⌗ :: a/n: since i have the emotional and mental stamina and strength of a decaying cabbage rn this idea has graciously been given to me by my other half @arqbella so big thanks to her for this <3 this is also a short one bc as stated earlier decaying cabbage
"liefje?" max's calls out from the kitchen.
he usually expects an answer within the range of three to forty seconds. if you're super distracted a minute tops. you've alway had this thing- no matter what, whenever max calls you, you somehow hear him every time.
he thinks you also just like it when he calls you liefje or any nickname in dutch. your favorite is liefje though, as you've told him oh so many times.
because who wouldn't want to be called liefje by max verstappen are the exact words you use.
so when you don't answer him for a solid five minutes, he goes searching. he's hopeless at this recipe and needs your expertise before he blows the kitchen up.
"liefje?" max calls out again, still no answer. you must be upstairs somewhere with the baby then.
when he reaches the second floor he calls out your name again, but still no answer.
what is going on?
and being the dedicated boyfriend that he is, he gives up on his search and starts to return to the kitchen hoping things didn't explode in the kitchen while he was gone. surely he can work out how follow the instructions and have a perfect little surprise for you when you come down stairs.
just when he reaches the top step he hears your voice. its higher pitched and it sounds like you're mumbling nonsense so you must be talking to the baby.
whenever he stumbles in on you with the baby you always seems to be singing, or talking, or even gossiping to your little girl, who stares back at you with wide eyes - and an adorable face.
he decides the kitchen will be safe without him - what a mistake that was - and follows the two of his favorite sounds in the world. your voice and your baby's laugh.
he gently pushes the door open and leans on the door frame as he- what are you singing?
"du du du du max verstappen," you coo to the little bundle in you arms. "du du du du max verstappen!" you bounce about causing a little laugh to erupt out of your daughter.
"what are you doing, liefje?" max asks a mix between a smile and a frown on his face.
"i'm singing our daughter a song that i like," is all you supply.
"really because it sounds awful lot like the song that i don't like."
"i'm educating our child on how her papa is a famous f1 driver."
"i think the excessive amount of f1 things in this room will do- its practically a shrine, liefje."
"i happen to like it," you huff at max and smile at your daughter. "and so does she, look at her face, see? she loves it."
"i think she loves the fact that her mama is singing and dancing with her," he points out he says pushing off the doorframe and coming to stand beside you and look over you shoulder at the little girl in your arms.
you both stand there for a moment just savouring the little peace and memory that you'll most likely keep for a long while.
well that was until, "du du du du max verstappen."
pairing: royal officer!max verstappen x wolff!reader.
max verstappen was raised between discipline and duty, trained to control damage before it spreads and keep his feelings under restraint. but some losses don’t announce themselves, they simply disappear. caught between what he was taught to be and what he was never allowed to want, max is left with memories that refuse to fade, a presence that lingers in absence, and the quiet realization that not all damage can be contained.
warnings: emotional abuse, parental pressure, implicit arranged marriage, childhood emotional trauma, emotional restraint, disappearing acts, unresolved tension, quiet grief, royal duty vs personal desire, slow ache, soft devastation.
word count: 3k
TAGLIST: @ilocuras24
a/n: hi! chapter 6 has finally arrived. it’s not perfect (it’s been revised as much as possible, but it may still contain mistakes), but it’s completely honest. it was a challenging chapter to write, but i hope you enjoy it and that it brings an important answer to everything the series has been so far. let’s go!
The tournament ended hours before you finally returned to the car. All because your father wouldn't stop talking.
From the moment the fair began to empty until the stars were properly in the sky, he moved from one conversation to the next, unable to let the subject drop. You, as always, waited, because you knew very well that trying to interrupt would be pointless. He would say goodbye, everyone, as he had already done, and then remember something else, so the cycle would repeat itself. It was easier to just let it happen while you watched him from a distance, exhausted by the heat, sitting on the wooden bench with your hands in your lap and the memory of the afternoon robbing you of your peace.
Ever since you got here, he's been walking around with that abandoned puppy look on his face. You hear Lando's voice in your mind.
Your fingers tighten around the edge of the wooden seat.
You thought... Well, you thought a few things. You thought you knew what he meant by that…
Your father finally breaks away. You barely register it, but his hand waving for you to follow snaps you out of your trance. Silently, you stand, trying not to return to the train of thought you left behind.
Anxiety drags you there anyway.
“Max, do you have something to say?”
You remember how his eyebrows knitted together and his jaw tightened.
“No,” he says.
Your stomach churns.
You feel the disappointment wash over you like a bucket of cold water all over again. You can't quite put into words what you were expecting, but... No. It wasn't that. It felt like you were on the edge of something and then it was taken from you.
You breathe in.
Your father has already opened the door, and the sight of him standing there, waiting for you, makes guilt bloom quietly in your chest.
He is patient. Kind. Present. And you hate that part of you is somewhere else.
In the car, on the way to the palace, the music plays softly on the radio and your father taps his finger against the steering wheel in time with the beat. He seems happy for the first time in weeks.
He's a good man. A very good man.
The thought makes your chest ache.
"I think we did it, didn't we? We got through this weekend and survived," he says and looks at you with an excited smile.
You smile back, but it doesn't reach you. You nod anyway.
"Yeah, I think so. It was nice," you confirm. He doesn't need anything more. Your father knows you too well. He realizes immediately that something is wrong.
His smile fades and his eyes return to the road, but you can still see the concern forming between his eyebrows.
"What's wrong, little one?" he asks, the old nickname landing gently, and still making you flinch.
You don’t remember every time he called you that, but you remember the feeling. You know it always carried care, warmth. You were always his “little one,” held within the quiet circle of his protection, where the future felt guaranteed to be safe and kind.
It used to be the best thing in your life.
"I'm sorry for... not being able to do it," you murmur.
Your father looks up at you with a frown.
"Hm? What are you apologising for?" he asks.
You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and look away. You can’t stop what comes next. It’s the first time those words are said out loud and you don’t want to interrupt, but they feel bitter.
"Because… you expected me to be queen one day.” You say, your throat dry, unable to look him in the eye. “That our family would be part of that lineage and... Well. That's not what happened.”
Your fingers play with the hem of your shirt and you swallow hard. You don't notice that the car has slowed down until you see him signalling that he is going to pull over.
Toto parks the car on the kerb. You see his shoulders relax, but you also notice that his face is serious — evasive. He doesn’t look you in the eye right away either. He takes off his seatbelt and leans his head back, bringing his hand to his chin, thoughtful.
He remains silent, but his silence fills the space between you. A second passes, then another. You wait, your hands still, your breathing careful. You know he won’t argue or raise his voice. He never has. And somehow, that makes this harder. Because anger would be easier to survive than disappointment, and you don’t know if you could bear seeing it in his eyes.
That’s when he finally speaks, voice hoarse.
"Once you were only as tall as… This." He lifts his hand between you and hesitates, his eyes following the invisible line it draws before he lets it fall slightly. “You’ll discover, if you ever want children, that even though they’re the best thing in your life, they’re also scary because… they grow up way too fast.”
The smile he gives is melancholic.
"I remember the day you were born. I know you won't remember, which is very sad..." he says playfully, trying to lighten the mood. "But it was the best moment of my life."
The smile fades slowly. His gaze drops to the pedals, but it doesn't seem like he's looking at them. It’s as if they aren't there at all — as if he's somewhere else entirely, inside the memory he's describing.
"I didn't know if I would be a good father. I was so scared." He exhales softly through his nose. "Then I held you..." His mouth lifts on one side, fragile, almost disbelieving. "That little, crying thing. So sensitive. So dependent on us."
He swallows.
"I knew, in that second, that you would be my little girl until the day life took me away.” Your father stares into your teary eyes. “It changed my life."
"You are..." you murmur instantly, your voice almost a whisper with the threat of tears. "The best father. Always."
He shakes his head and you stop. He continues.
"No. Because I made you believe there was only one way to be happy and safe."
The weight of that sentence hangs in the air. You don’t try to reassure him that he’s wrong. You don’t have the words.
He looks at his own hand.
“I know Oscar spoke to you before. That you agreed with him about… cancelling the wedding. The coronation.”
Your eyes widen. You lean toward him, reaching for his hand.
“Dad, I…”
He raises a finger, interrupting you.
“Darling, it’s alright. You could have talked to me, but it’s alright.”
Finally, with you stunned into silence, he takes your hand.
“I always thought you would be an exceptional queen. I still do.”
Your lips tighten to hold back the tears, and Toto gets closer, leaving a soft kiss on your forehead.
“But you will always be even better at being my daughter.”
He caresses your hand gently with his thumb and looks up into your eyes again. He has no idea how important those words are. In the next second, your arms are around his shoulders and you hug him so tightly it hurts. When he hugs you back, it feels like everything has fallen back into place.
It isn't until mid-breakfast the following morning that you realize something has changed.
The day had begun the same way the days before your return home always did: you wake up, Anny — your maid at the palace since you were a child — comes and helps you get ready for the morning. You step through the large wooden doors and go to the long table to have breakfast with the royal family.
Everyone is there: your parents, Oscar, his sisters, his mother. Nothing out of place. And it’s only halfway through a bite of scrambled eggs that you feel: your head is light.
You even tilt it slightly, just to make sure no migraine will interfere.
Nothing.
You try to remember if there’s anything you’re meant to attend that afternoon, some important event. There's one.
“Are you going to the Valentine’s Day parade?” you ask Oscar, who is seated beside you.
He spears a piece of banana with his fork and raises his eyebrows, as if he doesn’t quite understand the question.
“Well, yes. The royal family is required to be there,” he replies, as if it were obvious.
You nod. Of course. And a smile tries to escape your lips.
“And also… my girlfriend wants to go,” he adds more quietly now, his ears turning red.
You laugh because his answer is adorable, and he rolls his eyes, having grown used to that reaction lately. Still, he smiles.
“Are you going?” he asks.
You think for a moment, looking down at your plate, and decide on an unusual answer.
“I don’t know. I have something to do.”
You don’t say what it is; you don't actually have anything else planned. But the feeling of saying you might not go to an event is good enough for you to want to do it again.
Oscar nods and returns to his meal as if your answer makes perfect sense.
You smile.
“You’re down bad, by the way,” you murmur affectionately, and he tries to hide his flushed cheeks.
When you lift your head, you notice that it’s raining outside.
When breakfast ends, you politely make your way out after offering small waves and quiet curtsies. As you turn into the corridor leading to your room, you glance both ways before finishing the walk at a run.
Anny stands as soon as she sees you, concerned by your haste, but when she notices the smile on your face, she looks at you more carefully.
“It’s raining outside!” you announce.
She looks toward the balcony door and nods, attempting a smile as excited as yours.
“I can see that, my lady. That is something good…” Her smile falters slightly. “I imagine.”
You nod and walk past her, heading toward the wardrobe. When you open the door, you look at the options inside with a thoughtful expression.
“Anny, could you prepare my rain clothes? They’re not here. Perhaps they’re already in my suitcase.”
Anny steps closer and hesitates.
“Is there something you need from the gardens, my lady? I can arrange for someone to fetch it so you don’t have to go out in this weather,” she asks, already considering the right person for the task.
You just laugh and shrug.
“I just want to go outside for a bit.”
Something passes across her face before she nods. Anny simply says, “Of course, my lady,” and offers a gentle smile before stepping away to do what you asked.
When you walk through the main door and the cold air hits your face, you close your eyes. The smell of rain on the earth had always been one of your favourites. Some palace employees walk behind you, and the guard who opened the door because you insisted follows your actions as if watching a particularly peculiar film — he is also attentive to your safety.
You don't care about any of that.
You run outside, aimlessly, but stop halfway. The rain is heavy enough that it won't take long for your hair to get completely wet, but you just laugh and spin around with your arms open.
A car parks nearby and you hear the passenger door open. It doesn't catch your attention. You're absorbed in your thoughts.
But when you turn, there he is.
Max slams the car door behind him and uses his jacket to shield himself from the falling rain. His eyes are half-closed, trying to see through the bad weather as he plans to run toward the entrance. But then he sees you.
He gives up using the jacket as protection and simply puts it on. His gaze stays on you, puzzled, and hesitantly, he steps closer, stopping a few steps away, as if there were an invisible line he isn’t sure he’s allowed to cross.
The rain begins to seep through the fabric of his jacket, running down his hair, but Max doesn’t seem to notice. His eyes move over your face, your wet hair, your hands, as if he’s checking whether any of this is real.
His jaw tightens before relaxing again.
He breathes in through his nose.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
It’s a fair question. You look down at your soaked clothes, then around you, and shrug faintly.
There isn’t really an explanation.
“I wanted to be outside,” you reply quietly.
His head tips slightly to the side.
“You’re going to get sick.”
“So are you,” you reply.
Max doesn’t respond. He waits, standing still at that point which separates him from you by very little. The rain falls heavily over his body, leaving his clothes properly soaked. You follow the small drop that slides from his hair down to his chin, and then let your eyes meet his.
The intensity makes your knees falter for a brief moment.
“Yesterday at the tournament, you asked me if I had something to say,” he recalls.
You press your lips together and nod.
His voice is quieter now.
“Why do you never say goodbye before you leave?”
For a moment, you can’t breathe.
Not because of the rain, or the cold, or the way your clothes cling uncomfortably to your skin — but because you hadn’t realised he noticed. You hadn’t realised he remembered.
Your lips part, but nothing comes out. Your fingers twitch at your sides, uncertain, resisting the old instinct to retreat.
But you don’t move.
“I… I couldn’t. I never could.” Your voice comes out almost as a whisper. “It felt like if I said goodbye… it would be forever.”
“It felt like you were abandoning me,” Max says, broken.
The word hits you harder than you expect.
Abandoning.
You inhale sharply, the air catching somewhere between your lungs and your throat. Your first instinct is to deny it — to correct him, to tell him that wasn’t true, that you would never do something like that.
But the memory rises before you can stop it.
The empty bench.
The silent corridors.
The plane already gone.
You had left. Every time.
Your fingers curl slightly at your sides.
“I wasn’t,” you say, but the words sound fragile. Incomplete. “I thought you didn’t care,”
He goes quiet. Then he steps closer.
“You thought I didn’t care,” he repeats.
He steps closer.
“All I’ve done is care,” he says, the confession leaving him as if it costs something. “I care so much it’s consuming me. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t function, I can’t… fuck, I can’t do anything.”
Your fists clench tighter. You want to hide because you don’t know what to do with it — with all that intensity. Your breathing is uneven, as if you’ve been running.
You have never seen Max like this.
Not controlled.
Not careful.
Not hiding.
Just him.
“I asked you yesterday if you wanted to say something. You ran,” you reply, your voice unsteady. You’re shaking. “You run every time.”
Max closes his eyes, because hearing you say that hurts. But he doesn’t step away — in fact, he seems closer now.
“You run too. You just said you left every time because you didn’t want to face the truth,” he reminds you. “You didn’t want to say goodbye.”
Frustration — and something far more intense — runs through your veins. You drop your arms against your sides and tilt your head back, shaking it in denial.
“You care so much about that goodbye, Max?! Is that it? Then I can say it now. Good—”
But he doesn’t let you finish the thought. His lips are on yours.
You freeze.
Your eyes remain open for a moment, and you notice Max is about to pull away. He’s already beginning to let you go.
You don’t let him.
You close your eyes and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him towards you. The space that once existed between you, officially ruined.
Max’s body relaxes beneath your touch, and his hands move to your hips, pulling you closer.
The world doesn’t stop. The rain doesn’t stop.
But something in you does.
And when his tongue brushes against yours, the shiver that runs down your spine is inevitable. Your fingers slide into his hair, feeling the damp strands at the nape of his neck. He exhales sharply into your mouth at the contact.
For a moment, he hesitates.
Not retreating — just pausing, his forehead almost brushing yours, his breath uneven, as if asking a question without words.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he murmurs.
You answer by kissing him again.
This time, there’s no restraint.
Max kisses you as if you were water given to him after years of trying to survive thirst in the desert. One of his hands stays at your waist, steadying you, but the other moves to the back of your head, tangling in the strands of your hair. Your toes curl and you sigh against his lips — it only makes him more eager.
When you pull away from him, breathless and laughing softly, and place a hand against his chest, he looks at you as if he can’t quite believe it.
You do the same.
His wet hair is a mess. His lips are red, his face flushed. And you were the one who did that to him.
“We should go inside,” you say, suddenly very aware of your state and how this might look.
Max nods, his lips still parted as he searches for air. But he doesn’t move yet. Instead, he closes his eyes and rests his forehead against yours, holding you with the strength of someone who never wants to let you go.
You close your eyes too and let your thoughts fall quiet, aligning themselves with his scent and the wet earth beneath your feet.
Hii!!! I love your writings a lot and just saw that your requests are open, so if you don't mind maybe could you do something more from max x desi teammate reader??? I loved "swear words" soooo much!!! Your writings do feel like a breath of fresh air and are so out of the box and creative!!! You can do anything you want with the request. THANK YOU <3
rub it in my face ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆
Prompt: 6. "Seeing you like this, i fell even more in love with you."
ᐢᗜᐢ mv x desi!reader ᡣ𐭩
ᐢᗜᐢ fluff ᡣ𐭩
masterlist ☾☼
a lot has changed in one season. y/n knew things would change, like they do with time, but so much happened in just twenty four races, y/n wasn’t sure if she was in the right dimension sometimes.
after nine season in formula one, and spending five of those with max as her teammate, y/n finally achieved her dream. it wasn’t easy being in a male dominated sport. she received plenty of hate and backlash and words of not being enough or not being good. though, max protected her.
he went on in interviews about how much she had improved and how much more of a competition she was for him than any other driver at the moment. every interview he spent praising her, y/n rewarded him with kisses and maybe more later on.
oh yes, that had also changed in one season. max and y/n went from friends and teammates to lovers and teammates. they kept it under wraps for now. they would have to do it for a while, they knew that. only the closest friends of the two drivers knew, which usually included a small circle of lando, carlos, charles, daniel, and oscar.
max and y/n had secret moments whenever possible, though they remembered to hate everyone, including each other, as soon as the helmets were on.
they had a tough competition throughout. oftentimes, it was hard to keep the feelings of things happening on track out of their relationship off track. they sometimes fought at home about the things that happened on track, and kept grudges, despite knowing how much it was affecting them negatively. they tried their best to not revert back to their native languages when arguing, even if it was easier for them to get their point across.
but, max and y/n bounced back from it quickly. they rebuilt their relationship and made sure to keep emotions separate. after a lot of efforts put into a more open communication between the two, they managed it.
it all came down to one moment. well, not one moment, because it had been a long time coming. it had been proven race after race after race. everyone knew the outcome, despite the wheel to wheel racing that had happened all throughout the season.
it was the gala at the end of the season. y/n was in a beautiful sari that max couldn't keep his eyes off of. max was also in a stunning suit, but when y/n was standing there, she glowed brighter than anyone in the room, even the people who had literal rhinestones on their dresses.
when the world driver's championship name was announced, everyone knew who it was going to be, but everyone cheered just the same. max and y/n embraced, keeping it short for the cameras, no matter how much they wanted to just hold onto each other. the other drivers, team principles, and journalists congratulated the winner, patting backs, smiling so proudly.
when the trophy was handed to the winner, the hosts stepped back to give the mic to the world driver's champion, and y/n saw her team, especially max, standing and clapping the loudest.
"uh, this is so surreal, i don't even know what to say. i want to thank my parents, who worked day and night to get me to karting competitions and buying me race suits so often because of how quickly i was growing as a child. thank you so much, mumma, papa, i hope i've made you proud.
"i also want to thank my team, my incredible team who gave me a car that has led me here with this trophy in my hand. i am so grateful for them and for everything that they worked on, have been working on the past years.
"lastly, i'd like to thank max verstappen for giving me such a tough competition this year, and really pushing me to my limits and reminding me just how good i am as a driver. we've all had our doubts about our abilities, but max never let me doubt for a second, and i am so thankful to him. thank you."
y/n posed for pictures, and walked to her table to celebrate with her team, met with the other drivers and celebrated with them, and she felt like she was walking on clouds.
after the event had ended, and everyone started leaving, max and y/n decided that it was time for them to leave as well. as soon as they sat in the car, y/n facetimed her parents. she had been itching to talk to her parents ever since she won the award, but could not do so in the middle of the event.
"mumma, see!" y/n had a childlike glow on her face as she smiled at her parents, showing off her trophy. it made max smile.
"yeh kitna bada hai!" he heard her mum say, though he did not understand what she said.
"no, it's not too big. thoda heavy hai par. do you think we can keep it in the bookshelf in the living room?"
"no no no. this, we will keep, in the living room for everyone to see." her dad said.
y/n laughed, "nahi, papa! we can't do that!"
"arre? why not? i want to show off to all my friends that my daughter won such a big bhaari award. isiliye toh paeda kiya tha tume,"
y/n laughed again, "really? the only reason i was born was to win awards to show off to your friends?"
"of course!" her parents said in unison, and the woman beside max laughed again.
he began to tune out the conversation as he stared at y/n, someone that had beat him for the world driver's championship, someone he was madly in love with. he watched as she cuddled the trophy to her chest, refusing to let it go even for a second. he watched as the city lights from outside reflected on her face. he watched at the drapes of the sari was spread out beside her in between them, and how the colours complimented her so perfectly. he was so busy watching her, max hadn't realised when y/n had hung up and was staring back at him now.
"what?" max asked, when he realised that he had been caught staring.
y/n smiled hesitantly, almost afraid to ask, afraid to know, "are you mad?"
max's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "why would i be mad?"
"that i won and you didn't. i don't want to rub it in your face, but i'm just so happy, y'know?"
max smiled, reaching out and tugging a lock of her hair, "i'm so proud of you, baby. rub it in my face. i will happily take it. i know how happy you are, and i am so happy for you,"
"really? seeing me like this, with the trophy, doesn't make you hate me even a little bit?" y/n asked.
"seeing you like this, i fell even more in love with you."
y/n smiled, brighter than she had when she received the award, wider than when she was talking to her parents. "i'm falling in love with you more too," she whispered.
they met halfway as they shared a soft kiss, somehow pouring everything that they felt in it. pulling back, y/n leaned across and fit herself against max, as he pulled her closer. y/n cradled the trophy like it was her child, and max had never felt happiness like before.
.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.
im soooo sorry it took me so much time to write this, but i just couldn't figure out the perfect max x desi!reader, especially with that prompt, because i really wanted to use that! i hope you liked this! i think this may be my favourite mv x reader fic i've written till now. and yes, i did imagine y/n wearing the yjhd naina sari! i've also got a link for my taglist and requests that you can find here!
Max verstappen with DIY oc. Im talking started with a wooded plot and built a home from the ground up. This girl, who's making a house out of shipping containers, popped up on my insta, and I was hooked. But also there are so many castles in Europe that the OC could be fixing up one of them. Most importantly, I'm thinking of a giant garden the OC plants and manages herself. Contantly teaching herself how to do things. Maybe build cabinets and things out of falled trees? But also supper green, like eats and composts as much as she can of her food, all sustanible sourced projucts. People learn about this OC cause Max mentions some green alternative or movment and everyone is collectively like h u h? Im evening thinking like telling max never to by her dimonds (he wants to buy her everything) because the chance that they are blood diamonds is so high.
⌗ :: a/n: i come back from the dead!! jk lol the hiatus was good and it is nice being here but lets be fr i only came back for the fics. part 3 of the lando fic will be out soon !!
max is a stubborn man.
you know that. what you also know is that you're a stubborn girl.
so when you hurt your ankle on the stairs leaving some event you weren't paying attention to, you don't tell max, simply smiling through the pain and limping slightly, not wanting to bother max on his night.
the only problem was that max could tell something was off, turning to look at you every so often with a concerned look in his eyes as you made your way through the crowd of people, and whispering occasionally, "is everything alright?"
you tell him that you're fine and to stop worrying but again something about your act is off and max can clearly tell something is wrong.
so right then amidst the swarming crowd of fans and paparazzi he - gently - pulls you along, back into the building and away from the prying eyes of the public.
"what is wrong schat?" his voice is quiet and the dip between his brows only increases when you lower yourself onto the stairs trying not to wince.
"i knew something was up," he murmurs sitting down beside you. "what happened liefje?" he says wrapping an arm around your shoulders and rubbing softly.
"i fell on the stairs earlier, some asshole dropped an oyster on the floor and i slipped on it," you say grimacing and trying to lift your foot to see what the damage is.
max lets go and drops down a few steps then, gently lifting your dress up and inspecting your ankle. you wince when he touches it and he definitely has a frown on his face now.
"how did you manage to walk on this liefje? its purple."
"magic?" you try and joke to lighten the mood, but from the prominent concern on his face it didn't help much.
"yn, you can't walk on this," he says looking up at you from where he's crouched.
"but i have to, we have to get to the car," you say trying to shake his touch off, trying to ignore how how loving and gentle it is to stand up.
"i'll carry you."
"the car is like halfway down the hill! and there are too many people outside for you to carry me," you protest, but before you can get another word out he has scooped you into his arms and started towards the door. "max! put me down!" you squeal.
"no, i will not be putting you down until you're safely in that car okay? liefje, i love you, let me take care of you," he murmurs placing a kiss to your forehead and pushing the door open with his shoulder.
"i could say the same for you," you mutter rolling your eyes, knowing just how stubborn max can be after a tough race. he eventually caves though, for you. and only for you.
"thats an argument for another day," he chuckles as you round the corner and head straight into the crowd.
max true to his word, doesn't put you down until the car, fending off the invasive paparazzi and fans like he promised, careful not to hurt your foot anymore than it already is.
"see its not too bad letting me take care of you is it?" he smirks as he exits the larger crowd and now just dodges the few fews that wait for a glimpse of him, pressing a kiss onto your shoulder.
⌗ :: a/n: a soulmate au bc i was feeling like it today (this isnt proofread btw sorry for any mistakes!!) also possible new series??
soulmates were stupid.
you had decided that on your 18th birthday when your so called best friend had upstaged you by announcing she had met her soulmate, then proceeding to spend the next six hours talking about him. it was safe to say you were no longer friends.
it was rather ironic though, a popstar who sings love ballads, but still hasn't met her own soulmate. the stars on the inside of your wrist a pitch black instead of gold like everyone else around you. gold is for people who have found their person.
so you decided to fuck that rule and made your entire brand gold. if the only way you could be associated with the colour was through a soulmate you were going to change it.
it was a random tuesday when you got the text from your manager: an f1 team was inviting celebrities to their garage for silverstone and you were chosen as one.
you were given little to no choice in the decision considering you were already in england for the final leg of your tour and weren't leaving for new york for another month. your last show was tonight and the race was in a week, your manager had promised a full week of doing nothing between your show and the race.
that was what eventually swayed you.
the promise of nothing, it was too tempting.
so you agreed.
f1 wasnt a new thing to you, your dad had gotten up at absurd hours of the night to watch races when you were a kid, sometimes you joined him marvelling at the cars and drivers. most of the time you just fell back asleep. now, you didnt really know any of the drivers or newer rules, you simply knew the basics.
what was new to you was the paddock though. all the races you watched through a screen really didnt prepare you for the actually paddock. especially walking into the paddock with redbull employees directing you, through the crowd of fans and journalists excited to see who was getting special treatment.
you arrived at redbull hospitality and were instantly greeted by another employee - this one much ruder - who instantly picked up your wrist to check if your stars had turned gold.
"you haven't met your soulmate yet?" there was genuine confusion in her voice.
"I have not," you say pulling your wrist away quickly. "Why does that matter?"
"i went to your concert last week and i was wondering why you had gold and black star confetti." she states as if that answers your question. "now it makes sense, the black is for the people who haven't found their gold yet." the awe in her voice was concerning, and why was she calling it peoples gold? did the word soulmate stop being useful?
"bianca, get away from her," an older looking gentleman steps in and ushers the employee away apologising for her behaviour and promising to talk to her about not doing that again.
"allow me to show you around," he says quickly moving on and showing you around the building, eventually you make it to the garage receiving a short tour of that as well, meeting the team principal and the second driver yuki.
the employee drifts off a few minutes through the conversation and when its clearly time for you to exit the garage he's no where in sight. no wonder they need a celebrity appearance right now, this place is a wreck.
you ask the first mechanic you see about an exit and directions to the garage hospitality, trying not to get in the way of anyone. he rolls his eyes but answers your questions sending you on your way before you have a chance to even think.
you're halfway down the hallway when you collide with someone, falling flat on your ass (its at this point you're very grateful for the lack of cameras in this spot).
the person who ran into you looks down at you with annoyance sighing, "watch where you're going next time, or don't bother coming back to redbull."
"excuse me?" you say indignant getting up and eyeing the dick up and down. "who do you think you are?"
"someone who can get you fired," his voice is sharp and he checks his wrist - and realises he's not wearing a watch, trying to subtly put his arm back down.
"for the record you ran into me," you snap back brushing the dust off your skirt. taking his appearance in properly; race suit, one of those weird waterbottles, and a helmet... ah shit.
the first driver.
"for the record you are holding me up, and in case you don't know i am a pretty important part of this race." the driver brushes past you still pissed.
"asshole," you mutter making your way to the hospitality taking a seat and putting the provided headphones on, watching the start. you missed the feeling of watching a race, the excitement of overtakes and pitstops.
the happiness stops when on lap forty, two drivers clash, one tried overtaking at the wrong time, if it was executed correctly, the overtake would've been spectacular, but he misjudged and sent them both into the wall.
"max verstappen and alex albon are out of the silvestone grand prix!" a voice booms through the headset you were wearing. "what a shocking turn of events today."
so max is the asshole from earlier. noted.
–
the rest of the race continued on as normal, ferrari managed to pull off a 2,3 finish behind a mclaren, your attention was only slightly (extremely) piqued during the post race interviews when max out right blamed you for his crash.
"yeah i had run into someone – literally–" he jokes with the interviewer. "right before the beginning of the race, it really threw my concentration for some reason, i don't know. i've learnt from my mistakes though, thats for sure," he smirks, looking directly at you- the camera and then quickly to the interviewer behind the camera, as if he wasn't being the biggest dick ever.
well ex-fucking-cuse you??
this was the last time you ever came to a race with redbull, even ferrari depression was better than this.
rightly pissed off, you leave the hospitality with a forced smile and thoughts of your bed awaiting you back at the hotel, still making sure to thank everyone.
its only when you enter the hotel's lobby with your manager beside you do you see him. apparently the asshole has the same hotel taste as you.
you wave politely at the receptionist and say goodbye to your manager and enter the elevator sighing in relief which is extremely short lived.
max enters the elevator, looking at you with a stormy expression. you can't help but let your eyes drift to his wrist, to the stars that are golden and feel that unbidden jealousy that appears everytime you see those marks.
soulmates are stupid.
"well? don't you have something to say to me?" max's voice cuts the silence.
"what?"
"apologising for running into me."
"i am not doing that because you ran into me."
"as long as you're happy with the knowledge its your fault."
"excuse me? seriously what is your problem dude?" you say indignant. "did your mother not tuck you into bed last night or something?"
"something like that," he smirks. the elevator slows and you scrunch your nose at him.
"i seriously hope you don't mean that."
an elderly ladie hops into the elevator with her walker squishing you and max closer together than you would like to be.
awkward silence descends over the elevator as the lady looks at you and max the entire time to her floor. her eyes are weirdly piercing and it makes you uncomfortable. old people have been given too much freedom.
"you two make a lovely couple," she says when the elevator stops. which leads to you both profusely denying it and putting as much space as possible between each other as she slowly exits. "so the stars on your wrists? maybe i'm just getting old and losing my touch with this sort of thing." she waves happily as the doors and neither of you move until you reach your floor and bolt out of the elevator leaving max behind. you're pretty sure you hear him muttering in dutch.
you don't stop until you're in your room. not daring to look down just yet.
please please please no.
not now. not today.
you look down and just great.
the stars on your wrist are no longer black, instead they're a shining gold. there is a sinking feeling in your gut and you can only pray that they didn't change colours when you were with max. imagine being soulmates with him... fuck no.
pairing: royal officer!max verstappen x wolff!reader.
max verstappen was raised between discipline and duty, trained to control damage before it spreads and keep his feelings under restraint. but some losses don’t announce themselves, they simply disappear. caught between what he was taught to be and what he was never allowed to want, max is left with memories that refuse to fade, a presence that lingers in absence, and the quiet realization that not all damage can be contained.
a/n: everyone, we’ve reached the end! noooo 😭😭 the end of a story that was personally very challenging for me, because it has two protagonists who are very difficult to write, but incredibly rewarding from a narrative standpoint. it’s a story that grew slowly, that developed over a long time, but brought me comfort and that i love very much. thank you to everyone who read it while it was being posted, and thank you as well to everyone who found it later and are now reaching the end of the series. you’re amazing. enjoy reading.
You’re ready to go home.
Well, almost. There’s still something you need to do.
In front of the mirror, you straighten your posture. You look at the dress you’re wearing — white, simple, perfectly fitted. You like what you see. But you also know you’re anticipating.
When you glance toward the balcony, there is no rain outside anymore. The sun has returned in full force.
Max must be arriving soon to begin his workday, and thinking about it — thinking about what you’re about to do… what you’re about to say — makes your stomach tighten with anxiety.
You hear Anny’s footsteps behind you as she finishes making the bed and approaches to adjust the pearl necklace around your neck. She gently moves your hair over your shoulder and fastens the clasp, then lets the strands fall back into place exactly as they were before.
Despite the nerves, certain memories still make your heart beat faster and force you to bite the tip of your finger to hide a smile — though it does very little to help.
When Anny steps back, you know she noticed. A small smile curls at the corner of her lips.
“Happy, my lady?”
You try to deny it, shrugging, but a soft laugh escapes anyway.
“Yes. A little.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“Could it have something to do with a certain…”
You look at her through the mirror and whisper-shout, “Shhh, Anny!”
She lets out a quiet laugh and turns away, focusing on the two pairs of shoes at the foot of the bed.
“You weren’t very discreet, you know? I was told some of the staff formed a line just to see what was happening.”
Your face turns red instantly. When she turns back to you, holding the shoes in her hands, there’s a gentle smile on her lips.
“It’s a good thing. We’ve been watching this unfold for over fifteen years. It’s a relief… for everyone.”
You’re about to respond when soft knocks on the door interrupt the conversation. Both of you lift your heads, and the humor fades from your face instantly, replaced by tension.
Max.
You swallow.
“Oh! There he is. My boy,” Anny announces happily — because she adores Max. And because she adores teasing you.
Max lowers his head in a respectful nod, a warm smile on his lips.
“Anny.”
She waves her hands dismissively, signaling for him to stay, and leaves the room murmuring something about putting the shoes away. The two of you are alone.
Max watches her until the door closes, then looks back at you, curiosity in his eyes.
“Anny said ‘There he is.’” His head tilts slightly. “You were talking about me.”
You look away and bring your hand to your necklace.
“Some people gathered to… watch us. Outside. The kiss and… that.” You’re nervous, and he follows your attempt to explain with quiet amusement on his face. “Apparently they’ve been waiting for this for over fifteen years.”
He lowers his head slightly, just enough to see you more clearly.
“Ah, yes. I heard about that,” he says simply. “But they’re not the only ones.”
You lift your gaze and meet his again. There is no uncertainty on his face. None at all. He has just confessed something without saying the words, and the moment remains suspended in the intensity between you.
Max has to look away. He glances to the side and notices the suitcase.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes… I was going to find you before I left. But… yes. It was already scheduled, so…”
He stands still for a moment, chewing lightly on his lower lip. He seems to think carefully about what he’s about to say.
“Stay.”
Stay, your mind echoes. Your eyes blink slowly, your hands opening and closing at your sides, your lips slightly parted as your unsteady breathing demands space.
The word throws you off balance.
“Stay…” you murmur, as if it were something new in your vocabulary. When you continue, there is still uncertainty in your voice. “And if I stay… what happens?”
Slowly, Max steps closer until you have to tilt your face up to look at him. He holds your gaze, and one of his hands settles at the side of your neck, his thumb gently swiping over your skin.
“We’ll figure it out.”
Your hands remain at your sides, your eyes still open. Still on him.
Your Max.
His expression — warm, so honest — unravels you. When you answer, the words leave you before you can stop them.
“Okay. Yes.”
His eyes widen slightly. You hear his breath leave him, unsteady.
“Yes?” Max asks softly.
You nod.
“Yes. I’ll stay.”
He nods too — not only because he agrees, but because he needs to confirm it to himself. That this makes sense. That this is right.
This was it. It had always been this.
His other hand moves to your waist, and the smile that spreads across his face could rival the sun itself. Once again, you come undone. You rise onto your toes and kiss him softly.
He kisses you back, surprised.
When you pull away, his eyes remain closed, and he looks completely unmoored.
“I don’t think this will ever stop amazing me,” he says.
You laugh. He pulls you closer against his body and leans in for another kiss.
When you tell your parents that you won’t be going back with them, their reactions are different.
Your mother listens like she knows more than you’re saying.
And she smiles.
Her eyes are soft, and the careful squeeze of her hand around yours reveals that she understands that it’s time.
Not just time for you to leave.
But time for her to let you find things on your own.
Your father isn’t as easily convinced.
He asks more questions. Precise ones. Careful ones. And although you don’t say everything — not because you’re trying to hide it, but because you don’t fully understand it yourself yet — you don’t lie.
He watches you from behind his glasses and sees something inevitable.
His shoulders fall, just slightly, and your gaze meets his.
You’ll discover, if you ever want children, that even though they’re the best thing in your life, they’re also scary… because they grow up far too fast.
Eventually, he exhales, accepting what he already knows he cannot control.
You walk to the hangar together.
There, the air — thick with the smell of fuel and metal — takes you back to the moment you arrived. Before the kiss. Before the party. Before all of it. All that hesitation.
Now you stand in front of your parents, and they pull you into a tight embrace.
Your mother holds your face a second too longer.
Your father presses a kiss to your forehead.
Then they go.
You watch the plane as it begins to move without you. A tear slips from your eye, and you wipe it away with the back of your hand.
By the time it disappears into the sky, reduced to nothing more than a distant shape, you realize Max is looking at you.
You turn to him and smile.
He doesn’t say anything. He just smiles back.
His hand finds yours instead, fingers closing gently, as if afraid you might still disappear.
You don’t.
You’re not inside that thing.
You’re here.
With him.
The plan is simple: you’ll go back to the palace, head up to your room to collect your luggage, and then go to Max’s apartment.
It’s a last-minute plan. When he suggested you stay at his penthouse, you nearly fainted at the possibility — but you were also so excited that when he asked if you’d prefer to stay at the palace instead, you practically shouted, “NO!”, which made him laugh and grab your hand again to take you to get your things.
But of course, simple has never really been your thing.
You reach the staircase unnoticed, quietly, but—
“Well… look at that,” George announces, a wide grin spreading across his face. “It finally happened.”
Max lets out an irritated groan and drags a hand down his face, releasing a long sigh.
You notice Lando beside George, squinting as if he needs to confirm he isn’t hallucinating.
“Are we seeing the same thing?” Lando says, bending down to eye your intertwined hands more closely. “Because it really looks like Max is holding Wolff’s daughter’s hand.”
“Oh, shut up,” Max says flatly. “We need to get through, and you’re in the way.”
Charles appears on the balcony above you and cranes his neck over the railing.
“Max is dating now?!” he asks, delighted.
Oscar walks down the corridor and spots Charles leaning over. He moves closer to see for himself, Charles gesturing toward your joined hands.
“Oh,” Oscar says, a knowing smile spreading across his face.
You let out a small laugh and hide your face in your hand.
“We’re going to get my luggage,” you say.
Max panics immediately.
“Schat, don’t say that…” he tries to warn you, but it’s too late. Lando’s eyes are already wide.
“Max is going with you to your room to get your luggage?”
George nods, impressed.
“You two are getting very bold,” he says. “But after the absolute circus of all these years…”
Charles agrees with a soft, knowing “Yeah…” — the kind that comes from someone who has seen far too much, and suffered through all of it — and Oscar can only shrug with a small grimace, nodding along.
“Be safe! Seriously! This is no environment for children!” Lando announces loudly.
George turns his head away to laugh, and Charles and Oscar nearly collapse into each other under the force of their laughter.
Max raises his middle finger without hesitation and pulls you along through them.
You’re laughing now, your grip tight around Max’s hand, and even though he isn’t laughing, you see the smile on his face.
“These idiots…” he murmurs.
You smile too, tightening your grip on his hand.
“I like them.”
Max glances at you, something warm flickering in his expression.
“I do too.”
At night, you stare up at the ceiling of Max’s room. The darkness is soft, wrapped in the quiet rhythm of his breathing beside you. The sheets are warm and smell faintly like him, clean and grounding. Everything here feels solid. Real in a way that still surprises you. You can’t sleep, but not for the usual reasons.
You turn onto your side, and he’s there — lying on his stomach, his bare back fully visible now that the blanket has slipped down, covering only from his hips downward.
You watch him for a moment, committing the shape of him to memory.
Beautiful. Very beautiful.
Your hand lifts, and you trace your finger along a small scar near his shoulder, until your fingers reach his hair. You brush lightly through the short strands at his temple, your thumb barely grazing his skin — just enough to see his eyes. That’s when Max opens one of them.
“Hey… sorry,” you murmur, guilty for waking him.
You start to pull your hand away from his face, but before you can lower it, a lazy smile spreads across his lips. His hand lifts and wraps gently around your wrist, stopping you.
That tells you everything you need to know.
You shift closer, settling beside him, and he pulls you firmly by the thigh, guiding your leg over his body.
“Can’t sleep?” he asks, his voice thick with sleep, deeper than usual.
“Not yet,” you whisper. “I was looking at you.”
Max nods, then leans in and kisses you. He pulls back with a quiet laugh when he hears the small sound you make.
“So you really can’t sleep, huh.”
“Max…”
He smiles, and in a sudden motion, he pulls you on top of him.
You look down at his face, still not fully used to everything you’re allowed to see now.
Everything you’re allowed to touch.
The softness in his face doesn’t disappear, but you feel every inch of skin warm beneath his gaze. Max lets his hands slide a little higher along your bare waist, and you close your eyes, simply feeling the strength and texture of his touch.
Then the bed shifts slightly, and when you look over, Sassy is staring at the two of you as if she’s moments away from delivering a deeply disapproving verdict.
“Okay. You need to get out. This is about to get ugly,” Max tells her.
You laugh and look back at him. He exhales sharply, but you only lean in to kiss him. His hands return to you — possessive, certain — and you’re just about to deepen the kiss when a loud meow breaks his focus.
“Alright. That’s enough.” Gently, he lifts you off him, sighing as if he’s been personally wronged.
You watch him circle the bed and pick Sassy up in his arms. Despite everything, he cradles her against his chest and presses a kiss to the top of her head before carrying her toward the door. You hear him murmur, “she’s mine now. You can play with her later,” in that unmistakable cat-dad voice, and you nearly melt.
Max closes the door and turns back to you.
“Now… where were we?”
You tilt your head, pretending to think.
“I was on top of you?”
Max bites his lower lip and nods.
“Oh, right. That.”
You gesture for him to come closer, and his eyes darken as he walks toward you.
