Somebody write this!

Aisha 【she/her】 I live for Formula 1 and two amazing guys 🦁🍯🦡

[qwerty019283ytrewq]

Somebody write this please!!!

There is such a tag in this blog. Under this tag, I post my ideas with the hope that talented and experienced authors will see it.

That they would see it and be able to rewrite it properly. And then I'll read and reread it because I love Maxiel and I can't live without them.

There are too few fics in the world, I need more, I need my precious!!!

✨️Imagine✨️

Teenager Max (moving to another city, new school, interesting family composition)

Spy parents (literally)

Daniel's New neighbors (The neighbors are too noisy in the evenings)

A gift for a fairy (Max goes camping and something happens)

Isabelle's birthday or Isabelle's birthday (Daniel doesn't know how to organize birthday party for his niece, but in the end, he succeeds)

Comics

Hot Baku (literally)

Bright Baku (literally)

Shooting content (Yuki knows that Dan's smile, and Max giggles too loudly)

You're not a honey badger (literally)

Wine and curly charm (Max and Daniel are rewriting the "Taming of the Scoundrel" script)

Bath news (Max checks his news feed in the bathroom)

Surprise (Max feels sick on his birthday)

Dad is unhappy (Daniel doesn't know what he's doing here. A lot of emotions, simple feelings)

Parental custod (Max is adopting a grid child?)

JP sees (He really saw a lot)

Christmas troubles (Max and Daniel are going shopping for Christmas. Something happens. Also a fic about Maxiel with a child, just a little bit. The second part(?)

Caring Daddy Max (literally)

The BACHELOR (Daniel falls in love with Max because of his fingers (not what you think)

Little Wolf (Daniel is going to look after this boy)

Beep, beep, beep... (He still has to take it out for your mistakes)

Emergency contact ("My emergency contact used to be Daniel. It's probably time to replace it.")

Stupid face (Simon finds an approach to Max)

One message (Two universes)

Kommissar Rex au

Soup, toast, and hugs ("I'm ill")

Daniel's favorite day (Day with family...kind of)

Boys in Las Vegas (Without tiger but with wedding)

Easy to love (M+D+G)

[qwerty019283ytrewq]

Guys!!!

I know we're really feeling bad right now. I'm sitting here myself, almost in tears, I can't cry because my family won't understand me.

Even my head is a little dizzy.

I mean.

He is alive, physically healthy, mentally...I hope it will be restored soon. And we are...You'll be here with me, won't you? Okay, I'm crying. It's just that I love him so much, and he's obviously not going to appear in public much right now. I respect that, and I hope he'll be okay, (I've already written about it in another post) just. I need drawings, I need fics, I need old videos and interviews. You're going to be here with me, aren't you? Wait for his updates and love him further.

[qwerty019283ytrewq]

The cry of the soul from the past is still relevant. You're here with me, aren't you?

[qwerty019283ytrewq]

And so. I remembered Antonio Banderas, and then Spy Kids, and then the post-poll who are the children of Daniel and Max in the grid and...

✨️Imagine✨️

Jack and Hamda are coming home after school. They swear, bicker, and shove. Typical brother and sister. After opening the front door, they drop their backpacks in the hallway and go to the kitchen. Finally, they notice that dad is not at home, and the kitchen is a mess.

Jack asks his younger sister to stay in the kitchen while he checks the other rooms. The TV in the living room seems to have been blown up, everything that was made of glass is now frozen with shards on the floor, the pillows in the parents' bedroom are torn, one is visible..."What's it? Three holes...end-to-end? We need to call the police."

Jack returns to Hamda, who begins to panic. The girl is scared, breathing fast. Somehow, Jack manages to calm his sister down, and then they hear the ringtone of their dad's phone. They don't understand how it survived in all this devastation, but they take it out from under the sofa.

Uncle Seb is calling.

"Daniel, take the children immediately. You need to hide in a safe place... "

"Uncle Seb? I'm afraid it's too late for that."

Hamda is sobbing in the background.

Spy Kids

Spy Parents

"Where are our children?

"What are they doing?"

[deluzzie]

likeness practice

[mrs-delaney]

Nothing But Time | DR Headcanons

pairings: daniel ricciardo x reader 🩷 wc: 804 an: technically headcanons but they got away from me. this came out of an ask about him settling down because reader has a normal job and i have not stopped thinking about it since. he's retired. she's the one with somewhere to be. that's the whole premise and it wrecked me. new here? come say hi, i don't bite 🥹 my masterlist is right this way.

he gets up before you do because he wants to.

Alarm at five-thirty, set by him, for a job nobody assigned him. He could sleep until nine. He could sleep until noon and no one on earth would care. He gets up in the dark and goes downstairs and starts your coffee.

He grinds the beans by hand — the electric one wakes you, he decided that in week two and never went back — and he runs the travel mug under the hot tap while it brews so nothing in it goes lukewarm on the drive. Lid on. Screwed down, checked.

He's holding it out before you've got your other arm in your coat.

"Morning."

"You didn't have to."

"Nah, I know." He's already back at the sink with his own, elbows on the edge, watching you go through the bowl by the door and then your bag and then the bowl again. "They're in your coat."

You find them in your coat.

He tips his chin at the clock on the stove without turning to look at it. "You've got twelve minutes."

—

he texts you all day and none of it is important until it is.

The first one usually lands before ten. A photo of the bakery two streets over, the good one, with the guy behind the counter who has started calling him mate in a way that suggests he has no idea who he is. he thinks i'm a tradie. i'm letting him think it.

Then nothing for an hour. Then three in a row.

there's a horse in the paddock on the way to freo that is genuinely too small for its own legs

started that podcast you said. bloke will not get to the point

mum called. asked how i'm going and then told me how i'm going

You read them between meetings, thumb hovering, and by the time you type anything back he's already moved on. He doesn't mind. He's not waiting on you. He just needs it said out loud in your direction, and a phone is the closest thing available at eleven-forty on a Tuesday.

The one you almost miss comes in the middle of the afternoon, wedged between a photo of the dog asleep on the wrong chair and a question about whether you want the chicken thing tonight.

think i've forgotten how to be bored. reckon that's a good thing or

Then, forty seconds later:

anyway the chicken thing or not

—

he is in the parking garage before you're out of your last meeting.

Four-fifty for a five-fifteen finish. He'd tell you he was already out that way, which is a thing he says about every part of the city.

He doesn't stay in the car. He's leaning against the passenger door with his ankles crossed and his sunglasses pushed up into his hair, and he's been there long enough to have a conversation going with the man from the second floor who parks two spaces over. By the time you get down there he knows the guy's dog's name.

"There she is."

He opens your door before you reach it. He does that every single time and you've stopped mentioning it.

Somebody from your team comes out behind you and clocks him, and you watch him decide, in about half a second, to make it worse — a hand up, a full grin, hey, how you going, like he's been waiting on them too. He wants to be seen doing this. He wants your floor to know that the person out here at four-fifty with nowhere else to be belongs to you.

You get in. He shuts your door, comes around, drops into the driver's seat and doesn't start the car right away.

"So. Tell me about your day, love."

—

he asks about people he has never met and then remembers them.

You talk the whole way home. Not because he's quiet — he's not — but because he asked, and he meant it, and he wants the version with everything in it.

"Wait, hang on. Is this the same one from the thing in June?"

"Different one."

"Nah, but her name's also —"

"Different one. There are two."

"That's insane," he says, delighted, both hands on the wheel. "Right. Go on."

He drives with one wrist over the top and his other elbow on the console, half turned toward you at every set of lights. He asks about the outcome of things. Whether she got the role. Whether the printer on your floor ever got fixed. Whether you ate.

You say the office is doing that thing again about the parking garage, and he says car park, and you say parking garage, and he grins out the windshield and doesn't push it, and neither of you look at each other for about a block.

Then, at the roundabout: "Is Yaz the one with the sister getting married, or am I making that up?"

"That's her."

"Knew it." He puts his indicator on. "When's that, October?"

—

one night he doesn't have anything to say.

Saturday. You've been out most of the afternoon, and you get home and the house is quiet in a way it isn't usually, and you find him out the back with his forearms on the railing, looking at nothing in particular. No phone. No music going. He hasn't heard the car.

"Hey."

"Hey."

That's it. That's the whole thing he's got.

You put the bags down inside and come back out and stand next to him, and for a while neither of you says anything, which is not how this works. He is the one who talks. He talks through breakfast and through the drive and through half of every movie you've tried to watch, and now he's just standing there with his thumb moving over a chip in the paint on the railing.

"Nobody needed me anywhere today," he says.

You don't say anything.

"Not — I'm not saying it like that." He turns his head, comes back for a second, gives you a bit of the grin. "It's good. It's what I wanted."

"Okay."

"It's just quiet." He goes back to the railing. "It's quiet, is all."

You put your hand on the back of his neck and leave it there, and he lets his head drop, and the two of you stand out there long enough that the light goes.

if you want to be added to this brand spankin' new taglist, let me know 🩷

[kobutakatsudon]

the fairy tale about a lion and a honey badger

[onboardsorasora]

scream I just watched the most unhinged tiktok/reel and my brain went 'this is daniel coded' SO!

Max never believed in guardian angels. Sure his mom and sister light candles for him every race, but that was as far as he went when it comes to spirituality and like God. Lewis mentions his guardian angel all the time, says he's met him a couple times and he's saved his ass multiple times.

Charles believes in guardian angels, said he saw Jules' and talks to his all the time.

Max doesn't have a guardian angel.

He meets this hot guy at a bar, well meet is subjective. There is this hot guy at a bar. Curly hair, full beard, beautiful nose and smile. dressed in all white. Max's mouth waters.

He goes over to talk to him, finds out his name is Daniel.

"You shouldn't drink that." Daniel takes his drink from him.

"What? Are you like one of those 'alcohol is poison' type people?" Max rolls his eyes, trying to grab after the glass.

"No, some guy just tried to roofie you." Daniel is deadpan. Max blushes, oh. He leaves becasue that was fucking embarassing.

But he keeps seeing this Daniel guy, he pops up at the supermarket. He saw him at the beach once. He even saw him at a race. And he wore full white each time, different outfits, but all white.

He brings it up to Lewis.

"That's your angel bruv."

"Tch. He's not an angel. He'd probably a stalker who loves white clothes more than Geri. They'd get on I feel."

"He's an angel" Lewis says sing song and leaves him to it.

Max see's Daniel in the medical tent after a crash in the race. Daniel is watching the Dr talk to a nurse.

"Why are you here?"

"Uh, you can like say thanks once in a while or something." Daniel sticks out his tongue then goes back to watching.

Max shakes his head. "You aren't an angel."

Daniel shrugs back, but winks. Max blushes.

Daniel keeps popping up, he doesn't always stay long, but he seems to be always there. Max doesn't know what to think about the whole thing. But Daniel at least seems fun. Like he would be the life of the party.

Speaking of parties.

"Your pants are see through." Max is deadpan looking at Daniel's brocade linen outfit-- all white of course.

Daniel lifts up his top to show his ass, then twerks. Max notices- not for the first time- that Daniel's thighs look like they would have tattoos.

"Why aren't you wearing any underwear???"

"Oh Maxy, what is the point of underwear anyway." Daniel winks at him, popping his hip before skipping off into the thick of the party. "Don't do anything I wouldn't dooo!"

"I don't even know what that means." Max mutters, his face red. He did not have a crush on his guardian angel. No matter how cute, funny, hot Daniel was.

Wait no. Max still didn't believe in guardian angels. So there was no possible way he was crushing on one. Nope not a thing.

He steps into the party.

[shineon3]

I hear you call my name (and it feels like home)

chapter 1/2 - summary:

max has had his soulmark for as long as he remembers, little letters in neat cursive tucked on the inside of his wrist. his mom said he was born with it, even if it took her a few days to notice the words on his chubby little hands. daniel is eight when he wakes up to small, unfamiliar words on the inside of his wrist. he immediately runs downstairs, excitedly shouting to catch his parent's attention, and he spends the better part of his day looking at his wrist, tracing over the small, raised line, enamored with the words. or: the happy ending is foretold, but maaaan, it sucks to get there

read on ao3

(i am extremly late but!!! here's the post for the gbb summer fic fest "Written In the Stars"!! i had a bit of trouble writing it, and it's not complete yet, but i managed to post the first chapter and i'll try to write and post the second soon, so go give it some love, and give some love to the other fics in the collection too!)

[sunfl0wer71]

a guide to dating modern omegas, 9.9k, E, complete

max/daniel, max/george, george/daniel

cw: potential dub-con, explicit sex, cuckolding, a/b/o dynamics

If you ask Max, he’ll happily tell you he fancies himself a modern omega. He really is - he's even dating a beta. (Max's boyfriend has been sleeping with an alpha behind his back for five months. Of course, Max goes to introduce himself.)

[qwerty019283ytrewq]

The biggest fear: Max and Daniel will stop communicating.

I keep looking for their mutual likes on Instagram. I think about how they meet and spend time together, it's just not captured on camera. This is not in the romantic sense, but in the sense of friendship. My friendships are crumbling now, and I'm afraid to imagine losing that too. It's stupid, they don't know me, they have their own lives, their own priorities. But... Little Lily in a little Enchante costume. Paddle tennis meetings.

For 10 years, they have been contacting each other and supporting each other. If I lose it, I will...I'll be selfish here. Even though I wish them happiness with the people they love, I just can't accept that they won't be friends.

[qwerty019283ytrewq]

Do you remember me saying that I have a big fear that Max and Daniel will stop communicating?

[qwerty019283ytrewq]

He texts with Max more often. Still.

[ricciardo133]

maxiel - lace (so happy you're back!)

Daniel pulls the black lace bra by the elastic straps and shoots it like an arrow into his teammate's reddened face.

"Come on, Max. This is hook-up 101. Text her that she 'forgot' it." Max shakes his head. "She comes back, a little round two. Board the plane back to Milton Keynes five milliliters lighter."

"Why five? Five what?"

Daniel gives his demure teammate a withering smile while making a floppy jerk off motion. Max's cheeks go from strawberry to tomato.

Still, Max stands there stock still holding the lacy bralette with no indication of going to get his phone on the hotel nightstand. Daniel sighs. He steps over the almost packed suitcase and walks up to clap a hand on his still bed-headed, disheveled teammate in his white t-shirt and blue boxers.

"Post-race romps can have an encore, Max. Come on, text whatshername who clearly left his little sexy number on purpose to come back for it. What, was the sex bad?" A headshake. "So you're going to text her?" Another headshake. "Max, bud. Help me, help you. Y'know that line? From Jerry Maguire?" Of course, Max shakes his head again at a film he's not seen. "You had me at hello?"

"Me?"

"No, it's another quote. From the movie."

"Why do you care anyways?"

"'Cause I like films."

"No, about who I...how much I have...sex."

Daniel blinks down at the younger man, seeing his large hands hold the bra in front of his chest. Daniel pictures it before he wants to, as if his dick slipped into his brain cockpit, of Max bare-chested and the lace cupping his hand-full tits. He could joke Max should put it on. He probably would. Max is so pliable; his tits probably are, too. Daniel's dick, right now, not so much.

"Just care about your edification, bud. Text her and watch the flick on the flight." Daniel claps his shoulder again with a firm finality as he turns to leave. "Or whatever. Keep the bra for yourself to sniff or something."

Max pops in a laugh. "You're so weird, Daniel."

"Says the guy who probably has hickeys on his tits."

He glances over his shoulder. Beet red cheeks make his blue eyes nearly glow in contrast. "H-how'd you know?"

Daniel peaces out. "Just a guess, Maximillion."

He exits the hotel room and lets the image of a laced Max with well-sucked splotches on soft tits get soldered into his mind, something he can't- he shouldn't see in real life. Blue eyes. Pink lips. Purple marks all leading down to black lace.

[qwerty019283ytrewq]

✨️Imagine✨️

Max is easy to love. He's sweet, kind, funny, damn smart. He is very professional and stubborn. He's incredibly hot when he's angry, when he gives his all to sports, when he laughs, when he breathes...

Daniel doesn't know when he started feeling the same way about GP.

It's not just appreciation and gratitude for support to Max when he couldn't be there for himself.

Maybe after Daniel noticed his proud look after their 1-2.

Maybe after GP congratulated the happy Max on his victory, and then found the unhappy Daniel after the defeat and hugged him tightly.

Maybe after GP listened with what seemed to be great interest about Australia, about kangaroos, about soft hoodies, about beer, about wine, about the possibility of a Big Foot.

Max is easy to love. Even after the screams on the radio and his stubbornness. It's soft and sensitive inside. He is responsible and straightforward. He loves sports passionately and hates stupid people. He thrives next to his loved ones and hardens next to his enemies.

GP doesn't know when he started feeling the same way about Daniel.

Maybe after he noticed Daniel's friendliness towards the clumsy and almost wild Max.

Maybe after he saw a soft and sleepy Daniel after a long flight.

Maybe when GP saw him in black and yellow, glowing with happiness again, cheerful, when he was himself again, real honey badger.

Daniel is calling to see how Max is doing after Silverstone, and GP needs to make sure that Daniel is okay too.

Daniel shows up at the factory and GP reaches out to him with a hug when the cameras are removed. The way Daniel clings to him in response makes something inside flutter.

Daniel sets the fastest lap, and it's not just Max who gets tears in his eyes.

He could never say "Riccardo," it was always "Daniel."

It's not easy for Max to express his feelings. As a child, he only allowed himself to do this with Victoria when no one was looking. Or at his mother's house, when he lay down on her lap and she gently fingered his hair. In his entire racing career, only two people have ever seen him for real. They were able to break down his walls, proved that he could trust them, he could rely on them. It turned out he could love them.

"I love you both. These are not just platonic feelings, I want you both in every way. I want to be able to call you when I feel bad, I want you to call me when you feel bad. I want to hug you, lie on the couch and watch this stupid movie that Daniel loves and grumble to GP, which movie is bad. I want to be able to touch you, not just my friends. And that's just what lies on the surface."

Daniel's eyes are like saucers. He swallowed nervously and pulls his hand to his lips to start biting his nails and tearing cuticles, as always. GP and Max grab his wrist at the same time. Daniel looks at their hands and exhales shakily. He wants to say something, and it's obvious from his look that it's going to be self-flagellation, because Daniel's confidence has been waning lately. GP feels a growing rage because of this and a need to protect, he sees from Max's look that he feels the same way.

"Of course you know how to be tactful, Max." Daniel snorts and looks up. GP draws a circle on his wrist. Gently, slowly, gently. Daniel looks up and realizes that everything now depends on him.

"He's Max Verstappen. Straightforwardness is in his blood. And he gets everything he wants, right?"

"Only if you want it too?"

He wants it. Very strongly.

[qwerty019283ytrewq]

✨️Imagine ✨️

I need a fic where Arvid wakes up in an unfamiliar place with a wild hangover.

He walks around a huge hotel room and stumbles upon strange objects. A very expensive painting, a red panda in a cute cat basket, money scattered on the floor.

He goes into the last room and finds Daniel and Max there. Naked. In bed. Daniel sleeps on his stomach, and Max sleeps on his back and drools a little. They have THAT rings on the same finger. Arvid starts freaking out.

"Oh my God! What did we do yesterday? Get up, we need to figure this out!!! Why is it on the news that someone threw toilet paper at Zak Brown's house? Did you hear that Horner fell into horse manure? Why do I feel like you're involved in this?! You got married drunk yesterday!!! We have to be quick..."

Daniel rubbed his eyes and yawned, Max on his back buried his face deeper into Daniel's neck, hugged him tighter and sighed contentedly.

"No one will know anything if you don't tell them. Vegas and all that."

"But you got married..."

"Yes...The wedding was great. Max's eyes were shining so much, just like the sea behind his back."

"Excuse me? In Vegas...is there no sea?"

"Of course not, Muffin. There is one on the west coast of Australia. His nephews were flower boys. It was like I saw him grow up before I could put that cute ring on his finger."

[mrs-delaney]

Daniel is the Type of Boyfriend Who...

pairings: daniel ricciardo x reader 🍯 wc: 1.7k an: okay, i'm super nervous about this one. it feels like the first time i ever posted a joe work. this is how i see danny. i was going to start this with a bunch of disclaimers like i did with joe x british reader but you guys know i'm just a fangirl from louisiana so... last but not least i want to especially thank @vroomvroommbtch and @babygirlburrow because one, i would not have done this without you introducing me to danny, and two, your encouragement means so much to me. so thank you for that. so for better or for worse, here's the beginning. masterlist

Daniel is the kind of boyfriend who cannot let you have the bath.

You have earned this. Candles on the ledge, the good salts, the water at the exact temperature you had to keep adjusting to get. You have a book you have been trying to read since April. This is the plan.

The door opens. No knock, no announcement, just Daniel with a record sleeve in his hands like he’s been carrying it around the house waiting for someone to show it to, and he sits down on the closed lid of the toilet.

“So this guy in Freo,” he says.

You put the book face-down on the tile.

The guy in Freo had opinions. He does the guy’s voice — reedy, a little superior — and explains that this is a 1974 Australian folk record nobody’s heard of and that’s the whole point, and did you know they pressed less than two thousand of them. He tilts the sleeve so you can see the cover. You cannot see the cover from your position in the bathtub. He shows you anyway, because he wants you in on it, whether you can see it or not.

The record turns into the bakery on Stirling, the sausage roll place; the woman there asked after his mum. Which turns into his mum, who rang Sunday and wants to know what he’s doing about the shed, and he said he’d get to it, which turns into Michelle’s dog, who apparently ate a thong.

And somewhere in the middle of the shed and the dog, without changing his voice at all, he says Sky rang about commentary for Melbourne, and he told them no.

Then he’s back on the dog.

You sit up. Water goes over the side and takes out the closest candle.

“You told them no?”

“Yeah.” He turns the sleeve over and looks at the back of it like there’s something there. “It’s a good gig. Good money. I’d be in the paddock four days out of seven.”

“Danny.”

“What.” He shrugs one shoulder. “I just don’t want to be standing there.”

Then he reaches over and drags his hand through the water near your knee, testing it, and pulls a face like it’s lava. “How are you in that? That’s not a bath, that’s a kettle.”

“Okay, but — “

He leans in and kisses you, one hand on the wet edge of the tub, and he’s already standing up when he pulls back.

“Right. Going to go put this on. Love you. Byeeeeee.”

And the door shuts, and you’re alone with the salts and the one dead candle and the thing he said in the middle.

—

Daniel is the kind of boyfriend with the kindest eyes you’ve ever seen on a person.

It was the first thing you noticed, which is remarkable, because he was talking at the time.

Brown, dark, and doing something most people’s don’t. He asked you a question and then waited for the answer with his whole face, and you spent the first thirty seconds waiting for his eyes to go where men’s eyes go. They didn’t. They stayed on yours the entire time, and then he asked a follow-up.

But it wasn’t the attention. Plenty of men can do attention. He looked at you like it hadn’t occurred to him to want anything.

You were, at the time, wildly unimpressed by him and completely aware of this.

He does it to everyone, which took you a while to understand and then made you like him more. The kid at the servo in Wanneroo who worked out who he was halfway through the transaction and went red about it — Daniel leaned on the counter and asked him what he was doing after school like they had all night, and the thing he was doing wasn’t being gracious about it. He wanted to know. Michelle’s mother-in-law repeats herself because she’s deaf in one ear, and he lets her, and he laughs at the end of the story the second time the same as the first. He is not being nice. Nice is a decision. This is just how his face is pointed.

Which is also why he can’t lie. Not even about the good cheese.

“I didn’t.”

You look at him.

“I didn’t.”

You keep looking at him.

“Okay,” he says. “So what happened was.”

And the other thing, the one you didn’t have language for at the start: they go first before the smile. The enormous one, the one on the posters, arrives second — it’s already happened up here. Which means when he’s about to be soft with you, you get half a second of warning, and you never learn to be ready for it.

Your dad was in hospital in March. You told him on the phone from the car park in a voice you were very proud of. He didn’t say anything reassuring. He was on a flight that night, and he found you in the corridor on level four, and he didn’t ask how you were doing; he just came around the corner and stopped, and you saw his face do it, and that was when you cried.

Then he took your bag off your shoulder and asked what the food situation was, because there is only so much of that he can hold before he has to go and do something about the food situation.

—

Daniel is the kind of boyfriend who cooks like it’s a performance and eats like it’s a family.

Sunday, and he’s been in there since two.

The rule is that you’re allowed in the kitchen but you’re not allowed to help, which he has never said out loud and has enforced without exception for a year. You bring him a beer, and he takes it without looking, puts it down somewhere, and forgets it. There’s music on. He’s talking to you and to the pot and, at one point, briefly, to his mum on speaker in a mix of English and something else, and when he hangs up he says she says the sauce needs another twenty minutes in a tone that suggests this is a ruling from a higher court.

He tastes it off the wooden spoon. Makes a face. Adds something. Tastes it again.

“Come here.”

You come. He holds the spoon up and puts his other hand flat under it, cupped, so it doesn’t drip on the floor, and watches your face the entire time you’re eating off it.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” He turns back to the stove, pleased with himself, and you can tell because his shoulders come down.

His nonna’s recipe, except it isn’t, because nobody wrote it down and what he’s actually got is his mum’s version of what she remembers, and he’s changed things, and he’ll defend every change. Too much of it, always. Enough for nine people. There are two of you.

“Danny, who’s eating this?”

“We are.”

“There’s like ten pounds of sauce in that pot.”

“So we’ll have it Tuesday.” He’s already getting a container down. “And Michelle’s coming Wednesday, and I’ll take some to Mum. It’s fine. It freezes.”

It always freezes. The chest freezer in the garage is almost entirely lasagna, with the rest of it pasta and sauce in containers he’s labeled by hand, and you have made your peace with it.

Later he’ll eat standing up at the bench even though the table’s right there, and he’ll put his plate in the sink and then come back and stand behind you with his chin on the top of your head while you finish yours, arms crossed over your collarbone, saying nothing, in no hurry at all. That’s the part. Not the cooking. The forty seconds afterward where the whole loud engine of him just idles.

Then: “Right. What’s for dessert?”

“You’ve just eaten.”

“Yeah, nah, that’s a separate issue.”

—

Daniel is the kind of boyfriend who wants you in the photo.

Not near it. In it.

The first time you met anyone in his life was at a barbecue at Michelle’s, and you’d planned to arrive at your own pace, meet people gradually, work the edges of the yard the way you normally do. He took your hand at the gate and did not let go of it for forty minutes. Walked you to everyone. This is her. Not this is my girlfriend — he’d already told them all that, apparently at length, apparently for weeks — just this is her, like the definite article was the whole announcement.

He does not have a public version and a private version of this. There’s a photo of you on the beach at Trigg, where you are mid-sentence and squinting, and it is genuinely not a good photo of you. It's been on his phone’s lock screen since March, and he's shown it to a Ford executive.

At dinner he’ll put his arm along the back of your chair and leave it there. In a crowded room his hand finds the small of your back and stays, not steering, just there, the whole time he’s talking to someone else. When you say something funny to a group, he laughs a half-second late because he’s watching everyone else get it first.

“You have to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“That.” You gesture at his entire face. “The pointing at me.”

“I’m not pointing.” He is. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll ease up.”

Ten minutes later he’s got a hand on your shoulder telling somebody’s uncle what you do for a living, in detail, incorrectly.

Somebody’s cousin asked, once, at a wedding, whether the two of you had met through racing. You said no. Daniel said no, she’s got a real job with a delight so total that the cousin laughed and you did not, because it landed somewhere you weren’t expecting. He noticed. He always notices. On the drive home he said I didn’t mean it like that and then, twenty minutes later, on the freeway, out of nowhere, unprompted: “I like that you’re not from it. You’ve got no idea who anyone is, and it’s one of the best things about you.”

Then the indicator, and the exit, and a full explanation of what he thinks is wrong with the coffee at the place near his mum’s.

if you want to be added to this brand spankin' new taglist, let me know 🩷

[gbbficfest]

Thank you to everyone who took part in the fest! I hope you had fun and that everyone will show lots of love to all the fics, which you can find here!

Done for by maxiel_core (max/gp, 6615 words, explicit)

Through the years with Max as he tries [and fails] to not reveal his undying love for his race engineer.

K Letter by AnaMac (max/kimi, 1556, teen)

In a world where most people are born with the initial letters of how their soulmate are called/knows as in their body, Max was born with only the K letter marked on his. The thing about the soulmarks is they also have a color that only the other part of your bond can see…So he's still have a chance!

without ever touching his skin (guilty as sin) by sunflower71 (maxiel, 29356, explicit)

His mark sits pretty on his wrist, anchored and never abandoning him, always there for Max to see, to touch, to kiss and to hold. Sometimes he wishes he could also offer him that, instead of the uncertainty of his name somewhere Max can loosely trace but never check, that appears and disappears like a cloud over porcelain skin. Or: Max Verstappen has spent sixteen years loving the right person. Then his soulmate changes.

find my way back home by tiny_tysh (max/gp, 1897, teen)

Ten years. Ten years, and the thing that finally separates them is the very sport that brought them together.

Interlagos by anemptyflask (gen, 1225, mature)

Max Verstappen dies at Interlagos.

Selenicereus undatus (blooming in the night) by Foolishly_Fallen (max/gp, 4269, explicit)

He still doesn't want to get up, but his dick has yet to take the hint about how awkward the situation has suddenly become and is still hard, so he will have to resign himself to it. With a sigh he moves his blankets to the side and then pushes at GP's wing, trying to make it move so he can get up. GP doesn't move. The wing stays exactly where it is, a translucent sheet trapping Max in place. aka GP is a dragon and Max is his rider and soulmate. Sharing a mental connection gets...interesting

Tearing at the seams by Foolishly_Fallen (maxiel, 4691, teen)

Everyone knows that you are lucky if you actually manage to find your soulmate, especially if it happens early enough, giving you the rest of you life beside the most fitting companion. Soulmates though have a darker side to them, something that a lot of people forget to mention when harping about the kindness of the universe.

With blood spilling into my lungs by Foolishly_Fallen (maxiel, 10469, mature)

When it comes to love and sex and relationships the rules are a little harder, but Max knows you shouldn't fall in love with your hook up, and you shouldn't fall in love with your straight friend. The reason once again is clear: breaking the rules will break your heart. Therefore they're especially important when the two things, your straight friend and your hook up, are the same person. From all this it is very easy to deduce that Max has seriously and unequivocally fucked up.

you're scared to believe i'm the one by sanflwr (lestappen, 6247, mature, 1/3)

As his fingers grip the cold handle of his blade, his arm raised over his head, the other hand holding onto Leclerc’s shoulder, about to drive his silver blade into the tan skin—that’s when he notices an unusually familiar mark glinting at him—as if mocking him. Max swallows harshly, shaking his head; no, that is not possible. It must be a trick of the light, yes, that is it! He resumes, just wanting to be done with this now, raising his arm again—only to find his hands trembling at the action, unable to drive the blade into his target. Fuck no. No. No no no no no— His shaking hand pulls the robe apart, properly this time, coming face to face with a very peculiar but exact same mark he has on his inner thigh. Charles Leclerc is his soulmate. Or, Max is an assassin sent to kill the Ferrari heir, only to find out his target is his soulmate. Devastated by the reveal, he runs away, or at least tries to--knowing there is no refuge back home. But Charles Leclerc is not an easy prey to shake; once he finds out someone almost got to him, he wouldn't rest until he found the truth. And so begins the hunt.

Echoes by anemptyflask (lestappen, 736, teen, 1/?)

It’s hard to tell. Maybe he should have found a more conducive sport. Surely if he was not killing his back and neck and every other part of him most days of the week he would better be able to tell if his soulmate was in pain. But he feels nothing. Nothing that can't be explained away by Charles' own experience. That is, until Silverstone. --- Charles' feels his soulmates pain. It still takes longer to find him than he'd like.

Over the love of you by glossypinkpeach (lestappen, 2349, teen, 1/3)

Fairytales aren't real, and neither are soulmates, or so Max believes. Life isn't a storybook where everyone gets their happily ever after with their one true love. That doesn't mean that these red strings he sees everywhere won't do their best to prove him wrong.

Niyati by mikadonian (lestappen, 8474, teen)

Niyati (noun, Sanskrit) - The constant. The inevitable. “I think both soulmate love and normal love are special. Just in their own different ways.” Max has to believe that. For his sake, and for his soulmate’s sake. “Nothing better or worse. Love is love either way.” Or: In a world where not everyone has a soulmate, Max is born with a mark on his arm. A sign that the universe has crafted another human being for him; his perfect fit, his other half. But a soulmark doesn't guarantee a life of love. Max knows that very well.

I hear you call my name (and it feels like home) by shineon3 (maxiel, 3372, mature, 1/2)

max has had his soulmark for as long as he remembers, little letters in neat cursive tucked on the inside of his wrist. his mom said he was born with it, even if it took her a few days to notice the words on his chubby little hands. daniel is eight when he wakes up to small, unfamiliar words on the inside of his wrist. he immediately runs downstairs, excitedly shouting to catch his parent's attention, and he spends the better part of his day looking at his wrist, tracing over the small, raised line, enamored with the words. or: the happy ending is foretold, but maaaan, it sucks to get there

(colours) make me think of you by grim_reaperh (gen, 2032, teen, 1/6)

It's not planned and not expected, and maybe that's the beauty of it OR: 5 times Max accidentally got a soulmark + 1 time it was on purpose

Again, thank you so much for everyone who participated in the fest, we all need more max-centric fics in our lives <3

[lost-in-fandoms]

With blood spilling into my lungs (10469 words, Max/Daniel)

When it comes to love and sex and relationships the rules are a little harder, but Max knows you shouldn't fall in love with your hook up, and you shouldn't fall in love with your straight friend. The reason once again is clear: breaking the rules will break your heart. Therefore they're especially important when the two things, your straight friend and your hook up, are the same person. From all this it is very easy to deduce that Max has seriously and unequivocally fucked up.

[lost-in-fandoms]

Tearing at the seams (4691 words, Max/Daniel)

Everyone knows that you are lucky if you actually manage to find your soulmate, especially if it happens early enough, giving you the rest of you life beside the most fitting companion. Soulmates though have a darker side to them, something that a lot of people forget to mention when harping about the kindness of the universe.