#mv33 x reader

[lvrssite]

forever wish max had a party boy era like lando or lewis, instead he was forced to become a middle aged step dad at 19 😔

(note: i need a fightclub!max x reader STAT)

[big22dbloger]

[the-f1-radio]

𝐌𝐀𝐗 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝟗𝟕.𝟎𝟑

𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐮𝐥𝐥

𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝚂 (𝟶𝟼/𝟶𝟺/𝟸𝟼) 𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴: 4 𝘛𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘗𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘴: 3487.5 𝘙𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘞𝘪𝘯𝘴: 71 𝘗𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘶𝘮𝘴: 128 𝘗𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘗𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴: 48

𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶: [𝘒𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵, 𝘔𝘢𝘨𝘥𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘢 𝘉𝘢𝘺] 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦 𝘧*𝘤𝘬𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶: [𝘓𝘶𝘹𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴, 𝘎𝘸𝘦𝘯 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘪]

𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙺𝚂 𝘞𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘍𝘪𝘤𝘴 𝘚𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘍𝘪𝘤𝘴: (m̷a̷t̷c̷h̷i̷n̷g̷ ̷f̷r̷e̷q̷u̷e̷n̷c̷y̷.̷.̷.̷) 𝘚𝘔𝘈𝘜𝘴: (m̷a̷t̷c̷h̷i̷n̷g̷ ̷f̷r̷e̷q̷u̷e̷n̷c̷y̷.̷.̷.̷) 𝘌𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘗𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘴: (m̷a̷t̷c̷h̷i̷n̷g̷ ̷f̷r̷e̷q̷u̷e̷n̷c̷y̷.̷.̷.̷) 𝘔𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘣𝘰𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴: (m̷a̷t̷c̷h̷i̷n̷g̷ ̷f̷r̷e̷q̷u̷e̷n̷c̷y̷.̷.̷.̷) 𝘔𝘪𝘴𝘤.: (m̷a̷t̷c̷h̷i̷n̷g̷ ̷f̷r̷e̷q̷u̷e̷n̷c̷y̷.̷.̷.̷)

[amyelevenn]

a strong hand and a sound mind ─── max verstappen x reader

featuring . police!max , paramedic!reader , time loop au , roommate!charles , max's station is just redbull drivers , mentions to @theonottsbxtch's the station down the road (only if you squint) , my only knowledge of police stations is brooklyn 99 , sprinkles of maxiel and a reference to a noah kahan song , open ending (or unfinished... depends on personal interpretation lol) . title from noah kahan's you're gonna go far .

word count . 4.3k

author's note . in honour of max's first podium this year, I finally finished this old ahh draft to celebrate! (if you told 2023 me that I would be celebrating a mere podium... I would've passed out). considering mr kahan just came out with a song about his best friend dan, I couldn't not have hints of maxiel. ik my writing doesn't necessarily do well, but I had a lot of fun writing this, so I hope you all enjoy xx

my masterlist ·✶·

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Max wakes up to the sound of his alarm blaring in his ear. 

He doesn’t move. Doesn't open his eyes. Just sighs, a small, tired thing that speaks volumes to his current predicament. Without even acknowledging waking up, Max knows deep in his soul that today is May 24th, 2026. It’s 6:30am. In three minutes time, Jimmy will start scratching on his door. His flatmate Charles will start the coffee machine at 6:41. A car will speed by his building, running through a puddle outside and honking its horn at nothing in particular around 7:03.

By then, Max will have started his day, getting ready for his shift – the routine had become muscle memory at this point. He gets dressed into his uniform, drinks his coffee, brushes his teeth, bids goodbye to Charles, and heads down to his car. 

It’s the same routine that he has lived for the past 22 days. 22 repeats of the exact same Sunday with no explanation as to why. Its overcast outside his window, the minimal light diffusing a soft glow over the room from the blind that never got put down the night before – or, well, 21 nights ago. 

Max leaves his place at exactly 7:20, arriving to the station at 7:37, 8 minutes before the start of his shift, just like every other day so far (apart from the one time – day 11, he thinks – where he spent the whole day at home, praying that it would change his fate. Spoiler; it did not). Max knows by now that it takes him 3 minutes to get from his car to his desk, leaving him 5 minutes to spend alone with his thoughts. He runs through it all in his head: in 13 minutes, Captain Vettel will walk through his office door into the bullpen, greet everyone, then politely but firmly tell them to get back to work. Sargeant Webber will spill his coffee on his desk at 8:12, refusing any help offered to him (once Max forced Mark to let him help, hoping that was the change he needed to make. It was not). They will get a call of a child with no parents around at 9:23, which Max and his partner, Ricciardo – ‘the hometown heroes’ as the station likes to call them – will respond to. The lady who called it in is kind, idly waiting with the little girl until her mother comes down to take her home.  

Max originally tried to keep a comprehensive list of all the things he changed day-to-day, but he remembers it all. No point in writing it down when it erases itself at midnight, he thinks. He could recite it all from memory if prompted (granted that would never happen, though). Besides, he knows what he has to do to be freed. He hates that he remains acutely aware of everything he does anyway, despite the fact that that’s not what needs to be done. He knows that changing his coffee order, or not laughing at Daniel’s jokes, or wearing different socks, isn’t what he needs to do to get out. The repetition of it all becomes more and more daunting by the hour. 

Like clockwork, at 4:01pm, 29 minutes before Max is supposed to finish his shift and head home, him and Ricciardo are called out again. This time, instead of a lost child, it's a potential drunk driver swerving all over the road. Code 1, lights and sirens. The pair will be the first on the scene where they will see one car flipped on the wrong side of the road, crumpled on the passenger side and clearly t-boned with the perpetrator nowhere to be seen. A hit-and-run, presumably. 

Daniel will take a deep breath before he gets out of the squad car, mentally preparing himself, like he has every day beforehand. Even though he would never admit it, Max knows how much Daniel hates car accidents. How much he hates not knowing what they are walking into, or how serious it could be. In the past, he did too, but he supposes that being in a time loop works out well in his favour. He knows it all too well, considering he's relived it the past 22 days. 

As they step out, Max hears ambulance sirens in the distance, about 2 or so minutes away. There is no one else around, so he is still unsure of who called for help. Daniel notes, same as he always does, that its oddly quiet for 4:07pm on a Sunday. As the sirens get closer, so do Max and Daniel. Through the shattered passenger window, they see the driver hanging limply, barely held up by his seatbelt with the faintest of movement in his chest. The ambulance wouldn’t get there in time, Max thinks. They never do.  

Max knows they aren’t called to help the victim – they are there for scene control, to direct traffic, or deal with pissed off assholes who just totalled their precious trucks. But a small part of him always wants to help. To save a life. That’s what counts, he thinks. 

They can hear the roaring sirens of the fire brigade now, too. Similar in pitch, but different in tone – the ambulance carries a heavier, more urgent cry. Max hates how it makes him feel – like he's useless in these kinds of situations. There isn’t much he can do, except check the scene for dangers and report back to dispatch on sitrep. No one on scene except the totalled grey car, one ambulance unit, asking for intensive care if available.  

As the attending paramedics pull up, he greets them the same as always. They nod in acknowledgement; the usual grimly focused expression painted on their faces. They move with such grace, assessing the patient the best they can given everything happening. 

Max hates the horrid sense of deja vu that washes over him; despite living this repeatedly for three weeks, the uncomfortable crawling of goosebumps up his spine rattles him. He hates that, even with his eyes closed, he could describe every single injury the patient has, where the blood streaks down his face, the clean break in his wrist. He could recite it in such vivid detail even a psychic would be impressed. 

Max also hates that he is never identified by the end of the day, so Max is stuck in a shitty limbo of being unable to look him up and stop this whole mess from happening. But he guesses that’s the whole point of this karmic justice, or whatever is happening. He hates that he is the only one who knows that the patient will be pronounced dead on arrival after being airlifted to the nearest trauma service. He hates that he has tried, in so many different ways, to prevent this from happening, and failed every time. 

So, Max goes home and showers, scrubbing his face hard enough his skin turns red, as if it would somehow cleanse his mind of the poor man's bloodied face. It never does. 

DAY 33 

Max is smart. At least, he considers himself to be. He’s adaptive to his environment, creative in his ways, but easily frustrated. So, when he wakes with the sun in his eyes and alarm beeping in his ear now over a month into this whole ordeal, he decides to change up a lot for the day. He'll put on a different uniform, wear his badge on the other side, eat breakfast instead of just coffee, leave for work 10 minutes late, greet the captain before he can greet Max. Maybe even work at Daniel’s desk if it comes to it. Refuse the coffee that the new intern Liam will offer him. Intentionally mispronounce Isack from finance’s name. Maybe he will make Daniel drive everywhere they go, just to see how that changes things. 

Desperate times call for desperate measures.  

He gets called to the scene of little girl as usual, grabbing his jacket this time and heading down. He decides some small talk would be good whilst they wait for the mother to arrive, straying from the same conversations he has been having for the past 4 and a half weeks. It's nice, refreshing, not having to laugh at the same crap jokes Daniel makes every day, or using the same 3 replies to Alex’s sarcastic comments. As the mother and daughter leave, the lady who waited with the girl mentions something of working at a coffee shop, which he decides to investigate someday. It’s not like he’s running out of days to go anytime soon. Maybe tomorrow he can stop there before work. To spice things up, he reasons. 

It makes Max feel a little lighter as he heads back to the station, knowing what he is to face in just a few hours. 

On day 23, he tried to miss work and just camp out at the scene of the accident. About an hour in, Vettel called and told him off for skipping work when his big drug case was going to court in 2 days, and he hadn’t finished the paperwork. Considering he couldn’t exactly explain his predicament, he gave in and left. Nothing had changed that afternoon. 

On day 26, he tried to convince Daniel to leave 10 minutes before they would get the call, but Daniel told him to piss off, that he was too busy to entertain whatever bullshit Max was pulling that day. 

On day 30, he asked Webber to take his place and go with Ricciardo, to which he is vehemently denied, and told to hurry up and go.  

Nothing was working. It frustrated Max to no end. How was he supposed to save this anonymous man if he couldn’t get to the scene early enough to prevent it, or let someone else go? So, on day 33, he tried something new. He tried everything new.  

He called emergency services themselves, 10 minutes before the accident would happen. He told them that it would happen on Highway 1, before the M3 inbound turn off, in the hopes that they would get there at the right time. 

Right on cue, at 4:01pm Max and Daniel got the call to respond. They got into their patrol car, and it took them exactly 5 minutes and 20 seconds to get there, just like every other time. It was the same crash in front of him as it had been the past 33 days, with the car upside down smoking on the left, the culprit nowhere to be seen. 

Except now, parked a few metres away, sat a single-occupant intensive care unit. The back doors are open, but there is no one inside. 

An ambulance, lights and sirens blasting, pulls up next to them less than a minute later. They get their gear, and prepare for extraction, just like always. Daniel sighs, gets out and asks for directions. 

Max, on the other hand, is frozen in shock. 

This is new. 

He can’t see their face, but he can make out that they are crouched by the driver’s side. He doesn't even realise he isn't breathing until dispatch crackles over the radio, asking for a report. He gives what he can, clearing his throat and getting out of the car. Daniel is helping extraction, cutting the seatbelt as one of the attending paramedics cradle the patients head, doing their best until the fire trucks arrive. The intensive care paramedic makes the call for a helicopter, says they can land in a field 15 minutes away. 

It the first time Max sees you; you look up, hair pinned back, looking more put together than Max has ever felt, so sure of yourself and your decisions, and he can feel the breath leave his lungs. 

“Your partner normally this useless?” you mutter to Daniel, who scoffs and barks at him to get involved. 

But Max can’t move his feet. He’s rooted to the spot, a metre from the open car door staring hopelessly, willing his body to just go. He doesn’t. 

The Fire Brigade are there, and proper extraction begins. He blinks and the patient is out, on a spine board then a stretcher. The ambulance doors close, engine turning over before the lights and sirens flick back on.  

He sees you glance over at him, headed back for your car. 

“I haven’t seen you before,” he calls out before he can stop himself. 

You don’t reply in words, just an odd look before hopping in and speeding off to try and save a life.  

Max watches as the lights fade into the distance, the thumping of his heartbeat slowing in his ears, giving him a second to think to himself. Daniel calls for him, and he falls back into the same routine before he has the chance to process what just happened. 

When the scene is sectioned off and cleared, and backup arrives so Max and Daniel can return to the station, someone will tell him that the victim didn’t make it – was pronounced DoA, again. This was normal, the usual outcome to the day. So, he heads home, makes him and his flatmate dinner, and goes to bed. 

And when he wakes up the next morning, the backlit clouds crowding the sky, incessant blaring of his alarm, Max knows that he is still living the same Sunday. So, he zones out and relies on muscle memory and instinct to get ready for his day. He gets dressed, drinks his coffee, brushes his teeth, bids goodbye to Charles, and heads down to his car. On the drive over, he tries to think of new, innovative ways to change the day.  

He decides that it’s a later problem, locking his car and heading to his desk. He gathers his things and arrives at exactly 7:30. He keeps his eyes down, enjoying the view of the dirty linoleum tiles scuffing his shoes.at this point, he was willing to avoid any kind of conversations. 

Someone clears their throat. Max's head snaps up, and there you sit. Perched in his chair, waving his name plate around like it was the only lifeline you had. 

“Hey, Verstappen,” you say, voice strained as if you were struggling to maintain your composure, and he immediately recognises your face – you were the extra paramedic yesterday. The one who took his place with eased practise and made him freeze in the worn tracks of his routine. You look a little worse for wear, but he could pick you out of a crowd blindfolded. “Funny seeing you here,” you continue, a smile plastered on your face that doesn’t quite meet your eyes. “Can I ask you something?” 

He swallows, refusing to move any closer, as if you were poised to attack him. “Go ahead,” he coughs out, almost worried he would scare you away if he raised his voice too loud. 

“What the hell have you done to me?” 

Max stiffens. “...What, uh, what do you mean?” 

You stand, stepping closer to him. “Yesterday, after the accident? I finished my shift, went home and went to bed blah blah blah whatever. I woke up this morning, and my phone says its Sunday the 24th again. I figured it was a glitch so I just got ready and went to work. But, and this is the kicker right here, no one remembers anything from the accident yesterday – none of my coworkers, not your boss, not even your partner Ricciardo.” 

 “You talked to...? I-” Max swallows, his throat dry, fear practically radiating off his skin. His brain was short circuiting, struggling to come up with a solid answer, so he settles with; “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

For a moment, your expression breaks into one of dread, before you school it back into some faux-neutral that even Max can see past. “Before we left the scene you said, ‘I haven’t seen you before.’ You looked genuinely shellshocked – like you had seen a ghost or some shit. And you don't know what I'm talking about?” 

 Max was at a loss for words. It was barely 8am and he could hardly form a single coherent thought. He stood in silence as you stared at him expectantly, a slow, creeping suspicion pulling at his chest. 

He could pull people into the time loop. 

DAY 44 

Max wakes up as usual, just the same as the past month-and-a-half of mornings. Sun dimly shining through his curtains, the frost of the morning nipping quietly at his feet. He knows it's another Sunday in May; he can feel the same dread, the same foreboding settle deep into his bones. He wonders when he escapes, will the next morning be different? Will the weight of it all finally be lifted from his shoulders? Will he wake up and know that he has moved on, that a new day has dawned? 

He hasn’t seen you since you fled the station 11 days ago. He wonders what happened to you. Why hadn’t you come back? Had something happened and that day was just an anomaly? Or worse, had you found a way to escape without him? What had you tried that he hadn’t? 

He pulls on his work pants as Jimmy circles his feet, brushing his soft tail lightly against the side of the bed before he disappears into the dark hallway, being the feline-enigma that cats are. It makes Max smile, if only a little. He hopes that Charles is taking care of both of them on the other side of whatever this was. (If that was even how this worked – do other people just continue with their lives? What was Max like in that scenario? It hurt his brain to think about, so he never let himself get caught up in it). 

The coffee cup that he had balanced so carefully between his thigh's spills at the lurch of acceleration, dripping down his pants and onto the floor mats. Another pro to the time loop; what usually would make the car reek of brewed coffee for weeks will be gone by tomorrow. And his dirtied pants will be clean the next morning – he hasn't done a load of washing in 44 days.  

It's the little things, right? 

The sound of his footsteps echoes through the quiet hallway, easing him back into reality, the precinct wrapped in the muted routine of the morning around him. He stops by Captain Vettel’s office as he goes. The room feels somewhat like a temple; a dedication to all the hard work Sebastian has put into the force to be where he is now. All of his medals and certificates ordain the walls, imposing in its own formidable way. Vettel sits behind his desk with the unbothered aura of someone who has better things to be doing than making small talk. 

“Briefing starts in 15, Verstappen,” the superior officer notes, dismissal clear in his tone. 

Max nods, taking his leave. 

Some part of him almost dreads returning to his own desk, doing meaningless work that gets him nowhere. His train of thoughts are cut off when he gets to his desk. He barely manages to put his bag down and settle in before a chill runs down his spine; he can feel a pair of eyes boring into the back of his head, swivelling in his chair to find the source before even thinking it through. He spots you standing near the front desk, as if his mental spiral had somehow summoned you to his workplace.  

The glare you are giving him buries deep into his chest, crawling between his ribs and suffocating his lungs, but it is quickly replaced by something that looks a hell of a lot like exhaustion. Not the kind that is usually paired with the paramedic uniform draped over you, but the kind where you’re stuck in a time loop and tried everything to escape, and nothing seems to be going your way. 

It’s a look that Max knows all too well. 

“You’re here,” he huffs, disbelief clear in his expression. 

You nod, unsure if you can even form words. He gently guides you by the elbow to the guest seating area, empty as usual for early on a Sunday morning. Max leaves a seat separating you, as if being too close might fracture the moment – or the illusion. For a moment he isn’t sure if he is hallucinating; 44 days in isolation would do that to you. 

“I...” You watch as his fists clench in his lap, gears turning behind his eyes as he tries to figure out what to say. “You came back.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Why?” 

You sigh. “Didn’t really have much choice, did I?” 

“It’s been eleven days... where have you been?”  

You can tell he isn't asking out of anger, or malice, just plain curiosity and something else that looks like worry.  

He looks down at his lap, almost timidly. “Are you okay? I was nervous for a second that you had managed to get out, or worse that I had hallucinated the whole thing and that if I had just made it all up in my head-” 

“Max.” 

He shuts his mouth, but he doesn’t look up. 

“I was freaked out,” you sigh. “You denied being in whatever this is – which, by the way, you are a horrific liar – and I was terrified. I didn't know what to do, so I went home and cried myself to sleep, praying to some higher being for this to have just been a bad dream.” You shift uncomfortably in your seat, rubbing a hand across your forehead as if that would ease the headache you've had for the past week or so. 

“But you didn’t,” he says. 

“No,” you say, “I didn’t. So, for the next few days I tried everything I could think of to get out. I called out of work, drove for 20 odd hours with no sleep to see if it was zoned or something. When that didn’t work, I just tried to stay awake as long as I could, which also did not work.” 

“Yeah, I tried those too when I first got stuck.” 

You hum, playing with your sleeve mindlessly. “Did you write down everything that you have tried? Or kept some kind of list?” 

He grimaces, shaking his head ever so slightly. “I remember it all, though.” 

“Right...” you can't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation – being stuck in a time loop with a cop who you’ve never seen before. He laughs too, and the tension in the room lifts a little. 

“What else have you tried?” he asks, briefly glancing back toward his desk as Ricciardo rifles through some papers he had just printed. 

You huff, thinking back to the start. “I think it was the fourth or fifth day, and I waited at the scene of the accident with all my gear. I was there for two or so hours - I couldn’t remember the exact time it happened, so I just sat and waited by myself. They wouldn’t let me take an ambulance, but honestly, I was lucky that they even let me leave in the first place. When the call to respond came through, the accident hadn’t even happened yet. I was baffled.” 

Max’s stomach drops. “Uh, yeah that, um-...” he clears his throat, “that’s me. The first time I called it in early was the day that you got roped into this mess, so I guess I...” he smiles sheepishly, not wanting to finish his sentence. 

“You what?” 

He takes a deep breath. “I guess I just wanted to see you again, and if that was what it took, then I'd do it every time. But you didn't show up again. Either way, I changed a lot that day, so that might have not even been why you were there, but I guess that was what just made the most sense to have worked. I don’t know.” 

You nod inquisitively, as if all the pieces of the puzzle were coming together. “That first day, when I was called to the job, they said it was a big accident and needed at least 2 units. Maybe it just came down to a difference in describing the scene compared to whoever called it in originally.” 

Max hums, unsure where to take the conversation from there. 

“How long have you been in here, anyway?” 

“44 days, give or take.” 

You blanche, skin going pale at the thought of being stuck in a never-ending loop for 6 weeks. Alone. “That must have been hard for you.” 

He sighs, cracking his knuckles as he leans back in the chair. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess it was. Is. I tried not to think about it too much.” 

“No, not is. You have me now,” you smile, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. 

He slowly nods, as if struggling to come to terms with it – 44 days alone, spent in utter isolation with no one to sympathise, but now you were there. Someone in the same situation. It’s almost unnerving, the giddiness gripping his chest. 

“So,” you continue, picking at your nails like they held the secrets you were looking for. “Tell me everything you know. From the start until now.” 

“Honestly I wouldn’t know where to begin.” 

“Every story has a beginning, Max. What happened the first morning? What have you tried? Literally any information is useful.” 

His mind went blank. So much for being able to recite it from memory. 

“Max?”  

“I think it’d be easier to list what I haven’t done.” 

You looked at him, long and hard, as if you could unravel his secrets if you tried just enough. He could see the cogs turning behind your eyes, deciding how to approach this. 

“Alright. You've been here longer than me, so it’s only fair – where do we start?” 

[cabriolett]

exclusive

pairing: max verstappen x fem!reader warnings: slightly toxic verstappen

the tears falling from your lashes were soaking the blanket. you could tell by the wetness seeping through to your thigh. you sniffled yet again as the picture on your phone stared back at you, mocking you.

there he stood, in all his glory, hands wrapped around another girl and tongue so deep in her throat she was probably gagging. the news article glared on your screen, an incomprehensible dutch headline at the top.

you were so naïve.

wiping your nose with your sleeve, you got up from the bed on shaky legs. you threw your phone on the bed and walked over to the sink, splashing cold water on your face. your bloodshot eyes were now steely, a mission in mind.

you couldn't let him do this. let him walk all over you while you poured your heart out to him like a silly lovestruck girl. he needed to be taught a lesson. and lessons are only learnt when they're taught to people who pay attention.

oh, you were going to get his attention alright.

your fist rapped against the front door as you steadily ignored the stinging at the corners of your eyes. you caught your reflection in the metallic elevator double-doors. a pretty black dress hung low on your hips, accentuating your natural curves and pushing your tits up. the accent pearl necklace sitting on your clavicles glinted in the harsh hallway lamp as glittery eyeshadow above your lashes caught its light. you wrung your hands, taking a deep breath as you listened to the raucous music emanating from the loft. the loud laughter and chatter washed off as you heard footsteps nearing the door. heavy footsteps, ones you recognised.

the oak door swung inwards and you were blasted by the reek of alcohol. scrunching your nose, you instead focused on the man in front of you, dark hair falling over his stark blue eyes. the white dress shirt he wore spanned tight against his rising chest. you could see the grin fading from his face as his eyes fell on you, grip on the doorknob tightening.

"schatzi…you look beautiful."

you licked your lips and held your head high. holding eye contact, your hand found purchase between his pecs (which were annoyingly solid) and pushed him as hard as you could. he barely moved an inch. but he backed away at your gaze anyway, hands held up in defeat.

you walked in. the sound of your heels against the floor was the only noise heard in the now near silent room, party-goers staring at you instead with red beer cups in hand. everyone watched as your shaking finger rose to point at him, eyes maniacally bulging.

"how dare you."

something flicked through his eyes as you fumbled with your phone, raising the screen to his face so everyone could see the picture of him making out with another girl.

his gaze flicked between the screen and your face, before he finally muttered in a firm voice, "we were never exclusive."

you stared at him in pure shock and anger, before hysterically screaming.

"what do you mean? we've been going out for 2 months!"

max stared at you for a beat before grabbing your arm. his grip was rigid, but not to the point of pain. you tried to shake him off but couldn't. your eyes met his, and there was something weird about his stare.

..was he pleading?

your guard lowered for a second and he took advantage of it by pulling you aside, glaring at the onlookers as he took you to the balcony.

upon reaching, he gently let go of your arm before turning around to lock the veranda door. you stared, lips parted as he hung his head, back still turned towards you.

"i think we need to talk, baby."

stop this is so ass ive been hating writing recently. anyway i just did this cause an awesome anon asked for a fic like this, so thank you!! divider creds: @uzmacchiato . lemme know if yall want a pt2 w balcony sex

[aj-archives]

truce - mv3

summary: the girl who's wouldn't want to not be near Max Verstappen ends up finding out he’s actually not the worst. max verstappen x russell!reader word count: 1.9k author's notes: should i make part two? a nsfw part two? part two is here! english is not my first language, i use grammarly to help me with grammar, besides that fuck ai - semi proof read. masterlist

It's almost 3 a.m. The only thing you wish for more than going back in time and refusing that party invitation is for your brother to answer his bloody phone.

You're outside the club in Hungary, where the post-race party happened. You don't speak the language, and you don't know the name of your hotel, let alone its location. And your perfect, responsible older brother got too drunk to drive—let alone remember he showed up with his own sister.

Now you're less desperate and more just… numb. Praying for a miracle—someone, anyone—to pick up while you still have battery life. The short sparkly dress and heels were also a huge mistake. As the night drags on, the wind seems determined to freeze you.

Then, as if the universe has a sick sense of humor, you feel two guys approaching.

Yep. Definitely not your night.

They say something to you that you think is Hungarian, smiling in a way that immediately makes your stomach tighten. You shake your head politely.

"No, thank you." For some reason, you think that'll make them leave you alone.

They keep talking. You don't understand a word. One of them gestures down the street, motioning for you to come with them.

Your grip tightens around your phone, and the energy doesn't feel helpful at all. It never does, though.

Luckily, two security guards pass through you, interrupting before the situation can get any more uncomfortable. They say something sharply to the men, who walk off quickly. You look around, confused. Whose security guards are these? And then you spot him.

Max. Of course.

Your heart betrays you a little by skipping a beat.

You've never known how to explain the feeling you get when he's around. You've barely exchanged ten words with him over all the years you've gone to races. But based on your brother's experiences—the fights, the tension, the way George reacts sometimes—you decided a long time ago that Max Verstappen was trouble.

You also don't know how to explain the way your stomach does a strange little flip every time he walks in. It's a strange situation, how he can be so annoying and charming at the same time.

It's very bad that he just helped you and he's the only familiar face around, because somehow, against every instinct you have, that comforts you.

He just doesn't need to know that.

"You okay?" he asks.

"I had it under control," you say, pressing your lips together.

He raises an eyebrow. "Sure looked like it."

You side-eye him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a real response.

"Where's George?" he asks.

"He left."

"Okay… and why are you still here exactly?"

You take a deep breath. You know how stupid you're about to sound. But you're too cold and too tired to lie.

"I don't know the name of the hotel. And George, Carmen, and everyone else I was with aren't picking up their phones. Also, I don't think anyone here understands me enough to give me that information, so…" You stare at the street, hugging yourself.

You feel him looking at you for a long second. When you turn your face, Max is biting the inside of his cheek.

The bastard is holding back a smirk.

You roll your eyes, instantly regretting every word you've just said.

"Come on," he says. "I'll drive you. Everyone's staying at the same hotel. I know where it is." His eyes drop to your bare legs, just for a second. "Also, I can't let you stay out here wearing… this dress. So just… let's go."

"I don't need—"

"What's your plan? Sleep here? Die of hypothermia?"

"I'm not sure. Whatever happens first."

"God, you're stubborn." He shrugs off his jacket and holds it out to you. "I respect that, but your lips are turning blue, and you are alone here. So take this and accept that I'm your only choice right now."

I can't believe this.

Why is this happening to me?

I guess he won't take no for an answer.

And I'm going to have to accept.

I'm going to have to put a Red Bull jacket on.

Your internal scream is deafening. Max doesn't say anything—just stands there holding the jacket out, that stupid smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. You hate that he's right.

You hate this night. You hate that when you finally snatch the jacket from his hands, the fabric is still warm from his body.

Shit.

"Fine," you mutter, shoving your arms through the sleeves. It smells strong—clean, woodsy. And it feels good. Too good. "There. Happy?"

"Ecstatic." He's already walking toward his car. He opens the passenger door for you and waits.

Your eyes narrow. He's definitely enjoying this more than he should.

You slide into the seat. He closes the door and moves around to his side. The car is warm. It smells like him. He pulls away from the curb, the low hum of the engine filling the silence. You side-eye him, observing him casually driving.

It's a bit hard to accept that he's not the complete asshole you thought he was.

Beside you, Max glances over briefly.

"All those years I've known you, I don't think I've ever seen you be this quiet," he says.

"I'm saving my energy."

"For what?"

"In case you start being, you know… you."

A small huff of laughter leaves him.

"And what was that supposed to be?"

"You tell me. I've heard things."

"From George?"

You hesitate.

Max nods slowly, grinning, eyes back on the road. "Riiight, because you're not biased at all, and your brother isn't the most dramatic person alive."

Now it's your turn to huff. "What? Can you blame him? You don't exactly act like an angel."

He shrugs one shoulder. "Most people hate me already. Being rich and winning races doesn't help, so…"

A slight pang of guilt falls upon you. Not that you hated him, but it was hard not to take your brother's side.

"I don't hate you," you confess quietly.

"You're George's sister."

You narrow your eyes at him. "Meaning?"

"Meaning," he says casually, "you probably decided you hated me a few years ago."

Your mouth opens.

Then closes.

Because, unfortunately… he's not entirely wrong.

Max glances over again, catching your expression.

"There it is," he says.

"What?"

"That face."

"What face?"

"The one where you realize I'm right but you don't want to say it."

You scoff and turn toward the window again, the corner of your mouth curving slightly. "You really know how to annoy a Russell."

He clicks his tongue. "What can I say? It's a talent."

"Of course it is," you say, rolling your eyes.

He tilts his head slightly. "Oh? What's that tone about?"

"The great Max Verstappen obviously is a man of many talents."

Max lets out a quiet hum at that, like he's considering responding.

"Many talents, huh?" he repeats. "Why do you sound almost like you're curious?"

Your brows lift. "Curious about what exactly?"

He shrugs one shoulder, completely unfazed.

"About the many talents you just mentioned." His smirk grows. "You trying to discover something tonight?"

You stare at him for a second longer than necessary, caught slightly off guard by how casually he said it.

Is he…?

No.

He can't be.

Max wouldn't make a move on you.

Definitely not.

"You're unbelievably full of yourself." You fold your arms, trying to keep it cool.

Max glances at you again, the corner of his mouth twitching like he's barely holding back another comment. You're suddenly very aware of your surroundings. What if he was making a move? That came out of nowhere. Why do you feel like your cheeks are about to turn red?

A few minutes later, the car slows as it pulls into the hotel entrance.

"Well," he says lightly, glancing toward the building. "Looks like your dramatic survival story has a happy ending."

"Oh my God," you breathe. "Finally."

He stops the car near the front and hands the keys to the valet, stepping forward. As you step out of the passenger side, the cool air hits your legs again. You're shivering again. The thought about being cold barely finishes forming before Max steps beside you.

His hand lands lightly on the small of your back as he guides you toward the entrance.

The sudden contact sends a strange rush through you, like your body forgot how to behave normally. Your shoulders stiffen slightly.

Stop that. Be normal, Y/N.

He quickly removes it a second later, like he became aware of his movement.

Inside, the lobby is quiet. Your heels click softly on the floor. Grabbing the card key, you walk toward the elevators.

You clear your throat.

"Well," you say, pressing the button. "You got me here alive, so I guess I have to say thank you."

"See? I wasn't that bad." Max leans back slightly against the wall beside the elevator, arms loosely crossed. "Come on, let me walk you to your room."

You shake your head immediately.

"It's okay, really. You were a lot of help already."

"Please," he says as the elevator doors slide open. "I'm just making sure you don't get lost again."

You give him a look as you step inside. "You'll never let me forget that, will you?"

"Nope."

The elevator doors close, and the space suddenly feels… very small. The quiet between you two is… different. Heavier, maybe.

Time slows down as you start looking back at your evening, thinking how the hell your heart started beating so fast because of Max Verstappen. God, get it together.

The elevator dings a few seconds later, and you both step out. Your room isn't far down the hallway. You stop at the door with the card in your hands. The moment lingers for a second longer than expected.

"Safe and sound. Thank you again."

Max nods once, hands sliding into his pockets.

"No problem. That was… fun." One corner of his mouth lifts.

You stare at him.

He stares back, the familiar teasing look still there, but his eyes don't move away. Not even a little.

Your lips press together, fighting a smile.

"Goodnight, Verstappen."

"Goodnight, Y/N."

You swipe the keycard and push the door open, stepping inside before you can give yourself time to overthink what just happened. As the door closes behind you, you lean against it for a second, pressing your hand to your chest like that might slow your heart down.

What the hell was that?

Why didn't that feel… bad?

You breathe out, trying to regain composure because you're not thinking straight. You feel desperate to vent this to someone, but you remember that your friends and sister-in-law are probably passed out.

You decide to go to the front desk to see if Carmen is there—safe and alive. Alive enough to help you understand things.

You pull the door open—

Max is standing right there.

His fist is raised mid-air, clearly about to knock.

For a split second, you both just freeze.

"Hi… what… happened?"

"I forgot something," he says.

Shit. The jacket.

"Oh, right. Sorry, I—I forgot about it too." You slide it off and hold it out to him. "Here."

His eyes drop to your lips for half a second.

"It wasn't the jacket," he says, stepping closer to you.

His body gets closer, and you can't think of anything except his lips. You both crash into each other desperately. It's the kind of kiss that steals your breath and your sanity all at once—his hand sliding into your hair as your back presses harder against the door. The jacket slips from your fingers, forgotten, falling to the floor as you pull him closer and closer.

The only thought left in your head is that maybe you should' have've gotten lost around Verstappen a long time ago.

© aj-archives 2026 — no one has permission to copy or translate any of my works, if you see any of my work being reproduced on another platform please contact me! :)

[kimi12onelli]

Made For You | MV3 x Reader

Pairing: Knight!Max Verstappen x Royal!Reader

Notes: idk if this will show up on ppls feeds but I hope it does. Hope u guys enjoy it if u do see it! :) if there r any mistakes pls say so, pls keep in mind it’s my first fic!!

Word Count: 7.5k

Aristocracy AU! Masterlist

———————————————

The throne room of Apexia was filled with sunlight and ceremony. Banners in deep crimson and gold hung from the high stone arches, and the polished marble floor reflected the glow of hundreds of candles. The entire court had gathered for the Choosing, the ancient tradition that marked the beginning of a royal child’s path toward adulthood.

You were eight years old, dressed in a gown of soft ivory silk, your hair braided with tiny pearls. You stood beside your parents on the dais, trying to look regal even though your heart fluttered with nerves.

Before you stood a line of knight trainees. Most were older boys, already tall and strong, their armor gleaming. They stood with perfect posture, hoping to be chosen. The Choosing was an honor. It meant years of training, prestige, and a future place at the side of the royal family.

Your mother leaned down slightly. “Take your time,” she whispered. “Choose the one who feels right.”

You nodded, though you were not sure what that meant.

You walked slowly down the line, your small shoes tapping softly against the marble. The first boy bowed deeply. He was tall, confident, and clearly expected to be chosen. You smiled politely and moved on.

The second boy was older, with a stern expression. He looked like he had already decided how he would protect you, even though he had never spoken to you. You moved on again.

The third boy was strong, broad‑shouldered, and proud. He gave you a smile that felt more like a performance than a greeting.

You kept walking.

Then you reached the end of the line.

A boy stood there who looked nothing like the others. He was younger, maybe only a year or two older than you. His armor was slightly too big, the straps tightened as much as they could be. His blonde hair was messy, and he had a faint bruise on his cheek from training.

But his eyes.

His eyes were steady and bright, filled with something fierce and determined. He looked like someone who had fought for every inch of progress he had made. Someone who would keep fighting.

He did not bow as deeply as the others. He did not smile. He simply met your gaze with quiet intensity.

You felt something settle inside you.

You lifted the ceremonial ribbon from the velvet cushion you carried. Your hand trembled slightly as you reached for his wrist.

“I choose you,” you said.

A ripple of surprise moved through the room. Your parents exchanged a look. The captain of the guard raised an eyebrow. The older trainees shifted uncomfortably.

But the boy did not look surprised. And you did not care for the commotion.

He bowed his head, and his voice was steady when he spoke.

“Then I will protect you.”

You tied the ribbon around his wrist, sealing the choice.

“What is your name?” you asked.

“Max,” he said.

You smiled. “Then we will be together a long time, Max.”

He nodded once. “As long as you want me.”

You did not know it then, but that moment would shape both of your lives.

————

Max trained harder than anyone expected. The older trainees teased him at first, calling him the princess’s charity pick. But he ignored them. He woke before dawn, practiced until his arms shook, and returned to the training yard after dinner when everyone else had gone.

You saw him often. He walked you to lessons, stood guard during your studies, and accompanied you on rides through the palace gardens. You talked to him more than you talked to most children your age.

He listened.

He always listened.

When you were ten, you fell from your horse during a riding lesson. Before the instructor could reach you, Max was already there, kneeling beside you, checking your hands for scrapes, eyes checking for any other signs of injury.

“You are not hurt,” he said, relief softening his voice.

You sniffed. “I am embarrassed.”

He offered you his hand. “Then I will fall down and be embarrassed with you.”

You laughed, and he smiled for the first time you could remember.

When you were twelve, you overheard two noble girls whispering about him.

“He is too rough around the edges,” one said. “Not refined enough to guard a princess.”

“He is only there because she chose him when she was a child,” the other replied. “She will replace him when she is older.”

You found Max in the training yard that afternoon, practicing alone. His shirt was damp with sweat, and his hair stuck to his forehead. He looked up when he saw you.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

You nodded. “I heard people talking about you.”

He shrugged. “People talk.”

“They said I would replace you.”

He paused, bearing a flash of insecurity on his face before it hardens again, lowering his practice sword. “Do you want to?”

“No,” you said quickly. “I never will.”

His expression softened. “Then it does not matter.”

You sat on the edge of the training platform, watching him practice. He moved with a focus and purpose that made your chest feel warm.

“You work harder than anyone,” you said.

“I have to,” he replied, eyes still looking towards his target.

“Why?”

He looked at you, and for a moment, he seemed older than his years.

“Because you chose me,” he said. “And I want to be worthy of that.”

Your heart fluttered, though you did not yet understand why.

————

When you were fifteen, everything began to change.

Max had grown taller, his shoulders broader, his movements sharper and more confident. He was no longer the scrawny boy you had chosen. He was becoming a knight.

And you were becoming someone he looked at differently.

It started subtly.

He stood closer to you than before. He watched people carefully when they spoke to you. He stepped between you and crowded hallways. He always noticed when you were tired or upset. He smiled more when you were near, but very clearly tried to keep it more private.

One afternoon, you were in the palace gardens reading when Max approached. He wore the dark navy training uniform of the guard, and the sun caught the edge of his blonde, ruffled hair.

“You missed lunch,” he said.

“I was not hungry.”

He sat beside you. “You always eat lunch.”

You sighed. “The council meeting was long. They talked about alliances and marriages and expectations. It was exhausting.”

Max was quiet for a moment. “They should not pressure you.”

“It is part of being royal.”

“It should not be.”

You looked at him. “You sound angry.”

He looked away. “I do not like when they talk about you as if you are a piece on a board to be used.”

Your heart skipped. “Max…”

He stood abruptly. “You should eat something. I will bring food.”

He walked away before you could answer. You watched him go, your pulse quickening.

Something was changing.

You felt it.

He felt it.

Neither of you knew what to do with it yet.

————

The palace of Apexia was never quiet for long. As you approached your sixteenth year, the court grew busier, filled with visiting nobles, foreign envoys, and young heirs hoping to form alliances. Your parents insisted you attend more gatherings, more dinners, more lessons in diplomacy.

Max attended all of them too, always a few steps behind you, always watching.

One evening, the palace hosted a banquet for the visiting delegation from the Kingdom of Ferrari. Their prince, Charles, was close to your age. He was charming, confident, and clearly aware of his own appeal. The moment he saw you, he smiled as if he had been waiting for you specifically.

You greeted him politely, as you had been taught. He offered you his arm, and you accepted, though you felt Max’s gaze on your back as you walked with the prince toward the banquet hall.

Charles spoke easily, telling stories of his travels, his training, his kingdom. He made you laugh once or twice, and each time, you felt Max’s presence bristle and sharpen behind you.

During dinner, Charles leaned closer.

“Your kingdom is beautiful,” he said. “But I think its princess is even more so.”

You felt your cheeks warm. “You are kind.”

“I am honest,” he replied.

Across the table, Max’s jaw tightened.

Later, when the musicians began to play, Charles stood and offered you his hand.

“May I have this dance?”

You hesitated. You were expected to accept. It was polite. It was diplomatic.

But before you could answer, Max stepped forward.

“Her Highness has had a long day,” he said calmly. “She should rest.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “I was speaking to the princess, not her guard.”

Max did not move. “My duty is to her well‑being.”

You looked between them, your heart pounding. Charles waited for your answer. Max stood like a wall between you and the world.

“I will sit this one out,” you said gently.

Charles bowed, though his smile had dimmed. “Another time, then.”

When he walked away, Max exhaled slowly, as if he had been holding his breath.

You turned to him. “You should not have spoken for me.”

He met your gaze. “He was too close.”

“That is not your decision.”

His voice softened. “I know. But I did not like the way he looked at you.”

You blinked. “Max… are you jealous?”

He looked away. “I am your knight. It is my job to be cautious.”

“That is not what I asked.”

He did not answer.

You stepped closer. “Max.”

He finally looked at you, and for a moment, the world felt very still.

“I do not like seeing others try to claim your attention,” he said quietly. “I do not like seeing them think they have a chance with you.”

Your breath caught. “Why?”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “It does not matter.”

“It does,” you whispered.

But he stepped back, putting distance between you again.

“Your parents are waiting,” he said. “I will escort you.”

You followed him out of the hall, your heart racing.

Something was shifting again, and it was something neither of you could ignore much longer.

————

The next weeks were filled with tension. Prince Charles stayed longer than expected, attending every event, every lesson, every gathering where you were present. He was polite, charming, and persistent.

Max was always nearby, silent and watchful.

One afternoon, you were walking through the palace gardens with Charles. Max followed at a respectful distance, though you could feel his gaze on you.

Charles plucked a flower from a nearby bush and offered it to you.

“A gift,” he said. “For the most captivating person in Apexia.”

You accepted it politely. “Thank you.”

He smiled. “I hope to spend more time with you. Our kingdoms could benefit from a closer bond.”

You understood the implication. Marriage. Alliance. Politics.

Before you could respond, Max stepped forward.

“Your Highness,” he said, addressing you. “The queen requests your presence.”

You frowned. “Now?”

“Yes.”

Charles looked annoyed. “We were in the middle of a conversation.”

Max did not look at him. “The queen does not like to be kept waiting.”

You excused yourself and followed Max back toward the palace. When you were out of earshot, you spoke.

“My mother did not summon me, did she?”

“No.”

“Then why did you say she did?”

Max stopped walking. “Because he was trying to corner you.”

“He was talking.”

“He was pressuring you.”

You crossed your arms. “You are being unreasonable.”

Max’s voice was low. “I am protecting you.”

“From what?”

He hesitated. “From people who want you for the wrong reasons.”

You stepped closer. “And what are the right reasons?”

He looked at you, and for a moment, you saw something raw in his expression.

But he shook his head. “It does not matter.”

“It does,” you insisted.

He looked away. “You should return to your chambers.”

You stared at him, frustration and something deeper twisting inside you.

“Why will you not tell me what you feel?” you whispered.

He closed his eyes for a moment. “Because I am your knight. And you are the future queen.”

“And?”

“And I am not allowed to want anything more.”

Your breath caught.

He opened his eyes again, and the distance between you felt like a chasm.

“Please,” he said softly. “Do not ask me to cross a line I cannot uncross.”

You felt your heart ache.

“Then stop looking at me like that,” you whispered.

He froze.

You turned and walked away before he could answer.

Behind you, Max stood alone in the garden, torn between duty and something he could no longer deny.

————

The attempted intrusion changed everything.

The palace tightened its security. Guards patrolled the halls in pairs. Servants whispered nervously. Your parents held emergency council meetings late into the night. And Max never left your side.

He walked you to every lesson, and stood outside every door. He checked every corridor before you entered. He even slept in a chair outside your chambers, refusing to rest anywhere else.

You tried to convince him to take breaks, but he only shook his head.

“I am fine,” he said. “You are what matters.”

You knew he meant it. You also knew he was exhausted.

One morning, as you prepared for a meeting with the council, Max stood beside you, adjusting the clasp of your cloak. His fingers brushed your shoulder, and you felt a warmth spread through you.

“You do not have to do everything alone,” you said quietly.

He looked at you, his expression softening. “I am not alone. I have you.”

Your heart skipped.

Before you could respond, a guard approached.

“Sir Max,” he said. “The captain requests your presence in the training yard.”

Max frowned. “Now?”

“Yes. It is urgent.”

Max looked at you. “I will return quickly.”

You nodded. “Go. I will be with the council.”

He hesitated, then bowed his head and followed the guard.

You watched him leave, a strange unease settling in your chest.

——

Max arrived to find the captain of the guard waiting for him. Several senior knights stood nearby, their expressions unreadable.

“You asked for me,” Max said.

The captain nodded. “We need to discuss your position.”

Max stiffened. “My position?”

“You are the princess’s knight,” the captain said. “Her safety is your responsibility.”

“I know.”

“Then you must understand the concern,” the captain continued. “You are young. You are still learning. And the threat against her is growing.”

Max’s jaw tightened. “I have protected her for years.”

“Yes,” the captain said. “But this is different. This is political. Dangerous. You may not be enough.”

Max felt something cold settle in his chest. “Are you saying I should step aside?”

The captain hesitated. “We are considering assigning a more experienced knight to her.”

Max’s breath caught. “No.”

“This is not personal,” the captain said. “It is about her safety.”

Max shook his head. “I will not abandon her.”

“You would not be abandoning her,” the captain said. “You would be supporting her from a distance.”

Max stepped forward, his voice steady. “She chose me. I trained for her. I grew for her. I will not leave her side.”

The captain studied him for a long moment.

“You care for her,” he said quietly.

Max did not answer, eyes unwaveringly holding the gaze of his superior.

“You must be careful,” the captain warned. “Feelings can cloud judgment.”

Max lifted his chin. “My feelings make me more loyal, not less.”

The captain sighed. “We will discuss this further. For now, return to your post.”

Max bowed stiffly and left the yard, his mind racing.

They wanted to replace him. They thought he was not enough. They thought someone else could protect you better.

He felt something fierce rise inside him.

He would not let them take him away from you.

——

You sat through the council meeting, trying to focus on discussions of trade routes and border tensions, but your thoughts kept drifting to Max. He had looked troubled when he left. You wondered what the captain wanted. You wondered if Max was okay.

When the meeting ended, you stepped into the corridor and found Max waiting for you.

But something was different.

His posture was rigid. His expression guarded. His eyes were darker than usual.

“Max,” you said softly. “What happened?”

He shook his head. “Nothing important.”

“That is not true.”

He looked away, contemplating telling you the news. “The captain thinks I am not enough to protect you.”

Your breath caught. “What?”

“He wants to assign someone else,” Max said quietly. “Someone older. Someone with more experience.”

You stepped closer. “Did you agree?”

“No,” he said immediately. “I will not leave you.”

Your chest tightened. “Max…”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and the emotion in his eyes made your heart ache.

“I cannot lose my place at your side,” he said. “Not to politics. Not to anyone.”

You reached for his hand without thinking. He froze, then slowly intertwined his fingers with yours.

“You are the one I trust,” you said. “You are the one I want beside me.”

His breath hitched.

“You mean that?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if steadying himself.

“I will fight for my place,” he said. “For you.”

You squeezed his hand. “You already have it.”

He opened his eyes again, and the tension in his shoulders eased.

But before either of you could say more, a messenger rushed down the corridor.

“Your Highness,” he said breathlessly. “Prince Charles requests an urgent audience.”

Max’s jaw tightened.

You sighed. “Of course he does.”

Max stepped closer, his voice low. “Be careful with him.”

You nodded. “I will.”

But as you walked toward the audience chamber, you felt Max’s gaze on your back.

Protective. Worried.

And something more.

Something he was no longer able to hide.

————

Prince Charles waited for you in the audience chamber, standing near the tall windows where sunlight spilled across the marble floor. He turned when you entered, offering a polite bow.

“Your Highness,” he said. “Thank you for seeing me.”

Max stood behind you, silent and watchful. His presence was a steady warmth at your back.

“What is so urgent?” you asked.

Charles hesitated, then stepped closer. “I heard about the intruder.”

You nodded. “The situation is under control.”

“Is it?” Charles asked. “Because from what I have seen, your kingdom is not as secure as it should be.”

Max stiffened.

You kept your voice calm. “Apexia is handling the threat.”

Charles studied you for a moment. “I worry for you.”

Max took a step forward. “She does not need your worry.”

Charles ignored him. “You are important to your kingdom. To mine as well. If something were to happen to you, it would affect us all.”

You folded your hands. “I appreciate your concern, but I am safe.”

His gaze flicked to Max. “Are you?”

Max’s hand moved to the hilt of his sword.

You stepped between them. “Enough. Both of you.”

Charles exhaled. “Very well. But I called you here to offer something.”

You waited.

“My father has suggested that you visit Ferrari for a time,” Charles said. “Our palace is heavily fortified. You would be safe there until this threat passes.”

Max’s voice was sharp. “She is not leaving Apexia.”

Elias raised an eyebrow. “I was not speaking to you.”

You felt Max’s anger like heat behind you.

You lifted your chin. “I appreciate the offer, but I will not leave my home.”

Charles nodded slowly. “I thought you might say that. But consider it. Your safety should come before pride.”

Max stepped forward again. “She said no.”

The prince of Ferrari narrowed eyes accusingly. “You speak too freely for a knight.”

“And you speak too boldly for a guest,” Max replied.

You placed a hand on Max’s arm. “Max.”

He stopped immediately, but his jaw remained tight.

Charles watched the gesture, something unreadable flickering in his expression. He looked more closely at Max’s gaze and obedience, and something clicked.

“I see,” he said quietly. “Perhaps I misjudged the situation.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

Charles bowed. “Nothing. I will take my leave.”

He walked past you, but paused beside Max.

“Be careful,” he murmured. “Your feelings are showing.”

Max did not respond, and his eyes held steadfast in looking forward, not acknowledging the prince’s comment. Despite no change in facial expressions, Max had stiffened, coiled with a tense understanding.

When Charles was gone, the chamber felt strangely quiet.

You turned to Max. “You should not have spoken to him like that.”

“He was trying to take you away,” Max said. “I will not allow it.”

“He was offering protection.”

“I am your protection.”

You stepped closer. “Max, you cannot fight every battle for me.”

He looked at you, and the emotion in his eyes made your breath catch.

“I will fight every battle that threatens you that I can,” he said softly. “Every single one.”

Your heart pounded. “Why?”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “You know why.”

“Say it,” you whispered.

He looked away. “I cannot.”

“You can,” you said. “I want you to.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if gathering courage.

When he opened them again, he stepped closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath.

“I care for you,” he said quietly. “More than I should.”

Your pulse quickened. “Max…”

“I am your knight,” he said. “I am supposed to be loyal. Steady. Unshakable. But when it comes to you, I am every one of those things yet none of them.”

You felt your breath catch. “What are you then?”

He swallowed. “I am someone who watches you walk into a room and forgets how to breathe. Someone who hears your voice and feels steadier. Someone who would give anything to keep you safe.”

Your heart ached. “Max…”

He shook his head. “I should not say this. I should not feel this. But I do.”

You reached for his hand. He froze, then slowly intertwined his fingers with yours. Rough, training-worn hands hold yours with a seemingly impossible softness.

“I care for you too,” you said softly.

His breath hitched. “You do?”

“Yes.”

He looked at you as if he was seeing you for the first time.

But before either of you could say more, a guard burst into the chamber. Yet again.

“Your Highness,” he said urgently. “There has been another message. The faction has made their next move.”

Max’s hand tightened around yours.

The moment was gone.

But the truth had been spoken.

————

The intercepted message changed the palace overnight. Guards doubled their patrols. Advisors whispered in corners. Your parents held emergency meetings behind closed doors. And Max stayed closer to you than ever.

He walked half a step behind you, always within reach. He slept outside your chamber door, refusing to leave. He watched every stranger, every servant, every shadow who even stepped within the vicinity of you.

You felt safer with him near. You also felt something else. Something warm. Something dangerous. Something you could no longer pretend was only loyalty.

You were seventeen now. Max was eighteen. You had grown into your roles together, but the world around you was shifting faster than either of you could control.

——

One morning, you were summoned to the council chamber. Max walked beside you, silent but tense. When you entered, the room was filled with advisors, generals, and your parents. Prince Charles stood near the window, arms crossed.

Why was he still here?

Your father spoke first.

“We have reached a decision regarding your safety.”

Max’s posture stiffened.

Your mother continued. “We will be assigning an additional knight to your protection.”

Max stepped forward. “Your Majesties, with respect, I am capable of—”

“This is not a reflection of your skill,” your father said. “It is a precaution.”

Max clenched his jaw. “She does not need another knight.”

Your mother’s voice softened, but authority remained in her voice. “Max, this is not optional.”

You looked at him. His eyes were dark, hurt, angry.

“Who will it be?” you asked.

A tall knight stepped forward. Sir Daniel. Older, experienced, respected. He bowed.

“I am honored to serve you, Your Highness.”

Max’s hands curled into fists.

Your father nodded. “Sir Daniel will accompany you alongside Max. Two knights are better than one.”

Charles spoke next. “This is wise. The threat is growing. The princess must be protected at all costs.”

Max shot him a glare sharp enough to cut stone.

You stepped forward. “I accept Sir Daniel’s protection. But Max remains my primary knight.”

Your father hesitated. “That is not how—”

“It is how I chose, and it is what I choose,” you said.

Silence filled the room.

Your mother exchanged a glance with your father, then nodded. “Very well.”

Max exhaled, relief flickering across his face, only visible to those who know him. But the tension did not fade.

——

Later that afternoon, you found Max in the training yard. He was striking a wooden target with more force than necessary, each blow echoing across the stone.

“Max,” you said softly.

He faltered in his rhythm, but did not stop.

You stepped closer. “Max.”

He lowered his sword, breathing hard. Sweat clung to his now dirty blonde hair, and his blue eyes were stormy.

“They do not trust me,” he said.

“That is not true.”

“It is,” he insisted. “They think I am too young. Too inexperienced. Too emotional.”

You swallowed. “Are you?”

He looked at you sharply. “Do you think I am?”

“No,” you said immediately. “I think you are the only one who has ever truly protected me.”

His expression softened, but only slightly.

“I cannot lose my place,” he said quietly. “Not to Daniel. Not to anyone.”

“You will not.”

“You cannot promise that.”

You stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat of his skin.

“I can promise that I choose you,” you said. “I always will.”

His breath caught.

“You should not say things like that,” he whispered.

“Why not?”

“Because I will believe them.”

You felt your heart twist. “Max…”

He looked at you, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “I care for you more than I should.”

“And I care for you,” you said. “More than I should.”

He closed his eyes, as if the words were too much.

When he opened them again, something had changed. Something deeper. Something certain.

“I will protect you,” he said. “Not because it is my duty. It never has been just my duty. It is my choice.”

Your breath trembled. “And I will stand by you.”

He reached out, slowly, as if giving you time to pull away. You did not. His fingers brushed yours, then intertwined with them.

It was the first time he had touched you without hesitation.

It felt like a promise.

——

Sir Daniel joined your guard the next day. He was polite, skilled, and respectful. He treated you with the formality expected of a knight. But he also watched Max closely, as if trying to understand why the younger knight held your trust so fiercely.

Max tolerated him. Barely.

When Daniel walked beside you, Max walked closer. When Daniel offered you his cloak, Max draped his over your shoulders first. When Daniel spoke to you, Max listened with narrowed eyes.

One afternoon, Daniel approached you in the gardens.

“Your Highness,” he said. “May I speak freely?”

You nodded. “Of course.”

“I have served many royals,” he said. “But I have never seen a knight as devoted as Max.”

You felt warmth rise in your chest. “He is loyal.”

“He is more than loyal,” Daniel said. “He is protective in a way that goes beyond duty.”

You looked away. “I know.”

Daniel studied you. “Does that concern you?”

“No,” you said. “It comforts me.”

The knight nodded slowly. “Then I will support him. And you.”

You smiled. “Thank you.”

But Max had seen the two of you talking. And when Daniel walked away, Max approached with a look you had never seen so clear on his face before.

Jealousy.

“You like him,” Max said quietly.

You blinked. “What?”

“You smiled at him.”

“I smile at many people.”

“Not like that.”

You stepped closer. “Max, what are you afraid of?”

He swallowed. “Losing you.”

Your heart softened. “You will not.”

He looked at you, and the fear in his eyes made your chest ache.

“Promise me,” he whispered.

“I promise.”

He exhaled, relief washing over him.

And for the first time, he lifted your hand and pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

It was soft. It was warm. It was everything.

————

The threat against you grew more serious with each passing day. The intercepted messages became bolder. The faction in the western provinces grew more desperate. And the palace guards found signs of tampering near the outer walls.

Your parents increased security again. Sir Daniel was assigned to shadow Max, ensuring no moment went unguarded. The tension between the two knights was constant, quiet, and sharp.

But the real breaking point came during the Harvest Festival.

The palace opened its gates to the people of Apexia. Music filled the courtyards. Lanterns floated in the sky. Children ran through the gardens with ribbons trailing behind them. It should have been a night of joy.

Instead, it became the most dangerous night of your life.

——

You wore a gown of deep crimson silk, embroidered with gold thread. Your hair was braided with small flowers. When you stepped into the courtyard, the crowd cheered. You smiled, waving gently.

Max walked beside you, dressed in the dark navy uniform of the royal guard. His eyes scanned every face, every shadow, every movement. Sir Daniel walked on your other side, equally alert.

“You look beautiful,” Max said quietly.

You glanced at him. “You look worried.”

“I am,” he admitted.

Sir Daniel nodded. “The crowd is large. Too large.”

Your heart tightened. “Should we cancel the festival?”

Max shook his head. “No. The people need this. But stay close.”

You did.

You always did.

——

It happened in an instant.

A loud crack echoed across the courtyard. The crowd gasped. Lanterns flickered. Someone screamed.

Max reacted before anyone else.

He grabbed your arm and pulled you behind him, shielding you with his body. Sir Daniel drew his sword, scanning the crowd.

Then you saw it.

A figure in dark clothing pushing through the people, moving toward you with purpose.

Max stepped forward, placing himself directly between you and the threat.

“Stay behind me,” he said.

The figure lunged.

Max blocked the strike with his forearm, wincing but holding firm. Daniel moved to flank the attacker, but the man was fast, slipping between guards and striking again.

Max pushed you back. “Run.”

“I will not leave you.”

“Run,” he repeated, voice sharp.

But you stayed.

The attacker swung again. Max caught the blade with his gauntlet, sparks flying. He twisted, disarmed the man, and shoved him to the ground.

But the attacker was not alone.

A second figure emerged from the crowd, rushing toward you.

Max saw him too late.

Sir Daniel intercepted the second attacker, but the first man recovered and lunged again, this time aiming for you.

Max moved faster than you had ever seen him move.

He stepped in front of you, taking the blow meant for you.

You screamed.

Max staggered, the impact knocking him back. The attacker tried to strike again, but Daniel tackled him to the ground as guards swarmed in.

You rushed to Max, catching him before he fell.

“Max,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “Max, look at me.”

He blinked, breath unsteady. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” you said. “You are.”

He shook his head. “It is nothing.”

Blood stained his sleeve and chest. His breathing was uneven. But his eyes stayed on you, steady and full of something fierce.

“I told you,” he said softly. “I will protect you.”

You felt tears fill your eyes. “You could have died.”

“But you did not,” he said. “That is all that matters.”

You pressed your forehead to his, your hands trembling. “Do not say that. Do not ever say that.”

He exhaled shakily. “I cannot lose you.”

“You almost lost yourself,” you whispered.

His hand lifted, brushing your cheek. “You are worth it.”

Your breath caught.

“Max,” you said, voice breaking. “I cannot lose you either.”

He froze.

Then his voice dropped to a whisper. “Say it again.”

“I cannot lose you.”

His eyes softened, full of emotion he could no longer hide.

“Then do not push me away,” he said. “Do not let them replace me. Do not let them take me from your side.”

You shook your head. “They will not. I will not let them.”

He closed his eyes, relief washing over him.

When he opened them again, he looked at you as if you were the only thing in the world.

“Then hear me,” he said. “I love you.”

Your heart stopped.

He continued, voice trembling but certain.

“I have loved you for years. I tried to hide it. I tried to bury it. But tonight, when I saw that blade coming toward you, I knew. I would give anything for you. Anything.”

You felt tears spill down your cheeks.

“I love you too,” you whispered.

Max inhaled sharply, as if the words had knocked the air from his lungs.

“You do?”

“Yes,” you said. “I fell for you a long time ago.”

He let out a breath that sounded like a prayer.

Then he leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours again, his voice barely audible.

“Then I am yours,” he said. “Always.”

————

The palace healers worked quickly. Max’s injury was not life‑threatening, but it was enough to force him to rest for the first time in years due to the fact his chest was impacted. They bandaged his arm and chest, cleaned the wound, and insisted he stay in the infirmary overnight.

He hated it.

You stayed beside him anyway.

He lay on a cot near the window, the moonlight soft on his face. His uniform had been removed, replaced with a simple linen shirt. His hair was messy, his breathing steady, and his eyes were fixed on you as if he was afraid you might disappear.

“You should sleep,” he murmured.

“I will not,” you said. “Not until you do.”

He smiled faintly. “You are stubborn.”

“You nearly died,” you whispered. “I am allowed to be stubborn.”

He shifted slightly, wincing. “The medic said the injury is not lethal. And I told you. You are safe. That is all that matters. ”

You sat beside him, your hand resting near his. “Max… you cannot keep saying that.”

“It is true.”

“It is not,” you said. “You matter too.”

He looked at you, surprised.

“You matter to me,” you added softly.

His breath caught. “Say it again. Please.”

“You matter to me.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if the words were something he had waited years to hear.

When he opened them again, he reached for your hand. His fingers brushed yours, hesitant at first, then firmer when you did not pull away.

“You stayed,” he said quietly.

“Of course I stayed.”

“You always stay.”

“And you always come back to me,” you replied.

He smiled, a real smile, warm and soft. “I always will.”

You leaned your head against the edge of his cot, your fingers still intertwined with his.

For the first time in days, you felt safe.

——

The next morning, the palace was buzzing. News of the attack had spread. So had the news that Max had shielded you with his own body. Servants whispered. Nobles speculated. Advisors exchanged knowing glances.

Your parents summoned you to the throne room.

Your mother spoke first. “We heard what happened.”

You nodded. “Max protected me.”

Your father folded his hands. “He did more than that. He risked his life.”

“He always has,” you said.

Your mother studied you. “You care for him.”

It was not a question.

You felt your cheeks warm. “He is loyal. Brave. Kind.”

“And you care for him,” your father repeated.

You hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”

Your parents exchanged a long look.

Your father sighed. “This complicates things.”

Your heart tightened. “Why?”

“Because you are the future queen,” your mother said gently. “And he is your knight.”

You lifted your chin. “He is more than that.”

Your father leaned forward. “Do you love him?”

You swallowed. “Yes.”

Your mother’s expression softened. “Then we must decide how to handle this.”

You frowned. “Handle what?”

“The court will not accept a relationship between a princess and her knight without resistance,” your father said. “There will be political consequences.”

You stepped forward. “I do not care.”

“But we do,” your mother said. “Because your happiness matters. And so does your safety.”

You felt your breath tremble. “What are you saying?”

Your father exhaled. “We are saying that if this is truly what you want… we will support you.”

You blinked. “You will?”

“Yes,” your mother said. “But we must be careful. We must be strategic. And Max must prove to the court that he is worthy of standing beside you.”

You felt relief wash over you. “He will.”

Your father nodded. “Then let us see what the future holds.”

——

Later that afternoon, Max was released from the infirmary. You met him in the corridor, your heart racing when you saw him walking toward you.

He looked tired but strong, his arm wrapped in fresh bandages. When he saw you, his expression softened instantly.

“You are here,” he said.

“Always,” you replied.

He stopped in front of you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him.

“Your parents spoke to me,” he said quietly.

Your breath caught. “What did they say?”

“That they know,” he said. “About us.”

You swallowed. “And?”

“And they want me to prove myself.”

You stepped closer. “You already have.”

He shook his head. “Not enough for the court. Not enough for the kingdom. But I will.”

You reached for his hand. He took it without hesitation.

“You do not have to prove anything to me,” you said.

He smiled softly. “I know. But I want to prove it to everyone else.”

You felt your heart swell.

“Max,” you whispered. “I love you.”

He inhaled sharply, as if the words still stunned him.

“I love you,” he said. “More than anything.”

You leaned your forehead against his, your hands still intertwined.

And for a moment, the world felt simple.

————

The attack changed the kingdom. It changed the court. And it changed the way everyone looked at Max.

Some saw him as a hero, yet some saw him as a threat. Some saw him as a complication to the throne, and some viewed him as noble.

But you saw him as the boy you chose, the knight he became, and the man you loved.

The court, however, needed convincing.

——

Your parents called a meeting with Max the morning after he was released from the infirmary. You stood beside him, your hand brushing his as you entered the council chamber.

Your father spoke first.

“Max, you have proven your loyalty. But the court needs more than loyalty. They need assurance.”

Max nodded. “What must I do?”

Your mother folded her hands. “There will be a series of trials. Tests of skill, strategy, and leadership. If you pass them, the court will have no grounds to question your place at the princess’s side.”

Max’s jaw tightened. “I will pass.”

Your father added, “These trials are not symbolic. They are dangerous.”

Max didn’t flinch. “I am not afraid.”

You stepped forward. “He should not have to do this alone.”

Your mother smiled softly. “He will not. You will be present for each trial.”

Max looked at you, something warm and grateful flickering in his eyes.

“I will not fail,” he said quietly.

You squeezed his hand. “I know.”

——

The first trial took place in the training arena. Nobles filled the stands, whispering, judging, waiting to see if the young knight was truly worthy of the princess.

Max stepped into the arena wearing light armor, his injured arm wrapped but steady. Sir Daniel stood beside you, watching closely.

“Are you nervous?” Daniel asked.

“No,” you said. “He was born for this.”

Daniel smiled. “I believe you.”

The trial began.

Max faced three senior knights at once. They were older, stronger, and more experienced. But Max moved with precision, speed, and purpose. Every strike was calculated. Every step was controlled.

You watched him with your heart in your throat.

He blocked a blow with his shield. Then he ducked under a swing. He disarmed one knight with a twist of his wrist and he knocked another to the ground with a clean strike.

The crowd gasped.

Max stood in the center of the arena, chest rising and falling, eyes locked on you.

You smiled.

He bowed back.

The court murmured with approval.

——

The second trial was held in the war room. Max stood before a table covered in maps, markers, and miniature soldiers. Generals and advisors watched him closely.

Your father explained the challenge. “You must devise a strategy to defend the kingdom from a hypothetical invasion.”

Max studied the map, his brow furrowed. You watched him think, watched the way he analyzed every detail.

He placed markers along the border, creating a layout. He redirected troops to vulnerable areas and he created diversions, traps, and fallback plans.

When he finished, the generals exchanged impressed glances.

Your father nodded. “Well done.”

Max looked at you.

You mouthed, “I am proud of you.”

His expression softened.

——

The final trial was the most difficult, according to your father. A trial of words.

Your parents asked Max to stand before the entire court. Nobles filled the throne room, their eyes sharp and curious.

Your mother spoke. “Max, you have proven your skill and your intelligence. Now we ask you to prove your loyalty.”

Max bowed his head. “I am loyal.”

Your father stepped forward. “Then answer this: If the princess were to choose a path that endangered the kingdom, would you follow her… or stop her?”

The room fell silent.

You felt your breath catch.

Max looked at you. Really looked at you. And in that moment, you knew he was not thinking about politics. He was thinking about you.

He turned back to the king.

“I would protect her,” he said. “But I would also protect the kingdom. I would guide her. Support her. And if she faltered, I would help her stand again.”

Your father raised an eyebrow. “Even if she disagreed with you?”

“Yes,” Max said. “Because loyalty is not blind. It is honest.”

The court murmured.

Your mother smiled.

Your father nodded.

And you felt your heart swell.

——

That evening, you found Max in the palace gardens. Lanterns glowed softly among the trees. The air was warm and quiet.

He turned when he heard your footsteps.

“You passed,” you said.

He shrugged lightly. “I told you I would.”

You stepped closer. “Max… the court respects you now.”

“I do not care about the court,” he said. “I care about you.”

Your breath caught. “You proved yourself today.”

He shook his head. “I did not do it for them. I did it for us.”

You felt warmth spread through your chest.

He reached for your hand, his touch gentle.

“Do you still choose me?” he asked softly.

You smiled. “I never stopped.”

He exhaled, relief washing over him.

Then he leaned his forehead against yours, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Then I am yours,” he said. “In every way that matters.”

You looked into his eyes, your heart full.

“And I am yours,” you whispered back.

You could feel his breath on you, a small falter as you two leaned closer. His eyes flickering between yours and your lips, a clear question shining.

He stops just a little ways away, checking for any signs of hesitation. “May I?”

Your lips curved into a shy smile. You didn’t say anything at first, just nodded.

Max smiled nervously. “I want to hear you say it,” he said, gentle. “Only if you want to.”

Your cheeks turned a little pink. You looked down for a moment to his lips, then back up at him. Your eyes bright.

“Yes,” you said quietly.

He leaned in closer, slowly enough that you had every chance to pull away. You didn’t.

When your lips finally met, the kiss was soft and sweet, Max making sure to be careful and not push into anything. As you pulled apart, the smile on his face grew bigger.

“That was long awaited,” you whisper.

Max’s eyes held yours, still grinning while nodding. “Yes, it was.”

[multi-twenty-onez]

I'm telling myself, I'm telling myself, ‘I don't need you anymore’

fluffy. ex mercedes driver!reader x max verstappen

Max’s greatest regret was letting you slip through his fingers. As juniors in karting leagues and all the way up to F4, he’d known you; the Mercedes academy racer in a navy helmet. You were quick on the track and off it, he found that even as teenagers, you could keep up with each other verbally better than any of the other drivers—despite the language barrier.

He thought back to you occasionally, remembering the times he’d beat you by a hair’s breadth and make you hear about it for days after.

But Max had already resigned to the fact he’d never see you again. You had dropped out of Formula Four in your second year due to your family struggling and some past injuries becoming very present problems, practically disappearing from his life at fifteen.

He knew for a fact it didn’t get better, but he was excellent at telling himself otherwise. Excellent at distractions.

That was, until his home race at Zandvoort in 2022.

One year since the Dutch Grand Prix had been added back to the calendar marked ten years since he’d last seen you. Almost ten years since he’d last raced against you.

It did hurt, but he was doing well at keeping it under wraps. Although his best friend, Charles, did notice that the Dutchman was unusually snappy (which was saying something—he was an asshole at the best of times).

He was doing his usual flat-faced walk down the parade strip, lined with clamouring fans, when he saw you.

Wearing a wide-brimmed, floppy hat that cast thick shadow across the bridge of your slightly crooked nose (he knew how that came about) and a pretty linen dress, with a VIP paddock pass around your wrist, he had to do a double take.

You smiled when he did, the people around you shifting to see just who Max Verstappen was staring at with jaw agape.

Though he couldn’t stay still for long—the stewards were ushering him further along to sign more autographs and get more footage.

Max sighed, casting one of the stewards an annoyed glare before looking back at the place you just were not even a second ago.

He felt panic rising in his chest. How did he lose you again? Worse—was he hallucinating? That would mean he wasn’t as good at “distractions” as he thought he was…

y/n.

All Max could do was get shunted further down the path, forcing more smiles and scratching signatures into caps, photos and flags, desperately hoping he could search the paddock later.

He was not losing you again. The world number one didn’t think he could handle himself if he did.

Day two: free practices.

Max only went out in two of the practices, setting decent times but not wanting to ruin his tyres too much on the gritty Dutch track. The forefront of his mind, actually, was finding you on the paddock.

He heard about you before he saw you—from Sebastian Vettel, an older driver racing for Aston Martin. Sebastian was chatting to his friend at Alpine, Fernando Alonso, when he mentioned a pretty woman who had been “going around to all of the garages” while the free practices weren’t in session.

Max’s ears perked up. Could it be you?

‘Did you catch her name?’

The German laughed, clapping Max on the shoulder. ‘What, seen something you like?’

‘No, I just—’

‘It’s okay, mate, she’s quite something to look at.’

Jealousy flared, hot and unexpected, in Max’s throat. She’s what, eh?

‘I know.’ he had to settle for clenching his jaw, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Vettel.

‘Ach, you’ll find her. Last I saw, she was saying hello to Charles at Ferrari. Seemed to know him.’

Ferrari?

‘Excuse me,’ Max gasped, walking backwards away from Sebastian and Fernando. ‘I have to—’

He tripped over several different things before he turned around and practically ran back down his end of the pit lane, the unzipped top of his race suit flapping around his waist.

He skidded to a halt outside of the Redbull garages, smoothing his hair before glancing at the red boxes that neighboured his navy coup. Searching for you.

Then he saw you.

You’d swapped the floppy hat from yesterday for a team cap; he almost blushed. It was a Redbull one.

As you waved goodbye to Charles and Carlos, you saw Max standing just away from his garage. You smiled, standing at the edge of the painted square that marked where his car would go before it’s tyres were changed.

‘y/n!’ he walked toward you, arms spread wide in disbelief. ‘Where did you appear from?’

‘I’ve been living here,’ you shrugged, the corner of your lip quirking up. ‘Figured I’d come out to see you race.’

Max tried to resist the urge to pick you up and spin you around—but it got the better of him.

You squealed as he lifted you off the ground, your flowy skirt flying out behind you as his arms tightened around your waist.

‘Max!’ you breathed, giggling. ‘Didn’t think you missed me that much.’

‘You clearly know nothing about me then, y/n, because I have never missed anyone more…’