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The fact u use AI for virtually all your fics is fucking crazy 🤣
I’m only going to say this once: I have never posted anything written by AI.
1) It uses an insane amount of water and energy.
2) I write when I need a break from my literal constant studying, it’s a hobby and an escape that can’t be replaced by AI.
3) I have nothing to gain by posting fics that I haven’t written myself. I’m not getting paid for this. No one even knows who I am. I had to take a break for months because I was exhausted from writing and had a nasty case of writer’s block!
I understand that AI is becoming more and more prevalent, concerningly so at times, but unwarranted accusations like this hurt writers who pour their passion and effort into their work.
Also, I’ve been using the em-dash since before AI co-opted it (shoutout to my 9th grade English teacher who used to be a journalist and introduced it to me), but now people think it’s a sign of something generated by AI which is so annoying 😭
I love those moments where you’ve read so many fics that you can go back and read the same ones because your brain booted it out to make room for more fics.
Words: 1,396
Summary: Charles and her had plans. 2025 would start with her fully moving in with him and then at the Monaco Grand Prix, they’d become public. A certain rapper ruins that in Vegas.
Note(s): Lamar!Reader, Reader has the nickname ‘Butterfly’, slight smau, changed results of Abu Dhabi, also yes the title is referring to the Taylor Swift song, lol. Thank you @burningcupcakefire for encouraging me to write this when I mentioned the idea!!!
Masterlist | Support Me!
Charles could privately admit that when all the diss tracks started to come out, he more than paid attention to them. He had always appreciated Kendrick’s music but in the past year had gained a new perspective of him as both an artist and a person. All because he had started seeing the artist’s younger sister.
They hadn’t gone public yet, were still unsure of when they wanted to. He had reservations about putting more eyes on her and considering how his fans, how motorsport fans were, he could only imagine the baseless claims they’d made, the attacks they’d lay at her feet and Y/N, or Butterfly as she had been nicknamed by her brother’s fans, a nickname that had quickly caught to everyone in her life, had her own reasons.
She didn’t care about what fans would say, they were behind a keyboard, she could be perfect, and to Charles she was, and they would still find something to pick at, there was no winning. It was the attention he brought. She was already sometimes followed around by paparazzi just because of her brother, she knew that as soon as the news broke, she really would never be able to get her groceries in peace without some divorced thirty-year-old shouting questions as he took photos of her.
So they both had agreed that after the new year, when she was finally fully living with him in Monaco, and then at the Monaco Grand Prix, they would reveal their relationship, that of course didn’t go to plan because of one Instagram story.
—
—
Butterfly is fuming when he gets back to his hotel room, the curtains drawn back and letting the lights of Vegas spill into it, onto her. She’s nearly as stunning here as she is on his balcony in Monaco that faces the coast. A gorgeous backdrop that can’t even come close to her beauty no matter how much it tries.
Her fury makes arousal simmer in the pit of his stomach and his lips twitch upwards when she leans into the kiss he presses to the corner of her lips.
“You're nearly as mad as when he mentioned Whitney.”
She scowls at the verbal reminder of that shit. “He’s lucky I’m a civil adult.”
“Very civil.” Charles agrees.
“I mean, honestly what the fuck does he think he’s doing. Acting like he got an interest in F1.”
Charles listens as she starts to rant, having clearly waited for him, and he listens as undresses. Gathering his clothes up as her voice increases in volume and he gently tugs her with him into the bathroom, turning on the shower before easily lifting her onto the bathroom counter, her hands pausing their gesturing to run over his arms in thanks before she continues.
She rants through his brief shower, nearly slipping when she begins to read out texts between her and her brother.
“He is pissed?” His voice is nearly high, head poking out of the shower to look at her with wide eyes.
Butterfly looks at him in confusion, head cocked to the side. “Baby, of course. Your family. We don’t stand for shit like this against family.”
Charles can’t even point out that said shit is just an insta story of Drake saying he’s betting on him to win the grand prix, because he knows it feels deeper than that, especially with Drake’s history of betting. His mind is far too focused on the word family.
“I’m family?”
She lets out a laugh, tongue running over her teeth. “Baby, you got with me right before one of the worst times for our family and stuck through it. You never had to prove yourself, but that did it. You're stuck with all of us now.”
He feels warm all over at the words and he ducks his back into the shower, quickly rinsing off before climbing out, barely remembering to put a towel around his waist before capturing her lips in a kiss.
Her hands eagerly run over his back, legs opening to pull him closer and he tries to keep his upper body away from her, not wanting to get her shirt wet, but she pulls him closer and he can’t resist her, has never been able to.
“You’ve made me all wet.” She teases when they break apart.
He tries to apologize, but then she’s taking his hand and pressing it between them, against her leggings, and the feeling of wetness pulls a moan from the back of his throat.
“You are very lucky that I don’t listen to Andrea.”
“Very lucky.” She agrees.
—
“K said you had an idea.”
Charles lets out a hum, fingers trailing over her ribs.
“He wouldn’t tell me what.”
His fingers pause. “I was thinking instead of staying in Vegas tomorrow we go and see him.”
“We leave for Qatar on Monday.”
“We can make it back to Vegas in time for our flight. It’s barely a two-hour flight from there to here.”
This time she hums.
“Can we go public?”
He nearly chokes. “What?”
“Public, I want to go public. We had kind of talked about doing it before Monaco next season, but things have changed a bit.”
“Because I’m family.”
She laughs, “Yeah, baby, because your family.”
“What if we do a uh soft launch?”
“A soft launch?”
“Yeah, I’ll take a picture with your brother for my insta stories, start following you, you follow me back.” Excitement starts to build as he speaks.
“I post a little something about being in Qatar.”
“We do a little date night in Abu Dhabi.”
She hums, “You kiss me after you win Abu Dhabi.”
“You think I’m going to win?”
“Fuck yeah, baby. First Ferrari driver to win there and you’ll overtake Norris in the standings and maybe Ferrari will finish P2 in the constructors.”
“I like this plan.”
She smiles. “I like it too.”
—
—
—
—
“Yes Charles!”
“Yes!” He screams over the radio. “Where did Carlos finish? Where did Norris, Oscar?” He wants to celebrate the win, but the constructors and drivers are far more important.
“Carlos P6, Norris P3, Oscar P10. You are second in the drivers. And we are second in constructors, 2 points between you and Norris, four points between us and McLaren.”
“Fuck.” The excitement in him is simmered with resentment. Four points was all it came down to and of course it wasn’t in their favor.
“Charles, Charles,” Fred’s voice is thick over the radio. “You did fantastic, another win for you and an amazing drive!”
He smiles, taking his hands off to wave at fans as he slowly moves around the track. Italian easily spilling from his lips as he thanks Fred, Bryan, the mechanics, engineers and the whole team.
It’s satisfying to pull his car to the number one spot as Lando takes off his helmet, jaw twitching. Charles wants to shake him because how can he be this focused on second in the drivers when him and his team won the constructors. He stares at him for a second before getting out of the car and throwing himself into his teams arms.
They easily catch him, hands patting all over, his name spilling off lips over and over again. They grip him tighter before letting him go to take off his helmet and balaclava.
The air is refreshing against his face and normally he's taking a drink of water, starting to put back on jewelry, but today he’s searching through the crowd of red, heart thumping when he finally notices her.
She’s to the side, beaming at him as Bryan stands on her left while his mom and brothers stand to her right. And he goes to her.
His hands easily going to her face, holding it gently before kissing her.
She’s mumbling something against his lips and he wants to know what, but he can’t stop kissing her. Not when she’s clutching at his arms, pressing closer to him. But a nudge to the ribs makes him pull away, breathless, and his tongue runs over his swollen lips.
“So proud of you, baby! So fucking proud!” She yells at him as he’s pulled away for a post race interview and he can’t help but blow her a kiss, happy to have won in front of her for the first time and in front of his family again.
Summary: in which Charles can’t wink, you think he might be having a stroke, fans (and media) notice something strange, and your love story is immortalized through Reddit posts
r/NoStupidQuestions
u/LordPerceval · 16h
How do I learn to wink without looking like a weirdo?
Alright, so I’m 27M, and for some reason I’ve never really figured out how to wink without looking like I’m having some kind of muscle spasm or, I dunno, an awkward twitch. Like, I see people do it in movies or just casually, and it always looks so smooth and effortless. But when I try, either both of my eyes close (which, yeah, not a wink) or I just look like I’m really struggling.
It’s honestly starting to bug me because it would be nice to be able to wink in a fun way, like in a “just playing around” or “gotcha” kind of moment. But instead, I avoid it completely because I’m scared I’ll make things super weird or uncomfortable.
So, how does one go about learning how to wink properly? Is it just a practice thing? A facial muscle thing? Am I overthinking it? Any tips are appreciated, even if they seem basic. Thanks in advance!
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u/SmoothOperator · 15h
Ah, the ol’ wink struggle! Don’t worry, man, you’re not alone. First thing you gotta do is RELAX. If you’re overthinking it, your whole face gets tense and that’s what makes it look awkward. Try it in front of a mirror, and focus on just casually closing one eye without squinting or forcing it too much. It’s more about a light, quick gesture than a full-on eye close.
And yeah, it’s 100% a muscle thing, so if it feels weird, it’s probably because your face isn’t used to it yet. You’ll get there with some practice. Also, remember, winks aren’t meant to be perfect. They’re supposed to be playful and a little subtle. Don’t go for the exaggerated “movie star” wink, just keep it light!
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u/awkwardpenguin · 13h
I totally feel you on this. I’m 24F and still can’t wink without looking like a malfunctioning robot. I found it helped to practice with only one side of my face in the mirror first. Maybe try winking with your left eye only for a while, get that one down, and then see if the right side follows?
Also, don’t overthink it too much! Sometimes a half-bad wink can be charming if it’s done in the right moment. Shows you’re not taking yourself too seriously!
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u/TheRealMaverick · 12h
Dude, it’s just like learning to snap your fingers. Some people just get it, and some people gotta work on it. I couldn’t wink for years without looking like I had something in my eye. My advice: watch yourself in the mirror and do it slowly at first. Get the feel of which muscles you’re using. Start by squinting a bit with both eyes, then try to isolate one. Once you get it down slow, speed it up.
Also, fun fact: some people can only wink with one eye and not the other. So if your right eye’s just not cooperating, maybe you’re a left-eye winker!
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u/CouchPotatoSupreme · 10h
Haha, I went through this same struggle. My trick was to add a little smile to the wink. It somehow makes the whole thing look more natural and less like you’re trying too hard. Plus, smiling relaxes your face, so the wink looks smoother. Try it next time you practice!
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u/theeyeguy · 9h
It’s all about muscle memory, man. The more you do it, the more natural it feels. I recommend winking at random stuff when no one’s around — like your TV, the microwave, whatever. You’ll build up the muscle coordination without feeling weird about it. Eventually, your face will stop fighting you, and you’ll just be able to fire off a wink like a pro.
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u/ActuallySocrates · 7h
Are you maybe closing your eye too slowly? A lot of people mess up winking because they think it’s a slow, exaggerated thing. But the trick is to make it fast and subtle. You want it to be quick, almost like a blink but with only one eye. If you’re dragging it out, you’re probably straining the muscles too much, which makes it look awkward.
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u/Pizza4Breakfast · 6h
Honestly, just own it. I can’t wink either, but I found that the more I tried to force it, the worse it looked. So now, when I attempt to wink and it looks ridiculous, I just laugh it off and it becomes this goofy thing instead of a weird thing. Sometimes confidence is half the battle, even if you’re failing at winking.
Good luck, dude!
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***
r/WouldIBeTheAsshole
u/UnmedicatedStudent · 9h
WIBTA for telling a stranger I think he might be having a stroke?
So, this is a bit weird, but I’m a 24F med student (just started my clinical rotations), and I’m currently studying at this cafe. There’s this guy sitting at a table directly across from me, maybe mid-to-late 20s? And for the last 30 minutes or so, his left eye has been twitching a lot. At first, I thought it was just one of those random muscle twitches that we all get, but it’s been consistent. It’s actually kind of intense, and he keeps rubbing his face like it’s bothering him.
Here’s the thing: as a med student, I know that eye twitches can be totally benign, but I also know they can sometimes be signs of something more serious, like a stroke or some kind of nerve issue. I keep debating whether I should just casually go up to him and be like, “Hey, not to freak you out, but I’ve noticed your eye twitching for a while now. I’m a medical student, and you might want to get it checked out, just in case.”
BUT I’m also aware that I could come off as a complete weirdo. Like, maybe he’s just stressed or tired, and here I am, a random stranger diagnosing him in a public place. I don’t want to embarrass him or make him anxious over nothing, but I also feel like I’d be an AH if I don’t say something and there actually is a problem. What if it’s a mini-stroke or something and I just sit here doing nothing?
So, WIBTA if I go up to him and suggest he sees a doctor?
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u/DrCoffeeAddict · 8h
NTA. I think there’s a way to approach it without making him feel super uncomfortable. Maybe go with something like, “Hey, I’m a med student, and I’ve noticed your eye twitching. It’s probably nothing serious, but I just wanted to mention it because sometimes it can be a sign of something that should be checked out.” If you keep it casual and friendly, most people would probably appreciate the concern rather than be freaked out.
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u/ItsNotABug · 7h
Agreed. NTA. If it were me, I’d rather someone point it out than have it potentially be something serious and not know. It’s all about the way you frame it. I mean, worst-case scenario, he’ll just laugh it off and say he’s been staring at his laptop too long. But best case? You could be catching something early. Definitely worth a try.
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u/ChillZebra · 5h
Soft YTA if you approach it the wrong way. I can see how he might feel embarrassed or weirded out if a stranger suddenly tells him his eye is doing something abnormal, especially in a public setting. I’d probably feel a little awkward. BUT if you go in with tact and don’t sound too alarmist, you could be doing him a huge favor. Just keep the conversation light!
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u/Caffiend · 4h
As someone who deals with chronic eye twitches (thanks, stress and caffeine), I’d probably be more embarrassed than anything if someone approached me about it. That said, I’d still rather know if it could be something serious. Maybe wait until he’s leaving, so you don’t put him on the spot in front of a crowd, but I’d say go for it. You’re NTA.
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u/LizzyBizzy · 2h
NTA! I think people overestimate how much others will be embarrassed by stuff like this. You’re coming from a place of concern, and if you’re polite and kind about it, I doubt he’ll be offended. If he is, that’s more on him than you. You’d probably regret it more if you don’t say anything and keep wondering if you should’ve.
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u/AllergicToYourDrama · 1h
Honestly? YTA. Look, I get it, you’re a med student, and you’re probably hyper-aware of stuff like this. But coming up to a stranger and telling them their eye twitch might be a medical emergency is a good way to freak someone out. He’s probably just tired or stressed. I’m not saying you should ignore it, but there’s a fine line between concern and overstepping boundaries.
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u/UnmedicatedStudent (OP) · 52m
I was worried someone might say this 😅 I don’t want to seem like I’m stepping into “know-it-all med student” territory, but yeah, it’s hard to shut off that part of my brain sometimes. I know I could be totally overreacting, and it’s probably nothing … but part of me would feel guilty if I didn’t at least mention it. Thanks for the input!
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u/PeachyKeen · 59m
NTA. I think the key is to not come across like you’re diagnosing him. Just be casual about it, like, “Hey, I’ve noticed this, and it’s probably nothing, but just in case, I thought I’d mention it.” If I were in his shoes, I’d appreciate someone saying something, especially if it’s coming from a med student who might know more than me about what to look out for.
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u/TheRealDeal · 49m
NTA. He’s probably just had too much caffeine or is stressed, but it’s nice that you’re concerned. Worst case, he thinks you’re a little awkward, but hey, that’s better than potentially missing a serious medical issue. You can’t control how he’ll react, but you’re not an AH for caring.
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u/DefinitelyNotASurgeon · 43m
NTA, but definitely approach with caution. Maybe frame it as more of a “Hey, this might be nothing, but I’m a med student, so I tend to notice stuff like this …” That way, you’re not jumping straight to “I think you’re having a stroke” but still letting him know it might be worth getting checked out.
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u/ItsNotThatDeep · 39m
YTA for even thinking it’s a stroke, lol. Just kidding! Seriously though, NTA if you do it politely.
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***
r/NoStupidQuestions
u/LordPerceval · 8h
[UPDATE] Tried learning to wink — got mistaken for having a stroke. But hey, I got a date!
So, a few days ago, I made a post here asking for tips on how to wink without looking like a malfunctioning robot. Well, I took all your advice, and I’ve been practicing … a lot. Maybe too much.
Fast forward to today: I’m at a cafe, sitting alone, just trying to sneak in some subtle winks at my reflection in the window (you know, totally normal behavior). I’m really focusing on trying to get one eye to close without the rest of my face getting involved. After what must’ve been 20 minutes of this, I notice this woman a few tables over, kind of looking at me, but I figured she was just judging my weird wink practice session.
Next thing I know, she walks over, says, “Hey, I don’t want to alarm you, but I’m a med student, and I’ve been watching your eye twitch for a while … I think you might want to see a doctor in case you’re having a stroke.” 😳
I nearly died from embarrassment right there. I had to explain that I wasn’t having a stroke, I was just trying to learn how to wink. She laughed (thankfully) and admitted it was an honest mistake, given how badly my face was contorting.
But here’s the plot twist: she’s actually gorgeous and super funny. After a bit more chatting, she gave me her number, and we’ve got a date this weekend. So, while I still can’t wink without looking like I’m in serious medical distress, I somehow managed to score a date out of it. Silver linings, right?
Thanks to everyone who gave me advice! I may not have mastered the wink, but I think things worked out anyway 😂
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u/SmoothOperator · 7h
Dude, this is the best possible outcome from this situation. Not only did you not have a stroke, but you actually got a date from it? That’s a win. Don’t even bother learning how to wink anymore — you’ve already peaked.
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u/awkwardpenguin · 7h
I AM DYING. This is hilarious. Honestly, I think this proves that failing spectacularly can sometimes be the most charming thing in the world. Good luck on the date, and please don’t try winking at her during dinner 😅
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u/theeyeguy · 6h
LMAO. As someone who’s been mistaken for having a stroke because of stress-related eye twitching, I feel this deeply. But I’ve never gotten a date out of it. Well played, my man. Well played.
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u/Pizza4Breakfast · 5h
This might be the best “I tried to wink and failed” story I’ve ever heard. Seriously though, props to her for actually coming up and saying something. It could’ve been worse — imagine if she just stared, unsure if you were in the middle of a medical emergency.
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u/TheRealMaverick · 5h
The wink failed, but your awkward charm succeeded! Honestly, I think you should lean into this. Go to the date, don’t even bother trying to wink, and just tell her the story again. If she was into it the first time, she’s probably going to love it even more when it’s an inside joke between you two.
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u/CouchPotatoSupreme · 4h
Okay, but can we just take a moment to appreciate that she approached you because she was genuinely concerned? That’s the kind of girl you want in your corner. Also, now you have the perfect “how we met” story. Future wedding speech material, just saying 😉
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u/DrCoffeeAddict · 3h
I have secondhand embarrassment but also secondhand joy for you. Sometimes life is better than any awkward wink could ever be. Good luck on the date, and hey, maybe you don’t even need to master winking anymore if you’ve already won her over.
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u/WinkFailSurvivor · 2h
This whole thing is perfect. I, too, have struggled with the dreaded “failed wink,” but I never thought it would lead to a date. I think you’re onto something here … maybe awkward winking is the new dating strategy?
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u/ActuallySocrates · 2h
Wait … so, your face-twitching efforts actually led to a potential relationship? This might be the greatest accidental rom-com moment ever. Well done. Keep us updated on how the date goes, but for the love of all that is good, don’t wink at her again unless you’ve somehow mastered it in the meantime.
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u/MedStudentCrush · 1h
As a fellow med student, I know she was probably embarrassed too after realizing you weren’t having a medical crisis. But the fact that she still gave you her number means your sense of humor (or tragic winking) really worked. You’re NAILING it, man.
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***
r/WouldIBeTheAsshole
u/UnmedicatedStudent · 7h
[UPDATE] WIBTA for telling a stranger I thought he was having a stroke because of an eye twitch? Well, now we’re going on a date.
Hey everyone! So, a few days ago I made a post asking if I would be the AH for telling a guy I thought he was having a stroke because I saw his eye twitching for like half an hour at a cafe. I’m a med student and my brain just could not ignore it. I was really worried that I might embarrass him or make things awkward if it turned out to be nothing.
Well … update time.
I actually went up to him and casually asked if he was feeling okay because I noticed the twitching. Turns out, he wasn’t having a stroke (thank god), but what he was doing was practicing winking. I’ll let that sink in. He was practicing winking at his reflection. In a cafe. For half an hour 😂
We both started laughing, and honestly, I was super relieved it wasn’t a medical emergency because I was prepared to call an ambulance or something. He explained that he’d been trying to learn how to wink for a while but couldn’t get it down, and I guess I just caught him mid-“training session.”
Here’s the fun part: after we laughed it off, we ended up chatting for a while. He’s actually really sweet and has this kind of goofy charm. I gave him my number, and now we have a date lined up for this weekend 😳
So, not only did I not make him panic about his health, but I also apparently picked the right guy to (wrongly) diagnose. I’ll keep you all posted if it leads to anything, but for now, we’re both just laughing about the most awkward way to meet someone.
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u/DrCoffeeAddict · 7h
I AM DEAD 😂 You’re telling me you went over to check on a potential medical emergency, and it turned into a rom-com meet-cute? This is the best outcome possible. Can’t wait to hear how the date goes!
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u/SmoothOperator · 6h
As the guy who gave him advice on winking in his original post, I just want to say: I feel partly responsible for this love story. I’m so glad his tragic winking attempts paid off in the end, even if it wasn’t in the way he intended.
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u/awkwardpenguin · 6h
THIS IS AMAZING. I read both your posts and now I feel like I’m watching the awkward wink romance saga unfold in real-time. You’re officially in the running for the best “how we met” story of all time 😆 Good luck on the date, and please let us know if he tries winking at you (but maybe tell him to hold off for now, lol).
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u/LizzyBizzy · 5h
Honestly, this just proves that the best way to get a date is to pretend you’re having a medical emergency 😜 But seriously, I love how this turned out. Sounds like he’s a good sport, and you’re a hero for not freaking out. Hope the date goes well!
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u/Pizza4Breakfast · 4h
Okay, I’m following this story like a serialized drama. I just read his update about you thinking he was having a stroke, and this is all too perfect. You both sound like such good sports about the whole thing, and I’m crossing my fingers that this ends up being a great first date! I’d pay to watch this rom-com, tbh.
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u/ItsNotThatDeep · 4h
So you’re telling me this guy tried to learn how to wink, failed so hard at it that it almost got him medically evaluated, and then still managed to get a date out of it? This man is living on another level of charm 😂
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u/ActuallySocrates · 3h
If you two get married, the wedding speeches are going to be incredible. “I thought he was having a stroke, turns out he was just practicing winking.” I can’t stop laughing at how absurdly perfect this situation is. You might as well stop looking, you’ve found the one.
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u/DefinitelyNotASurgeon · 3h
This might be the greatest series of posts I’ve ever seen on Reddit. First, the guy’s terrible winking attempts, now your heroic intervention that turns into a date? I’m invested in this. Please, please update us after the date. I need closure on this modern love story.
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u/CaffeineAndAnxiety · 2h
I feel like this is a public service announcement for all med students: don’t assume every eye twitch is a stroke, sometimes the guy’s just trying to wink 😂 But seriously, this is adorable and you handled it perfectly. Hope your date goes well!
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u/NoGuyNoProblem · 1h
This is amazing. The fact that you were so ready to step in and save the day, only for it to turn into this hilarious and kind of romantic story, is just too good. I really hope he doesn’t try to wink at you during the date though — that might be a dealbreaker.
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u/ChronicFailSurvivor · 1h
OMG, I just read both your post and his, and this is now my favorite Reddit love story. Please let us know how the date goes. I kind of want to see him attempt another wink, just to see how bad it still is 😆
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***
r/formula1
u/tifositruther · 14h
Why does Charles Leclerc’s eye always twitch when he hugs his girlfriend after a podium finish?
Okay, this has been bugging me for a while, and I’m hoping someone here can explain it because I haven’t seen anyone talk about it (or I’ve just missed it).
Whenever Charles finishes in the top 3 and goes to hug his girlfriend along the barriers where the team stands, I’ve noticed that his eye does this weird twitching thing? It’s super subtle, but it’s like a half-blink or something with one eye. It’s definitely not him just being emotional or sweaty, because it happens EVERY time. At first, I thought it was just a one-off, but now I can’t unsee it.
Is it just me, or does anyone else see this too? Is it like a weird superstition or just some involuntary thing? I’m genuinely curious, and it’s getting harder to watch his post-race celebrations without focusing on his twitchy eye.
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u/FerrariBoi · 13h
Dude, I’ve noticed this too! I always thought it was just him being super emotional or tired after a race, but now that you mention it, it really is every time he goes to hug his girlfriend. Now I can’t stop wondering what’s up with it either 😅
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u/SmoothOperator55 · 12h
I’m not 100% sure, but I think it might be some kind of superstition or inside joke between him and his girlfriend? Charles is a pretty sentimental guy, so it wouldn’t surprise me if this is some sort of cute thing they do. Or maybe he’s trying to wink and it’s just … not working?
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u/FerrariFaithful · 10h
I can’t believe I’m reading this post because I thought I was the only one who noticed that! It’s like a half-wink, half-blink, and I’ve been trying to figure out if he’s doing it on purpose or if it’s just nerves. Now I’m convinced there’s some weird Leclerc tradition we’re missing out on.
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u/NeedMoreDownforce · 9h
Honestly, I bet it’s just some post-race exhaustion thing. These guys are going flat out for nearly two hours, so I wouldn’t be surprised if his muscles just spasm a little bit after all that. But if it is some superstition, I want to know more because that would be hilarious.
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u/Charles4Prez · 6h
Oh man, I totally know what you’re talking about. I’ve noticed it every time he’s on the podium and it’s always when he hugs his girlfriend! If this is just him being tired, that would make sense, but it low-key feels like it’s some sort of wink. Either way, it’s oddly charming 😂
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u/GP2EnginePlease · 5h
LMAO, I’ve seen this too! I figured he was trying to wink but failing miserably at it because his face is always red and sweaty from the race. But if this is some kind of secret “thing” between him and his girlfriend, I’m here for it. F1 drivers and their quirks, man.
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u/Turn13Messiah · 4h
If this is a wink attempt, then Charles needs to work on his technique ASAP. But honestly, it’s probably some goofy little tradition they’ve got. Maybe he does it to signal something only they know, and we’re all just sitting here clueless 😂
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u/BoxBox · 3h
I actually love that this is a thing people are noticing. The man’s got the whole F1 world watching, but he’s still trying to pull off a wink at his girlfriend like a regular guy. If it’s a superstition, I fully support it. Leclerc always seems like the type to have little rituals.
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u/ZoomingAlong · 1h
I’ve never noticed this before, but now I need to go back and rewatch some podiums to see it for myself 😂 If it’s a wink, it’s not very good, but knowing Charles, it’s probably something personal and cute between them. Wouldn’t surprise me if it’s intentional!
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u/YellowFlagged · 53m
It has to be some sort of in-joke between him and his girlfriend. F1 drivers are superstitious, and it wouldn’t be the first time we’ve seen drivers have quirky little habits. Maybe it’s his way of “winking” after a good race, but he’s just too drained to pull it off properly.
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u/MegaDRS · 46m
Guys, I just went back and watched some old races, and yep, it’s there 😂 I never noticed it before, but now I’m convinced this is an awkward wink. Charles probably thinks he’s being smooth, but we’re all seeing that twitch. I’m officially obsessed with this now.
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u/ILoveMonaco · 32m
Can someone please just ask him in an interview at this point? I need answers. If it’s some cute tradition between him and his girlfriend, I’ll be even more of a Charles fan than I already am.
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***
“Charles, did you know you’re going viral on social media?”
The question hits him in the middle of media day. Charles Leclerc blinks once, twice, and tilts his head. He’s sitting in the usual F1 press conference setup — microphones lined up, lights a little too bright, cameras flashing constantly —but this question isn’t the usual stuff about strategy or the upcoming race.
He shifts in his seat, the corners of his lips tugging into an uncertain smile. “No, I … I didn’t know that.” He furrows his brows, clearly puzzled. “Why? What did I do this time?”
The reporter grins, clearly enjoying Charles’ confusion. “It’s not something you did during the race. It’s what happens after.”
Charles’ smile falters slightly, but his curiosity grows. “After? What do you mean?”
The reporter leans forward, resting his hands on his lap. “It’s your eye. You’ve been going viral for this thing your eye does after you finish on the podium. People are calling it ‘the Charles Leclerc twitch.’”
Charles’ face drops for a split second before he laughs, the sound awkward, and he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, that. Yeah, I’ve seen some things about it.”
“You have?” The reporter raises an eyebrow, surprised. “People are saying it’s because you’re tired or emotional after races.”
Charles scratches his head, feeling the blush creep up his neck. “No, no … it’s not that.”
“What is it then? Do you even know you’re doing it?”
Charles is biting his lip now, looking down at the mic in front of him like it might save him. He doesn’t want to explain this, not here, not now, but the entire press room is silent, waiting for his response. He glances up and spots you standing at the back of the room, arms crossed, a small smile playing on your lips. You’ve definitely overheard the whole thing.
With a sigh, he finally says, “Okay, well … it’s not really a twitch. I’m actually, uh …” He rubs his palms on his thighs nervously. “I’m trying to wink.”
Laughter ripples through the room, but the reporter’s face lights up, not letting this go. “Wink? At who?”
Charles’ blush deepens, and he chuckles, glancing down again before meeting the reporter’s eyes. “At my girlfriend. After I finish on the podium.”
There’s a collective murmur of interest now, and Charles is laughing, embarrassed. He shifts his weight in the chair, clearly flustered.
“Wait, you’re winking at your girlfriend?” Another reporter chimes in, curious but amused. “Why after the podium?”
Charles glances back at you standing at the rear of the room. You smile at him, and he seems to relax, even though his ears are definitely burning red. He lets out another small laugh. “Okay, so this is kind of … a long story.”
The room leans in.
“It started a few months ago,” Charles begins, exhaling as if trying to gather the words. “I was sitting in a cafe, practicing how to wink-”
“Practicing?” The first reporter cuts in, eyebrows raised.
“Yes, practicing. I’ve never been good at it.” He laughs, but it’s clear he’s a little embarrassed about admitting this in front of a full room. “And while I was doing it, she-” he nods toward you, “comes up to me and asks if I’m okay. She’s a medical student, and apparently, my attempt at winking looked so bad that she thought I was having a stroke.”
The room bursts into laughter, and even Charles can’t help but crack up at the absurdity of the story. He runs a hand through his hair and looks at you again, his eyes softening. “Yeah, so she came over, all serious, genuinely concerned about me.”
You can’t help but laugh along with the reporters. You catch Charles’ eye, and he gives you a small, sheepish smile. The reporters are now fully invested, waiting for him to continue.
“So, I had to explain to her that I was just trying to figure out how to wink,” Charles continues, the redness in his face only deepening. “It was embarrassing, but we ended up talking for a while after that. And, uh … long story short, I got her number, and now we’re together.”
“That’s … actually adorable,” one of the female reporters says, and Charles chuckles again.
“But the winking thing — it became kind of our little tradition,” he explains, sitting forward slightly. “After every podium, I try to wink at her when I go to hug her at the barriers. It’s a way for me to say, like, ’we made it’ or something. It’s just this thing we’ve kept going.”
The room is silent for a moment, absorbing the story, before the questions start coming in again.
“So wait,” one of the reporters asks, his grin wide, “you’re telling me that this whole viral thing is because you’re trying to wink at your girlfriend after every race?”
Charles nods, smiling despite himself. “Yeah, but apparently I’m still really bad at it.”
“You don’t say,” someone mutters, and more laughter breaks out.
“And she knows this is a thing?” Another asks, glancing toward you.
Charles’ eyes are on you again. “Yeah, she knows. She tries not to laugh every time I do it. But, you know, we’ve kept it going. It’s like a small inside joke between us.”
The first reporter raises his hand again. “Do you think you’ll ever actually learn how to wink properly?”
Charles grins, shaking his head. “Probably not. I mean, I’ve had months to practice, and this is the best I’ve got.”
The press room breaks into chuckles, and Charles sits back, clearly more relaxed now that the story is out in the open. He takes a sip of water and glances up at the cameras.
“You got the girl,” the reporter adds with a grin.
“Yeah,” Charles agrees, looking at you with a warmth that softens his voice. “I got the girl.”
The room starts buzzing again, the other reporters already moving on to different questions about the upcoming race weekend, but Charles steals one last glance at you. You’re still smiling, your eyes crinkling at the corners, and he shoots you a quick wink — or well, tries to.
And of course, his eye twitches awkwardly, but this time, he doesn’t mind.
Words: 1,072
Summary: Charles overhears his girlfriend telling someone that they are just a fling and will be ending soon which is more than confusing for him.
Note(s): Reader is plus size in this. It is not said outright but very much implied. Charles and Reader both suck at communicating btw. Also this is based on a somewhat recent convo I had with someone where they told me I’d be pretty if it weren’t for me being fat so… Good thing I have thick skin
Masterlist | Support Me!
“It’s not going to last.”
Her eyes flicker off her phone screen for a second, eyebrow raising just a hint before they go back, typing a message. “Okay.”
“That’s all you have to say? Okay.”
“Well, you were a bit vague.” She draws out the last word, sighing. “So, yeah,” she nods, pausing. “Okay.”
The other huffs, shaking her head. “Charles and you, it’s never going to last. It was a good fling, a summer romance, but by next year you’ll be gone.”
Her lips thin and she pockets her phone, finally making eye contact with Silvia. “I’m more than aware that I don’t look like Charles’ past partners and that you have more than your fair share of issues with that and me. But Silvia, you don’t have to state the obvious. I’ve been aware.”
The older woman’s eyes are wide.
“It’s called enjoying something while it lasts and I intend to do so, enjoy this thing with Charles until it inevitably comes to end. Probably in the next month. We all know how you like him to be single going into the new year.”
Respect settles across Silvia’s face. “You are different than I thought.”
“Should’ve had a conversation with me.” She counters and Silvia concedes with a nod of her head. “Don’t worry, I’ll put out an insta story saying we parted on good terms and that things just don’t always work out. I’d say better as friends, but I think you’d kill me if I ever showed up in the garage again after this.”
“Just a bit.” Silvia then frowns. “You really knew this was never going to last? Between you and Charles?”
“Silvia,” And her tone softens for the first time. “It’s like I said. I’m aware of what I look like, especially compared to Charles and his exes. But it’s Charles, I would have been more stupid to say no to him and then to have him for at least a few months.”
Silvia holds her gaze for a few seconds before nodding and reaching forward, patting her hand. “It is a shame how you look. You would have made the perfect partner.”
And she doesn’t even flinch at the insult to her weight.
—
“Is everything okay?”
Her eyes are full of concern as she watches Charles move around the hotel room. His body tense, lips pressed together, jaw twitching.
His nostrils flare and she swears she can hear his teeth grinding.
“I overheard something, you and Silvia.” He fully turns to look at her and she’s unable to even get a second to mourn the loss of his side profile as she sees hurt in his eyes that’s surrounded by frustration.
“We aren’t going to last? I’m leaving you in the next month?”
“Charles,”
“No.” He shakes his head, cutting her off. “This is all news to me.”
“Is it?”
His head jerks back, “what?”
“We never talked about being serious, Charles. And you have a type, I’m so far away from that type it’s not even funny.”
“We never talked about being serious because every time I try to talk about our future you shut me down, you change the subject. And my type is you!” His voice is louder. “I know what my exes look like, I know my pattern, the jokes of how and why I date, but you are the most gorgeous woman in the world, as soon as I saw you, my type changed, I have no type, it is just you. It’s been seven months and I haven’t even looked at another woman.”
Her mind is struggling to process, her heart nearly beating out of her chest, her mouth slack with shock.
“You never tried talking about our future.” It’s all she can say because she can’t think of a single time he brought it up, he tried bringing it up.
“I tried asking you to come to lunch with my brothers and mom.”
Her eyes widened. “That was in July.”
“I asked about holiday plans, I asked about meeting your family. If you wanted kids, when you wanted them. And all I know is that you are going to family for two days for the holidays and that you want kids. That is all I got out of you. I tried giving you a key to my apartment.”
“I’m only ever in Monaco when I’m with you. Why would I ever need a key?”
He flushes, rubbing at the back of his neck. “This might be my bad, it was my way of asking you to move in, or just keep things at my place at least.”
“Charles.”
“I love you.”
Her heart skips a beat and all the hurt and frustration that had been on Charles’ face is gone, replaced by something she’s never seen directed at her.
“I’m crazy in love with you. And obviously we both need to work on things, talking, but I want to do that. I want you. I want you to move in with me, to continue going to all my races, to chide Leo before cuddling him. I want to marry you. In a day, a week, a month, a year, I don’t care when. And I want children with you. I want them to have your smile, your laugh, your stubbornness even though it infuriates me.”
Tears are spilling down her cheeks, lip trembling, and she nearly can’t speak.
“Charles, I want you too. I want all of that. I love you.”
He’s striding forward, his hands gentle on her face as he steals the breath from her lips.
They’ve shared many kisses in the seven months since they’ve known each other, but none like this.
“We are never breaking up.” Charles states when he pulls away after brushing their lips together once more.
“Never.” She agrees, a rush of excitement flooding her as she realizes that she gets to have this, have him, and never give him up.
He smiles at the answer, at the happiness that has flooded her face, the tension he didn’t even know was there that has left her body. “Now, when would you like to get married? I think I have a favor or two I could call to get us married tomorrow if you’d like.”
“Charles,” She shakes her head.
“What?”
“Take me to bed.”
His eyes widen for a brief second and then a smirk plays on his lips. “Happily, amour.”
Words: 667
Summary: Max wants to be sure he can give Pan kids. (Part of the I ❤️ MILFS verse)
Note(s): Takes place during the original I ❤️ MILFS fic, before Max finds out Pan’s age. Max is insane btw, this has been a blurb idea since I wrote the original fic and finally it has been written so enjoy, lol.
Masterlist | Support Me! | I ❤️ MILFS verse
“I’d love to give Logan a sibling or two.”
The words so soft had made his heart speed up as soon as he heard them and now thinking about them, letting them play on repeat.
It’s early in their relationship, though they haven’t yet talked about it yet, no matter how much Max is dying to do so. But Max wants to be the one that she gives Logan siblings with.
Which is why he’s sitting in front of his computer and looking at medical studies.
A lot of it is going over his head. The most schooling he sat through was the first four or five years of it. He can grasp engineering, anything to do with cars and their data, but medical terminology goes over his head.
He powers through, he doesn’t know Pan’s exact age, his mother would smack him over the head if he even thought to ask her age, but she’s got to to be mid to late thirties if not early forties considering Logan is twenty.
The studies say she’d be fine getting pregnant, shouldn’t have trouble conceiving, and his cheeks burn at the word, at the image it puts in his mind. They haven’t quite got their, but they’ve gotten close. They throw out the term geriatric pregnancy which makes him flinch because forty wasn’t old, at least not if you weren’t a driver and to see it be called something like that felt harsh, rude. Another one calls it advanced maternal age which really isn’t any better, but it’s just relieving to see that’s still possible. And then a study mentions that if people are having trouble conceiving that not only does the person birthing need to get checked, but both do and a new panic takes over his brain.
What if when it came time to try, he was the problem? It would really be his luck. Things had been going very well for the past few years, it would be his luck that he couldn’t give the woman he loves more kids.
And Logan wanted siblings, the panic grows as he remembers Logan chiming in that he’d love some siblings. Oh god, what if he failed in giving Logan siblings? He wanted the younger driver to like him, to really like him.
His fingers act quickly, wanting to know how he can know if he can have kids and the results make him blink because it couldn’t be that easy.
He just had to provide a sample in a cup?
Max’s brain struggles to compute that after just reading everything that women have to go through to get their fertility checked.
His hand goes to his phone, he rarely if ever called his doctor, but this was important.
He goes through the motions of confirming he is who he is, wondering how weird it must be for other people to do this for him before he finally gets asked why for the purpose of the appointment.
“I want to check to see if I can have kids.”
“Okay, are you and your partner having trouble conceiving?”
His cheeks burn, “We aren’t trying yet. I just want to make sure that it’s possible on my end.”
“Okay, it’s a simple procedure at our clinic and we could see you in the next three days if that works for you at any time we are open.”
“That’s perfect.”
“Alright, we’ll see you in a few days, Mr. Verstappen.”
He gets the results back five days after his appointment, an email sitting in his inbox, and he forces himself to take a deep breath before finally opening it.
There are words he doesn’t know, ones he doesn’t really want to think about, but there at the end, a note from his doctor that says everything looks great, and he shouldn’t have troubles getting someone pregnant and his fist goes in the air, a quiet but excited yes leaving him.
He could give Logan siblings and Pan more kids, thank fuck.
btw if you borrow dvds or cds from library you can rip them onto your own blanks or onto your hard drive or whatever. librarians don’t care and they won’t know if you do it or not
Warnings: just fluff. a bit of anxiety talk but nothing Max can't fix.
Pairing: Max Verstappen x Podcaster!Reader
Word Count: 5k
- The Yapping Hour is Upon Us
- The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 2
- The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 3
- The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 4
- The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Bonus Sessions
- Master List
After getting engaged, there were two things that you and Max almost immediately agreed upon: first, because so much of both of your lives were already available for public consumption, you wanted to protect the peace and privacy of your wedding as much as possible. And second, you didn’t want to wait until the next summer break to get married.
Growing up, it was a cliche fact but a fact all the same, that you often thought of what you wanted your wedding to be like. You were even very much guilty of having secret wedding Pinterest boards set up all through high school and college. But the moment the even presented itself in real life, you suddenly felt choked by the weight of what a big wedding could entail.
It had been Max that had suggested the solution in the end, his idea passed by you casually one night as you walked hand in hand back to your hotel after dinner before the race in Italy. He had sensed your hesitation around hosting such a big, over the top wedding that everyone seemed to assume you wanted. The spark in your eye faded just a bit when Alex and Carmen had started talking about wedding venues and guest lists and he hadn’t missed the way your shoulders hitched up a bit more towards your ears as you listened to your friends ramble.
“What if we just eloped?” He works to keep his tone causal, not wanting to give away how appealing that idea sounds to him. He wants you to choose the kind and scale of wedding you want all on your own because he knows you’d do anything for him, right down to agreeing to plan a wedding that doesn’t suit you at all.
You stop dead in your tracks, Birkin bag swinging wildly at your elbow from the sudden halt. “What?”
Max sticks his hands deep in the pockets of his khakis, giving you a knowing smile. “You heard me. What if we just said ‘fuck this’ and ran off to the beach and got married by some old fishing captain. Captains can legally marry people, right? That’s a thing?”
Not for the first time in your relationship, you’re stunned into silence at something your soon-to-be husband says. For a moment all you can do is blink at him, trying to figure out if he’s fucking with you or not. “You’d…you’d want that?”
Max steps forward, earnest look on his handsome face. “Baby,” He murmurs, framing both sides of your face with his strong hands. “Baby, I’d marry you in an alley way in the middle of New York City. I don’t care where or how, all I care about is that we come out at the end of this married and tied together for life. I don’t care about the wedding, I care about the marriage.”
Max watches as your pupils blow wide, shy smile tugging at your lips. “That might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Max’s forehead rests on yours and he lets out a breathy chuckle. “Well, it’s true. I want you to have the wedding of your dreams because I know that will make you happy but other than that, I don’t care.”
He’d do anything to make sure you were happy, knowing it was just this side of obsessive the way he took you into consideration with every decision he made. Standing opposite of the man who consumed your entire soul, your stomach dipped low, the pleasant swooping sensation something you’ve become accustomed to over the last year. “I just feel so overwhelmed. Both of our lives are already so public and under scrutiny. I want this to be something that we can cherish without any of the potential tarnish of what it means to be so public.”
You shake your head, feeling a little silly and what you’re feeling. “I love our lives and know we’re privileged to live like this but sometimes I just want to have something that’s just ours. I want to share our love and relationship with everyone but maybe we could just shield some of it from the world?”
An idea forms in Max’s head then. “What if we eloped somewhere just the two of us and then have a party to celebrate with everyone after?”
You nod, “Have is quietly ours for a while before sharing the news with everyone?”
Max reaches for you, enjoying the way you press against him with ease. It’s a warm Italian summer night, the scent of perfumed flowers and left over sunshine hung heavy in the air and you wanted to snap this moment into something that stayed with you forever. Max’s hands heavy on your hips, digging into the flesh there as if he can’t get enough of you despite not leaving your side for the last 24 hours.
Ever since getting engaged, you’d hated spending any length of time away from Max, almost like your soul had already started to twin itself to him. It made leaving difficult but returning was always so sweet. You had this weekend in Italy before you had to leave on another trip but you’d been considering ramping down your travel over the next few months. But, that was another conversation for another day.
“Where would we go? And when?” The more you thought bout it, the more the thought of what Max was suggesting appealed to you.
Max releases you before taking your hand as you two start back towards your hotel, feeling a bit lighter at seemingly solving the problem that had been weighing on you for a few days.
“We could do it this winter? There’s always a total shut down of everything that week between Christmas and New Years. We’d see our families for Christmas and escape saying we were just taking a trip the two of us.”
You grin up at him, liking where he was going with this.
yourpersonalinsta posted
129,938 likes
liked by yourdad, assistantshannon, maxverstappen1, and others
yourpersonalisnta sun, sand, and a very cute finace
kikagomes is this that place in Mexico you were talking about?! It looks so pretty!
>>>yourpersonalinsta yes!!! it is gorgeous. you and P need to come here some day.
alexandrasaintmleux gorgeous gorgeous girl
>>>yourpersonalinsta love you bby
user029 dream life fr
user0092 looks like paradise! tell max congrats on his 5th title for us!!
December, 2025
The warm ocean breeze fluttered through the wide open doors of the villa behind you as the bright December sun heated your skin where you laid on a lounge chair. Next to you, Max was sprawled out on on the chair next to you, snoring softly as he took what you thought might just be his third nap of the day.
Ever since the pair of you had arrived in Mexico a few days ago, you hand’t done much beyond sleep, eat, and fuck. The 2025 season had been the most stressful, chaotic, out of control season Max had ever had and while he had managed to clinch the championship on in Abu Dhabi from Lando, but it had been a difficult ride to get there. So when Christmas had been celebrated and you had jumped on the jet to fly from Monaco over to Mexico, you couldn’t help but continually breathe a sigh of relief.
The fight had truly weighed on Max, the hollows underneath his eyes growing more and more prominent as the race weeks ticked by. The only relief he had gotten had been your midseason trip to Thailand when he had proposed. When Jensen had asked him what had gotten him through the difficult second half of the season during an interview after he won the championship, his immediate answer had simply been you.
Much to the disappointment of your fans, you had decided to really ramp down the amount of travel and work you had done following the summer break. Max had been resident at first, not even wanting to entertain he conversation at first when you had brought it up shortly after it had been decided you were going to elope. He didn’t want to even think of you putting your career on hold for him, to take care of him, to follow him. Not because he didn’t want you around. It was the exact opposite. Just the thought of you spending more time traveling with him instead of the insane schedule you’d been keeping over the last year had relief flooding through him. While he was tired from his schedule and the pressure of winning a 5th consecutive world title, he knew you were tired too. There were many times you both went weeks without setting foot in your shared apartment and sometimes you’d go weeks between seeing each other too.
No, it wasn’t because he didn’t want you around. It was because he didn’t want you to resent him one day down the line that you had given up your career for him. He couldn’t bare the thought of being the cause of any resentment or heartache for you and despite how much he wanted you by his side every possible moment.
In the end, reason had won out as you had explained that you weren’t taking a break because of him. He was certainly part of it, but like him, you were exhausted. You reminded Max of Brazil last year, how you had slept for so long the day after the race there that Max had postponed your flights home for another week he was so worried about you getting sick.
You had done a few interviews since the engagement, mostly with people in the motorsport world: Susie and Toto Wolff, Natalie Pinkham, and of course Lewis being your biggest interviews. In addition, you had done some post race interviews and coverage for F1TV, which allowed you to have even more of a reason to be in the paddock week in and week out. You weren’t sure where your podcast was going in the future, but for now, you were content with the schedule and where you were professionally, despite what some of your critics might be whispering.
All of this works through your mind as Max begins to stir beside you. His eyes blink open eventually and when they do, they immediately find you. “Hi baby.” He whispers, voice rough with sleep.
“Good morning, sleepy head.” You grin, setting your book down beside you as Max rolls over onto his side, creating some space for you on the oversized lounge chair, beckoning you to join him.
As you snuggle deeper into his chest, Max slots his thigh between your legs and slips his top arm over your waist, pulling you closer. “You looked deep in thought. Everything okay?” He murmurs before his lips ghost over your cheek.
“Hmmm, of course. Just thinking about this year and how good it feels to just breathe.”
Max could tell when you got in one of your thinking moods just by the way your body language shifted. In those few moments between when he had woken up and you had noticed his eyes open, he had watched you staring out over the villa’s lawn. Your shoulders were relaxed, the usual pinch between your brows completely absent and with legs crossed at your ankles as you read your book, you had looked the picture of relaxed.
“You still feeling okay about tomorrow?”
Just the thought of what tomorrow would bring made your heart rate pitch up a bit. The first morning after your arrival, you and Max had gone over to the concierge in the main reception building to tell them of your plans for an elopement. They had, of course, been ecstatic and ready to help you in whatever way you wanted. After a few hours of discussion, you had everything planned and the concierge snapped into action.
“I am…unless you’re not?” It occurs to you that Max has been awfully quiet this morning, a soft reflective mood taking over his usual energetic attitude and suddenly, anxiety pinches in your chest. You desperately search Max’s face for any sign of hesitation or regret, not knowing what you’d do if he suddenly got cold feet before tomorrow.
Max shakes his head before pulling you even closer, fingers digging into the bare flesh of your hip, covered only by the little string of your bikini that you’ve been living in since you got here. “Lifeje, stop that. You know I would have married you the moment after I proposed to you months ago.”
Something settles in you at his words, having just needed that little bit of reassurance from him. As hard as you tired and as much as Max made sure to never leave any doubt in your mind that he was all in with you, you sometimes still found your anxiety getting the best of you. Scenarios about how Max was having second thoughts, how he didn’t really want to marry you, how this was all in your head sometimes ran rampant in your head. You were getting better at controlling them, especially after he had proposed but that was the funny thing about anxiety, you couldn’t always control it.
“I know.” You whisper, fingers trailing up and down his toned arm that was wrapped around you tightly.
“Anxiety?” It was almost spooky how well Max could read you from just a shift in your tone of voice. All you could do was nod, suddenly feeling silly. Max rolled his hips into yours, pulling your lower half closer. “Do you feel what you do to me?” He asked, pressing his already half hard cock into your center. “Do you feel what you do to me just laying here? All you have to do is look at me and I’m a goner. There isn’t a single second thought in my mind, love.”
“I’m sorry I’m hard to love sometimes.” Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as Max lifts your chin so he can have a better look at you. “I’m sorry you have to constantly reassure me despite not giving me any reason to doubt you. I know it can’t be easy.”
You had spent most of your adult life being told how difficult you were to love. How hard it was to deal with the constant reassurance you needed when the anxiety crept in, telling you you weren’t good enough. It was unnerving sometimes when Max loved you so easily and effortlessly because how did he find it so easy to do when no one else before him had?
Max pulls back so he can get a good look in those pretty eyes of yours. It made him rage internally knowing how insecure you were. Not because he faulted you. Oh, absolutely not. He raged at the people that made you feel like you were inferior and hard to love because that was something that he simply didn’t see. Loving you and being with you was the easiest thing he’d ever done in his life.
“I want you to listen to me, okay?” He waits, brows raised, until you nod. “I will gladly spend the rest of my life telling you how much I worship you whenever and however you need or want me to. When I take those vows tomorrow, I mean it with every bit of my soul, schatje. For worse or better, you’re mine and I’m yours from tomorrow on, okay? You are not hard to love and I am so lucky I get the privilege of telling you every single day how much I love you.”
Your mind settles a bit at his words as you let the sensation of having Max so close to you wash over your anxious nerves. “How did I get so lucky to have you?”
“Oh, sweet girl it’s not you that’s lucky.” Max leans in, pressing a kiss to your lips as you sigh into him. “I’m the lucky one that somehow coincided you to love me back.”
There were only two people in your lives besides you and Max that knew what you two were really doing in Mexico. GP because Max was physically incapable of keeping anything from his race engineer and your assistant Shannon. GP had called Max out on his sudden change in demeanor in Italy after the decision to elope had been made, asking Max what had happened in the previous 12 hours to make him not so grumpy when he showed up to the track that morning. Max being a terrible liar when it came to GP had been unable to think quick enough to come up with an excuse and when he had simply looked at GP with a deer in the headlights look, he had fessed up and spilled the beans. When you had found out that Max had told GP you had sworn the race engineer to total secrecy, telling him you’d cut off a very important body part of his if it got leaked.
Shannon was the other person that knew and it was only because you had needed help with choosing and figuring out how to sneakily order, tailor, and pack a wedding gown without anyone getting wind of it. You knew if the paparazzi had caught sight of you leaving a bridal boutique with a dress in hand nearly a year before you had told everyone else that you were planning on getting married, people would talk. So, with Max’s approval, you had enlisted the help of your personal assistant who had honestly turned into one of your closest friends over the time that she had worked with you.
It had been Shannon that helped you choose the dress that you wore the morning you married Max, the white lace clinging to every curve and valley of your body. It was just going to be the two of you, the officiant, and the photographer there and the utter quiet and simplicity of getting ready in complete silence and peace was something you would cherish for the rest of your life. Max had left the villa about an hour ago, telling you he had a few errands to run before the officiant would turn up for the ceremony. What kind of errands could he be doing in the middle of a luxury resort in the middle of the Mexican jungle, you had no idea but you hadn’t asked any questions because you wanted the time alone to get ready.
You’re just slipping on the second thin strap up over your shoulder when there’s a knock at the villa door moments before it swings open. Max comes bustling in, wearing the khaki pants and white linen shirt you had chosen for the beach nuptials. He’s got a fresh haircut and shaved face, his bright blue eyes looking for you the moment he walks in the door. In his hand dangles a little black bag with silver ties that doesn’t look big enough to hold much more than a small box or two.
“Lifeje, where are -” Max stops in his tracks when you round the corner out of the bedroom and he sees you for the first time. His hand goes straight to his sternum, rubbing at the place that is suddenly aching at the mere sight of you. He had thought he’d been prepared to see you in your wedding dress but what he saw in front of him made every coherent thought tumble right out of his head. If he had thought you were the prettiest woman he’d ever seen before, seeing you standing there before him in the white lace dress with it’s plunging neckline and fabric clinging to your every curve, just confirmed that he was the luckiest person in the entire world. “Christ.” He whispers, unable to move from the spot he’s rooted to.
You let out a little uncertain giggle, tucking a piece of hair that you had left out of the sleek low bun you had styled your hair in for the day behind your ear. “Do I look okay?”
Max finds the ability to move then, crossing the room in just a few strides, suddenly needing nothing more than to touch you. He had to know what that lace felt like under his fingers, had to know if your skin looked as radiant up close as it did when he had first walked into the villa.
“I am so glad I wrote my vows down because there is no way I’m remembering anything while I look at you.” He croaks, voice becoming totally unreliable with emotion just seeing you dressed like this solely for him brings up. “I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful in my entire life, schatje. ”
And it was the truth. Max had never seen anyone as gorgeous as you were standing there in that white dress, veil tucked into the top of your bun so it cascaded down over your shoulders. The dress pools at your feet and dips low in the back, showing off the tanned and toned body you work so hard for. At your ears wink the diamonds Max had gotten you for Christmas just a week earlier. A diamond and sapphire necklace set in platinum sits at your throat, also a gift from Max for your one year anniversary earlier in the year. Seeing you wearing the jewels that he’s bought for you does something to Max, a possessive streak proudly zipping through him at the thought of you dripping in expensive baubles that he’s bought you.
“What’s in the bag?” You ask as Max settles his hands low on your hips, still checking you out with absolutely no shame whatsoever.
He seems to remember that there’s something else in the room other than you then, holding the bag out to you with a sly grin on his face. “I know we said our wedding bands were going to be our presents to each other but I saw this the other day when we were out shopping in that little jewelry store and had to go back to get it.”
You raise a brow but know better than to argue about Max spoiling you. It’s a lost cause at this point and you settled for just accepting the pretty things he liked to give you simply because he loved seeing you in them a long time ago. You take the bag from his hands and reaching in, you pull out a long, slender velvet box.
When you open the box, you barely stifle a gasp at the delicate bracelet sitting on the black satin. It’s the diamond and pearl tennis bracelet set in platinum that you had casually looked at yesterday when you and Max had gone into town to do some shopping and had mentioned in an off handed comment that you had liked how the pearls and diamonds worked so well together, although you had ultimately decided not to get it because of the price tag and the fact that you thought you’d never have anywhere to wear it.
“Max.” You whisper, gaze darting up from the box to Max’s own eager look. “It’s…it’s so pretty I don’t have the words. You spoil me.”
“And I’m going to continue to spoil you for the rest of our lives, lifeje. Now, can I put it on you so you can be dripping in diamonds for our wedding day, please?”
You laugh a little, somehow unsure of how you got this lucky to be here in Mexico marrying the man that literally worships the ground you walk on.
“Now, I understand that you both have written your vows for each other. Max, would you like to go first?”
Later that afternoon, the two of you stand barefoot on the beach, a gentle breeze teasing the veil at the back of your head, while the officiant the hotel recommended stands before you. The atmosphere could not be more perfect. The sun hangs low in the sky, sunset just an hour or two away so the golden rays cascade over you and Max. Behind you, the photographer you hired snaps discreetly away. The fact that it’s just the four of you on the beach witnessing this could not have been more perfect.
Max stands opposite you, large hands swallowing your smaller ones, and takes a deep breath. You can see the emotion playing plainly on his face and know he’s going to have a hard time getting through these words. For the outside world, Max Verstappen is a hardened competitor that takes no shit and will do anything to win. But here? On the beach with just you and 2 others as he professes his love and adoration to you, he’s as soft as kitten and almost more emotional than you are.
He couldn’t have been happier at his decision to write down the words to his vows because the emotions that swirled in him then, as he stands there looking at you in your wedding dress is so overwhelming he can barely put together a coherent thought. Here he was, the man that has won five world championships and zips around a race track at 200 miles per hour regularly, completely unable to speak he’s so happy.
The paper is a bit crumpled when he pulls it out of the pocket of his khakis but it’s fine all the same. He clears his throat nervously and then begins. “When Melissa suggested I go on your podcast, she said it would be an amazing PR opportunity for me. I think I told her no five times but on that sixth time, I agreed because GP said he thought I’d like you and then he sent me that interview. And then I walked into that studio on that cold, rainy April and have never thanked GP and Melissa so fast. That first time I saw you, I felt my entire world shift beneath my feet. Having the childhood I did ruined the idea of love for me for most of my life but the moment you waltzed into my life, schatje, I knew that you were going to show me how wrong I’d been. I love you endlessly and will forever be thankful that you’ve shown me what the meaning of real, true, unconditional love is.” Max takes a breath, swiping at an errant tear that falls down his cheek.
Across from him, you grip at his hands, desperately trying to commit this entire moment to memory. You’re endlessly glad you both had written your vows so you’d be able to look back and remember what was said today on this beach.
“I promise to love, honor, cherish, and spoil you,” He pauses when you chuckle and roll your eyes, but just squeezes your hand before continuing on. “Whatever you need, you’ll have. Whatever you want, it’s yours. I promise to spend the rest of my life making sure you never want for anything ever again, both material wants but also emotional wants. You are my number one priority from here on out and I vow to never ever stop living up to these promises. I never believed in soulmates until I saw you for the first time and words can’t accurately describe how much I love you. Having the title of your husband is worth a million and one world champion titles and I promise to spend the rest of my days proving that to you.”
The emotions ripple over you as Max concludes his vows. The officiant turns to you, dipping his head to let you know it’s now your turn. Max squeezes your hands together and you drown in the watercolor blue eyes looking back at you for a moment.
“I stopped believing in soulmates a long time ago. That is until you walked into that recording studio and looked at me like you’d known me for our entire lives. I tried so hard not to get ahead of myself for so long, but it was that first time you flew me down to Miami two weeks after meeting you that I knew. I knew that you were it for me, that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. We’ve been through so much in such a short time and I know there are so many people that are going to think we’re criminally insane for doing this. But it’s nearly impossible to put into words what you’ve done to my soul in such a short time, Max. I know it’s beyond cliche but you’ve altered who I am at my very core. I’ve never been with someone so unwaveringly supportive of everything that I am and everything that I do.” You draw in a shaky breath then, needing a moment before you can make the rest of your words materialize.
“I promise to love you so unconditionally and strongly for the rest of my life. I promise to be by your side during the highs and lows of your career, on and off the track. The life we live is so fast and so difficult sometimes but just knowing that you’re on the other side of that plane ride, waiting for me to come home to you, makes everything we do worth it. I promise to give you whatever you need no matter how difficult it may be. You are my life now and I will spend the rest of my life showing up for you. Soulmates are real and you’re mine. I’m so thankful that I found you, Max. I love you.”
A quiet settles between you and Max then, the vows cementing the bond you’ve been building since that first day in the recording studio. The officiant and photographer seem to sense it too, their soft smiles playing on their lips as they give the vows that were just exchanged a chance to sink in for each of you.
Rings are exchanged and before you’re able to get a handle on things, the officiant declares you and Max husband and wife. The feeling of sheer relief and excitement washes over both you and Max as you’re told to seal the vows with a kiss. And what a kiss it is. Max pours his entire soul into the first kiss he shares with you as your husband. Everything he said in his vows being repeated by the way his lips cover yours, working over your mouth in such a way that has your knees buckling.
“I love you so much, wife.” Max murmurs against your lips just before breaking the first of many kisses between husband and wife.
maxverstappen1 posted
1,309,292 likes
liked by yourpersonalinsta, redbullracing, assistant shannon, and others
maxverstappen1 she's stuck with me forever now
danielricciardo EXCUSE ME BUT WHAT THE FUCK
user028 did they ELOPE??? Without telling ANYONE??? OH MY GOD??? HELLO???
user448 somehow, this feels very on brand for the both of them
>>>user432 i was just thinking the same thing.
charlesleclerc I'm sorry, WHAT???
yourpersonalinsta love you, husband
>>>user0299 oh my god, i cannot be normal about this
landonorris kinda heartbroken I didn't get to be the flower boy, ngl
>>>user998 this is such a lando comment
oscarpiastri wow! didn't even know you were engaged! congrats. man!
>>>user332 why is this the most Oscar Piastri comment I've ever read???
>>>user948 HAHA OSCAR
yourpersonalinsta posted
1,029,398 likes
liked by yourdad, maxverstappen1, assistantshannon, and others
yourpersonalinsta wife>>>fiance
user0298 the HAND PLACEMENT in that last photo. Max, my maaaan.
user918 they eloped and didn't tell a single soul. i fucking love this so hard.
kikagomes OH. MY. GOD. Congratulations gorgeous girl!!!
>>>yourpersonalinsta love you pretty girl!
user8892 my man wins his 5th world championship and then gets married in secret, max is winning at life rn
assistantshannon so happy for you boss lady. you and max deserve the world. love you!!!
>>>yourpersonalinsa so thankful i had your help with this, sweet girl.
user827 are we just going to ignore the TATTOO on Max's wrist??? HER???
>>>user0291 oh my god oh my god
tag list:
@shelbyteller @formulaal @martygraciesversion381 @longhairkoo @samantha-chicago @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland
Seeing a surprising (to me at least) amount of posts defending Franco being allowed to race the night after likely sustaining a concussion from a 50G crash because he “probably felt good enough to do so” and “wanted to get in the car himself” … and that’s a no from me for so many reasons.
If professional athletes had it their way, they would suffer through every single injury without taking any time away from the sport. Formula 1 drivers have raced with concussions and broken ribs. Hockey players have played through fractured sternums and punctured lungs. Gymnasts have actively ended their own careers by exacerbating injuries in competition.
This is why medical professionals have a duty to step in and set boundaries. There comes a time when an impartial third party needs to be able to do what is necessary for athletes’ health. Teams have agendas and motivations of their own. Athletes are under a tremendous amount of pressure to compete no matter what.
The medical team needs to act with athletes’ best interests in mind, even when it goes against the athletes desires.
So did Franco want to race in the Las Vegas Grand Prix? I have no doubt that he did. He’s young. He’s hungry. He currently doesn’t have a seat for next season. But that does not make the consequences of driving through head trauma any less severe.
So I hope that, going forward, there can be someone in the paddock who can make the hard choices in these situation. Because a race is never worth risking a driver’s life for.
Summary: when you agreed to join your cousin Lily at the Las Vegas Grand Prix to watch her boyfriend race, you didn’t realize the weekend would end with you saving a rookie driver with a concussion from the dangerous schemes of his team
The Williams Racing garage is chaos incarnate. The crash replay loops on the screens above the engineers’ heads, showing Franco’s car slamming into the barriers. The sound of carbon fiber shattering is so vivid in your mind it might as well have happened right next to you.
The footage is brutal.
50G.
The kind of impact that makes your stomach twist into knots. Franco couldn’t even get out of the car by himself, the marshals had to haul him out like a ragdoll. And now, the garage feels like it’s on edge, everyone pretending they’re not watching for updates while they pretend to keep working.
“He’s at the medical center,” someone mutters behind you. “They’re checking him out now.”
Good. He needs checking out. A crash like that doesn’t leave you unscathed, no matter how tough you think you are.
You stand off to the side, arms crossed tightly over your chest, watching as engineers, mechanics, and media relations people swirl around each other, avoiding eye contact but buzzing with nervous energy. Lily had invited you here as Alex’s guest, but you feel completely out of place, like you’re intruding on a family argument you weren’t supposed to overhear.
Then you hear it.
“He’ll be fine to race tomorrow,” James Vowles says, his voice low but carrying just enough weight to reach your ears.
You blink, sure you’ve misheard. But no, he’s standing near a huddle of engineers, speaking in clipped tones like this is just another logistical problem to solve. “We can’t find a replacement on such short notice,” he continues, “so we need him in the car. No excuses.”
Your jaw drops. You can’t help it. “You’re joking,” you blurt out.
James and the engineers freeze, turning to you like you’re some alien creature who’s wandered into their secret lair.
He recovers quickly, offering a tight smile. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met-”
“Are you serious right now?” You step closer, fueled by disbelief. “He crashed into the wall at 50G. He couldn’t even stand up without help. And you think it’s a good idea to put him back in the car tomorrow?”
James’ expression hardens. “Miss, this isn’t your concern-”
“Actually, it’s Doctor. And it is my concern if you’re planning to endanger someone’s life for a race.” Your voice rises, but you don’t care. Let them stare. Let them glare. You’re not about to stand by while they make decisions like this.
“Look,” James says, trying for diplomacy. “The FIA medical team will clear him if he’s fit to race. That’s their job, not yours.”
“And what if they’re wrong?” You demand. “What if he has a concussion? What if he gets in that car and something happens because you couldn’t be bothered to prioritize his safety?”
Before James can reply, the garage door creaks open, and Franco stumbles in.
All eyes snap to him. He’s leaning heavily on his physiotherapist, his helmet dangling from his other hand. His usually sharp, confident features are slack, his eyes glassy. He looks like he’s barely holding it together.
Your chest tightens. He shouldn’t even be standing right now, let alone back here in the thick of it.
The physiotherapist helps him over to a chair, and Franco slumps into it with a groan. “I’m fine,” he says, though his words slur slightly. “Just a little — what’s the word? Shaken up.”
You don’t even think. You march over to him, the rest of the garage fading into the background.
“Franco,” you say firmly, crouching in front of him. “Look at me.”
His unfocused eyes wander to your face, and he frowns like he’s trying to remember where he’s seen you before. “Do I know you?”
“No, but I’m about to save your life, so let’s call it even,” you say briskly. “How many fingers am I holding up?” You hold up three.
He squints at your hand. “Uh … six?”
Your heart sinks. “Okay. Follow my finger.” You move your hand slowly in front of his face, but his gaze wobbles, unable to track it.
“Wow,” he mutters, blinking rapidly. “You’re really pretty.”
You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from reacting. “Franco, focus. Do you feel nauseous? Dizzy?”
“Both,” he admits, leaning back in the chair. “But it’s fine. I’ve felt worse.”
“It’s not fine.” Your voice is sharper than you intend, but you can’t help it. “You have a concussion. Probably a severe one. You need to rest and recover, not get back in the cockpit tomorrow.”
He grins lazily, his head lolling to the side. “Are you my MILF angel?”
Your brain short-circuits. “What?”
He waves a hand vaguely in your direction. “You’re older, right? Like … a doctor? And hot? Definitely an angel. My MILF angel.”
Someone behind you chokes on a laugh. You whip your head around to glare, silencing them instantly.
Turning back to Franco, you take a deep breath. “Okay, you’re clearly not in your right mind, so I’m going to ignore that. But you need medical attention. Real medical attention. Not whatever half-assed clearance the FIA is going to give you.”
He reaches out clumsily, his hand brushing against your arm. “You’re bossy. I like that. Are you the same way in bed?”
You grab his wrist gently but firmly, lowering it back to his lap. “Franco, listen to me. I’m serious. You can’t race tomorrow. You could get seriously hurt. Do you understand that?”
He stares at you for a long moment, his expression oddly thoughtful. Then he smiles faintly. “You’re really worried about me, huh?”
“Yes,” you say without hesitation. “Because someone has to be.”
For a second, something shifts in his eyes, like he’s seeing you clearly for the first time. But then he blinks, and the moment is gone.
“You’re nice,” he murmurs, slumping further into the chair. “I like you.”
You sigh, glancing over your shoulder at the Williams team members still hovering nearby. “He needs to go back to the medical center. Now.”
James steps forward, his face a mask of polite concern. “I appreciate your input, but we’ll handle it from here.”
You stand, squaring your shoulders. “No, you won’t. Because if you try to put him in that car tomorrow, I’ll make sure everyone knows exactly what you’re doing. And trust me, the media will eat it up.”
James’ jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he nods to the physiotherapist. “Take him back.”
As the man helps Franco to his feet, he glances back at you, his lopsided smile still in place. “Don’t go anywhere, pretty doctor. I’m gonna marry you.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose, fighting the urge to scream. “You’re definitely not racing tomorrow,” you mutter, more to yourself than anyone else.
But as you watch him stumble out of the garage, you can’t shake the feeling that this fight isn’t over yet.
Summary: it starts, as all the best things do, with a bet (“If I win the race tomorrow and take the championship, you owe me a favor. Anything I want.”)
Note: thank you so much to @altxanna for the fantastic idea
The lights of the Las Vegas strip pulse outside the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of Max’s penthouse, but neither of you cares. You’re both tangled up in each other under the covers, limbs lazily draped and intertwined. The TV is playing some action movie you both stopped paying attention to an hour ago, the volume low, serving as nothing more than background noise.
“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” you say, your voice soft as you trace a finger along Max’s arm, admiring the way his muscles shift beneath his skin.
“Just thinking,” he murmurs, resting his head against the pillow. His accent wraps around the words in a way that feels so familiar it’s comforting.
“About the race?” You ask, already knowing the answer.
Max turns his head to look at you, his blue eyes catching the dim light from the window. “What else would I be thinking about?”
You hum, tilting your head in mock thought. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe about how your girlfriend is ridiculously good-looking? Or how lucky you are to have me?”
His lips quirk into a smile, the kind that’s as much in his eyes as it is on his face. “You’re right. I should focus on what really matters.” He shifts slightly, leaning closer to you. “You’re ridiculously good-looking, and I’m very lucky.”
You laugh and shove his shoulder lightly. “That’s better.”
He catches your hand before you can pull it away, his fingers lacing with yours. His expression grows more serious as he says, “But yes, I’m thinking about the race. I’m thinking about winning.”
You roll your eyes at the sheer confidence in his tone. “You think you’re going to win.”
Max raises an eyebrow. “Think? I know I’m going to win. You don’t believe in me?”
“Oh, I believe in you,” you say, smirking. “I just also believe in my brother. And if Lando finishes ahead of you, the title fight goes to Qatar.”
He groans dramatically, letting his head fall back against the pillow. “Don’t remind me. The idea of dragging this out another week …”
“What, scared Lando might pull it off?”
He narrows his eyes at you, feigning offense. “Scared? Me? No. I’m just saying it would be … inconvenient.”
“Uh-huh.” You grin, shifting onto your side to face him fully. “I don’t know, Max. Lando’s been looking pretty good lately. He might surprise you tomorrow.”
Max’s hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer. “You’re really going to sit here, in my bed, and tell me your brother is going to beat me?”
“I’m just saying it’s possible,” you tease.
He shakes his head, but there’s a spark of amusement in his eyes. “Alright, then. If you’re so confident, let’s make it interesting.”
Your eyebrows lift. “Oh? What do you have in mind?”
“A bet,” he says simply.
You prop yourself up on your elbow, intrigued. “A bet?”
Max nods, his smirk growing. “If I win the race tomorrow and take the championship, you owe me a favor. Anything I want.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Anything?”
“Anything.”
You consider it for a moment, then ask, “And if Lando finishes ahead of you?”
“Then you get a favor. Anything you want.”
You bite your lip to keep from smiling too broadly. “You really think you’re that unbeatable, huh?”
“I know I am,” he says, his confidence practically radiating off him.
“Alright, Verstappen,” you say, holding out your hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
He clasps your hand in his, his grip firm but warm. “Deal.”
You let your hand linger in his for a moment before pulling it away. “So, what’s this big favor you’re going to ask for if you win?”
He leans back against the pillows, his smirk turning devilish. “You’ll find out when I win.”
“If you win,” you correct, lying back down beside him.
“I’ll win,” he says confidently, his voice low as his hand trails down your back.
You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”
“And yet, here you are,” he says, pulling you closer until your head rests against his chest.
You can hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and for a moment, the room falls quiet. It’s peaceful in a way you don’t get to experience often, and you savor it.
“You know,” you say after a while, your voice quiet, “if Lando does win tomorrow, it’s not because you’re not good enough. He’s just …”
“Your brother?” Max finishes, his tone teasing.
You laugh softly. “Yeah, that too. But he’s been working so hard for this, Max. You both have. It’s … complicated.”
He runs a hand through your hair, his touch gentle. “I know. But on the track, it’s not complicated. It’s just me, the car, and the finish line. No brothers, no girlfriends. Just racing.”
You tilt your head to look up at him. “And what about after the race?”
“After the race …” He pauses, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “After the race, I’m just me. And you’re just you. That doesn’t change, no matter what.”
You don’t respond right away, letting his words sink in. Then, with a small smile, you say, “You’re really not scared at all, are you?”
“Of Lando? No,” he says, his voice light. “Of you? A little.”
You laugh, shoving him lightly. “Good. You should be.”
He catches your hand again, this time pressing a kiss to your palm. “I’ll remember that.”
You let out a soft sigh, your body relaxing against his. “You’d better get some sleep, Verstappen. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
He hums in agreement, but instead of pulling away, he leans in, pressing his lips to your neck. “One more kiss,” he murmurs against your skin.
You close your eyes, your breath hitching slightly. “Just one?”
He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his smirk returning. “Maybe two.”
You shake your head, laughing softly as he pulls you back under the covers.
And for now, the world outside doesn’t matter.
***
The final lap of the Las Vegas Grand Prix feels endless. The crowd’s roar grows louder with every corner, drowning out even the hum of the engines. Your hands are clammy as you grip the edge of your seat in the Red Bull garage, your eyes glued to the screen. Max’s car slices through the neon-lit streets of Vegas, and Lando is right behind him.
It’s close. Too close.
“Come on, Lando,” you mutter under your breath, though your heart isn’t entirely in it.
Max is P5. Lando is P6. A single position apart. If it stays this way, the championship is Max’s.
You’re not sure who you’re rooting for anymore.
The chequered flag waves as Max crosses the line, and your both heart drops and soars. P5. It’s done.
“MAX VERSTAPPEN, YOU ARE THE 2024 WORLD CHAMPION!” GP’s voice explodes over the team radio, his excitement nearly incomprehensible.
Max’s laughter comes through the speakers, unrestrained and wild. It’s a sound you know all too well — relief, joy, triumph all rolled into one.
“Yessss!” Max shouts. “That was incredible! Thank you so much for this season!”
You can’t help the smile tugging at your lips, even as the realization sinks in. He won. He really won.
The camera cuts to the Red Bull garage, where the team is in chaos — cheers, hugs, champagne spraying already. Christian adjusts his headset, leaning in to speak.
“Max, congratulations, mate. What an unbelievable season. You’ve done it again.”
“Thanks, Christian. Four in a row — unreal.”
You watch the screen as Max’s car slows on the cooldown lap, weaving slightly in celebration. You know him well enough to see it, even through the helmet — the ease in his shoulders, the grin he must be wearing.
Then his voice cuts through the radio again, this time steadier, more purposeful.
“And just so you know, I’m calling in my favor now.”
Christian’s confused laugh is audible even through the crackling radio. “Your favor? What are you talking about?”
You freeze, the air catching in your lungs.
Max chuckles, low and mischievous. “I had a bet with my girlfriend. I told her I’d win tonight. She owes me a favor, and I know exactly what I want.”
Your stomach flips, a mixture of dread and anticipation.
GP’s voice comes through, confused but amused. “Are we supposed to know what this favor is?”
“No, no,” Max says, his tone casual but firm. “But you’ll find out soon enough.”
Christian presses again, trying to pry it out of him. “Come on, Max. What’s the favor?”
There’s a pause, the kind that feels deliberate, like Max is savoring the moment.
“I want to marry her. Tonight. Right here in Vegas.”
The words hit you like a bolt of lightning, your pulse racing.
GP bursts out laughing. “Wait, what? Are you serious?”
“Dead serious,” Max replies, his voice steady, no hint of hesitation.
You sit frozen, your heart thundering in your chest. Did he just-
“Max,” Christian says, a mixture of disbelief and laughter in his tone, “does she even know about this?”
“She does now,” Max says, and you can hear the grin in his voice.
The team radio falls silent for a moment, and the TV commentary fills the void as the podium finishers begin to line up. But you barely register any of it.
Max is proposing. No — not proposing. Declaring.
The camera pans to his car as he pulls into parc fermé, the four-time World Champion. The team swarms him, pulling him from the car, hoisting him into the air. The crowd’s cheers are deafening, but all you can think about is his voice in your head.
“I want to marry her. Tonight.”
You barely notice when someone taps your shoulder, Max’s PR officer. “You should get down to the celebrations,” she says, her voice brimming with excitement. “He’ll want you there.”
Your legs feel like jelly as you stand, weaving through the sea of Red Bull personnel to get to the barriers.
***
When you finally see him, his helmet is off, his face flushed from the race and grinning so wide it’s like he’s glowing. He spots you instantly, cutting through the crowd like no one else exists.
“Max,” you start, but he doesn’t let you finish.
“You heard me,” he says, his voice low but firm, his eyes locked on yours. “I want to marry you tonight.”
You stare at him, still trying to catch up. “You’re insane.”
He steps closer, his hand finding yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Probably. But I’m serious.”
“Max, you just won a world championship,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “You’re supposed to be celebrating, not-”
“I am celebrating,” he interrupts, his voice softening. “With you. And I don’t want to wait anymore. I’ve known for years that I want you. Why wait?”
Your heart feels like it might burst out of your chest. “This is insane. People don’t just get married in Vegas on a whim.”
He tilts his head, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “People do it all the time, actually.”
“Max-”
“I love you,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “I love you, and I want to start the rest of my life with you. Tonight. Right now.”
You can feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on you — the team, the media, everyone waiting for your reaction. But in this moment, it’s just the two of you.
“Say yes,” he whispers, his forehead resting against yours. “Say yes, and let me win you, too.”
You laugh, a shaky, breathless sound that comes out more like a sob. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love me for it.”
You take a deep breath, your hand tightening around his. “Fine,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yes.”
The smile that breaks across his face is pure joy, unfiltered and blinding. He pulls you into his arms, lifting you off the ground as the team around you erupts into cheers.
“Alright, Verstappen,” you say, laughing as he spins you. “You’ve got your favor. Let’s get married.”
***
The wedding chapel is everything you expected it to be: over-the-top, tacky in the most endearing way, and bathed in flickering neon lights. A bright red Cadillac is parked out front, its headlights beaming into the frigid Vegas night. Inside, the carpet is a deep, gaudy red, and plastic flowers line the aisle. The faint smell of cigarettes lingers in the air, clinging to the cheap velvet curtains.
It’s surreal, to say the least.
“This is insane,” you mumble, standing in a side room with Lando, who’s staring at you like he’s still trying to process what’s happening.
“You think this is insane?” He replies, pointing vaguely toward the chapel. “What about the fact that you’re marrying Max Verstappen in a Vegas chapel at 3 a.m. with a guy dressed as Elvis officiating?”
You groan, adjusting the makeshift bouquet of roses someone from the Red Bull team had pulled together. “Don’t remind me.”
Lando smirks, leaning against the doorframe. “I don’t think I have to. This is going to live in my head rent-free for the rest of my life.”
You shoot him a look. “You don’t have to be here, you know.”
“Are you kidding?” He folds his arms, the grin never leaving his face. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything. Besides, who else is going to walk you down the aisle?”
Your stomach flips at the thought. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
Lando softens a little, stepping closer. “Hey,” he says, his voice quieter now, “you sure about this? I mean, it’s Max. And Vegas. And Elvis.”
You bite your lip, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress. “I’m sure.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you say, meeting his eyes. “I love him, Lando. He’s ridiculous, and he drives me insane, but I love him.”
Lando watches you for a moment, then sighs dramatically. “Well, I guess if anyone’s crazy enough to keep up with Max, it’s you.”
“Gee, thanks,” you say dryly, but your smile betrays you.
There’s a knock on the door, and one of the chapel staff pokes their head in. “We’re ready for you.”
Your heart leaps into your throat.
Lando claps his hands together, his grin back in full force. “Alright, let’s do this.”
***
The chapel is even more ridiculous than you’d imagined. A man dressed as Elvis stands at the altar, adjusting his oversized sunglasses and strumming a guitar idly as he waits. Max is already there, looking completely at ease, as if this is just another podium ceremony.
When he sees you, his face lights up, and any lingering nerves you had melt away.
“You ready?” Lando whispers, offering his arm.
“As I’ll ever be,” you whisper back, looping your arm through his.
The music starts — a surprisingly heartfelt rendition of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” sung by Elvis — and you can’t help but laugh under your breath.
“You’re walking down the aisle to Elvis,” Lando says, shaking his head. “Unreal.”
“Shut up,” you mutter, though you’re smiling.
The walk feels like it takes forever and no time at all. Max’s gaze is fixed on you the entire time, his expression soft and unguarded in a way you don’t see often. By the time you reach him, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much.
Lando hands you off with an exaggerated sigh. “Take care of her. She’s the only one who can put up with you.”
“Don’t worry,” Max says, smirking as he shakes Lando’s hand. “I plan to.”
Lando steps back, but not before whispering, “If you hurt her, I’ll crash you out next season.”
Max laughs, then turns back to you, his hands finding yours.
“You look amazing,” he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear.
“I look ridiculous,” you whisper back.
His grin widens. “Even better.”
Elvis clears his throat, drawing your attention. “Alright, folks, let’s get this show on the road!”
The ceremony is exactly as absurd as you’d expected, and yet somehow, it feels perfect.
“Dearly beloved,” Elvis begins, his voice smooth and practiced, “we are gathered here tonight to witness the union of Max and …” He pauses, looking at you with a raised eyebrow.
You realize no one ever told him your name.
“Uh,” you startle back to reality for a moment, “Y/N.”
“Max and Y/N,” Elvis continues smoothly, as if this sort of thing happens all the time.
He launches into the ceremony, peppering in car-themed metaphors and Elvis song references.
“Marriage,” he says at one point, “is a lot like a road trip. Sometimes it’s smooth sailing, sometimes you hit a few potholes, but as long as you’ve got each other, you’ll always find your way back to Graceland.”
You glance at Max, who’s barely holding back a laugh.
“Are you laughing at our wedding vows?” You whisper.
“I’m laughing at the potholes,” he whispers back.
Elvis continues, undeterred.
When it’s time for the personal vows, Max surprises you.
“I know this is all … unconventional,” he says, his hands still holding yours. “But that’s us, isn’t it? Unconventional. From the first time we met, I knew you were different. You don’t just keep up with me; you challenge me. You push me to be better, on and off the track. And you put up with all my nonsense, which is honestly impressive.”
You laugh, tears stinging your eyes.
“I promise to always be your biggest fan, even when you’re cheering for your brother,” Max continues, his voice softer now. “I promise to always fight for you, always support you, and always love you, no matter how crazy life gets.”
You’re not sure when the tears started falling, but they’re there, hot and fast.
“Your turn,” Elvis says, nodding at you.
You take a shaky breath, your voice trembling. “Max, you drive me crazy. You’re stubborn, competitive, and impossible to argue with. But you’re also kind, loyal, and the most passionate person I’ve ever met. You make me laugh when I don’t want to, and you make me believe in things I never thought I could.”
His eyes soften, and you squeeze his hands tighter.
“I promise to always stand by your side, even when you’re impossible. I promise to love you, challenge you, and never let you win a bet without a fight.”
Max grins, and the rest of the room seems to fade away.
When Elvis finally declares you husband and wife, it feels like the world stops.
“You may now kiss your bride,” he says with a flourish.
Max doesn’t hesitate, pulling you close and kissing you like the world outside doesn’t exist. The room erupts into cheers, Lando’s voice loudest among them.
When you finally pull away, Max leans his forehead against yours, his voice barely a whisper.
“We did it.”
You smile, your hands resting on his chest. “Yeah. We did.”
And just like that, Max Verstappen is your husband.
***
The rest of the night passes in a blur of laughter, chaos, and an overwhelming sense of unreality. The “reception” is cobbled together on the fly, with Red Bull team members and an assortment of drivers spilling out of limos and taxis into a nearby lounge they commandeer for the celebration.
Max stays close to you the entire time, his hand resting on your lower back or entwined with yours. Every time you glance at him, he’s already looking at you, his expression so full of love it makes your chest ache.
Eventually, you both slip away from the commotion, winding your way back to Max’s penthouse. The city hums below, the neon lights still pulsing with energy, but inside, everything feels quiet. Peaceful.
You’re curled up together in bed, the chaos of the night left behind, when Max finally speaks. “So,” he says, breaking the comfortable silence, “are you going to tell me what your favor would’ve been if you had won the bet?”
You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I don’t think you’re ready for that, Verstappen.”
His brows lift, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Oh, now you have to tell me.”
You tilt your head, feigning deep thought. “Well, it would’ve been something big. Something life-changing.”
His grin widens, and he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Life-changing, huh? What, were you going to make me switch teams? Retire early?”
You smirk, letting the pause hang in the air just long enough for him to grow impatient. “A ring.”
Max blinks, caught off guard for a split second. “A ring?”
“Mm-hmm.” You trace lazy circles on his chest, pretending not to notice his stunned expression. “I was going to ask for a ring. But you, being Max Verstappen, had to be a few laps ahead and beat me to it. Like usual.”
His laughter bursts out, warm and unrestrained. “You’re telling me you were going to propose to me?”
You shrug, unable to keep the playful smile off your face. “What can I say? I wanted to beat you at your own game.”
Max shifts onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you fully. His grin is impossibly wide, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement and something deeper. “You’re unbelievable.”
“You married me,” you point out, grinning back.
“I did,” he agrees, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “And I’d do it again. But I have to say, I think I prefer this version. Me proposing. You saying yes. Vegas. Elvis.”
You laugh, swatting his chest lightly. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”
“Not a chance.” He’s still smiling, but his voice softens, turning serious. “I love you, you know. And I don’t care if it’s Vegas or a ten-minute ceremony or some ridiculous bet. This — us — feels right. It always has.”
Your teasing expression falters, replaced by something softer. “I love you, too. Even if you are insufferable.”
He chuckles, pulling you closer. “Insufferable and married. To you. Forever.”
You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “Forever, huh?”
“Forever,” he repeats firmly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “And just for the record, I would’ve said yes if you’d proposed first.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His lips brush against yours, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m glad I won this time.”
You laugh against his mouth, your arms winding around his neck as you pull him closer. “Don’t get used to it, Verstappen.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Mrs. Verstappen.”
The name catches you off guard, and your heart stutters in your chest. Mrs. Verstappen. It’s ridiculous and perfect and makes you want to laugh and cry at the same time.
“You like that?” He asks, clearly noticing your reaction.
You bite your lip, nodding. “I think I could get used to it.”
His grin returns, smug and full of mischief. “Good. Because you don’t have a choice now.”
You shake your head, laughing as you lean into him, letting the weight of the night settle around you. The city lights outside keep shining, the noise of Las Vegas carrying on far below, but in this moment, it’s just the two of you.
Summary: Max has to deal with quite a distraction while on his sim (or in which there are definitely worse reasons to crash than you on your knees in front of him)
Warnings: 18+ content
Note: Max Verstappen is a four-time World Drivers’ Champion, so I leave you with this in celebration
Max squints at the screen, the blue glow of the monitors highlighting the concentration etched on his face. The steady hum of his sim rig fills the room as he grips the steering wheel, eyes locked on the track ahead. The chat is already buzzing with excitement, a stream of messages flowing faster than the race itself.
He leans forward slightly, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he pushes for the perfect line through the next corner. This is supposed to be a casual race with Team Redline, but Max never does anything halfway.
From the corner of his eye, he catches a flicker of movement. His heart stutters, but he keeps his gaze trained on the screen. Just focus. But then you’re there, slipping under his desk with the kind of stealth that makes him question how well he really knows you.
“Hey, what are you-” His voice is low, more of a mutter to himself as you settle in the cramped space, your hand resting lightly on his knee. He almost laughs at the absurdity, but then he feels the warmth of your palm through the fabric of his jeans, and his breath hitches.
“Max?” Your voice is sweet, innocent. The kind of innocent that makes his blood rush south.
“Not now,” he whispers harshly, trying to sound firm, but the effect is ruined by the way his voice catches on the last word. He clears his throat, gripping the wheel tighter. “I’m in the middle of a race.”
“I know,” you say, and he can practically hear the smile in your voice. “That’s why I’m here.”
His eyes flicker down for just a second — just a second — but it’s enough for him to miss his braking point. The car skids off track, and the chat explodes in a mixture of surprise and good-natured ribbing.
“Shit,” he mutters, jerking the wheel back to recover. He can hear his teammates’ voices through the headset, but they’re a distant buzz compared to the sensation of your fingers trailing up his thigh.
“What are you doing?” He hisses, trying to keep his voice low enough that it doesn’t pick up on the mic.
“Just helping,” you reply, your breath hot against his leg as you shift closer. “You seemed tense.”
“Tense?” He echoes, his voice tight with disbelief. “You’re not helping.”
“Are you sure?”
You lean in, your lips brushing against the inside of his knee, and he sucks in a sharp breath. His grip on the wheel falters, the car veering dangerously close to the edge of the track again.
“Stop,” he manages to say, but it’s more of a plea than a command. “Seriously, I-”
The next corner is coming up fast, too fast. He needs to focus, but then you lick a slow, deliberate line up his thigh, and it’s like every coherent thought evaporates from his brain. His foot jerks on the pedal, and the car slams into the wall with a crunch that makes him wince.
“Max, what the hell happened?” One of his teammates asks through the headset, genuine concern in his voice.
“Uh,” Max swallows, trying to keep his voice steady, “I think Sassy’s messing around. You know how she gets.”
“Sassy?” You repeat, muffling a laugh against his leg. “Really?”
Max doesn’t dare look down at you, his face burning as he tries to get the car back on track. “Yeah, Sassy,” he mutters under his breath. “She’s …you know …”
“A menace?” You offer, sliding your hand higher until it’s dangerously close to something that would definitely get picked up by the mic.
“Distracting,” he corrects, his voice cracking just slightly. “Very distracting.”
“Hmm.” You hum thoughtfully, your fingers tracing patterns that make his pulse race. “I thought you were good at handling distractions.”
Max clenches his teeth, trying to will away the flush spreading across his cheeks. “This is different,” he bites out, his knuckles white on the wheel. “You’re-”
He cuts off with a strangled noise as your lips brush against the zipper of his jeans. His head falls back for a split second, eyes squeezing shut. The chat is a blur, his teammates’ voices barely registering over the pounding of his heart.
“You okay there, Max?” Someone asks, clearly picking up on his unusual silence.
“Yeah, fine,” he says, forcing the words out in a breathless rush. “Just — Sassy’s really being a pain tonight.”
“Oh, Sassy’s being a pain, is she?” You tease, your fingers deftly working at his zipper.
Max’s heart leaps into his throat as he feels the fabric give way under your touch. “Don’t-” He starts, but it’s too late. You’re already working him free, your breath ghosting over his skin, and he feels like he might actually die right here, on stream, in front of thousands of people.
He can barely see the track now, his vision blurring at the edges as you take him into your mouth. The sensation is overwhelming, the wet heat of your tongue drawing a low, involuntary groan from his chest. He tries to bite it back, but it slips out before he can stop it.
The sound of his own voice brings him back to reality with a jolt, and he scrambles to mute the mic before anyone can ask questions. He fumbles, nearly dropping the wheel in the process, but finally manages to switch off his headset.
“God, you’re going to kill me,” he gasps, his voice hoarse as he looks down at you.
You pull back just enough to look up at him, your eyes gleaming with mischief. “You’re doing great, by the way. Really holding it together.”
“Barely,” he mutters, his hand slipping from the wheel to tangle in your hair. He knows he should stop you, that he should be focused on the race, but the way you’re looking at him — like this is all some delicious game — makes it impossible to think straight.
“You’re such a good driver, Max,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to the tip of him, and his whole body jerks in response. “But I wonder how good you are at multitasking.”
“I’m not,” he breathes out, his hand tightening in your hair. “I’m really not.”
“Sure you are.” You smile against him, and the sensation sends a shiver down his spine. “You just need a little more practice.”
“I’m going to crash again,” he warns, but it’s weak, almost a whimper as you take him deeper.
“Mmm,” you hum around him, and his hips buck involuntarily, the wheel spinning out of his grip as the car careens off the track once more.
He bites down on his lip so hard he tastes blood, but he can’t stop the moan that rumbles in his chest. “Fuck,” he mutters, his free hand gripping the edge of the desk like a lifeline. “Fuck, fuck-”
You pull back just enough to let your breath cool the wet skin, and his whole body shudders. “Max,” you purr, your voice a sinful mix of sweet and sultry. “What would Sassy think if she knew you were blaming her for this?”
“She-” His breath hitches as you lick a slow line up his length. “She would definitely not approve.”
“Maybe you should apologize to her later,” you suggest, and then you’re taking him back into your mouth, and he can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but fall apart.
“Yeah,” he gasps out, the word barely audible as you suck harder, your hand sliding up to cup him in a way that makes his vision go white at the edges. “Definitely. Later.”
You hum in agreement, the vibrations driving him to the edge faster than he’d like to admit. He knows he’s losing control, knows that anyone paying attention to his stream can see how erratic his driving has become, but he can’t bring himself to care.
All that matters is you, your mouth on him, your tongue working him in ways that make his toes curl inside his socks. His head drops back against the chair, his eyes fluttering shut as he lets himself drown in the sensation.
“Fuck, you’re-” he chokes out, the words getting lost in a strangled moan as you take him even deeper, your nose brushing against the base of him. He feels the world tilt on its axis, the car crashing into the wall once more, but it’s a distant concern, something he can’t even begin to process right now.
His hand tightens in your hair, guiding you, urging you on as he teeters on the brink. “I’m close,” he warns, his voice a desperate rasp. “So close-”
But you already know, you always know, and the way you speed up, the way you suck him in like you’re starving for it, pushes him right over the edge. His whole body tenses, his hips jerking as he comes with a guttural moan that he knows would have been embarrassing if he weren’t so far gone.
“Fuck,” he breathes out again, the word shaky as you continue to work him through it, your movements slow and gentle now, coaxing every last bit of pleasure from him until he’s a boneless heap in his chair.
He’s vaguely aware of the game still running on the screen in front of him, the car idling against the wall, the chat a blur of confusion and speculation. But all he can think about is the way you’re licking him clean, your tongue gentle and deliberate as you savor every lingering moment of his release. His breath comes in shallow gasps, the aftershocks of pleasure rippling through his body, leaving him utterly spent.
“Jesus,” he finally manages, his voice rough, barely more than a whisper. His fingers slip from your hair, trailing down to rest on your shoulder. “You … I don’t even know what to say.”
You look up at him from beneath the desk, your eyes sparkling with mischief and something darker, more intimate. “Say thank you,” you suggest, a teasing lilt in your voice as you place one final kiss on him before tucking him back into his jeans.
Max chuckles breathlessly, running a hand through his hair. “Thank you,” he echoes, but it’s more than just gratitude — it’s awe, admiration, an acknowledgment of just how thoroughly you’ve unraveled him.
“You’re welcome,” you purr, crawling out from under the desk with a grace that seems unfair, given what you’ve just done to him. As you straighten up, you brush a hand over your clothes, smoothing out any wrinkles as if you haven’t just reduced him to a quivering mess.
Max watches you, still dazed, as you take a seat on the edge of the desk, your fingers idly tracing the lines of the virtual steering wheel on the screen. “You should probably get back to your race,” you say casually, though the satisfied smirk on your lips tells him you know exactly what kind of chaos you’ve left in your wake.
“Race?” He blinks, trying to reconnect with reality. The reality where he’s supposed to be streaming, where thousands of people are watching, where he’s just crashed his car in the most embarrassing way possible. “Oh, fuck.”
You laugh softly, clearly enjoying his distress as he scrambles to put his headset back on. The game is still running, but the car is totaled, and his teammates are probably wondering why he’s been completely silent for the past few minutes.
Max clears his throat, trying to summon some semblance of professionalism as he un-mutes the mic. “Sorry, mates,” he says, his voice cracking slightly as he glances at the chat, which is now filled with endless variations of what happened? “Uh, Sassy … Sassy knocked something over. Had to deal with that.”
There’s a beat of silence on the other end, followed by the sound of someone barely holding back laughter. “Sassy, huh?” One of his teammates finally says, amusement clear in his voice. “Sure it wasn’t something else?”
“Yeah, mate, you sounded a bit — preoccupied,” another one chimes in, and Max can practically hear the grin in his voice.
Max shoots a glare in your direction, but you just smile sweetly, completely unrepentant. “Just a bit of a distraction,” he says, forcing a laugh that he hopes sounds natural. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Mmhmm,” his teammate replies, clearly unconvinced. “Well, whatever it was, you might want to keep it in check. You’re not exactly in winning form right now.”
Max groans internally, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll focus, promise.”
But as he puts his hands back on the wheel and tries to get back into the game, his thoughts are still swirling around what just happened, how thoroughly you’ve taken him apart and put him back together. He can feel the ghost of your touch on his skin, the way your lips felt against him, the sound of your voice whispering his name in that sinfully sweet tone.
You, however, seem entirely unbothered by the chaos you’ve caused. You hop off the desk and start to leave the room, but not before pausing in the doorway to shoot him a look over your shoulder.
“Oh, and Max?” You say, your voice just loud enough for the mic to catch it, ensuring that everyone in the stream hears. “Next time, don’t give our cat the credit for my handiwork.”
Max’s eyes widen in horror as the implications of what you’ve just said sink in, and the chat goes wild with speculation. He can’t believe you’ve just thrown that grenade and walked away, leaving him to deal with the fallout.
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, his face burning as he hears the barely suppressed laughter of his teammates through the headset. He quickly fumbles to mute his mic again, before the noise from the chat can start bleeding through his headphones.
From the other side of the house, you can hear Max still muttering, cursing under his breath as he tries to explain away what just happened, though it’s clear from the chaos in the chat that he’s not fooling anyone. You’re pretty sure “Sassy” is going to become the new code word among his fans for a long, long time.
You can’t help but smile to yourself as you walk away, already planning the next time you’ll disrupt his perfectly controlled world with a bit of your own brand of chaos. Because you know Max — no matter how much he complains, he secretly loves every minute of it.
***
Max clicks out of the game, his heart still racing — not from the competition, but from the aftermath of your little stunt. His teammates had ribbed him mercilessly for the rest of the race, making it impossible to focus, and he’d finally had to give up entirely when it became clear he was more liability than asset.
But that’s fine, he thinks, as he heads to your shared bedroom. You’d wanted to play, and now it’s his turn.
He pushes open the door quietly, the soft sound of your breathing drawing him in. You’re sprawled out on the bed, lounging in a silk robe that clings to your curves in a way that leaves nothing to the imagination. One leg is draped lazily over the edge, your foot brushing against the floor, and your head is tilted back against the pillows, eyes half-closed in what looks like pure satisfaction.
Max pauses in the doorway, taking in the sight of you. The low light casts a warm glow over your skin, making the fabric of your robe shimmer as it catches the subtle movement of your body. You don’t see him at first, too caught up in your own thoughts, and he uses that moment to just watch you, to drink in every detail.
He’s still not entirely sure how he got so lucky, how he ended up with someone who could turn his world upside down with just a look, a touch, a whispered word. But he’s never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. You’d taken control earlier, had driven him to the brink of insanity with your teasing, your lips, your tongue … but now, now it’s his turn.
“Enjoying yourself?” He asks, his voice low, almost a growl, as he steps into the room. You startle slightly, eyes snapping open, but then you relax, a slow, lazy smile spreading across your lips.
“Immensely,” you reply, stretching like a cat, your robe parting just enough to give him a tantalizing glimpse of what’s underneath. “Though I was wondering when you’d finish up in there. Took you long enough.”
Max’s eyes narrow, though there’s no real heat behind it. “You’re awfully confident for someone who just crashed me into a wall in front of thousands of people.”
You laugh softly, completely unrepentant, as you prop yourself up on one elbow. “You needed to be taken down a peg. I figured I was doing the world a favor.”
“Oh, is that right?” He crosses the room, his gaze dark and intent, and you shift slightly under the intensity of it, though you don’t look away. “Well, I think it’s only fair that I return the favor.”
He doesn’t give you time to respond before he reaches the walk-in closet, pulling open the door and flicking on the light. The space is meticulously organized — suits, Red Bull-branded shirts, shoes all lined up with military precision. But it’s the back corner that interests him tonight, the small, nondescript box that he keeps tucked away behind a row of neatly hung jackets.
He retrieves it with a sense of satisfaction, running his fingers over the smooth wood before he opens it. Inside, nestled in soft velvet, are the toys he’s collected over time. Some are simple, others more complex, but each one has a purpose, a particular use that he knows will drive you wild.
He hears you shift on the bed, a small rustle of fabric as you sit up a bit straighter, curiosity piqued. He doesn’t turn around just yet, letting the anticipation build as he selects a few choice items, things he knows you love, things he knows you can’t resist.
When he finally turns back to you, the box in hand, your eyes widen slightly, and you bite your lower lip — a telltale sign that your confident façade is starting to crack. Good.
“What are you planning to do with those?” You ask, though your voice wavers just enough to give away the thrill that’s running through you.
Max sets the box down on the bed beside you, his gaze never leaving your face as he leans in close, so close that you can feel the heat of his breath against your skin. “I’m going to make you beg,” he says simply, the words a promise, a challenge.
Your breath hitches, but you don’t back down, your eyes locked with his as you try to maintain some semblance of control. “You can try,” you whisper, though the defiance in your voice is already weakening.
He doesn’t respond with words — he doesn’t need to. Instead, he reaches for the silk tie at your waist, slowly, deliberately tugging it loose until the robe falls open, exposing the soft, bare skin beneath. You shiver as the cool air hits your body, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his gaze, the way his eyes rake over you with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat.
Max takes his time, tracing a finger down the line of your collarbone, over the curve of your breast, the flat plane of your stomach. You watch him, transfixed, your breathing growing shallow as his touch ignites a fire beneath your skin.
When he finally reaches for one of the toys — a sleek, slim vibrator that he knows you love — you feel a surge of anticipation, your body already responding to the thought of what’s to come.
He clicks it on, the low hum filling the room, and you can’t help the small gasp that escapes your lips as he trails it along the inside of your thigh, just teasing, just enough to make you squirm. “Max …” you breathe, your voice shaky, and he smiles, a slow, wicked smile that sends a thrill of both excitement and nervousness coursing through you.
“Relax,” he murmurs, his free hand coming up to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing over your lips. “We’re just getting started.”
He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he presses the vibrator against you, right where you’re most sensitive, the sudden burst of pleasure making you cry out, your hips bucking instinctively against the pressure. But Max holds you in place, his grip firm, his eyes never leaving your face as he watches your every reaction.
“Look at you,” he whispers, almost to himself, his voice filled with something akin to awe as he takes in the way your body responds to his touch, the way you can’t help but arch against him, your hands clutching at the sheets. “So beautiful …”
You can’t form a coherent response, your mind too clouded with pleasure, too focused on the way the vibrator is driving you closer and closer to the edge. But Max isn’t done with you — not even close.
He switches to a lower setting, drawing out the sensation, making you writhe beneath him as he pushes you to the brink but refuses to let you fall over it. “Max, please …” you whimper, your voice barely more than a breath, but he only chuckles, clearly enjoying the way you’re already coming undone beneath him.
“Not yet,” he says, his tone teasing, as he leans down to capture your lips in a kiss that’s as much about control as it is about passion. You can feel the smirk on his lips as he swallows your desperate moans, the vibrations from the toy matching the rhythm of his kiss, each one driving you closer to that sweet release.
But he doesn’t let you have it. Not yet.
He pulls back, the vibrator slipping away just as you’re about to tip over the edge, leaving you gasping, trembling with need. You make a small sound of protest, your body arching towards him, but he only smiles, a look of pure satisfaction on his face as he watches you struggle to catch your breath.
“You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?” He asks, his voice low and husky as he reaches for something else from the box — a small, delicate clamp that he knows will drive you wild. He catches one of your nipples between his fingers, rolling it gently before attaching the clamp, the sharp sting of it sending a jolt of pleasure straight through you.
You cry out, your hands fisting in the sheets as the sensation takes over, and he doesn’t give you a moment to recover before he attaches the other one, his hands firm and steady even as you squirm beneath him.
“Max … Max, please …” you beg, the words spilling from your lips before you can stop them, but he only shakes his head, his eyes dark with lust as he takes in the sight of you — flushed, panting, utterly at his mercy.
“Not until you’re screaming for me,” he says, his voice a promise, a threat, as he turns the vibrator back on, this time at a higher setting, pressing it against you with enough force to make you see stars.
It’s too much, too intense, the pleasure building and building until you’re on the verge of breaking, but Max holds you there, right on the edge, refusing to let you fall until you’re practically sobbing with need.
“Please, Max, please …” you cry, your voice broken, desperate, and finally, finally, he relents, his hand moving faster, the vibrations intensifying until you’re shattering beneath him, your entire body convulsing with the force of your release.
You scream his name, the sound ripping from your throat as the pleasure crashes over you, wave after wave, until you’re left trembling, barely able to catch your breath. Max doesn’t let up, his hand steady, relentless, pushing you through one orgasm and into the next until you’re nothing but a quivering, incoherent mess beneath him.
When he finally pulls back, turning off the vibrator and removing the clamps with a gentleness that’s at odds with the intensity of what just happened, you’re too spent to even lift your head. Your body feels like it’s made of jelly, every nerve ending still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. Max watches you for a moment, his eyes dark and unreadable, before he leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead.
“You did so well,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing, as if he’s trying to bring you back down from the high he just sent you to. His fingers brush a stray strand of hair away from your face, and you lean into the touch, your eyes fluttering closed as you try to steady your breathing.
You’re too tired to respond, too worn out to even think about moving, but Max doesn’t seem to mind. He moves off the bed, and you hear the soft rustle of fabric as he picks up the discarded toys, the quiet click as he puts them away in the box.
When he returns to your side, he’s holding a bottle of water, and he gently lifts your head, pressing the cool rim of the bottle to your lips. You take a sip, the water refreshing as it slides down your throat, and Max gives you a small smile, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a tender gesture.
“Feeling better?” He asks, his tone lighter now, teasing, as he sits down beside you on the bed. You nod, still too exhausted to speak, and he chuckles softly, clearly pleased with himself.
“You’re not going to try that again anytime soon, are you?” He raises an eyebrow as he leans back against the headboard, one arm draped casually over your shoulders. There’s no real edge to his words, no anger — just a quiet amusement, as if he’s already looking forward to the next time you challenge him.
You manage a weak smile, your head resting against his chest as you let out a soft, contented sigh. “I might,” you murmur, your voice still a little shaky, but there’s a hint of defiance in it, a spark that tells him you’re not completely defeated.
Max laughs at that, a deep, rich sound that vibrates through his chest and into your ear, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your arm. “We’ll see about that,” he says, his voice warm and full of affection.
For a while, the two of you just sit there, wrapped in the comfortable silence that only comes after something so intimate, so intense. Max’s hand never stops moving, his touch soothing and grounding as he holds you close, and you can feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek.
Finally, after what feels like hours but is probably only minutes, you let out a soft sigh, tilting your head up to look at him. “You’re too good to me,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper, but the words are full of gratitude, of love.
Max’s gaze softens, and he leans down to press a lingering kiss to your lips, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a gentle caress. “I love you,” he says simply, and the words are so full of sincerity, of emotion, that they take your breath away.
You smile against his lips, your heart swelling with warmth as you snuggle closer, feeling safe, cherished, and utterly content. “I love you too,” you whisper back, and for a moment, the world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you in this perfect, blissful bubble.
Max holds you like that for a while longer, until your breathing evens out, and you start to drift off to sleep. He shifts slightly, pulling the covers up over you and tucking them in around your body with a tenderness that makes your heart ache.
Just as you’re about to fall asleep, you hear him murmur something, his voice low and full of affection. “Rest now,” he says, his fingers brushing over your hair in a soothing rhythm. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”
And with that, you finally allow yourself to relax completely, letting the warmth of his embrace and the soft, steady beat of his heart lull you into a deep, peaceful sleep.
certified crash test dummies k-mag, liam lawson and checo going three wide into a turn and coming out unscathed feels like a reality-bending anomaly. did someone else just feel the timelines shift.
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