Milk And Sugar
Milk and Sugar
Pairing: Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Not edited, cursing maybe, the ex gf isn’t anyone specific don’t @ me
Summary: Max is tired of his persistent ex girlfriend and friends that are maybe a little too empathetic about his breakup. What better way to scare them off than getting a new girlfriend? But he doesn’t actually want a new relationship. Enter: you. The perfect (fake) new girlfriend.
Word Count: 9.6k
Authors Note: this fic was kicking my ass im gonna be so fr. It took forever and I just couldn’t write the ending for some reason. Hopefully now that this is up, I can do something else lmfao
You were just doing a favor for a friend.
Or that’s what you had told yourself when Max had originally asked you to go along with his stupid idea. You hadn’t even really wanted to agree, by the way. He had just needed your help so badly and that’s what friends are for, right?
So that’s how you’d ended up in his garage, Red Bull hat pulled tightly over your head as you watched his car sail around the track in Brazil, the season well under way.
You’d met Max a few years back. You’d moved into the apartment next to his, not even blinking as your eyes scanned over the future world champion, too focused on your dog trying his best to distract you from the heavy box in your hands.
“Apollo! Stop!” You sighed at the dog as he jumped at your legs, trying his hardest to knock the box full of dog food and treats out of your arms. The dog, not knowing English, didn’t listen, of course, continuing his assault on your calves.
The box tilts in your grasp, coming dangerously close to falling out of your arms. But suddenly, the weight is lifted away and Apollo seems to turn his attention to whatever had relieved you from your struggle, giving you the opportunity to pull the small dog into your grasp, trying your best to calm his rowdiness down.
Once you’ve gotten the dog to calm down a significant amount, you look up to see who’d saved you from hours of cleaning loose dog food off the floor during your first day in your new apartment. You’re met with bright blue eyes staring back at you, a concerned look on the strangers face.
You’re too worried about the pretty man in front of you to even worry about Apollo as he starts to nibble lightly on your jacket.
“Are you okay?” And then he speaks for the first time and you’re captivated. Not in a love-at-first-sight way, of course. More of a this-guy-might-be-perfect kind of way.
You nod, gently separating your dogs mouth off your hoodie string, petting his, most-likely, empty head warmly, “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. This little guy just really wanted that food, I guess.”
The stranger laughs, moving the box in his arms to rest against his hip, “I’m more of a cat person, anyway.”
You fake a wince, shaking your head with a frown, “Ahh, guess we can’t be friends then, mysterious stranger. Im a dog person all the way.”
He laughs again, grinning warmly, “Any way I could help you with this? Can’t imagine it’s easy moving in with a dog running around.”
Your eyes widen at his words, your hand fumbling to fish the key to your new apartment out of your pocket, “Only if you’re free! I wouldn’t want to bother my new neighbor on my first day.”
Your neighbor shakes his head, light brown hair falling down on his forehead, “It’s no big deal, I’m surprisingly free today.”
You smile, pushing the door to your apartment open, setting Apollo down as you enter. The dog immediately starts to scope out the area, bounding up and down the halls, his collar jangling loudly as he does. You hear the man enter behind you, watching as he walks over and places the box of dog food on the counter in the kitchen.
“Usually I learn a man’s name before I invite him into my apartment,” you smirk, laughing as a blush coats your neighbors face. He takes the few steps back over to close the gap between you, sticking out a calloused hand toward you.
“I’m Max.”
You smile, repeating his name before reciting your own, clasping your hand in his much rougher one, tilting your head up at him as you shake, letting go after a few moments.
“It’s nice to meet you max,” you say, smiling as you see Max’s face light up happily, “How inclined would you be to helping me get the rest of my boxes?”
Max laughs as he sees the sweet grin on your face, shaking his head as he moves toward the door, “I’d love to help, y/n. Can’t have my new favorite neighbor moving in alone, can I?”
Your face splits into a grin as you follow him toward the exit, turning to make sure Apollo was comfortably inside the apartment so he wouldn’t try and run away before closing the door behind you.
Max did help you that day, the moving in process going substantially quicker with the help of the athlete. He even invited you over to his place for dinner, explaining that it’d be too much of a hassle for you to make dinner after moving in all day. You didn’t bring up the fact he’d been moving all day as well, simply following him next door instead.
That had been three years ago and you’d been friends ever since. It was a casual friendship, more moved by the proximity than anything else.
He’d had to explain f1 to you, you being completely unfamiliar with the sport despite having moved to Monaco, probably the place with the most connection to it. Now, you’d casually watch his races as you worked or ate dinner, not entirely sure what was going on but supporting your friend anyway.
He’d also eventually asked you to watch his cats for him, Jimmy and Sassy being surprisingly friendly with your puppy. Max had been scared about introducing them, prefacing with many statements about how much the cats hated dogs and that it really wouldnt be a problem if you couldn’t watch them if they hated each other.
All that talk went out the window when the first thing the pets did when they met each other was take a nap.
It was January when it happened. You had been sitting calmly in your apartment, watching Bridgerton and eating pasta, your work computer abandoned to the side of the couch. You had a blanket pulled over your lap, a hot mug of tea sitting on the coffee table in front of you. Rare snow fell softly outside your window, albeit not very much snow but snow nonetheless.
You were very content.
This, of course, all came crashing down when you heard the sound of your apartment door banging open, heavy footsteps signaling the arrival of your neighbor. You’d given him a key for emergencies, although you couldn’t possibly imagine what could warrant an emergency at this time.
You roll your eyes as you hear him approach, setting your pasta down on the table and grabbing the remote to pause your show, turning as Max throws himself down on the couch next to you.
“Hello, Max. Can I help you?” You sigh, trying to force a smile onto your face. Max seems to catch your discontent and grimaces, wincing away slightly.
“Bad time?”
You let out a breath, not able to stay mad at the Dutch man for very long, “Maybe a little, but it’s fine, really. Did you need something?”
Max nods, sitting up straighter, “I may or may not have a formal request. Neighbor to neighbor.”
You furrow your eyebrows at his response, noting his slightly nervous behavior, “Okay?”
He takes a deep breath before speaking, his eyes trailing over toward where your tv was currently paused, “You know how I just went through that breakup, right?”
You hum, all too familiar with the aforementioned breakup, having had Max barge into your apartment for comfort food and movie marathons more than a few nights in the wake of his, now ex, girlfriends departure.
“Well,” Max starts and you can sense the hesitation in his tone but considering he had interrupted your night, you opted to let him flounder, “It’s been weird on the grid since then.”
“Okay,” you hum, eyes glancing over his face and catching the way he grimaces.
“Ever since the break-up, all the guys have been looking at me like I’m a child, you know? Like I might fall apart any second. Even though I’m completely fine!”
You stare, knowing more than anyone else, that he wasn’t very fine for a while, although he’d miraculously recovered over the past few months. You also stared in hopes he’d soon get to the point of the conversation.
“They also keep trying to set me up with their friends as if I need a rebound when I would really rather stay single,” Max groans, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. Your furrow your eyebrows, wondering where this could be going.
Max glances up, eyes avoiding yours at all costs, “I was wondering if you could, maybe..”
Max trails off, wincing slightly. You stare straight ahead at him blankly, waiting for him to finish his request. He does eventually mumble something under his breath and you lean forward, eyebrows raised.
“Sorry?”
Max grumbles, annoyed and you roll your eyes at the attitude of the man disrupting your own night.
“Could you pretend to be my girlfriend for a while?” Max rushes out, hands carding through his hair nervously, “Just long enough for the guys to leave me alone, you don’t even have to do anything, maybe just come to Brazil and Monaco-“
Max continues to ramble on for a few seconds, words seeming to fall out of his mouth unceremoniously before he’s cut off by you interrupting him.
“Max!” You raise your voice slightly in an attempt to talk to over him. Max freezes, looking at your face for the first time since he’s crashed through your front door, “I’ll do it.”
He stares at you blankly for a few moments, trying to process your words, “Really?”
You shrug, teeth digging into your lip as you turn your head toward the large window across the room that overlooked the darkened city of Monte Carlo, “Why not? You’re my friend. Plus I work remotely and who doesn’t want to travel around the world to all those different cities?”
Max’s face lights up at your response, his lips forming a huge grin. He rolls over into a lying position, practically star-fishing on your couch, “Thank you so much! I owe you one.”
You hum, fighting the smile on your lips as you watch him close his eyes calmly. You slip up from the couch quietly, padding over to the kitchen to grab something.
“Where are you going? Did I scare you off already?” You hear Max call as you walk away. As you walk back over, his eyes are still closed though, signaling that he didn’t really think he’d scared you off.
He does open his eyes as you set the bowl of leftover pasta and a fork on his chest before grabbing your own and sitting down, grabbing the remote to press play. He glances over as you settle into the couch and move your blanket over your lap before he sits up. You take a bite of your pasta as you continue to watch your show. Max takes a second but he eventually digs in as well, sitting up in order to grasp the bowl better.
Even after the pastas finished, you both sit back on the couch in order to finish the show. You glance over at Max, his eyes still locked onto the screen.
What had you gotten yourself into?
————
“Are you ready?”
You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you sit in the passengers seat of Max’s car, the hoards outside having no idea what was waiting for them inside. You slide your sunglasses onto your nose, hoping they’d hide at least a little bit of the anxiety flowing through you.
You nod, turning your head toward Max in the drivers seat, “Yeah, I’m good.”
Max hums, not entirely convinced but also aware he had no other option but to believe you considering he’s the one who’d asked you to do this. He opens his door, stepping out and sliding his own sunglasses on. You watch as he walks around the front of the car before stopping in front of your door and pulling it open. You pause for a moment but eventually step out, trying not to wince as the bright sun hits you.
You immediately step into his path, falling into stride next to him as you both walk toward the entrance. You hear the car lock behind you and watch Max pocket the keys.
The bright Miami sun beats down on your skin, causing you to wish you’d opted for a thinner shirt. Max had originally proposed for your first race to be Monaco but you had decided it was better to appear earlier than later for his sake. Plus, you’d always enjoyed Miami and were up for the idea of traveling there. You’d also originally planned to buy your own plane tickets but Max was quick to shut that one down.
As you both approached the turnstiles, Max pulls his lanyard out of his pocket. You don’t even notice as he pulls you inside the paddock, too busy trying not to notice the cameras surrounding you. Flashes come from all around you, the incessant clicks echoing through your head.
You finally do notice that Max hasn’t let go of your hand after he pulled you into the paddock. You grasp his hand a little tighter and he pulls you closer into his side as a response. When heat starts to rise to your face, you decide to blame it on the Miami sun.
As you both walk toward the Red Bull hospitality, heads turn to watch you walk by. You can feel people’s eyes trailing after you, locked on your unfamiliar form. Everything new in the paddock very quickly became a spectacle. Especially when it involved the current world champion.
You’re sure you’ll see pictures of yourself splashed all across the internet when you wake up in Max’s hotel room the next day. You’re sure your mom will send you whatever article they’ll attach your name to, no doubt hounding you for information about your new celebrity “boyfriend”.
You’d been curled up in Max’s hotel room the whole weekend, occasionally dipping out to get food with him between events. He’d wanted you to come to the track since Thursday but you weren’t entirely sure you were ready to step out as “Max Verstappens new girlfriend” until you’d woken up Sunday morning.
You’d woken up before Max, somehow. As you laid in your plush hotel room bed, you could hear Max’s soft breathing from the other bed filtering through the silence of the morning. Just outside the window, the city of Miami was waking up. At least, the early birds were.
You and Max had slept in the same room enough over the years, Max randomly crashing at your place pretty often, that when he suggested you getting a different room, you’d immediately turned him down. You were telling yourself it was just because it was nice to have the comfort of a friend but something deep down knew that that wasn’t the only reason.
You let the only sounds be his breathing and the light hum of the air on unit for a few more minutes while you woke up. You slid out of the bed as silently as possible, your feet padding quietly against the carpeted floor. You pull the door open to the balcony slowly, stepping out before closing it behind you. The sun is still pretty low in the sky but it still makes you flinch as it seeps into your eyes.
You sink into one of the two chairs out on the balcony, pulling your knees up to your chest and resting your chin on top, letting your thoughts run wild.
You watch Miami move below you, the sun slowly shining down brighter and brighter, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.
You weren’t entirely sure why you’d agreed to this idea so quickly. With every day that passed, you wished more and more that you hadn’t. Doubt seeped through you with every second you watched Max from the hotel television. He was just so good at his job and such a cool, wonderful person and athlete. How could you keep up with him? The press would be insistent and non-stop invasive. Fans would, no doubt, dogpile on you as well, both warning to know everything about you as well as rip you apart. You start to wonder if there was a single positive of this for you.
The door slides open behind you and you can hear Max moving onto the balcony beside you. You don’t glance over, only moving your gaze away from the skyline as a mug is held in front of your face. You glance down at it, spotting the coffee inside before you grasp the mug out of his hands gently. The ceramic warms your hands, the steam from the liquid splaying across your face.
“There was only those little creamer pods,” Max hums as he takes a sip of his own mug, leaning against the bannister in front of you, “Hope that’s okay.”
You chew at your lip, taking a sip of your own mug, humming lightly as your gaze locks on his back, “That’s fine, thanks.”
You’d usually take your coffee with milk and a spoonful of sugar but you’d had enough gas station or hotel room coffee that you’d be able to survive with just the creamer pods.
You watch Max’s side profile as he stares out at the city, the sun bouncing off the edges and planes of his face and perfectly lighting up his eyes. You bask in quiet that settles between you, sipping at your coffee periodically. You don’t quickly forget the kindness of his gesture. Actually, the action stays in your head for longer than it probably should, mind running wild as you think about his motives.
You dismiss it, though, not wanting to linger on something that probably meant nothing.
“You coming to the race today?” Max turns around to face you, his back leaning against the rail he’d just been looking out over.
Your eyes trace him as he turns, evaluating his early morning form. As you look at this man, your friend, you think about the coffee in your hands. You think about the times he’d dogsat Apollo despite hating dogs, the days he’d come over just to keep you company when you were homesick, when he’d attempted to cook you soup when you’d been sick despite his complete inability to cook soup, you even think back to the first day you’d met when he’d helped you move in despite having known you for all of thirty seconds.
As all those memories passed through your mind, you suddenly remember why you’d agreed to do this in the first place.
“Yeah, I am,” you reply, taking a long sip of your coffee and hiding your grin as one of his own makes its way onto his lips.
————
That had been earlier that morning and know you were sat in Red Bull, watching as Max’s car passes the finish line in second. You’d been biting your nails the whole time, worry seeping through you. You weren’t the biggest formula 1 nerd but Max had forced you to watch enough old races for you to get what was going on. You’d even started watching his races when he was gone, something that had taken you months to admit.
Because of Max’s insistence, you knew enough to grimace as the safety car came out. You were right to grimace, of course, as Lando was quick to pass your friend, taking the lead and the win. Max, for what it’s worth, didn’t seem too angry about the result. You were aware of Landos lack of wins, seeing why his winning would make everyone happy, even the losers. Not that you were too happy, you’d only ever and only ever would cheer for Max, even if Lando was deserving of a win of his own.
Max doesn’t get asked about you during interviews. At least, not directly. He gets asked how life had been and he answers with a vague answer about love and how great life has been. You know he’s talking out of his ass but you’re grinning anyway, not able to hold back you mind from thinking about a world where everything he was saying was true.
“Landos gonna have a big celebration,” Max starts as he gets back to you after the podium, walking you both back toward his room so he can change, “He’ll probably be awake for the next 72 hours.”
You smile lightly, resting a tired head against his sweaty shoulder, “Good for him, seems like he really deserves it.”
Max nods with a pleasant look on his face, “Yeah, I’m not even that mad about losing. Nothing I could’ve done really. Im just glad he got his win.”
You nod, taking a breath in order to hold back the yawn threatening to leave your mouth, “You should go to his party, I’ll just go grab some dinner and head back to get some sleep.”
You both stop as you reach his room, Max facing you as he leans back against the door to open it. You notice the deep furrow in his eyebrows as he locks eyes with you, “What are you talking about?”
You furrow your own eyebrows as a response, tilting your head to the side, “You should go celebrate with your friend? Go have fun, Max!”
He shakes his head as he enters the room, quickly gathering his things to go take a quick shower, “Why would I celebrate a loss with a coworker when I can get some quality time with a friend instead? I’d rather celebrate a win with you instead of a loss without you. Trust me, you’ll be there to see me win.”
You’re already at a loss for words at his response but your rendered speechless as Max pulls his fireproofs off, tossing the shirt to the side passively. He turns away from you and you watch his muscles ripple under his skin, your face hearing greatly. His arms flex as he reaches for something and you have to bite your lip to keep your mouth closed. Your eyes are wide as he turns to glance over his shoulder at you, “That okay?”
At the risk of sounding like an idiot if you attempt to respond with words, you simply nod, eyes moving toward the floor. You don’t notice the smirk that forms on his lips as he catches your stare.
“I’m gonna shower and then we can leave,” he calls out over his shoulder as he walks into his bathroom. Your eyes are still locked onto the floor. You hear the sound of water pattering against the floor just after the door shuts.
You take a large sip of your water bottle, trying to wet your drying throat and keep the heat in your face at bay. You feel like you might be going crazy, the image of Max’s shirtless back etched into your mind.
Jesus Christ.
————
“What do you wanna watch?” Max mumbles through a mouth full of pizza, his hand coming up to covering it as he speaks.
You shrug, “I don’t know.”
Max shrugs as well, grabbing the remote off the nightstand and passively flickering through the channels as he swallows his bite of pizza, “Come get some food.”
He gestures toward the box of pizza on the edge of his bed with the remote, glancing toward you sitting in your own bed, watching him instead of the tv. You slide off the bed, taking the few steps it takes to get to his own and gently settling on the side he wasn’t currently sitting on.
Max watches you move, humming as you grasp a piece from the pizza box before he turns his attention back to the screen. You don’t notice as he settles on a movie, too busy trying not to absolutely scarf down the food in your hand.
Your eyes do leave the slice to glance over at Max, legs outstretched with his back firmly against the headboard. He’s wearing a Red Bull hoodie, even managing to wear team merch in his own bedroom. He’s also got some old basketball shorts, a faded logo sitting on the upper thigh that, no matter how much you try, you can’t understand.
You look away when you hear the familiar sound of Lightning McQueen echoing out of the television speakers. You quickly catch sight of the Italian formula car, deducing that Max has chosen Cars 2, of all movies.
You try your best not to laugh but a giggle escapes you anyway, causing you to bury your head in your shoulder to try and hide your grin.
“What?” Max asks you and you look forward again, eyes locked onto the movie, “What’s so funny?”
Your head turns toward the driver who’s grin is now matching your own, “You chose probably the only movie on here that uses the words “Grand Prix” can’t even get away from racing in your hotel room.”
He feigns offense for a few moments before reaching forward to grab another piece of pizza and sliding down into more of a lying position, “It’s a good movie.”
You both turn to the screen for a few moments but the second Lewis Hamilton’s voice rings out in the silence, you laugh loudly, Max groaning beside you.
You quickly dissolve into giggles, trying your hardest to reign it in but when you look over and see the amused frown on Max’s face, you’re right back into it again, Max laughing in response.
You both do eventually settle down, watching the movie and eating your food together. Even after the pizza box is empty and max moves to set it on the table, you don’t move from your spot, using the reasoning that it’s just easier to see the screen from his bed.
You try not to notice the proximity between you. You’d been holding hands all day and you’d pressed several kisses to his cheeks and forehead, being near him shouldn’t bother you. But when you shift slightly closer just to get more comfortable and Max’s arm falls down over your shoulder, you freeze, keeping as still as you can.
He doesn’t move his arm through the rest of the movie. Not that you’d know, considering you drift off with about half an hour to go. But Max doesn’t notice that either, considering how he fell asleep just after.
You wake up before him again the next morning, don’t the same thing you’d done the day before and walking out to the balcony. Max does the same thing he did as well, walking out with two mugs grasped gently in his grip.
When you take the mug from him, you try not to think about the fact you’d woken up limbs tangled with his and your face pressed into his chest.
————
The São Paulo Grand Prix.
It had been 6 months of this charade with Max. That’s right, you’d managed to suffer through 6 whole months of pretending to be his girlfriend. There’s been countless headlines from various news sites, trying their best to figure out every single detail about your life and relationship with Max.
The only thing keeping your mind together was the root of the problem himself and your prolonged roommate, Max.
He was actually really lovely. Every time you suggested a different room for his sake, you’d end up right where you were the week before, in a bed across from his. You’d also kept the same morning routine every day, waking up before Max and sitting out on the balcony until he brought coffee out for both of you.
He’d eventually gotten to a point where he sat in the chair next to you as opposed to standing up and leaning against the railing. There was still little conversation, though, you both enjoying the silence of an early morning instead.
This specific morning, you were watching the city of São Paulo move along below you. Goosebumps raised slightly as the wind-chilled November air nipped at the skin on your arms. The sun hadn’t completely rose yet and the previous nights rain had left the air colder than it should’ve been. You found yourself rubbing your hands over your arms and wishing you’d worn something other than a t-shirt.
The door slides open behind you and you take the mug as it’s placed in your eye line, grateful for the heat of the mug to warm up your cold hands. You lower your face toward the mug, letting the steam warm up your wind-chilled skin. You go to take a sip but it burns at your lips when you tilt the mug, causing you to set it down on the small table in order for it to cool for a few moments.
After you set it down, something lands in your lap. You look down, holding the item up and quickly recognizing it as one of Max’s Red Bull hoodies. You glance over at him but he’s still looking out over the city below, sipping passively at his mug of black coffee.
You look back down at the item of clothing, glancing between it and the owner for a few seconds before deciding to slip it on, your cold skin winning out over any reasonable thought that would tell you not to wear it.
The hoodies too big for you and it smells like Max but you don’t really seem to mind either of those things. Especially as your skin heats as the fabric passes over it.
Once you’ve got the hoodie on, you pick up your coffee again, blowing on it slightly to cool it down. You raise the cup to your lips, letting the warm liquid flow into your mouth.
You hum at the taste, quickly noticing that it tastes different than usual. You furrow your eyebrows, taking another sip. The oh-so wonderful taste that you’d missed so dearly over the past 6 months takes over your tastebuds. The taste of real milk and sugar.
You hum pleasantly, grasping the cup tightly. You glance over toward the man who’d handed you the drink, “Is this milk and sugar?”
Max glances toward you for a split-second before he looks back over the city, taking a sip of his own coffee, “Yeah, that’s how you like it, right? You always drink it like that back home.”
You ignore the jolt in your stomach when Max refers to the Monaco apartments as a shared home. You bite your lip with an affirmative hum, “Where’d you get milk and sugar?”
“Couldn’t sleep last night, went for a walk. There’s a corner store down the block and I picked some up,” Max says it casually, like it’s not the most considerate anyone had been of you, maybe ever.
You stare at him for a few moments, trying to ignore the warm feeling in your chest as you imagine him thinking about you enough to buy coffee ingredients the way you liked them.
As you sat outside, in his hoodie, sipping on the coffee he had made and handed to you, you finally accept what you’d been trying to deny for six months, if not longer.
You were in love with Max Verstappen.
You longed for the domesticity that was so present on mornings like these. You wanted to live this life with him all the time. You didn’t just want to fall asleep beside him after a race but you wanted to be able to press your lips against his when he won instead of the light touches you’d flutter against his cheek. You wanted to wear his hoodies all the time, not just when you were cold and forgot one of your own. You wanted to stop pretending in front of his friends. You wanted the hushed whispers to be sweet nothings instead of scheming and planning.
You wanted this life with him. All the time.
“Max-” you start but you’re quickly cut off by Max as he speaks instead.
“My ex is going to be at this race,” he states and you close your mouth, deflating slightly as you look away, “Just wanted to prepare you in case we run into her. You could also, um, probably stop coming once you scare her off.”
You nod meekly, taking a sip of your coffee. What had once been your idea of a sanctuary with the silence of the morning is now too quiet, allowing your thoughts to be the only noise in your head, images of Max’s ex rolling around aimlessly.
You stand up quickly, taking rushed steps back into the room. You down the last sips of your coffee and slide it onto the table, moving hurriedly around the room to gather your things for a shower. You vaguely notice Max walking back into the room with a confused look but you don’t even look up as you rush into the bathroom, “I’m taking a shower.”
“Okay?” Max says as you close the door behind you. You don’t notice the frown on his face as he disappears from view.
You’re too busy throwing off his hoodie and turning the shower to practically scalding heat, trying your hardest to rid yourself of thoughts about a life with Max, thoughts of his ex-girlfriend or thoughts about the stupid coffee he’d handed you and how stupid you were to be reading so much into it.
For a moment there, you’d thought that Max was enjoying this as much as you were. But his words were quick to remind you that you were only there to do a favour for him. He is only there to get his friends and his ex off his back. After that, you were free to go. It even vaguely sounded like Max didn’t want you to come back around the next weekend.
Why else would he have said that? Why else would he have suggested you stop coming? Especially just after talking about his ex. It was a stark reminder that you were only a tool for him to mess with his ex. She was the one he’d loved, you were just a girl he knew.
You stay under the scalding water long enough for the mirrors to fog and your fingertips to prune. Your cuticles sting from where the hot water had made its way into the raw skin, the cuts still fresh from where you’d been anxiously picking at them.
You only pull yourself from the water when you start to sway from the heat, your head going light and an ache echoing through your skull.
————
A few hours later, you’re by Max’s side again, although there’s a slightly larger distance between you than usual.
That would change soon, no doubt, when Max spotted his ex, pulling you close to attempt to show his devotion to your fake relationship.
But for now, you're an arms-length away, hoping that pushing him away would also push away your own feelings.
Max can't grasp even an idea as to why you were acting like this. Did you really want this to be over that badly? He knew he'd mentioned the idea of your… situation ending but he didn't think you'd be this eager to get away from him.
At the first camera flash, you take a step closer to Max, knowing how even the smallest hint of discontent between you would be twisted for headlines and it would end with your concerned mother calling you fifty times to check on your relationship after seeing an article on Facebook.
So you step closer, reaching over to intertwine your hands. Max doesn't resist and you try not to read into the gentle squeeze he replies with.
Brazils nice. Or at least, you assume. You'd been too distracted to take much notice. But you do notice the fans yelling from all around. Lively crowds sway and shout in the distance, hues of blue and black and orange all represented amongst the groups.
Max leads you through the paddock, determination clear in his steps. It was most likely just his own determination not to talk to anyone, especially a certain ex-girlfriend.
You both get to Red Bull without an unwanted interaction and the second you're out of the public eye, you're dropping his hand, none the wiser to the confused look on the driver's face.
The tension's palpable in his small room. Awkward conversation flows, your words biting and curt. Neither of you wants to address the obvious undertones your words contain. One of hostility and unshared secrets. But you manage to survive until Max has to leave to get ready for the race and you follow just a few minutes later, making your way to watch said race.
The race is fine. Max wins, but you were never in doubt about that. He was starting from pole, it'd be pretty hard for him to lose. Lando finished just a few seconds behind him, having closed the gap a bit after getting past George.
As the team starts to leave to go greet Max, Christian Horner pulls you along, saying something about Max wanting you at the barrier after the race. You're sure its just so he can put on a show for his ex.
But you follow along anyway, trying not to stumble in your heels as Christian walks along a lot faster than you'd want to.
You pass through other teams and friends and guests or the drivers, waving slightly at people you’d gotten to know over the past six months. The thought of not seeing any of these people again after you and Max faked a breakup made your stomach hurt but you ignore it, trying to tell yourself it was for the better.
When Christian reaches the team, he guides you both through the crowd, smiling politely at the engineers as he slides by.
It seems you both reach the barrier just in time, as Max is parking when you come to a stop. You watch as he pulls himself out of the car, cheering a bit to the fans around as he stands atop it. When he pulls off his helmet and balaclava, you try your hardest not to smile at the pure joy on his face.
He glances over his shoulder at something you can't see before he turns and catches your eye, quickly moving in your direction. Before you can even say a word, he's set his helmet down and wrapped both his hands around the sides of your face, pulling it toward his own. His lips are warm, the heat of the race still emanating off of him. You dismiss the sweat in his hair as you wrap a hand softly around the nape of his neck, tangling your fingers in his locks. Your other hand rests on the side of his face, your thumb tracing the marks his helmet had left around his eyes.
You pull away first, glancing up into his eyes with a gentle smile, “Good job, you did amazing Max.”
His face heats and he glances away with a light chuckle, “Thank you, baby. I'm glad you're here.”
You wish he'd stop calling you that. At least for the sake of your heart jumping in your chest every time he does.
He looks away but your eyes are still firmly locked on the side of his face, tracing the familiar path around his features that they'd forged over the past six months. The same path they took every morning when you watched him look out over whatever city you were in that weekend. The same path they took when he fell asleep first during a movie in hopes of memorizing every detail before you slunk back into your own bed to fall asleep, the image of his face still etched into your mind.
But as you stare up at Max, trying to memorize the puzzle pieces of his face while he talks to Christian, you realize how futile of an endeavour it is. Not matter how hard you try, you'll never get the slope of his nose just right in your memories. You'll never get the right shade of turquoise for his eyes. The sandy-dark-blond of his hair will fade away until it was nothing in your mind but the shade of your coffee in the morning instead of the colour of his hair.
Maybe you should find a different apartment. Surely, Monaco had a different apartment complex that was far enough away from Max to rid yourself of the incessant thoughts of him that constantly plagued your love-adled brain.
Throughout all of that, you’d almost forgotten you were in love with him.
But when Max turns back to you, a glint in his eyes and a bright smile gracing his lips, you're suddenly all too aware of that fact.
“I’ll see you in a minute, yeah?”
You nod, smile slowly drifting as he walks away to get weighed and do all the usual post-race theatrics.
Christian pats his hand on your shoulder firmly, smiling as you turn around, “Let’s get to the podium, kid.”
You let Christian lead you away, yet again making his way through the crowd to get you both to the front.
The podium celebration is cute, Max’s happiness practically contagious. Lando and George are enthralled as well, the Brits both happy to back on the podium once again.
But when Max leans over to spray the champagne on the team, you put your hands over your face as Christian laughs beside you, both of you trying to avoid the sticky liquid as much as possible.
You peel away from the crowd after Max walks off, trying to find your way to wherever Max had gone.
As you'd left, you'd wandered away from Christian, who knew the paddock much better than you did. This was your first time here and you found yourself looking around for any sign of the Red Bull driver or, at least, a familiar face who could point you in the right direction.
It takes you a few minutes to gain your bearings but when you hear the familiar sound of Max’s voice, you go that direction, turning a corner to see his face.
And you do see him, post-race glow and all. But it's not just him you find. Standing entirely too close to him with her hand resting on his shoulder, is Max’s ex-girlfriend. She's smiling warmly, nodding animatedly at whatever it is Max is saying. Which, from constantly talking to him, you know is not worth the reaction she's giving him.
He's glancing around, clearly not comfortable with the situation. You huff, looking around before conceding and walking over to the pair. Were you maybe taking your time a little bit? Yeah, but you really didn't want to do this.
You roll your eyes when you catch Max’s eye and a relieved look rolls over his face, “Hey, baby.”
Max uses your arrival as an excuse to take a step back, swinging his arm around your shoulder. He's still covered in champagne and sweat but you ignore it, “Hey, Max.”
You finally glance up to meet the eye of the woman in front of you, her eyes narrowed as she looks between you, “Oh my god, hi! You must be Max’s ex!”
She rolls her eyes before smiling tightly with a nod of her head, “Yeah, I am. You must be his new girlfriend.”
You hum affirmatively, smiling wide as you glance over to the man beside you, “I am, yeah. He's just so perfect. We’re so happy together!”
She narrows her eyes again, glancing you up and down before her eyes stop on your face. You roll your head to the side to rest your temple on his shoulder, resting one of your hands against his chest.
“Well, I’m happy you moved on, Max,” She says, turning her entire attention to the man in question, “You seem… perfect together.”
Max gleams, nodding as he leans in to kiss your cheek, “Yeah, I’m really happy.”
His ex chews on her bottom lip for a few moments before huffing and moving away, turning to shout over her shoulder as she walks away, “Have a great life, Max!”
“Thanks, I guess!” Max replies, laughing as soon as the woman is out of earshot. He pulls away from your side, turning to fully face you.
“Thank you!” Max cheers, grasping your shoulders with his hands, “Did you see her face? She was so pissed that I'd moved on.”
You hum, letting him be happy by himself while you stood quietly, “Yeah, you're welcome.”
You peel away from Max, turning to go back to the car park so you can leave. You don't say anything to Max before you walk away, leaving him to jog to catch up to you.
“You okay?” He asks once he's by your side again. You glance over, catching the concerned look on his face.
“Yeah,” you nod curtly, looking back ahead, “Yeah, I'm fine.”
He doesn't seem convinced but he leaves it be, turning away as well.
He pretends not to notice when you coincidentally step away after he tries to grab your hand.
While Max debriefs, you text one of your friends to ask if you could stay with her for a few days when you got back to Monaco. After this fake relationship was over, you needed to get away from Max for a while just to try and push away the growing feelings you have for the Dutch man.
And with the departure of Max’s ex, you'd served your purpose and you could finally get out of Max’s life and give him the solitude he so longed for.
The ride back to the hotel is quiet, the only noise being the sound of your nails tapping against the screen of your phone. Max glances over periodically but you eventually set your phone down, choosing to stare out the window as the dark streets of Brazil pass by quickly.
When you get back to the hotel, you open the car door before Max can get it for you like he usually does. He sends you another glance, trailing passively behind as you walk in front of him. You both pass through the lobby and the elevator, your steps determined and much quicker than Max really wanted to be walking.
He's still riding the high of his win and the defeat of his ex-girlfriend but you're in your own mind, too sick to your stomach to be happy for him.
You pull out the spare room key when you arrive at the room, pressing it against the sensor before shoving the door open roughly, letting it fall against Max behind you who catches it.
You toss the key on the table by the door and set your phone down beside it. You still don't turn around as you throw the jacket he had let you borrow down on his bed.
"What is your problem?" You hear Max’s voice ring out in the otherwise quiet room. Annoyance paints his words, causing you to pause for a split-second.
"I don't have a problem." You say, cringing when you catch how much of a lie it sounds. You move on, though, pulling your suitcase out from under the bed and unzipping it.
Max scoffs, raising a disbelieving eyebrow, "Are you sure? Because it really feels like you do."
"It's nothing, Max." You reply sharply, walking into the attached bathroom, grateful to get away from his gaze for a second.
You come back out, your toiletry bag in hand. You set it down in your suitcase and stand up, walking over to the closet and pulling your clothes off the rack. The sound of the hangers hitting together echoes through your head, only contributing to the headache that had been growing since your revelation that morning.
Max finally catches onto what you're doing and speaks, his voice almost panicked, "What are you doing?"
"Leaving."
"What, already? Why?" You try not to be swayed by the hurt in his voice, turning around and walking past him to set your clothes down in your case.
He follows you over, stepping closer as you stand up. You try and step past him but he puts his arm out, stopping you in your tracks. You concede with a sigh, finally looking him in his eyes.
"It doesn't matter, Max.”
"But it does! What's wrong?" You finally step past him, on your way to go gather the rest of your things but his question makes you turn your head as you walk away.
"Max! It doesn't matter!" You immediately regret how loud your voice is but this wasn't exactly the time to be thinking about the people next door.
Max shakes his head, following you as you walk toward the doot in order to grab your shoes, "No, no, no. You've been like this all day and I can't think of a reason why. Do you really want to get away from me that badly?"
Your face twists, causing you to shake your head as you walk away, praying he wont follow you this time, "No, Max, that's not-"
He doesn't completely follow you but he does step a bit closer, shaking his head with a loud groan, "Then enlighten me! What could possibly happened in the past day that's making you act like this? Why are you leaving? Why won't you tell me? I thought we were supposed to be in this together! Why are you-"
"Because I'm in love with you, Max!" You shout, finally turning to face him as you say it, making eye contact with him for the first time since you'd walked in.
Silence falls between you and you toss your shoes down, covering your face with one of your hands. For a second, you think that Max might never respond, your stomach turning at the thought.
How hard could it be to find a different apartment in Monaco?
"What?" Max’s voice is soft and you look back to him, trying to will your frustrated tears not to fall.
"I'm in love with you! I fell in love with you and I know you don't feel the same. You only wanted me to do this to placate your friends and scare away your ex and now im getting out of your hair. I'm leaving you alone like you wanted in the first place,” Tears finally drip down your face and you don't bother to wipe them away, knowing there was only more where they came from. You look away as you explain, eyes locked onto the carpet beneath you, not wanting to face your embarrassment head-on.
"What are you talking about?" At Max’s purely confused tone, you look back to his face, teeth digging sharply into your bottom lip.
His face is soft, confusion etched into the furrow between his brows. Your stomach flips and you swallow, trying to rebuild the confidence you’d had at the start of your outburst.
The hotel room suddenly feels too cold, the air causing you to rub your hands over your shoulders in order to suppress the goosebumps that had started to rise. When you do speak again, your voice is soft, volume just above a whisper.
"This morning. You said I could stop coming after this race. And I did my job, I scared away your ex. You don't need me,” you trail off at the end of your statement, your voice breaking slightly as you shake your head, tears streaming out of your closed eyes and down your cheeks.
You expect Max to agree, to send you away, to end your friendship out of pure embarrassment after your decleration.
But he doesn't.
His voice is soft, just as yours was. His words are hushed but the emotion behind them seeps through every single word.
"I do, though. I do need you."
You look up, eyes widening at his statement. You can do nothing but stare as he steps closer, his hands grasping the sides of your face. Your own hands reach up to hold his wrists, just wanting to hold him someway.
He raises an eyebrow gently, quirking his head to ask for silent permission. You nod and its only a split-second before he's leaning down, pressing his lips against yours.
His hands cradle the back of your head, pulling you impossibly closer. Your heart threatens to beat out of your chest, his kiss causing your brain to practically melt. You mold together, leaning as close to him as you can as your hold conveys months and months of pent-up and hidden emotions.
As he pulls away, your lips want to chase his but you hold back, your eyes flickering open as he leans his forehead against yours. Neither of your speak for a few moments, silence settling between the two of you ask you bask in the adoration between you.
Max’s hand drifts back to your jaw, his thumb drifting across your cheekbone passively. You see his eyes look up and you glance up as well, catching his sparkling gaze in yours.
“I love you,” the words tumble out of his mouth, falling smoothly out of the lips you oh-so wished he would press against your own once again, “I'm in love with you. I fell for you during this whole thing, everything about you.”
You go to respond but he cuts you off, shaking his head lightly.
“I only told you that you could stop coming because I thought you'd grown tired of all this,” he takes a deep breath before continuing, leaning slightly into your hand that had drifted into his hair, “But I'm kind of glad I did.”
You furrow your eyebrows, quirking your head. Max pauses, allowing you the chance to admire every feature of his face, turning his freckles into constellations that you'd willingly stargaze in for hours. His hair is tousled from where your fingers had tangled in it and his lips are red from being pressed against yours. His teeth dig into said lip as he thinks before responding. You'd honestly be fine if he never finished his thought and you got to just look at him forever.
But he does finish his thought, the look in his eyes making your heart jump, "Because I don't want to pretend anymore."
You wait a moment, giving him the chance to take it back in case this was a joke, in case he didn't really mean it. But he doesn't take it back, he doesn't laugh.
And so you nod, "I want to do this with you for real, Max. I don't want to lie to anyone anymore, I want to celebrate with you after a race, not because people expect me to, but because I love you."
Max lights up, his face splitting into a wide grin at your words. Before you can react, his arms are around you and your feet are lifted off the ground as Max basically throws you onto the bed beside you.
Your laugh echoes through the hotel room, punctuated by the sound of Max flopping down next to you. You continue to giggle, glancing down to meet Max’s eyes, a special glint shining through.
You calm down after a few seconds as Max continures to gaze at you. When silence finally comes over you, Max leans up to rest on his elbows as you sit up slightly to look down at him.
“I love you too, by the way,” He says softly, “Dont know if you noticed.”
You hum, biting your lip to hold back your laugh, “I assumed so, yeah.”
You laugh as Max huffs, reaching a hand up to pull you down beside him, “Shut up.”
And you do, going quiet as your lips meet his. Later that night, as your both lying in bed, together this time, you fall asleep with your head against his chest, basking in the long-lastint but newly-confessed love between you.
The next morning, you wake up before Max, as you'd done so often. You slip out of his hold and pad over softly to the balcony, sliding on one of his hoodies before you open the sliding door.
You sink into one of the two chairs, looking out over the city of Sao Paulo as it slowly wakes up. The sun peeks out over the horizon, adding light to the previously dark morning.
Eventually, the door slides open behind you and you don’t even have to look to know it’s Max. But you look anyway, happy to take any chance to observe the man.
You take the mug from his offering hand, grasping the warm ceramic tightly. Max doesn’t walk over to the railing, instead moving toward the chair next to you. Before he sits down, he slides it over, pushing it as close to your chair as it could go. He sits down and you twist to sit sideways, leaning your legs over the arm of the chair. Max gently pulls your ankles over his chair to rest in his lap before he takes a long sip of his coffee.
You take a long sip of your own mug as well, letting the taste of the coffee coat your throat and warm your heart.
Milk and sugar, just the way you like it.
——————
Tags: @evie-119 @casperlikej
More Posts from Mint--yoongs and Others
The Power Of Words - OP81
@pluto777777 prompt request #23 - Driver/player accidentally insults reader in casual comment and she does obsesses over it
Summary: Oscar didn't think before speaking and y/n can't stop thinking about what he said.
Overthinker!reader
Word count: 1.2k
Oscar is unbothered. He's famous for it.
But sometimes he maybe should be bothered. Because when he made a comment to y/n last week about making sure to leave him some of the birthday cake because he might want some. He was just kidding and making a light-hearted joke.
Now y/n has been hitting the gym twice a day, morning and night for over an hour each time. The diet has been restricted harsher than Oscar's and he hasn't connected the dots as to what has ignited this behaviour from her.
"Y/n no." Oscar groans hearing her alarm go off for her to get up and go to the gym.
"What?" Y/n frowns before Oscar gets up and drops his weight onto of her to pin her down to the bed. "Oscar, you're suffocating me."
"Yeah, I know but if it stops you from going to that gym then it's doing what I want it to do." Oscar states while y/n grumbles at him and makes some attempt at escaping him.
"Oscar, get off of me." Y/n groans actually managing to move his body a little which surprises him because going dead weight on her has always worked to keep her from moving out from under him.
"No. Why do you keep going to the gym at this time of day? What has got into you?" Oscar questions genuinely frowning at the young woman while she shakes her head at the fact that Oscar's frown deepens. "Baby, can you please explain?"
"I just haven't been eating good enough and I mean-I mean even you noticed I almost ate that whole cake on my own." Y/n states as the front cracks and she turns her head trying to avoid him seeing her tears that are gathering.
She didn't want to tell him. It wasn't intentional from him for her to overthink it but Oscar drops his head into her chest, wedging his arms under her body and wrapping them around.
"Baby, no." Oscar groans making her swallow thickly continuing to try and blink her tears away to the best of her ability. "No. I'm sorry. It was just a joke. I didn't want to upset you and make you change."
"I know. But you were right-even if it was a joke."
"No. No. Baby, I was wrong. I was so so so wrong. You should've eaten more cake just to prove me how stupid my joke was. It was a horrible, stupid, dumb comment that I never should've made. I'm sorry."
Y/n sniffles with her lip quivering while Oscar sighs realising that his carelessness over his words that he's previously been able to get away with is not going to slide with y/n. She overthinks and he knows that, he should've known that an off hand jokey comment could lead to her spiralling.
"Baby, you're perfect. You've always been perfect." Oscar mumbles but it's not going to be that simple of a fix. "Can you stay here with me today?"
"Ok." Y/n mumbles with a nod before Oscar sighs and rolls them over so y/n is on top of him.
"I love you." Oscar states as y/n shifts so she's comfortable.
"I love you too." Y/n whispers settling her head down on his chest.
-
Y/n did ease up but Oscar wasn't willing to leave the matter just addressed. He wants to make things right.
He's already made sure to telling her how beautiful she is, how much he loves her and complimenting her as much as possible. Every time it has successfully got her flustered.
There's never been a level of regret over his own words till now and he hates knowing that if he'd just put even a moment of thought into them that basically burrowed into her head and completely took over her mind.
He came up with a plan that he is hoping doesn't get him in too much trouble with his trainer but he feels like it might work. Or it's going to backfire so hard that he might be single within the hour.
"Alright, I have a surprise for you." Oscar states after making it obvious he has a surprise for her by having forced her to remain in the bedroom till he said so which even included him leave the apartment while she waited.
"That's cute of you." Y/n smiles lightly while Oscar sits down on the edge of the bed as she sits down. "You know you don't have to keep trying to make up for it."
"I want to because you deserve to know that I don't stand by what I said."
"I know that. I do."
"Good, but I've already got the surprise set up. Come on, I think-I hope you'll like this." Oscar states actually looking like he's been doing the overthinking since he discovered how much he'd upset his girlfriend.
Oscar has her close her eyes and guides her into the kitchen.
"Are you ready?" Oscar asks making her choke a laugh.
"If you're about to say I hope you're ready for nothing and show me nothing I'm breaking your ribs with my elbow." Y/n warns jokingly which brings some settling to his panic about this might backfire because at least he's not just fooling her with some sort of prank.
"Alright, open your eyes." Oscar smiles making her open her eyes and blink a little looking at the set up from her boyfriend.
"Oscar..." Y/n mumbles looking at the cake that he had frosted with a message.
For the most prettiest, most perfect girlfriend on the planet.
"You're actually unreal." Y/n laughs then turning to look at him. "What kind of cake it is?"
Oscar really stressed about choosing the flavour because he really didn't want to mess up by getting her something that she would hate.
"Vanilla with fresh cream and jam with strawberries. But now I feel like that was wrong." Oscar grimaces making her head shake.
"It's perfect. Really my favourite." Y/n assures him before she swallows and Oscar moves up behind her again, holding her waist and gently hugging her back to himself.
"We're both going to eat this because eating cake is not a crime and neither of us are hitting the gym."
"You have to hit the gym. You're in the middle of the season." Y/n laughs but Oscar just shrugs.
"We are both eating the cake. Everyone deserves cake." Oscar reiterates then kissing her cheek. "Cake for breakfast is literally the dream anyway. Free will and all that."
"You've officially spend too much time online." Y/n laughs then moving towards the cake since it does look so amazing and she is feeling herself drool at the thought of getting to eat it.
Meanwhile Oscar feels like he might've finally overpowered his comment from a few weeks ago by finally finding something that made her feel so loved that hopefully he can keep this going and make sure not to fuck up again like he did.
Too Late
in which the love you have for him is the cause of your death
requested pairing: seokjin x reader word count: 3,242 genre: angst hanahaki disease au
*****
Keep reading
Arabic love poems that remind me of chayenzo
Particularly of Vincenzo’s feelings for Cha-young, from this twitter thread
“And if the devil was to ever see you, he’d kiss your eyes and repent” Farouq Jwaydeh
“They asked ‘do you love her to death?’ I said ‘speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life.’” Mahmoud Darwish
“My temptations in your eyes, And the cities of your grief…” Ibrahim el-Kahwaji
“When I love, / I become liquid light” Nizar Qabbani
“Your lip the first disaster.” Emad Fouad
“I long for you hands, two doves that shade the blaze of my longing.” Maisoon Saqr
Idk why but this scene simply warms my heart so much. The casual and easy way he gives his hand and the way she moves and he moves to indulge her and her laugh at the end. Siiigh. I miss this show 😭
papercuts🌷
gym crush au!
“popular”! jungkook x underclassman! reader
genre: smau, fluff, slight angst, crack, high school au, college au, everyone is kinda dumb, strangers to lovers to ex’s to lovers
warnings: language, drinking, mentions of s*x, tattoos
synopsis: flirting with your crush of 3 years wasn’t something you thought of when first getting twitter, a nasty breakup wasn’t what you expected either… but why is it that after 3 years and loads of droning on self-improvement and trying to become “that” girl , your gym buddy reminds you of the one person you wanted to forget?
-—
0.5 intro🌷
1. yn and friends🌷
1.5. jk and friends🌷
2. alphabetized🌷
3. blocked🌷
4. too bold🌷
5. left on read
6. Peter Holland
6.5. lost🖊
tbc!
taglist❕
@chaeinyourlane @epiph4ny @90s-belladonna @bubblytaetae @somelazysundays @flowerprincejin @silscintilla
message me to be on the tag list!
The pretty interviewer
Max Verstappen x reader
Summary: You are Max's favorite interviewer...so much that he will not stop flirting with you.
Warning: None
Three Races Earlier...
You stand off to the side of the paddock, fidgeting with your Sky Sports F1 microphone. Being the newest member of the broadcasting team means you usually get the less prominent interviews, while the veteran reporters get drivers like Max Verstappen. Today, you're supposed to be interviewing one of the midfield teams.
The buzz in the paddock suddenly intensifies as Max emerges from the Red Bull garage after his stunning pole position. A swarm of reporters immediately crowds his path, microphones thrust forward, voices overlapping with "Max! Max, a moment, please!"
You watch from your quiet corner as he walks past them all, his expression neutral, barely acknowledging their presence. It's a familiar scene – Max is known for being selective with media, often choosing to speak only with a handful of senior reporters.
That's why your heart nearly stops when his eyes suddenly lock onto you. His face transforms with a smile, and before you can process what's happening, he's changing direction, walking purposefully toward your corner.
"Sorry," he says to the shocked reporters behind him, not sounding sorry at all. "I'm giving my first interview to her."
Your producer's voice crackles in your earpiece: "Wait, what's happening?"
Max stops right in front of you, that signature half-smile playing on his lips. "Hi," he says simply, as if he hasn't just snubbed every major broadcaster in the paddock.
"I... um..." You scramble to gather your thoughts, acutely aware of the jealous stares from the other reporters. "Hi?"
He laughs softly at your confusion. "You're new, right? I've seen you around. You ask good questions – technical ones. Not just the usual PR stuff."
"I... yes, I started this weekend," you manage to say, still stunned. "But shouldn't you be talking to—"
"I'm talking to exactly who I want to be talking to," he interrupts, his Dutch accent somehow stronger when speaking quietly. "So, would you like to hear about that qualifying lap?"
𐙚
That first interview changed everything. Since then, Max has insisted on giving you his post-session interviews, each one becoming progressively more flirtatious than the last. Which brings you to today...
The Red Bull garage looms ahead as you adjust your Sky Sports F1 microphone for the thousandth time. Post-qualifying interviews are routine by now, but nothing about interviewing Max Verstappen has ever felt routine. Especially not since he started doing... whatever this is.
"Three minutes," your producer says through your earpiece. You try to focus on your questions, but all you can think about is last week's interview, when Max had deliberately held your gaze so long you'd forgotten the second half of your question.
He emerges from the garage, race suit tied at his waist as usual. Your heart does that familiar stutter-step as he approaches, wearing that infuriating half-smile that makes you forget basic English.
"Max, congratulations on another pole position—" you begin professionally.
"Thanks," he interrupts, eyes twinkling. "I was hoping it would be you interviewing me today."
You feel the heat creep up your neck. Stay professional, you remind yourself. "That last lap was incredible. How did you find the grip through—"
"The grip was good," he says, then leans slightly closer than necessary. "But you seem a bit nervous today. Everything okay?"
Your producer snickers in your ear. Traitor.
"I'm perfectly fine," you manage, though your voice comes out higher than intended. "About turn three—"
"You're cute when you're flustered," he says quietly, just low enough that the microphone won't pick it up. The smirk playing on his lips tells you he knows exactly what he's doing.
You nearly drop your notebook. "I'm trying to conduct an interview here," you whisper back, fighting a smile.
"And I'm trying to ask you out," he counters smoothly, before raising his voice back to interview level. "But yes, turn three was tricky today. The crosswind made it challenging."
Your face feels like it's on fire. You're painfully aware of the camera rolling, capturing what must be the most unprofessional blush in F1 broadcasting history.
"Speaking of challenges," Max continues, clearly enjoying himself, "there's this great restaurant in Monaco that's almost impossible to get into. I have a reservation for two tomorrow night... if you're interested in discussing race strategy, of course."
You hear your producer choking back laughter. "The interview, Max," you remind him, trying to sound stern despite your racing heart.
"Right, right. The interview." He grins. "But about dinner..."
"Maybe we should finish talking about your qualifying lap first?" You're fighting a losing battle against your smile now.
"Fine," he sighs dramatically, then winks. "But just so you know, I'm going to keep flirting with you until you say yes."
Your producer is practically cackling now. "Best. Interview. Ever," she whispers in your ear.
"The qualifying lap, Max," you insist, but you're grinning too.
"The qualifying lap," he agrees, finally straightening up and attempting to look serious. "But I should warn you – I'm very persistent. Almost as persistent as I am on track."
You shake your head, trying to remember your questions through the butterfly storm in your stomach. One thing's for certain – this interview is definitely going to go viral on F1 Twitter.
And maybe, just maybe, you'll say yes to that dinner in Monaco.
𐙚
You barely remember how you finished that interview, your mind still spinning from Max's dinner invitation. But the real chaos was only beginning...
Your notifications haven't stopped buzzing since that interview went live. #MaxAndTheReporter is trending on Twitter, and F1 TikTok is having a field day with edited clips of every interaction between you and Max from the past three races.
"OMG THE WAY HE LOOKS AT HER " reads one viral tweet, accompanied by a slow-motion clip of Max's eyes softening when he spots you in the paddock.
"Remember when Max used to HATE interviews? Now he's literally running to them. #MaxAndTheReporter" says another, with a side-by-side comparison of his usual stern media demeanor and his smile when approaching you.
Your producer sends you a link to a fan-made compilation video: "Every time Max Verstappen has flirted with the Sky Sports reporter (so far)." It has 2 million views already.
Not everyone's convinced, though. "She's just another reporter," one skeptic tweets. "Max is probably just being nice."
That theory gets blown out of the water during the next race weekend. You're in the middle of interviewing Carlos Sainz when Max casually walks by, then does such an obvious double-take that Carlos starts laughing mid-answer.
"I think someone wants to interrupt this interview," Carlos teases, watching Max hover nearby with poorly concealed impatience.
"He can wait his turn," you say professionally, though your cheeks warm as you hear Max chuckle behind you.
"Can I?" Max calls out. "Because I'm pretty sure my dinner reservation is in an hour, and someone still hasn't given me an answer."
Carlos raises his eyebrows, grinning. "Ah, so the rumors are true?"
Your producer's voice crackles through your earpiece: "The socials are going absolutely crazy right now. This is better than Drive to Survive!"
Later that evening, a photo surfaces of you and Max at that impossible-to-get-into restaurant in Monaco. He's looking at you instead of the camera, that soft smile on his face that F1 Twitter has dubbed the "reporter smile." The fan theories explode:
"HE REALLY TOOK HER TO DINNER, I'M SCREAMING" "The way he only smiles like that for her." "Remember when we thought Max would never date someone in the F1 media? This man really said 'Watch me."
Your phone buzzes with a text from Max: "Have you seen we're trending again? "
You send back an eye-rolling emoji, trying to ignore the butterflies that haven't settled since that first interview.
"Good," he replies. "Maybe now everyone knows why I only want interviews with you."
Your producer sends you a message: "Just wait until they see tomorrow's pre-race interview. The internet might actually break."
You smile, thinking about how a simple paddock interview three races ago changed everything. From reluctant interviewee to... whatever this is becoming, Max Verstappen has definitely kept his promise about being persistent.
And honestly? You wouldn't have it any other way.
Bitter Taste - LN
@gvcnnnnnnnbvszxv prompt request #24- "I knew you'd break my heart."
Summary: Lando thinks breaking up is what's best when the hate gets too much, but y/n didn't want to let go that easily. But now it's like they never happened.
Warning: Sad ending
Word count: 1.1k
*2021*
Y/n tries to stop her lip from quivering as she blinks a little really trying to force herself to listen to Lando speak, but his voice is muffled by the pounding in her head.
She feels sick and she knows that he really believes this is the best solution.
"You're not even willing to fight for this." Y/n whispers biting her lip making Lando stop his rambling that had started as he tried to explain himself and why he felt this was best.
"I can't let other people hurt you anymore baby."
"You think breaking up with me is going to make them stop? You're lying to yourself just as much as you're lying to me with that sort of bullshit." Y/n mutters then sucking in a breath as she finally finds her bearings and stands up. "I'll pack up my stuff and leave. Just give me a couple hours."
"You don't have to take everything now, we can-"
"If you think I want to come back here or have other people come here or have any reminder of you that isn't already going to be pushed in my face by the same people you're blaming for this. Then you never knew me, but honestly you've already proven that." Y/n scoffs shaking her head.
Y/n gets to work packing up everything and somehow keeping her head held high, but she knows the tears are coming.
"Let me help." Lando mumbles seeing her struggle with the suitcase but she moves it out his reach swiftly.
"You've helped enough." Y/n snaps feeling her hurt and sadness breaking into a moment of anger.
"I'm sorry."
"You'd never have done this for that reason if you really felt anything for me. So whatever you're choosing of us, I really hope it's worth it because I know you weren't."
She's speaking from a dark and nasty place, a place that didn't exist before today and she wants him to know that he did this to himself.
-
*Present Day*
Lando knew what he lost as soon as y/n left and he's moved on. Or at least that's what he tells himself with his new girlfriend, Violet. She's a model, fits the F1 WAG label very well and they're happy.
From what he knows y/n has moved on too, she found a partner who gave her the life she always deserved. Though they could've broken up since he hasn't seen her post about him for a long time. But if they have, she hasn't deleted any evidence of his existence from her socials like she did with Lando. Even if she didn't block him and force him to unfollow her, she did unfollow him and seems to have filtered his name from her comments on her posts.
He was wiped before she even got on her flight out of Nice, although she's still there on his page.
Only one post remains that suggests he was ever part of her life and it's a picture of her on her flight home after their break up captioned "I knew you'd break my heart". That actually earned waves of hate to Lando since his fans suddenly switched up their attitudes and let Lando have a piece of their mind over the fact he broke things off with y/n.
They still make edits of the two and posts about their relationship saying they wish y/n would come back to Lando and Lando would take his head out his arse.
He can't deny he has regrets about how things ended, he has regrets about losing someone who brought joy to his every day the way she did.
That's how he ends up seeing her on live on her instagram getting ready for a date night. The chat knows he's there, they've made sure to point it out in the comments where his name isn't filtered for the live.
"Ok, guys. That's not really something I want to think about." Y/n sighs with a twinge of hurt crossing her expression.
Eventually she exposes that she is not spending Valentine's day with any man but actually she's having a Galentine's day with all her girls who are also spending the day alone.
Then the live ends and Lando feels his mood deflate immediately. It's frustrating that he's in a new relationship but just one interaction with y/n and the smallest indirect acknowledgement of his existence lifted him.
He does take Violet out for their own Valentine's day dinner but his mind is anywhere but on the woman across from him as she talks about whatever it is she's filling the voice with.
Y/n haunts him in his dreams that night, as she had in the months following their break up.
He was never sure if she blocked his number or got a new number but he wakes up at an ungodly hour, not able to keep seeing her every time he closes his and he texts the number he still has for her. Her username still saved as "lover girl", he winces tapping her contact and seeing their old conversations pop up.
They were so in love, just remembering how they ended leaves a bitter taste in Lando's mouth.
He should stop himself, but he sends the message asking if she'd be up to talk.
It has a delivered label.
"Idiot." Lando mutters feeling like a fool for even trying especially at such a time of day, but then the delivered changes to read.
The three little dots appear and he feels his heart rate pick up before they disappear and are replaced with a message that he really should've expected.
I think you've text the wrong number.
Should've seen that one coming.
He tries to send another message and sighs seeing the rest of his messages go undelivered. She hadn't blocked him but him bringing attention to that has meant that she corrected that error quickly.
It'd been too long to go back.
She always deserved for him to fight harder, she'd never let the hate get to her the way he pretended she did. It was him who couldn't handle it and he masked his pain as her to make things end between them.
He has no one to blame but himself and he was a coward when y/n was in his life. Now he has to watch her thrive while he drowns in his regret and guilt that haunts in the form of her ghost.
Classified Information
Pairing: Max Verstappen x Francesca Howard (Original Character)
Summary:
Liam Lawson tries to flirt with Red Bull’s new CTO.
Turns out, she’s Dr. Francesca Howard.
Also known as Max Verstappen’s wife.
And the mother of his son.
Oops.
Warnings and Notes:
....Poor Liam is really going through in this.
As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble
Liam Lawson liked to think he had good instincts.
They had served him well in his racing career—knowing when to attack, when to defend, when to push and when to back off.
But apparently, those instincts failed him spectacularly the day he walked into the Red Bull factory for his seat fitting and met Francesca Howard for the first time.
He had heard the name before, of course. Everyone in the industry had. Francesca Howard—brilliant, ruthless, and the woman who had taken over as Red Bull Racing’s Chief Technology Officer after Adrian Newey’s departure.
What Liam hadn’t heard, however, was that she was also absolutely stunning.
She stood near the RB21 chassis, tablet in hand, deep in conversation with a few engineers. Her tone was sharp but calm, confident without arrogance, completely in control of every discussion around her.
And, Liam noted, she had a hell of a presence.
He adjusted the sleeves of his hoodie, rolling his shoulders back. He was good with first impressions. No harm in introducing himself, right?
He took one step forward—
And suddenly, he felt a hand grip his arm like a vice.
“Nope.”
Liam turned, startled, to find Gianpiero Lambiase looking at him like he was the biggest idiot to ever walk into the Red Bull garage.
Liam frowned. “What?”
GP sighed heavily, like this was already too much effort. “Don’t do it.”
Liam blinked, confused. “Do what?”
GP nodded toward Francesca. “Whatever you’re about to attempt over there—just don’t.”
Liam scoffed. “I’m literally just introducing myself.”
GP leveled him with a look, looking at him like he had just tried to run slick tires in the rain. “And yet, I’m still telling you not to.”
Liam folded his arms. “Why? Is she scary?”
GP snorted. “Not to me.”
That wasn’t an answer.
Liam narrowed his eyes. “Alright, what’s the deal?”
GP sighed again, rubbing his temples like he was too old for this conversation. “Lawson. I know you think you’ve got game. But trust me—not this time.”
Liam tilted his head. “What, is she taken or something?”
GP didn’t even bother looking up from his laptop as he muttered, “Something like that.”
Liam hesitated, suddenly feeling like he was missing some critical piece of information.
But then he shook it off. How bad could it be?
“C’mon,” he said. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
GP sighed again, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “rookies never learn” before shaking his head.
“Fine,” he said, stepping back and folding his arms. “Do what you want. But when this backfires, I’m not saving you.”
Liam rolled his eyes and kept walking.
How bad could it possibly be?
At worst, Francesca Howard would roll her eyes at him and shut him down politely. No harm done.
So he straightened his shoulders and walked over.
He liked to think he was pretty smooth, after all.
Not in an arrogant way—just in a self-aware way. He had a certain charm, an easy confidence. People liked him. Women liked him.
What was the worst that could happen? Mild embarrassment? He’d survive.
So he walked up to Francesca Howard, clearing his throat as she studied something on her tablet.
“Miss Howard,” he greeted smoothly, flashing his most easygoing grin. “Liam Lawson. Figured it was time we officially met.”
She looked up, brow arching slightly, her expression somewhere between amused and unimpressed.
“Dr. Howard.”
Liam blinked. “Huh?”
Francesca tilted her head. “I have two doctorates. If you’re going to address me formally, at least get it right. Otherwise, you can just call me Francesca. It’s my name.”
Liam froze.
Two doctorates?
Two?!
He cleared his throat. “Uh. Right. Dr. Howard.”
Her smirk did not help his sudden feeling of impending doom.
Behind him, GP sighed loudly.
Liam could feel himself slipping.
Not in a physically tripping over a curb way—though, honestly, he wouldn’t put that past himself at this point—but in a mentally trying to keep up and failing spectacularly way.
Francesca Howard was too smart for her own good.
Or, rather, too smart for his own good.
And she knew it.
“So,” he started, recovering as best as he could. “Two doctorates, huh?”
She gave him a patient smile, the kind teachers gave students who had just asked an embarrassingly obvious question.
“Yes,” she said. “One in Aerospace Engineering, one in Physics.”
Liam nodded slowly, stalling for time.
“Right. Cool. Just… y’know, casual, two whole doctorates.”
Francesca smirked. “You only need one to replace Adrian Newey. I like to be thorough.”
GP, still lurking nearby, snorted loudly.
Liam ignored him.
“Well,” Liam said, shifting his weight, trying to regain some sense of control in this conversation, “I guess it’s a good thing we have the best of the best in charge.”
Francesca hummed, looking entirely unaffected. “I know.”
Liam blinked. “You know?”
“Yes.”
“No hesitation?”
Francesca shrugged. “Why would I hesitate? It’s a fact.”
Liam opened his mouth, then shut it.
Then opened it again.
Then shut it again.
There was no winning here.
Behind him, GP sighed loudly, shaking his head. “I told you, kid.”
Liam Lawson had officially lost control of this conversation.
Dr. Francesca Howard—too smart for her own good, owner of two doctorates, and completely unbothered by his attempts to charm her—had thoroughly handed him his ass in a simple conversation.
And now, he was trying to figure out how to exit gracefully without admitting defeat.
(There was no graceful exit. He was so screwed.)
But before he could say anything else, a new voice cut in.
“You’re making this too easy for her.”
Liam turned—only to freeze at the sight of Max Verstappen walking into the garage.
With a baby in his arms.
Liam blinked. What.
Francesca’s expression instantly softened, her entire demeanor shifting as she abandoned whatever she had been working on and zeroed in on Max and the baby.
“There’s my boy,” she murmured, ignoring Liam completely as she reached for the baby, lifting him easily into her arms.
Liam blinked. What the hell was happening?
The baby—who had Verstappen blue eyes and a suspiciously familiar frown—giggled, grabbing at Francesca’s hair.
“Did Papa bring you to see me?” she cooed, pressing a kiss to his tiny forehead.
Max, standing there with all the smugness of a four-time World Champion who knew exactly what he was doing, crossed his arms. “He missed you. You’ve been working too much.”
Francesca hummed, rocking the baby slightly. “That’s because someone keeps breaking parts, Maxie.”
Max did not look even a little guilty.
Liam, meanwhile, was still trying to process the absolute madness unfolding in front of him.
Papa?!
My boy?!
MAXIE?!
“What,” Liam said, voice slightly higher than normal, “the actual hell is going on?”
Francesca turned to him, just now remembering he existed.
She sighed but lifted her left hand, flashing a wedding band so obvious that Liam genuinely hated himself for not noticing it earlier.
Liam’s entire brain short-circuited.
“We’re married,” she said casually.
Liam choked.
“You’re—WHAT?!”“You’re—” He pointed between them. “Since when?!”
Max grinned, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “A while now.”
Liam turned back to GP, who looked entirely unshocked by this development.
GP sighed. “Tried to warn you.”
Liam needed a second.
No—he needed several seconds.
Because nothing about this situation made sense.
Dr. Francesca Howard—Red Bull’s new Chief Technology Officer, terrifyingly smart, and the owner of two doctorates—was married to Max Verstappen.
And, apparently, they had a whole baby together.
A whole baby.
Liam had spent months hearing rumors about who would replace Adrian Newey. He’d even done his research—looked into Francesca’s background, her achievements, the way she was basically a walking encyclopedia of aerodynamics and engineering.
But nowhere in his research had it said, Oh, by the way, she’s married to a four-time World Champion.
And definitely nowhere had it mentioned, They have a baby together, too.
Liam opened his mouth, then shut it. Then opened it again.
Then shut it.
Francesca, still holding the baby like he was the only thing in the world that mattered, raised an eyebrow. “You okay, Lawson?”
Liam pointed between her and Max, looking vaguely like he was on the verge of a breakdown.
“You—you—” he sputtered. “This—How did nobody tell me this?!”
Max, clearly enjoying every second of this, shrugged. “We don’t exactly make announcements.”
“You—” Liam gestured wildly at Francesca holding the literal Verstappen baby. “—You have a whole kid together!”
Francesca tilted her head, unimpressed. “Yes, Liam. That’s generally how it works when you’re married.”
Liam let out a strangled noise.
Max chuckled. “You thought you had a chance with her, didn’t you?”
Liam groaned, dragging both hands down his face.
GP, still entirely unshocked, clapped a hand on Liam’s shoulder.
“Lesson learned?” GP asked, smirking.
Liam exhaled sharply, looking so very done with this entire team.
“Right,” he said finally, voice still slightly higher than normal. “So, just to recap—”
He pointed at Max.
“Four-time World Champion, absolute menace on track, king of the grudge-holders.”
Max smirked. “Correct.”
Liam turned to Francesca.
“Chief Technology Officer, too smart for her own good, owner of two doctorates—”
Francesca looked far too amused. “Correct again.”
Then Liam gestured wildly at the baby.
“And now you—together—have a whole child?”
Francesca, unfazed, adjusted the baby against her hip. “Would you prefer we only had half a child?”
Liam let out a deeply pained groan.
Max chuckled. “You’re making this too easy for her.”
Liam ignored him and turned back to GP, who was completely unbothered, like he had seen this exact scenario play out before.
“You knew,” Liam accused.
GP snorted. “Obviously.”
Liam threw his hands in the air. “Does the entire team know?!”
Max shrugged. “The ones who pay attention.”
Liam pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know what? Forget it. I don’t want to know.”
Francesca, still holding the baby like Liam’s existential crisis was just background noise, turned to Max.
“I’m assuming you didn’t just come down here to break the rookie?” she asked dryly.
Max grinned. “No, I wanted to see you. And I think Joshua missed you.”
As if on cue, the baby—Joshua, apparently—made a happy babbling noise and patted Francesca’s face.
Francesca melted. “Oh, my love, I missed you too,” she cooed, kissing his forehead.
Max leaned down and kissed Francesca, quick and familiar, like it was second nature.
Liam immediately looked away.
“Right,” he muttered. “Nope. That’s enough for me today.”
Max pulled away, still looking far too pleased. “You sure? I could tell you how we met.”
Liam pointed aggressively at him. “Don’t. You. Dare.”
Max just laughed.
Liam exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “Okay. Fine. You win.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “We were playing a game?”
“I don’t know, Verstappen,” Liam muttered. “But if we were, you won.”
Francesca, still very much focused on her baby, hummed. “I always win.”
Liam shot GP a pained look. “Does she ever turn it off?”
GP snorted. “Nope.”
Max, smug as ever, leaned in slightly. “She’s always been this way, mate. You just had the misfortune of walking into it.”
Liam groaned. “I’m never gonna live this down, am I?”
Max grinned. “Not a chance.”
GP clapped a hand on Liam’s shoulder. “We’ll let this slide, since you’re new, but you might want to brush up on team dynamics before making a fool of yourself again.”
Francesca, finally tearing her attention away from her son, smirked at him. “You’ve learned an important lesson today, Liam.”
“Oh yeah?” he deadpanned. “What’s that?”
Francesca tilted her head, eyes sharp with amusement. “That I’m completely out of your league.”
Max let out a bark of laughter.
GP clapped a hand on Liam’s shoulder, offering zero comfort. “You’ll be fine, mate. Just... maybe do your homework next time.”
Liam shot him a deeply betrayed look. “You really let me dig my own grave, huh?”
GP shrugged. “I considered warning you. Then I didn’t.”
Liam groaned. “This is actual bullying.”
Francesca, clearly still amused, adjusted Joshua on her hip. “To be fair, you also called me Miss Howard.”
Liam winced.
Yeah. That had been a mistake.
“Right,” he muttered, shaking his head. “My bad, Dr. Howard.”
Max, absolutely no help at all, laughed.
Francesca pressed a kiss to Joshua’s temple before looking back at Liam, her expression turning mockingly sympathetic. “It’s okay, Liam. You’re not the first person to underestimate me.”
Liam groaned again.
“I wasn’t underestimating you,” he muttered. “I was just—” He gestured vaguely. “I don’t know! Trying to be nice!”
Max smirked. “By flirting with my wife?”
Liam turned bright red.
“Okay,” he said quickly, backpedaling so hard he could have reversed an F1 car. “I wasn’t flirting. I was just—” He waved a hand vaguely. “—being polite.”
GP snorted. “Sure, mate. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
Liam exhaled deeply.
Francesca, clearly having had her fun, glanced at Max. “I have a meeting soon. Can you take Joshua?”
Max nodded, easily reaching for the baby. “Of course.”
The moment Joshua was in his arms, he lit up, giggling happily as Max bounced him slightly.
Liam watched, still trying to adjust to this absolute fever dream of a reality.
Max Verstappen—the most intense, hyper-focused, emotionally guarded driver on the grid—was a whole dad.
And, somehow, it actually suited him.
Liam shook his head, still slightly dazed. “I need to sit down.”
Max chuckled. “You’ll get used to it.”
Liam seriously doubted that.
Francesca, still smirking, patted his shoulder. “Don’t take it too hard, Liam. You never stood a chance.”
Liam groaned.
Max grinned. “Welcome to Red Bull.”
this was meant to be a late night ramble but i got carried away. will format once i'm on my pc, was written on my phone. not proofread or checked for grammar. also i wrote this in two hours so..............
tl;dr: my take on how the both of you will cope with one of max's worst crashes to date.
tw: crash, max having major injuries after the crash, struggles with alcohol abuse.
you had never been one to ever criticize someone for their choice of profession, especially not when it came to something that paid as high as this, but you wondered if you would ever see your boyfriend in one piece after every race.
it was nerve-wracking of course, seeing him go 350km per hour and hoping his car doesn't fuck itself up and end up in a barrier before then catching into flames. he was good at his job, he loved to drive the damn car so why was it such an issue then?
max didn't understand it either. one moment you would be happy for him and the next you'd be ridden with anxiety whenever he would step into the car, he would always reassure you though. the car was fine, he got the world's best engineers working on his car, that he would be safe.
you didn't understand what had happened though, one moment he was overtaking norris and the next he was in the barrier, a gasp escaped your lips and tears brimmed your eyes when you saw car number 1 in the barrier.
you wanted to claw yourself up there and pull him out of the car yourself but you were being restrained by a few red bull mechanics, telling you that it's gonna to be okay and the marshalls were going to get him out in one piece.
"max? are you alright? talk to me mate."
no response. that's when people started panicking.
max wasn't fine, he wasn't okay. so much force had hit him, he was going max speed when he hit those barriers. he couldn't feel his face, couldn't feel his arms and legs. he felt numb, and it scared him. his ears were ringing and the helmet was suffocating him, he needed air. right now.
he didn't know what happened next, through his blurred vision he could only guess that he had been pulled out the car and his helmet was pulled off his head, he could breathe better but not by much.
the next few moments were just a black void.
you were hysterical when you found out that he was being sent to the nearest hospital, the medical center said, 'it's too big of an injury for us to handle here.' you felt like you were the one dying when you heard he had to go through surgery. you knew he shouldn't have picked this profession, it's insane. how was any of this legal and approved by the government? you didn't know.
you weren't given the specifics because you were neither lawful spouse or family, and his family was hours away from being able to come visit him so you had to sit there and wait for him to come to before you could even know what was going on with him. his profession never scared you quite like this did before.
being in a coma wasn't something on his bucket list, he prayed that he would never go through an accident as traumatic to have to be in a coma.
max could hear the voices, they weren't the clearest. he could hear bits and pieces, but never the full conversation. it was almost as if he was half-asleep and the world around him was just so incredibly quiet. he didn't know what he would do or say to you when he woke up, he was most worried about what you would say. maybe kill him before the injuries from the crash could? max wanted to chuckle from that but nothing came out from his lips, just soft breaths. signaling that he was still alive in there to the outside world.
slowly, he would start hearing and feeling less and less of what happened in the world around him. no longer being able to hear your beautiful voice, and that's what hurt the most, not knowing if you were there with him or not.
you had stayed by his side almost everyday when that happened, not wanting to leave even when the visiting hours were unavailable. always waiting nearby in a coffee shop or booking a hotel room the closest to the hospital in order to be there as soon as visiting hours started.
life felt so empty. you were used to his playful banter and teases but you hadn't heard his voice in two weeks now. you weren't religious, having some religious trauma in life, you would never devote yourself to some invisible god ever again, but you prayed. you prayed to that invisible man upstairs to wake him up, that if he were to wake up, you would start going to church, but that didn't come.
you just wanted him to get better, to open his beautiful blue eyes, look at you and tell you that he loved you. faith was hard to come by but you would always come back to that disgusting sterile smelling room and hold his hand gently, some days you would talk to him, some days you would sing to him but it didn't matter what you did because you would always be there. never missing a possible moment where he would wake up.
the doctors said it didn't look good. they hadn't been medically inducing him in a coma for a week now, he should be conscious by the first few days of taking him off the medically induced coma and you didn't know what to think. you were scared.
you had told him so many times that it made you anxious that an accident like this would happen, that he would get in that car and you couldn't see him anymore but you didn't know it was going to be this soon.
at first you couldn't believe it, it had been almost a month since you heard his voice last. he couldn't be, right? he was the most talented driver you knew, there was no way he was in a coma after a big crash. he was always careful, never taking risks that was unnecessary, right?
you were in denial, you knew it. everyone knew it. you were spiraling out of control and there was nothing anyone could do about it, unless they would magically wake max verstappen out of his comatose state.
there was a hole left in your chest when you realized that maybe he was never going to wake up from this, that you would never see his beautiful blue eyes anymore. slowly, you started to lose hope. visits became far and few between, you just wanted to get away. not wanting to see the day that his family decided that there was no more hope for him and to pull the plug.
you buried yourself in work, not wanting to think, not wanting to feel, just wanting to focus on anything else other than the gaping hole in your chest.
drinking became your best friend, hitting up bars as soon as you finished your shift. downing shot after shot, your friends and his friends were all concerned, always asking if you needed anything, if you needed them and that they were there for you, but frankly you didn't care about anyone else.
coming home drunk wasn't something that was far and few between anymore, it would be every other night, then every night and then sometimes you would sneak a flask in when you were at work. just something to numb the pain of losing your boyfriend. it wasn't enough though.
you were angry.
who cared about all of those other people when the person that mattered the most was in a hospital bed? waiting for his own death that wasn't even entirely up to him? you were angry, you wanted to scream at anything, at someone.
why did it have to be him? why did it have to be your max? why did it have to be him at the wrong place at the wrong time? why? why? why? he did nothing wrong, all his life he was a saint. he was never cruel to anything or anyone in his life, all he did was try to please the people around him, why did it have to be him?
you wished you had the answers, you still prayed. almost like a devoted follower of that stupid god most of the population of the earth believed in. you laughed at the irony of your desperation, no amount of praying or bargaining could ever bring him back, it was too late but damn, if you didn't try you knew you'd regret it.
max's family checked up on you often, sophie and victoria being the ones to ask you how you were. you always appreciated them checking up on you when you knew that they were hurting the most out of all of this, they were his family afterall. you were just... the girlfriend. your feelings were not important in this equation.
trudging through life without waking up next to him was painful, the small pitiful meows coming out of sassy and jimmy were almost even more painful. the reminder that you were in his apartment, with his cats but without him. when was he going to wake up? when were you going to wake up from this bad dream?
a ring from your phone had woken you up from your drunken adventures from the previous night, you wanted to yell at them for interrupting your sleep. you wanted to sleep forever, maybe even be in a comatose state similar to max so then you would be able to wake up together.
"hello?" you mumbled through closed eyes, very much annoyed that whoever this person was, waking you up from your sleep. you didn't even bother to check the called id.
"you need to come down to the hospital, right now."
you haven't scrambled up and got dressed any faster than you just did, you didn't bother doing your hair or even brushing your teeth. one second you were in your shared apartment, the next you were in your car, speeding past the streets of monaco to get to the hospital, maybe breaking a few laws and going as fast as an f1 car.
"schatje."
you were crying when you got there, burying your face in max's chest, you wanted to yell at him, for leaving you alone for two months too long but you didn't have it in you. his hand found its way to your hair, petting your head. a gentle kiss was left against your temple as you continued to cry against his chest, you couldn't form words, basically inconsolable.
you were eventually able to peel yourself off of him though, his hand firmly wrapped around yours, mainly for your comfort and not his. the doctor's had explained that he had to slowly learn to walk and speak again because he was in a coma for so long but the first words out of his mouth when he first became conscious was schatje which made you cry a little bit more. some of his friends and family came throughout the day and he could recognize who they were, just had a hard time speaking.
it was only at the end of the day where you two had a time for yourselves, just basking in the presence of each other, finally being able to see his pretty blue eyes look at you.
"lay... ne-next to me..?" max asked, his voice a bit scratchy for not being awake in two months, tilting his head a little to the left, a little quirk of his which you thought was cute and complied with his request. he wrapped his arm around yours after scooting to make space for you, the both of you just laying there in each other's presence, not wanting to let go.
max didn't understand how much time had passed and understandably so, but he missed you. it felt like he had just gone to sleep and succumbed to his injuries but for you, it felt like a lifetime without having to see the love of your life. the atmosphere was quiet, but comfortable. seeing max alive and in one piece was all you needed before slowly drifting off into sleep, and for once the nurses didn't kick you out after checking in on max.
recovery was hard, max had been told that he suffered damage when he got a concussion from the crash. his spine had been mostly intact but since he suffered injuries to his brain, he had to learn how to walk and talk again.
"what about happiness?" a therapist had asked max as he sat across from her. they were doing some exercises to train max's speaking, something that the doctors had mentioned would help max recover faster. max's face lit up before pointing to you, who was sitting next to him, "nice try max, but you understand what i mean."
a giggle left your lips before he tried again, with a pout dancing on his lips, "joy, winning a race?" he tilted his head cutely before the therapist let him have the answer, it was cute. he was cute but he was a fighter.
the moment the doctors cleared him of any sustaining injuries, he was ready to get on the track again, only after six months after the crash.
"you can't be serious max," you shook your head as you paced around the apartment, "it's only been six months... you should just rest for the remainder of the season and get in next year. i don't understand the rush, you have your life in front of you to compete, what's wrong with waiting a few more months?"
max shrugged, he realized after the crash that he in fact did not have his entire life to race. what if his life was taken early and he couldn't spend the rest of his life with her, what then? he didn't want to waste any time. he wanted to get his head in the game while he was at his prime and get it over with before retiring and getting away with her on a private island and living there for the rest of his life.
he didn't want to race for the remainder of his life, nope. he wasn't like alonso who was going to be on the track when he's old and frail and no longer in the top teams. he wanted to win, and that's what he was going to do, to win. he knew that him coming back so soon even after his injuries were going to be hard on you, he was scared to even bring it up in the first place.
it had only been a few months, and he was so ready to come back to racing. his fingers were basically itching for it, but he was very mindful with how you were going to feel, he always was. he hinted at it a couple times before, but her response was always different than what he wanted.
max sighed when you were obviously going to be upset with his decision, "look, i know you're worried and you do not want me in the car so soon, but you have to trust me—"
you set your back straight before looking him dead in the eyes, "i trusted you six months ago! look where that got us!" you didn't mean to yell, but you were scared and you did not want to lose him because he was driving a silly fast car. max looked hurt, and rightfully so. you sighed before you walked over to where he was on the couch, wrapping your arms around him in a hug, which he welcomed with open arms, "i'm just worried, okay? you being in that coma was the scariest thing in my entire life. i even lost hope, do you understand how scary it was for me to lose hope?"
max nods before landing a kiss on your lips, wanting to reassure you that he made a mistake and that it wasn't going to happen again. he didn't mean to leave you for those two months, but he knew that he was never going to do that to you again. he didn't want to hurt you anymore than he already did.
"trust me, i'm not gonna make the same mistake twice and i'm gonna make you proud."
and max never did. he got in the car the next week, ready to fight. baring his teeth for anyone who could get anywhere close to him. he closed out the season with multiple trophies, even though the driver's championship was out of reach.
he celebrated that season with a big smile on his face and you knew it was the right decision to let him get back to racing. as much as you didn't want to admit it, he loved racing more than he loved you and you were okay with that. you were okay with being second to his ambitions and dreams because that's what good girlfriends do, let their boyfriend's risk their lives driving silly fast cars if that meant it made them happy.
unfortunately, you anxiety wouldn't go away even after all the constant reassurance your boyfriend gave you. the nights where you were alone, wondering whether if max was going to pull through still haunted you.
of course, alcohol was still a problem for you. you turned to it when you felt like you didn't have a choice. some nights, on particularly rough anxiety ridden nights, you would sneak out. just grab a drink or two to soothe your heart. it wasn't long before max caught on though.
"where have you been?" max had asked as you entered their apartment after coming home from work, it wasn't like you came home late and came home absolutely drunk which is why you didn't think he was suspicious. there had been a break between the current races, which is why he was home before you were.
a hiccup breaks the silence as you close the door behind you, you lock eyes with max and you can see the disappointment floating in his eyes, that's when you knew that he knew but you weren't sure how much he knew.
"answer the question, liefje," max sternly spoke up once again, walking towards you, in his eyes was a challenge. he was waiting to see whether you were going to lie to his face or not. he could practically smell the alcohol from there, he went out drinking a lot too, being a formula one driver meant parties like there was no tomorrow.
you didn't know what to answer with, so you answered as vaguely as possible, "i was out with some friends," hoping that the answer you gave him would satisfy him enough without him asking too many questions, you tried to brush past him but he held onto your arm.
max had heard stories from his friends, telling him that you weren't at a good spot after the accident. that you turned to drinking and it seemed like nothing could help except for max himself.
he took one whiff and he knew it was alcohol, "which friends?" he asked, not wanting to let you slip from his fingers, he knew how dangerous alcohol addiction was and he wasn't going to let his girlfriend fall into the grasps of it.
"work friends, max— let go. i want to take a shower," you tugged on his hand that was holding onto your arm, but he was unrelenting. he stared you down, not convinced with the bullshit answer you gave him. he knew you had been out drinking, it wasn't even race week. you didn't have an excuse.
max's eyes softened, he knew that somewhere deep inside of you that you were struggling, that you needed help but you just didn't know how to reach out. was it hard to reach out to him? has he made himself so unapproachable after the accident?
"talk to me, what's going on with you?" max's grip on your arm has softened but you could only sigh and look away, you didn't know how to face him. yes, you were struggling but you didn't know how to bring it up. just like everything in your life, you needed someone to comfort you and tell you it was going to be okay and that there were people there for you, but you were stubborn almost in a similar fashion to him.
you only looked back up at him when max squeezed your arm and the eyes that looked back up at him were no longer hard and guarded, but full of vulnerability and glassy, "i—"
"you've been drinking?" max cut you off and finished your sentence for you, now you knew how much he knew of your struggles. you swear it wasn't supposed to get this bad, you promised yourself you would stop on the weeks where he didn't have races, or maybe just stop altogether but that was easier said than done.
"yes," was all that left your lips and that was the day that max swore he was going to get you through this.
max had offered to take a break like you suggested for the rest of the year, just to ease your nerves but you told him that it was a hard no for you. you knew that it was going to get much worse if you got too used to his presence, the cycle would just repeat itself once he got back into racing.
this time there was another road to recovery, just not for him. max had been nothing but helpful, always offering you help, even offering to pay for your rehab. you contemplated whether you even wanted to go or not, you didn't want to feel weak. to feel like there was something was wrong with you, that you were a freak but at the end, after endless heart-to-heart conversations with max, he was convinced you to go.
the first few months were hard, there was no way you could attend the races while going through rehab so you had to just suck it up and go through it without watching. max felt bad, of course he did. that was the love of his life that he put in that rehab center, but he knew he had to make tough decisions if he wanted you to get better.
he felt horrible not having you there for even some of the races, not because he sent you to the rehab center but because he missed you. he knew that the accident hit you hard, but not this hard. he didn't understand how much anxiety racing did to you, and he was beating himself up for it.
he should've seen the signs, should've reached out sooner before they could fester into something as serious as alcohol addiction but there was no use in beating himself up for something he didn't do in the past, as least he was doing it now after he saw the signs of you struggling.
the initial withdrawal symptoms were insane, if you weren't in rehab, you would've probably relapsed the first day there. it was hard for you and you were trying your best, and you did. overtime, you were recovering and that's all that mattered.
max had received updates of course, he requested them. he wanted to see how you were holding up, if there were any signs of improvement. the therapists there all said that you were doing splendid, that she might get out in a few months which was great news to max.
it would only take you another six months to fully recover and the first thing you did when you saw max when he picked you up was jump into his arms, he breathed out a sigh of relief after not seeing you for a couple of weeks. he could live like this.
both of them had their own battles to fight through but the most important part was that they both overcame both battles, never forgetting to support eachother, even when one lost themselves along the way.
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