy for the next race.
The news of the race being postponed for another two weeks hadn’t helped either. Max hated downtime. He hated the uncertainty, the lack of control. The race was all that had mattered for so long, and now, with it taken from him, all that was left was space to think. And that was the last thing Max Verstappen needed—more space to overthink.
Y/N could see it in the way his hands clenched at his sides when he wasn’t paying attention, or how his jaw tightened when a thought seemed to hit him too hard. He was lost somewhere, and she wasn’t sure if he would ever find his way back.
She pushed herself off the window frame and walked over to where he sat on the couch, his eyes glued to the screen in front of him, but she knew he wasn’t really seeing it. He hadn’t been seeing anything for hours. His mind was somewhere else.
It was then, as if the universe aligned, that she knew. She could feel it in her bones—this was what he needed. She walked over to him without a word, the soft rhythm of her footsteps steady in the quiet room.
She knelt down beside him, letting her arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him close, burying her face against his neck.
The warmth of his skin against hers soothed the ache in her chest, the unspoken pain that had settled there ever since she had seen the look on his face during the arrest.
Max’s body tensed for a moment, his muscles rigid beneath her touch, before he relaxed into the embrace. She smiled against him, feeling his breath shudder slightly as he kissed the side of her neck, his lips pressing gently to her skin. His scent—clean, fresh, with a hint of something unmistakably Max—wrapped around her, grounding her.
She moved back, gently placing her hands on his face, urging him to look at her. When his eyes met hers, they were full of something unreadable. For a moment, his gaze lingered on her, searching her expression like he was trying to decipher something. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but she could see it—he was looking for a sign, something that would pull him out of the turmoil.
"Were you wearing a new perfume last night, when you came to bed? " His question is unsure, hesitant, as if he doesn't want to know the answer but he can't help himself.
"It's Lily of the Valley, one of my favourite flowers, I only use it for some occasions" she looks at him, waiting for him to react. Maybe this was it, he would push her away in disgust and alarm, and it all would've been for nothing.
The moment stretched, thick with unspoken words, and she waited. She wasn’t going to push him. He looked surprised, only for a brief moment and with another blink, the surprise was gone.
Then, as if a weight had finally lifted, his shoulders relaxed, and a soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips. It was fleeting, but it was there. The tension in his body dissolved just enough for him to pull her closer, his arms wrapping around her in a protective, almost desperate embrace.
Max held her tightly, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his breath warm against her skin. His hands tightened around her, her's going to rest on his chest, but this time it wasn’t out of tension. It was something else—something raw, something that spoke of trust, of the shared understanding between them.
Max’s voice was low, rough, like he hadn’t spoken in too long, like he needed to say these words to her, but they had been stuck inside him for a while.
“I love you so much, Y/N,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her forehead. His breath shuddered slightly as he said it, and she could feel the truth of it in every fiber of his being. It wasn’t just a declaration—it was a plea, a surrender. A quiet admission that, no matter what happened, no matter how hard things got, she was the one he held onto.
Y/N smiled softly, her fingers tracing the lines of his jaw, memorizing the feel of him, the warmth of his skin against hers. There was no hesitation in her touch. She knew, deep down, that she’d do anything for him. Anything to keep him close, to keep him safe, to keep him loving her the way he did.
“I love you so much, Max,” she whispered back, her voice thick with emotion. “So, so much.”
Her heart was pounding now, a steady rhythm that matched his own. She could feel it in the air between them, the undeniable truth of their love, the pull that had always been there, even in the darkest of moments. It was raw, it was real, and it was everything they needed.
She didn’t need to say it again. The words were unnecessary. Everything was in the way she held him, the way their bodies fit together like pieces of a puzzle that had been made for each other. In that moment, with the weight of everything else fading into the background, it was just them. Together.
Max’s hands tightened around her, pulling her closer, and Y/N closed her eyes, savoring the moment. The world could fall apart outside, and it wouldn’t matter. Because in that moment, Max was all that mattered. He always would be.
And as he kissed her temple, his breath warm against her skin, she knew—without a doubt—that she would do anything for him.
“Don’t blame me,” she thought, her own voice, soft but certain in her head. Love made me crazy. And if it doesn’t, you ain't doin' it right.
And she was doing it right. She always would.
Oh Lord, save me, my drug is my baby
I'll be usin' for the rest of my life
Usin' for the rest of my life, ohh-oh
________________________________________
Thanks for reading!
If you liked this story, please leave a like a comment and a reblog!
I'm dropping of the face of earth for some time, this is a small parting gift, I would like to make it clear I'm not planning any one's murder in my downtime. Thank you.
Jules♡
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More Posts from Mint--yoongs and Others
Oh my god... this is sooo beautifully written... i cried😭😭
POV
Imagine as you lay across his lap, he breathes hums of your favorite song that he memorized just for you.
Imagine as your vision blurs because he’s such a pretty sight to fall asleep to.
Imagine as a warm smile spreads across your face and you whisper your love to him because he has to know.
You don’t know why the urgency of your feelings is there but the warmth of his hand sweeping your hair across your cheek is enough to halt any thoughts.
Imagine as his eyes grow teary because he loves you so deeply and he cannot picture life without you.
Imagine as he places a shiny ring on your finger because he never plans on leaving your side.
Imagine as you smile warmly up at him and whisper ‘yes’ before you fall asleep to his gentle humming.
Imagine being in love.
Now imagine his point of view.
Imagine as he cradles your head with gentle hands like he’s carrying glass.
Imagine him trying to steady his breathes long enough to hum your song because you look so confused and he just wants to settle your mind.
Imagine he watches your eyes glaze over and his body strains to hold his weight and your own without breaking.
Imagine him glancing away to wipe his tears because your smile is slowly tearing him apart and you whispering your love is the same as whispering goodbye.
Imagine his eyes growing teary because you’re getting colder and colder and he can’t do anything to stop the slowing of your heart.
Imagine him placing a shaky hand on your cheek to ground himself and hold you one last time.
Imagine as he slides a ring onto your finger, the ring he was supposed to propose with tonight at your birthday, the ring that promises you’ll be with each other until the end.
Imagine as sobs heave through him and he struggles to continue humming your song as you whisper ‘yes’, because he finally has his answer but this isn’t how he wanted it.
Imagine as his scream rips through the air when your eyes close.
Imagine being in love until death do you part.
Imagine breaking his heart.
on that night, when you called Yoongi crying because the world had been too much for you, he left everything to go to you. in that same night, when the world seemed to crumble, Yoongi held you in his arms, gluing every piece of you broken heart with his tender love. and you cried yourself to sleep again that night, but Yoongi was with you and he made sure he kissed all your tears goodbye.
the next morning, both of you went along with your separate lives, but at night, when you were so close to fall asleep overwhelmed with everything, you received a text from Yoongi that made your fragile heart realize that maybe, just maybe, there could be love in this cold world.
“ how am i supposed to fall asleep alone now that i know what it feels like to have you in my arms? ”
omg its soo cuteee!!!🥺🥺
Hi ! Can i request some yoongi fluff :)
He Told Me My Fish Would Die
pairing; min yoongi x gn!reader
genre; fluff, crack, established relationship
warnings; none just a whole bunch of confused and smitten yoongs
w/c; 804
a/n; y’all know I had to do it at some point, and yes I know the song is out of order but it’s what worked with the plot so shush and don’t @ me pls and ty!! also, ty for the request anon pls send more soon. hope u enjoy <3
“…THE NEXT DAY, DEAD.” You sang with such gusto and dramatics as you stood in front of the couch staring at the tv. On cue you tilted your neck sideways mimicking what you saw in the movie. The next thing he knows you’re flailing backwards onto the couch with a hand over your forehead imitating passing out.
Sitting on the opposite side of the couch you just flopped on like a fish, elbow resting on the back of the couch with his head in palm, he doesn’t understand why you love this movie so much. But the song? Yes, he agrees. It’s cleverly catchy. He would never admit it to himself let alone out loud to you, but it was one of his favorite songs of the movie. He’s even debated about creating a personal rap for you with the beat for your anniversary coming up.
You sprung back up from the couch in a fervor, so quick it made Yoongi inwardly gasp with a hand over his heart, playfully glaring at the back of your head then letting out a quiet chuckle knowing what was coming next in your one man show. He decided to help you this time around by standing up and walking over to the light switch, flipping it down blanketing the living room in darkness besides the light coming from the tv.
Just in time as always, you grabbed your phone off the coffee table and quickly turned on the flashlight setting placing the light directly under your chin, giving your face an eerie glow. Perfect for your next favorite part of the song.
“A seven-foot frame, rats along his back. When he calls your name, it all fades to black.”
During the duration of the verse you creepily inched your way to Yoongi who returned to the couch making himself comfortable once again, this time clutching a big, fluffy pillow you picked out when you first moved in, anticipating what you were about to do.
“Yeah, he sees your dreams…”
Continuing with your eerie dance you then sprung into action, chucking your phone on the floor and made your move, which again, Yoongi anticipated. Diving for the rapper like a flying squirrel and landing on your what you thought to be unsuspecting victim, which in actuality was very much suspecting on his end. Body curling around his in a giant bear hug you yelled in such a loud voice that he’s sure the neighbors could hear you. And they were miles away.
“And feasts on your screams!”
Catching you effortlessly, making sure you didn’t hit your head on the back of the couch he wrapped his arms around your middle. Tightening said hold when you started wriggling around on his lap trying to get back up to finish the rest of the song. Alas, your attempts became futile when you noticed the look the rapper was giving you. One you’ve learned to love that made your heart swell with so much joy, if you died within the next few minutes (heaven forbid), you could die happy.
Yoongi stared into your eyes with such a love and adoration. A small smile curling at the end of his lips as he leaned in and kissed your forehead so delicately as if you were glass that could break at any second. He pulled away far enough to then switch his aim to your lips which you so graciously returned.
“You’re an idiot, but you’re my idiot and I love you. And I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life helping you with your theatrical needs to even more countless Disney films”. He vowed as he kept a serious look on his face that slowly cracked when he felt your whole body start to bounce from an impending laugh you were about to give.
Biting your lip, to keep yourself from laughing a little bit longer, you quickly grabbed his face in your hands and planted a big, sloppy kiss on his lips that you know he outwardly hated, but secretly loved and used the opportunity of shock and mock disgust he displayed to finally wiggle out of his hold back to standing up in front of him.
Winking at him, you turned around with a renowned flourish of your arms once again facing the tv, making it in time to finish the song with a dramatic pose.
“I never should’ve brought up Bruno!”
Hanging his head in playful disdain he let out a loving sigh and chuckled to himself, wondering how he got so lucky to find someone like you.
And then he stood up himself and started clapping so loud his hands started to hurt. Giving you your standing ovation you so very much deserved, watching as you bowed in front of him. And, he told himself, he would never fail to do. Cause you were his star. Just like he was yours.
DON'T LEAVE ME
Ollie Bearman X fem!reader
Summary: When Ollie accompanies Y/n to her endoscopy. The anesthesia can make her say funny things, but also, some questions that make Ollie's heart break.
Words: 3.0K+
Warnings: Mention of the hospital, surgery (but nothing serious), Y/n under anesthesia, cute, funny, a bit of insecurity, mention of Y/n's almost profession, anguish, but romantic and happy ending.
Author: English is not my first language, so apologies for any spelling mistakes and slang that may be in the story. ❤️🇧🇷
MASTERLIST
Ollie wasn't the type to pass up any opportunity to take care of Y/n—not even when she said, with all the firmness in the world, that everything was fine, that it was just an endoscopy check-up, nothing serious.
But for him, there was no such thing as "anything major" when it involved her.
"What if I let you go alone and you, numb, start telling me everything we do in a room? No, no! I need to be there to ensure my reputation!" He said with a mischievous smile, drawing a rolled, but amused, look from her.
Now, a few hours later, Ollie was alone in the room where Y/n would recover. He was sitting in an armchair in the corner, his cell phone in his hands, but his eyes fixed on the screen without really taking anything in. His leg was bouncing up and down, fast, as if his body reflected the silent whirlwind of his mind.
He knew, rationally, that it was a simple procedure. She herself had explained it a thousand times. But the most idiotic and unwanted thoughts insisted on going around in his head, creating catastrophic scenarios.
It was disgusting how anxiety acted like that.
The door opened with a soft creak and a friendly nurse smiled at Ollie. Right behind, the doctor was pushing a wheelchair where Y/n was sitting, her head resting on her hand and her eyes blinking slowly, completely groggy.
Ollie smiled the moment he saw her. He jumped up from his chair, his heart relieving just seeing that familiar, yet somewhat lost, face.
"She's still under the anesthesia." The doctor explained, stopping beside the bed. "The procedure went excellently, we didn't find any abnormalities, everything was clean.
Ollie let out a sigh of relief, resting his hands on his hips.
"Thank God." He murmured with a tender smile.
The nurse began to help Y/n out of the chair and put her on the bed. She snuggled into the pillow almost immediately, with that lazy and cute movement of someone who just wanted to go back to sleep.
"She may say some nonsense because of the anesthesia, but it should pass within 30 minutes to 1 hour." The doctor completed. "If she exhibits anything else out of the ordinary, notify the nurses' desk down the hall."
"Okay, I'll do that if I need to." Ollie nodded. The doctor and nurse left the room, closing the door behind them.
Ollie stood there for a few seconds, watching Y/n lying there, her eyes heavy. A warm relief filled his chest. He approached carefully, arranging the blanket about her. He sat down next to her, again in the armchair, holding her hand between his, observing every detail.
Y/n slowly opened her eyes and frowned when she saw him. "Where am I?"
"Hospital."
She looked around.
"Hospital?"
Ollie nodded, trying to hold back his laughter.
"Damn... I wish I was in a diamond castle like Barbie's and had a prince charming as my chauffeur."
"Look, this isn't a diamond castle and I'm not a prince, but I can be your private driver."
She smiled, still a little dazed, with a small smile. "As long as there's music in the car and you buy me a milkshake later..."
"Deal" Ollie said, chuckling and patting her hand lightly.
Y/n looked at their intertwined hands and frowned.
"Hey, you can't hold my hand like that... I have a boyfriend and I love him so much." She let go of his hand and ducked under the covers. Ollie laughed.
"Wow! Passed the loyalty test and everything. Wow!" Y/n made a confused face, and he leaned in with a smile. "It's me, Y/n. Oliver. Your boyfriend."
She pushed herself up a little, supporting herself on her elbows, and Ollie stepped closer to make sure she didn't fall over.
"My boyfriend? You?"
"Myself. Your boyfriend. With a ring and an apartment."
Y/n smiled as if she had won the greatest prize in the world.
"Ah... then I chose well."
Ollie's heart melted. He chuckled softly as she lay back down, gripping his hand more firmly.
"Do people live together?"
"Yes, we recently bought an apartment."
Her eyes widened. "Wow! That's really cool... how long have we been dating?"
"Let me think... about five or six years?"
"Wow, a really, really long time..."
"It's just that when I love, I stay." Ollie said with a sweet smile.
"If we've been together for so long... have you asked me to marry you yet?"
Ollie's eyes widened and he burst out laughing. "My God, you're really rude with these questions right now."
Y/n smiled, turning to him.
"How many times have we kissed? Do you remember the first time you saw me without makeup? It was horrible, wasn't it?"
Ollie laughed, confused by the bombardment.
"Okay, princess of the diamond castle! One question at a time!" He held up his hands. "Here we go: we've kissed more times than I can count, but I remember the first time—it was after the movies, you were wearing that silly strawberry sweatshirt. And the first time I saw you without makeup? It was perfect. Because you were just...you."
Y/n nodded slowly, looking around.
"Have we ever... you know... done adult dating things?"
Ollie coughed in surprise. "OH MY GOD, Y/N! You're putting me in a very unfair situation here!"
She chuckled softly. "Just scientific curiosity."
"Yeah, scientist, of course! I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that, crazy doctor." He said, squeezing her hand affectionately.
"If we had a child, do you think it would have your nose or mine?"
"Probably yours. Mine's kind of boring."
"Your nose is cute... it looks like an elevator button." She wrinkled her nose, smiling.
Ollie frowned, laughing. "What?"
"Cute... makes you want to squeeze it."
"Now I'm scared you'll try to use my nose to get to the 12th floor."
Y/n smiled and began to blink slowly, looking at the ceiling. Ollie thought she was going to sleep and began to caress her hand and her brown locks lightly, lulling her to rest. But she opened her eyes again.
"Did you know that octopuses have three hearts? And that they dissolve if they get too sad?"
Ollie arched an eyebrow.
"That explains why you cry when you watch margarine commercials. You're an octopus!"
"It's not because of the margarine... it's the warm bread..."
"Of course, the drama of warm bread." He replied, smiling.
"You know what else? I once read that sleeping in a spoon position helps with immunity..."
"So we'll live to be a hundred years old."
"Yes..." She stirred happily in bed. "Or until the bones turn to fairy dust."
"That's it, love. Until our bones turn to Tinker Bell dust."
Her eyes lit up at that reference. "I remember I really wanted to be Tinkerbell when I was little..."
"Did you wish you had wings?"
"No. I wanted to throw magic dust at others and fly away when they scolded me."
Ollie laughed.
"Fair enough. Very emotionally healthy."
"I also had a phase where I thought Peter Pan was my boyfriend. Sorry, my love."
"No hard feelings. I'll just keep an eye out if he shows up in a green leotard."
She laughed, still a little groggily, and then turned around, a fond smile on her face.
"You're so beautiful, you know that?"
"Thanks, honey... do you still think I'm cute? I've been up all night and my hair is all messed up."
Y/n squeezed his hand lightly.
"Yes... looks like an angel... tired... but an angel."
"An angel on duty?"
"Exactly." She smiled, her eyes closing. "And you smell nice... like home... like my favorite pillow."
Ollie squeezed her hand and murmured, "You're my favorite pillow too, for the record."
The room was silent, muffled by a soft light that filtered through the window. And Y/n sighed, tired, her eyes fixed on a random spot on the wall.
"Back to talking about marriage..."
Ollie's eyes widened slightly, surprised by the sudden change of subject. But she continued, calmly, as if it had been on her mind for some time.
"Do you think if we got married, we should get a dog or a turtle?"
Ollie smiled, letting his body sink a little deeper into the chair.
"Hmm... dog, but only if he likes sleeping late and eating leftover pizza."
"What if we had a house with a balcony? One of those with a hammock..."
"And a giant couch, with room for your cold feet," Ollie added, still smiling.
She let out a muffled chuckle.
"And the walls would be yellow." Y/n hums.
"I didn't approve of that, calm down." Ollie said, amused.
Y/n paused for a moment, her eyes still on the wall, and she became serious. "Okay, okay, love. I'm sorry..."
Ollie held back a laugh. It was so like her to apologize for the silliest things.
And silence filled the room again. She closed her eyes, relaxing, almost giving in to sleep. Ollie reached out and began to gently stroke her hair. The only sound she could hear was the muffled rumble of the city.
Suddenly, she began to laugh softly, as if she had heard something that only she could understand.
"Listen, listen..." Ollie looked at her curiously. "My heart is singing..." She laughed again, softly, delighted with her own sentence.
Ollie frowned and laughed along.
"Are you sure you're just numb or did you end up drinking alcohol in there?"
Y/n didn't respond, she just kept laughing as if the world was lighter. Then he hummed some made-up tune.
She opened her eyes and saw Ollie smiling at her goofily. Suddenly, her eyes widened, as if a penny had just dropped.
"OMG, I REMEMBER! You're a Formula 1 driver!"
Ollie laughed, delighted.
"Yes, and you fell in love with a crazy guy who runs at 300 Kilometers per hour"
"Have you ever wanted to honk your horn in the middle of a race?"
"Love, there's no horn on an F1 car."
"So how do you curse others?"
"With the hand and with the radio."
Y/n laughed, finding that the funniest thing in the world.
"Are you the type to swear nicely or swear badly?"
"It depends. If it's Verstappen, I'll swear badly."
She put her hand over her mouth, feigning shock. "OLLIIIEE!"
"You just asked me!"
She blinked slowly and murmured, her eyes dreamy, "Have we ever taken a bath together? Like, a real bath..."
Ollie couldn't contain his laughter and closed his eyes.
"Bath? What do you mean 'a real bath'?"
"I really do. With shampoo, conditioner and everything..."
"We've drowned in soap suds a few times."
Y/n blushed. "That sounds a lot like us."
"Yeah!"
She turned slightly in bed.
"I'm really weird, right? Kind of silly, kind of lost..."
"You look beautiful."
"You are obliged to say that."
"No. I'm your boyfriend. And your number one fan. I say that by choice."
Y/n smiled, her eyes slightly teary. "I like it when you talk like that. It makes my heart stop hurting."
"Was it hurting?" Ollie asked cautiously.
"No..."
Ollie laughed. But she frowned.
"But would you love me if I were a worm?"
The pilot's eyes widened. "A worm?"
"You wouldn't love it, right?..." Y/n began to cry silently. Ollie leaned over, concerned, and gently wiped her face.
"Hey, hey. I would love you if you were a worm, okay? I would make a garden just for you to roam free and eat dirt..."
"Thank you..." She sniffs.
"You're welcome, love!" The pilot smiles, holding back his laughter.
The room became quiet again. Ollie continued to caress her hair, and Y/n settled down, curled up, warm under the blanket. She seemed to have fallen asleep. He smiled, relieved, and picked up his phone, scrolling slowly.
But then, in a low voice, she spoke again,
"Have you seen the other pilots' girlfriends? I mean... they're beautiful, aren't they?"
Ollie lowered his phone, alert.
"Beautiful...? In what sense?"
"They have these amazing jobs, like model, businesswoman, artist... You know? And me... I'm just an aeronautics student."
Ollie looked at her, surprised.
"Just an aeronautics student? Y/n, do you realize that? You're literally an airplane pilot! You're a thousand times more amazing than any of them!"
Y/n smiled slightly, hesitantly.
"But they always seem so confident, so collected. Beautiful. Elegant. I'm just... me."
Ollie leaned closer, his voice softer, "Are you just you? Y/n, you've always been true to who you are. And that's what made me fall in love the most. You have this light... this way of seeing the world with rocket eyes and a marshmallow heart."
Y/n chuckled softly, groggily.
"Rocket eyes, Ollie?"
"Yes! You see everything with intensity, passion. And even when you feel small, you keep trying. That is much bigger than any standard."
Y/n looked at him, still with tears in her eyes.
"Do you really think so?"
"I'm sure. And if one day you forget... I'll repeat it a thousand times. Because you're my standard." She reached for his hand. "I'm here reminding you that you're perfect and that I love you."
Her voice came out as a whisper lost in the sheets. "They have blonde hair... blue eyes... haven't you ever wondered if you'd be happier with someone like that?"
Ollie felt his chest tighten so much that it hurt to breathe. This wasn't just silly jealousy. It was insecurity, raw and alive, and he felt every crack of it echo through him.
Before he could respond, she continued.
"Do you think you'll ever get tired of me? Because... if you look at it, the other pilots' previous girlfriends were just like me. Simple. Students. From small families. And they traded them for powerful women... with blonde hair and eyes the color of the sea..."
The tears flowed soundlessly. Only then came a sniffle and a whisper. "I'm scared, Ollie..."
He felt his heart shatter. The air seemed trapped between his lungs. The pain of seeing her like this, so fragile, so overcome with fear, made him wish he could take every single one of those doubts away from her and cast them away forever.
Ollie sat up straighter, his eyes fixed on her. His voice was firm but thick with emotion.
"Honey, listen to one thing: I am NOT them. And you are NOT replaceable. I didn't fall in love with you because of the color of your eyes or your hair... I fell in love because when you talk about airplanes, your eyes light up. Because you dance barefoot around the house, with incredible energy. Because you are a captivating person who wins over everyone around you. Because you are a determined, strong woman who fights for her dreams. Because you make me laugh even when the world seems heavy. Because you ARE and always will be my best friend... And because, even when you are scared, you are the bravest person I know..." Ollie held back his own tears. "Because you, my love. Are the person I always waited to spend the rest of my life with. I love you so, so, SO MUCH. These last six years that I've been with you have been the best of my life, and I know that we will still have many happy years ahead of us. Because I want to marry you, build a family, travel the world and conquer the moon!"
Y/n cried helplessly, her eyes red. "Please, don't leave me..."
Ollie couldn't keep his distance any longer. He got up from the chair and lay down next to her, pulling her gently into his arms. Her body fit against his, her sobs still shaky but beginning to calm.
He hugged her tightly, feeling her heart beat fast against his chest. He kissed the top of her head, whispering.
"I will never leave you. Nothing in this world would make me change you. Because you are my home, Y/n. It's where my heart rests. Where my laughter lives. Where I am whole. And even if one day the whole world changes, I will continue to choose you. Every day."
Y/n closed her eyes, still sobbing softly, but holding tightly to his shirt, as if holding on to a promise. Ollie hugged her tighter, stroking her back slowly.
The room, previously illuminated by light, now seemed enveloped in the melancholy she exuded. He took a deep breath, pulling her closer and resting his chin on the top of her head.
"You don't need to be a model, or have eyes the color of the sea..." He began, his voice low and full of sincerity. "Because you are already all I need to see the sky."
Y/n, even with wet eyes, looked up at him, as if that affection was slowly sewing together every broken piece inside her. Ollie wrapped her even tighter, and with a slight smile on his lips, he continued.
"All I can think about is our future. I know how much you love making plans, so listen to mine..." His palm gently caressed her back, his fingers tracing a comforting path. "I want to be with you when you take your first solo flight." Ollie said, looking up at the ceiling as if he could see their sky there. "I want to be in the audience, screaming louder than everyone else, when you get your diploma. I want our house, with kids running around the yard, knocking over flowerpots and staining the walls."
Y/n smiled, even with tears in her eyes, and he noticed. He took advantage of the moment, pressing his forehead against hers.
"I want to be the guy who holds your hand when you think you can't... and reminds you that you can do anything, anything at all."
A softer sob escaped Y/n, as if her heart was being carefully cradled by his words.
"Besides..." Ollie chuckled, lowering his tone to a conspiratorial whisper. "Blue-eyed blondes? Pff. None of them look as good in army uniforms as you do."
Y/n let out a muffled chuckle, hiding her face in his neck, blushing.
"Because let me tell you..." He said with a smug smile. "You look extremely hot and sexy in them!"
She actually laughed now, still shy, and he took the opportunity to kiss her cheek affectionately, a long and secure kiss.
"Here it is..." Ollie murmured against her skin. "My favorite sound from the person I love the most."
Author: I would probably never be chosen, I'm a tall brunette, with brown eyes and from a small family hahahahah Just kidding.
Ohh he's just so caring.
Video not mine. All credit goes to the owner. Tiktok @vieneee01
oh i think i have a request 🤭 maybe max starts to date reader cause of a bet but he ends up actually falling in love with her…kinda angst but maybe fluffy and happy ending as well?
The Bet and The Fall
Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader
Summary: Max starts dating you on a bet never expecting to fall for you, but as your relationship grows he must confront the fallout of his careless gamble.
4k words / Masterlist
You never thought the end of your year would involve Max Verstappen.
The first time you saw him, he’d been exactly what you expected. Quick wit, easy smirk, and just enough arrogance to carry the weight of his success. He’d walked into the bar with a confidence that commanded attention, his laughter spilling into the room like it belonged there. And maybe it did.
You didn’t think much of him then. He was just another face, another fleeting encounter on a night out. But fate or something cruelly ironic had other plans.
It started with an accident, a spill of your drink when you turned too quickly, bumping straight into him. His reflexes were sharp, of course, the glass never hit the ground.
"Smooth," he’d said, voice tinged with amusement as he set the glass down.
You’d laughed it off, brushing away your embarrassment. "Thanks for the save. You’re faster off track than I thought."
That had earned a raised brow and a crooked grin. "You know who I am?"
"I’m not living under a rock."
Max shrugged, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You don’t look like the type who goes to parties like this.”
Your laugh was genuine, surprising even yourself. “And what does that mean exactly?”
"Nothing bad." he said, watching you closely. "But I’m good at reading people."
"And what do you read from me?"
He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just… you seem like you’re trying to figure out how you ended up here.”
“You’re not wrong,” you admitted, glancing around the room. “I’m here because my friend insisted. Apparently I need to ‘live a little.’”
Max’s smile widened, and there was something disarming about it, “And are you? Living a little?”
You shrugged, feeling oddly at ease despite the absurdity of the situation. “I guess I am now.”
He’d offered to replace your drink, and you’d let him, thinking it was nothing more than a kind gesture. He shifted slightly closer, the noise of the party fading into the background as the two of you talked.
The conversation flowed more easily than you expected. Max was charming in a way that felt unpolished, his humour dry and his smile boyish despite the confidence he carried. He asked questions about you, what you did, where you were from, and he actually seemed interested in your answers.
At some point, you forgot who he was. You forgot that you were talking to someone whose life was splashed across headlines and social media. And when your best friend eventually came to drag you away, Max had looked genuinely disappointed.
When he asked for your number as you were standing up to leave, you hesitated.
"I don’t usually do this," you admitted, handing him your phone anyway.
"I don’t either," he replied, though the glint in his eyes made you doubt that.
Still, he’d texted you the next day and slowly things started to unfold.
What you didn’t know at the time was that across the room someone had been watching the entire interaction with a smirk plastered on their face.
Max had been sitting at a table with his friends earlier that night, a drink in his hand and an argument brewing. It wasn’t unusual competitive personalities clashed even off the track. But tonight Daniel had been relentless, poking at Max’s habits, his so-called inability to "settle down."
"You don’t even know how to date properly," Daniel joked. "I bet you wouldn’t last two weeks with a normal girl."
Max rolled his eyes. "And what does that even mean?"
"It means," Daniel said, grin widening, "you’re all about control. You don’t let anyone in unless you’ve already decided it’s worth your time. Where’s the fun in that? Where’s the spontaneity?"
Max scoffed. "You’re talking like I don’t know how to have a real relationship."
"Because you don’t," Daniel shot back, laughing. "Prove me wrong. Bet you wouldn’t last a month with someone who isn’t already part of your world. No models, no influencers, no one born into racing. A normal person. You’d combust."
Max leaned back, unimpressed. "I could date anyone I wanted."
Daniel’s eyes gleamed with mischief. "Alright, Verstappen. Prove it." He gestured toward the bar, where you stood unaware of their gaze. "Her. One month. Bet you can’t do it."
Max followed Daniel’s line of sight, lips twitching as he took you in. You were laughing at something a friend had said, head tossed back, easy and unguarded. There was no designer handbag, no polished effort to impress.
Max smirked, arrogance slipping easily into his voice. "Easy."
"Oh, is it?" Daniel teased. "She doesn’t look like the type to fall for your usual tricks mate."
"She’ll fall," Max said, confidence unwavering. "They always do."
Daniel arched an eyebrow. "Alright then." He held out his hand. "If you pull it off drinks are on me for the rest of the year."
Max clasped Daniel’s hand without hesitation. "Deal."
What he didn’t anticipate was how easy it would be to approach you or how different you would be from what he expected. When he wandered over to the bar, leaning casually against the counter, he didn’t have to try hard to strike up a conversation. You were warm, quick-witted, and entirely uninterested in the weight of his name.
You didn’t look at him like he was Max Verstappen, Formula 1 World Champion. You looked at him like he was just a guy who spilled your drink and owed you a new one. It caught him off guard, that refreshing lack of pre-tense.
Max had meant for it to be a game, a challenge to prove his point. What he didn’t realise then was that he’d just placed a bet against his own heart. And for the first time in his life, he was about to lose.
Looking back, you’d wonder if you should have noticed the cracks sooner.
Everything felt perfect. Max was attentive, charming, and surprisingly easy to talk to. He wasn’t just the Max Verstappen the world saw he was softer with you, more thoughtful. He’d remember small details, how you liked your coffee, the book you were reading, the song stuck in your head.
He made you laugh too, really laugh, the kind that bubbled up unexpectedly, catching you off guard, leaving your cheeks aching and your stomach fluttering. And when he kissed you for the first time his hands cradled your face, careful and deliberate, like he was afraid you might slip through his fingers if he wasn’t gentle enough. There was something almost reverent about the way he touched you, like he was holding something fragile, something precious, something he wasn’t sure he deserved but wasn’t willing to let go of either, and when he finally pulled back, his forehead resting lightly against yours, his thumb tracing the edge of your jaw, you realised something terrifying.
You had fallen fast, and you had fallen hard.
What you didn’t know was that Max hadn’t expected to fall at all.
A month came and went, but by then Max wasn’t counting anymore. The bet was long forgotten, buried under the weight of late-night conversations, stolen glances, and the way your laugh seemed to echo in his mind long after you were gone.
At first, it was easier to ignore the way something shifted in his chest whenever you were around, the way his mind drifted to you even in moments when he should have been focused. He told himself it was just intrigue, a fleeting distraction that would fade once the bet was over. But then, moment by moment, the reality became impossible to ignore.
It was the way you laughed, unrestrained, unselfconscious. The kind of laugh that made people turn their heads, infectious and full of life. The way you talked with your hands, so animated and expressive that he found so captivating. The way you challenged him, never intimidated by his sharp edges or his reputation, meeting him head-on with quick wit, making him feel like he didn’t have to be Verstappen, the calculated driver, the public figure, with you he could just be Max.
He fell without realising it, like slipping into a warm bath, slow, comforting, inevitable.
The tipping point came on what should have been a regular, quiet evening at your place. You’d insisted on cooking dinner for him brushing off his protests about how he could just order something instead. The kitchen was chaos, vegetables half-chopped, sauce simmering too quickly, flour dusting your shirt, but you didn’t seem to care. You were too busy laughing at yourself, muttering about how you were definitely not cut out for MasterChef.
“Come on Verstappen,” you teased, tossing him an apron. “You can’t be a world champion and not know how to chop an onion.”
Max caught the apron midair, a mock look of horror on his face. “I don’t think that’s in the championship requirements.”
“Well it’s in mine,” you quipped, tying your own apron behind your back. “Get chopping.”
Max leaned against the counter, watching you with an expression that would have given him away in an instant if you’d turned to look at him.
“You’re staring,” you teased after a while.
He smirked. “Maybe I like what I’m seeing.”
You rolled your eyes, but the blush on your cheeks betrayed you.
It was a simple moment, but it lodged itself in Max’s chest like a permanent fixture. He knew then it wasn’t just intrigue or infatuation, he loved you. And that terrified him.
The closer you got, the harder it became for him to bury the truth. He tried telling himself it didn’t matter, the bet had been stupid, something meaningless that had quickly been replaced by something real. But every time he saw the trust in your eyes, every time you looked at him like he was the best thing to ever happen to you, the guilt churned in his stomach.
There were nights he barely slept, lying awake in bed with the weight of it pressing down on him. What if you found out? What if you looked at him with disgust, walked away without giving him the chance to explain? He couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t lose you.
Every moment with you, big or small, was another thread tying him closer to you. He didn’t know how it happened so fast, but he couldn’t imagine his life without you in it. You were his home, his safe place, and he was hopelessly, irrevocably in love with you.
One evening, the two of you sat curled up on the couch in his Monaco apartment, a movie playing in the background that neither of you was paying much attention to. You rested your head on his shoulder, and he pressed a kiss to your hair, his heart aching with how perfect it felt.
But then you spoke. “You’re quiet tonight. Everything okay?”
The words made his chest tighten. You always noticed. Even the smallest shifts in his mood never escaped your attention.
“I’m fine,” he said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just tired.”
You tilted your head to look at him, your eyes searching his face. “Are you sure? You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”
The guilt surged, and for a fleeting moment, he considered telling you. The words hovered on the tip of his tongue, but then he imagined the way your expression would change, the way you’d pull away from him, he couldn’t bear it.
Instead he leaned down to kiss you hoping it would be enough to distract you. You sighed into the kiss, your hands finding their way into his hair, and for a moment he let himself believe it was enough.
“I love you,” you murmured against his lips, your voice soft and certain.
He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. “I love you too,” he said, his voice trembling with the weight of everything he couldn’t say.
He adjusted the blanket over you and pressed another kiss to the top of your head. “Get some sleep liefje.”
Max buried the secret deeper after that night, convincing himself that it was better this way. You wouldn’t forgive him, he was sure of it, and he couldn’t risk losing you.
But the guilt didn’t go away. It lingered like a shadow, growing heavier with every passing day. He started overcompensating, showering you with affection, he’d buy you flowers every day, plan spontaneous dates, and do anything he could to keep you happy.
And it worked. You were happy. You loved him. And Max loved you so much it hurt.
The fear of losing you consumed him. It drove him to be better, to be the man you deserved, but it also ate away at him. He avoided certain conversations, terrified that you’d somehow stumble upon the truth. He cut Daniel off sharply whenever he brought up the bet, even if you were nowhere near, his tone cold and final.
“Don’t,” he snapped when Daniel jokingly mentioned it in passing. “It’s not funny.”
Daniel raised his hands in surrender, the mere mention of the bet made Max’s chest tighten, the fear creeping back in. He couldn’t let you find out because Max knew one thing with absolute certainty, if you ever did he’d lose you.
No matter how hard he tried the fallout was inevitable.
The night had started out like any other, one of those glitzy, over-the-top events Max had to attend where champagne flowed like water and conversations were laced with artificial charm. You had never particularly liked these parties, but for Max you endured them.
Maybe that’s why you had stepped outside. The ballroom was too loud, too stifling, too full of people who smiled too widely and spoke in half-truths. You had wanted air, a moment to breathe away from it all, and then you heard it.
Max’s voice, unmistakable even in the distance, low and edged with something uncharacteristically uneasy. You followed it instinctively, your heels clicking against the marble floors as you rounded the corner toward the balcony. You weren’t eavesdropping, at least that wasn’t the intention but something in his tone made you pause just before stepping into view.
"I didn’t think it’d go this far," Max said, his voice quiet with exasperation. "It was a stupid bet Daniel. A fucking drunk, meaningless bet. And now I—now she—”
His words cut off abruptly like he couldn't even bring himself to say it out loud, but the damage was already done.
Your heart stopped.
The world seemed to tilt under your feet, the music and laughter from the party fading into white noise. Bet. The word hit you like a punch to the stomach, knocking the air from your lungs.
You didn’t hear the rest. You didn’t need to.
A choked breath escaped your lips before you could stop it, and that tiny sound was enough to break whatever bubble of secrecy Max had been operating in. His head snapped toward you, his eyes widening in alarm as he registered your presence.
"Shit," he muttered, his entire body tensing.
You didn’t wait for an explanation. Your feet were already moving, the panic clawing at your throat as you turned on your heel and pushed past the doors leading inside. You needed to get out.
"Wait—"
Max was already chasing after you, shoving past Daniel, who muttered a quiet curse calling out for Max as he realised what had just happened, but Max didn’t hear him, or maybe he didn’t care. His focus was on you weaving through the crowd as you dodged between people your vision blurred with tears.
When Max found you, you were already halfway out the entrance.
"Wait," he called, his voice raw with panic. "Please just listen it's not what you think—"
"Don’t," you bit out, whirling to face him. "Don’t insult me by pretending this wasn’t exactly what it looks like."
His face crumpled, "It wasn’t supposed to be like this."
"Then what was it supposed to be Max?" Your voice shook, the weight of betrayal pressing down on your chest. "A joke? Something to laugh about with your friends? A game to pass the time until you got bored?"
"No," he said stepping forward, hands reaching for you like he could fix this if he just got close enough. "At first-when we first met I…it doesn’t matter, but not anymore. Not for a long time. I swear, I didn’t mean for this to happen-"
"But it did," you cut him off, voice breaking under the weight of it all. "And you let it happen. You let me believe in this, in you, while you knew—"
"I fell for you too," he rasped, his desperation tangible. "I swear to god, I did. And now I can't—" His breath hitched, words failing him. "I can’t imagine my life without you."
"Stop," you whispered, tears slipping down your cheeks. "You don’t get to say that. Not now. Not when this," you gestured between you, "was built on a lie."
His wiped away his own tear that had fallen. "But we were happy, that was real." he pleaded, voice breaking. "I tried so fucking hard to make you happy everyday, to make everything perfect. Doesn’t that count for something?"
You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head as fresh pain sliced through you. "No, Max. It doesn’t. Because it was never real. You don’t get to build something on a lie and then act like the good parts outweigh the truth."
He reached for you again, but you stepped back, the distance between you feeling impossibly vast.
"I can't do this, Max. I can't be with someone who—" Your voice faltered. "Someone who made me love them knowing it was never real."
"It is real, I swear I lov-" he pleaded, but you just turned away.
And this time, when you walked away, you didn't look back.
Max tried everything to win you back. Texts, calls, presents, even showing up at your door unannounced. But you ignored him, too hurt to entertain the idea of forgiveness. It wasn’t until over a month later that he finally got through to you.
A knock at your door interrupted the quiet of your evening. You weren’t expecting anyone. And when you peeked through the peephole, your stomach twisted. Max, again.
You hesitated, fingers hovering over the lock, but before you could turn away, his voice came through the door, muffled but unmistakably determined.
"I’m not leaving until you talk to me."
You sighed, pressing your forehead against the wood. A couple of weeks ago you would have let him sit there all night. Now, all you felt was confused. But… you unlocked it, pulling it open just enough that you could stand in the door.
"Max—"
"Wait," he cut in gently, his eyes desperate. "Please. Just let me say this."
"I messed up," he admitted, his voice raw with regret. "I know I did. And part of me wishes I could go back and never agree to the stupid bet, to stop it before it ever started." He swallowed hard, his eyes searching yours. "But I can’t. And the truth is… I don’t know if I’d want to."
You reached for the door, but he pressed on.
"Because the bet led me to you. And I don’t regret that. I regret lying. I regret hurting you. But I could never regret you." His voice broke slightly. "I love you. Not because of some stupid decision, but because of who you are."
He took a step closer to the door careful, like he knew he was balancing on a knife’s edge.
"Because of the way you ramble when you're excited. The way you always text me when you see something that reminds you of me, no matter how small. The way you—" He let out a shaky breath. "The way you make me feel like I've finally found something that matters more than everything I ever thought I wanted”
"I know I don’t deserve another chance," he continued, voice softer now. "But if you’ll let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that I’m not the guy who made that bet. I’m the guy who loves you. And I swear, I will never stop trying to be better for you."
Silence wrapped around you both. You swallowed hard, fighting against the warmth creeping into the cracks he had just reopened. "You had months, Max. Months to tell me the truth. And you didn’t. You let me find out like that…why?”
His fingers twitched at his sides, and for a long moment, he just stared at the ground, his breath coming uneven.
"Because I was scared," he admitted, "scared that if I told you, I’d lose you. That you’d look at me like you did that night, like I was just a mistake you regretted. I kept telling myself I’d find the right time, that I’d make it up to you before you ever had to know, and I fell for you, really fell, and suddenly telling you felt like handing you a reason to walk away."
For all the ways you wanted to stay angry, to hold onto the betrayal, there was something devastating about the way he said it.
"So you lied instead," you murmured.
His lips pressed together, his head bowing slightly. "I did. And it was the worst decision I’ve ever made." His eyes lifted back to yours, full of something desperate. "But I swear to you, losing you showed me exactly what kind of man I never want to be again."
"I don’t know if I can trust you again," you whispered.
Max nodded, no trace of frustration, just quiet determination. "I’ll earn it," he vowed. "No matter how long it takes."
Your gaze flickered to the flowers in his hands. Slowly, hesitantly, you reached out, fingertips brushing against his as you took them.
It wasn’t a yes. Not yet.
But it wasn’t a no, either.
And the way his lips parted slightly, the hope in his eyes you knew he’d wait for as long as you needed. A beat passed before you sighed and pushed the door open wider.
"Come in, just for a bit."
He paused, like he was afraid to move too fast, but the second you stepped back he followed slipping inside. You set the flowers down on the counter, fingers brushing over the petals as you tried to steady yourself.
"You’ve been eating right?" he asked a flicker of that familiar concern in his expression.
You huffed a small, reluctant laugh. "Seriously? That’s your first question after all that?"
Max shrugged, tentative in his smile. "I’ve been worried."
You rolled your eyes, but your chest ached in a way you hadn’t let yourself acknowledge in weeks. You had missed him, his presence, his quiet care, the way he always paid attention to the little things.
"Yes, I’ve been eating," you said, shifting your weight awkwardly.
"Good." He nodded, then hesitated. "Can I—sit?"
You hesitated to, then gave him a small nod. "Yeah. Just… don’t push your luck."
Max smiled at that, he walked over to the couch sitting at the far end, after a moment you sat down to, tucking your legs beneath you. Neither of you spoke at first. The air still felt heavy, but not unbearable. Max rubbed his palms over his thighs, glancing at you before looking away again.
"This is weird," you admitted.
"Yeah," he agreed, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "But not bad, right?"
You exhaled, staring down at your hands. "Not bad."
His grin widened, "Let’s order something, whatever you want.” his voice dropped, teasing. "Just don’t steal my fries."
"Who says I’d want your fries?" you murmured.
Max smirked. "You always want my fries."
You huffed dramatically, turning your attention back to your phone. "Fine. I’ll order my own. Happy?"
"Not yet," he murmured, the teasing edge in his voice softening into something else. "But I’m getting there."
You chuckled, rolling your eyes, but the warmth creeping into your chest was impossible to ignore. No, it wasn’t forgiveness. Not yet. But when Max stole a fry from your box later, grinning at you like he hadn’t just started a war you realised, it was a start, a real one.
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