Summary: Max always thought you never asked for much because you didn’t need much, low-maintenance to a fault, until he finally overhears the truth.
4.4k words / Masterlist
Max had always appreciated how easy you were to love.
You didn’t demand. You didn’t sulk over missed dates. There were no passive-aggressive comments about him not posting you enough or forgetting to text back when a race weekend swallowed him whole. You never made him feel guilty for the parts of his life that were already complicated. When he was travelling or exhausted, you simply kissed his forehead and told him to rest. When his schedule changed last minute, you never got upset, never made him sit through a tense silence or apologise for the same thing five different ways, you just shrugged with that soft little smile of yours and said, “We’ll figure it out.”
You weren’t just low-maintenance, you were selfless, unshakeably chill in a way that made loving you feel almost effortless. You understood the pressure, the travel, the media, the endless demands on his time, and you never tried to add yourself to the list of things he needed to manage.
You made room for his life before he even had to ask. You bent around the complicated edges of his world so naturally that, after a while, Max stopped noticing how much you were bending at all.
It was refreshing. Comforting, even. Being with you never felt like another obligation waiting for him when he got home. You were warmth, quiet, peace… but it also made it easy for Max to coast.
Because when you said you didn’t need flowers, he believed you. When you told him birthdays weren’t a big deal, he took your word for it.
When you said you didn’t mind that his attention was always half-distracted by Red Bull, his sim rig, his phone, or whatever new team crisis was unfolding in the background, he didn’t stop to wonder whether you meant it. He didn’t ask himself if you were genuinely fine with being loved in the gaps, or if you had simply learned to make your wants small enough that they never became inconvenient.
He didn’t notice that every time you said, “Don’t worry about it,” you were teaching him that he didn’t have to.
Until he saw the way your smile dimmed at Daniel’s girlfriend’s birthday party.
The boat was filled with champagne and noise, a private Monaco affair organised by Daniel, of course, because no one else could make a birthday party feel quite that excessive and still somehow charming. There was a neon sign glowing above the bar, a curated playlist that seemed suspiciously full of songs Daniel liked more than his girlfriend did, and custom cupcakes with everyone’s faces printed on them. Max didn’t even know you could do that.
You sat beside him with a drink in hand, your shoulder brushing his every now and then as the boat rocked gently against the water. To anyone else you looked perfectly fine, but Max had started paying closer attention now.
Your laugh came half a second too late, your smile faded too quickly, and your eyes kept drifting back to the couple across the deck.
Daniel’s girlfriend had her arms slung around his neck, his jacket draped over her shoulders, and a glittery tiara with Birthday Girl written across the front sitting slightly crooked on her head. Daniel kept adjusting it for her, grinning every time she swatted his hand away, and when she leaned into him, he kissed her temple without seeming to think about it. Thoughtless in the best way, like loving her out loud was simply instinct.
“You made it!” Daniel said, pulling Max into a hug before turning to you with even more enthusiasm. “And you look amazing. Seriously, come on, look at you.”
You laughed, a bit surprised, and looked down at yourself like you hadn’t expected anyone to notice.
Max noticed that.
Daniel’s girlfriend came over next, glowing, happy, adored. She hugged you tightly and thanked you both for coming, then turned to show you the bracelet Daniel had bought her. It was delicate and expensive, the kind of jewellery Max would never have picked out on his own because he would have convinced himself he didn’t know what he was doing and given up before trying.
“He surprised me with it this morning,” she said, beaming. “And he pretended he forgot my birthday for, like, ten minutes, which was evil, but then he had breakfast set up on the balcony.”
Daniel, overhearing, lifted his glass. “Romance is alive and well ladies and gentlemen.”
Normal Daniel. Loud, teasing, affectionate Daniel, who made a spectacle out of caring because he had never been embarrassed by warmth in the same way Max sometimes was, but then Max looked at you.
You were smiling. Of course you were smiling.
You were always polite. Always kind. Always good at being happy for other people, even when something inside you was quietly aching. There was something different about it then, something Max had never noticed before because he had never had reason to look for it.
Your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes.
You didn’t look devastated, you didn’t withdraw your hand from his arm or go quiet in a way anyone else would pick up on. You just looked at the bracelet on Daniel’s girlfriend’s wrist, then at the flowers, then at the wall of photos, and for half a second your expression morphed into something almost wistful.
Max felt it like a punch he had no right to react to.
The conversation moved on around him. Daniel was talking about the cake, someone else was laughing about how long it had taken to get the decorations right. His girlfriend was telling you how Daniel had been secretly planning it for weeks, badly, apparently, because he almost exposed himself several times.
You laughed at the story.
You said, “That’s really sweet.”
Max heard the softness in your voice.
For the first time all night, Max looked at the party properly. He looked at the flowers. The photos. The custom menu cards with her name on them. The cake Daniel had apparently taste-tested three times because the first one “didn’t feel like her.”
Then Max looked at you.
You were standing beside him with nothing from him except your own practiced understanding.
No flowers.
No post.
No planned birthday dinner he hadn’t rescheduled.
No little public signs that he was proud to love you.
No evidence, really, that Max Verstappen had ever looked at the woman beside him and thought, she deserves to feel chosen.
His stomach twisted, because suddenly he remembered your last birthday with a clarity that made him feel slightly sick.
He had been in Milton Keynes for simulator work. He’d called you late, later than he meant to, and you had answered in bed, face lit softly by your phone screen. You had smiled like you were happy just to hear from him. He had apologised again for not being able to be there. You had said it didn’t matter and he had promised to make it up to you. You had said, “Don’t stress, honestly. I had a nice day.”
Had you?
Had you really?
Or had you said that because it was easier than admitting you had wanted him there?
He thought about the flowers you always claimed not to need. The birthdays you said weren’t important. The dates you never demanded. The posts you never asked for. The attention you pretended not to miss.
Beside him, you glanced up. “You okay?”
Max blinked, pulled out of his thoughts by the gentleness of your voice. That made it worse somehow, even now you were checking on him.
“Yeah,” he said, too quickly. “Fine.”
You studied him for a moment, clearly not convinced, but you didn’t push. You never pushed. You simply nodded and looked back towards the others, your shoulder brushing lightly against his sleeve.
Max hated that too. He hated that you gave him space even when maybe he deserved pressure.
He hated that you had made yourself so easy to keep that he had forgotten keeping you was still something he had to actively do.
For the rest of the night, he couldn’t stop watching you.
He watched Daniel’s girlfriend pull you into photos, watched you laugh as someone handed you a party hat you refused to wear for about ten seconds. He watched you compliment the decorations, watched you ask questions about the planning, watched your fingers lightly brush over one of the flower arrangements when you thought no one was looking.
You liked flowers.
Of course you liked flowers.
Maybe not in the over-the-top, expensive, social-media way, but you liked them. He could tell by the way you touched the petals carefully, the way your face warmed when Daniel’s girlfriend told you Daniel had chosen them because they reminded him of a dress she once wore in Monaco.
Max stood there, silent and increasingly irritated with himself.
How many things had you convinced yourself you didn’t need simply because he had never offered them?
How many wants had you softened into jokes so they wouldn’t feel like demands?
How many times had you made yourself smaller around his life and called it love?
Later, when everyone gathered around the cake, Daniel made a speech. A terrible speech, because it was Daniel, so half of it was jokes and the other half was him pretending not to get emotional. Then he spoke about how his girlfriend made his life better. How she put up with him. How she deserved more than one night of being celebrated, but he hoped this was a decent start.
Everyone laughed.
His girlfriend cried.
You smiled.
Max felt like the worst boyfriend in the world.
He complimented you in private, usually quietly, usually after you’d done something for him. He told you he loved you, yes, but often in bed, or before hanging up, or in passing when one of you was leaving. He assumed you knew. He assumed choosing you privately counted the same as making you feel chosen.
On the drive home you were quieter than usual.
Your head rested against the window, city lights sliding over your face in brief flashes. Your heels were in your lap because you had taken them off the second you got in the car, and your fingers played absently with the strap like your mind was somewhere else.
Max kept glancing over. Usually he liked quiet with you, it was comfortable and easy, you didn’t need to fill every silence.
Tonight the quiet felt full of everything you weren’t saying.
“Did you have a good time?” he asked eventually.
You turned your head, smiling faintly. “Yeah. It was lovely.”
Lovely.
The word sat between you.
Max swallowed. “Daniel did a lot.”
“He did,” you said, and your voice was warm. “It was really sweet.”
There it was again. That careful admiration.
Max’s hands flexed around the steering wheel. “You like that kind of thing?”
You looked at him properly then, brows lifting a little. “What kind of thing?”
He shrugged, trying to sound casual and failing. “All of it. The flowers. The photos. The big party.”
You looked away and gave a small laugh, the kind that tried to make a truth sound harmless. “I mean, I don’t need all that.”
Max’s chest tightened.
That wasn’t what he had asked.
“I didn’t ask if you needed it.”
Your fingers stopped moving against the shoe strap and for a moment you said nothing. Then you looked down and smiled again, but this one was worse than the one at the party because it was meant only for him, meant to reassure him, meant to protect him from feeling bad about something he had already done.
“I just think it’s nice,” you said carefully. “For her. Daniel clearly put a lot of thought into it.”
Max nodded once, jaw tense.
Thought.
That was the word that stayed with him.
You didn’t need a private room full of flowers or a custom cake or a wall of photographs. You probably didn’t even want something that big, but you wanted thought. You wanted evidence that he had paused, considered you, and chosen to make you feel loved on purpose.
Max, who could analyse tyre degradation over fifty laps, who could remember tiny setup changes from races years ago, who could spend hours perfecting a sim lap by half a tenth, had somehow convinced himself he was incapable of remembering to buy you flowers.
“I should have done more for your birthday,” he said.
You went very still.
The car felt smaller suddenly.
“Max…”
“No,” he said, because he knew that tone. He knew you were about to let him off the hook again. “I should have.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not.”
You exhaled quietly and looked out of the window again. “I told you it was fine.”
“I know you did.”
“Then why are you bringing it up?”
Because I finally saw your face, he wanted to say. Because I finally realised you have been asking for so little that I stopped giving you even that and I do not know how to forgive myself for not noticing sooner.
But Max had never been good with words when they mattered most.
So he said, “Because I think you say things are fine when they're not.”
Your mouth pressed together. That tiny movement cut through him more than any argument would have.
You weren’t angry, but part of him wished you were. Anger would have given him something to meet, something to fix, something loud enough that he couldn’t ignore it, you just looked tired and that was worse.
“I don’t want to be difficult,” you said after a while.
“You're not difficult,” he said immediately.
You gave him a small, sad smile. “I know. I just mean… your life is already a lot. You have so many people needing things from you all the time I never wanted to be another thing on the list.”
“You are not a thing on the list.”
“Aren’t I?” you asked softly.
Max didn’t answer fast enough, once again words failed him, he hated himself for that.
You turned your face back towards the window, and the reflection showed him the truth he had been avoiding all night. You weren’t crying or making a scene. You weren’t asking him to turn the car around or apologise in some grand dramatic way. You were simply sitting there beside him carrying a hurt that had clearly existed long before tonight.
He figured you’d be home from your errands by now.
Probably curled up somewhere in the apartment, wearing one of his hoodies like you always did when he was away for more than a few days. Maybe on the sofa with your knees tucked beneath you, scrolling mindlessly through your phone, or half-watching one of those comfort shows you liked to put on in the background while you waited for him. The thought came easily, warmly, and Max found himself smiling before he had even opened the door properly.
He liked coming home to you.
He liked the small signs of you scattered through his space. Your shoes by the door, your hair tie abandoned on the coffee table, your mug in the sink because you always forgot to rinse it. Your presence had softened the apartment in ways he hadn’t realised he needed, turning it from somewhere he slept between races into somewhere that actually felt like home.
The apartment was quiet when he stepped inside, but not empty.
Max kicked off his shoes and shrugged out of his jacket, already turning toward the living room when he heard your voice from the bedroom. Then he heard your best friend’s name, and realised you were on the phone.
He didn’t mean to eavesdrop. He was about to call out, to let you know he was back, but something about your tone made him stop before the words left his mouth. So he stayed quiet, halfway down the hall, one hand still resting against the wall.
“I’m not upset he did all that for her,” you were saying. “It’s sweet. It is.”
There was a pause.
Max’s body went strangely still.
He knew, instantly, what you were talking about.
“It’s just…” You exhaled shakily. “He’s never done anything like that for me.”
The words hit him hard. Max stared at the floor, heartbeat slowing into something heavy and uncomfortable.
“I don’t ask for much,” you continued, and your voice was smaller now, like you were embarrassed to even say it out loud. “I know I don’t. I never wanted to pressure him or make him feel like he had to go out of his way when his life is already so much. I thought if I was easygoing and low-maintenance, it would make things easier on him.”
His throat tightened.
“But sometimes—” Your voice broke so softly he almost missed it. “Sometimes I wish he’d do something without me having to ask.”
Max’s fingers curled around the edge of the wall.
He could feel every careless assumption he had ever made beginning to turn over in his head, one after another, each one worse than the last.
You didn’t care if he forgot plans, if he came home distracted, if he said he would make it up to you and then didn’t, because something else came up and you smiled like it was fine.
“Maybe I enabled it by alway saying I was fine... but I don’t need grand gestures,” you went on, voice wobbling now. “I know that’s not really him, and I don’t want him to be anyone else. I don’t want a big show just for the sake of it, but it would be nice to feel special sometimes… to feel like he thought about me without me having to ask.”
Max’s chest ached.
He looked toward the bedroom door, but he couldn’t move.
“I just want to know he wants to do those things for me,” you whispered. “Not because he’s apologising or because someone else did it first… because he loves me enough to notice.”
Max couldn’t breathe properly.
He hadn’t known.
He really hadn’t known.
He thought you meant it when you said you didn’t care about birthdays, anniversaries, flowers, or all the romantic things he had always been bad at. He had thought that was part of what made you you. Unbothered by the kind of performative relationship stuff he had never known how to do properly.
The conversation ended a few minutes later.
He heard the soft rustle of sheets then your footsteps moving across the bedroom floor. Max reacted too late, still trapped in the weight of what he had heard and only barely managed to step back into the hallway before you came out.
You stopped when you saw him.
For one awful second, neither of you said anything and then he smiled and wrapped you in a hug pretending like he hadn’t heard a word.
That night Max sat alone in the dark of the living room for a long time, head in his hands. He couldn’t bring himself to move, couldn’t bring himself to do anything except sit there in the silence and let every word he had overheard replay in his head until it felt carved into him.
He kept hearing your voice.
“to feel like he thought about me without me having to ask.”
He pressed the heels of his hands harder against his eyes.
God.
How many moments had you swallowed your disappointment before he could even notice it was there, dimming yourself down just to be easier to love?
It gutted him.
You hadn’t asked him for the world. You hadn’t asked him to become someone he wasn’t. You only wanted to feel considered. Somehow he had made the best thing in his life feel like she had to be grateful for whatever was left of him at the end of the day.
You deserved fireworks, even if you were the kind of girl who said she didn’t need them. You didn’t want more from him. You just wanted to matter enough for him to give it anyway.
You didn’t expect anything to change.
Max was always kind, attentive in the ways he knew how to be. He noticed when you were cold and passed you his hoodie without making a big thing of it. He reached for your hand in crowded places because he liked knowing exactly where you were. He remembered how you took your coffee, which side of the bed you preferred, the shows you put on when you needed background noise. He loved you. You knew he did.
So when he suggested you take a weekend off together “Somewhere quiet, just us” you didn’t overthink it. You figured he wanted to disappear for a couple of days, somewhere without cameras, team radios, sponsor obligations, or someone asking him about tyre degradation.
It wasn’t until you stepped onto the lakeside dock in Switzerland that you realised something was different.
The cottage was small but charming, tucked away by the water with warm wood walls, soft cream blankets, and floor-to-ceiling windows that made the whole place glow with the late afternoon light. It wasn’t flashy, it wasn’t the kind of place chosen to impress anyone, it felt private, thoughtful, almost painfully intimate.
Inside there were your favourite snacks arranged in the kitchen. Your favourite wine chilling in the fridge. Your comfort blanket folded over the armchair by the window. Your favourite book was already resting on the bedside table, the old, worn copy you had once told him you reread whenever your head felt too loud.
You frowned, turning slowly back to him. “Did you… did you set this up?”
Max leaned against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, trying for casual and not quite managing it. “Maybe.”
You narrowed your eyes, sceptical. “What’s going on?”
His smirk softened a little. He just looked at you and there was something unusually careful in his expression, something that made your chest tighten before he had even said a word.
“I listened,” he said.
You blinked. Max glanced down briefly, like the words felt awkward in his mouth, but when he looked back up he didn’t look away again.
“I didn’t realise how much I’d taken for granted,” he continued quietly. “How much you gave by never asking. You made it easy for me, but that doesn’t mean I should’ve stopped trying.”
Your throat tightened.
“Max…”
“No, let me say it,” he murmured, taking a small step closer. “You always said things were fine. That you didn’t need flowers, or birthdays, or plans, or all the extra stuff and I believed you because it was easier because it meant I didn’t have to think about whether you were only saying it so I wouldn’t feel bad.”
You swallowed hard, looking away before your face could betray too much.
He walked you further inside, his hand warm at the small of your back, and that was when you noticed the little table by the window. It had been set for two, facing the lake as the sun began to lower behind the mountains. Candlelight, flowers, two plates, homemade pasta that looked slightly lopsided and very clearly like his doing, and a little folded note beside your place.
You stared at it for a second before picking it up.
In his messy, all-caps handwriting, it said:
I SHOULD HAVE MADE YOU FEEL SPECIAL BEFORE NOW. I’M GOING TO DO BETTER.
Max’s face shifted immediately, concern cutting through the nervousness. “Schatje…”
You shook your head quickly trying to laugh it off, but your voice came out thin. “I wanted to be cool,” you whispered. “I wanted to be the girlfriend who didn’t care about all that stuff. I thought if I asked for too much then I’d just become another pressure for you.”
Max stepped closer and cupped your cheeks, his thumbs brushing away the tears that slipped out despite your best efforts.
“You are the most important person in my life,” he murmured. “You always are.” His voice dropped softer, rougher. “I wish I could give you the world and I’m sorry it took me this long to show it.”
You looked at him then, really looked at him, at the nervous set of his mouth and the careful way he held you, like he understood now that easiness was not the same thing as not needing anything.
Then you finally kissed him.
Later that night you were curled against his chest with the fireplace crackling softly in the background, the cottage wrapped in that quiet, golden kind of warmth that made everything outside feel very far away.
Max had one arm around you, his hand resting beneath the hem of your sweater, fingers tracing slow, absent patterns against your skin.
You smiled into his shoulder, cheek pressed against the soft fabric as you listened to the steady beat of his.
“So,” you mumbled, voice sleepy but teasing, “is this a one-time gesture or…”
Max’s chest moved beneath you as he chuckled. “Oh no.”
You tilted your head slightly. “Oh no?”
“No,” he said, tightening his arm around you. “You’re getting so much romance now it’ll annoy you.”
You looked up at him trying and failing not to smile. “Really?”
He nodded solemnly, like he was discussing race strategy. “Really. I’m talking airport reunions. Flowers for no reason. Random poetry.”
“Poetry?” you repeated, laughing already.
“Bad poetry,” he corrected. “Very bad. Rhymes way too much.”
“Oh, God.”
“And a cheesy playlist,” he added, completely serious. “Maybe several. One for the car. One for when I’m away. One with songs you’ll make fun of me for.”
You laughed properly then, burying your face in his neck as warmth spread through your chest. It was never about the playlist, or the flowers, or whatever terrible poetry Max Verstappen might attempt in the name of love.
It was that he was thinking about it. That he had finally understood the difference between you not needing to be spoiled and you still deserving to be cherished.
Max turned his head and pressed a kiss into your hair. “I’m serious,” he murmured, quieter now. “I don’t want you wondering anymore.”
Your laughter softened. You lifted your face again, looking at him through the firelight. “Wondering what?”
“If I think about you,” he said. “If I notice. If I care enough to try.”
Your throat tightened, but this time the feeling wasn’t painful. Max brushed his thumb along your cheek. “I do,” he said. “I’ll show you better now.”
For a moment you just looked at him, then you leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to the corner of his mouth before tucking yourself back against him.
“That sounds perfect.” you whispered, smiling against his neck.
maxverstappen1 Me when my girlfriend says her feet hurt from standing
yn my favorite seat
⤷ kimi.antonelli ayo 🤨
⤷ yn ride to survive or whatever that shows called
⤷ kimi.antonelli AYO 😦
yn iktr
charles_leclerc You’re making us look bad
⤷ maxverstappen1 If you wanted to, you would
⤷ kikagomes 🤏🏽🤏🏽🤏🏽
landoonewin max verstappen is the most nonchalant person ever until it comes to his girlfriend
⤷ olliebearman no literally he finds ANY reason to talk about her no matter want the topic of conversation is
carlossainz55 Absolutely whipped 😂
redbullracing #1 boyfriend always 🥇
lando he’s not lying guys i watched him do wall sits in the airport last weekend
⤷ danielricciardo i watched him get down on all fours once so she could reach something
⤷ maxverstappen1 Okay that’s enough
alex_albon Did you really have to post this for all of our girlfriends to see?
⤷ maxverstappen1 Do better
isackhadjar oh he don’t play about her fr
madmaxfury boyfriend max is my favorite
danielricciardo and me too right?
⤷ maxverstappen1 No
⤷ danielricciardo oh!
hoeforsainzzz max verstappen is the standard
🝮
yn
liked by haileybieber and 1,818,316 others
yn basking
maxverstappen1 You are perfection
alexandrasaintmleux Magnificent 🪽
kimi.antonelli mother 🫰🏽
⤷ yn does this mean i’m a milf??? 😏
⤷ francolapinto definitely
⤷ maxverstappen1 Easy
⤷ francolapinto sorry sir
lilyzneimer beauty 😍
mercedesamgf1 Looking good baby boss 🖤
♥︎ by author
lando bro who flicked you up this picture is fye
⤷ yn maximilian
⤷ iamrebeccad how did you train him so well carlos sucks at taking pictures
⤷ yn LOTSSSS of practice i’m not even yanking your chain george helped me make a powerpoint presentation for it
⤷ maxverstappen1 I’ve come a long way, I know alllll the angles now 😏🤫
⤷ lando LALALALALALALALA WE DONT WANT TI HEAR ABOUT YOUR CRAZY MONKEY SEX
⤷ maxverstappen1 girl, whatever
⤷ olliebearman okay period i love when you remember your gen z 😛😈
kikagomes you look so soft wowowow
estiebestie this picture is actually perfect omg
madmaxfury and i bet he just took this picture for the heck of it 🥹
🝮
yn
liked by madeleinecwhite and 1,382,905 others
yn should me and max get married in vegas??
totowolff No.
⤷ kimi.antonelli when did bro get instagram?
⤷ schecoperez Toto has instagram?
⤷ yn alright who snitched because ik my dad wouldn’t download instagram for fun
⤷ georgerussell63 Yeah guys fess up!!!! 😤
⤷ yn you little snitch i know it was you george
⤷ georgerussell63 I was trying to get that contract I’m sorry
⤷ yn shut up
maxverstappen1 Yes please can we have everyone dress up as Elvis impersonators please
⤷ yn yes!
⤷ totowolff You are not getting married in Las Vegas honey
⤷ yn you never let me do anything
isackhadjar can i be your maid of honor?
⤷ olliebearman i wanna be the flower girl then
⤷ kimi.antonelli then i wanna be the ring bearer
⤷ olliebearmen wait i wanna be the ring bearer
⤷ kimi.antonelli no i already called it
⤷ olliebearmen bro youre fake
⤷ kimi.antonelli yeah yeah 🥱😒
⤷ lando can i be the photographer then?? 😈😈
⤷ danielricciardo no it’s gonna be me
⤷ lando why would it be you i’m obviously the best choice
⤷ danielricciardo me when i lie
🝮
yn
liked by charles_leclerc and 2,842,907 others
yn VIVA LAS VEGAS
lando DID YOU GUYS GET MARRIED
lando WHY WASNT I THE WITNESS
lando I’M TELLING TOTO
georgerussell63 This was definitely her doing
⤷ alex_albon her: we should go get married
⤷ georgerussell63 max: i don’t think your dad would like that sweetheart
⤷ alex_albon her: ugh just say you hate me and you think i’m ugly
⤷ georgerussell63 max: no let’s get married babygirl please
⤷ alex_albon her: no i don’t want to anymore
⤷ georgerussell63 max: please babygirl please please please can we get married i’m sorry please marry me i want to marry you so bad
⤷ maxverstappen1 Okay first of all, I don’t call her babygirl
⤷ yukitsunoda0511 I literally listened to you call her babygirl like 5 times in one conversation
⤷ maxverstappen1 alright who asked you?
⤷ yn hey don’t be mean to yuki max apologize to him
⤷ maxverstappen1 I’m sorry for being mean Yuki
⤷ gabrielbortoleto_ wait you actually let her boss you around like that?
⤷ maxverstappen1 My girl tells me to shut up and I do 🤷♂️
⤷ gabrielbortoleto_ yk what me too
kimi.antonelli wait did you guys actually get married or are you yanking my chain?????
charles_leclerc I would actually believe it if you guys eloped
alex_albon did he get you pregnant??? is that what this is about? i won’t tell
jensonbutton Yeah let’s get the cameras in the Mercedes garage right now
mercedesamgf1 Toto isn’t gonna like this one…
landossluttywaist that would be so iconic of you two to get married in vegas
olliebearmen you guys should still have a big wedding so i can be the flower girl
⤷ estebanocon Why do you want to be the flower girl so bad?
⤷ olliebearmen cause i want everyone to be like “awh he’s so cute” and “wow he’s so gracious”
⤷ kimi.antonelli right, right…
oscarpiastri I’m gonna be honest…this actually was on my 2025 bingo card
🝮
yn
liked by oscarpiastri and 1,481,330 others
yn onto abu dhabi 🫰🏽 not nervous at all 😄
maxverstappen1 My biggest supporter ❤️
⤷ yn did you just call me fat?
⤷ maxverstappen1 No baby you’re so skinny and tiny I love you
⤷ yn awh thanks honey 💗 take me out for sushi now plz
⤷ maxverstappen1 I’ll get the car ready ❤️
⤷ olliebearmen wait you guys are gonna giving toxic relationship but in a lana del rey way
⤷ alex_albon No he’s just a submissive good boy
⤷ maxverstappen1 And what about it? I don’t mind being called a good boy by my girl
⤷ charles_leclerc It’s all about the mindset 🧏♂️
lando why is he always sleeping
⤷ maxverstappen1 Like your one to talk
⤷ lando you right
redbullracing All tracks lead to Abu Dhabi
isackhadjar wait did you guys get married in vegas?? 👁️👁️
⤷ fernandoalo_oficial Ya’ll acting like I’m gonna let that happen 😂 Toto would die if he didn’t get to spend a million on his daughters wedding, I found them and returned them to Toto where they then got a stern talking to
⤷ kimi.antonelli me and george were there and we somehow got dragged into and got growled at too, almost got us grounded 😒
⤷ isackhadjar “grounded” is crazy 😭
hoeforsainzzz why is he sleeping like he just worked a 30 hour shift
danielricciardo get married
⤷ danielricciardo woah who said that???
⤷ lando put a ring on it already
⤷ lando wow who was that??
🝮
maxverstappen1 and yn
liked by carlossainz55 and 7,448,406 others
maxverstappen1 Here’s to forever ♥️
danielriccardo BRO ME AND LANDO PREDICTED THAT GET US ON THE ELLEN SHOW
⤷ lando BRING IT BACK
charles_leclerc Congratulations you guys this is amazing!! So happy for you two ❤️❤️
georgerussell63 Damn that’s a rock 😨
kikagomes omg stop it i’m so happy for guys!!!! i can’t believe this congratulations 🩷🩷
summary: She’s given him her all, keeping his life on schedule without complaint, but now it’s her turn to shake things up. She's leaving him in just two weeks.
content warnings: max being not a great boss
word count: 2.5k
pairing: max verstappen x assistant!reader
SERIES: my dear assistant || may be confusing if read as a standalone one-shot!
a/n: ITS HEREEEE! nawr because i had so much fun writing this like im ACTUALLY so stupid super excited for this series
Max, I love you. I’m your biggest fan, please send me—
You sighed, dragging the email into the trash.
“Seriously, he needs to take his business email out of his Instagram bio,” you muttered under your breath.
Mornings always looked the same. Blue light glasses perched on your nose, emotional support blanket wrapped around your shoulders, laptop balanced on your knees. Max’s inbox was the most consistent thing in your life. You’d learned early on that it was faster to just keep it bookmarked—front and center—ready for whatever chaos awaited overnight.
Your fingers tapped next again and again, skimming the latest flood of messages that had piled up while you were asleep. Most of them weren’t worth your time, fan mail begging for signed driver cards, free merch, or worse, his phone number.
Filtering through that mess was easily your least favorite part of the job. Max was perfectly capable of checking his own emails, eventually. But every morning, before he even woke up, it was your job to make sure his inbox looked spotless.
Your phone alarm blared suddenly, cutting through the quiet. You glanced at the clock: 7 a.m. sharp.
Another sigh. You closed the laptop, tucked it under your arm, and pushed the blanket off your legs before heading to the door.
Your studio apartment in Monaco wasn’t exactly the dream. Max had requested—more like insisted—that you move closer six months into the job. And when Max requested something, there was rarely an option to say no.
Keys in hand, you slipped downstairs and slid into your car. You turned on the seat warmer, for the passenger side, of course, stopped by the convenience store for a Red Bull, and headed toward Max’s luxurious penthouse to pick him up for the gym.
Just like you did every day.
You pulled up to the curb and picked up your phone. The Here. text was practically muscle memory by now. Short, simple, and the same every morning. Max, your mom, and your best friend back home were the only pinned chats at the top of your messages.
You reached across the passenger seat to test the warmth of the cushion. Warm, but not too warm. You quickly shut off the heater, he always complained if it got left on too long. You switched your music over to light instrumentals, low enough to fade into the background while you drove him between commitments.
Everything you did ran like clockwork now, fine-tuned around his habits. You knew what he liked, what he couldn’t stand, and every tiny detail in between. It wasn’t efficiency so much as self-preservation—every well-timed adjustment kept you safe from one of his early-morning lectures.
It didn’t take long before he appeared at your car door, opening it with practiced ease and sliding into the passenger seat. You reached for the Red Bull waiting in the cupholder, popped it open with one hand, and passed it to him. He took it without looking, as usual.
“What’s planned for today after the gym?” he asked, taking a sip before setting it down, halfway on the console, halfway in the cupholder like he owned the car himself.
“You’ve got two video shoots—one for ORB, one for Ford—lunch with your dad, social shoots for ORB, dinner with investors, then you’re free for the night.”
“What about paddle?”
“What about paddle?” you echoed, glancing over at him.
“Lando and I made plans to play before lunch.”
“Max, did you tell anyone about these plans?”
“No, but you know I don’t like my schedule so tight.”
You exhaled through your nose, already bracing for the rest of the day. “Max, those things have been on the calendar for months. You can’t keep making plans during work hours.”
You eased the car to a stop in front of the gym.
He pointed to the clock on your dashboard before stepping out. “Looks like you have an hour to fix it. Don’t cancel on Lando or Dad.”
The door shut harder than necessary, and you winced.
You muttered a few quiet expletives, then let out a breathy laugh. “Unbelievable. I don’t even make his schedule.”
Pulling out your phone, you dialed the Red Bull comms manager.
“No, no, I understand. Thank you anyway, he’ll be there for sure.”
You hung up and leaned your head against the headrest, groaning at the clock. 15 minutes left to fix this.
“I was on such a good streak of him not yelling at me,” you said to yourself, scrolling through your contacts. There was one more person you could try.
You tapped on Lando Norris. You’d only gotten his number because you’d once needed help getting a very drunk Max into his apartment. Still, it was worth a shot.
To your surprise, he answered after two rings.
“Hello?”
“Lando? This is Max’s—”
“Right-hand man, yeah, I know,” he said with a laugh. “Everything okay?”
“Uh, yeah. Just checking, are you supposed to be playing paddle with Max before lunch?”
“Yes? Why, what’s up?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I was just wondering if there’s any chance you could move it to later in the day? He’s got back-to-back shoots, and he didn’t mention it to anyone.”
“Just texted him. Will eight o’clock work, you think?”
You blinked. Honestly, speechless over how easy that was. “Uh, yeah. That’s perfect, actually. Thank you so much.”
“No problem. I know how he can be,” he said before hanging up.
By the time the clock hit 8, Max walked out of the gym, hair damp, phone in hand, same as he did every day.
“You got lucky,” he said, sliding into the seat. “Lando texted me and said he needed to move paddle.”
You only nodded, keeping your eyes on the road.
“Don’t let them schedule things that close together again,” he added.
You wanted to remind him that you didn’t handle his scheduling. You wanted to remind him how out of the many things you did quietly manage for him every single day, that was the one thing you did not have to worry about.
But you didn’t. You never did.
“I’ll make a note of that,” you said, instead, shifting the car into gear and pulling out toward his first commitment of the day.
Despite Max being a royal pain in your ass, he was never that to anyone else. Always polite, always charming, always perfectly composed. He smiled for the cameras, thanked every crew member, and acted like he hadn’t just handed you a scheduling disaster two hours ago.
The first shoot ran over, naturally. You stood just off set, answering texts and calls from PR and the comms team while keeping one eye on him. He looked like he was born for this. For all of the bright lights, cameras, the constant hum of attention. You, on the other hand, were apparently born for crisis control.
“His outfit for the Ford shoot hasn’t arrived yet, he told us to tell you. That you would fix it” the stylist whispered urgently, rushing over to you.
You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Of course he did.”
Five minutes later, you were sprinting across the parking lot, car keys in hand, off to pick up the missing garment yourself. When you returned, slightly winded, Max didn’t even blink before reaching for the clothes as if they’d been there all along.
Between shoots, you handed him a towel, a protein bar, a fresh Red Bull, all without a word. He didn’t thank you, but he took them like he always did.
By the time you both got back in the car, your phone was buzzing nonstop. PR wanted confirmation on his post-shoot interview slot, his dad’s assistant was trying to move lunch, and the Red Bull team wanted to push up his next event by fifteen minutes. You were juggling it all while merging into Monaco traffic.
“You know,” Max said casually from the passenger seat, scrolling through his phone, “they should really hire someone to handle my scheduling.”
You turned your head just enough to glare at him before refocusing on the road. “Yeah. Imagine that.”
He didn’t even look up, but you caught the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.
After the investors' dinner, you barely had time to breathe before heading to the paddle courts. The sun was dipping just enough to turn the sky gold, the city still buzzing around you. Max adjusted his sunglasses, scrolling through his texts.
“Lando’s already there,” he said. “Don’t make me late.”
When you pulled into the lot, you spotted Lando immediately, leaning against the fence, grinning and giving you both an excited wave.
“Made it on time?” Lando called out as Max stepped out of the car, looking down at his watch. “That’s a first.”
You stayed in the car while the boys talked to each other, your phone in hand, already drafting an email about tomorrow’s rescheduled shoot, hoping to get around an ‘overloaded’ schedule early.
Max grabbed his paddle bag from your backseat and tossed you a look. “You’re staying, right?”
You raised an eyebrow without looking up from your phone. “In case you forget how to hold a paddle?”
He rolled his eyes. “In case I need something.”
You sighed and turned the car off. Because of course you were going to stay. You always did.
You followed the boys onto the courts, taking up space on the bench you always sat on when you stayed at the courts.
“I’m going to change,” Max said, disappearing into the changing rooms.
Lando’s eyes flicked to you. “You know, I don’t know how you manage him all day. Honestly. You’re like, superhero-level organized.”
You blinked, unsure whether to laugh or groan. “It’s mostly endurance and Red Bull,” you said dryly.
“No, seriously,” he said, stepping closer. “I’d pay double whatever he pays you to work for me. Two million a year?”
You physically coughed at the number out of pure surprise. Two million a year. That was way more than double what Max paid you. That was more than enough to finally get at least a one-bedroom apartment and not a studio. Your first instinct was to say yes, right here, right now. But before the words could escape, the changing room door swung open.
“Ready?!” Max called from inside.
You blinked. He always seemed to have perfect timing. You laughed quietly, shaking your head. Of course he had to come out right now.
Max strutted onto the court, towel over his shoulders, still scrolling on his phone. Lando picked up a paddle, grinning at him. “Ready to lose?”
“You’re on,” Max shot back, smirking.
By the time the match ended, Max had disappeared to the bathroom once again to change. Lando turned to you, leaning on the fence. “So, you’re thinking about my offer, right? I was being serious.”
You hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Yes, I will take your offer.”
“Wait—think about it for a few days,” Lando said, raising an eyebrow.
“I’ve already made up my mind,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll give Max two weeks. Enough time to find someone else, train them, make sure he doesn’t completely implode on them.”
Lando laughed, shaking his head. “That’s actually impressive. Most people would just bolt. You’re solid.”
“I’m loyal,” you said lightly. “And apparently crazy.”
He grinned. “Fair enough. Well, still think it over anyway. You never know.”
You shook your head. “Nope. I’ve thought it through. Two weeks, then the new job starts.”
And just like that, the decision was made, but you knew the next two weeks promised to be very interesting.
When Max reemerged, you instinctively packed up his gear while him and Lando continued to talk and tease each other. By the time you both slid back into the car, the sky had deepened into a dark navy, and streetlights stretched across the Monaco streets. Max leaned back in the seat, stretching his arms, and within minutes, his head lolled slightly to the side. He had always had a habit of dozing off if you were driving at night.
You drove in silence, the hum of the engine filling the space, enjoying the rare moments of calm after a day of chaos. Your phone buzzed on your lap. Your mom. You hadn’t spoken to her in a few days. Max’s packed schedule had left barely a moment for your own life.
You hesitated, glancing at the sleeping figure beside you. Then, carefully, you answered. “Hi, Mom,” you whispered, keeping your voice low.
“Finally! I’ve been trying to reach you. Are you okay? How’s everything?” Her voice was warm and familiar.
You smiled faintly, pressing the phone closer. “I’m fine, just, busy,” you said quietly, glancing at Max, who stirred slightly but didn’t open his eyes. “I just wanted to talk for a minute.”
“Of course, I just—”
Before you could finish, Max’s head lifted, blinking sleepily, irritation creeping into his voice. “You couldn’t wait until I’m back home?”
You muttered an apology to your mom before quickly hitting the end call button. Something inside you snapped. The two years of constant juggling and reworking his schedules, waiting on him hand and foot, managing his quirks, keeping every moving part in line, it all suddenly felt too heavy to carry in silence.
“I’m leaving, Max! I’m actually leaving this job!” you said, louder than you intended, voice carrying in the quiet car.
Max froze, eyes wide with shock. “What do you mean? You can’t do that?” he said slowly, his voice catching in disbelief.
“Yes, I can,” you said, forcing calm into your voice, but letting a hint of frustration bleed through. “Look, I’m giving you two weeks. Two weeks to help you find someone else, train them, and hopefully make sure you don’t completely scare them off.”
He went quiet. You could feel the tension in the car surge. It was so thick you swore you could physically feel it. For a moment, it was just the hum of the engine and your own heartbeat.
You tried to gauge his reaction, and for the first time all day, or maybe for as long as you had known him, you couldn’t. There was no playful smirk, no teasing remark, no nostrils flaring, no raised eyebrow, no eye roll. Just quiet.
“I—” he started, then stopped, shaking his head, sighing further into the seat.
You softened slightly, leaning back in your seat, too. “Max, I’ve thought about this for a long time. I like keeping things running smoothly for you, I like knowing everything is under control, but I need to look out for myself, too. And yes, the timing isn’t perfect, but I’m going to try my best to make this transition easier for you.”
He finally exhaled, running a hand over his face, and the silence stretched again. The weight of your words hung between you.
You finally pulled up in front of his penthouse, engine idling. Max didn’t say anything, didn’t even glance at you. He opened his door and stepped out, shoulders stiff. You watched him go inside without another word.
You sat there for a second, staring at the blinking streetlight outside of his apartment that he always commented on. Two weeks. That’s all he had before the world you’d kept running for him would start to shift, before he’d have to face just how indispensable you really were.
You took a deep breath, bracing yourself. Two weeks. Enough time to help him adjust, but not enough to undo the decision you had already made.
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: after getting your heartbroken by your long-time one-sided love for charles, the most irritating and vexing person in your life, max verstappen, suggests only one thing to remedy it: fucking it out. and after some brief scepticism, you agree. what could possibly go wrong?
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: enemies with benefits, angst, smut (18+ please for the love of god minors DNI), best friend's older brother vibes, bad french and dutch, poor humour, mental health, insecurities, jealousy
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: max verstappen x fem!reader, charles leclerc x fem!reader
EP 1 | AN OPEN DOOR
EP 2 | MEDDLE ABOUT
EP 3 | BABYDOLL
EP 4 | PACIFY HER
EP 5 | PLAY WITH ME
EP 6 | HOUSE OF BALLOONS
EP 7 | JEALOUS TYPE
EP 8 | DADDY ISSUES
EP 9 | SHE'S ALL I WANNA BE
EP 10 | DO I WANNA KNOW?
EP 11 | BACK TO FRIENDS
EP 12 | THE CUT THAT ALWAYS BLEEDS
EP 13 | A CLOSED DOOR
total word count: 76.1k
EP 13.1 | dancing with our hands tied s|f|a
EP 13.2 | their first podium f|a
EP 13.3 | happy birthday max f|a
EP 13.4 | revolving door universe headcanons f|s
EP 13.5 | max vs superman f|s
EP 13.6 | horror night at the leclercs f
EP 13.7 | hand-painted trophies f|a
EP 13.8 | cat whisperer + cat parents f
Ep 13.9 | positive reinforcement f|s
EP 13.10 | casual lore drop f|a
EP 13.11 | the simulator f|s
EP 13.12 | the winner takes it all f|a
EP 13.13 | i think you'd look best in all white f|a
EP 13.14 | yes to forever f|a
EP 13.15 | honeymoon avenue f|s
EP 13.16 | a forever family f|a
total word count: 54.6k
PLAYLIST
𝐀/𝐍: yes this is not a drill! i'm writing another series! however, this idea is credited to this lovely anon who i dearly thank for requesting this! i hope you like it as much as summer sunshine although, as you can see, the tone is a bit different. and this one doesn't have entirely pre-written chapters so i'm taking my time to explore the plot here!
summary: max dating a royal princess is the craziest rumor ever. right?
folkie radio: okay sooo i almost scrapped this entire fic bc i lost inspo mid writing it but i decided to finish it. nit rlly my best but i hope you like it !
MASTERLIST | MY PATREON
liked by alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc and 2,340,534 others
yourinstagram Life lately 🌺☀️
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user1 your feed is literally what pinterest wishes it was
user2 monaco's princess and she's still cooler than everyone i know
user3 i need your wardrobe immediately
user4 the way she's a princess but acts like a normal 26 year old 😭
user5 mother has posted
user6 i'm convinced she has the best life on earth
user7 not me forgetting she's actual royalty
user8 imagine being able to say "sorry i can't come i'm busy being a princess"
user9 she's the people's princess fr
user10 one thing about yn is she's gonna serve
user11 COOLEST PRINCESS EVER
alexandrasaintmleux excuse me why are you prettier than the sunset
└ yourinstagram Because i learned from you
└ alexandrasaintmleux liar ❤️
charles_leclerc Where is the photo i took
└ yourinstagram Not good enough for the feed
└ charles_leclerc Unbelievable
└ alexandrasaintmleux She's been bullying him for years don't worry
└ charles_leclerc THANK YOU
└ yourinstagram i am literally the victim here
user12 charles and yn bickering under every post is my favorite genre
user13 the monaco trio is back 😭
user14 yn and charles friendship content when
user15 if i lived in monaco i'd be outside hoping to run into her
user16 i just know she's funny in real life
user17 not actual royalty being friends with charles leclerc 😭
user18 i love how her account is just vibes and occasionally remembering she's a princess
└ user19 still obsessed with the fact she has a tiktok
user20 i wonder if she's dating anyone
└ user21 didn't people say she was dating max verstappen a while ago 😭
└ user22 PLEASE not this rumor again
└ user23 as if max verstappen is pulling a princess be serious
└ user24 the funniest part is some people genuinely believed it
user25 max verstappen dating a princess sounds like wattpad
└ user26 charles would have exposed it by now let's be real
user27 if yn had a boyfriend i feel like alex would accidentally reveal it
liked by lando, charles_leclerc and 2,019,394 others
maxverstappen1 🇲🇨☀️
view all comments
lando wow guys he posted
└ maxverstappen1 Unfortunately
alex_albon Who stole your phone
└ maxverstappen1 I posted this myself
└ alex_albon that's exactly what someone who didn't post it themselves would say
charles_leclerc Slide 2 looks familiar
└ maxverstappen1 It's coffee
└ charles_leclerc Sure
user1 charles knows something
user2 charles is being weird again
user3 why is charles always lurking under max's posts
user4 monaco content from max?? that's new
└ user5 he's been in monaco so much lately
└ user6 isn't he literally living there
user7 MY MANNN
user8 guys don't start
└ user9 i'm starting
└ user10 no because wasn't there that rumor—
└ user11 STOP
└ user12 the princess rumor 😭😭😭
user13 i can't believe people genuinely thought max was dating princess yn
└ user14 that was the funniest rumor ever
└ user15 imagine explaining that sentence out loud
user16 "formula one driver max verstappen is secretly dating the princess of monaco"
└ user17 sounds like a hallmark movie
user18 why yall talking about princess yn under his posts
└ user19 this is why nobody takes f1 fans seriously
└ user20 max would never date a princess
└ user21 and a princess would never date max 😭
liked by user1, user2 and 18,958 others
f1gossip Max Verstappen was spotted having dinner in Monaco last night with an unidentified woman.
The pair were seen leaving a restaurant near the harbor and walking together before getting into a car.
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user1 MAX???? ON A DATE????
user2 hold on hold on hold on
user3 WHO IS THAT
user4 max fans we ride at dawn
user5 this man has a GIRLFRIEND???
user6 why am i shocked like he's not a normal human being
user7 WHO IS THISSS
user8 the way this is how i'm finding out max leaves his house
user9 i need better photos immediately
user10 that picture was taken with a microwave
user11 zoom in
user12 ENHANCE
user13 BROOO I DONT BELIEVE THIS
user14 max verstappen has a girlfriend ??
user15 don't say it
user16 i'm gonna say it
user17 DON'T
user18 princess yn—
user19 GET OUT
user20 we're not doing this again 😭
user21 y'all think every woman in monaco is the princess
user22 why do yall randomly bring the princess up every single time
user23 if max was dating royalty we'd know
user24 "world champion dates princess" 😭😭😭
user25 if max was dating the princess charles would never be able to keep that secret
user26 this is probably just some rich monaco girl
user27 max pulling up with a mystery woman was not on my 2026 bingo card
liked by yourinstagram, charles_leclerc and 1,093,583 others
alexandrasaintmleux Thanks to our chauffeurs ❤️
comments
charles_leclerc Thank you for your support
└ alexandrasaintmleux Thank you for your service
└ yourinstagram 5 stars on uber
└ charles_leclerc That's all i get???
user1 WAIT
user2 CHAUFFEURS?????
user3 plural???
user4 THERE WERE TWO MEN???
user5 hold on because charles is obviously one of them
└ user6 WHO IS THE OTHER ONE
user7 OH MY GOD
user8 IS YN NOT SINGLE???
└ user9 THIS IS HOW WE FIND OUT???
user10 no because why did my stomach DROP
user11 i've never considered the possibility that princess yn has a boyfriend
└ user12 i thought she just existed independently from society
└ user13 same 😭
user14 WHO IS THAT
└ user15 zooming in immediately
└ user16 ENHANCE
└ user17 ENHANCE MORE
user18 all i can tell is that he's a man
└ user19 groundbreaking information
user20 charles is one chauffeur
└ user21 which means the other chauffeur was there specifically for yn
user22 PRINCESS YN HAS A BOYFRIEND
user23 OH MY GOD
user24 this lore
user25 ALEXANDRA WHAT HAVE YOU DONE
user26 there's literally no reason for a second guy to be there 😭
└ user27 unless they called an uber
└ user28 do you genuinely think alexandra saint mleux and princess yn of monaco take ubers
└ user29 fair point
user30 okay i'm being serious who is dating the princess of monaco
└ user31 some billionaire probably
└ user32 some prince maybe
└ user33 imagine if it's a normal guy
user34 imagine explaining to your parents that you're dating a princess
└ user35 "what does your girlfriend do?"
└ user36 "she's royalty"
└ user37 😭😭😭
user38 wait wasn't there that max verstappen rumor
└ user39 SHUT UP
└ user40 we're not doing this
└ user41 literally every mystery man becomes max verstappen
└ user42 that man could be 70 years old and y'all would still say max
user43 the funniest part is that if yn had a boyfriend she'd keep it private
└ user44 exactly we'll never find out who it is
user45 alex just accidentally caused an international investigation
user46 i know the palace PR team is SWEATING
liked by maxverstappen1, alexandrasaintmleux and 2,094,549 others
yourinstagram Last night's Princess Grace Foundation Gala 🤍 An evening dedicated to supporting young artists and celebrating creativity. Thank you to everyone who made it possible.
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alexandrasaintmleux absolutely stunning ❤️
└ yourinstagram Love you
charles_leclerc I was told there would be free food
└ yourinstagram There was
└ charles_leclerc Then I have no complaints
user1 i genuinely forget she's royalty until she posts things like this
└ user2 and then i'm like oh right she's a princess 😭
user3 the gown??? hello???
user4 whoever styled her deserves a raise
user5 imagine looking like this while attending a gala
└ user6 imagine attending a gala
└ user7 fair point
user8 no because she's living in a completely different reality than the rest of us
└ user9 princess by day, pinterest girl by night
└ user10 that's literally her brand
user11 i need to know what her life is actually like
└ user12 same
user13 imagine her boyfriend scrolling through these photos
└ user14 STOP
└ user15 i'm still processing the boyfriend thing
└ user16 every time someone mentions it i get surprised all over again
└ user17 because she feels above dating somehow 😭
└ user18 exactly
└ user19 not above dating 😭😭😭
user20 SHES SO ICONIC
user21 whoever the boyfriend is, he definitely saw these photos first
user22 i know she's a princess but she's really so iconic
user23 THAT SHOULD BE ME
user24 imagine your girlfriend casually sending you gala photos before posting them
└ user25 meanwhile i'm sending blurry selfies
└ user26 imagine getting a text like "how does this speech sound?"
└ user27 imagine proofreading a princess's speech
└ user28 that's actually insane
user29 imagine being introduced as "the princess's boyfriend"
└ user30 i'd immediately pass out
└ user31 i wonder if he's royal too
└ user32 probably
└ user33 i don't know, yn seems like the type to date someone normal
└ user34 define normal 😭
└ user35 not another royal
user36 imagine if her boyfriend an athlete
└ user37 wait
└ user38 don't
└ user39 DON'T
user40 every road leads back to max verstappen somehow
└ user41 this fandom has one joke
└ user42 and it's not even a good one anymore 😭
user43 if she was dating max we'd know
└ user44 exactly
└ user45 there's no way they could keep that secret
└ user46 absolutely impossible
liked by user1, user2 and 10,948 others
f1paddockupdates Max Verstappen attended the Princess Grace Foundation Gala in Monaco last night. The four-time World Champion was photographed arriving at the event and spending the evening with fellow guests.
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user1 max at a gala feels wrong somehow 😭
user2 OH WHAT IS THISSS
user3 WAIT wasn't princess yn there too
└ user4 she literally hosted it
user5 okay the rumors are about to start again
└ user6 as if they ever stopped
user7 i'm sorry but max verstappen dating the princess of monaco still sounds fake
└ user8 because it IS fake 😭
user9 i genuinely think she's dating some billionaire we've never heard of
└ user10 same
user11 people see max in monaco once and lose their minds
└ user12 he lives there 😭
user13 PRINCE MAX SO TRUE
user14 imagine if they've been together this whole time and everyone keeps dismissing it
└ user15 that would be the funniest thing ever
user16 there's no way they could keep that secret
└ user17 especially with charles involved
└ user18 now THAT is a good argument
└ user19 charles would accidentally leak it in under a week
└ user20 poor charles catching strays for being incapable of keeping secrets
user21 MAX AND PRINCESS YN??
user22 okay but WHAT is he doing there
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liked by yourinstagram, charles_leclerc and 1,984,430 others
maxverstappen1 Solid weekend. Thanks everyone for the support. 👊
view all comments
redbullracing 👏👏
charles_leclerc Decent weekend
└ maxverstappen1 Thanks charles
yourinstagram Told you it'd be a good weekend 🤍
└ maxverstappen1 You were right ❤️
└ user1 WAIT???
└ user2 "TOLD YOU"??????
user3 okay i'm listening
user4 HOLD ON
user5 why does that comment sound so...
└ user6 boyfriend girlfriend coded 😭
└ user7 no literally
user8 wait because how would she told him
└ user9 she probably wished him luck before the race??
user10 why would princess yn be texting max verstappen before a race 😭
└ user11 because they're FRIENDS
└ user12 exactly thank you
user13 and he replied with "you were right" ❤️
└ user14 IT'S THE HEART FOR ME
└ user15 he doesn't reply to everyone with hearts
user16 i think y'all are reading too much into this
└ user17 maybe
└ user18 but i'm choosing delusion
user19 every week these two accidentally feed the allegations 😭
└ user20 i'm still saying there's absolutely no way they're dating
user21 and i'm still saying if they ever announce it i'm deleting my account
└ user22 deal 🤝
liked by user1, user2 and 12,094 others
f1updates Max Verstappen was asked in today's press conference:
Interviewer: "What's the craziest rumor you've ever heard about yourself?"
Max: "Probably that I'm dating the Princess of Monaco."
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user1 HE KNOWS ABOUT THE RUMOR 😭
user2 I'M CRYING
user3 the way he started laughing immediately
user4 okay that pretty much settles it 💀
└ user5 exactly 😭
user6 imagine if he was actually dating her and just said this
└ user7 that would be the funniest thing ever
user8 no because imagine lying straight to everyone's face
└ user9 max would never 😭
└ user10 he looked way too amused
user11 honestly he's probably just tired of hearing it
user12 i still don't know where that rumor even came from
└ user13 literally because they're friends with charles???
└ user14 and they both live in monaco
└ user15 people ran with it for no reason
user16 wait because if i WAS secretly dating the princess i'd answer exactly like this
└ user17 😭😭😭
└ user18 stop feeding the delusions
user19 i'm sorry but this somehow convinced me more
└ user20 HOW
└ user19 because why did he laugh first
└ user21 because the rumor is ridiculous 😭
└ user22 exactly
user23 imagine princess yn watching this interview
└ user24 she's probably laughing too
└ user25 honestly i need her reaction
liked by alexandrasaintmleux, user1 and 234,948 others
charles_leclerc Recently.
view all comments
user1 CHARLES?????
user2 THAT IS LITERALLY MAX AND PRINCESS YN
user3 NO WAY 😭
user4 WAIT A DAMN MINUTE
user5 max just said dating her was the craziest rumor he's ever heard
└ user6 AND NOW THIS???
└ user7 HELLO???
user8 zooming in immediately
user9 THAT'S THEM
user10 THAT IS ACTUALLY THEM
user11 charles accidentally hard launching his friends 😭
user12 I'M CRYING
user13 somebody save slide 4 before he notices
└ user14 TOO LATE I ALREADY DID
user15 MAX YOU LIAR
user16 😭😭😭
THIS POST HAS BEEN DELETED
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replies:
user1 OH THEY'RE COOKED
user2 if it was innocent why delete it 😭
user3 exactly
user4 CHARLES LECLERC YOU HAVE CHANGED THE COURSE OF HISTORY
user5 max is currently on his way to charles' apartment as we speak
user6 charles is never beating the allegations that he can't keep a secret
user7 i'm sorry but deleting it made this ten times worse
user8 way worse 😭
user9 all he had to do was leave the post up
user10 now i'm convinced
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liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 2,094,958 others
yourinstagram A few moments lately 🤍
view all comments
alexandrasaintmleux The first point is important
└ charles_leclerc I don't appreciate this slander
└ yourinstagram And yet
└ charles_leclerc 😐
user1 OH MY GOD
user2 SHE KNOWS
user3 "do not trust charles with secrets" 😭😭😭
user4 YOUR HIGHNESS PLEASE
user5 THERE IS NO WAY THIS IS A COINCIDENCE
user6 charles accidentally exposing people and then getting called out publicly is killing me
user7 "monaco is surprisingly small"
user8 OH SHE'S EVIL
user9 SHE'S READING THE TWEETS
user10 i know she and max are somewhere laughing at us
└ user11 don't start
user12 no because that notes app screenshot feels targeted 😭
user13 charles is never recovering from this
└ user14 honestly? deserved
user15 i need to know what happened in the group chat after that post got deleted
user16 MAX LIKED THIS BYEEEE
user17 this is way too funny specially when you remember that she's a ROYAL PRINCESS
liked by alexandrasaintmleux, carmenmmundt and 1,938,439 others
f1 Royal visit. 👑🇲🇨 Princess YN of Monaco arrives at the paddock ahead of the Monaco Grand Prix.
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user1 THE PRINCESS HAS ARRIVED
user2 monaco gp weekend officially started 😭
user3 she looks so good omg
user4 home race for charles and the princess
user5 every year she somehow steals the show
user6 watch the cameras find her every five seconds 😭
user7 monaco's favorite daughter
user8 can't wait for the annual princess yn paddock content
user9 somewhere charles is already looking for her
user10 the real question is how long until she gets photographed talking to max
└ user11 DON'T START
└ user12 i'm serious 😭
└ user13 after this week every photo is getting investigated
user14 if max appears in the background i'm deleting my account
└ user15 see you tomorrow
└ user16 😭😭😭
user17 OH THIS IS ABOUT TO GET INTERESTING
user18 coolest princess ever fr
user19 charles deleting that post made everything worse
└ user20 WAY WORSE
└ user21 i still can't believe he actually deleted it
user22 charles leclerc the man that accidentally launched a thousand conspiracy theories
liked by user1, user2 and 65,948 others
f1gossip MAX VERSTAPPEN AND PRINCESS YN OF MONACO. WE REPEAT. MAX VERSTAPPEN AND PRINCESS YN OF MONACO.
After months of rumors, fan theories, deleted Instagram posts, suspicious comments, mysterious appearances, and one very unfortunate Charles Leclerc photo dump...
It appears the internet may have been right.
view all comments
user1 OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD
user2 EVERYBODY STAY CALM
user3 I AM NOT CALM
user4 CHARLES LECLERC YOU ARE NEVER SEEING HEAVEN
user5 i can't believe my eyes are actually seeing this
user6 oh god he's really dating a PRINCESS
user7 i just fell to my knees at walmart
user8 I SPENT SIX MONTHS DEFENDING THIS RELATIONSHIP TO PEOPLE WHO CALLED ME DELUSIONAL
user9 APOLOGIZE TO THE CONSPIRACY THEORISTS RIGHT NOW
user10 max looked us in the eyes and said it was the craziest rumor he'd ever heard
user11 they must be dating for like a year now
user12 THEY WERE LAUGHING AT US THE WHOLE TIME
user13 of course the rumors were real
user14 MAX VERSTAPPEN DATING A PRINCESS??A
user15 this is not real
user16 but HOW
user17 i love this bye
user18 THEY WEREN'T EVEN TRYING TO HIDE IT
user19 NO BECAUSE WE ALL THOUGHT THEY WERE JUST FRIENDS
user20 oh i know charles is livinggg
user21 CHARLES ACCIDENTALLY HARD LAUNCHED THEM WEEKS AGO
user22 i manifested this
user23 i've been staring at this for hours and i still can't believe it's real
user24 THIS IS THE FUNNIEST POSSIBLE WAY THIS COULD HAVE BEEN CONFIRMED
user25 THE FOUR-TIME WORLD CHAMPION IS DATING A PRINCESS
user26 THIS SOUNDS LIKE FANFICTION
user27 ACTUALLY IT SOUNDS EXACTLY LIKE FANFICTION
user28 SOMEBODY CHECK ON CHARLES
user29 no. fucking. way
user30 charles is currently turning off his pone
user31 IMAGINE BEING MAX VERSTAPPEN
user32 IMAGINE BEING PRINCESS YN
user33 IMAGINE BEING THE PERSON WHO TWEETED "WHAT IF IT'S ACTUALLY MAX"
user34 THEY WON
user35 THEY WON SO HARD
user36 MONACO GRAND PRIX WEEKEND HAS PEAKED
user37 THIS IS BIGGER THAN THE RACE
liked by yourinstagram, charles_leclerc and 4,093,240 others
maxverstappen1 P3 in Monaco and the best part of the weeknd
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ser1 wait HE posted it???
user2 oh my god 😭
user3 NO WAY
user4 i'm sorry but this is actually insane
user5 the princess of monaco and max verstappen was not on my 2026 bingo card
user6 remember when everyone said the rumors were ridiculous
└ user7 and then it turned out every single rumor was true 😭
user8 I STILL CAN'T BELIEVE THIS
user9 max and a princess. WHAT
user10 i know charles is somewhere relieved this is public now
user11 max saying it was the craziest rumor he'd ever heard about himself is taking me OUT
└ user12 meanwhile he was dating her the whole time
user13 THIS IS JUST INSANE
user14 they were laughing at all of us
user15 the fact that the conspiracy theorists got everything right
└ user16 every. single. thing.
user17 wait because wasn't she commenting on his posts this entire time?
└ user18 yes 😭
user19 "told you it'd be a good weekend 🤍"
└ user20 don't remind me
user21 i genuinely thought they were just friends
└ user22 same
user23 not max hard launching with a kissing picture
user24 not max hard launching with a PRINCESS
user25 honestly good for them
user26 they look really happy
user27 this has to be one of the wildest f1 relationship reveals ever
user28 a world champion dating a princess sounds fake
user29 it literally sounds like a wattpad story
charles_leclerc Thank God finally
└ user30 FINALLY???
└ user31 charles has been waiting for this day 😭
└ user32 he's free from keeping the secret
alexandrasaintmleux ❤️
└ user33 alex knew EVERYTHING
└ user34 of course she did
yourinstagram ❤️🤍
└ user35 your highness that is NOT enough information
user36 we're going to need a statement, a timeline, and the group chat screenshots
SUMMARY: You and Max are both professional athletes with insane stamina, something you never really thought about… until your friend casually asked how many rounds you two could actually go before tapping out. One conversation with your friend, one deal with Max later…
PAIRING: max verstappen x reader
WARNINGS : 18+ ONLY!! MINORS DNI , Explicit smut, overstimulation, edging, switching (dom!reader & dom!max), oral sex (m & f receiving), deepthroating, gagging, praise kink , begging, competitive sex, unprotected sex , established relationship.
◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤
The conversation with your friend refused to leave your head.
“You two have never actually tested it? How many rounds those insane athlete bodies can really handle before one of you taps out?” she’d asked, eyes wide with curiosity. “You’re both elite. You’ve never just kept going until one of you physically can’t anymore?”
You’d been shocked. “What do you mean?"
That question followed you home. The next evening, Max came up behind you in the bedroom, pressing his chest to your back and kissing your neck slowly , his silent “I need you” signal. You were needy too, and the curiosity burned hotter than usual.
You turned into his arms. "Max... about that thing my friend asked. I want to test it but let's turn it into a challenge"
His competitive grin appeared instantly. “Yeah?”
“Whoever taps out first has to be the other’s personal servant for the next two months. Whatever they want, whenever they want. No excuses.”
“Deal,” he said, eyes gleaming. “But I’m not losing, schatje.”
You both loved sabotaging each other. You had secrets to make him lose his mind. He knew your weak spots too. Game on.
You started slow, saving energy. He peeled your shirt off, you did the same to his. Clothes dropped piece by piece until you were naked. He rolled a condom on carefully, then pulled you into soft, deep kisses, hands gentle on your waist as he laid you down.
It was sweet, slow rolls of his hips, lazy making out. Until Max pulled an ace from his sleeve.
While still moving inside you with that unhurried rhythm, his thumb found your clit and started rubbing tight, perfect circles. He knew how easily you got overstimulated there. The gentle session turned electric in seconds. Your breathing grew heavy, hips jerking.
“Max— fuck...” you gasped.
He didn’t stop. He kept the slow thrusts going and rubbed your clit relentlessly until the orgasm hit you like a wave. You cried out, clenching hard around him, thighs shaking. He didn’t let your poor clit rest, drawing out every aftershock until you were panting and dizzy.
It took you a moment to recover. Then you remembered: you had to fight back if you wanted to win.
You pushed him onto his back and straddled him, sinking down onto his cock in one smooth motion. You were in control now.
“No hands,” you ordered, grabbing his wrists and pinning them beside his head.
You rode him exactly how you knew he liked: deep rolls of your hips, then faster bounces, then slowing down cruelly when he got close. Max’s eyes started rolling back, fingers gripping the sheets tightly.
“Please… please let me come,” he murmured, voice strained.
You slowed even more, teasing. “What did you say? Say it louder if you want it.”
Max was too desperate to fight his pride. “Please, Y/N… just let me come, pleasee”
“Good boy,” you whispered, riding him hard and fast until he came with a deep groan, filling the condom.
It was obvious this was only the beginning. Normally you would have stopped here, but your friend was right: pushing limits was addictive. And neither of you liked losing.
Max reached for another condom. You stopped him.
He raised an eyebrow until you slid off the bed and knelt between his legs. His cock twitched at the sight. You rarely did this ,maybe twice in five years, and he knew you weren’t a big fan. That made it even more effective.
“Don’t put it on yet.”
Max needed a bit longer to get fully hard again. You used the time to tease him with your mouth.
He hardened instantly when you kissed the tip. You teased with soft kitten licks and kisses, drawing it out. Soon his hand rested on the back of your head. You let him guide you, relaxing as he pushed deeper.
You gagged and pulled back for air. “Sorry… I’m really inexperienced with this.”
He just stroked your hair gently, breathing hard. You went back in more determined. Your eyes watered, tears slipping down your cheeks as he grew frantic. The ache between your legs became unbearable, so you slipped a hand down and rubbed your clit while sucking him.
Max groaned at the sight. You looked up at him through wet lashes and cupped his balls and that broke him. His eyes rolled back and he spilled into your mouth with a broken moan.
“You don’t have to swallow if you don’t want to,” he rasped.
But you did. You pulled off, opened your mouth to show him, then swallowed.
“Fuck… such a good girl,” he murmured, voice wrecked. His cock twitched hard at the sight.
He noticed your hand still between your legs and grinned. “Is my pretty girl horny? Want me to help?”
“Yes please,” you whispered.
He pulled you back onto the bed, spread your legs wide, and settled between them. He spread your soaked folds, admiring how your pussy clenched around nothing. He toyed with you, circling your clit, sliding fingers along your labia, dipping one finger in only to pull it out.
“Please Max, do something,” you begged, hips humping his hand.
“Naughty girl. Be patient,” he said, then gave your pussy a light slap.
Your whole body jolted and a strangled moan escaped. Max looked surprised but pleased, he’d never done that before. He did it again, a little harder. Your hips jerked and another moan tore from you.
“I see… we’re learning new things about each other,” he said, voice low. He gave one more light slap, then dove between your legs with his mouth, making you see stars.
“How about a 69 if we’re experimenting?” Max suggested with a wicked grin, still catching his breath.
The night became a blur of exploration. You tried positions you’d never bothered with before. Max took you from behind while you gripped the headboard. You rode him reverse cowgirl, grinding back against him. He fucked you against the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist. You switched dominance constantly : sometimes you pinned him and edged him until he begged, sometimes he held you down and made you come over and over until your voice went hoarse.
You both lay there for a minute, catching your breath, sweaty and laughing softly.
“Still good?” he asked, competitive glint still in his eyes.
“Better than you,” you shot back.
“Oh my god, Max, you and your stupid 69 jokes,” you laughed.
“Please?” He gave you the softest, subby eyes and sweet talk until you gave in.
It wasn’t a joke. He was obsessed, eating you out like a man starved while you took him back into your mouth. The mutual pleasure was overwhelming. You both came hard again.
Round… you’d lost count.
You were both exhausted, bodies covered in sweat, legs trembling. But neither would quit. You wanted to break him.
“Don’t take a condom this time,” you said, voice hoarse. “I want you raw.”
Max’s eyes darkened with surprise and lust. You were both clean and you were on birth control. He was more than happy to agree, but you could see he was fighting exhaustion too.
He slid into you bare and you both moaned at the feeling. He found your g-spot almost immediately and hammered into it relentlessly, trying to make you tap out. The raw friction felt incredible, too good. You were sore, overstimulated, and felt like it had been hours, but the pleasure kept building.
You came once more, but this time the overstimulation was bordering on too much. Your muscles were tired. Max chased his own release, thrusting deep until he spilled inside you with a guttural groan. He pulled out slowly, watching his cum drip from your pussy for a moment before collapsing beside you.
You both stared at the ceiling, chests heaving.
You turned to look at each other, shocked, then started laughing weakly.
“I’m quitting,” you said at the exact same time as him.
“So… we both lose?” you asked.
“Technically yes,” Max grinned tiredly. “This time. Rematch in two days?”
You groaned but smiled. “Deal.”
He pulled you into his arms and kissed your temple. You stayed there for a while, enjoying the warmth.
“Okay, I need to go clean up,” you said eventually, trying to stand.
Max reached for you. “Sit back down, I’ll clean you up—”
Too late. Your legs gave out the second you stood. You started falling. Max tried to catch you but when he stood up, his own legs buckled too. Both of you ended up on the floor in a tangled, exhausted heap.
You burst out laughing. “I was just… searching for something on the ground.”
“Sure thing,” Max chuckled, pulling you on top of his chest right there on the floor.
Synopsis: Max Verstappen’s girlfriend accidentally becomes rookie Kimi Antonelli’s unofficial “grid mum” after repeatedly rescuing him from chaotic rookie disasters, leaving the whole paddock teasing Max and the kid clinging to her like his emotional support adult.
Patreon - Exclusive Content
A/n: Also, congratulations to Kimi for his double Grand Prix wins! 👏❤️
Kimi Antonelli had been in Formula 1 for exactly three races when the paddock collectively decided one thing:
He needed supervision.
Not because he wasn’t talented — the kid was terrifyingly fast, all elbows and instinct and raw, unpolished brilliance — but because he had the emotional self‑preservation instincts of a golden retriever puppy who’d just discovered traffic.
And somehow, without ever applying for the job, you became the designated adult.
It started innocently enough.
1. The First Incident
You were leaning against the Red Bull garage wall, scrolling through your phone while Max finished FP2, when a blur of blue and white nearly collided with you.
“Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t see— oh. Hi.”
Kimi Antonelli, cheeks pink, curls sticking to his forehead, eyes wide like he’d been caught stealing biscuits.
You smiled. “You okay there?”
He nodded too fast. “Yeah. I just— I lost my water bottle. And my pass. And my trainer. And maybe my sense of direction.”
You blinked. “How long have you been wandering?”
“Twenty minutes.”
You sighed, took him gently by the shoulders, turned him around, and pointed. “Your garage is literally right there.”
He stared at it like it had materialised out of thin air.
“Oh.”
You patted his back. “Go. Hydrate. And maybe… don’t run into walls.”
He nodded earnestly, like you’d just given him the secrets of the universe.
And that should’ve been the end of it.
But no.
2. The Second Incident
Two days later, you found him sitting on a tyre stack, looking like a kicked puppy.
“What happened now?” you asked, already bracing yourself.
He held up a hand, wrapped in an ice pack. “I burned myself on the tea machine.”
You blinked. “How.”
“I thought the light meant it was ready.”
“Kimi… the light literally says hot.”
He looked genuinely betrayed. “I thought it meant go.”
You sighed, took the ice pack, adjusted it properly, and muttered, “You’re going to give your team a collective heart attack.”
He perked up. “But not you?”
“Oh no,” you said. “I’ve accepted my fate.”
He grinned — bright, relieved, boyish — and something in your chest softened.
3. The Third Incident (The One That Did You In)
Max found you in the hospitality lounge, arms crossed, glaring down at a sheepish Kimi.
“What did he do?” Max asked, already sounding resigned.
“He tried to fix his own visor tear‑off,” you said.
Max winced. “Oh no.”
“And he used scissors.”
Max winced harder. “Oh no.”
“And he cut his race glove.”
Max stared at the kid. “Mate.”
Kimi shrugged helplessly. “It was an accident.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You are not allowed near scissors anymore. Or adhesives. Or anything sharp. Or anything that plugs in.”
Kimi nodded solemnly. “Okay.”
Max raised a brow at you. “You know you don’t actually have to parent him.”
You shot him a look. “Someone has to.”
Max smirked. “You’re cute when you’re bossy.”
You elbowed him. Kimi pretended not to hear.
4. The Paddock Notices
By race five, the entire grid had caught on.
Lando: “Where’s your mum, mate?”
Kimi: “She’s not my mum.”
Oscar: “She packed you snacks.”
Kimi: “…okay but that doesn’t mean—”
Charles: “She fixed your collar before the driver parade.”
Kimi: “It was crooked!”
Lewis, patting his shoulder: “It’s okay, kid. Happens to the best of us.”
Max, deadpan: “She’s my girlfriend, not his mum.”
Carlos: “Tell that to the way she scolded him for not wearing sunscreen.”
You: “HE WAS TURNING PINK.”
Kimi: “I burn easily.”
Max: “You’re Italian.”
Kimi: “I burn easily.”
5. The Moment It Became Official
It was Monaco.
Kimi had qualified P4 — a miracle, a masterpiece, a rookie’s dream — and he was vibrating with nerves before the race.
You found him pacing behind the Mercedes garage, helmet in hand, breathing too fast.
“Hey,” you said softly. “Look at me.”
He did, eyes wide and terrified.
“You’re ready,” you told him. “You earned this. You belong here.”
His throat bobbed. “What if I mess it up?”
“You won’t,” you said. “And even if you do, you’ll learn. That’s what rookies do.”
He exhaled shakily.
You reached up, adjusted the strap of his balaclava, smoothed a wrinkle on his suit, and said, “Now go drive like the little menace you are.”
He laughed — small but real.
And then he hugged you.
Not a polite hug. A full, desperate, clinging hug.
Max walked up mid‑hug, blinked, and said, “Should I be jealous?”
Kimi pulled back instantly. “Sorry! Sorry, Max, I didn’t—”
Max ruffled his hair. “Relax, kid. She’s everyone’s mum now.”
You glared. “I am not—”
But then Kimi looked at you with those big, hopeful, puppy eyes and said, “Can you… maybe… stay near the garage during the race? It helps.”
And that was it.
You were done for.
6. The Aftermath
Kimi finished P5.
He ran straight to you before anyone else.
Max watched, arms crossed, amused. “You created a monster.”
You shrugged. “He’s sweet.”
“He’s clingy.”
“He’s eighteen.”
“He’s adopted you.”
You smiled. “Maybe I adopted him first.”
Max’s expression softened, warm and fond. “You’re good, you know that?”
You nudged him. “You love it.”
He kissed your temple. “I love you.”
Kimi, from behind you: “Do you think I could get a snack now?”
Max groaned. “Oh my god.”
You laughed, looped an arm around the rookie’s shoulders, and said, “Come on, kid. Let’s feed you before you pass out.”
And that was the moment the paddock officially crowned you:
Grid Mum.
Feared by engineers.
Beloved by rookies.
Respected by veterans.
And absolutely, undeniably, irrevocably stuck with one Kimi Antonelli.
A wild night in Vegas left you hungover, married, and shocked to discover your new husband is Max Verstappen, four-time Formula 1 World Champion. What starts as a drunken mistake turned into something more and a question you never thought you’d ask—was this really just a stupid decision, or the best thing that ever happened to you?
pairing. Max Verstappen x wife! fem! reader.
warnings. rom-com (i tried), 10,6k words, accidental marriage, soulmates-ish, love at the first sight, my poor humor, soft! max, reader is clueless about f1, domestic fluff (literally just reader and max bullying each other white they’re married) alex s. m., lestappen bromance, pet names (schatje, baby).
YOU CAME TO LAS VEGAS FOR ONE REASON: to have fun. Maybe gamble a little, maybe dance a lot, and definitely forget about the stress of your everyday life. It was supposed to be a wild weekend with your friends—filled with overpriced cocktails, glittery outfits, and questionable decisions. You knew the Grand Prix was happening the same weekend, but you weren’t exactly a sports girl. Formula 1 meant fast cars and loud engines, and the only thing you really cared about was how the race would mess up traffic. You had no idea how much more it would mess up your life.
One night, your friend—who always seemed to know someone who knew someone—dragged you to a party she swore would be crawling with celebrities. You didn’t believe her, but you went anyway, dressed in something sparkly and slightly too short, because why not? Vegas was built for nights like this. The party was on a rooftop, lights glowing against the desert sky, music thumping through your bones, and drinks flowing like water. You weren’t sure who was famous and who was just pretending to be, but everyone looked expensive and slightly untouchable.
And then you met him.
He was tall, with messy hair and a grin that made you feel like you were the most interesting person in the room. Dutch, he said. His name started with an M—Mark? Max? You couldn’t quite remember. He was charming in a way that felt effortless, confident in a way that bordered on cocky, and somehow still made you laugh until your cheeks hurt. You didn’t know who he was, but you liked him. And the drinks kept coming. Tequila shots, champagne, something neon blue that tasted like candy and regret.
The night blurred into a haze of laughter, dancing, and whispered conversations that felt like secrets. You remembered him pulling you onto the dance floor. You remembered him saying something about fate and bad decisions. You remembered kissing him. And then—
Well, no drink could have prepared you for what came next.
───
You woke up with a headache so sharp it felt like someone was playing drums inside your skull. The room was too bright, too quiet, and far too unfamiliar. But what truly terrified you wasn’t the pain—it was the man sleeping beside you.
His back was turned, broad and bare, the sheets tangled around his waist. His hair was a mess, sticking out in every direction. He looked peaceful, annoyingly comfortable, like he belonged there. Like you belonged there.
You sat up slowly, clutching the sheet to your chest as if it could shield you from the chaos of whatever had happened the night before. Your dress—what was left of it—was draped over a chair like it had given up. One heel peeked out from under the bed. The other was missing entirely.
You glanced at him again, trying to piece together the night, and that’s when your eyes caught something that made your stomach drop.
A ring.
On his left hand.
Bold, shiny, and impossible to miss.
Your heart stuttered. Oh God. Did you sleep with a married man? You stared at the ring, panic rising in your throat. But something about it tugged at your memory—a flash, a moment, a laugh. You looked down at your own hand, slowly, carefully, like you were afraid of what you’d find.
And there it was. The same ring.
Only yours had a diamond. A very large, very catchy diamond.
You blinked. Once. Twice.
Oh fuck.
Your heart was already racing, but it kicked into overdrive when your eyes drifted to the nightstand. Amid the clutter—an empty glass, a phone, a crumpled napkin—was a piece of paper that looked far too official for a party night in Vegas. Thick, cream-colored, with bold lettering across the top. You leaned closer, squinting through the haze of your hangover, and your stomach dropped.
It wasn’t just a piece of paper.
It was a marriage certificate.
You froze, staring at it like it might disappear if you blinked hard enough. But it didn’t. It stayed right there, mocking you with its very real, very legal presence. You reached out with a shaky hand and picked it up, scanning the names printed neatly in black ink.
Max Emilian Verstappen.
You blinked. That name sounded… familiar? Maybe? You weren’t sure. It rang a bell, but not loud enough to make sense of it. You looked down, and there it was—your own name, printed right beneath his. Only now it had a new addition. His last name. Your name, with his last name.
You stared at it, mouth slightly open, brain refusing to catch up.
You married him.
You didn’t walk. You launched yourself out of the bed like it had burst into flames, nearly tripping over the twisted sheets as you scrambled to grab your phone. Your heart was racing, your brain still foggy, and you had no idea what you were doing—only that you needed to not be in that room. You bolted to the bathroom, slammed the door shut behind you, and locked it like you were hiding from a monster. For what? Safety? Privacy? Maybe just a moment to breathe. Or maybe in case Max Verstappen woke up and decided it was time for a honeymoon on a yacht. You didn’t know what married people did. You weren’t supposed to be one of them.
The bathroom light was way too bright, and you winced as it hit your face. You blinked hard, trying to adjust, and caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. It wasn’t pretty. Your makeup was smeared like a bad painting, your hair looked like it had fought a tornado, and your eyes were wide with panic. You looked exactly how you felt—like a disaster. A very confused, slightly drunk, newly married disaster.
Your thumbs were shaking as you opened Google, typing in the name from the certificate as fast as you could.
Max Verstappen.
And then your screen exploded with results.
Photos. Headlines. Videos. Interviews. All of it.
“Four-Time World Champion Max Verstappen Wins in Las Vegas.”
“Verstappen Dominates Under the Vegas Lights.”
“Undeniable King of Formula 1.”
You stared at the screen, jaw slowly dropping.
There he was. The man in the bed. Standing tall in a sleek racing suit, champagne bottle in hand, sweat glistening on his skin under the podium lights. His arms were raised in victory, his grin wide and confident, like he owned the world. Another photo showed him on the top step of the podium, gold trophy in one hand, waving with the other. Cameras flashed around him. Fans screamed his name.
And okay. You could admit it.
Your husband? He was hot.
Like, really hot.
Of course he had to be the kind of guy who looked even better sweaty. Of course he had to have that smirk. That face. That body. That entire vibe. And of course he had to be one of the best athletes in the world.
“Fuck!” you hissed the second your phone buzzed in your hand, nearly dropping it into the hotel sink.
Incoming call: my girl xx
You didn’t even hesitate. You smacked the green button and brought it to your ear like it was a direct lifeline to reality.
“I think I married Max Verstappen!” you whisper-screamed the second the call connected, pacing across the bathroom in bare feet, trying not to pass out or throw up or—god forbid—wake him up. You had no idea if the feeling in your chest was joy or terror. Probably both. Definitely both.
There was a beat of stunned silence on the other end.
Then: “Y/n, what the fuck? Did you take something? Are you high?”
You let out a strangled laugh, half-sob, half-manic giggle. “No! I mean—I don’t think so? But like… I woke up next to this guy, okay? Big, hot, Dutch guy. Tall. Sleepy. Smug. And he had a ring on. And then I had a ring on. And then—” you reached over to snatch the paper from the counter again, yes you took it with you “—there’s literally a marriage certificate. Signed. With both our names. His is Max Emilian Verstappen. I googled him. He’s a four-time Formula One World Champion?!”
You stopped to breathe, then whispered aggressively, “I married a rich race car driver.”
Your best friend went quiet again, then finally said, “Wait… Max Verstappen? Like, actual Max Verstappen? The hot one who wins everything and never smiles?”
“Yes!” you hissed. “Except he does smile, and I think he kissed me last night, and he definitely slept next to me—and with me, and now I don’t know if I should cry or call Vogue and pitch a cover story as his wife.”
“Y/n, I left you alone for five minutes and you got married?!” your best friend shrieked so loudly through the phone that you had to pull it away from your ear before it shattered your eardrum.
“I didn’t do it on purpose!” you whisper-yelled, pacing the bathroom like a wild animal trapped in a cage. Your bare feet slapped against the cold tile, your sheet toga flapping behind you like a cape of shame. “There were drinks! There was dancing! He had a really nice smile, okay? I don’t even like racing! I came to Vegas for overpriced cocktails and bad decisions, not a whole husband!”
You were so deep in your meltdown that you didn’t hear the footsteps until they were right outside the door.
Then—two soft knocks.
“Are you panicking in there?” a deep, amused voice called through the bathroom door.
You froze. Completely. Like a deer caught in headlights. Like someone had hit pause on your entire body.
Your eyes went wide. Your mouth opened. That voice—it was him.
Your husband.
Max Verstappen. Actual Max Verstappen. Speaking. To you.
You turned toward the door, heart pounding like a drum in your chest. “Yes—I mean no!” you called back, instantly cringing at how weird your voice sounded. You sounded like someone who had definitely married someone by accident.
There was a pause. You thought you heard him laugh. Just a little. Low and quiet. Like he found this whole thing funny.
You turned back to your phone, whispering like you were in some kind of spy movie. “Gotta go. I’ll call you later.”
“Wait, Y/n! Does he have any hot fri—”
You hung up before she could finish the sentence and dropped the phone onto the counter like it had burned your hand. You stared at the door, heart racing, brain spinning, and absolutely no idea what you were supposed to say next.
You couldn’t stay locked in the bathroom forever, no matter how much you wanted to hide from the world—or from the man waiting outside. You had to face it. Face him. Face the fact that you were somehow married to Max Verstappen.
Slowly, you reached out and unlocked the door, pushing it open just enough to peek your head out. You weren’t sure what you expected—maybe chaos, maybe cameras, maybe him halfway through packing his bags to escape this mess. But instead, you saw him standing there calmly, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed and into a magazine cover. His hair was still messy, shirtless, but he looked relaxed. Too relaxed. Like this was just another normal morning.
“There you are,” he said, his voice soft but amused. “Do you want something? Coffee? Water? You look pale.”
You blinked at him, stunned. “Yeah, and you look completely fine! You shouldn’t!” you said, stepping out and slowly making your way back to the bed. You sat down carefully, still wrapped in the sheet, trying to keep your brain from short-circuiting.
He tilted his head, clearly confused. “Why?”
You stared at him, trying to find the right words. “Because you’re Max Verstappen! You’re like… F1’s big dog. The guy who wins everything. You married a random girl in Vegas!” You paused, trying to breathe, trying to make sense of it all. “Oh my god, can you imagine the drama? The headlines? The press? The fans? Your team? Your mom?”
“We can keep it secret for now, if you want,” Max said, his voice calm and casual, like he was suggesting you skip breakfast or order room service. Not like he was talking about hiding a marriage from the entire world. He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, looking way too relaxed for someone who had just woken up married to a complete stranger. His expression was unreadable—cool, collected, almost amused.
Meanwhile, you felt like your entire body was buzzing with panic. Your heart was racing, your thoughts were spinning, and you were pretty sure your eye was twitching. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a sheet, trying to figure out how your life had turned into a headline overnight.
You stared at him, trying to process what he’d just said. Keep it secret? Like it was no big deal? You couldn’t even think straight, and he was already planning how to cover it up. Your mouth moved before your brain could catch up.
“We should annul it,” you blurted out, the words tumbling out fast and loud. “Obviously.”
Max turned his head slowly to look at you, like you’d just said something completely ridiculous. His eyebrows lifted, and he tilted his head slightly, studying you like you were a puzzle he hadn’t quite figured out yet.
“Why?” he asked, voice still calm. “I like you.”
Your brain stopped working.
You blinked at him, mouth falling open, unsure if you’d heard him right. “Wh—what?” you stammered, eyes wide. “You like me? We met like—what—ten hours ago?”
Max shrugged, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “And I liked those ten hours.”
You stared at him like he’d just suggested you move to Mars. “That’s not a reason to stay married!” you said, your voice high and full of disbelief. You couldn’t believe you were even having this conversation. You were wrapped in a hotel sheet, hungover, and somehow arguing about the validity of a marriage with a man you’d met less than a day ago.
Max didn’t flinch. He didn’t laugh. He just looked at you with those stupid, perfect blue eyes—calm, steady, and annoyingly unreadable. “It’s not a bad one either,” he said, voice smooth and quiet. But there was something in his eyes. A spark. A glint of amusement, maybe interest. Maybe even a challenge. Like he was waiting to see what you’d do next.
You clutched the sheet tighter around yourself, trying to hold onto reality, but your brain had already started to drift. You couldn’t help it. You imagined it—being his wife. Not just the ring on your finger or the chaos of last night, but the life that came with it. The luxury. The attention. The private jets and race paddocks. The kind of dinners where the wine cost more than your rent. The interviews where people called you Mrs. Verstappen. Waking up in Monaco. Falling asleep in Italy. Kisses in Singapore.
It was ridiculous. It was insane. It was completely out of your comfort zone.
And yet… it didn’t sound bad.
Okay. Maybe annulment was a little dramatic.
“Okay,” you sighed, dragging a hand through your tangled hair as you sat up straighter on the bed. The sheet was still wrapped around you like some kind of makeshift armor, and you were starting to feel like you’d need it. Your head was spinning, your heart was still racing, but you knew you couldn’t keep dodging the reality of what had happened. “We should… talk about this. All of it.”
Max’s lips curled into a smirk the moment the words left your mouth. He looked far too amused for someone who had just woken up married to a stranger. “That’s how I like you,” he said, clearly enjoying your slow descent into chaos. “Assertive. Calm. Rational.”
You gave him a look. A sharp, tired, are-you-kidding-me look. “I’m none of those things right now.”
He shrugged, completely unfazed, his eyes still sparkling with mischief. “Still. Be grateful you married me and not Lando.”
You blinked. “Who’s that?” you asked, your eyebrows pulling together in confusion.
Max paused, then actually laughed. A real laugh. Not a smirk or a chuckle, but a full, amused laugh that made his shoulders shake slightly. “Oh wow. You really don’t know anything about Formula One, huh?”
You stared at him, unsure if you should be embarrassed or proud. “Is he, like… worse than you?”
Max tilted his head, clearly enjoying the question. “Debatable,” he said, his grin growing wider. “He’s a walking red flag though.”
You didn’t know what that meant exactly, but the way Max said it made you laugh. Just a little. Just enough to forget, for one second, that your life had completely flipped upside down.
───
The hotel breakfast room was way too quiet. That strange kind of quiet that only happens when everyone’s hungover and pretending they aren’t. Even the soft clink of a spoon against a coffee cup felt like it echoed through your skull. You were surrounded by people who probably had millions in their bank accounts, all dressed in expensive clothes and sipping tiny espressos like they hadn’t made a single bad decision the night before. But you knew better. You could see it in their tired eyes and slow movements. Vegas had worked its magic on everyone.
You sat across from Max, your very real, very hot husband of roughly ten hours, trying to act like this was normal. Like you did this kind of thing all the time. Like waking up married to a stranger and then sharing breakfast with him was just another part of your weekend plans. You picked at your croissant, trying to look casual, even though your brain was still spinning.
“So,” you said, raising an eyebrow as you tore off a piece of pastry, “tell me something about you, my husband.”
The word husband still felt strange coming out of your mouth. It made your stomach flip a little. It was weird, but also kind of exciting. You barely knew anything about Max—other than the fact that he was ridiculously attractive, strangely calm about the whole situation, and apparently some kind of international sports legend.
Max leaned back in his chair, looking relaxed, like he had all the time in the world. “Well,” he began, “I’m Dutch, but I was born in Belgium. So technically I’m Dutch-Belgian. My mum’s from Belgium.”
You nodded slowly, pretending to take that in like it was important information. But honestly, your brain was stuck on the way he said my mum. It sounded so soft, so sweet, and it didn’t match the image of a guy with arms like his and a face that belonged on a billboard.
“I started karting when I was four,” he continued, “then got into Formula One when I was seventeen. And now I’m here—with four world championships.”
You blinked. “Casual,” you muttered, trying to sound unimpressed, even though your jaw wanted to drop.
Max gave a small shrug, like it was no big deal. He wasn’t bragging. He was just telling the truth. And somehow, that made it even more impressive. You could tell he wasn’t trying to show off. He was just… being himself.
And honestly? He was kind of a racing nerd. You could see it in the way his eyes lit up when he talked about karting, in the quiet pride in his voice when he mentioned his career. You weren’t into sports. Like, at all. But there was something really endearing about how much he cared. It wasn’t just a job to him. It was his whole world.
And because you couldn’t help yourself—because even though you didn’t follow racing, you did know the one headline that had practically broken the internet—you tilted your head and asked the question that had been sitting quietly in the back of your mind.
“Aren’t you the one who robbed Lewis Hamilton of his eighth title?”
Max didn’t answer right away. He paused, his eyes narrowing just slightly, like he was deciding how honest he wanted to be. There was a flicker of something in his expression—not anger, not guilt, just… something unreadable. But then, slowly, his lips curled into a smile. Calm. Cool. A little smug.
“That’s what some people say, yeah.”
You blinked, surprised. That was not the reaction you expected. No awkward laugh. No defensive speech. No attempt to explain or justify. Just a simple, quiet answer that carried more weight than a whole press conference. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t back down. He just sat there, sipping his coffee like he hadn’t just casually admitted to being part of one of the most controversial moments in sports history.
It was the kind of energy that made your stomach twist. The kind that said he knew exactly who he was and didn’t feel the need to explain it to anyone—not the media, not the fans, and definitely not the girl he’d accidentally married in Vegas.
You chewed slowly, studying him. You weren’t sure if you wanted to punch him or kiss him. Maybe both.
But deep down—and you’d never admit it out loud—you were starting to think you might’ve married someone weirdly interesting. And dangerously charming.
“But that’s a long, boring story,” Max said with a casual wave of his hand, brushing off four world championships and one of the biggest rivalries in sports like it was nothing. Then he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table, and gave you a look—the kind that made your heart skip a beat. There was a mischievous glint in his eye, playful and curious. “I want to know something about you, Mrs. Verstappen.”
The way he said it—so smooth, so relaxed, like it wasn’t the most insane thing either of you had ever done—made your stomach flip. Mrs. Verstappen. You’d been trying not to think about how official that sounded. How serious. How… weirdly not awful. It was ridiculous, but hearing it out loud made something flutter in your chest. You weren’t sure if it was panic or something else entirely.
You cleared your throat, trying to snap out of it. “Uh—well,” you began, suddenly feeling very aware of how painfully normal you were compared to him. He had trophies and fans and a career that spanned continents. You had… a messy Instagram feed and a half-used planner.
“Mostly I live off my dad’s money,” you said, giving a small, awkward laugh. “Because, you know, he prefers to pay me to leave him alone.” You took a sip of juice, hoping it would make you sound less ridiculous. “But I studied art. And now I sort of work in marketing? Like, social media stuff. Influencer-adjacent.”
You winced a little as the words came out. God, you sounded lame. Like you were trying to explain your life to someone who’d never had to worry about rent or job interviews or whether their post got enough likes. You were sitting across from a man who drove cars at 300 kilometers an hour for a living, and you were talking about hashtags.
Max didn’t laugh. He didn’t tease. He just nodded, like everything you’d said made perfect sense. Like you made sense. It was strange, really—how someone so far removed from your world could listen like he’d known you for longer than ten hours. His expression was calm, open, and maybe even a little curious.
“And I, uh, moved to Monaco a few months ago,” you added, almost as an afterthought. You weren’t sure why you said it. Maybe because you wanted to sound a little more interesting. Maybe because you wanted to find some common ground with the man sitting across from you.
But that got a reaction.
Max’s eyebrows lifted, surprise flickering across his face. “No way,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “You live in Monaco?”
You nodded, feeling a little sheepish. “Yeah. Mostly for the tax thing, but let’s pretend it was for the vibe.”
Max grinned, and it was the kind of grin that made your stomach flip again. “Me too.”
Your jaw dropped a little. “You’re kidding.”
He shook his head, still smiling. “I’ve lived there since I was eighteen.”
You stared at him, trying to wrap your head around that. Eighteen. Already living in Monaco. Already racing in Formula One. Already building a life that sounded like something out of a movie. Meanwhile, you were still figuring out how to pay your phone bill on time at that age.
“I mean, most of the drivers do,” Max said, leaning back in his chair, eyes wide with disbelief. “You live in Monaco and don’t know anything about Formula One? Even though there’s a Grand Prix happening there every year? It’s like… the biggest event in the city.”
You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to look offended, but the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. “Hey! I do know who Charles Leclerc is,” you said, lifting your chin slightly. “He’s Monaco’s bias—the hometown hero everyone pretends they’re not obsessed with.”
Max blinked, then burst out laughing. Not just a chuckle, but a full, warm laugh that made his shoulders shake and his eyes crinkle at the corners. It was the kind of laugh that made your chest feel lighter, like you’d said something genuinely funny and not just accidentally charming.
“I married the right girl,” he said, still grinning, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe his luck.
You felt your cheeks warm, and you looked down at your plate, trying to hide the smile that was now impossible to fight off. It was ridiculous. You were still hungover. You were still confused. You were still technically married to a man you barely knew.
You loved every second of it.
───
You’d been in Monaco for a few days now, and somehow, without really planning it, you’d spent most of that time at Max’s place. His apartment was sleek and modern, with huge windows and a view that looked like it belonged in a travel magazine. Sometimes he came over to your place too, and it was starting to feel… normal. Comfortable. Like you’d known each other for way longer than just a few chaotic days. You went on cute dates—late-night walks by the harbor, quiet dinners tucked away from the cameras, even a grocery run that turned into a mini adventure. You’d both agreed to act like you were just dating, like the marriage part was a funny secret between you. And honestly? It worked. It felt easy. It felt right.
So when Max insisted that you had to bake a cake for your one-week anniversary, you didn’t argue. You went out and bought all the ingredients, found a beginner-friendly recipe online, and tried to convince yourself this wasn’t going to end in disaster.
Standing in his kitchen, surrounded by flour, eggs, and a very confused Max Verstappen, you gave him a look. “I’m warning you,” you said, tying your hair up and glancing at the recipe again. “The last time I baked anything, I was eighteen. It was a birthday cake for my best friend, and it was… not great.”
Max raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter with a smirk. “Well,” he said, gesturing to himself, “do I look like I’ve baked anything in my life?”
“No,” you said as you rolled up your sleeves, determined to make this cake happen—even if it ended up more like a sweet disaster than a masterpiece. Max stood beside you, watching the recipe on your phone like it was written in a foreign language. You handed him the whisk and pointed to the bowl.
“Okay, start mixing the eggs and sugar,” you said, trying to sound confident.
Max squinted at the bowl, then at the whisk, then back at you. “You’re trusting me with this?”
“You drive cars at 300 kilometers an hour,” you said, grabbing the flour. “I think you can handle a whisk.”
He gave you a dramatic nod, like he was accepting a mission, and started whisking with way too much enthusiasm. Sugar flew out of the bowl. You gasped and jumped back, laughing as tiny crystals landed in your hair.
“Max!” you shrieked, swatting at him with a dish towel.
He grinned, completely unbothered. “Precision is overrated.”
You tried to stay focused, measuring flour and butter, but Max kept sneaking little pokes at your side, bumping your hip, stealing spoonfuls of batter when he thought you weren’t looking. At one point, he dipped his finger into the mix and held it out to you.
“Try it,” he said, eyes sparkling.
You leaned in, tasted it off his finger, and paused. “Not bad.”
He smirked. “Told you. Natural talent.”
You rolled your eyes, but your heart was fluttering. The kitchen smelled like vanilla and sugar, and the air was warm with laughter and something softer—something sweeter.
The cake was safely tucked away in the oven, and for the first time in the past hour, the kitchen was quiet. Warm. Sweet-smelling. You leaned against the counter, catching your breath, your cheeks flushed from laughing too hard and moving too fast. Max stood nearby, watching you with that familiar smirk that made your stomach flip every time.
“You have flour on your nose,” he said, pointing at you and laughing softly.
You reached up to wipe it off, but then paused, a mischievous idea forming. You looked at him, narrowing your eyes playfully, and moved your hand toward his face.
“Oh, don’t you dare,” he warned, stepping forward just as you lunged.
Before you could get him, Max caught both of your wrists in his hands. His grip wasn’t tight—just firm enough to stop you, but gentle enough to make your heart flutter. You tried to wriggle free, laughing, but he was too strong, too steady. And honestly? You didn’t really want to escape.
He pulled you closer, slowly, until your body was pressed against his. Your chin rested just under his collarbone, and you tilted your head up to look at him. His eyes were soft now, not teasing, just… warm. You smiled without meaning to, and he smiled back, like he couldn’t help it either.
And in that moment, something shifted.
You felt it in your chest—a quiet, fluttering feeling that wasn’t panic or confusion anymore. It was something sweeter. Something softer. Were you falling for your own husband? The thought hit you like a whisper, unexpected but not unwelcome.
Max leaned down and pressed a light kiss to your lips. It was gentle, slow, like he was testing the waters. Like he wanted to make sure you were still with him in this strange, beautiful mess.
You smiled against his mouth, pulling back just enough to speak. “Was this part of the recipe?”
He grinned, eyes sparkling. “Obviously,” he said, and kissed you again—this time longer, deeper, like he didn’t care if the cake burned.
When the oven finally beeped, you jumped a little, startled out of the warm haze you’d been floating in. You grabbed an oven mitt and carefully pulled the cake out, setting it down on the counter. You blinked at it, surprised. It actually looked… good. Like, really good. Golden, fluffy, not burned. You tilted your head, inspecting it like it might suddenly collapse, but it held its shape perfectly.
“See?” Max said proudly, stepping beside you. “It looks fantastic.”
You laughed, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “Yeah, but does it taste fantastic?” you teased, eyeing the cake like it might be lying to you.
Max didn’t answer. Instead, he turned toward the fridge and pulled out a bowl of whipped cream—dark blue, of course. “I want to decorate it,” he said, already grabbing a spoon and getting to work.
You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Okay, Picasso,” you said, crossing your arms and leaning against the counter to watch.
Max was focused, tongue slightly poking out in concentration as he carefully spread the whipped cream across the top of the cake. He wasn’t fast, but he was determined. You stepped closer, peeking over his shoulder, and smiled at the mess he was making. The letters weren’t perfect, the spacing was off, and the whipped cream was a little too runny—but it was adorable.
And then you saw it.
Written in slightly crooked, slightly smudged letters across the top of the cake:
Max + Y/n, always and forever
Your heart did a little flip.
You stared at the words, warmth blooming in your chest. It was silly. It was messy. It was whipped cream on a cake made by two people who barely knew what they were doing. But it was also sweet. Thoughtful. Real.
You looked up at Max, who was still focused on smoothing out the edges, and felt something soft settle in your chest. This wasn’t just a joke anymore. It wasn’t just a wild Vegas story. It was starting to feel like something more.
“Aww,” you whispered, smiling so wide your cheeks hurt.
Max glanced at you, eyes twinkling. “Too cheesy?”
You shook your head. “Just cheesy enough.”
───
One thing about your husband, Max Verstappen—he adored Charles Leclerc. Like, actual bromance level. The kind of friendship that involved inside jokes, constant teasing, and way too many shared podium selfies. So when the idea of a double date came up, it wasn’t dinner or drinks or something chill. No. It was karting. Because of course it was. The most on-brand plan imaginable for two Formula One drivers who couldn’t go five minutes without turning something into a race.
The guys were hyped. Already texting about lap times and trash talk before you’d even left the apartment. And you? You were nervous. Really nervous.
Alex was everything. Fashion icon. Gorgeous. Confident. The kind of girl who looked like she belonged on magazine covers and red carpets. She was Charles Leclerc’s girlfriend—the it-girl of the paddock. And you were… well, you. Clumsy. Still adjusting. The newly accidental wife of Max Verstappen who had only just learned what a pit stop was.
You clutched Max’s hand tighter as you both walked toward the karting center, your stomach bubbling with nerves and regret over the fizzy energy drink you’d chugged earlier. Your heart was racing, and not in the fun, adrenaline kind of way. More like the what if I embarrass myself in front of Monaco’s golden couple kind of way.
“Max,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, “what if they don’t like me? I mean, I’m not exactly—”
“Schatje,” he cut in gently, turning his head to look down at you. That soft half-smile was already forming on his lips—the one that always made your brain short-circuit a little. “They’re both excited to meet you. Charles has heard so much about you already.”
You blinked up at him, heart still fluttering, but something about the way he said it made you feel a little steadier. Like maybe you weren’t walking into a disaster. Like maybe you did belong here, even if you weren’t sure how yet.
You stepped inside the karting center, your nerves buzzing just beneath your skin like tiny sparks. The smell of rubber and engine oil filled the air, and the sound of distant engines revving made your heart beat a little faster. You spotted Charles and Alex waiting near the entrance, both dressed casually but somehow still looking like they belonged on a magazine cover. Max’s face lit up the second he saw them. He walked straight over and pulled Charles into one of those quick, half-hug, half-pat-on-the-back greetings that guys do when they’re trying to act cool but are clearly happy to see each other.
Before you could even process the moment, Alex stepped toward you with a bright smile and zero hesitation. “You must be Y/n,” she said, her voice warm and confident. “You look stunning, girl.”
You blinked, caught off guard by how friendly she was. Before you could even say thank you, she pulled you into a hug—not the awkward kind, but the kind that felt real. The kind that said, you’re safe with me. It was soft and strong all at once, and something in your chest loosened. Just like that, you knew: this girl was going to be your girl.
“And you’re even prettier in person,” she added with a grin, looping her arm through yours like you’d been friends forever.
You laughed, the tension in your shoulders finally starting to melt. “You’re literally so cool, this is unfair.”
Max, overhearing your comment, smirked and leaned toward Charles with a playful glint in his eye. “Maybe we should do a few laps without them,” he said, voice teasing. “You know, as revenge for that time you pushed me off track.”
Charles rolled his eyes, already used to Max’s drama. “You brake-tested me,” he replied, deadpan.
Max waved him off, already distracted by the sight of you and Alex laughing together like old friends. You could feel his eyes on you, and when you glanced over, he was smiling—that soft, proud kind of smile that made your stomach flutter.
Alex leaned in and whispered, “I think we’ll definitely find something to talk about.”
You nodded, heart lighter than it had been all day. You weren’t just the accidental wife anymore. You were part of something. Something fun. Something real.
Max walked over, his voice quieter now, just for you. “Cheer for me, schat,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. The warmth of it lingered as he grabbed a helmet and headed toward the karts with Charles, already tossing playful insults back and forth.
You and Alex sat down on the bench near the track, the loud buzz of go-karts filling the air as Max and Charles disappeared around the first corner. At first, the sound was a bit much engines roaring, tires screeching—but after a few minutes, it started to feel kind of normal. Like background noise to a day that was already turning out better than you expected. You leaned back, letting the sun warm your face, while Alex pushed her sunglasses up and turned to you with a friendly smile.
“So,” she said, her voice light, “how’s it going? Being a WAG and all?”
You laughed softly, brushing your hair behind your ear. “It’s new. I didn’t grow up watching racing or anything, so I’m still learning. But… I’m happy.”
And you meant it. Even though everything had happened so fast— the wild Vegas night, the surprise marriage, the dates, the quiet mornings—it felt good. Like you’d landed somewhere that made sense, even if it was unexpected.
Just then, a blur of navy and red flew past the pit lane. Max’s kart. He lifted one hand off the wheel and waved as he sped by. Even with the helmet on, you could tell he was smiling. And without thinking, you smiled too—like it was automatic now.
Alex saw it and grinned. “You’ve got it bad,” she teased. “But don’t worry—Max is even worse.”
You blinked. “Really?”
She nodded. “He called Charles the morning after Vegas. Didn’t even say hi. Just started talking about you. Said you were funny, smart, and somehow kept up with him better than anyone else.”
Your mouth opened a little. You hadn’t known that. Max had never told you. You’d been wondering if this was just fun for him, something casual. But hearing that he’d been excited enough to call his best friend the next morning?
Your heart did a little flip.
Alex leaned closer, her voice softer now. “He’s serious about you. I’ve never seen him like this.”
Max and Charles walked over with matching grins, the kind that spelled trouble in the most entertaining way. Their hair was messy from the helmets, their cheeks slightly flushed from the race, and they looked way too proud of themselves for two grown men who’d just spent twenty minutes trying to out-drive each other.
“They’ve got two-seater karts,” Charles said, clearly amused. His eyes sparkled with mischief, and you could already tell he was up to something. “Wanna race?”
Max stepped forward, smirking straight at you like he was already imagining the chaos. “And you two are driving,” he added, handing you a helmet like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Your eyebrows shot up. “Me driving? With you in the kart?”
“Exactly,” Max said, his voice calm but teasing. “Don’t worry, I trust you.”
You stared at the helmet in your hands, heart thudding a little faster. You weren’t a racer. You weren’t even sure you knew how to start the kart. But Max was looking at you like you could do anything. Like he believed in you without question. And somehow, that made you want to try.
Charles turned to Max with a smug smile. “We’ll see which couple’s faster. Verstappen’s or Leclerc’s.”
There was something in his tone—playful, yes, but also curious. Like he was watching closely. Like he could feel there was more going on than you were letting on. You were still supposed to be just Max’s girlfriend, after all. But something about the way Charles looked at you, then back at Max, made your stomach twist. He was catching on. Maybe not the whole story, but something.
You and Alex exchanged a quick glance, wide-eyed and a little too in sync. You could tell she felt it too—the shift, the tension, the unspoken truth hanging in the air.
Alex leaned in, her voice low and full of humor. “If we crash,” she whispered, “at least we look cute doing it.”
“M’lady,” Max said with a dramatic little bow, holding the helmet like it was a crown. You laughed, nerves still buzzing in your chest, as he gently placed it on your head. His hands were careful, adjusting the straps with surprising focus, making sure everything was secure. His fingers brushed your skin, and even through the nerves, you felt a little spark—soft, warm, grounding.
You took a deep breath, the weight of the helmet settling over you like a reminder that this was real. You were about to drive a kart. With Max Verstappen sitting beside you. No pressure, right?
“I’m sorry in advance if we crash,” you said quietly, trying to joke your way through the nerves.
Max looked at you, that familiar grin spreading across his face— confident, playful, and just a little smug. “We won’t,” he said simply, sliding into the seat next to you like he’d done it a thousand times. “You’ve got this. You’re a Verstappen now.”
Your heart did a little flip at that. The way he said it—not as a joke, not as a tease, but like it meant something. Like it was something.
You glanced over at Alex one last time, catching her smile through her helmet. She gave you a thumbs-up, her eyes full of encouragement. You smiled back, grateful for her calm energy, her warmth, her quiet way of saying you’re not alone.
The countdown lights began to flash in front of you—red, red, red— and your grip tightened on the wheel. Your heart was racing now, faster than the engines around you. You weren’t sure if it was fear or excitement, but it didn’t matter.
The lights turned green, and you hit the gas a little harder than planned. The kart jolted forward, and Max let out a quick laugh beside you—not mocking, just amused. “Okay, okay, not bad,” he said, gripping the side of the seat. “Keep it steady, baby. Eyes on the track.”
You nodded, trying to focus, but everything was moving so fast. The wind rushed past your face, the engine roared beneath you, and the track curved ahead like it was daring you to mess up. Max leaned slightly toward you, voice calm but firm.
“Brake a little before the turn. Not during. You’ve got this.”
You followed his instructions, easing into the curve, and to your surprise—it worked. The kart glided through the corner without spinning out or crashing into the barrier. You grinned under the helmet, adrenaline buzzing through your veins.
“See?” Max said, clearly proud. “Natural talent.”
You barely had time to process anything—the speed, the noise, the curve ahead—before Max reached over and casually placed his hand on your thigh. It wasn’t rough or rushed. Just steady. Warm. Like it belonged there. Like he’d done it a hundred times before.
Your brain short-circuited.
Your heart jumped straight into your throat, and your grip on the wheel faltered for just a second. The next turn came up fast, and you almost missed it entirely.
“Max!” you shouted, half-laughing, half-panicking, as you swerved a little too wide. Your voice was breathless, your cheeks burning, and you couldn’t stop smiling even though you were trying to act annoyed.
He didn’t move his hand. Didn’t even flinch. Just leaned in slightly, his voice low and full of amusement. “What? I’m just helping you relax.”
You glanced at him, eyes wide behind the helmet visor. “You’re distracting me!”
Max grinned, completely unfazed. “Not a chance. You’re doing great.”
You shook your head, trying to focus again, but your heart was racing faster than the kart. His hand was still there, grounding you and distracting you all at once. And somehow, even with the chaos of the track and the roar of the engine, you felt safe. Like you could crash and it wouldn’t matter—because he’d be right there, laughing beside you.
The checkered flag waved, fluttering in the wind like a final exclamation point, and your kart zipped across the finish line just a breath ahead of Charles and his. The moment you passed it, your heart nearly exploded with adrenaline. You’d done it. You’d actually won—with Max beside you, coaching you, cheering you on, and somehow making you feel like you belonged in his world.
Max let out a triumphant laugh, the sound full of pride and joy. He turned to you, eyes shining. “See? Told you we wouldn’t crash,” he said, grinning as you both reached up and pulled off your helmets at the same time.
You were breathless, cheeks flushed, hair a mess, but you couldn’t stop smiling. The rush of the race, the thrill of the win, and the warmth of Max’s presence all wrapped around you like a hug. You barely had time to catch your breath before Max leaned over, grabbed your waist, and lifted you out of the kart like it was nothing.
Your feet left the ground, and you gasped, laughing as he held you close. His arms were strong and steady, and you felt completely safe in them—like the world could spin out of control and you’d still be okay as long as he was holding you.
Before you could even react, Max leaned in and kissed you. It was warm, gentle, and full of everything you’d been feeling but hadn’t said out loud. Your knees went weak, your heart fluttered, and for a moment, everything else disappeared.
As Max pulled back from the kiss, still holding you close, you both heard the unmistakable sound of clapping—slow, exaggerated, and clearly sarcastic.
Charles stood a few feet away, arms crossed and eyebrows raised, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Well, well, well,” he drawled. “Didn’t realize the winner got a kiss as a trophy. Is that FIA-approved?”
You laughed, cheeks burning, but Max just grinned and tightened his hold on you. “Oh fuck FIA.” he shot back.
───
People always say that if your marriage can survive building IKEA furniture, it can survive anything. And honestly? They weren’t wrong. Because if there was one thing Max Verstappen could do—besides win races and make your heart race—it was turn even the most ordinary task into something dramatic, chaotic, and somehow… special.
It had all started so innocently. One quiet evening, Max looked around the apartment, spotted the overflowing corner of helmets, trophies, race gloves, and random F1 gear, and casually announced, “I need another shelf.” Like it wasn’t already the fifth one. Like his personal shrine to motorsport wasn’t slowly taking over the living room.
You’d barely finished your tea before you were in the car, heading to nearest IKEA. The store was a maze of bright lights and confusing arrows, and the two of you spent way too long arguing over shelf designs and trying to pronounce the Swedish names printed on the boxes. Max insisted that sturdiness could be judged by how aggressive the name sounded. You ended up choosing one that sounded like someone sneezing mid-sentence and tossed it into the trunk, blissfully unaware of the emotional damage waiting at home.
Now, you were on the floor, leaning against the couch, a half-eaten bag of chips beside you and How to Train Your Dragon playing softly in the background. The room smelled faintly of wood and frustration. Max sat cross-legged across from you, surrounded by a chaotic sea of screws, wooden pegs, and panels that all looked suspiciously similar. He studied the pieces like he was preparing for a race — focused, intense, and slightly overconfident.
You held the instruction manual in your lap, flipping through the pages with growing dread. The diagrams looked like they’d been drawn by someone who hated happiness. You glanced at Max, who was already trying to fit two pieces together that clearly didn’t belong.
You squinted at the instruction manual, turning it sideways, then upside down, then back again. The tiny drawings made no sense, the arrows pointed in every direction, and the parts in front of you looked nothing like the ones in the pictures.
“I can’t understand a single thing,” you groaned, tossing the booklet onto your lap. “This is actual nonsense.”
Max glanced over, already halfway through trying to jam two wooden panels together. He reached for the manual, flipping it over with a smirk. “Maybe because you’re looking at the French side,” he said, holding it up and pointing at the tiny flag in the corner.
You blinked. “Oh.”
He handed it back to you, this time opened to the English section, like it was some sacred scroll. “Voilà,” he said dramatically. “Now we build.”
You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help smiling. “You’re so annoying.”
You were twenty minutes into building the SNÖRKLIG—or whatever—shelf—and already three emotional breakdowns deep. Your patience was dangling by a thread, or more accurately, by one tiny wooden peg that refused to fit anywhere it was supposed to. The living room looked like a battlefield. Panels were scattered across the floor, screws rolled under the couch, and the instruction booklet had become your personal lifeline.
“I told you that piece goes on the bottom, Max,” you said, clutching the manual like it was sacred scripture. Your voice was calm, but your eyes were wild. You’d stared at the same diagram for so long, you were starting to see it in your dreams.
Max, sitting cross-legged across from you, held a long wooden panel sideways like it was a sword. “No, it doesn’t,” he insisted, pointing at the drawing. “It clearly goes on top. Look at this!”
You leaned over, squinting at the page. Then blinked. Then sighed. “Max… the drawing is upside down.”
He paused, looked at the manual again, then slowly rotated it in his hands. His face shifted from confident to sheepish in about two seconds.
“Oh.”
You stared at him, deadpan. “You’ve been building this thing backwards.”
Max shrugged, still gripping the panel like it hadn’t just betrayed his entire sense of confidence. “Well, it’s a shelf,” he said, voice casual. “It’ll still hold stuff.”
You stared at him, completely deadpan. “No, Max. It will fall. With all your trophies. Do you really want to explain to Christian why your 2023 championship is lying in shattered pieces on the floor because you refused to read IKEA instructions?”
That made him pause.
His eyes flicked to the mess around you—screws scattered like confetti, dowels rolling under the rug, and a pile of wooden panels that looked more like a failed art project than a shelf. He blinked slowly, like reality was finally catching up to him.
“…Maybe we should build it again,” he said, voice quieter now. Almost humble.
You didn’t respond. You just stared at him, blinking once. Slowly.
Max dragged a hand down his face, groaning like he’d just lost a race by half a second. “Oh, fuck this,” he muttered. “Can’t we just steal Charles’s?”
You blinked. “Wait… you actually want to steal a shelf?”
Max held up a screw like it was proof of his suffering. “Yes. I’d rather get arrested in Monaco than build another one of these Swedish nightmares.”
You laughed so hard you nearly spilled your water. “You’re ridiculous.”
He gave you a serious look. “Schat, I drive F1 cars. I build engines in my sleep. But this shelf?” He pointed at the wobbly mess in front of you. “I’m ready to throw it out the window.”
You slid off the couch and sat beside him, bumping his shoulder. “Okay, okay. We’ll do it together. I’ll read the instructions. You build. And no making it up as you go.”
He sighed, but a small smile crept onto his face. “Fine. But if it breaks again, I’m calling Charles and asking for his shelf. I’ll say it’s an emergency.”
You snorted. “Deal.”
Max grabbed the screwdriver like he was on a mission, mumbling in Dutch as he started taking the whole thing apart. You sat cross-legged next to him, reading each step slowly while Toothless blinked on the screen, like he was silently cheering you on.
Halfway through, Max smacked his forehead. “Wait—this piece was upside down the entire time?”
───
The whole evening had felt strange from the start.
You’d just gotten back from the Red Bull event, and something heavy had settled over you, like a weight you couldn’t shake off. Everyone at the event had seemed so sure of themselves. They walked through the room with ease, dressed perfectly, laughing like they’d known each other forever. They spoke in a language you didn’t quite understand—F1 slang, sponsor talk, inside jokes that flew right past you. They belonged there. They fit.
And then there was you.
You’d stayed close to Max, smiled when people looked your way, nodded politely during conversations you didn’t know how to join. You weren’t rude. You weren’t awkward. But you felt like a shadow—present, but not really part of the picture. You weren’t one of them. You didn’t have the same shine, the same confidence, the same rhythm. You were just… there. A little too quiet. A little too unsure. A little too you.
And that thought had stuck. It had crawled into your chest and made a home there, whispering doubts every time you tried to push it away.
You didn’t belong in Max’s world. Not really.
And now, sitting in the quiet of your shared space, that realization was louder than ever. It stirred inside you, uncomfortable and sharp, making you question everything. Not because Max had done anything wrong—but because you weren’t sure you were enough for the life he lived. The spotlight. The pressure. The people who seemed born to be part of it.
You slipped off your heels slowly, one by one, letting them fall to the floor with soft thuds. The dull ache in your feet was familiar, but it was nothing compared to the heaviness pressing down on your chest. It had been building all evening, creeping in during small moments—quiet glances, awkward silences.
Max sat beside you on the edge of the bed, close enough that your shoulders touched. He didn’t speak right away, just let the silence stretch for a few seconds. Then his voice came, low and steady, but with that quiet edge that meant he wasn’t going to let it slide.
“What’s going on?” he asked. “Talk to me.”
You kept your eyes forward, staring at the wall like it might offer you a way out. You blinked slowly, trying to keep your voice from cracking. “Nothing’s going on,” you said, flat and controlled, like if you said it calmly enough, it might become true.
Max didn’t respond right away, but you could feel the shift in him. The way he turned slightly toward you. The way his gaze settled on your face, searching. You didn’t have to look to know he wasn’t buying it.
“Don’t lie, baby,” he said quietly.
“No—I just think you shouldn’t be with someone basic like me,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. Your voice cracked at the edges, soft and shaky, but honest. “I feel like I don’t belong in your world.”
You didn’t need to look at Max to know he was staring at you like you’d just said the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. You could feel the shift in the air, the way his body tensed beside you, the way his silence turned sharp.
“Don’t ever say that again,” he said, voice low but firm, no hesitation. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. What the fuck do you mean I shouldn’t be with you?”
You shook your head, tears brimming, frustration bubbling up. “I mean—I don’t know what tyre strategy works best in fucking Barcelona—“
He snorted, cutting you off before your spiral could go any further. “Neither does Red Bull, so what’s your point, schatje?”
You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden humor in his voice. It was dry, sarcastic, but warm. And it made something inside you loosen just a little.
You tried to fight the smile tugging at your lips, but the weight in your chest hadn’t quite lifted. It was still there, lingering beneath the softness of the moment. “You know what I mean,” you said quietly, voice barely above a whisper.
Max tilted his head, eyes warm and steady. “Yeah, I do,” he said. “But I don’t need you to know every world champion since 1960. You’re not Sebastian Vettel.” His tone was light, teasing, but full of truth. Then he reached out, palm open, waiting. “I just want you to be my wife. My Y/n. The one who makes me laugh when everything feels too damn heavy.”
You looked at his hand, heart thudding, and hesitated for only a second before slipping yours into his. His fingers curled around yours instantly, like they belonged there.
A small smirk played at the corner of his mouth, eyes glinting with mischief. “My wife Y/n, who had to Google me the morning after marriage.”
You let out a soft laugh, cheeks warming a the memory, “I thought you were footballer!”
“Just remember that you belong with me. Always,” Max said, his voice low and steady, each word wrapped in quiet certainty. He looked at you like you were everything—like nothing else in the world mattered more than you sitting right there beside him. “And the rest? Fuck it.”
You didn’t even get the chance to respond. Before your thoughts could catch up, he leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss into your hair. It wasn’t rushed or dramatic—it was grounding. The kind of kiss that said I’ve got you, even when your doubts were loud and your heart felt unsure. The kind that made the noise fade, just for a moment, and reminded you that with him, you were safe.
─── FEW MONTHS LATER
You were home alone while Max was away for the race weekend. Originally, you’d planned to go with him—packed your bag, even picked out your paddock outfit—but work had piled up fast, and someone had to stay back with the cats anyway. Max’s spoiled little shadows had made it clear they preferred you when he was gone, taking turns curling up beside you or watching your every move from the couch like tiny, judgmental bodyguards.
Evening had settled in quietly. The sky outside was a soft shade of blue-gray, and the apartment was filled with the low hum of your laptop fan and the occasional sound of a cat jumping down from furniture. You were slumped behind your screen, shoulders aching, eyes twitching from too many hours of emails and spreadsheets. You blinked hard, rubbed your temples, and muttered to yourself, Just one more email. Then I’m done.
And then—ding-dong.
You jumped, heart skipping. The sound sliced through the quiet like a siren.
You hadn’t ordered anything. You weren’t expecting anyone. Max was halfway across the world, and no one ever just showed up.
Brows furrowed, you pushed your chair back slowly, the cats immediately hopping down to follow you like a tiny security team. One brushed against your leg, the other sat at attention near the hallway, tail flicking.
You padded toward the door, cautious, curious, and just a little unnerved.
You opened the door slowly, still unsure what to expect—and were immediately met with a wall of white lilies. A bouquet so massive it looked like it might swallow the delivery man holding it. You blinked, momentarily stunned, the soft scent of the flowers already drifting into the hallway.
“I didn’t order anything?” you said, brows furrowing as you tried to peek around the blooms.
The man glanced down at the tag, then looked back up with a polite smile. “Are you Mrs. Verstappen?”
Your heart did a tiny flip at the sound of the name. Mrs. Verstappen. It still felt surreal every time someone said it out loud. You cleared your throat, suddenly warm all over. “Uh… yeah. That’s me.”
He nodded and gently passed the bouquet into your arms. “Then these are yours.”
You took them carefully, the weight of the flowers surprising, petals brushing your cheek as you stepped back inside. The cats stared up at you like you’d just brought home a jungle. You sighed, closed the door behind you, and locked it with a soft click.
You carried the bouquet to the kitchen, heart fluttering, mind already racing with one thought:
Max.
You placed the stunning bouquet into a vase, the lilies blooming like soft stars across your kitchen island. Their scent filled the room, light and calming, and for the first time all evening, the apartment didn’t feel so quiet. It felt like Max had somehow reached across the distance and wrapped the space in warmth.
As you adjusted the stems, fingers brushing against soft petals, something caught your eye—a folded piece of paper tucked gently between the flowers. Your name was scribbled across the front in Max’s unmistakable handwriting, a little messy, a little rushed, but so him.
Your heart fluttered as you pulled it free and unfolded it slowly, careful not to tear the edges.
I wish you were here. Don’t work too hard, and please—eat something other than burnt toast. Even though I’m halfway across the world, I need you to remember how deeply loved you are. Always and forever. With love, Verstappen.
babsie radio ! hope u’re not disappointed y’all cuz this is literally fluff w little plot…still was fun to write <3 love love downbad! max. also yes, i love pet name “schatje” i am not sorry if it’s too many times 🤗
taglist. @lvrpiastri @athanasia-day @hott1es @scarlettxx389 @haniette xx
