Summary: Max loves his girlfriend, and he'll always be found next to his girlfriend and even uses her to get out of socialising at events when she walks him like a dog.
Word count: 1.1k
Max is always glued to y/n's side. He wants her to be with her all the time so y/n has to find ways to try and encourage him to be social just so she's not the only person on the planet that he interacts with outside of work.
"You should go." Y/n smiles while sitting with Max on his jet and on this occasion with Lando and Carlos catching a ride.
"You should come." Max follows up with his own smile. "We can be a team."
"That's us winning." Carlos comments since Max has dragged y/n to play padel before and she's possibly the best rival to have because she sucks.
Despite y/n dating multi-championship winning athlete, Max is not dating y/n for her athletic abilities. Or even her coordination, which reaches an all time low when she tries physical activity.
"Baby-"
"Please?"
Max is not ashamed of looking like he melts for his girlfriend in front of anyone so him begging her to come with him for something as small as a padel game isn't unusual.
Lando and Carlos don't even make comment about it.
"Fine." Y/n sighs earning a cheer from the two men who really just needed someone willing to go up against them. Y/n smiles looking at Max with a fond gaze. "You are ridiculous."
"On the bright side if we ever need to know where Max is, we just need to find him and he's right there next to you." Lando comments earning a grin.
-
Hosting a new years party was meant to be an opportunity to socialise and enjoy the night. Y/n had really tried to push the rule of only seeing each other at midnight for a kiss.
Max on the other hand thought y/n was genuinely joking when she said that. So he treated it as such. Instead following her around like a shadow while she tried to play the best host ever.
He did help her in that regard but only by being sent off to greet people and trying to get him to take drinks over. As if he was being purposely obtuse, but she knows he wasn't, he would do each assigned job promptly and he'd do it with her hand locked into his own.
Some people might honestly mistake Max's clinginess for anxiety or jealousy. But it's not that deep, it's just Max is always by y/n's side and he likes it that way.
"Max, baby. Do you not wanna see the boys?" Y/n asks softly when they move to get there own drinks.
"Yeah, we can go see them."
Y/n knows she should be grateful, she knows that there's plenty of men who would just kill for a man who loves on them the way Max loves on her. But she more so worries that other people think she's asking him to act like this or has acted in way towards him that makes him want to act like this.
Eventually midnight comes and her life is made easier than the other women that she can see rushing around to find their boyfriends who had somehow disappeared in the last 20 minute count down.
"I guess I should be grateful that you are always here so when I need you I don't have to go hunting for you...I can't wait to love you for another year." Y/n smiles as the people around them begin shouting for the final 10 seconds.
"I'm going to love you for so many years." Max grins and before y/n can make a comment about how he just had to one up her, midnight strikes and y/n is caught in the most amazing kiss that pulls the air from her lungs.
-
Y/n knew to an extent that people must've noticed that Max is walked like a dog by her.
But what really was a gift was fans making a compilation of her walking around in several locations, including the paddock and not being able to get a step away from Max unless he's practically dragged away from her by Rupert and even then they captured how he hugs her tightly and insists on three kisses before he will actually move.
It's actually become y/n's new favourite thing about Max's fans and equally it's become the bane of Max's existence.
Not that he's dare vocalise his complaint, mainly because seeing y/n so amused by it makes him happy even if she can tell he is getting sick of the Walk Em Like A Dog song.
"This will be a clip for later." Y/n grins as she feels Max latch onto her after walking into the paddock with her a few steps ahead of him after his pass wouldn't let him through on the first go.
"That's not going to change me." Max smiles before he squeezes her hand tightly then lifting it to his lips and kissing the back of it as he finally falls in rhythm with her walking though he is slightly behind her.
"Good. I like that I never have to come searching for you. You're always next to me-I'm going to tell your fans to make an edit to that song with all these clips they have of us." Y/n gasps in excitement making him groan playfully as they walk into the Red Bull hospitality. "I'm going to grab some food."
"I'm hungry." Max shrugs moving with her despite him having eaten way more than he should've for breakfast from the hotel while y/n hadn't felt like eating earlier. Especially since the food at the track is always so good in her opinion. The teams feed their employees well and there's a perk about being Max's girlfriend since he so often gets to put in special requests and she uses that for herself. Obviously making him request it on her behalf.
"Alright, baby." Y/n smiles lightly as they move to get some breakfast, and on this occasion the option of a beautiful topped acai bowl doesn't require her to make any special requests.
They get settled down together and y/n smiles feeling Max sitting close enough to her that he's touching her and she almost has to move away from knocking into him so much. But that would only be followed by him shifting to close the gap again so she accepts it and adjusts her eating position accordingly.
summary max follows and interacts with a studygram account but no one can figure out why (he's trying to get her attention)
study influencer & chemistry student x max verstappen
series masterlist ★ masterlist
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
♥︎liked by maxverstappen1 and others
yourusername three things i wished i knew before going to university:
[continue reading]
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user i'm going to uni next year and these are great! thank you<3
user so useful!! gained a new follower🫶
user you are my fav account ever❤️
user uhm— why did max like this?
user he started following her too!
user sorry, who is max??
user max verstappen, a f1 driver
user what is he doing here?
user no clue lol
user great advice!! point #2 specially, i wished someone would have told me this before i started
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
yourusername last minute study session for tomorrow and i thought i would share some things i always do before an important test:
[continue reading]
view all comments
user just read all of her posts and her tips are amazing!! my new obsession
user you inspire me to sit my butt in the chair and study🙏🙏 i owe you my life
maxverstappen1 great post!
user lmaooo what could he possibly be in studygram for??
user he took the 'study engineer and build your own car' jokes too far😂
user maybe he just likes her content?
user hear me out—what if he likes her??
user i mean...i can see it
user girl you are a life saviour i swear to god
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
yourusername posted a story
final review // test day! let's go
↪story replies
friend we got this💪💪
yourusername let's get it💪💪
maxverstappen1 good luck! ♥︎liked by yourusername
yourusername thank you☺️
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
yourusername my video on what it's like being a women in stem, where i talk about misogyny and gender bias in science, is out now on youtube
view all comments
user you put into words things i couldn't, this is great🫶🫶
user watched this whole video and then stalked your whole page, and i might be in love with you too, you are sooo smart
user same! max you are not special, i love her too
user the fact she captured every women's experience in stem i love her
maxverstappen1 loved this! ♥︎liked by author
user max is supposed to be focusing on this weekend and instead he is watching her one-hour-long video about misoginy in science🤭
user she liked his comment!!
user one step closer maxie...almost there...
user how about we don't assume a man can only like women's content if he's trying to get into her pants??
user sorry if it came across that way, i really wasn't! i think he is a fanboy and truly enjoys her content
user oh okay sorry, i saw some people suggesting that and it sucked. under her post about misogyny too, mind u!
user yeah i saw those too they are disgusting. she's awesome!
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
yourusername study with me live now, come join me🫶🫶 link in stories
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user be right there<3
user perfect timing as always
maxverstappen1 ❤️
user imagine trying to study and having a four time world champion in your notifications like this:
user lmaoooo
user naming you in my graduation acknowledgments bc i don't think i would have made it this far without you
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
yourusername posted a story
another exam passed! // giving this f1 thing a chance...
↪story replies
maxverstappen1 and? what's the verdict?
yourusername i loved it<3
maxverstappen1 maybe you would love it even more if you saw it up close😉
yourusername well, i do love testing an hypothesis...
maxverstappen1 so...coffee? tomorrow?
yourusername [phone number]
yourusername text me❤️
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
yourusername posted a story
coffee date // bc yall been wondering, yess i decided on a team
↪story replies
user not her soft launching a bf😭😭 poor max
friend date????? since when do you have a boyfriend???
yourusername girl i have so much to tell you🤭
↪story replies
user the red bull cap omgggg she acknowledged him!!
user my good friend max verstappen must be jumping from excitement rn
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
yourusername i bet we'd have really good bed chem
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friend not the chem puns😂
yourusername 😊😊
user soft launch alert
user no max! don't open instagram!
user he must be heartbroken rn💔
user he didn't even like this post he must be busy crying himself to sleep😂
user she is so beautiful no wonder that man has been trying desperately to get her attention
user that man😂😂 why is he is voldemort
user sorry i'm a lesbian and i don't watch sports to me he's just a man🤭
maxverstappen1 good luck on your test!
user he lives !
yourusername thank you❤️
user he got a heart!!! someone check if he's okay
user 😂😂
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
yourusername good luck socks?
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friend i am not lying when i say you are the only reason i'm surviving finals😩🫶
yourusername same babe
friend liar...😂
user that last pic...their interaction on her last post...what if...?
user i think you're onto something bestie...
user her eyes>>
maxverstappen1 good luck boyfriend?😉
user OH MY GOD ?????
user IM SCREAMING PLS LET THIS BE REAL
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
f1gossip formula 1 champion max verstappen and study influencer yourname lastname are rumoured to be dating after being spotted together out on the town ahead of this week's grand prix
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user i have no one to talk to about this !!!
user when i tell you i have been waiting for this😭😭
user max is proof you should never give up on your dreams, because you might romance your favorite influencer into dating you!
user and when they confirm this at the race...
user the picture?? they are ADORABLE
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
yourusername he was my number one fan so i became his too
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user stop this is too cute !!!!!!!!
user he did it. he actually did it.
user max hab confirmed🤭🫶
maxverstappen1 love you❤️
yourusername love you too❤️
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
maxverstappen1 my girl<3
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user he knew what he wanted and BOY HE GOT IT
user she is GORGEOUS i get you max
user they are so wholesome🥺🥺 perfect example of why you should always try
Pairing: Max Verstappen x Charlotte Fischer (Original Character)
Summary: Charlotte Fischer has spent years making sure no one in Formula One knows who she really is.
At Red Bull, she is simply Charlotte: Cambridge graduate, simulator engineer, owner of a deeply judgmental cat, and the woman responsible for making the team’s broken 2025 car model finally tell the truth.
She prefers it that way. No family name. No questions. No one looking at her like she is someone’s daughter, someone’s mistake, or someone’s failure to protect.
Max Verstappen notices her anyway.
Warnings and Notes: I wrote fanfiction of my own fanfiction. This is the result.
As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble.
Charlotte Fischer had been at Red Bull since the week after she graduated.
She’d sent in her CV like anyone else. Interviewed in a windowless room with bad coffee and too many questions. Signed her contract quietly and moved her life to Milton Keynes with the vague sense that she’d chosen something irreversible.
Sometimes — usually when she was three coffees deep and the sim refused to behave — it amused her, in a dry, private way, that she’d ended up here of all places.
Red Bull Racing.
The irony wasn’t lost on her.
No one here knew who she was related to.
No one softened their tone around her. No one watched her for signs of brilliance or disappointment. No one projected legacy onto her shoulders.
She wasn’t anyone’s daughter.
She could just be Charlotte.
Just another engineer with too many tabs open and a stubborn relationship with data.
Charlotte liked it that way.
The simulator lived deep inside the building, far from daylight and distraction.
Charlotte liked to joke — only to herself — that you could lose entire days down there and no one would notice.
She’d learned the rhythms of the place: the hum of machines, the faint smell of warmed electronics, the way the air never quite changed. It was insulated from the outside world, from weather and seasons and expectations.
The sim didn’t care who her father was. It didn’t care who her mother had been.
It didn’t care that she’d once lain in a hospital bed counting ceiling tiles and wondering if this would be the last room she would ever see.
The sim only cared whether the model was wrong.
If the numbers were wrong, it told her.
If the assumptions were flawed, it punished her.
If she fixed it, it responded honestly.
There was no pity in it.
Only cause and effect.
She spent most of her time down there — long hours, irregular meals, headphones on, mind locked into the language of physics and probability. People sometimes forgot she existed until something broke or improved unexpectedly.
She didn’t mind.
Being invisible had its advantages.
There were days — quieter ones, harder ones — when she recognised the truth without flinching:
When it wasn’t Tilly the cat keeping her alive, it had been this.
The focus. The problems.
The sense that something complex could be understood if she stayed with it long enough.
She had survived because she’d had reasons to keep thinking forward.
Sometimes, late at night, she’d sit alone in the sim control room, lights low, replaying runs not because she needed to — but because the repetition was grounding.
The steady hum reminded her that she was still here, that time was still moving.
She didn’t think about her father much while she worked.
That part of her life felt distant, sealed off behind professional neutrality and old decisions. Here, she was judged on output, not origin.
Here, she was competent.
Here, she mattered.
Charlotte adjusted a parameter, watched the model settle, and made a note to herself for the next session.
Just Charlotte.
And that was more than enough.
***
The car was lying to him.
Max had known it for weeks, in that low, irritating way that lived between shoulder blades and instincts — the way a thing felt wrong even when the numbers insisted otherwise.
The simulator said one thing. The track said another.
And every time he brought it up, it got smoothed over with words like correlation and tolerance and development window.
None of which helped when the rear snapped like it hated him personally.
So when GP told him there was someone in the sim department who wanted ten minutes of his time, Max expected another polite meeting.
Another explanation.
Another we’re working on it.
He did not expect her.
She was standing half-turned toward the screen when he walked in, arms crossed loosely, posture straight but not stiff.
Tall. Longer legs than most people in the room.
Short dark hair that brushed her jaw, slightly mussed like she’d run a hand through it too many times.
Dark eyes — sharp, focused— flicked to him, assessed him, and then went straight back to the data.
No awe. No hesitation.
Interesting.
“Max, this is Charlotte Fischer.” GP said. “Sim engineer. Charlotte, Max.”
Charlotte Fischer nodded once. No smile. No fuss.
“Hi, nice to meet you.”
Her voice was calm. Neutral in a way that suggested it had been trained that way.
Max nodded back, suddenly very aware of the fact that he was still in his race suit and probably smelled faintly like heat and frustration.
“So,” he said, because silence felt loaded already. “You found something.”
“Yes,” she said immediately, uncrossing her arms and stepping closer to the screen. “The sim wasn’t wrong because of bad inputs. It was wrong because it was assuming the car behaved honestly.”
Max blinked.
“…Okay.”
She glanced at him then, just briefly, and there was something dry in her expression. Not amused. Not impressed. Just… certain.
“The aero load model is overcorrecting for yaw instability,” she continued. “Which means the sim compensates in ways the real car can’t. It’s smoothing behavior that doesn’t exist. So when you drive it, you subconsciously trust a balance you’ll never actually have on track.”
GP inhaled slowly, like someone bracing.
Max stepped closer, eyes narrowing at the replay she pulled up.
“That’s why it snaps,” he said quietly. “Mid-corner. Feels fine until it doesn’t.”
Charlotte nodded. “Yes.”
Not maybe. Not we think. Yes.
She pulled up a comparison run — sim versus real telemetry — and the discrepancy was suddenly obvious, glaring in hindsight. The sim was lying, and it had been doing it for months.
“I adjusted the assumptions,” she said. “Removed the artificial stabilisation. It’s… less pleasant to drive now.”
Max snorted.
“Good.”
That earned him a real look. One eyebrow lifted slightly. “I thought you might say that.”
He liked her already.
They ran the updated sim together.
The car was ugly, nervous, difficult — and suddenly, it made sense. The feedback matched his hands. The fear points lined up with reality.
When Max climbed out, adrenaline buzzing in his veins, he realised something else had changed.
He was smiling. “That’s it,” he said, turning toward her. “That’s the car.”
Charlotte inclined her head, like she’d expected nothing else.
“You’ll still hate it,” she said. “Just for the correct reasons now.”
He laughed before he could stop himself.
GP cleared his throat, looking between them with interest. “Good work,” he said to Charlotte.
She nodded again, already gathering her tablet, mentally moving on.
Max watched her for half a second too long.
Pretty was the wrong word. She wasn’t decorative. She was… arresting.
Tall, composed, dark hair sharp against pale skin, dark eyes that didn’t seek approval. Someone who fixed things quietly and didn’t need applause for it.
And something else — something he couldn’t quite name — tugged at him.
Familiarity, maybe. Or recognition.
As she turned to leave, Max found himself speaking without planning it. “You’ll be around for the next sessions?”
Charlotte paused, glanced back at him. “Yes.”
Just that.
Then she walked out, steps measured, already gone from the moment.
Max stood there, helmet under his arm, heart doing something annoying and unexpected.
GP watched him, unimpressed. “…Don’t,” he said flatly.
Max didn’t even look away from the door. “I haven’t done anything.”
GP huffed. “You’re thinking too loudly.”
Max smiled to himself, slow and crooked. Yeah. He definitely was.
***
Lunch was a brief ceasefire between debriefs and damage limitation.
They were halfway through eating when Charlotte appeared at the edge of the table, tablet tucked under her arm, tote bag slung over one shoulder.
She paused, polite. “Sorry to interrupt.”
Max looked up immediately. Tried not to look like he had.
Hannah smiled. “You’re not interrupting.”
Charlotte reached into her bag and pulled out something… knitted. Crocheted, actually. Thick yarn, carefully shaped.
It was a tiny hat.
A ridiculous, adorable, painstakingly made tiny hat.
“This is for Nimbus,” Charlotte said, handing it to Hannah. “Your daughters asked if the ears could be… exaggerated.”
Hannah gasped softly. “Oh my god. They’re going to lose their minds.”
Max stared at the hat.
Then at Charlotte.
Then back at the hat.
“…Is that,” he said slowly, “a cat-sized hat?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation. No embarrassment.
GP choked on his drink.
Hannah turned the little thing over in her hands, inspecting the stitches. “You’re a miracle worker. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Charlotte hesitated, then added, “If Nimbus hates it, tell them it’s my fault.”
“He won’t,” Hannah said confidently. “He tolerates nonsense remarkably well.”
Charlotte nodded once, satisfied, and glanced briefly at Max — just a flicker — before stepping back.
“Enjoy lunch,” she said.
Then she was gone again, leaving behind a crochet hat and a table full of stunned engineers.
There was a beat of silence.
Max broke it immediately.
“I need to see pictures,” he said, pointing at the hat. “Immediately. When your cat wears that.”
Hannah laughed. “Of course you do.”
“I’m serious,” Max said. “This is important.”
GP sighed into his coffee. “Please explain to me how this is now important.”
Max ignored him, eyes still on the hat.
Hannah smiled knowingly. “Charlotte has an Instagram.”
Max’s head snapped up. “She does?”
“Yes,” Hannah said casually. “She only posts her cat. Modeling the hats.”
Max froze. “…Only that?”
“Yes.”
“How many hats are we talking about?”
Hannah shrugged. “Seasonal. Themes. There was a little witch one at Halloween.”
Max was already pulling out his phone.
“What’s the handle?”
Hannah told him.
Max followed the account without a second’s hesitation.
The feed loaded.
Cat. Hat. Another hat. A different angle of the same cat. A caption that was aggressively understated.
Max stared.
Then smiled.
Then liked three photos in a row before realising he probably shouldn’t like all of them.
GP watched him with the weary expression of a man who had seen this before and knew how it ended.
“You are,” GP said, “deeply predictable.”
Max didn’t look up.
“She crochets hats,” he said faintly. “For cats.”
“Yes,” Hannah said. “And?”
“And she fixes our sim,” Max added. “And she’s tall.”
Hannah snorted.
GP stood, collecting his tray. “I’m leaving before this gets worse.”
Max finally glanced up, phone still in his hand, eyes bright.
“It’s already worse,” he said cheerfully.
And he liked another photo anyway.
Max was still scrolling when GP came back with his coffee.
Another cat. Another hat.
Max liked it.
Hannah watched him do it.
She didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, eyes flicking between Max, the phone, and GP with the quiet confidence of someone about to ruin a man’s day.
“Ah,” she said eventually. “There it is.”
Max frowned. “What.”
GP glanced over. Took in the scene in half a second. “Oh,” GP said flatly. “No.”
Max finally looked up. “What do you mean no.”
“You have a crush,” Hannah said, far too cheerfully.
Max scoffed. “I do not.”
GP sat down slowly, the way one does when bracing for disappointment.
“You followed an engineer’s cat Instagram within thirty seconds,” GP said. “And you’re smiling at your phone.”
“It’s a cat,” Max argued. “In a hat!”
Hannah raised an eyebrow. “You don’t follow my cat.”
“That’s because your cat doesn’t wear costumes,” Max shot back.
GP pinched the bridge of his nose.
“This,” he said, gesturing vaguely at Max, “is exactly how it starts.”
Max rolled his eyes. “You’re both being dramatic.”
Hannah leaned forward. “Max. You asked me to send you photos of Nimbus wearing the hat. You said it was ‘important.’”
“It is important.”
GP stared at him. “Why.”
Max opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
“Well,” he said, stalling, “because—”
Hannah smiled sweetly. “Because you like her.”
“I like that she fixed the sim,” Max said quickly.
“And crocheted a hat for my cat,” Hannah added.
“And has an Instagram for it,” GP said.
“And you followed it immediately,” Hannah finished.
They both looked at him.
Max exhaled through his nose, defeated.
“…Fine,” he muttered. “Maybe a little.”
Hannah clapped once. “Oh god. You have a crush.”
GP groaned. “We are not doing this in the middle of a season from hell.”
Max looked back at his phone. The orange cat stared out from the screen, tiny hat slightly askew.
“She’s just… interesting,” he said, quieter now. “And she’s good. At her job.”
GP gave him a long look. “So were many people before who you did not stalk via crochet content.”
Max shrugged.
Hannah laughed outright. “This is adorable. I give it three weeks before you ask her about yarn.”
“I am not asking her about yarn,” Max protested.
GP didn’t even look convinced.
Max liked another photo.
Just one more.
For science.
***
Meanwhile on Twitter:
@/gridwatcher:
🚨 extremely important max verstappen following update 🚨
he just followed… a cat account???
@/tyredegpls: a WHAT account
@/gridwatcher: no because look
it’s just
a cat
wearing crocheted hats
@/papayapanic: pls tell me you’re joking
@/gridwatcher: I WISH I WAS
handle is literally tillyshats
@/softsector: hold on
scrolling
oh my god
WHY IS IT SO CUTE
@/dutchdelight33: max: fighting a cursed car every weekend
also max: yes. tiny hat.
@/downforcegirlie: this is the most unhinged thing he’s done all season and that is SAYING something
@/gridwatcher: the captions are killing me
“she hated this.”
bestie SAME
@/tyredegpls: do we think max knows the person irl or is this just him discovering joy again
@/softsector: either way i support his healing journey through crochet cat hats
@/downforcegirlie: he’s gonna like every post isn’t he
@/softsector: he already liked three in a row. source: me, refreshing.
@/gridwatcher: someone please tell him twitter has eyes
@/papayapanic: no don’t
this is the only joy we have this season
@/gridwatcher: max verstappen following a cat crochet account is the most emotionally stable thing he’s done in months and honestly? relatable.
@/papayaemergency: the captions are like
“she did not consent”
“winter collection complete”
I’m crying
@/F1Detective: give us 24 hours
@/F1Detective (later): ok so:
– account has existed for years
– never posted anything F1 related
– follows exactly 12 people
– max followed it today
this is either chaos or romance
@/OrangeSector33: max verstappen silently liking crochet cat content during a catastrophic season is my new coping mechanism
@/MaxAppreciation: I just know GP saw this and sighed
@/SlowPitStop: this is how it starts
first the cat
then the yarn
then suddenly he’s knitting in the garage
@/RedBullChaos: max hasn’t liked anything else today
just the cat
priorities king 👑
@/DutchF1Watcher: I don’t care who runs the account
I just want them to know
they made the fandom happy today 🧶🐱
Sim_Ruby: because he is a dedicated professional athlete committed to improving performance
Aero_Matt: ruby
Sim_Ruby: because charlotte is here
Strategy_Leah: ah
Composite_Tom: there it is
Garage_Pete: wait are we allowed to say that now
Strategy_Hannah: No.
Garage_Pete: so yes
Strategy_Hannah: Also no.
Sim_Ruby: Max asked whether the updated low-speed model was ready
Aero_Matt: is it
Sim_Ruby: it was ready yesterday
Aero_Matt: and did he know that
Sim_Ruby: yes
Aero_Matt: Beautiful
Powertrains_Nina: I saw him walk past the sim wing three times this morning
Garage_Pete: maybe he was lost
Powertrains_Nina: max verstappen has been in this building since he was seventeen
Garage_Pete: emotionally lost
Composite_Tom: that checks out
PR_Sophie: Can someone confirm whether Max has actually followed the cat account or is this another rumour?
Strategy_Leah: confirmed
PR_Sophie: oh my god
Aero_Matt: what cat account
Sim_Ruby: Charlotte’s cat. Tilly. The crochet hats.
Aero_Matt: the WHAT
Garage_Pete: welcome to the lore
Powertrains_Nina: Tilly has worn, to my knowledge:
pumpkin hat
dinosaur hat
mushroom hat
flower hat
PR_Sophie: and max followed within approximately thirty seconds of learning it existed
Aero_Matt: that is not a crush
that is a telemetry trace
Engineering_GP: All of you have work to do.
Aero_Matt: so do you
Engineering_GP: Correct. Mine is apparently preventing a world champion from flirting like a concussed golden retriever.
Sim_Ruby: GP
Garage_Pete: A CONCUSSED GOLDEN RETRIEVER
Powertrains_Nina: accurate though
Strategy_Hannah: Unfortunately.
PR_Sophie: For legal purposes, no one is to discuss this outside internal channels.
Aero_Matt: we have legal purposes now?
PR_Sophie: Max liking five consecutive photos of a cat wearing hats is market-sensitive information.
Strategy_Leah: true
Composite_Tom: the FIA should investigate
Garage_Pete: penalty for excessive adorableness
Sim_Ruby: UPDATE: Charlotte just told Max the simulator was “less wrong than yesterday” and he smiled like she handed him a trophy
Aero_Matt: oh he is GONE gone
Powertrains_Nina: did she mean it as praise?
Sim_Ruby: for Charlotte? yes
Strategy_Hannah: That is basically a sonnet from her.
Engineering_GP: Do not encourage him.
Strategy_Hannah: I am not encouraging him. I am observing.
Engineering_GP: You gave him her cat Instagram.
Strategy_Hannah: That was cultural enrichment!
Garage_Pete: max just asked whether charlotte was having lunch
Aero_Matt: normal
Garage_Pete: then immediately said “not like that”
Strategy_Leah: less normal
Garage_Pete: then left without eating
Composite_Tom: catastrophic
Powertrains_Nina: has anyone told charlotte
Sim_Ruby: told charlotte what
Powertrains_Nina: that the entire building thinks max has a crush on her
Sim_Ruby: she knows
Aero_Matt: SHE KNOWS?
Sim_Ruby: she has eyes
Strategy_Hannah: And a Cambridge degree.
Garage_Pete: so what is she doing about it
Sim_Ruby: mostly pretending not to know
Strategy_Leah: valid
Composite_Tom: romance, but make it deeply repressed and data-driven
Sim_Ruby: MAX JUST BROUGHT CHARLOTTE A COFFEE
Aero_Matt: did she accept it
Sim_Ruby: yes
Composite_Tom: oh my god
Garage_Pete: wedding when
Strategy_Hannah: Do not be weird.
Garage_Pete: sorry
Powertrains_Nina: what kind of coffee
Sim_Ruby: black. no sugar. exactly how she drinks it.
Strategy_Leah: oh
Aero_Matt: OH
Composite_Tom: he knows her coffee order
Garage_Pete: we are so back
***
Charlotte arrived early enough that the building had not fully woken yet.
The corridor lights were still dimmed to half-strength, the air cool and quiet in the way she liked best, before the factory filled with voices and footsteps and the restless machinery of a race weekend being prepared in a thousand invisible ways.
She had a coffee in one hand, her tablet tucked beneath her arm, and half her mind already turning over the work she had left unfinished the night before.
There was still a discrepancy in the latest sim run that annoyed her.
Not enough to be alarming.
Enough to be personal.
She slowed when she reached the entrance to the sim wing.
Voices drifted from the coffee machine.
Two engineers stood near the counter, jackets still on, mugs in hand, bodies loose with the kind of ease people only had before the day had properly claimed them. They were talking the way people talked when work had not yet narrowed them down to data and deadlines.
“My mum keeps asking if I’m coming home for Easter,” one of them said, amused. “As if I can just teleport.”
The other laughed. “Mine’s already planning Christmas. It’s March.”
“Better than my dad,” the first replied. “He sends spreadsheets. Travel options. Budget comparisons. Last year there were colour-coded tabs.”
Charlotte stopped just out of sight.
Family talk had a way of slipping under her skin before she had time to brace for it. It was always the harmless conversations that did the most damage.
The little complaints. The fond exasperation. The casual certainty that someone was waiting somewhere, planning too much, caring clumsily but consistently.
She waited until the moment passed, then stepped forward.
The engineers glanced over, nodded in greeting, and moved aside to let her reach the coffee machine. Their conversation faded naturally as work reasserted itself.
Normal.
Unremarkable.
Charlotte returned the nod, polite and distant, then continued down the corridor with her coffee warming her hand.
She did not think about her family often.
Not actively.
It was not something she pushed away so much as something that had ceased to belong to her daily life. Like a room in a house she had stopped entering until, eventually, she no longer remembered the exact placement of the furniture.
She had a mother once.
That part was easy to remember.
Warmth. Beauty that had nothing to do with mirrors. A laugh that lived in the body more than the mouth. Hands that tucked hair behind Charlotte’s ear with absentminded tenderness. A voice that spoke to her as if she were already someone worth listening to.
Then she had a father.
Had.
The word still landed strangely.
She had not spoken to him in nearly four years now. Not properly. Not since the last argument — if it could even be called that. Arguments implied heat on both sides. Noise. Back-and-forth. Something alive enough to resist.
What they had…that was a rupture.
A single moment where everything unspoken finally surfaced, where Charlotte stopped absorbing it quietly and said, in every way she knew how, this hurts.
And he had answered with calm-downs.
With compromises.
With that familiar, polished instinct to keep the peace, as if peace had ever been neutral. As if it had not always been purchased with her silence.
She had walked out that night without slamming the door.
She had never gone back.
Cutting contact had not been dramatic.
It had been administrative.
She changed her number. Updated emergency contacts. Removed his name from forms and replaced it with her own. Changed what needed changing, signed what needed signing, and built a life that no longer required anyone else’s permission to continue.
It had not felt like loss.
That had surprised her, at first.
It had felt like relief.
She reached the simulator control room and set her things down. The machines hummed around her, steady and familiar, wrapping the room in a sound she understood better than most people’s voices.
This, she could trust.
Data did not ask where you were from.
It did not ask who raised you.
It did not assume connection where there was none.
She powered up her workstation, eyes scanning the screen as systems came online. The familiar glow caught against her coffee cup, her notes, the edge of her hand.
Families, she thought, were something you either got lucky with or learned to live without.
She had learned. And she had survived.
Still, sometimes, she could not help thinking about it.
It happened more often than she liked to admit.
Not deliberately. Not masochistically.
Just… in passing.
A screen left on in the background. A photograph in a paddock recap. A video clip that autoplayed before she could stop it.
Her father laughing with Jack on his shoulders.
Her father leaning down to listen to Rosa, one hand warm and familiar at her back.
Her father with Benedict, proud and attentive and present in a way that looked effortless from the outside.
A father.
Charlotte never sought those moments out, but they found her anyway, slipping into her periphery like static she could never quite tune out.
Every time, she wondered the same thing.
How can you do it for them?
How could he know how to kneel to a child’s height, how to listen, how to protect, how to make himself soft enough to be trusted — and still never have managed it for her?
She did not think it with anger anymore.
That part had burned out years ago.
What remained was quieter. Sharper.
Confusion, edged with grief.
She had been there first.
The thought arrived uninvited every time. Not as an accusation. Not even as a plea.
Just as fact.
She had been there first.
Stephanie’s face surfaced next, as it often did when Charlotte let herself follow the thread.
Stephanie, cool and immaculate. Stephanie, whose displeasure had never needed to become a raised voice to be felt. Stephanie, who had looked at Charlotte as if she were a problem that should have resolved itself through gratitude and silence.
Charlotte had spent years trying to be smaller around her.
Quieter.
Easier.
Less inconveniently alive.
It had never worked.
Nothing would have worked.
That had been one of the cruellest things to learn. That sometimes there was no correct version of yourself that would make someone love you. Sometimes the offence was not your behaviour, or your tone, or your awkwardness, or your grief.
Sometimes the offence was simply that you existed.
Susie belonged in a different category altogether.
Susie had never been cruel.
That mattered.
It also had not been enough.
Charlotte had learned early that kindness without intervention still left bruises. That sympathy did not stop harm if it stayed quiet. That a soft look across a dinner table was not the same thing as someone saying, enough.
She did not resent Susie.
Not exactly.
She simply had not trusted her.
And that, too, had felt inevitable.
Her mother was the only one untouched by complication.
Charlotte missed her with a dull, persistent ache that had nothing to do with time. No amount of years had softened it. No amount of success had replaced the absence. It lived in her quietly, beneath the skin, like an old injury that ached before rain.
She missed the way her mother had spoken to her like Charlotte’s thoughts mattered.
The way she had touched her hair when she was thinking.
The way she had laughed — full-bodied, unselfconscious, generous — as if joy was not something to ration.
She missed the safety of her.
The certainty.
Sometimes Charlotte tried to imagine what her life would have been if her mother had lived.
She suspected the answer was: simpler.
Not easier.
Just less lonely.
She rarely allowed herself to dwell on the question that haunted her most.
If she were still alive, would any of this have happened?
Charlotte knew the answer.
No.
Because her mother would never have let anyone make her feel optional.
She sat down at her desk, set her coffee beside the keyboard, and pulled up the latest sim data.
The discrepancy was still there, waiting for her.
Good.
That, at least, was something she knew how to fix.
***
Max hadn’t meant to listen.
That was the thing.
He was not sneaking around the sim wing like some sort of stalker who lingered near doorways because Charlotte Fischer happened to be on the other side of them.
He was simply walking.
And then he heard her laugh.
Not the small, contained sound she sometimes made when someone said something mildly funny and she decided, apparently by committee, that it deserved acknowledgement.
This was different.
Quick. Unpolished. Surprised out of her.
Max slowed before he could stop himself.
The office door was half-open. Voices drifted out into the corridor — easy, bright, the kind of conversation people had when the day had not fully sharpened around them yet.
Charlotte’s voice cut through the others.
Distinct.
Calm.
Impeccably British in that way that made Max think of expensive schools and people who used forks correctly even when angry.
“You know,” one of her colleagues said, audibly grinning, “every time you say can’t, I expect you to start announcing tea.”
Charlotte made an offended sound. “That’s not even fair.”
“It is,” another voice chimed in. “You sound like you went to the kind of school that has its own crest.”
“I did,” Charlotte said dryly.
Max stopped walking.
He pulled out his phone, because apparently he was now that person and if anyone asked, he could pretend he had received a message.
“Called it,” the first colleague said triumphantly. “I knew it. Boarding school.”
“Very pricey boarding school,” Charlotte corrected. “With uniforms that cost more than my rent.”
Someone laughed. “You’re joking.”
“I wish I were. There was a blazer. It had piping.”
“Oh, posh-posh.”
“Traumatised-posh,” Charlotte corrected. “There is a difference.”
Max’s mouth twitched despite himself.
He could picture it too easily.
Charlotte in some severe school uniform, dark hair shorter even then maybe, dark eyes already watchful, standing too straight because someone somewhere had taught her posture could be armour.
Charlotte learning early how to sound composed. How to make every sentence smooth enough that no one could grab hold of it.
He filed it away.
Boarding school.
Expensive.
Old money, maybe.
Or at least money somewhere.
That part did not quite fit with the rest of her, though. Not with the way she never talked like someone expecting anything to be handed to her. Not with the way she moved through Red Bull like she had carved out every inch of space herself.
Then one of her colleagues said, “Okay, but wait — you’re not even British, are you?”
There was a pause.
Small. Almost nothing.
Max noticed anyway.
“No,” Charlotte said. “I was born in Austria.”
That stopped him properly.
Austria.
The word clicked into place somewhere in the back of his mind, sharp and unexpected.
“In Austria?” the colleague echoed. “Then why do you sound like you were raised by the BBC?”
Charlotte huffed softly. “Because I moved young and learned quickly that sounding neutral was useful.”
The colleague laughed. “Neutral? Charlotte, you sound like you should be disappointed in my table manners.”
“I often am.”
More laughter.
Max did not laugh this time.
Sounding neutral was useful.
He turned the words over once.
Twice.
He had learned, in the few weeks since Charlotte had appeared properly in his orbit, that she rarely wasted words. She could make a joke, yes. She could be dry enough to make GP look up from his coffee. But she did not say things by accident.
Useful.
Not natural.
Not inherited.
Useful.
He stored that away too.
Austrian.
Moved young.
Accent chosen. Or trained. Or both.
He should have kept walking.
He really should have.
Instead, he stood there in the corridor with his phone in his hand, pretending to scroll through nothing, collecting pieces of Charlotte Fischer like small, mismatched parts of a car he did not yet understand.
Cat Instagram.
That had been the first piece, really.
The account with the orange cat in crocheted hats.
Tilly’s hats. sixty-seven posts. No selfies. No friends. No food pictures. No glamorous life tucked between work and travel.
Just a cat staring into the camera with offended dignity while wearing whatever newest crocheted creation her owner had made.
Max had followed the account within thirty seconds of finding it.
Hannah and GP had mocked him for that.
Fairly, maybe.
He had liked only three photos at first, because he had enough self-control not to like all of them immediately. Then he had gone back later and liked two more, because the cat had been wearing a tiny mushroom hat and he was not made of stone.
That had told him something about Charlotte too.
Not the obvious thing — that she liked cats, though that was important and frankly made her more interesting.
But the other thing.
That she made things with her hands.
Tiny, impractical, ridiculous things.
For a cat.
The same woman who spoke in clean, precise lines about sim correlation and flawed modelling assumptions spent her free time crocheting hats for an animal that looked furious about it.
Max liked that more than he knew what to do with.
Now Austria. Boarding school. The accent.
The little pause before she answered.
He put those beside the cat hats in his head.
None of it made a full picture.
All of it made him want to look again.
“So what,” the first colleague said, still teasing, “secret posh childhood?”
Charlotte made a sound Max could not quite read. “Something like that.”
That was not an answer.
Max knew that because he gave those kinds of answers all the time.
The ones that sounded enough like truth that people stopped asking.
“Come on,” the colleague pressed. “Austria, British boarding school, Cambridge, Red Bull. That’s a lot.”
“It looks more coherent on paper than it was in practice,” Charlotte said.
There it was again.
A sentence with a door behind it.
Max stared at his phone without seeing it.
“Did your parents just decide England would build character?” someone asked.
Another pause.
Longer this time.
Then Charlotte said, lightly, “Something like that.”
The same phrase.
Different weight.
Max’s fingers tightened around his phone.
Parents.
So there were parents. Or had been. Rich enough for boarding school. Connected enough for Cambridge. Absent enough, maybe, that Charlotte had learned to make her voice sound like something that could not be questioned.
He did not know.
That was the problem.
He did not know anything, really.
He knew she was tall. That he had noticed immediately.
Tall, short dark hair, dark eyes that looked at data like it had personally offended her. Pretty in a way that did not ask to be looked at and therefore made him want to look more, which was annoying and inconvenient and absolutely GP’s fault somehow.
He knew she was good.
Not normal good. Not useful member of the department good.
Very good.
The kind of good that made people in the sim wing listen when she spoke. The kind of good that had made the car, for the first time in weeks, feel honestly bad instead of dishonestly manageable. The kind of good that mattered, because Max hated being lied to by machines almost as much as he hated being lied to by people.
He knew she was not impressed by him.
That might have been the worst part.
Or the best.
He had not decided.
She did not look at him like most people looked at him. Not fans. Not sponsors. Not women who already knew his reputation before he opened his mouth.
Charlotte looked at him like a data point.
A very fast data point, maybe.
Occasionally useful.
Occasionally irritating.
But not miraculous.
Max should have found that insulting.
Instead, he found himself walking slightly slower past corridors where he knew she worked, checking whether she was in the sim bay before he asked a question he could probably have asked someone else, and thinking about an orange cat in a frog hat more often than was dignified.
“Anyway,” Charlotte said inside the office, her voice shifting back toward professional even as the others still sounded amused. “If we are finished psychoanalysing my vowels, the model is still wrong.”
Someone groaned. “You’re no fun.”
“I am enormous fun,” Charlotte replied. “In controlled conditions.”
Max nearly smiled.
There she was.
The door closed on the conversation a moment later, the voices muffling into work.
Max stood there for half a second longer.
Then he put his phone away and continued toward the sim bay.
By the time he arrived, Charlotte was already there, because of course she was. She sat at her desk with her posture perfect and her eyes on the screen, short dark hair tucked behind one ear, speaking to another engineer in that polished British register that now sounded different to him.
Not fake.
Never fake.
Constructed.
There was a difference.
Max watched her while pretending not to.
Austria, he thought.
Boarding school.
Cambridge.
Cat.
Parents with money, maybe. Or money around her. Or something complicated enough that she had learned to answer around it.
He added each fact to the quiet little folder in his mind labelled Charlotte Fischer.
It was becoming embarrassingly full.
She looked up suddenly, as if she had felt him watching.
Max, who was excellent under pressure and had won world championships, immediately forgot what he had come in for.
Charlotte raised an eyebrow.
“Did you need something?”
“Yes,” Max said.
A pause.
Her eyebrow rose a fraction higher.
He recovered badly.
“The sim,” he said. “I wanted to ask about the updated model.”
That was at least true.
Charlotte turned back to her screen. “Sit down, then.”
Max sat.
Too quickly.
Behind him, GP made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a cough and even more suspiciously like amusement.
Max ignored him.
Charlotte pulled up the model, all focus again, all precision. The polished accent. The steady hands. The brain that saw flaws in systems and fixed them before anyone else had found the right question.
Max listened.
Mostly.
But some part of him stayed in the corridor, holding the pieces he had collected.
He wondered how many versions of herself Charlotte Fischer had built to get here.
And, more dangerously, whether she ever let anyone see the one underneath.
***
The apartment was quiet in the particular way Monaco became quiet at night.
Not silent.
Never silent.
There was always the low hush of the city beyond the glass, the distant drag of tyres over tarmac, the occasional voice rising from the street below and dissolving into the dark. But up here, above most of it, the noise arrived softened. Cushioned. Expensive.
Toto Wolff sat alone at the dining table, laptop open in front of him, the glow of the screen cutting pale lines across the polished stone.
The paperwork was orderly.
Of course it was.
Trust statements. Account summaries. Investment reports. Tax documents. Things that made sense because numbers had the decency to declare what they were. They could be checked, balanced, corrected.
He had reviewed these accounts often enough to know most of them by heart.
Often enough to pretend this part would not still hurt.
He scrolled.
Benedict’s trust was active. University fees. Living expenses. Transfers made with the faint carelessness of someone who had always known the safety net was there.
Rosa’s was the same. Regular withdrawals. Sensible ones, mostly. A larger payment for an apartment deposit. A few indulgences Toto had noticed and chosen not to comment on.
They were using what he had built for them.
That was the point of it, he told himself. That had always been the point.
Then the next file opened. Charlotte Wolff.
Her name sat there in the same clean font as the others, understated and formal, as if it were simply another account to review. As if it did not reach through the screen and close around his throat.
Toto went still.
The balance was untouched.
No withdrawals.
No requests.
No transfers.
No activity beyond interest accrual and the neat, automatic work of money compounding around an absence.
For years.
He stared at the numbers for a long time.
Four years since she had blocked his number.
Four years since his calls had stopped ringing through and gone instead into that cold, immediate silence. Four years since messages had remained delivered but unanswered, until eventually even that stopped because he no longer knew whether she had the same number at all.
Four years since he had told himself the same cowardly thing over and over.
She will call if she needs something.
It had sounded reasonable at the time.
Respectful, even.
A way of giving her space. A way of not forcing himself into a life she had clearly decided to keep without him.
Now, looking at the untouched trust, he saw it for what it had been.
An excuse.
She had never called.
Not for money.
Not for help.
Not because she was frightened.
Not because she was ill.
Not because there was no one else.
She had taken his absence and made it permanent.
Cleanly.
Efficiently.
Like Charlotte did most things.
And the worst part — the part that sat heavy and sickening beneath his ribs — was that he had always known she would be capable of it.
Even as a child, she had been too self-contained.
Too careful.
Too ready to take responsibility for the temperature of a room before any adult had asked why a child was reading it so closely.
He could still see her sometimes, if he let himself.
Small at the edge of a dining table. Hands folded. Back straight. Eyes lowered, then lifted, then lowered again. Watching. Measuring. Learning what not to say.
He remembered the way her shoulders tightened when Stephanie spoke her name.
He remembered the way she grew quieter over the years.
He remembered noticing.
That was the unforgivable thing.
Not ignorance.
Not blindness.
Not some convenient failure of perception.
He had noticed.
He had seen enough to know.
The tension in her jaw. The way she left rooms before she could be dismissed from them. The way she stopped asking for things. The way she learned, year by year, to make needing him unnecessary.
And he had done nothing.
Not because he had not loved her.
That was the excuse he had reached for in darker moments, but even he had never managed to make himself believe it.
He had loved her.
He had simply loved his own peace more.
He had loved the fragile balance of the household more.
He had loved avoiding confrontation more.
He had loved the version of himself who could provide everything measurable and pretend protection was included somewhere in the cost.
Toto pressed his fingers to his eyes.
“I didn’t protect her,” he said.
The words fell into the empty apartment and stayed there.
They did not shock him.
They were too old for that.
Too worn down by repetition.
Too true.
Behind him, the door opened softly.
Toto did not turn around.
He heard Susie come in, the quiet click of keys set down, the pause that followed when she saw him sitting there in the dark with the laptop open and every line of his body pulled tight.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
It was not really a question.
Susie had always been better than most people at reading the shape of disaster before anyone named it.
Toto kept his eyes on the screen.
“I really fucked up with her,” he said.
The apartment seemed to hold its breath.
Susie did not ask who.
That was its own kind of mercy.
After a moment, she came closer. Her hand settled lightly on the back of his chair, not quite touching him yet.
“Charlotte,” she said.
Toto nodded once.
The name hurt more when Susie said it.
“She hasn’t touched the trust,” he said. “Not once.”
Susie’s gaze moved to the laptop.
Toto heard her inhale.
“Years,” he continued, and his voice sounded strange even to himself. Too flat. Too controlled. “No withdrawals. No calls. No requests. Nothing.”
Susie was quiet.
“I told myself she would call if she needed money,” he said.
The shame of it rose hot in his throat.
“God,” he muttered. “Money.”
Susie’s hand moved from the chair to his shoulder.
“That was never how Charlotte asked for help,” she said gently.
Toto laughed once.
Short.
Humourless.
“She didn’t ask,” he said. “That was the point.”
“I know.”
“No.” He shook his head. “No, I don’t think I did. Not properly.”
He looked back at the screen.
At the pristine account.
At the money he had set aside like proof of fatherhood. As if a trust fund could stand in for all the rooms where he had remained silent. As if Cambridge and doctors and security and a name on paperwork could add up to safety.
“I gave her everything except what she needed,” he said.
Susie said nothing.
There was kindness in her silence, but not absolution. He was grateful for that.
“She was a child,” Toto said, and this time his voice cracked around it. “She was a child, Susie. And I left her alone in that house.”
“You were there,” Susie said softly.
“That’s worse.”
Her hand tightened on his shoulder.
He closed his eyes.
“She looked at me that night,” he said. “Before she left. After I told her to calm down.”
The memory came back with brutal clarity.
Charlotte standing at the table, pale with fury, eyes too bright and too dry. Stephanie offended. Rosa defensive. Benedict silent.
And Charlotte looking at him.
Not waiting for him to fix it anymore.
Just watching him fail one final time.
“I thought I was de-escalating,” he said.
The word tasted obscene.
Susie did not soften it for him.
“You were choosing the room,” she said. “Not her.”
Toto nodded.
The truth of it settled between them like dust.
“I know.”
He had known then too, perhaps. Somewhere beneath the practiced instinct. Beneath the diplomacy, the management, the relentless need to make every conflict survivable by making it smaller.
Charlotte had not needed the conflict made smaller.
She had needed him to make himself larger.
He had not.
Susie drew out the chair beside him and sat.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The laptop screen dimmed slightly, the numbers fading toward grey.
After a long moment, Susie said, “You could try reaching out again.”
Toto stared at Charlotte’s name.
“I don’t know how.”
“Start with the truth.”
He let out another brittle laugh. “Which part?”
“All of it.”
“That would take years.”
“Then start with one sentence.”
He looked at her then.
Susie’s face was calm, but her eyes were not easy. She was not offering comfort. Not exactly. She was offering something harder.
A way forward that did not pretend forward meant forgiveness.
“She blocked me,” he said. “I don’t even know if anything would reach her.”
“You could write.”
“She might not read it.”
“She might not,” Susie agreed.
“She might hate me.”
Susie held his gaze.
“Toto.”
He looked away first.
Of course.
“I don’t even know what she’s doing,” he admitted. The words came quietly, and somehow that made them worse. “Where she lives. Who she knows. Whether she is happy. Whether she is safe.”
His mouth tightened.
“I don’t know who she is anymore.”
Susie’s expression flickered.
Pain.
Regret.
Something she did not ask him to name.
“She made a life without me,” Toto said.
The laptop went darker again, Charlotte’s untouched account now barely visible on the screen.
He looked at it anyway.
“And I taught her how.”
Susie reached for his hand then.
He let her take it.
For once, there was nothing to fix. No strategy to find. No call to make. No negotiation, no restructuring, no transfer of money large enough to alter the shape of what had happened.
There was only the untouched trust fund.
The daughter who had not needed it.
The father who had mistaken provision for protection until the evidence became impossible to ignore.
And in the expensive quiet of the Monaco apartment, Toto Wolff finally understood that Charlotte had not left because he had given her too little.
She had left because the one thing she had needed from him had never been something he could buy.
user2 i think we all do user3 UGH YES BRO they were literally peak user4 mom and dad typa shi 😕😕😕 user5 oml do u guys ever stfu it's so clear it wasn't gonna work user6 okay billy badass
madisonhu you're really funny you know liked by creator
ynlnstyle that dress is so pretty! running to google lens 🥰
user7 obsessed is so fricking peak
user8 YOU GET IT HOLYYYYYYY
user9 next song drop when
ynln soon you have to trust me user11 YOOOOO WHAT user10 see anything works if you guys just ask
lnsource we need more (dogs name) pics!!!
liked by redbullracing, charlesleclerc, and others
maxverstappen1 Spain done, Austria next. view comments
redbullracing Let's keep pushing 💪
user12 i wonder who's also in spain right now!
user13 give this man a break lord user14 yn probably scheduled her concert the same date as the spanish gp on purpose user15 she's such an attention seeker.. ynlndefender block her then fatties
user16 maxyn is so old why is everyone still talking about them lmfao
user17 7 months ago btw user18 she's still obsessed with him while he's doing amazing user19 did they tell you this themselves personally
user20 ❤️❤️
user21 i wonder if he ever looks through his comments and see the ones about yn!
liked by maxverstappen1, tatemcrae, and others
ynln aaaaaandddd next view comments
user22 max in the likes????????
user23 oh lord
lnsource so excited 🪽🪽🪽
user24 your favorite driver in his exes likes and you're all still saying SHES the one who's obsessed??
user25 RIGHT like hello user26 "attention seeker" my ass bro
tatemcrae LETS GOOOOOOOO
magui_corceiro i love youuu
user27 a wag in the comments.... user28 MAGUIIIIIII
user29 no one understands the EXCITEMENT i have for this song
user30 why is my goat in his exes likes stand up my bro 💔
user31 like come onnnnnnnn
user32 is this a sign maxyn is coming back 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
liked by maxverstappen1, conangray, and others
ynln bad idea right? out now 💜💜 view comments
user33 YP WHATVEELOHELO RUNEING TO YSIRUTBE
user34 someone's excited
user34 "yes i know he's my ex but can't two people reconnect?" ?????????
user35 and her ex is in the likes???????? user36 yn girl do you have something to tell us
user37 and there she goes writing a song about him what did i tell you guys she's crazy
user38 get a life holy unemployed
lnsource "just tripped and fell into his bed" you say..! 😅
user39 max fans are gonna have a field day with this song oh lord
user40 YN RUN WHILE YOU CAN
maxverstappen1 Great song 🔥👏 liked by creator
user41 MAX GTFOOOOOOO user42 am i getting my parents back or is this just a publicity stunt user43 PLEASE SPEED i need this
liked by ynln, f1wags, and others
lnsource yn ln spotted at the austrian grand prix today! fans are speculating she attended for redbull driver, max verstappen, whom also happens to be her ex boyfriend 🎀 view comments
user44 her outfit is everything MY FREAKING GOSH
user45 max win this race for your girl please 🙏🙏
user46 GTFOOOOOO
user47 i thought they were broken up??
user47 can you read... the caption literally says "ex boyfriend" user48 attention seeker he does NOT want her back someone get her out of the paddock user49 and yet he's still in her likes AND comments get a lifeeeeeee
user50 if we really open our eyes we can all tell they got back together
user51 YES BRO LIKE the song, the likes, the comments, ATTENDING HIS RACE???? user52 gosh i cant wait for her next post user53 watch it be a soft launch
user54 when did f1 become about the drivers personal lives..
user55 just scroll already user56 do you see you're on a singers fan account and not a f1 page... user57 SON IM CRINE
user58 please max we need this we need more love songs 💔
user59 you get it twin user60 if you think about it bad idea right was a love song user61 you're so funny
liked by ynln, lnsource, and others
maxverstappen1 Thank you Austria, great race! view comments
user62 HELLO??????????????
user63 jaw is on the ground btw
user64 we ALL saw this coming dont even user65 baby who is we user66 we as in the people with eyes
ynln congrats 🤍🤍 liked by creator
user67 MY PARENTSSSSSS 676767676767676767 user68 life is great to be honest
lnsource so they're back together is what you're telling me 😳
user69 i guess she did slip and fall into his bed!
user70 oh you're funny
user71 okay yn post now thanks
kimi.antonelli Wow
user72 GTFO user73 running to ollie i see
liked by ynln, kimi.antonelli, and others
maxverstappen1 Taken by me view comments
user74 taken by us you mean
maxverstappen1 No user75 someones protective i see
maxverstappen1 I love my girlfriend ❤️
ynln i love you too 🤍 user76 FUCK MY CHUNGUS LIFE user77 can he fight all of us though
kikagomes congratulations 🥳🥳
olliebearman Is that why shes been sneaking around the paddock
user78 OLLIE GET YOUR ASS OUT user79 you don't understand how funny this is at 2am user80 i found it funny you guys can laugh now
𝖬𝖺𝗑 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗄. 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗄? 𝖧𝖾'𝗌 a known s𝗈𝖿𝗍𝗂𝖾. Especially when it comes to his lovely, extremely feisty girlfriend.
a.n - reader has an obession with Suki from Fast 2 Furious, also loves drift cars | please repost and comment if you like my work ♡
liked by f1, Red Bull Racing, Max Verstappen and 12,300, 057 others
y/n02 Just another night out in Harajuku! Looking forward to race weekend ♡
view all comments
Red Bull Racing We love a girl who loves pink! Also, the bow in Max's hair looks simply lovely :) ⤵︎
username lmaoo even admin knows our favourite rookie has an obession with pink
username wait until Max see's this post xd
username loving the fit ! Our girl killing it as always!
Max Verstappen Schat I love you. But what the fuck is in my hair? 250 Replies⤵︎
y/n02 A bow? Makes you look more cute <3
username plss his response is killing me haha
username someone's mad xdd
username I dunno why Max is even dating this girl. This sport is so fucked
"Is this where you've been hiding schat?" Max called out in the sanctuary that you called your garage.
"Missed you too!" You shout back as your voice echoed in the enclosed space. Max could hear the smile in your voice, making him shake his head in amusement.
The two of you were currently in Japan before race weekend. Max was going to spend some time with you after testing, only to find out you had slipped away moments after the briefing.
Neon lights spelling out your name at the top as he made his way inside through the clutter. He took a quick look at the trinkets you had collected over the past year from different races. One that caught his eye was the dark purple nitro car figurine that he had bought you recently, sitting ontop a shelf with all your trophies. A smile appearing on his lips when he remembers last year's race in China,where you scored your first set of points.
"You know, we have mechanics for a reason." Max says sarcastically. Bending down to place his hands on his knees to get a better look at you. Who had disappeared underneath a pink Honda S2000. One that you had personally customised. With intricate, sprayed on designs on the side and on the hood of the car.
Max knew your obession for Suki from 2 Fast 2 Furious. He knows because you made him watch the movie a couple of times since the two of you started dating.
As a highly skilled driver and custom car designer, your wheel knowledge was insanely good. Many loved your bubbly yet fierce competitiveness, including Max. You weren't selfish per say, but on track. You were a formidable challenger against Max.
"Uhuh. And I suppose they know how to work with a nitro engine?" You point out, sliding out with a wrench in hand. Max fought back a laugh as he took in your dishevelled appearance. Oil smeared across your cheeks and your tank top and hair slightly tousled.
"What's so funny?" You ask, arms crossed as you sat across the dutch man with a raised brow. Max let out a soft laugh as he reached forward the swipe his thumb across your cheek. Getting rid off the excess oil "Oh nothing. Just admiring my messy girlfriend."
You roll your eyes at the backhanded compliment but smile nonetheless. Max almost forgot the reason why he was looking for you in the first place when your arms stretch outward as an open invitation.
"Hm, you missed quite alot when you left the briefing by the way." Max mumbled quietly as he pulls you into his arms, adjusting his position while you sat on his lap. It was an awkward position, but comfortable.
"Was it about me?" You ask, pretending to not know the answer when you already did. Regarding last weeks crash. Max sighed into your hair and presses a gentle kiss ontop of your head. "It's not your fault."
"But I still crashed." You replied quickly. Burying your face into the crook of his neck while he hummed in response. "Schatje, we aren't made to be perfect you know. Even I'm not the best at everything."
"I find that hard to believe. Champion." Max couldn't see your face but he hears the humour laced in your voice, responding with a short breathy laugh. "Didn't you say you could drive a tractor and still win?"
"Yeah well. There's one car that I find hard to drive."
"Really? Like what?" You asked, sceptical. Moving away from his neck to get a better look at his handsome face. Only for him to respond with two words. "Drift cars."
"That's a lie babe and we both know it." You mused, leaning in to press a kiss to his scruffy cheek. Making the Dutch man grin in response, blushing at your small act of affection. "Ah well, there's no getting passed you is there?"
"Listen. I might have good wheel knowledge. But you have wayy more experience with cars than I do." Max scoffed at you implying that he was old. "Right. Because I'm a veteran. Is that what you're saying?"
You shrugged your shoulders pretending to have no clue on the matter. Then a playful grin tugs at your lips, leaning close to make steady eye contact with him. Max doesn't back down, his pale blue eyes spotted the glint in yours. You wanted a challenge it seems.
"I'm not saying that I'm better than you. But -- I could show you how good I am at driving this car." Max follows your arm as you point towards the Honda behind you. Okay, now he was intrigued. "Alright. Let's see what you got."
Your car is every girls dream, heavily modifying it to your liking. What Max wasn't expecting was the interior, designed to be flashy rather than functional. Including a high-end stereo with a Panasonic screen setup.
"Are you sure this car is safe to drive?" You hear him ask as he grew increasingly nervous. All while taking in what you call, 'a work of art.' Not to mention there was no roof. But hey, at least the seats were comfortable.
"Relax. I won't go that fast." Another lie leaving your lips as you reach for the clutch. Giving him a reassuring, yet confident wink. "But I would hold on tight just in case."
Red Bull had personally sponsored the race, so the police don't get involved. Starting from Shibuya crossing and turning back again. With Yuki joining you on your left in a white Honda Civic with blue race stripes.
You revved up the engine as you turn to wave at Yuki, shouting over the noise. "Don't take it personal Yuki! But you're going down!"
"We'll see about that!" He shouts back as he revved up his own engine, flashing you a cheeky grin. And with the wave of the checkered flag, you two were off.
The 3.5cc nitro engine shrieked as it launched off down the outstretched tarmac. Pink flames emitted from the exhaust due to the propane fueled system as it hung behind.
Yoy push down on the throttle like your life depended on it. The car's weight downshifting as you make a sharp turn. Enjoying the rush of adrenaline pumping through your veins while you blast music on the speakers. "Whooh! This is what I'm talking about!"
Max meanwhile, held on for dear life. His head practically becoming one with the cushioned headrest behind him, letting a strained noise. "Yeahh. Very nice."
Yuki was'nt too far behind now when you take a peak at your rear view mirror. Swiftly moving infront of him as he tries to maneuver his car to overtake. The sudden jolt catching Max offguard, making him jerk towards his left. Almost taking out in the process but saves himself by holding onto your headrest - "Maybe we should slow down?"
You couldn't believe your ears. Was Max scared? Urging you to say, "You trust me don't you?"
Max turns to you with bunched brows, clearly confused "Ofcourse I do!"
A crowd forming to cheer you on as you gripped tightly on the wheel. "Great! Because we gotta impress the crowd!"
Yuki had caught up to you at this point, but it was no use. You were almost at the finish line, turning in the last corner making the car drift as a result. Max clinged onto the hand rest as the gforce hits him by surprise "Shit. She's fucking fast!"
"Your damn right she is!" You reply with pure joy and a hearty laugh. Clearly having lots of fun at seeing Max suffer while you race against the clock.
You try to controll the car's tragectory in short bursts as you race towards the finish line. Leaving Yuki in a haze of orange smoke when you hit the nitro button next to the wheel for a quick boost. Resulting in a massive, inspontaneous surge of speed.
"Almost there!" You shout over the roaring engine. What was left of Max was just a shell as you cross the finish line with a loud cheer. Yuki finishing closely behind in a fit of rage, since he lost.
"Damn it!" You could hear the faint string of swear words coming from within his car, feeling sorta bad.
"Fuckk. I'm never doing that ever again." Max muttered as he slowly stumbles out of the neon pink car. He could hear your joyful laughter as you join him by his side, arm linking with his. "Oh please. I know you enjoyed it as much as I did."
"Okay you made your point," he sighed, rubbing his hand over his face in both frustration and relief. He takes a moment to regulate his breathing before turning towards his side to look down at you. "You're a fiesty driver I'll give you that."
Max smiles softly when he cups your face in his large hands. Your cheeks were still warm due to the humidity built up in the car as you melt into his touch. Soon his manner would shift into something more, blue eyes darkening in the process. "You've proved me wrong. So let me return the favour."
"Max --," you say his name. Sort of becoming breathless yourself due to his intense gaze.
He was hyperaware of the crowd forming behind him. But he could care less when he leans in for a kiss. Passionate and intent, wanting to make your knees feel weak just from one kiss.
He groaned against your plush lips while his hands gripped your hips. Fngers digging deep into your clothed flesh which were definately going to leave marks.
Max's hunger for you grew as the kiss deepened. Oh, and he was going to make sure his girl is well treated tonight. As your reward ofcourse.
#pairing: Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader
#summary; Where everyone thinks the 4 stars in his helmet are for his 4 championships, but they are more than wrong...
#word-count; 1.3K
#MASTERLIST
Nothing about triplets was easy.
Carrying triplets had been hell, they are 3 times the weight, 3 times the pain, 3 times the worry. Any slight worry, any different sensation, any tiny movement that feels too hard-- it's a call to the doctor.
It had been triple the surprise and planning as well, it's not the usual "We're having our first kid!" announcement. It was "We're rushing everything and having 3 at the same time!". 3 cribs, 3 bottles, 3 gender, 3...everything.
Birthing triplets was even worse, it's hard enough to push one baby out but three-- of course it had been a c-section, but even then it had been a fight. She was down for more than a week, the babies had to spend some time in the NICU. Triple the worry.
But to hold those 3 mostly identical faces close to her chest, nothing compared. The apocalypse could be starting outside she wouldn't have cared, all that mattered to her in that moment was the 3 beautiful lives she had birthed into existence.
The public had known very little at the time, the fear of complications or bad news kept Max from being super public about the facts. He had announced the pregnancy and birth, but when he arrived at the Miami GP-- little was known to the fans and media, not the gender, not the name and even less the insane knowledge that he was now the father of 3 kiddos.
So sitting down for that week's media day, Max new the questions were coming in hot. His eyes scanned the crowd of journalists, all looking anxiously down at their papers and wanting so damn bad to be the first ones to ask something.
"1st question to Max." This male journalist began, he held the microphone with some difficulty as he went trough his notes. "Congratulations, first of all."
"Thank you." He briefly added, just to not be seen as rude.
"I don't want to crowd you, or anything." Oh wow, some respectful journalist? What a rarity "Just wanted to ask the meaning of your helmet this weekend, you tweaked the design a bit, the colors, the usual 4 championship stars.--"
"They're not championship stars anymore." He interrupted the man.
The whole room seemed to eye him curiously, even Gabriel and Lando who were sitting next to him having to deal with this media pen.
The journalist seemed gagged for a moment. "T-They're not? What are they for now?"
The feeling of anticipation filled his heart, that moment you know will get clipped, reposted, commented on for days--possibly years. If he were a dog, he might have wagged his tail agressivly.
"There's 4 stars right, big one is for my wife, Y/N. Then there's a blue one for my son, Liam. A pink one for my daughter, Lilian. And another pink one for my other daughter, Lotte." His voice was calm as ever, nearly nonchalant. But the smile on his face was hard to avoid.
As expected and very much predicted, all the journalists were eyeing eachother, whispering. Gabi and Lando looked at him with a smirk, they hadn't known of these news either. Gabi even teased. "MV3 taken seriously, hein?"
Which made Max snort a bit before the journalist followed up.
"You mean to tell us you and your wife welcomed triplets this week?" He seemed super attentive now, they were searching for the highlight, the title.
Max nodded softly, a blush taking over his cheeks. "Yeah, me and my darling wife welcomed three, very healthy, kiddos this week." Simple, short, very Verstappen style.
The whole pen exploded at that, everyone wanted to know it all by now. Questions began to fly at him-- it was as if Lando and Gabriel weren't even there.
"Who came first?" A girl asked.
"Uhm, Lilian, then Lotte and then Liam." He replied.
Some other dude with a very professional look grabbed the microphone. "Do you plan on bringing them to the paddock soon?"
"That depends on Y/N, she's the mum she'll decide when is it good for the kids." He stood by that opinion, he knew mothers had an instinct for what was best. And if his wife never wanted her kids to show up at the paddock for privacy hell, he was her biggest defensor.
"One last question for Max and we'll move on." The team announced.
The last to speak was brazilian journalist Mariana Becker, famous for her long years in the business and very good questions. Max relaxed, he knew no akward personal question would come from her.
"Hi Max." She began, that calm composed voice of hers. "Before I ask for the strategy this weekend, just wanted to know how is Y/N, is she alright?"
He felt a warm feeling on his chest, nobody has asked that yet. Which seemed super unfair to him seeing she was the one who had to birth 3 kids this week.
He nodded calmly, looking the most in love he had, ever. "She's doing okay, a long recovery but she's doing good."
***
The weekend passed faster than he'd like to admit. His focus was heavily divided in the work he had to put in at Miami if he wanted the team to start looking up, and the constant updates his mother would send him from the hospital.
"L3 are doing good!" She'd text him, L3 meaning quite literally the triplets, whose name all started with L. "Liam pooped a lot, nurse said it means he's healthy. Lotte is gaining the right weight. Lilian will be out the NICU tomorrow."
It always made his heart ache a bit, he had a flight back immediately after Miami. Not monday morning, not sunday night, sunday evening right after the race. He had enough time to get on the podium if he could, change clothes, a last debrief, and packed away he'd go.
He also texted Y/N, albeit most the times she was either busy watching him on TV or too weak to type out everything she wanted. Saturday night he face called her from his hotel post qualy.
"Hi mijn lieveling, how are you?" His voice was sweet honey as he took in her image. She still looked down, birthing triplets did that to anyone. But the color had returned to her cheeks, her hair seemed recently washed and she was breathing way better.
"I'm fine, I was feeding Lotte like 5 minutes before you called." Her voice as well sounded less hoarse, but still breathy. "Amazing qualy you had." She smiled, and gods he missed her more than ever.
"I guess, but I'm not really bothered with it much now. I like to win, but I don't really want to win another championship, I think." He revealed, which made her frown.
Max as the most competitive lad he had ever known, saying he was fine with 4 championships was weird. "Why not?"
"If I won another championship we'd have to birth another kinder to add the stars."
She chuckled, a sound he was relieved to hear from her after the last few hard days. When he told her he wanted to change the stars in his helmet to mean family, she had looked so adorable and growing red.
"That'll have to wait, a long time." She replied amidst laughter "Plan that 5th championship in like 4 or 5 years time."
"Yeah some people have a kid, then wait 3 years, have another, wait another 3 years, then have a last one. We rushed it all, got to wait now 9 years for the next one." He kept joking, by now the triplet jokes had nearly run dry in the family. "Im coming back home soon, liefje, can't wait to hold you and my babies again."
When he crossed the line 4th, it felt good but not as good at it should. He had really wanted a podium to top it all out.
"Good job Max, P4, we're climbing." GP opened the radio, but even his engineer was waiting for the coming punchline.
"Works for me, P4, 4 stars in the helmet." He chuckled, as did Lambiase, but he continued. "This one's for Liam, Lilian and Lotte. And above all for Y/N."
"Yes it is, mate."
═════════════════════════════════════════════
#note; THANKS @clarenciago for helping me out with the ideaaa, god knows I was giggling writting this hehe. LET'S GO FOR THE MIAMI GP!!! Is this gonna have a pt2, I dont know, maybeeee, I like the vibe.
Also THANK YOU ALLLL we just got to 100 followers in like 2 months or something that was amazingggg!
Can I please make a Max request?Where is gf/fiancee is a super nice and chill person,and is pretty much the embodiment of an ethereal fairy...but she's a book author of horros stpries( like the child of Stephen King and Anne Rice) and the fans love the daulity: how come such a sweetheart writes such distrubing and awesome books (and Max is her #1 fan)
Beautifully Disturbing | MV3
SUMMARY: in which everyone is concerned by how the sweetest girl alive somehow writes the most horrifying horror books imaginable and max, her biggest fan, keeps helping her plan them anyway.
PAIRING: max verstappen x reader
◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤
You were in the process of writing a new book after the massive success of your last one and, as usual, Max was the very first person to read the draft.
God bless this man honestly for the amount of horrifying, skin-crawling drafts he had to survive because of you.
At this point he had probably read things that would get normal people investigated. But he was still your number one fan.
Max was genuinely invested in every single thing you wrote because you constantly dragged him into the creative process.
“Do you think it would be more horrifying if I peel his skin off,” you asked one evening while typing on your laptop, “or if I leave him physically untouched but make him slowly realize somebody has been replacing parts of his body while he sleeps?”
Max looked up from the manuscript he was reading.
“The second one.”
You blinked.
“Really?”
“Yeah, because psychological horror stays with people longer.”
You stared at him for a second before grinning proudly.
“See? This is why I keep you around.”
And somehow, every time you opened your mouth, his answers became even more concerning.
At first he used to hesitate.
Now? Now he was brainstorming torture methods with you over breakfast while casually drinking coffee.
Which was honestly insane considering the first time he met you, you looked like the least threatening person alive.
Soft dresses. Little rings on your fingers. Glossy lips and the sweetest smile he had ever seen.
You spoke softly, laughed quietly, and looked more like a fairy from a children’s movie than someone capable of writing the most disturbing horror novels of the decade.
So when you shyly mentioned during one of your first dates that you were an author, Max expected romance. Maybe fantasy.
Instead he went and bought one of your books out of curiosity, and stayed awake until four in the morning absolutely traumatized.
Nobody could have prepared him for what he read.
The imagery. The psychological horror. The absolutely unhinged plot twists.
Halfway through the book he literally had to put it down and stare at the wall for a moment because there was no way the sweet girl who smiled at strangers and wore flower clips in her hair had written something this disturbing.
Your appearance simply didn’t match what you wrote. And the internet became obsessed with that exact contrast.
Since then every draft, every manuscript, every half-finished chapter passed through Max’s hands first.
Sometimes you even woke him up in the middle of the night just to ask for advice.
“Max,” you whispered one night while gently shaking his shoulder.
He groaned sleepily. “What?”
“If the protagonist hears scratching inside the walls for weeks before discovering what’s there, is that scarier than immediate silence?”
“…Why are you like this?”
“That’s not an answer.”
“The scratching.”
“Thank you, baby.”
And despite occasionally being genuinely terrified by whatever was happening inside your brain, Max loved every part of it.
He loved how passionate you got when talking about symbolism. How your eyes lit up while explaining tension and pacing. How excited you became after finally figuring out the perfect ending to destroy your readers emotionally.
He was hopelessly in love with you. So in the end, there was only one thing left to do. He asked you to marry him.
And the proposal was the most beautiful thing you could have imagined.
Soft lights, flowers everywhere, Max nervously holding your hands while asking you to spend the rest of your life with him.
And somehow the timing perfectly matched the release of your newest book, so the two of you decided to disappear together for a little while before the Formula One season started again.
A "small honeymoon" before racing took over his schedule once more.
Which meant poor Max once again had to hear every horrifying idea your brain created while relaxing peacefully somewhere romantic.
At this point, whenever he saw you approaching him with your laptop in hand, he already knew.
“You need help planning another torture murder?” he asked casually from the hotel bed.
You gasped dramatically. “How did you know?”
“What creature is it this time?”
“That obvious?”
But that was his way of loving you. Of supporting you completely, even when your search history probably looked deeply concerning.
Eventually the honeymoon ended and the F1 season began, and for the first time in a while you decided to travel with him again.
You had been so busy with the new book, editorial meetings, interviews and publication work that you barely attended races in the last year.
Max was beyond happy to have you back in the paddock with him. He loved showing you off.
Proud that the beautiful girl hiding shyly behind his shoulder whenever he introduced her to someone was also the brilliant author currently terrifying millions of readers worldwide.
“Have you met my fiancée?” he’d say with the biggest smile. “She’s the talented one between us.”
And every single time you’d immediately grow shy and half-hide behind him while smiling politely.
Which made the contrast even funnier considering what you wrote.
Unfortunately for Max, media duties still existed.
And if there was one thing he hated more than anything, it was this media duties.
Max sat down for yet another interview, already looking mildly annoyed before it had even started.
The interviewer smiled. “So first of all, congratulations on the engagement.”
“Thank you,” Max nodded.
“And your fiancée just released her new book, right? Which apparently is terrifying half the internet right now.”
The interviewer laughed nervously. “I’m halfway through her newest book and I’m absolutely terrified. It’s incredible, but horrifying at the same time. Aren’t you scared sleeping in the same bed as her? Do you sleep with one eye open?”
Max snorted softly.
“No. She’s the sweetest person ever.” Then with obvious pride: “And the most talented.”
“Fans are obsessed with the contrast though,” the interviewer said with a laugh. “Because your fiancée genuinely looks too sweet to write something like that.”
Even now, standing on the other side of the paddock in a pastel outfit with your hair moving slightly in the wind.
You were smiling politely at someone from the team, hands hidden inside the sleeves of his hoodie you had stolen earlier that morning.
The interviewer pointed toward you dramatically. “Look at her! That’s not the face of someone writing psychological torture scenes.”
Max laughed again, already knowing where this conversation was going.
“When I first read one of her books,” he admitted, “I genuinely had to stop for a moment because I couldn’t believe SHE wrote that.”
“And now imagine the fans,” the interviewer continued. “Because online people are like: ‘there’s no way this sweet fairy-looking girl wrote the most horrifying chapter I’ve ever read in my life.’”
“That’s basically the reaction every time,” Max nodded.
“She is my sunshine.”
“I think that’s why people are so fascinated by her honestly,” the interviewer said. “Because usually horror authors have this mysterious dark aesthetic or whatever and then your fiancée shows up looking like sunshine.”
summary : known for his late-night minecraft streams and waking his neighbors up in the depths of night, max isn’t famous for much else, hence why chat blows up over an accidental reveal.
pairing : streamer!max verstappen x reader
lina’s radio : max max max super max max max, sorry this is such a short writing for me but i HAD to write about max i love him 🫰🫰
max lights up his pc, turning on the monitor as it slowly crackles to life, the time in the bottom right hand corner blaring a concerning 2:56am. he’s thoughtful enough to try and make as little noise as possible, tapping every key with precision and gentleness, the pads of his fingers just barely grazing over each individual button. the room brightens significantly, cool, blue light projecting onto his face and glaring into max's eyes as the monitor finally turns on. he shuffles around, eyes squinting and attempting to adjust to the newfound light, before finally being able to slip on his glasses, the yellow tone of the lenses cancelling out the harmful illumination of his screen. his movements are slow as he flicks his mouse, loading up the familiar screen of twitch, adjusting his webcam before he finally launches his stream.
there's a comfort in the soft music that plays in the background of max's paused screen, plain letters spelling, stream starting soon..., dancing around as an influx of viewers filter in. 542... 1,098... 6,210... 11,804... 16,702, max watches at it evens out at 18,432, the number rising and falling with every given second, crazy, he thinks, that many people up at, he looks at the clock behind him, 3:06 am? soon, he changes the screen, grinning at the webcam as comments flood the sidebar. max waves, eyes flitting to messages that fly by rapidly, his voice is a low whisper as he recites the sayings of his viewers, “good morning....?” a chuckle falls from his mouth as he continues, “why is everyone up so late?…or is this considered early? i don't know,” he rambles.
minecraftmissus28: one of these days he needs to make a daytime stream
papayabadger_3: okay mate load up minecraft already
angelonearth.666: his face card ughhhhhh
mysteriousgirl3300: asking us why we're up when he started the stream
x_prettywhenicry_x: everytime you die you have to strip challenge!!!!
dissociating55: he's gonna wake up his neighbor again bro
max laughs again, “my neighbor and i actually haven't fought since,” he taps his lips in faux contemplation, “my last stream probably, so like…two weeks ago?” he barks out a laugh despite himself, “a record, but i’m trying to keep the noise down and be thoughtful for once,” he shrugs, switching out of his streaming tab and booting up minecraft. the eerie music echoes within the room, causing a shiver to run down max’s spine as he launches a new world.
“my pickaxe is fucked!” he yelps, an annoyed groan falling from his lips as his third pickaxe breaks in the cave. “so fucking stupid….” he mutters, sprinting back to his base in the cave to craft another tool. as he does, a donation pops up on his screen, the chime breaking his focus for a moment as the automated voice reads the comment, “max, do your neighbors ever come up to you in the daytime and curse you out? LOL.” the monotonous narration makes the dutchman chuckle, shaking his head as he speaks, fingers flying across the keys, “no, i think they actually try to avoid me, i don’t look very friendly most of the time,” he admits, hand reaching to the nape of his neck as he scratches it, a sheepish blush rising over his pale skin.
pinkiecupid00: RBF final boss LMFAOOO
boxingkoala__81: why is he blushingg
16.failingfaith: imagine being neighbors with THE minecraft gamer, max verstappen
babydollkissez: do his neighbors watch his streams???
87_birdie: dude his neighbors probably DESPISE him
youngho41: proper name place name backstory stuff
max rolls his eyes as he reads the chat on his second monitor, his attention pulled away just as his character on screen falls a few too many blocks. a bright red screen appears on his computer as he curses loudly, the obscenities reverberating within his bedroom. the sound of his headset crashing onto the ground is picked up by his stationed microphone as he stands, walking away from his keyboard as he paces the room, still visible in the webcam. he groans into the palms of his hands loudly, a muffled i hate this game! faintly being heard before he abruptly turns and pads back to his desk, sliding himself into his chair. he blindly reaches for his headset, pulling it over his ears as he addresses his viewers again. “okay, we’re making a new world, this is bullshit,” his fingers just graze the surface of his mouse when a sharp series of knocks interrupts him. “fuck!”
overflowingwater99: THAT HAS TO BE HIS NEIGHBOR AGAIN IM CTFUU
12dishesofpasta: omg his face he looks so fed up
mirroringbeauty_xx: he’s so cooked
poshboy.63: serves him right for yelling at 4am in the morning
1_totallyinlove: someone start a gofundme so he can move out
argentinianmilfhunter: all this raging over MINECRAFT btw
max’s head whips to his door, then back to the webcam as he spurts out an apology, muting his mic and switching his stream to his plain screen that reads, will be back soon. as he’s sure he’s disconnected everything, he gets up, nearly knocking over his gaming chair and tripping as he makes his way out of his bedroom and towards his apartment door. the knocks are persistent, angry even, as he finally pops his head to look through the peephole, smiling despite himself as he notes who is on the other side. he swings open the door, watching as your arms cross disappointedly, the furrow in your brow conveying nothing if not frustration and annoyance. he gives a sheepish smile, hand reaching behind his neck, scratching it shyly, “i’m sorry, schatje”
you’re woken up at the ripe, wonderful time of 3:46am, yells coming from the apartment beside you annoyingly loud. you live in monaco for goodness sake, you think, rolling over to your side as the shouts continue, why are the walls still so thin? you sit up, moving onto the edge of your bed, feet dangling above the cool, wooden tiles of your floor. there’s a pause in between the noise that comes from your boyfriend’s apartment, then it comes; it’s a shout about something pickaxe related with a curse thrown in, and you let out a huff out of annoyance, hopping off of your bed and slotting your socked feet into a pair of fluffy slippers, quietly padding out of your room and out into the vast apartment.
you’re clad in fuzzy bunny slippers, a slim cami, and bear-decorated pajama shorts as the coolness of the rest of your apartment greets you. you shiver, grabbing a hoodie that rests on the couch, as you piick it up, you note it smells like rainwater, something fresh, and a twinge of sandalwood, ah, max left his hoodie, again. you pull it over your head, the warmth of it almost mimicking a hug as you walk towards the kitchen. you sigh as you prep yourself a cup of tea, pouring the boiling water into your favorite mug, the design of it something from max’s brand. as you sip, your eyes flicker to the decor around your home, everywhere has a little of both you and your boyfriend, he might as well live here the way he only seems to leave to stream, you think, snorting as you set down your mug. the silence lasts for a fleeting moment, moonlight streaming in steadily through cracks in the curtains as it illuminates the room, then you hear it. its a crash of some sort, and you can only roll your eyes, great.
your footsteps are swift as you make your way to the apartment across from you, your hand lifting to the door as you knock quickly. you shuffle around, listening as a distant fuck! in a dutch accent spills out from inside the apartment as you open one of the heads of the many cat statues that sit at the foot of the door, smiling as you find a key. you let out an internal aha!, your fingers twirling around the teeth as you grasp the door handle, ready to insert the key. but just as you do, you feel it rattle from the other side, and you drop it back into statue’s head, your face already pulling itself into a frustrated expression.
your arms cross unconsciously, your brows furrowing as you watch your boyfriend on the other side of the doorway scratch the back of his neck, “i’m sorry, schatje,” your tongue clicks at the apology, your eyes narrowing as you stare back at max. “its 3am max!” you whisper yell, you watch as he steps closer to you, an apologetic smile on his face, “it won’t happen again lieverd, i promise,” his words come out sincere and you can’t help but sigh as his arm wraps around your waist, his lips moving to your own. you let out a shaky breath as he makes contact, the kiss soft, a lingering apology hanging in the air as saliva swaps between the two of you and your fingers curl around his biceps. the air seems to thicken, a blanket of heat warming the two of you as he pulls away briefly, eyes making contact with yours before the space closes, your face being littered with kisses. “it” kiss. “won’t” kiss. “happen” kiss “again” kiss. “okay?” the last kiss lands squarely on your lips, and your eyes flutter at the affection, your resolve dissolving slowly as you watch your boyfriend cock his head sideways, awaiting your answer. “fine, but if it happens again, i’ll shut off your stream, i swear,” you sigh, swatting his hands off your waist, watching as a pout forms on his lips at the move. a satisfactory smile makes its way to your face as you cup max’s face, planting a peck onto his cheek before tapping it lightly, “i’m tired and miss you, be back in bed soon, okay?”
you wake up in the morning with an arm wrapped around you, a thick thigh splayed over your own two, and warm breaths falling into the crook of your neck. your eyes crack open, and looking down you see max’s soft hair finding its home in the space between your shoulder, and you can’t help the giggle that escapes you. you hear how he groans, nuzzling further into your body, arms tightening around you as he mutters incoherent complaints. “baby, get off!” you laugh, feeling how he shakes his head against your shoulder, “why do you even have an apartment if all you do is end up sneaking in here, hm?” you ask, peeling away from the dutchman as he whines, blue eyes finally popping open as you sit up, leaning over him. you push the hair away from his face with gentle hands, planting a kiss on his forehead. “only because you won’t let me stream in here,” he shrugs, eyes flickering across your hoodied figure as you get up from the bed, smoothing the sheets. you let out a faux offended gasp, clutching your heart dramatically, “only because you’re too loud when i’m trying to sleep!” you watch how a grin takes over his face, “yes, yes schatje, you’re always right,” he nods over enthusiastically, a shit eating smirk reaching his eyes as you roll your own, already slipping on a pair of house shoes and making your way out of your bedroom, max in tow behind you.
“fuck! max!” he hears your call as he fixes up breakfast for the two of you, your annoyed yet panicked voice grabbing his attention almost immediately as he hears you yell from the bathroom. “coming!” he shouts back, quickly turning off the stovetop and plating the cooked eggs onto the ceramic dish that lays conveniently placed on the counter beside him. he tries his best to race up the stairs—almost bruising his knees and falling over in the process—when he finally is able to see you: arms crossed, a towel wrapped around your body, and a frown on your face. immediately, his face twists in concern, hands cupping your face as he inspects you, “are you okay? what happened-” “my water isn’t hot.” you deadpan, annoyance radiating off of you as your brows knit together tightly, turning your head to stare at the shower like it had wronged you somehow—and in technicalities, it did. his arms drop from your face, back straightening as he moved from crouching beside you to standing, his arm reaching for his phone while the other scratches the nape of his neck. “i’ll call someone to fix it, liefje. do you want to take a shower at my place?” his head cocks as he studies your thinking face, before you eventually nod, a wide grin blooming across his face. “come, let’s go.”
the rest of the day seemingly goes without a hitch; max cooks, a movie plays mindlessly on the tv, and the two of you are wrapped together on the couch of his living room. his apartment differs slightly from your own, cool tones decorating the walls while sleek, modern furniture makes its own statement within his home. his fingers draw on your upper arm mindlessly, the pattern a mix of swirls and shapes as your body seemingly molds into his, a comfortable silence falling over the two of you, safe for the murmur of the tv. your neck cranes to look at him, lashes fluttering as your eyes study his face, heat rising to your face as he makes eye contact with you, an eyebrow quirked. “are you streaming tonight?” your voice is soft, tone light and airy as you ask the question, watching how max smooths a hand over his mouth, eyes flicking somewhere else as he thinks. “hm, probably, left off on a good spot yesterday…” his voice trails off as his gaze meets your own again, “i’ll probably wait until you’re knocked out, just so i’m not too loud, is that okay?” he asks, hand rubbing over your shoulder in comfort. so thoughtful, you think, a small smile tugging at your lips as you nod, “okay,” you respond, and the conversation ends, the silence hugging the both of you as you lay together, soft sunset colors illuminating the room through open windows.
max studies you as your body presses into him deeper, your breaths coming out shallowly just as your lashes flutter shut. he can’t help but admire you as you unconsciously nuzzle closer into his chest, you look beautiful, an angel even, he thinks, moving a piece of hair from your face as he lays there, unmoving as to not disturb your sleep. eventually though, he makes his efforts to scoop you up, a princess carry adjacent hold as he moves you from the living room couch to his bedroom. like the gentleman he is, he tucks you in, careful to shush you gently when you whine, slotting a plushie between your arms to replace him as he steps away. he stands there for a moment, hovering over you, watching as your breathing evens out and how you unconsciously make yourself more comfortable. thank goodness, he thinks, eyes flitting to the clock above your sleeping figure on the bed, 12:28am, okay now would be a good time to start streaming, right?
max’s face comes into view as he first begins streaming, waving as the flood of viewers piles in. “early stream today, i know,” he chuckles, watching as his viewer count slowly dances around the 12,694 mark, the number jumping and decreasing with every passing second. he moves his streaming tab to his second monitor, loading up the familiar screen of minecraft, the recognizable theme song playing as he clicks onto his world. “i’m trying to be quiet today, so bare with me if the mic is too close,” he admits, eyes squinting as he reads the brief chats that fly by.
bestmullet77: HAHA HIS NEIGHBOR DEFINITELY HATES HIM
notwinning_4: he looks so embarrassed bye this is frying me
66_floweringgoddess: early stream he says….as if it isn’t almost one am like okay
limegreenoldie27: i wonder how long he sleeps in for like omg
09.mentallyinsummer: actually matter of fact…pull the mic closer
destroyingmycar.6: someone free his neighbor
he lets out a chuckle as he reads, a pale flush rising its way to his cheeks and stretching across to his ears, “it’s an early stream for me!” he puts his hands up in mock defense, grinning as he responds to the next chat, “i usually sleep in until 11:30, i can’t sleep in anymore or else i’ll feel super lazy,” he confesses, taking a sip of the redbull that sits on his counter. he sets it down gently, his other hand finding his blue-light glasses, slipping them on. he sighs contently as the harsh illumination dulls slightly, and he slips on his headphones, the noise cancellation lowering his senses as he watches the screen finally finish loading. “oookay, let’s hope we can beat the dragon without dying again”
your nose scrunches in annoyance as your body comes back to life, your senses picking up on one too many things at this time of night. you can smell a sort of fresh fragrance coming from the soft hoodie that hugs you, your mouth feels grossly dry as you reach out for the waterbottle—that gleams with the help of moonlight—on the nightstand, but of course, you’re awoken due to something much like the night before. “fuck!” the sound of your boyfriend’s voice echoes throughout his apartment and weeds its way into your ears. you huff, body tossing and turning as you listen to his complaints, some stupid commentary about wildlife shouted with an accusatory tone in that infuriatingly attractive accent. sleep tugs at your body, and you almost fall into it every few minutes, only to be rudely interrupted by another string of curses. you lay there in bed, eyes staring up widely at the ceiling, and a defeated sigh falls from your lips, not again.
your footsteps are light as you make your way throughout the long hallway of his apartment and towards his gaming room, ear pressed against the door as you attempt to make out what he says. it’s futile, you realize, but you really just want to go to bed. your hand raises, knocking thrice as you always do, and you await a response. a few seconds pass, then thirty, then a minute, and you let out a frustrated huff, only knocking again. your ear finds itself pressed again to the door, listening to the clicking of keys, the whirr of the pc, and unmistakably, your boyfriend’s voice. is he ignoring you? you shake your head, he wouldn’t, no, so why isn’t he answering or at least lowering his voice? sleep seems like a battle that you can’t fight, the feeling tugging at your body harder, your eyelids opening and closing with every given second. fed up and exhausted, you grab the door handle, twisting it as you quietly enter the room, “maxie?”
his noise canceling headphones work almost too well. max’s fingers fly across keys, clicking his mouse in an almost inhuman-like pace as he sprints across the end. he lets out a string of curses as he’s flown into the air by the dragon, almost dying if not for the bucket of water he’s able to save himself with. “this stupid dragon!” he shouts, exasperated. his jaw clenches as he shoots the end crystals that sit atop the towers, letting out a uncharacteristically joyful cheer at sniping them all. the fight goes on for what seems like forever, endermen effortlessly dealing damage to him as he sprints to the exit portal where the dragon sits above, flapping its wings like its taunting him. from his peripheral, he watches as the chat flies quick, almost too quick, but he doesn’t think much of it, his focus solely on killing the ruler of the alternate dimension of the game. then it happens, with one final placement of a bed, the enderdragon is killed, and he lets out a breath of relief, chuckling slightly to himself as relaxes back into his chair. the screech of the animal echoes in his ear before everything quiets, and he hears it, “maxie?”
his head whips around at your voice, eyes making contact with yours as he takes in your tired expression. your tone is soft, laced with a gentle sleepiness he’s sure he doesn’t deserve, especially for waking you so late at night. immediately, he moves, ripping his headset off his ears and clicking a button on his microphone to mute it—it does not in fact mute, and only makes the mic more sensitive to the conversation that happens a mere few feet away, he realizes much later. “oh mijn meisje, i am so sorry, was i too loud?” he pulls you into a tight squeeze, kissing your forehead repeatedly before he pulls away, cupping your face with gentle hands. he watches as you nod, sleepy eyes attempting to look up at him, “i’m tired maxie, can we go to bed?” he nods quickly, almost seemingly possessed as he kisses your temple feverently, “let me end this okay schatje?” he pecks your lips, moving back to his pc where he watches the chat fly a hundred times a minute, fuck.
liliesaremyfavorite_23: OMG HE HAS A GIRLFRIEND??? WTFFFF
thinkingboutyouuu: omg him speaking in dutch HELLO!
bwoah7: wait…isn’t that his neighborrr…????? i swear i’ve heard her voice before AM I CRAZY???
redtractor.44: his face bro he fucked up ijbol
85__helloracing: her voice is so soft???? WHO IS THIS MAX
winnerinwet18: oh he’s down BAD
max stutters for a moment, slack-jawed as he watches the chat explode with comments from viewers, then he looks at the mic, of course he pressed the wrong button, just his luck. he leans out of frame, eyes flitting to you, they know now, i wasn’t muted, he mouths, watching as your body shakes with silent laughter. he almost lets out a groan as you shake your head in disbelief, the teasing causing a pout to form on his lips. he watches you for a moment, taking in your crinkled eyes and smile before he lets out a sheepish laugh, facing the webcam as his fingers fiddle with themselves out of view as he speaks, “okay…i’ve got to go guys…” his grins, eyes narrowing as he attempts to read the viewers’ chats, when suddenly a monotonous voice rings out in the quiet of the room. “IS SHE YOUR NEIGHBOR? HAVE YOU BEEN LYING TO US?” max has to move himself out of frame again, pleading eyes locking onto your’s as he mouths again, what should i say? he watches as you shrug, amused yet tired eyes blinking slowly as you mouth back, tell them. for a third time, he faces his lit up monitor screen, the chat flying as he speaks again, “uh thank you for the donation, yes she’s my neighbor and my girlfriend,” he moves out of frame then, gesturing you to come over, and you do, waving hello.
saturnsprincess: she is GORGEOUS wow.
braziliantreats_5: okay so he’s been making bank over his and his girlfriend’s relationship BYE
wtf.is.a.kilometer: stronger than me ngl i’d be pissed off everyday
frenchman10: mogging couple alert
14gramps: omg how did he bag that??? actually HOW is she with him when all he does is scream at night???
rosemary_kisses: her making him gts and end stream CLOCK ITTT
you giggle as you read the chats that filter in, a genuine smile taking over your tired features as you recognize the love you receive from max’s fanbase. “thank you guys for the love,” you blow a kiss into the webcam, making a heart with your hands as you continue, “but i miss my boyfriend so, goodnight!” your fingers find the end stream button quicker than max can say a farewell to the viewers, and you let out a satisfied sigh, head turning where you find max already staring at you, the look of love so evident across his expression. you plant a fleeting peck onto his lips, feeling as he pushes for more just as you slip away, body already turning away to the door. you beckon him to follow you with a hand, a tired, but loving smile on your lips as you open the door, cool air filtering into the warmed gaming room, “bedtime!”
it’s 1:28am as you finally settle into max’s bed, finding space between his arms as he kisses the top of your head with much affection. you smile, looking up at him through hooded eyes and fluttering lashes, “do you think you should do a qna? your viewers must be curious, no?” you ask, ear pressed against his rhythmic heartbeat, listening to the beat of it and his soft breathing as he responds, “yeah, just during the daytime maybe,” he lets out a small laugh, the sound dying down as he pushes you further into his chest, the contact warming you significantly. sleep seems to take you then, your senses dulling as the conversation seemingly ends, and comfortable silence overlapping the two of you, “goodnight maxie,” you manage to whisper out, head falling heavily against your boyfriend’s chest as you succumb to sleep. what you don’t hear is max’s soft confession, his voice thick with an emotion only described as pure unadulterated love as he whispers back, “goodnight, i love you liefje.”
