Killing Me Softly - Charles Leclerc

Knight of My Heart

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: After one too many drinks, a protective Max arrives right when you need him most.

1.7k words / Masterlist

It was nearly 2am when Max’s phone buzzed on his nightstand, dragging him from the edges of sleep. The faint light from his screen illuminated the dark room, and he reached for it with a groggy hand, squinting at the text that appeared.

“She’s drunk. Like realllly drunk. Can you come get her?”

Max sat up, his heart already sinking. The message was from one of your friends, someone whose name he only half-remembered from the countless times they’d insisted they’d “watch out for you.” Max knew better by now. He sighed, ranking a hand through his messy hair, before throwing the blanket off and quickly pulling on a hoodie and jeans.

The drive to the club was quiet, but Max’s mind wasn’t. He hated these nights. It wasn’t just the thought of you being drunk and vulnerable; it was the idea that you were so carefree and beautiful, and people always noticed. Too many times Max had seen guys try to get too close, their smiles too slick and intentions too obvious.

When he finally pulled up outside the club he saw you almost immediately. His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

You were leaning against a lamp post near the curb swaying slightly in your heels, a dazed smile on your face as a man hovered beside you. Max’s chest tightened at the sight. The guy was too close, his body angled toward yours as he spoke animatedly, gesturing with his hands. You laughed softly at whatever he said, your voice carrying over the low thrum of the music spilling from the club’s entrance.

Max killed the engine and climbed out, his jaw set. His strides were purposeful, closing the distance between you in seconds.

“Maxie!” you squealed the moment you spotted him, your arms flinging open in delight.

“You’re here!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around his torso and nearly toppling yourself over in the process.

The guy looked over at Max, not at all intimidated, but Max didn’t care. His jaw tightened, his fists clenching by his sides as he stepped closer.

“You good?” Max asks you, his voice a little rougher than usual.

The man gave Max a once-over, clearly sizing him up. “She seems fine to me,” he said, his tone too casual for Max’s liking.

Max’s eyes narrow, the jealousy coursing through him now unmistakable. He took a step closer to you, brushing his hand lightly against your shoulder. “Oh because you know her so well, right?” he asked the guy, voice clipped.

With a taunting smirk, the guy raised his hands in mock surrender. “She was just telling me about her night. She looked like she needed some company.”

Max wasn’t having it, he stands tall, his body blocking your view of the man now. “Right, I don’t think you understand,” Max replied dryly, placing a firm hand on your waist. “I’m her boyfriend, she's mine. Thanks for your concern, but I’ll take it from here.”

The man’s lips twitched, as though he wanted to argue, but something in Max’s gaze seemed to convince him otherwise. With a tight nod, he muttered a quick, “Whatever man,” and walked off into the crowd.

As the guy disappeared, Max’s frustration didn’t completely fade, but he focused right back on you. Guiding you towards his car, hand never leaving your side. You leaned into him, your cheek resting against his shoulder the alcohol making your limbs feel heavy.

You looked up at him, your face slightly flushed, your eyes half-lidded. “You okay?” you asked quietly.

Max’s lips press together tightly, trying to ignore the flare of jealousy still lingering. “I’m fine,” he said, even though he’s anything but. "Just... I want you to be safe, alright?"

You nod, though your head wobbles slightly. "I know... just wanted to have fun."

Max exhaled slowly, his tension only easing slightly as he turned to you. You were beaming up at him, clearly oblivious to the small confrontation that had just unfolded.

“I get it,” he said softly, his hand steadying you at your waist. “But where are your friends?”

“They’re inside,” you mumbled, waving a hand vaguely toward the club entrance. “Or somewhere. I don’t know. I came out to get some air.”

Max sighed, scanning the area for any sign of your group. Just then a few of your friends emerged from the club giggling.

“Max!” One of them called her tone far too cheery. “She’s all yours.”

Max’s brows furrowed, his frustration bubbling over. “Why did you let her get this drunk?” he snapped. “Anything could’ve happened to her out here!”

Your friend blinked, her smile faltering. “She’s a big girl Max. Besides, we knew you’d come.”

“That’s not the point,” Max said, his voice sharp. "You should’ve made sure she was safe.”

Your friends exchanged glances mumbling something, he exhaled heavily running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m glad you've all had fun, but next time just… watch out for her yeah? She’s very important to me.” He gazed down at you.

Your friends exchanged glances, some looking sheepish, others visibly annoyed at his tone.

“We had it under control, Max,” one of your friends said, her tone defensive. “We weren’t going to babysit her all night.”

Max’s jaw clenched. “Being there for your friend isn’t babysitting, it’s just what you do.”

Another friend, the quieter one of the group spoke up “Okay Max. We’ll keep a better eye on her next time, promise.”

“Thank you,” he said simply, looking back down at you. Your eyes were half-closed, a lazy smile on your lips as you mumbled something unintelligible against his chest.

Max shook his head, a mix of exasperation and fondness crossing his face. “Alright,” he said to the group, his tone a little lighter now. “I’m taking her home. Get back safely.”

“We will,” the quieter friend said, giving him a small, apologetic smile.

Max turned to you with a sigh of relief. “Let’s get you home.”

Max guided you to the car, his hand never leaving your waist. You leaned into him heavily, giggling at every little thing—the way his hand steadied you, the low muttering under his breath, even the way he opened the car door for you like you were royalty.

“You’re so nice to me, Maxie,” you said, settling into the passenger seat with a content sigh.

“I’m always nice to you,” he replied, pulling the seatbelt across your body and clicking it into place.

“You are,” you agreed, your voice soft and dreamy. “You’re my favourite person, you know that?”

Max froze for a moment, sure his heart skipped a beat, before he shook his head and closed your door.

The drive home was quiet, save for your occasional hums and mumbled comments about the pretty city lights. Max glanced at you every so often, his hand gripping your thigh, your eyes fluttering shut for brief moments.

When he finally pulled into his apartment’s parking garag you stirred, blinking sleepily. Inside you clung to him like a lifeline, your arms looped around his neck as he guided you to the bathroom.

“You’re so tall,” you murmured, your head resting against his chest. “Like a tree. A strong, handsome tree.”

Max chuckled despite himself, shaking his head as he set you down on the bathroom counter. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But you like me anyway,” you said, your grin lazy and smug.

He didn’t respond, instead reaching for a makeup remover wipe from the cabinet. You watched him curiously as he carefully cupped your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“Taking your makeup off,” he said simply.

You stared at him, your expression unreadable, as he carefully wiped at your face. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, and he avoided your eyes, focusing instead on the task at hand.

"You take such good care of me." You whispered, reaching up to touch his hand. “You don’t have to, you know?”

“I know,” he said with a slight frown, his eyes finally meeting yours. “But I want to. You deserve it.”

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” Max carried you to the bedroom, letting you climb him like a koala as you giggled into his shoulder. He set you down gently, pulling the covers over you before crouching beside the bed. You blinked at him sleepily, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“You’re like a knight,” you mumbled, your voice thick with drowsiness. “My very own knight in shining armour.”

Max chuckled, shaking his head. “A very tired knight,” he replied, brushing a stray hair from your face. “But you’re going to hate me in the morning if I let you go to sleep without water and something for your hangover.”

“I don’t hate you,” you slurred, blinking up at him with glassy eyes. “I could never hate you.”

His chest tightened at the sincerity in your tone, “Stay awake for just a few more minutes okay? I’ll be right back.”

You made a soft noise of protest as he stood, but you didn’t try to stop him. Max moved quietly through the apartment, grabbing a glass from the kitchen and filling it with cold water. From the bathroom he grabbed a pack of paracetamol, the domesticity of the routine bringing a faint smile to his lips.

When he returned you were still half-propped against the pillows, your eyes fluttering open at the sound of his footsteps.

“Here,” Max said, sitting on the edge of the bed. He handed you the glass and pressed two pills into your palm. “Take these and drink some water. Trust me, you’ll thank me in the morning.”

You squinted at the pills like they’d personally offended you. “Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Max replied firmly, his lips quirking upward. “No arguments.”

“Bossy,” you muttered, but you popped the pills into your mouth and swallowed them with some water. “Happy now?”

“Very.”

You handed the glass back to him, and he set it on the nightstand before leaning forward to pull the blankets higher around you.

“I’m so lucky you’re my Maxie,” you sighed.

“Sleep,” he said softly, stroking your cheek.

“Stay,” you murmured, your eyes already half-closed.

Max hesitated, his heart twisting with adoration, before nodding. “I’ll be right here.”

Grid Mum 2 | MV1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Growing attached to the rookies meant that you now cared for them off track as well. So when some of them are not treated well by their teams, you and Max take your role of grid parents very seriously.

Author's Note: ok so i usually don't plan on doing part 2 for my fics but @robinivoryanvalentine gave me ideas and this lil thing was born ig so shout out to them🫶🏻 i have one request left that I'm hoping to write soon now that it's FINALLY school break and i hope I'll also get some inspo w the rest of the triple header🙂‍↕️

F1 MASTERLIST🏎 | Previous Part | Next Part

From the moment you had accepted that Max’s grid kids were also yours in the process, you had thought that your interactions with them would only be during race weekends. However, when you saw that some drama was already happening even though the season had barely started, you decided that the rookies would become both your on and off track children.

It had begun with Jack.

You had never been Alpine’s biggest fan – you mostly considered Esteban and Pierre as acquaintances during the previous season – and it had gotten worse when Flavio was back in the paddock. Still, you were glad for Jack when it was announced that he would get a full-time seat for the 2025 season – although it was a shit move from Alpine to sack Esteban for the last grand prix of 2024.

The drama had started a bit after Alpine announced their reserve drivers for 2025. First, Paul Aaron. He was a good driver, and had done a good F2 season, despite the insane amount of car issues he had suffered from. Then, Franco Colapinto. Having raced for a third of the 2024 season with Williams, Franco had quickly become a fan favourite due to this charming personality.

The issue wasn’t Alpine having two reserve drivers – it was honestly quite usual. No, the actual issue lay in fans already expecting Jack’s downfall so that Franco could take his place. Everyone was claiming that Jack only had the first five races to prove himself, and then it would be goodbye for him.

Then, it got even worse. Shortly after the New Year, Alpine announced their third reserve driver. You remembered seeing the news and being really surprised because “why do they need so many plans b?” – that’s what you had said to Max, who had agreed and had then proceeded to diss the French team for the next few minutes. And if you thought that they were done, you were wrong because Alpine waited until a few days before the first race of the season to announce their fourth reserve driver.

You truly hoped that Jack wasn’t too stressed about it, but the latest season of Drive To Survive showed you that he definitely was. The scene between Jack and Flavio in the latter’s office had truly scared you, and you couldn’t imagine the amount of pressure they were putting on the Aussie.

It also didn’t help when Jack DNFed at his home race, which led to the fans clearly awaiting the day when Alpine would replace him with Franco. The dinner you had invited him to along with the other rookies had helped, but you knew that it was only temporary comfort until the following races. The next week in China had been a bit better: Jack had finished 13th after the three DSQs, which wasn’t so bad, but you had seen the comments everywhere. ‘Fans’ were still dreaming of Franco taking his seat, not caring one bit about Jack.

You were truly saddened by the situation. Jack didn’t deserve that kind of reaction – no driver did. The only thing he deserved was the opportunity to prove himself, and his full potential couldn’t be seen after two races.

Two. races. were. not. enough.

And yet, it wasn’t Alpine that was currently at the origin of your newly-found anger. No, right now, you were only mad at one team: Red Bull Racing.

You had seen the rumours online. You had heard about them in the paddock. You hadn’t wanted to believe them; they were rumours for a reason. So when Max told you the news before it would be public, you thought he had been messing with you. You had been back in Monaco in your shared flat, when he announced it to you:

“Don’t be mad but…” Max waited for you to look at him before he kept talking. “They’re dropping Liam”.

“What?” Did you hear it well?

“Red Bull”, Max explained. “They’re switching Liam and Yuki.”

“You’re joking?”

“Wish I was, honestly. It’s such a shit decision, but I have no say in this.”

You were kind of glad that even Max wasn’t agreeing with the switch, but it still hurt. You were mad. Mad for Liam. Mad at Red Bull.

“Do they not realise they’re the fucking problem?” You couldn’t help the venom in your tone. “Have been for years. But no, it’s always the driver.”

“I know… Trust me, I wish I could have helped tilt the balance on the other side. Turns out my opinion suddenly doesn’t matter.”

“Shocker”, you sarcastically replied. You knew Max had vouched for Liam to stay; but when his team had decided something, even their star driver apparently didn’t have any right to go against it. “Do they wish to destroy another driver’s career?” You thought about Yuki, with whom you’d been friends for years since he had joined Racing Bulls. “At this home grand prix, that’s fucked up.”

“You know everything Red Bull does is fucked up at this point. That’s like your main take everytime they do something.”

“Am I wrong, though?” You raised an eyebrow at your boyfriend.

“Unfortunately, no.” Max sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “I guess I won’t see you in my garage in Japan, then?”

“I’m not that much of a bitch, Max. I’ll show up for Yuki, obviously.”

“Obviously”, Max repeated with a chuckle. “You’ll text me which garage I have to collect you from, yeah?”

“You know me so well.” You smiled at him, before pulling him close for a quick kiss. “When are they announcing it?”

“I think some media are confirming it today, but the teams will only post about it starting tomorrow.”

“Does Liam actually know?” This was the dreaded question. You knew Red Bull was bad enough that they were capable of telling him after the entire world was made aware.

“He does, yeah.” Max thought for a second. “Don’t know for sure if they told him before Yuki, but they were decent enough not to let him find out through the internet.”

“I hope so.” You pulled out your phone, your thumb hovering over the messages application. “Is it too early to text him?” You really wanted to show Liam your support, but you were scared that Red Bull had actually been too cowardly to not notify Liam until the very last minute.

“Might be good to wait a couple days”, Max suggested. “He might be home right now, so he’ll probably have his family and friends with him.”

You nodded at Max’s words, agreeing to wait until the information would be out everywhere. Still, you made a mental note to start thinking of what you could eventually do to lift the Aussie's and Kiwi's spirits.

…..

At the end of the week, the whole world had seen the news. Red Bull Racing had definitely swapped Liam with Yuki, deciding that the younger driver had not shown enough potential after only two races.

Trusting yourself, you did what you thought was right and texted Liam as well as Jack. You sent them your address, and offered to have them for dinner that evening. You knew that even though almost the entire grid lived in Monaco, it was actually quite rare for the drivers to hang out. Max, especially, loved to stay home in order to avoid seeing his work friends. However, he was surprisingly glad to have Jack and Liam. Your boyfriend had even helped to cook tonight’s meal, and you were certain the rookies would particularly enjoy this information.

Monaco was a small town, so it didn’t take long for Jack and Liam to arrive at yours. It was known on the grid where each driver lived in the city, but actually seeing where Max lived with their own eyes felt surreal to the young drivers. When you opened the door to see them both awkwardly standing next to one another, it only took one warm smile from you to help them relax. They cautiously followed you inside; admiring every piece of furniture, every picture, Max’s beloved simulator which looked out of place in the living room you had beautifully decorated.

The most surprising thing for Jack and Liam, though, wasn’t the wall full of helmets and trophies nor the silly cushions you had bought with cats’ faces on them. No, it was the shocking view of four-times world champion Max Verstappen who was wearing an apron and currently setting the table.

When he saw you, the loving smile on his face naturally appeared. He then noticed the two rookies behind you and gave them a nod.

“Hi”, he said to them. “Welcome to our home, I guess.”

“Thanks for having us,” Jack replied. “It’s nice here.”

“Yeah”, Liam agreed. He then raised his right hand that had been holding a bag. “Hmm… I brought dessert?”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have!” You exclaimed. “That’s so sweet of you, Liam.”

You took a large box out of the bag, and barely had time to put it on the table that another box got put down right next to it.

“We had the same idea”, Jack stated. “We didn’t buy the same thing, though. Had time to compare when we were in the lift.”

“You guys are so nice, thank you so much!”

Quickly opening each box, you saw that Liam had brought chocolate muffins while Jack had brought profiteroles. You let yourself out to the kitchen in order to put the boxes in the fridge, which meant that the drivers were now alone in the living room.

Safe to say, the atmosphere was quite awkward. There wasn’t any tension per say, but it wasn’t everyday that Max had people from his workplace at home. Remembering what he was wearing, Max looked down at his outfit and swiftly removed his apron.

“Yeah… hmm, sorry… you guys can sit down if you want. It’s almost ready.”

Jack and Liam thanked him with a nod, before they both pulled out the closest chair to them.

“Dinner is ready indeed, but everyone’s washing their hands before we eat please.” You had just come back to the living room. Your tone wasn’t harsh, but commanding enough that no one would disobey – exactly like a mother.

You made sure that everyone, including your boyfriend, had now washed their hands before leading them back to the table. You asked Max to bring the food there, which he did. Together, you had prepared lasagna as well as some potatoes to go with it.

You served the drivers, who all thanked you with a smile. You and Max were sitting next to each other, with Jack and Liam facing you both. You then all began to eat in a comfortable silence.

“Thanks again for having us,” Liam eventually said. “Food’s really good by the way.”

“It is”, Jack agreed with a nod.

“Max is a good cook, right?” You chuckled before offering them seconds, which they gladly accepted.

“Guess I have a plan b if racing doesn't work out,” Max claimed with a shrug. “Can't say that it's really going well recently.”

“We said no work talk, remember?” You reminded him while serving the rookies. “Tonight is supposed to be about anything but your jobs.”

“It’s fine, honestly.”

“Yeah, Jack’s right. If anything, better to talk about it with y’all than anyone else,” Liam added.

“Sure?” You wondered. They both nodded, which reassured you. “Well, if you don’t mind talking about work then I guess we can do so after dinner while racing.”

“Racing?” Liam and Jack repeated.

“Y’all know how to play F1 24?” You asked them, to which they positively answered. “Then yes, racing.”

Exchanging a glance, the two drivers in front of you were now even happier to be there. A proud smile made its way on your face, glad to have your boys in a good mood.

Dinner finished quickly enough after light-hearted chats. You learnt more about Jack’s and Liam’s childhood, while they asked you questions about your and Max’s relationship. They were really enjoying their time with you – even more than with Max – and loved getting to know you outside the track.

While the drivers were moving from the dining table to the sofas in front of the massive TV that adorned the wall, you went back to the kitchen to retrieve the desserts. When you came back, Max was giving controllers to Liam and Jack before he turned the game on.

Obviously not caring about you being here, Max left the racing mode on ‘expert mode’ which clearly wouldn’t bother the other drivers present. As expected, he chose to play himself. You let Liam select Lewis while Jack selected Oscar, before it was your turn. You picked Charles as you often did, and now it was actually time to race.

As usual when you played with Max, you didn’t do great. After a couple races, Liam and Jack realised that dating a world champion didn’t mean that you had gained his driving skills. So they decided to tone it down, and let you overtake them during the next race. You hadn’t noticed, simply thinking that this track wasn’t their favourite. Max, however, immediately realised what was going on.

“You shouldn’t let her win”, he told them while taking a quick bite from his muffin. “She’s used to losing, don’t worry about her.”

“Fuck you, Max.” You threw a cushion to his face, which didn’t even affect him as he still crossed the finish line in first position.

“You’re like the worst boyfriend ever, mate. I think my girl would kill me if I didn’t let her win from time to time,” Liam explained with a chuckle.

“What?” Max turned to Liam, a serious and intimidating look now on his face.

“I– I mean, not the worst of course!” Liam was scared he had joked about the wrong thing, and tried to take back his words. “You’re the racing driver so… yeah, makes sense you’re better than her.”

“I’m kidding, Liam.” Max simply said. “God, you’re easy to pressure.”

“And you are actually the worst”. Putting down your controller, you took a profiterole and faced the rookies. “Please don’t let him scare you or some shit like that, he’s literally just a silly nerd. If anything, be the ones to intimidate him. I’ll teach you both his weaknesses.”

“I’ll ban you from my garage”, Max retorted.

“Great, I didn’t even wanna be there anyways.”

“I’ll ban you from the paddock”, Max added.

“Then I’ll date another driver who’ll give me access and overrule you”. You innocently smiled at your boyfriend, knowing that he wouldn’t manage to get the upper hand back.

“I’ll run him off track and he won’t be able to race anymore.”

“I’ll join the FIA and give you stop-and-go penalties.”

As they had been sitting between the two of you, Jack and Liam could only watch the exchange between you and Max as if it were a tennis match. They were deeply entertained, and one thought was certainly shared between them: they would definitely side with you against Max, no matter the situation.

Max was their grid mum on track. But you were their grid mum off track, and that was worth so much more to them. If Liam and Jack had been nervous to come spend the evening here, all their worries had now completely disappeared.

If anything, they could even pretend to still be bothered about what was happening to them in the Formula 1 world, just so they could spend more moments like this one. They wouldn’t need to, though. Even without the excuse of wanting to distract them and lift their spirits, you would still invite them to dinner the next day, before offering them a ride on Max’s plane as if it was yours – it kind of was, according to Max who deemed everything he owned as your possession too.

So when the four of you would arrive together in Japan, the other rookies might be jealous. They might ask Liam and Jack about how they pulled it off, and maybe the two would agree in telling a little white lie just so they would gatekeep the family time they spent with you and Max.

And it would eventually become a competition as a joke: who would be able to get the most time with their grid parents?

..........

Hope y'all enjoyed it!! Y'all cannot imagine how mad i was when the devil (rbr) switched liam and yuki - actually you kinda can bc i posted ab it lol

But i fr hate that they only give liam 2 races to prove himself like THAT'S😭NO😭ENOUGH😭 and for jack, well i saw that oliver oakes confirmed they ain't getting rid of him + plan of having him for the whole season but they aren't giving him enough love imo - like why tf y'all have 4 reserve drivers

Anywayyys i acc have no idea whether liam was made aware of the switch before it went public but let's pretend rbr ain't bitches

Don't hesitate to like or reblog if you liked this<3 and don't be shy to leave a comment so i can know your thoughts as well :))

See you soon, take care of yourselves, i love y'all xx

Call Me When You Breakup

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max is in the wrong relationship, and you both know it. But knowing isn’t choosing, and you’re done waiting.

1.8k words / Masterlist

You don't want to be here.

Not in this overpriced, dimly lit restaurant. Not sitting across from your best friend who, for all intents and purposes, should be yours but isn't. Not watching him share a plate of something too delicate, too refined, with someone who doesn’t know him the way you do.

You shouldn't be here, but you are. Because Max asked, and you’ve never been able to say no to him.

His girlfriend, the word itself sticks in your throat like it doesn’t belong there, sits beside him her hand curled possessively around his arm like it’s an accessory.

She's beautiful in that effortless way that makes it impossible to hate her, but easy to envy and you do, not because she's done anything wrong, but because she has him and you don’t. She’s the kind of girl who wears white to brunch and never spills anything. Who smiles with her teeth but never with her eyes. She laughs at all the right moments, smiles like she’s being watched, and you suppose she probably always is.

She tells people he’s different with her, like it’s some accomplishment, like she’s smoothed out all the parts of him that used to be real. And maybe that’s what she wants, a version of Max that’s easier to manage. More polished. Less... passionate.

And maybe he needs that. Maybe it’s easier to be loved when no one sees the cracks.

But you do.

And you love him anyway.

"You're quiet tonight."

Max's voice breaks through the fog of your thoughts, dragging you back into the present. His blue eyes flick to yours, brow furrowed. You know that look. Concern. Like he always gets when you're not yourself. Like he doesn't realise he’s the reason why.

"I'm fine," you lie, forcing a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. "Just tired."

His girlfriend, her name, why does her name escape you? Leans in, pressing a kiss to his cheek, whispering something you can’t hear. Max laughs, low and affectionate, and it splinters something inside you.

You force your attention back to your plate, pushing the delicate food around with your fork, though you have no appetite for it. Each bite seems tasteless, it’s not the kind of meal you’re used to. You’d much rather be somewhere familiar, somewhere real, where the food is greasy and the air is thick with laughter, the kind of places where Max talks with his hands and lets himself forget who he has to be.

But tonight, he’s wearing someone else’s life. And you’re just the spectator.

Max's laughter, though, it’s still real. It’s just harder to swallow now, harder to accept, because it’s not for you. Not tonight.

Then he leans in closer than necessary, voice dropping again, warm and soothing, bringing you back to the present. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Your heart stutters for a beat. The question, the tone it’s always the same. Always concerned. Always directed at you. But never for you. You’ve learned to ignore the quiet ache that blossoms each time, because it’s pointless.

"I'm fine," you repeat, this time with more conviction. The smile feels less forced but still unnatural. "I promise."

His eyes linger on you like it’s a habit he can’t break, and you can tell he’s not buying it. His gaze flicks briefly to his girlfriend, who is now chatting animatedly with the waiter about some wine pairing, before he leans in, close enough that only you can hear.

"Are you sure? You know you can talk to me right?"

That damn sweetness in his voice. That quiet tenderness he saves just for you, like a secret between the two of you, a secret you’re not sure you can keep much longer. His girlfriend is only a few inches away, but the distance between you and Max has never felt more cavernous.

You swallow, unable to look at him, because if you do, you might say something you can’t take back. Something that would shatter the delicate balance you’ve managed to maintain.

You want to tell him that you're not fine. That you haven’t been for a long time. But you can’t. You just can't.

Instead, you nod, your throat tightening, unable to force the words past your lips. He doesn’t need to know. Not now. Not when it could ruin everything.

Later that night when you’re alone in your apartment, you do what you swore you wouldn’t.

You scroll through old photos, ones where it was just you and Max, before… before everything became complicated. Late-night drives through Monaco, your legs propped up on his dashboard. His arm around you after a race, champagne still clinging to his skin. The way he looked at you, like you were his whole world.

And maybe you were.

Maybe, for a time, he was yours too.

You miss him. Not the version of him you get now, careful and distant, but the Max who used to call you at 3 a.m. just to talk. The Max who used to sit on your bathroom counter while you took off your makeup, who would trace patterns into your wrist absentmindedly as you talked about the future.

That version of Max doesn’t exist anymore.

Or maybe he does. Maybe he’s just buried under the weight of a relationship that isn’t meant for him.

She’s the safe choice. The quiet, easy path. She’ll never demand the real version of him, but she’s there and for now that’s enough for him.

Your fingers hover over his name in your phone, heart hammering in your chest. You shouldn’t call.

But you want to.

Call me when you break up.

The words sit on the tip of your tongue, but you swallow them down.

Instead, you type a message you’ll never send.

We’re so meant for each other, when will you wake up?

You read the words, and the weight of them sinks deep in your chest. But you delete them immediately. They’re too raw. Too desperate. Too honest.

With a shaky breath, you shut off your phone, the screen fading to black.

The thing about being in love with Max Verstappen is that you never really stop waiting.

You wait for him to see you. Wait for him to realise what you've always known. Wait for the moment when he’ll turn to you and say, it was always you.

But waiting is exhausting.

And you're tired of feeling like an afterthought.

So you do what any rational, heartbroken person would. You try to forget.

You let strangers buy you drinks, let them whisper sweet nothings into your ear, let them kiss you in the dark corners of bars where no one knows your name. You chase distractions, hoping that one of them will make you feel something, anything, other than the ache of missing him.

But they never do.

Because none of them are Max.

And maybe that’s why when your phone rings one night, his name flashing across the screen, you still answer without hesitation. Because this isn’t the first time. It’s become a pattern. A quiet, painful ritual. A fight with her. A call to you.

"Hey."

He sounds off. Tired. Worn down in a way you’ve never heard before.

"Can I come over?"

Your pulse spikes. "Max—"

"I just… I don’t want to be alone right now."

The unspoken words hang between you.

I don’t want to be with her right now.

You exhale shakily. "Yeah. Of course."

Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rings, cutting through the silence that had settled over your apartment like a heavy fog. You stand frozen for a moment, uncertainty crawling up your spine, before you force your legs to move.

He looks wrecked. Like he hasn't slept in days. He doesn't say anything at first, just steps inside, closing the distance between you in a way that makes your breath catch.

"Did something happen?" you ask softly.

Max shakes his head, exhaling sharply. "I just needed to see you."

The space between you closes with a speed that makes your pulse skip. It’s like he’s always known the exact way to find you, to make everything else fade away, to pull you back in like you’re a magnet and he’s the force that won’t let you escape.

His eyes search yours, and it’s in that moment you realise he knows.

He knows he's with the wrong person.

He knows that no matter how much he tries to pretend, it’s always been you.

But knowing something and choosing it are two entirely different things.

And you’re tired. Tired of waiting for him to make the right choice. Tired of standing here, always second. Always the backup when things aren’t perfect in his world.

So you step back, putting space between you that feels like a chasm.

"You can’t do this," you whisper. "You can't just run to me when things go wrong with her. It’s not fair."

His jaw tightens at your words, the muscle in his cheek twitching, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he looks down, taking a long breath, his chest rising and falling with the weight of something unspoken. You can see the frustration, the guilt in the way his shoulders tense, but it doesn’t change anything.

"I—"

"You love me Max." Your throat tightens, interrupting him before he can pull you in, and you hate the way your voice cracks on the last word, but you don’t care. "I know you do."

Silence.

Painful, suffocating silence.

But then—

"I do." His voice is raw, like the words are being torn from him. "I do love you."

Your breath stutters. "Then why are you still with her?"

Max opens his mouth to respond, but the words die on his lips. His eyes dart away from yours, like he’s trying to find the right thing to say but can’t. He clenches his fists at his sides, and the tension in his body is palpable. "I... I don’t know," he mutters, voice thick. "I don’t know what I’m supposed to do."

"You’re supposed to choose Max!" Your voice cracks, the frustration bubbling over.

He opens his mouth again, but the words won't come. You watch him struggle, like he’s stuck in a loop of his own making. "I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to hurt you," he says, regret creeping in.

"But you have," you say, your voice steady but filled with everything you’ve been holding in. "You have hurt me Max. And you don’t get to keep doing that and expect me to just be here when you feel like it."

Max takes a step toward you, but you shake your head, stepping back. "No," you whisper, shaking your head. "You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to have me when it’s convenient for you. You either choose me, or you don’t."

Max opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Because there’s no excuse. No reason good enough.

Just fear.

Of change. Of consequences. Of finally choosing what’s real over what’s easy.

And you? You’re done waiting for him to be brave.

So you smile, even though it hurts. Even though your heart is shattering.

"Call me when you break up."

Then you shut the door.

Milk and Sugar

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Not edited, cursing maybe, the ex gf isn’t anyone specific don’t @ me

Summary: Max is tired of his persistent ex girlfriend and friends that are maybe a little too empathetic about his breakup. What better way to scare them off than getting a new girlfriend? But he doesn’t actually want a new relationship. Enter: you. The perfect (fake) new girlfriend.

Word Count: 9.6k

Authors Note: this fic was kicking my ass im gonna be so fr. It took forever and I just couldn’t write the ending for some reason. Hopefully now that this is up, I can do something else lmfao

You were just doing a favor for a friend.

Or that’s what you had told yourself when Max had originally asked you to go along with his stupid idea. You hadn’t even really wanted to agree, by the way. He had just needed your help so badly and that’s what friends are for, right?

So that’s how you’d ended up in his garage, Red Bull hat pulled tightly over your head as you watched his car sail around the track in Brazil, the season well under way.

You’d met Max a few years back. You’d moved into the apartment next to his, not even blinking as your eyes scanned over the future world champion, too focused on your dog trying his best to distract you from the heavy box in your hands.

“Apollo! Stop!” You sighed at the dog as he jumped at your legs, trying his hardest to knock the box full of dog food and treats out of your arms. The dog, not knowing English, didn’t listen, of course, continuing his assault on your calves.

The box tilts in your grasp, coming dangerously close to falling out of your arms. But suddenly, the weight is lifted away and Apollo seems to turn his attention to whatever had relieved you from your struggle, giving you the opportunity to pull the small dog into your grasp, trying your best to calm his rowdiness down.

Once you’ve gotten the dog to calm down a significant amount, you look up to see who’d saved you from hours of cleaning loose dog food off the floor during your first day in your new apartment. You’re met with bright blue eyes staring back at you, a concerned look on the strangers face.

You’re too worried about the pretty man in front of you to even worry about Apollo as he starts to nibble lightly on your jacket.

“Are you okay?” And then he speaks for the first time and you’re captivated. Not in a love-at-first-sight way, of course. More of a this-guy-might-be-perfect kind of way.

You nod, gently separating your dogs mouth off your hoodie string, petting his, most-likely, empty head warmly, “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. This little guy just really wanted that food, I guess.”

The stranger laughs, moving the box in his arms to rest against his hip, “I’m more of a cat person, anyway.”

You fake a wince, shaking your head with a frown, “Ahh, guess we can’t be friends then, mysterious stranger. Im a dog person all the way.”

He laughs again, grinning warmly, “Any way I could help you with this? Can’t imagine it’s easy moving in with a dog running around.”

Your eyes widen at his words, your hand fumbling to fish the key to your new apartment out of your pocket, “Only if you’re free! I wouldn’t want to bother my new neighbor on my first day.”

Your neighbor shakes his head, light brown hair falling down on his forehead, “It’s no big deal, I’m surprisingly free today.”

You smile, pushing the door to your apartment open, setting Apollo down as you enter. The dog immediately starts to scope out the area, bounding up and down the halls, his collar jangling loudly as he does. You hear the man enter behind you, watching as he walks over and places the box of dog food on the counter in the kitchen.

“Usually I learn a man’s name before I invite him into my apartment,” you smirk, laughing as a blush coats your neighbors face. He takes the few steps back over to close the gap between you, sticking out a calloused hand toward you.

“I’m Max.”

You smile, repeating his name before reciting your own, clasping your hand in his much rougher one, tilting your head up at him as you shake, letting go after a few moments.

“It’s nice to meet you max,” you say, smiling as you see Max’s face light up happily, “How inclined would you be to helping me get the rest of my boxes?”

Max laughs as he sees the sweet grin on your face, shaking his head as he moves toward the door, “I’d love to help, y/n. Can’t have my new favorite neighbor moving in alone, can I?”

Your face splits into a grin as you follow him toward the exit, turning to make sure Apollo was comfortably inside the apartment so he wouldn’t try and run away before closing the door behind you.

Max did help you that day, the moving in process going substantially quicker with the help of the athlete. He even invited you over to his place for dinner, explaining that it’d be too much of a hassle for you to make dinner after moving in all day. You didn’t bring up the fact he’d been moving all day as well, simply following him next door instead.

That had been three years ago and you’d been friends ever since. It was a casual friendship, more moved by the proximity than anything else.

He’d had to explain f1 to you, you being completely unfamiliar with the sport despite having moved to Monaco, probably the place with the most connection to it. Now, you’d casually watch his races as you worked or ate dinner, not entirely sure what was going on but supporting your friend anyway.

He’d also eventually asked you to watch his cats for him, Jimmy and Sassy being surprisingly friendly with your puppy. Max had been scared about introducing them, prefacing with many statements about how much the cats hated dogs and that it really wouldnt be a problem if you couldn’t watch them if they hated each other.

All that talk went out the window when the first thing the pets did when they met each other was take a nap.

It was January when it happened. You had been sitting calmly in your apartment, watching Bridgerton and eating pasta, your work computer abandoned to the side of the couch. You had a blanket pulled over your lap, a hot mug of tea sitting on the coffee table in front of you. Rare snow fell softly outside your window, albeit not very much snow but snow nonetheless.

You were very content.

This, of course, all came crashing down when you heard the sound of your apartment door banging open, heavy footsteps signaling the arrival of your neighbor. You’d given him a key for emergencies, although you couldn’t possibly imagine what could warrant an emergency at this time.

You roll your eyes as you hear him approach, setting your pasta down on the table and grabbing the remote to pause your show, turning as Max throws himself down on the couch next to you.

“Hello, Max. Can I help you?” You sigh, trying to force a smile onto your face. Max seems to catch your discontent and grimaces, wincing away slightly.

“Bad time?”

You let out a breath, not able to stay mad at the Dutch man for very long, “Maybe a little, but it’s fine, really. Did you need something?”

Max nods, sitting up straighter, “I may or may not have a formal request. Neighbor to neighbor.”

You furrow your eyebrows at his response, noting his slightly nervous behavior, “Okay?”

He takes a deep breath before speaking, his eyes trailing over toward where your tv was currently paused, “You know how I just went through that breakup, right?”

You hum, all too familiar with the aforementioned breakup, having had Max barge into your apartment for comfort food and movie marathons more than a few nights in the wake of his, now ex, girlfriends departure.

“Well,” Max starts and you can sense the hesitation in his tone but considering he had interrupted your night, you opted to let him flounder, “It’s been weird on the grid since then.”

“Okay,” you hum, eyes glancing over his face and catching the way he grimaces.

“Ever since the break-up, all the guys have been looking at me like I’m a child, you know? Like I might fall apart any second. Even though I’m completely fine!”

You stare, knowing more than anyone else, that he wasn’t very fine for a while, although he’d miraculously recovered over the past few months. You also stared in hopes he’d soon get to the point of the conversation.

“They also keep trying to set me up with their friends as if I need a rebound when I would really rather stay single,” Max groans, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. Your furrow your eyebrows, wondering where this could be going.

Max glances up, eyes avoiding yours at all costs, “I was wondering if you could, maybe..”

Max trails off, wincing slightly. You stare straight ahead at him blankly, waiting for him to finish his request. He does eventually mumble something under his breath and you lean forward, eyebrows raised.

“Sorry?”

Max grumbles, annoyed and you roll your eyes at the attitude of the man disrupting your own night.

“Could you pretend to be my girlfriend for a while?” Max rushes out, hands carding through his hair nervously, “Just long enough for the guys to leave me alone, you don’t even have to do anything, maybe just come to Brazil and Monaco-“

Max continues to ramble on for a few seconds, words seeming to fall out of his mouth unceremoniously before he’s cut off by you interrupting him.

“Max!” You raise your voice slightly in an attempt to talk to over him. Max freezes, looking at your face for the first time since he’s crashed through your front door, “I’ll do it.”

He stares at you blankly for a few moments, trying to process your words, “Really?”

You shrug, teeth digging into your lip as you turn your head toward the large window across the room that overlooked the darkened city of Monte Carlo, “Why not? You’re my friend. Plus I work remotely and who doesn’t want to travel around the world to all those different cities?”

Max’s face lights up at your response, his lips forming a huge grin. He rolls over into a lying position, practically star-fishing on your couch, “Thank you so much! I owe you one.”

You hum, fighting the smile on your lips as you watch him close his eyes calmly. You slip up from the couch quietly, padding over to the kitchen to grab something.

“Where are you going? Did I scare you off already?” You hear Max call as you walk away. As you walk back over, his eyes are still closed though, signaling that he didn’t really think he’d scared you off.

He does open his eyes as you set the bowl of leftover pasta and a fork on his chest before grabbing your own and sitting down, grabbing the remote to press play. He glances over as you settle into the couch and move your blanket over your lap before he sits up. You take a bite of your pasta as you continue to watch your show. Max takes a second but he eventually digs in as well, sitting up in order to grasp the bowl better.

Even after the pastas finished, you both sit back on the couch in order to finish the show. You glance over at Max, his eyes still locked onto the screen.

What had you gotten yourself into?

————

“Are you ready?”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you sit in the passengers seat of Max’s car, the hoards outside having no idea what was waiting for them inside. You slide your sunglasses onto your nose, hoping they’d hide at least a little bit of the anxiety flowing through you.

You nod, turning your head toward Max in the drivers seat, “Yeah, I’m good.”

Max hums, not entirely convinced but also aware he had no other option but to believe you considering he’s the one who’d asked you to do this. He opens his door, stepping out and sliding his own sunglasses on. You watch as he walks around the front of the car before stopping in front of your door and pulling it open. You pause for a moment but eventually step out, trying not to wince as the bright sun hits you.

You immediately step into his path, falling into stride next to him as you both walk toward the entrance. You hear the car lock behind you and watch Max pocket the keys.

The bright Miami sun beats down on your skin, causing you to wish you’d opted for a thinner shirt. Max had originally proposed for your first race to be Monaco but you had decided it was better to appear earlier than later for his sake. Plus, you’d always enjoyed Miami and were up for the idea of traveling there. You’d also originally planned to buy your own plane tickets but Max was quick to shut that one down.

As you both approached the turnstiles, Max pulls his lanyard out of his pocket. You don’t even notice as he pulls you inside the paddock, too busy trying not to notice the cameras surrounding you. Flashes come from all around you, the incessant clicks echoing through your head.

You finally do notice that Max hasn’t let go of your hand after he pulled you into the paddock. You grasp his hand a little tighter and he pulls you closer into his side as a response. When heat starts to rise to your face, you decide to blame it on the Miami sun.

As you both walk toward the Red Bull hospitality, heads turn to watch you walk by. You can feel people’s eyes trailing after you, locked on your unfamiliar form. Everything new in the paddock very quickly became a spectacle. Especially when it involved the current world champion.

You’re sure you’ll see pictures of yourself splashed all across the internet when you wake up in Max’s hotel room the next day. You’re sure your mom will send you whatever article they’ll attach your name to, no doubt hounding you for information about your new celebrity “boyfriend”.

You’d been curled up in Max’s hotel room the whole weekend, occasionally dipping out to get food with him between events. He’d wanted you to come to the track since Thursday but you weren’t entirely sure you were ready to step out as “Max Verstappens new girlfriend” until you’d woken up Sunday morning.

You’d woken up before Max, somehow. As you laid in your plush hotel room bed, you could hear Max’s soft breathing from the other bed filtering through the silence of the morning. Just outside the window, the city of Miami was waking up. At least, the early birds were.

You and Max had slept in the same room enough over the years, Max randomly crashing at your place pretty often, that when he suggested you getting a different room, you’d immediately turned him down. You were telling yourself it was just because it was nice to have the comfort of a friend but something deep down knew that that wasn’t the only reason.

You let the only sounds be his breathing and the light hum of the air on unit for a few more minutes while you woke up. You slid out of the bed as silently as possible, your feet padding quietly against the carpeted floor. You pull the door open to the balcony slowly, stepping out before closing it behind you. The sun is still pretty low in the sky but it still makes you flinch as it seeps into your eyes.

You sink into one of the two chairs out on the balcony, pulling your knees up to your chest and resting your chin on top, letting your thoughts run wild.

You watch Miami move below you, the sun slowly shining down brighter and brighter, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.

You weren’t entirely sure why you’d agreed to this idea so quickly. With every day that passed, you wished more and more that you hadn’t. Doubt seeped through you with every second you watched Max from the hotel television. He was just so good at his job and such a cool, wonderful person and athlete. How could you keep up with him? The press would be insistent and non-stop invasive. Fans would, no doubt, dogpile on you as well, both warning to know everything about you as well as rip you apart. You start to wonder if there was a single positive of this for you.

The door slides open behind you and you can hear Max moving onto the balcony beside you. You don’t glance over, only moving your gaze away from the skyline as a mug is held in front of your face. You glance down at it, spotting the coffee inside before you grasp the mug out of his hands gently. The ceramic warms your hands, the steam from the liquid splaying across your face.

“There was only those little creamer pods,” Max hums as he takes a sip of his own mug, leaning against the bannister in front of you, “Hope that’s okay.”

You chew at your lip, taking a sip of your own mug, humming lightly as your gaze locks on his back, “That’s fine, thanks.”

You’d usually take your coffee with milk and a spoonful of sugar but you’d had enough gas station or hotel room coffee that you’d be able to survive with just the creamer pods.

You watch Max’s side profile as he stares out at the city, the sun bouncing off the edges and planes of his face and perfectly lighting up his eyes. You bask in quiet that settles between you, sipping at your coffee periodically. You don’t quickly forget the kindness of his gesture. Actually, the action stays in your head for longer than it probably should, mind running wild as you think about his motives.

You dismiss it, though, not wanting to linger on something that probably meant nothing.

“You coming to the race today?” Max turns around to face you, his back leaning against the rail he’d just been looking out over.

Your eyes trace him as he turns, evaluating his early morning form. As you look at this man, your friend, you think about the coffee in your hands. You think about the times he’d dogsat Apollo despite hating dogs, the days he’d come over just to keep you company when you were homesick, when he’d attempted to cook you soup when you’d been sick despite his complete inability to cook soup, you even think back to the first day you’d met when he’d helped you move in despite having known you for all of thirty seconds.

As all those memories passed through your mind, you suddenly remember why you’d agreed to do this in the first place.

“Yeah, I am,” you reply, taking a long sip of your coffee and hiding your grin as one of his own makes its way onto his lips.

————

That had been earlier that morning and know you were sat in Red Bull, watching as Max’s car passes the finish line in second. You’d been biting your nails the whole time, worry seeping through you. You weren’t the biggest formula 1 nerd but Max had forced you to watch enough old races for you to get what was going on. You’d even started watching his races when he was gone, something that had taken you months to admit.

Because of Max’s insistence, you knew enough to grimace as the safety car came out. You were right to grimace, of course, as Lando was quick to pass your friend, taking the lead and the win. Max, for what it’s worth, didn’t seem too angry about the result. You were aware of Landos lack of wins, seeing why his winning would make everyone happy, even the losers. Not that you were too happy, you’d only ever and only ever would cheer for Max, even if Lando was deserving of a win of his own.

Max doesn’t get asked about you during interviews. At least, not directly. He gets asked how life had been and he answers with a vague answer about love and how great life has been. You know he’s talking out of his ass but you’re grinning anyway, not able to hold back you mind from thinking about a world where everything he was saying was true.

“Landos gonna have a big celebration,” Max starts as he gets back to you after the podium, walking you both back toward his room so he can change, “He’ll probably be awake for the next 72 hours.”

You smile lightly, resting a tired head against his sweaty shoulder, “Good for him, seems like he really deserves it.”

Max nods with a pleasant look on his face, “Yeah, I’m not even that mad about losing. Nothing I could’ve done really. Im just glad he got his win.”

You nod, taking a breath in order to hold back the yawn threatening to leave your mouth, “You should go to his party, I’ll just go grab some dinner and head back to get some sleep.”

You both stop as you reach his room, Max facing you as he leans back against the door to open it. You notice the deep furrow in his eyebrows as he locks eyes with you, “What are you talking about?”

You furrow your own eyebrows as a response, tilting your head to the side, “You should go celebrate with your friend? Go have fun, Max!”

He shakes his head as he enters the room, quickly gathering his things to go take a quick shower, “Why would I celebrate a loss with a coworker when I can get some quality time with a friend instead? I’d rather celebrate a win with you instead of a loss without you. Trust me, you’ll be there to see me win.”

You’re already at a loss for words at his response but your rendered speechless as Max pulls his fireproofs off, tossing the shirt to the side passively. He turns away from you and you watch his muscles ripple under his skin, your face hearing greatly. His arms flex as he reaches for something and you have to bite your lip to keep your mouth closed. Your eyes are wide as he turns to glance over his shoulder at you, “That okay?”

At the risk of sounding like an idiot if you attempt to respond with words, you simply nod, eyes moving toward the floor. You don’t notice the smirk that forms on his lips as he catches your stare.

“I’m gonna shower and then we can leave,” he calls out over his shoulder as he walks into his bathroom. Your eyes are still locked onto the floor. You hear the sound of water pattering against the floor just after the door shuts.

You take a large sip of your water bottle, trying to wet your drying throat and keep the heat in your face at bay. You feel like you might be going crazy, the image of Max’s shirtless back etched into your mind.

Jesus Christ.

————

“What do you wanna watch?” Max mumbles through a mouth full of pizza, his hand coming up to covering it as he speaks.

You shrug, “I don’t know.”

Max shrugs as well, grabbing the remote off the nightstand and passively flickering through the channels as he swallows his bite of pizza, “Come get some food.”

He gestures toward the box of pizza on the edge of his bed with the remote, glancing toward you sitting in your own bed, watching him instead of the tv. You slide off the bed, taking the few steps it takes to get to his own and gently settling on the side he wasn’t currently sitting on.

Max watches you move, humming as you grasp a piece from the pizza box before he turns his attention back to the screen. You don’t notice as he settles on a movie, too busy trying not to absolutely scarf down the food in your hand.

Your eyes do leave the slice to glance over at Max, legs outstretched with his back firmly against the headboard. He’s wearing a Red Bull hoodie, even managing to wear team merch in his own bedroom. He’s also got some old basketball shorts, a faded logo sitting on the upper thigh that, no matter how much you try, you can’t understand.

You look away when you hear the familiar sound of Lightning McQueen echoing out of the television speakers. You quickly catch sight of the Italian formula car, deducing that Max has chosen Cars 2, of all movies.

You try your best not to laugh but a giggle escapes you anyway, causing you to bury your head in your shoulder to try and hide your grin.

“What?” Max asks you and you look forward again, eyes locked onto the movie, “What’s so funny?”

Your head turns toward the driver who’s grin is now matching your own, “You chose probably the only movie on here that uses the words “Grand Prix” can’t even get away from racing in your hotel room.”

He feigns offense for a few moments before reaching forward to grab another piece of pizza and sliding down into more of a lying position, “It’s a good movie.”

You both turn to the screen for a few moments but the second Lewis Hamilton’s voice rings out in the silence, you laugh loudly, Max groaning beside you.

You quickly dissolve into giggles, trying your hardest to reign it in but when you look over and see the amused frown on Max’s face, you’re right back into it again, Max laughing in response.

You both do eventually settle down, watching the movie and eating your food together. Even after the pizza box is empty and max moves to set it on the table, you don’t move from your spot, using the reasoning that it’s just easier to see the screen from his bed.

You try not to notice the proximity between you. You’d been holding hands all day and you’d pressed several kisses to his cheeks and forehead, being near him shouldn’t bother you. But when you shift slightly closer just to get more comfortable and Max’s arm falls down over your shoulder, you freeze, keeping as still as you can.

He doesn’t move his arm through the rest of the movie. Not that you’d know, considering you drift off with about half an hour to go. But Max doesn’t notice that either, considering how he fell asleep just after.

You wake up before him again the next morning, don’t the same thing you’d done the day before and walking out to the balcony. Max does the same thing he did as well, walking out with two mugs grasped gently in his grip.

When you take the mug from him, you try not to think about the fact you’d woken up limbs tangled with his and your face pressed into his chest.

————

The São Paulo Grand Prix.

It had been 6 months of this charade with Max. That’s right, you’d managed to suffer through 6 whole months of pretending to be his girlfriend. There’s been countless headlines from various news sites, trying their best to figure out every single detail about your life and relationship with Max.

The only thing keeping your mind together was the root of the problem himself and your prolonged roommate, Max.

He was actually really lovely. Every time you suggested a different room for his sake, you’d end up right where you were the week before, in a bed across from his. You’d also kept the same morning routine every day, waking up before Max and sitting out on the balcony until he brought coffee out for both of you.

He’d eventually gotten to a point where he sat in the chair next to you as opposed to standing up and leaning against the railing. There was still little conversation, though, you both enjoying the silence of an early morning instead.

This specific morning, you were watching the city of São Paulo move along below you. Goosebumps raised slightly as the wind-chilled November air nipped at the skin on your arms. The sun hadn’t completely rose yet and the previous nights rain had left the air colder than it should’ve been. You found yourself rubbing your hands over your arms and wishing you’d worn something other than a t-shirt.

The door slides open behind you and you take the mug as it’s placed in your eye line, grateful for the heat of the mug to warm up your cold hands. You lower your face toward the mug, letting the steam warm up your wind-chilled skin. You go to take a sip but it burns at your lips when you tilt the mug, causing you to set it down on the small table in order for it to cool for a few moments.

After you set it down, something lands in your lap. You look down, holding the item up and quickly recognizing it as one of Max’s Red Bull hoodies. You glance over at him but he’s still looking out over the city below, sipping passively at his mug of black coffee.

You look back down at the item of clothing, glancing between it and the owner for a few seconds before deciding to slip it on, your cold skin winning out over any reasonable thought that would tell you not to wear it.

The hoodies too big for you and it smells like Max but you don’t really seem to mind either of those things. Especially as your skin heats as the fabric passes over it.

Once you’ve got the hoodie on, you pick up your coffee again, blowing on it slightly to cool it down. You raise the cup to your lips, letting the warm liquid flow into your mouth.

You hum at the taste, quickly noticing that it tastes different than usual. You furrow your eyebrows, taking another sip. The oh-so wonderful taste that you’d missed so dearly over the past 6 months takes over your tastebuds. The taste of real milk and sugar.

You hum pleasantly, grasping the cup tightly. You glance over toward the man who’d handed you the drink, “Is this milk and sugar?”

Max glances toward you for a split-second before he looks back over the city, taking a sip of his own coffee, “Yeah, that’s how you like it, right? You always drink it like that back home.”

You ignore the jolt in your stomach when Max refers to the Monaco apartments as a shared home. You bite your lip with an affirmative hum, “Where’d you get milk and sugar?”

“Couldn’t sleep last night, went for a walk. There’s a corner store down the block and I picked some up,” Max says it casually, like it’s not the most considerate anyone had been of you, maybe ever.

You stare at him for a few moments, trying to ignore the warm feeling in your chest as you imagine him thinking about you enough to buy coffee ingredients the way you liked them.

As you sat outside, in his hoodie, sipping on the coffee he had made and handed to you, you finally accept what you’d been trying to deny for six months, if not longer.

You were in love with Max Verstappen.

You longed for the domesticity that was so present on mornings like these. You wanted to live this life with him all the time. You didn’t just want to fall asleep beside him after a race but you wanted to be able to press your lips against his when he won instead of the light touches you’d flutter against his cheek. You wanted to wear his hoodies all the time, not just when you were cold and forgot one of your own. You wanted to stop pretending in front of his friends. You wanted the hushed whispers to be sweet nothings instead of scheming and planning.

You wanted this life with him. All the time.

“Max-” you start but you’re quickly cut off by Max as he speaks instead.

“My ex is going to be at this race,” he states and you close your mouth, deflating slightly as you look away, “Just wanted to prepare you in case we run into her. You could also, um, probably stop coming once you scare her off.”

You nod meekly, taking a sip of your coffee. What had once been your idea of a sanctuary with the silence of the morning is now too quiet, allowing your thoughts to be the only noise in your head, images of Max’s ex rolling around aimlessly.

You stand up quickly, taking rushed steps back into the room. You down the last sips of your coffee and slide it onto the table, moving hurriedly around the room to gather your things for a shower. You vaguely notice Max walking back into the room with a confused look but you don’t even look up as you rush into the bathroom, “I’m taking a shower.”

“Okay?” Max says as you close the door behind you. You don’t notice the frown on his face as he disappears from view.

You’re too busy throwing off his hoodie and turning the shower to practically scalding heat, trying your hardest to rid yourself of thoughts about a life with Max, thoughts of his ex-girlfriend or thoughts about the stupid coffee he’d handed you and how stupid you were to be reading so much into it.

For a moment there, you’d thought that Max was enjoying this as much as you were. But his words were quick to remind you that you were only there to do a favour for him. He is only there to get his friends and his ex off his back. After that, you were free to go. It even vaguely sounded like Max didn’t want you to come back around the next weekend.

Why else would he have said that? Why else would he have suggested you stop coming? Especially just after talking about his ex. It was a stark reminder that you were only a tool for him to mess with his ex. She was the one he’d loved, you were just a girl he knew.

You stay under the scalding water long enough for the mirrors to fog and your fingertips to prune. Your cuticles sting from where the hot water had made its way into the raw skin, the cuts still fresh from where you’d been anxiously picking at them.

You only pull yourself from the water when you start to sway from the heat, your head going light and an ache echoing through your skull.

————

A few hours later, you’re by Max’s side again, although there’s a slightly larger distance between you than usual.

That would change soon, no doubt, when Max spotted his ex, pulling you close to attempt to show his devotion to your fake relationship.

But for now, you're an arms-length away, hoping that pushing him away would also push away your own feelings.

Max can't grasp even an idea as to why you were acting like this. Did you really want this to be over that badly? He knew he'd mentioned the idea of your… situation ending but he didn't think you'd be this eager to get away from him.

At the first camera flash, you take a step closer to Max, knowing how even the smallest hint of discontent between you would be twisted for headlines and it would end with your concerned mother calling you fifty times to check on your relationship after seeing an article on Facebook.

So you step closer, reaching over to intertwine your hands. Max doesn't resist and you try not to read into the gentle squeeze he replies with.

Brazils nice. Or at least, you assume. You'd been too distracted to take much notice. But you do notice the fans yelling from all around. Lively crowds sway and shout in the distance, hues of blue and black and orange all represented amongst the groups.

Max leads you through the paddock, determination clear in his steps. It was most likely just his own determination not to talk to anyone, especially a certain ex-girlfriend.

You both get to Red Bull without an unwanted interaction and the second you're out of the public eye, you're dropping his hand, none the wiser to the confused look on the driver's face.

The tension's palpable in his small room. Awkward conversation flows, your words biting and curt. Neither of you wants to address the obvious undertones your words contain. One of hostility and unshared secrets. But you manage to survive until Max has to leave to get ready for the race and you follow just a few minutes later, making your way to watch said race.

The race is fine. Max wins, but you were never in doubt about that. He was starting from pole, it'd be pretty hard for him to lose. Lando finished just a few seconds behind him, having closed the gap a bit after getting past George.

As the team starts to leave to go greet Max, Christian Horner pulls you along, saying something about Max wanting you at the barrier after the race. You're sure its just so he can put on a show for his ex.

But you follow along anyway, trying not to stumble in your heels as Christian walks along a lot faster than you'd want to.

You pass through other teams and friends and guests or the drivers, waving slightly at people you’d gotten to know over the past six months. The thought of not seeing any of these people again after you and Max faked a breakup made your stomach hurt but you ignore it, trying to tell yourself it was for the better.

When Christian reaches the team, he guides you both through the crowd, smiling politely at the engineers as he slides by.

It seems you both reach the barrier just in time, as Max is parking when you come to a stop. You watch as he pulls himself out of the car, cheering a bit to the fans around as he stands atop it. When he pulls off his helmet and balaclava, you try your hardest not to smile at the pure joy on his face.

He glances over his shoulder at something you can't see before he turns and catches your eye, quickly moving in your direction. Before you can even say a word, he's set his helmet down and wrapped both his hands around the sides of your face, pulling it toward his own. His lips are warm, the heat of the race still emanating off of him. You dismiss the sweat in his hair as you wrap a hand softly around the nape of his neck, tangling your fingers in his locks. Your other hand rests on the side of his face, your thumb tracing the marks his helmet had left around his eyes.

You pull away first, glancing up into his eyes with a gentle smile, “Good job, you did amazing Max.”

His face heats and he glances away with a light chuckle, “Thank you, baby. I'm glad you're here.”

You wish he'd stop calling you that. At least for the sake of your heart jumping in your chest every time he does.

He looks away but your eyes are still firmly locked on the side of his face, tracing the familiar path around his features that they'd forged over the past six months. The same path they took every morning when you watched him look out over whatever city you were in that weekend. The same path they took when he fell asleep first during a movie in hopes of memorizing every detail before you slunk back into your own bed to fall asleep, the image of his face still etched into your mind.

But as you stare up at Max, trying to memorize the puzzle pieces of his face while he talks to Christian, you realize how futile of an endeavour it is. Not matter how hard you try, you'll never get the slope of his nose just right in your memories. You'll never get the right shade of turquoise for his eyes. The sandy-dark-blond of his hair will fade away until it was nothing in your mind but the shade of your coffee in the morning instead of the colour of his hair.

Maybe you should find a different apartment. Surely, Monaco had a different apartment complex that was far enough away from Max to rid yourself of the incessant thoughts of him that constantly plagued your love-adled brain.

Throughout all of that, you’d almost forgotten you were in love with him.

But when Max turns back to you, a glint in his eyes and a bright smile gracing his lips, you're suddenly all too aware of that fact.

“I’ll see you in a minute, yeah?”

You nod, smile slowly drifting as he walks away to get weighed and do all the usual post-race theatrics.

Christian pats his hand on your shoulder firmly, smiling as you turn around, “Let’s get to the podium, kid.”

You let Christian lead you away, yet again making his way through the crowd to get you both to the front.

The podium celebration is cute, Max’s happiness practically contagious. Lando and George are enthralled as well, the Brits both happy to back on the podium once again.

But when Max leans over to spray the champagne on the team, you put your hands over your face as Christian laughs beside you, both of you trying to avoid the sticky liquid as much as possible.

You peel away from the crowd after Max walks off, trying to find your way to wherever Max had gone.

As you'd left, you'd wandered away from Christian, who knew the paddock much better than you did. This was your first time here and you found yourself looking around for any sign of the Red Bull driver or, at least, a familiar face who could point you in the right direction.

It takes you a few minutes to gain your bearings but when you hear the familiar sound of Max’s voice, you go that direction, turning a corner to see his face.

And you do see him, post-race glow and all. But it's not just him you find. Standing entirely too close to him with her hand resting on his shoulder, is Max’s ex-girlfriend. She's smiling warmly, nodding animatedly at whatever it is Max is saying. Which, from constantly talking to him, you know is not worth the reaction she's giving him.

He's glancing around, clearly not comfortable with the situation. You huff, looking around before conceding and walking over to the pair. Were you maybe taking your time a little bit? Yeah, but you really didn't want to do this.

You roll your eyes when you catch Max’s eye and a relieved look rolls over his face, “Hey, baby.”

Max uses your arrival as an excuse to take a step back, swinging his arm around your shoulder. He's still covered in champagne and sweat but you ignore it, “Hey, Max.”

You finally glance up to meet the eye of the woman in front of you, her eyes narrowed as she looks between you, “Oh my god, hi! You must be Max’s ex!”

She rolls her eyes before smiling tightly with a nod of her head, “Yeah, I am. You must be his new girlfriend.”

You hum affirmatively, smiling wide as you glance over to the man beside you, “I am, yeah. He's just so perfect. We’re so happy together!”

She narrows her eyes again, glancing you up and down before her eyes stop on your face. You roll your head to the side to rest your temple on his shoulder, resting one of your hands against his chest.

“Well, I’m happy you moved on, Max,” She says, turning her entire attention to the man in question, “You seem… perfect together.”

Max gleams, nodding as he leans in to kiss your cheek, “Yeah, I’m really happy.”

His ex chews on her bottom lip for a few moments before huffing and moving away, turning to shout over her shoulder as she walks away, “Have a great life, Max!”

“Thanks, I guess!” Max replies, laughing as soon as the woman is out of earshot. He pulls away from your side, turning to fully face you.

“Thank you!” Max cheers, grasping your shoulders with his hands, “Did you see her face? She was so pissed that I'd moved on.”

You hum, letting him be happy by himself while you stood quietly, “Yeah, you're welcome.”

You peel away from Max, turning to go back to the car park so you can leave. You don't say anything to Max before you walk away, leaving him to jog to catch up to you.

“You okay?” He asks once he's by your side again. You glance over, catching the concerned look on his face.

“Yeah,” you nod curtly, looking back ahead, “Yeah, I'm fine.”

He doesn't seem convinced but he leaves it be, turning away as well.

He pretends not to notice when you coincidentally step away after he tries to grab your hand.

While Max debriefs, you text one of your friends to ask if you could stay with her for a few days when you got back to Monaco. After this fake relationship was over, you needed to get away from Max for a while just to try and push away the growing feelings you have for the Dutch man.

And with the departure of Max’s ex, you'd served your purpose and you could finally get out of Max’s life and give him the solitude he so longed for.

The ride back to the hotel is quiet, the only noise being the sound of your nails tapping against the screen of your phone. Max glances over periodically but you eventually set your phone down, choosing to stare out the window as the dark streets of Brazil pass by quickly.

When you get back to the hotel, you open the car door before Max can get it for you like he usually does. He sends you another glance, trailing passively behind as you walk in front of him. You both pass through the lobby and the elevator, your steps determined and much quicker than Max really wanted to be walking.

He's still riding the high of his win and the defeat of his ex-girlfriend but you're in your own mind, too sick to your stomach to be happy for him.

You pull out the spare room key when you arrive at the room, pressing it against the sensor before shoving the door open roughly, letting it fall against Max behind you who catches it.

You toss the key on the table by the door and set your phone down beside it. You still don't turn around as you throw the jacket he had let you borrow down on his bed.

"What is your problem?" You hear Max’s voice ring out in the otherwise quiet room. Annoyance paints his words, causing you to pause for a split-second.

"I don't have a problem." You say, cringing when you catch how much of a lie it sounds. You move on, though, pulling your suitcase out from under the bed and unzipping it.

Max scoffs, raising a disbelieving eyebrow, "Are you sure? Because it really feels like you do."

"It's nothing, Max." You reply sharply, walking into the attached bathroom, grateful to get away from his gaze for a second.

You come back out, your toiletry bag in hand. You set it down in your suitcase and stand up, walking over to the closet and pulling your clothes off the rack. The sound of the hangers hitting together echoes through your head, only contributing to the headache that had been growing since your revelation that morning.

Max finally catches onto what you're doing and speaks, his voice almost panicked, "What are you doing?"

"Leaving."

"What, already? Why?" You try not to be swayed by the hurt in his voice, turning around and walking past him to set your clothes down in your case.

He follows you over, stepping closer as you stand up. You try and step past him but he puts his arm out, stopping you in your tracks. You concede with a sigh, finally looking him in his eyes.

"It doesn't matter, Max.”

"But it does! What's wrong?" You finally step past him, on your way to go gather the rest of your things but his question makes you turn your head as you walk away.

"Max! It doesn't matter!" You immediately regret how loud your voice is but this wasn't exactly the time to be thinking about the people next door.

Max shakes his head, following you as you walk toward the doot in order to grab your shoes, "No, no, no. You've been like this all day and I can't think of a reason why. Do you really want to get away from me that badly?"

Your face twists, causing you to shake your head as you walk away, praying he wont follow you this time, "No, Max, that's not-"

He doesn't completely follow you but he does step a bit closer, shaking his head with a loud groan, "Then enlighten me! What could possibly happened in the past day that's making you act like this? Why are you leaving? Why won't you tell me? I thought we were supposed to be in this together! Why are you-"

"Because I'm in love with you, Max!" You shout, finally turning to face him as you say it, making eye contact with him for the first time since you'd walked in.

Silence falls between you and you toss your shoes down, covering your face with one of your hands. For a second, you think that Max might never respond, your stomach turning at the thought.

How hard could it be to find a different apartment in Monaco?

"What?" Max’s voice is soft and you look back to him, trying to will your frustrated tears not to fall.

"I'm in love with you! I fell in love with you and I know you don't feel the same. You only wanted me to do this to placate your friends and scare away your ex and now im getting out of your hair. I'm leaving you alone like you wanted in the first place,” Tears finally drip down your face and you don't bother to wipe them away, knowing there was only more where they came from. You look away as you explain, eyes locked onto the carpet beneath you, not wanting to face your embarrassment head-on.

"What are you talking about?" At Max’s purely confused tone, you look back to his face, teeth digging sharply into your bottom lip.

His face is soft, confusion etched into the furrow between his brows. Your stomach flips and you swallow, trying to rebuild the confidence you’d had at the start of your outburst.

The hotel room suddenly feels too cold, the air causing you to rub your hands over your shoulders in order to suppress the goosebumps that had started to rise. When you do speak again, your voice is soft, volume just above a whisper.

"This morning. You said I could stop coming after this race. And I did my job, I scared away your ex. You don't need me,” you trail off at the end of your statement, your voice breaking slightly as you shake your head, tears streaming out of your closed eyes and down your cheeks.

You expect Max to agree, to send you away, to end your friendship out of pure embarrassment after your decleration.

But he doesn't.

His voice is soft, just as yours was. His words are hushed but the emotion behind them seeps through every single word.

"I do, though. I do need you."

You look up, eyes widening at his statement. You can do nothing but stare as he steps closer, his hands grasping the sides of your face. Your own hands reach up to hold his wrists, just wanting to hold him someway.

He raises an eyebrow gently, quirking his head to ask for silent permission. You nod and its only a split-second before he's leaning down, pressing his lips against yours.

His hands cradle the back of your head, pulling you impossibly closer. Your heart threatens to beat out of your chest, his kiss causing your brain to practically melt. You mold together, leaning as close to him as you can as your hold conveys months and months of pent-up and hidden emotions.

As he pulls away, your lips want to chase his but you hold back, your eyes flickering open as he leans his forehead against yours. Neither of your speak for a few moments, silence settling between the two of you ask you bask in the adoration between you.

Max’s hand drifts back to your jaw, his thumb drifting across your cheekbone passively. You see his eyes look up and you glance up as well, catching his sparkling gaze in yours.

“I love you,” the words tumble out of his mouth, falling smoothly out of the lips you oh-so wished he would press against your own once again, “I'm in love with you. I fell for you during this whole thing, everything about you.”

You go to respond but he cuts you off, shaking his head lightly.

“I only told you that you could stop coming because I thought you'd grown tired of all this,” he takes a deep breath before continuing, leaning slightly into your hand that had drifted into his hair, “But I'm kind of glad I did.”

You furrow your eyebrows, quirking your head. Max pauses, allowing you the chance to admire every feature of his face, turning his freckles into constellations that you'd willingly stargaze in for hours. His hair is tousled from where your fingers had tangled in it and his lips are red from being pressed against yours. His teeth dig into said lip as he thinks before responding. You'd honestly be fine if he never finished his thought and you got to just look at him forever.

But he does finish his thought, the look in his eyes making your heart jump, "Because I don't want to pretend anymore."

You wait a moment, giving him the chance to take it back in case this was a joke, in case he didn't really mean it. But he doesn't take it back, he doesn't laugh.

And so you nod, "I want to do this with you for real, Max. I don't want to lie to anyone anymore, I want to celebrate with you after a race, not because people expect me to, but because I love you."

Max lights up, his face splitting into a wide grin at your words. Before you can react, his arms are around you and your feet are lifted off the ground as Max basically throws you onto the bed beside you.

Your laugh echoes through the hotel room, punctuated by the sound of Max flopping down next to you. You continue to giggle, glancing down to meet Max’s eyes, a special glint shining through.

You calm down after a few seconds as Max continures to gaze at you. When silence finally comes over you, Max leans up to rest on his elbows as you sit up slightly to look down at him.

“I love you too, by the way,” He says softly, “Dont know if you noticed.”

You hum, biting your lip to hold back your laugh, “I assumed so, yeah.”

You laugh as Max huffs, reaching a hand up to pull you down beside him, “Shut up.”

And you do, going quiet as your lips meet his. Later that night, as your both lying in bed, together this time, you fall asleep with your head against his chest, basking in the long-lastint but newly-confessed love between you.

The next morning, you wake up before Max, as you'd done so often. You slip out of his hold and pad over softly to the balcony, sliding on one of his hoodies before you open the sliding door.

You sink into one of the two chairs, looking out over the city of Sao Paulo as it slowly wakes up. The sun peeks out over the horizon, adding light to the previously dark morning.

Eventually, the door slides open behind you and you don’t even have to look to know it’s Max. But you look anyway, happy to take any chance to observe the man.

You take the mug from his offering hand, grasping the warm ceramic tightly. Max doesn’t walk over to the railing, instead moving toward the chair next to you. Before he sits down, he slides it over, pushing it as close to your chair as it could go. He sits down and you twist to sit sideways, leaning your legs over the arm of the chair. Max gently pulls your ankles over his chair to rest in his lap before he takes a long sip of his coffee.

You take a long sip of your own mug as well, letting the taste of the coffee coat your throat and warm your heart.

Milk and sugar, just the way you like it.

——————

Tags: @evie-119 @casperlikej

Moonlit Throne | Masterlist

“do you… trust me?” it’s a low whisper, soft lips pressed against the stuttering pulse in your throat. but you think, or maybe you hope, the implications are trying to delve much deeper into your heart. regardless, your answer has never wavered. 

“yes.”

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: smut, angst, fluff parts posted: 40/45 words: 57.6k/? contains: drabble series, historical au, royal au, the very definition of “it’s complicated,” inspired by daechwita. a/n: please pay attention to the dates, but read in the order that the drabbles are listed, not in chronological!

historical context/references. | fic playlist.

february 1869 {m} - your king takes care of you and his business, no matter who is watching.

Keep reading

Giving You Everything - Max Verstappen

@anilovessadbooks prompt request #19 - "I feel like a failure." "How could you ever feel like that?" "Because I can't give you what I want to be able to give you."

Summary: Y/n doesn't feel like she's enough for someone like Max and Max couldn't imagine his life with someone other than y/n.

Working class background!reader

Word count: 1.1k

Dating a millionaire and constantly spending time with him in the millionaire's tax haven of Monte Carlo is definitely has it's pros. But when you come from a background where there's pride in not allowing yourself to rely on someone financially it's hard.

Which is the case for y/n.

She still works full time and she knows that Max is wishing for her to take up his offer and just live off of him so he can see her more since despite him travelling more and dedicating his time to more than just F1. He still has more free time and she is the one they have to work around for seeing each other.

"I think he's going to dump me." Y/n states as she wipes a table down.

"Probably. You rejected moving in with him, you rejected an opportunity to see more of him and you won't just tell him that it's because you're scared of relying on him." Tanya states making y/n deadpan a look at her since it's not exactly comforting for her.

"That's not very fair, Tan." Y/n mumbles but she knows it's something she needed to hear.

"Life isn't fair, babe. But dating a millionaire and letting him take care of you is life going in your favour. Life is more than fair to you right now." Tanya points out while y/n winces since that's really a truth she knows but she's in denial of the whole thing. "Babe, for all we know. We get one life. Don't waste an opportunity of making it good by letting your pride getting the better of you."

It's food for thought and when y/n returns home she smiles finding Max is there like he promised he would be and he's got a meal at the ready.

"Hey, you didn't have to cook...or order a meal." Y/n smiles noticing Max waver at the suggestion he'd been the one to make the food.

"You've been working. You deserve a proper meal." Max states while moving around to kiss her temple while Y/n smiles leaning into him. "How was work?"

"I'm just glad it's over." Y/n states while Max hums before he kisses her. "I missed you."

"I've missed you too, it's been weeks since we got to see each other."

It's not a dig, but y/n feels it stab into her chest because it's her schedule that's made it so difficult.

They sit down and start eating, talking about their days and mainly focusing on Max since his life is easily more exciting. But there's an elephant in the room and they can both feel it.

"I can tell you want to say something." Y/n mumbles making Max sigh and look up from his food.

"Why are we still doing this?" Max asks making her sigh expecting the breaking point soon but she didn't think he'd deliver it like this. "Y/n, please. Why would you let us have a life together?"

"Because it's hard dating you, Max. It's hard seeing you be amazing and successful and just so incredible. Then I look at myself and I feel like a failure."

"How could you ever feel like that? You-"

"Because I can't give you what I want to be able to give you. I don't want to rely on you, I don't want to have a lifestyle I can't fund on my own by funded by you because you have built a life of success and achievements in doing something you not only were born to do but you genuinely love." Y/n rambles then wincing. "It's not something I expect you to understand, but it's not easy for me to overcome even if I want to."

"Y/n, this isn't about you relying on me. This is about us being able to love each other without being long distance and struggling so much as a couple. I want to take care of you because I love you and you are the best thing that's happened to me in my life-above the championships and the records. If you ask me to retire at the end of this season, then I would because I'd choose you."

Y/n would obviously never ask Max to give up work. That's not something she can ask of him because she'd never feel right about it.

"I'm sorry." Y/n sniffles keeping her gaze on the food which is now cold and y/n ditches her fork. "I don't want to ruin things, but it's hard to be in my position and I just don't ever want you to resent me for something."

"I would never resent you for doing something that I'm asking you to do, baby. Especially not something like giving me more of your time and attention that I am constantly begging for." Max states while y/n smiles sightly before she sighs. "It doesn't have to be right now...but can we start planning and maybe work on you accepting that it's not a crime for either of us to want to spend time together?"

"Yes." Y/n nods with a small smile before Max's chair scrapes back and she moves around climbing onto him. "But it's not going to be easy for me. It goes against my every instinct to just allow someone to take care of me."

"I know and I won't take it for granted." Max mumbles earning a small smile before they exchange a kiss. "But you can't think of yourself as a failure, baby. Being an F1 driver doesn't mean that everyone else is null and void of success. You have a degree, you're working to support yourself, you are balancing that with an unpaid apprenticeship which is really just working without being paid which I still think is exploitative."

"I know but I want to give you treatment that equals how well you treat me without it being you who pays for it."

"I think you underestimate how much it would mean to me for you to finally just move in and live with me." Max smiles before looking at the food. "Are you still hungry? We can reheat it."

"Yeah."

It's not going to be as simple or smooth sailing as Max thinks but y/n is willing to do what will finally make him happy and what she thinks will make them both happy.

hiya, i have no idea if you do requests but i have a very brief and simple idea, which you can do your own take on - overly sensitive reader is dating oscar piastri & people are bothering her online but she doesn't tell oscar, instead she hides it and acts like she's fine but one night, she's in bed with him but then moves out to the living room & she's reading people's posts and messages about her not deserving him and she just sobs her eyes out, very quietly, thinking he's asleep - but he's not and he hears her, he walks out to the sight of her crying,,, then you can do whatever you want! just basically a hurt/comfort fic idea :) thank you!

𝒏ote , hi nonnie! thank you so much for requesting this. im convinced he is the sweetest sweetest bf and this thought goes so well with him . . .

fem!reader x oscar piastri. established relationship. hurt -> comfort. fluff. insecure!reader. mean online comments.

you knew better.

you knew better than to look. you knew better than to click on the notifications, the comments, the threads where strangers, bold and faceless, tore you apart like it cost them nothing.

you know it’s not true. these people don’t you. they don’t really know oscar. they don’t know anything about your relationship. and you knew better than to give them so much power over you, but you did it anyway.

it felt like a constant in your night routine at this point. after the steady rise and fall of oscar’s chest tells you he’s surrendered to sleep, you slip quietly from the bed.

you try to convince yourself you’re just stretching your legs, grabbing some water, anything to justify the gnawing pull toward your phone, toward the weight you tuck away during the day but can’t seem to ignore when it’s dark and that inner voice manages to convince you to look.

you curl up on the couch, wrapped in one of his hoodies that still smells faintly like him, like the smell of your safe space can wrap around you and stop the words from piercing as deep as they always do.

“he could have anyone and he settles for that?”

“you can’t convince me she’s there for anything but the money”

“he could do way better”

“why do the best guys always tend to settle for the most basic, gold digging girls”

one after another they appear on the screen. picking apart your body, your intelligence, your motives.

you don’t even realize you’re crying until the drops fall on the screen. little blots of water smearing and obstructing the words that had already twisted like knives in your chest.

you know you should turn it off. climb into bed and let oscar cuddle away all the insecurities gnawing at your chest. but it feels like you’re stuck. like if you just read one more comment, maybe you’ll find one that makes it all make sense, one that explains why you feel like you’ll never be enough for him.

you flinch when a familiar hand gently closes over yours, steady and warm, taking the phone from you. you hadn’t even heard him come in.

you don’t move, don’t blink, don’t breathe as he scrolls through the comments himself, brow furrowing more and more the further he goes.

after a few minutes he locks the phone and discards it on the table, settling next to you and pulling you onto his lap.

“you know none of it is true right?” he mumbles against your head, pressing a kiss to your temple and you sniffle

“osc—” you go to argue but he interrupts

“no” he says, the word so blunt and direct it catches you so off guard for a second that you pull your head away from his chest to look at him

“i’m not gonna sit here and listen to you justify what they’re saying. they don’t know you. they don’t know me. and they sure as shit don’t know anything about our relationship” he says, shaking his head slightly at the utter ridiculousness of what he just read.

“but it’s true. i’m not perfect and you could do so much bet—“ you mumble but he interrupts you again before you get the chance to finish, this time with his lips on yours, kissing you until those thoughts float away and the only thing you can focus on is the way his hand is running through your hair

“you’re perfect with me, to me, and for me. hell perfect doesn’t even begin to describe you baby. you’re everything. you’re all I want. the only way these people have any power over you is if you actually believe there’s some truth to what they’re saying. do you?” oscar asks, holding your jaw so you can’t look away from him.

“are you only with me for the money? the attention?” oscar asks, raising his eyebrows dramatically in a way that makes you wanna laugh and by the slight tilt in his lips, he knows.

“no” you say softly and he gasps in mock surprise

“really? I for sure thought you were” he teases and laughs when you hit him playfully.

“i’m just kidding baby. you hate attention even more than I do and you practically tackle me every time I try to pay for anything. and if you think for even one second that I don’t believe you’re the sexiest woman in the world, you come tell me and I’ll prove you wrong, yeah?” he says, pressing kiss after kiss against your temple, your cheek, your nose, your jaw, your lips. every inch he can reach.

“I love you” you say softly, hoping your gratitude for him shines through in your tone.

“I love you the most,” he murmurs back, no hesitation, no doubt. just the pure, simple truth.

his hands gently frame your face, thumbs brushing away the last of your tears with a tenderness that makes your chest ache all over again, but in a different way this time. a softer way.

“let’s go to bed,” he says, voice thick with exhaustion and affection as he picks you up and carries you to the bedroom, leaving your phone and all the negativity on it right there on the table.

Practice Makes Perfect

Max Verstappen x reader

Summary: Max is teaching you how to sim race, and it’s all cute and fluffy, but you are so bad, so when Max is gone to races and stuff, you are practicing and getting better, and one day you surprise Max by showing the improvement.

Requested: yes

Warning: none

"No, not like that! You're braking way too late again," Max sighed, running a hand through his hair as he watched you spin out for what felt like the hundredth time. His gaming setup was pristine—three monitors, a professional racing wheel clamped to a custom rig, and pedals that had the perfect amount of resistance. It looked like a mini Formula 1 cockpit in your living room.

The virtual car slammed violently into the barrier, parts flying across the screen as the red "DNF" flashed mockingly. This was your fifth crash in less than fifteen minutes.

"I don't get it," you groaned, releasing the wheel in frustration. "I swear I'm following the racing line exactly like you showed me."

Max leaned over your shoulder, his cologne distracting you momentarily from your embarrassment. The warmth of his breath against your neck sent shivers down your spine as he spoke. "You're looking at the wrong thing. You're focusing on where you are now, not where you need to be in two seconds."

"That makes no sense," you huffed.

"Let me show you again." He gently moved you aside and took your place, his hands confidently gripping the wheel. "See how I'm looking ahead? I'm already planning for this corner while coming out of the previous one."

You watched, mesmerized, as he effortlessly guided the car through a series of complex corners. He made it look so natural, so easy.

The next day's lesson wasn't any better. You managed to lock up the brakes on a straight section of track—something Max claimed he'd never even seen before.

"How is that even possible?" he laughed, not unkindly. "You weren't even turning!"

"I panicked," you admitted, feeling your cheeks burn. "I thought I was going too fast."

On day three, you somehow drove the wrong way around the track after a spin. "At least you're being creative," Max teased as you narrowly avoided a head-on collision with an AI car.

By the end of the first week, you'd discovered at least twenty different ways to crash a virtual race car. You'd flipped it over a barrier, beached it in a gravel trap, and once managed to get it stuck between two tire walls in a way that Max had to take a photo of "for posterity."

"Maybe I should just stick to watching you race," you suggested after a particularly spectacular crash that had Max doubled over with laughter.

"No way," he insisted, wiping tears from his eyes. "You're getting better."

"At crashing maybe!"

"Everyone crashes at first," he said, suddenly serious. "I crashed constantly when I was starting out. The difference is, I didn't have anyone watching me fail repeatedly."

You slumped back in the seat. "I'm hopeless at this."

Max's expression softened immediately. He leaned over, his arm brushing against yours as he reset the sim. "You're not hopeless. Nobody gets it right away." His voice had that gentle patient tone he reserved just for you, a stark contrast to his competitive fire on real tracks.

"Easy for you to say, Mr. World Champion," you teased, trying to mask your frustration.

He laughed, the sound warming you from the inside. "I've been doing this since I was a kid. Trust me, I was terrible at first, too." He placed his hands over yours on the wheel, his fingers gently interlacing with yours. The tender touch made your heart race faster than any virtual car. "Like this, okay? Feel the way the car moves. It's a conversation between you and the track."

The next attempt ended with your car upside down in a ditch. The one after that saw you spin out three times in a single lap.

Two days before he was scheduled to leave, you finally managed to complete a full lap without crashing, though your time was nearly double his. Max celebrated as if you'd just won a championship, picking you up and spinning you around the living room. When he set you down, his hands lingered at your waist, and for a moment, his eyes dropped to your lips before he caught himself.

"See? Progress!" he exclaimed proudly, his voice slightly lower than before.

You tried a few more laps, still slow but at least keeping the car on the track. It felt like a minor miracle.

"I've got to head out tomorrow for the race weekend," he reminded you. "Three weeks on the road."

"I know," you said, forcing enthusiasm into your voice. "I'll be cheering you on from here."

Later that night, as Max packed his things, you caught him looking at you with that half-smile that always made your heart skip. His gaze held something deeper than just amusement—something that made your cheeks flush with warmth.

"What?" you asked, your voice softer than intended.

"Nothing," he replied, setting down the shirt he was folding and crossing the room to where you stood. "Just thinking how cute you look when you're concentrating on not crashing." He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek.

You threw a pillow at him, which he caught effortlessly. "I'll have you know, I'm going to be amazing by the time you get back."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Maybe," you said with mock confidence.

He kissed you goodbye the next morning, lingering longer than usual. His hands cupped your face tenderly as he pulled away, his forehead resting against yours. "I'm going to miss this," he whispered. "Miss you."

"It's only three weeks," you reminded him, though your heart was already aching at the thought of him leaving.

"Three weeks too long," he replied with a sigh, stealing one more quick kiss before reluctantly heading out the door, leaving you with his spare key and the sim racing setup all to yourself.

𐙚

The first day alone, you just stared at the equipment. It was intimidating without Max there to guide you. But after scrolling through social media and seeing posts about his qualifying session, determination filled you. You sat down and turned everything on.

"Okay," you whispered to yourself. "Let's do this."

The first week was disastrous. You crashed constantly, forgot brake points, and once even forgot how to shift gears properly. But you kept at it, setting an alarm to practice two hours every day.

You started watching YouTube tutorials while eating breakfast. During lunch breaks, you studied track maps. Before bed, you watched Max's old races, noting his racing lines.

By the second week, something clicked. You weren't good—not by any stretch—but you were finishing laps. Your times were improving by fractions of seconds each day.

The third week, you became obsessed with Spa. You drove it over and over, memorizing every curve, every elevation change. You knew where the shadows fell across the track at different times of day, where puddles would form in the rain simulation.

Max called every night, usually exhausted from his race weekend.

"How's everything at home?" he'd ask, his voice softening when your face appeared on his screen.

"Perfect," you'd reply, carefully hiding the racing gloves you'd bought yourself behind your back, out of the camera frame. "Just missing you." The words weren't just part of the deception—you meant them, counting down the days until he'd return.

"Miss you too," he'd say, his eyes reflecting the hotel room's dim lighting. "The bed feels too empty without you." His voice would often drop to a whisper on those words, as though sharing a precious secret. "Haven't touched the sim setup, have you?"

You laughed nervously. "Why would I do that? You know I'm terrible."

𐙚

The day before Max was due home, you set your personal best—still nowhere near his times, but respectable. More importantly, you'd completed twenty consecutive laps without a single crash.

You heard his key in the lock the next afternoon and jumped up from the couch, heart pounding with excitement.

"Welcome home!" you called, throwing your arms around him.

Max hugged you tight, his face buried in your neck. "God, I missed you," he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes drinking you in as though memorizing every detail of your face. Then he kissed you deeply, backing you against the wall, three weeks of separation dissolving in an instant.

After dinner and catching up, he glanced at his sim setup. "I think I need to blow off some steam. Want to watch me do a few laps?"

You bit your lip, trying to contain your smile. "Actually... I was thinking maybe we could race together?"

He looked surprised but pleased. "Really? You want to try again?"

"Something like that," you said mysteriously.

You sat down at the rig, and you let him choose the track. Your heart leapt when he selected Spa.

"You go first," you insisted.

Max shrugged and proceeded to drive a nearly perfect lap. When he finished, he handed you the wheel with an encouraging smile. "Your turn. Remember what I taught you about the bus stop chicane?"

"I think so," you said innocently.

You settled in, adjusted your position, and started your lap. You hit the first corner perfectly, feeling Max's surprise beside you. By the time you navigated Eau Rouge flawlessly, he was leaning forward, completely focused on your driving.

"How are you—" he began, but stopped himself as you nailed the next series of corners.

When you crossed the finish line with a time only five seconds slower than his, Max's jaw had literally dropped. You turned to him with the biggest grin.

"Surprise?"

"When did you—how did you—" he stammered.

"Every day while you were gone," you admitted. "I wanted to impress you."

His stunned expression melted into something incredibly tender. He pulled you into his lap, nearly knocking over the wheel. His arms encircled your waist as he gazed up at you with adoration. "You practiced all that time for me?"

You nodded, suddenly feeling shy under the intensity of his gaze. "I know how much you love this, and I wanted to share it with you properly."

Max cupped your face in his hands, thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. "That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me." He kissed you softly, then more deeply, one hand sliding into your hair to draw you closer. When he finally pulled away, you were both breathless. "But you know what this means, right?"

"What?"

A competitive glint appeared in his eyes. "Now we can race against each other for real."

You laughed. "I'm still not going to beat you."

"No," he agreed with a mischievous smile. "But it'll be fun to watch you try."

He pulled you closer, your bodies fitting perfectly together. "Best welcome home ever," he whispered against your lips before kissing you again, slow and deep, the race forgotten for now. His hand traced lazy patterns along your back as you melted against him, feeling as though you'd won something far more valuable than any virtual race.

The next morning, you woke to find Max already at the sim rig, setting something up. Sunlight streamed through the window, gilding his profile as he worked, and you took a moment to admire him—the concentration in his eyes, the slight furrow of his brow, the way his t-shirt stretched across his shoulders.

"What are you doing?" you asked sleepily, hugging the blanket around you as you padded over to him.

He turned with that boyish excitement you loved so much, his face lighting up at the sight of you. "Setting up a two-player race." He reached for your hand, pulling you onto his lap and nuzzling his face into your neck. "I've got a week off, and we're going to make you even better."

You walked over and wrapped your arms around him from behind. "I like the sound of that."

"Plus," he added, turning to face you with a grin, "now I finally have someone who understands why I'm always talking about apex angles at dinner."

"I created a monster, didn't I?"

"Absolutely," he nodded, pulling you down for a quick kiss. "And I couldn't be happier about it."

As you sat side by side, racing together in comfortable silence occasionally broken by his tips or your triumphant whoops when you managed a good corner, you realized that sometimes the best surprises were the ones that brought you closer together—one lap at a time.

𐙚

A few days later, Max walked into the living room with an unusually mischievous look on his face.

"I have an idea," he announced, setting his phone down on the coffee table.

You looked up from your book. "That expression always makes me nervous. What are you plotting?"

"How would you feel about racing with me on my live stream tonight?"

Your eyes widened. "Your stream? With all your fans watching?" Max's regular sim racing streams had hundreds of thousands of viewers—mostly racing enthusiasts and his F1 fans.

"They'd love it," he insisted, already setting up the webcam. "Everyone's always asking about my personal life anyway. It would be fun to show them what we've been up to."

Your stomach fluttered with nerves. "But I'm nowhere near your level."

Max sat beside you, taking your hands in his. "That's not the point. It's about sharing something we both enjoy." His eyes softened. "Plus, I'm kind of proud of how far you've come. Is that weird to say?"

You felt your cheeks warm. "Not weird at all."

"So?" he asked hopefully.

How could you say no to that face? "Okay, fine. But don't blame me when I crash and embarrass you in front of everyone."

He kissed your forehead. "You won't embarrass me."

That evening, Max set everything up—the cameras positioned to capture both your faces and the screens, the chat window minimized but visible enough for him to catch questions.

"Going live in three, two, one..." Max clicked the button and instantly shifted into his stream persona. "Hey everyone! Got something special for tonight's stream." He glanced at you with a warm smile. "Many of you have been asking about what I do when I'm not on track, so I thought I'd introduce you to someone who's become my favorite racing partner."

You gave an awkward wave to the camera as the chat exploded with messages.

"We're going to do something a bit different," Max continued. "A few weeks ago, I started teaching her how to sim race, and today, we're going head-to-head on Spa. One of my favorite circuits, as you all know."

The chat scrolled by too quickly to read, but you caught glimpses of excitement and surprise.

Max guided you through setting up the race, occasionally answering questions from viewers. "Yes, she's been practicing while I was away at races. No, this isn't staged—I genuinely had no idea she was getting this good."

When the race started, your nervousness melted away as you focused on the track. Max took an early lead, but you kept your lines clean, remembering everything you'd practiced.

"She is actually keeping pace!" Max commented on the stream, sounding genuinely impressed. "Look at that line through Eau Rouge—perfect!"

You bit your lip, concentrating hard as you navigated the trickiest sections. The chat was going wild, and Max was narrating both his own driving and commenting on yours with professional precision.

On the final lap, Max was still ahead, but you were much closer than either of you had expected. As you crossed the finish line just seconds behind him, he let out a whoop.

"Did you all see that?" he exclaimed to the camera. "That was impressive!" He turned to you with undisguised pride. "You're getting dangerous, you know that?"

You couldn't help but grin at his enthusiasm. The chat was filled with supportive messages and demands for you to become a regular on the streams.

"What do you think?" Max asked you, nodding toward the comments. "The fans seem to like you."

You leaned against his shoulder, no longer caring about the camera. "I could be convinced to make another appearance."

"Good," he said, wrapping an arm around you while still addressing the stream. "Because I think I just found my new favorite racing rival."

As the stream continued, with Max fielding questions from fans and the two of you taking turns on different tracks, you marveled at how something that had started as his passion had become a shared joy—one that now even his fans were part of.

And when Max looked at you between races with that special smile that made your heart race faster than any sim car could, his fingers intertwining with yours beneath the desk where the camera couldn't see, you knew you'd found something far more valuable than improved lap times. In that moment, with his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand and his eyes full of admiration, you realized you hadn't just learned to master virtual corners—you'd found your way even deeper into his heart.

devoted to you : kth | sm masterlist

🌷synopsis: "you’re a bratty idol with a temper. he’s a silent trained and skilled bodyguard who can’t speak his mind. you don’t get along, but you both can’t seem to get one another off each other’s mind.”

character analysis: taehyung is a silent knight in shining armor. it drives you insane. he can never speak his mind, but under that thick layer of introvert lies a beautiful soul.

⇆ a/n: if you'd like to be added to the taglist, send me an ask ! <3

⇆ fic type: social media, enemies to lovers

⇆ main pairing: bodyguard!tae x idol!reader

⇆ side pairing: sope

⇆ warnings: explicit language, smut, mature themes, alcohol usage, etc !

⇆ status: updates everyday (when i can)

CHAPTERS-

characters - yn’s besties

characters - taehyung’s group

prologue - new bodyguard

chapter one - a reason

chapter two - absolute shit

chapter three - no idea

chapter four - look at him

chapter five - so different

chapter six - kinda cute

chapter seven - having fun

chapter eight - good stylist

chapter nine - hopes up

chapter ten (bonus) - doing this right

chapter eleven - crossing the line

chapter twelve - work on me

chapter thirteen - temper tantrum

chapter fourteen - big deal

chapter fifteen - getting attached

chapter sixteen - back nd forth

chapter seventeen (timeskip) - so boring

Little Secret

Min Yoongi x Reader

Summary: Your relationship with Yoongi, though young, couldn't be better. But that doesn't mean it's perfect Genre: fluff Word Count: 1,802 Warnings: none Notes: This is a rewrite of Dirty Little Secret. Thanks to @taegularities and @eatjeanjin for beta-ing this.

Part of the Long Term Couples series. Read more here.

Dating him was hard.

It was the late nights, the daily exhaustion, the constant coming and going of touring and promoting and recording. It was stopping by the studio just to see him for 15 minutes while he was on break. It was stopping by the practice space while he worked on choreography just to be in the same room as him. It was missed dates and missed calls and ignored texts.

It was sleeping alone, even when you were at the dorms.

And it was sharing him. With management. With the other six members. With the world.

It was not getting to have him publicly because it just wasn’t the right time.

It was never the right time.

He had warned you about it all on the first date. He was cautious. He was used to being dumped. It was no one’s fault, he had said. Having a love life was hard for him, and he didn’t blame anyone who didn’t want all of the strings attached.

He reminded you again on the second real date, almost a month and a half later. He wouldn’t be offended if you didn’t want to see him for a third, he had said. He understood if you wanted something a little more stable, more predictable, more normal.

The third date had come soon after that, a rare day off where he could actually take you out for a drive-thru milkshake. You had sat in the parking lot of the BigHit offices--the only place he could guarantee you wouldn’t be harassed--and he’d brought it up again. He wanted you to be happy, he had told you. He was fond of you, but he didn’t want that to affect anything. If you wanted to leave, he would let you.

He thought he was protecting you from his lifestyle, from him. Min Yoongi had always been considerate like that.

But as you sat there in the passenger seat of the car he borrowed from his company, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave. Not when he was sitting there chewing on his lip, absentmindedly stirring the dregs of his milkshake, pretending he wasn’t staring at you behind his sunglasses.

You knew you couldn’t have left him if you wanted to, even back then.

You were astonished at how hard you fell for him, at how quickly he took root in your heart. Two months in, you’d asked him for his schedule, and you started bringing him lunch when he was in the studio on your days off. You’d let yourself into the Genius Lab with the passcode he had shared with you like it was the code to set off a nuclear bomb and stay until you got sick of sitting there and then a little longer because you were happy to spend the time in silence if it meant you got to hang out together.

It was on one of those days that you were sitting on the couch in his studio, flipping through a magazine quietly. You had brought him a few rolls of kimbap and kimchi for lunch, and since he had promised it would be a shorter day, you were waiting for him to finish up with the track he was working on.

The magazine you were reading featured an article about a charitable event Yoongi and the other members had attended the previous month. The event had been teeming with celebrities, including a few female idol groups from other labels. You weren’t surprised when the article featured some gossip, especially when there was a full page spread of Jimin, Tae, Yoongi, and a few of the female idols at the event.

You glanced up at Yoongi as he worked. He was turned halfway between his midi keyboard and his computer, his right hand playing a melody you couldn’t hear, his left hand balanced over his computer keyboard. He tapped his foot as he played, counting out the beat for himself. Only the left side of his headphones was on properly, the right one pushed back and rested just behind his ear.

He looked over at you and flashed you a shy smile, hitting something on his computer keyboard. “You look confused,” he mumbled, pushing his headphones off fully so that they rested around his neck.

“Do I?”

He hummed, spinning his chair so he was facing you fully. “What’s on your mind?”

You looked down at the magazine. The Yoongi of a month ago stared back at you, the female idol’s arm around his shoulders. “This is probably going to sound dumb, but… why me?”

“What?”

“Of all the people in the world, you want me. Why?”

Yoongi rolled his chair towards you, looking at the magazine in your lap. “I mean, I’ll happily answer that question if you want me to, but… Where’s this coming from?”

You shrugged, tossing the magazine aside. “Morbid curiosity, I guess.”

He was silent for a moment, taking your hand in his. His thumb ghosted over your knuckles. “Can I tell you something?” He licked his lips before continuing. “Never in my wildest dreams did I even dare to hope to find someone like you.”

“Boring?” you joked.

His eyebrows creased, and a small pout formed on his lips. “I was going to say something cute, but boring works, too.” He dropped your hand and started to roll his chair back to his desk.

“No, hey.” You managed to grab his wrist before he got too far. “I wanna hear the cute thing, too.”

Yoongi laughed, a big, gummy smile spreading across his face. You could see the hint of a blush blossoming on his cheekbones. “Most people get so hung up on Suga and Agust D that they forget about Yoongi,” he said softly. “Most of the time, it feels like you don’t even know that I’m famous.” You chuckled softly, but otherwise stayed quiet. He raised an eyebrow, his pout returning. “Was that not cute enough for you?”

“You’re adorable.” You pinched his cheek quickly.

“Then what’s wrong?”

You sighed. He could read you like a book. Which, you supposed, wasn’t a bad thing. “I dunno.” You looked away from him, choosing instead to focus on the stickers on the air conditioning unit. “I love getting to spend time with Yoongi. I do.” You needed him to know that. That no matter what you were feeling, you truly did enjoy spending time with him, in whatever capacity he could manage. “I guess I just… I wish I could hang out with Suga sometimes. Y’know. In public.”

The couch dipped beside you, and his hand squeezed your knee. “Someday,” he whispered. “I would love nothing more than to take you to charity events and awards shows. I want to take you out to dinner and eat in the restaurant.” He sighed. His thumb rubbed circles into the fabric of your jeans. “But we have to wait for the label to give the green light. I don’t know how our fans would react.”

You sighed. He was right. Of course he was. Maybe someday your relationship would be public. He cared for you, that much was obvious. It made things easier to know that.

“I know that’s not very helpful.” Yoongi offered you a sad smile, his hand still in yours. “I wish I could give you more.”

“It’s fine. Honestly.”

“It’s not, though. You’re clearly upset by it.” He squeezed your hand, his soft eyes not meeting yours.

“I mean, it’s not forever. We’ll live.” You felt a little silly being bothered by it. It wasn’t like you were the only one going through this. You knew Jungkook and his girlfriend were in a similar boat, and there were hundreds of groups that were dealing with similar restrictions. “I just… it’s sad to not know when that’ll be, you know? It’s stupid. I don’t even enjoy going to public events like that. But it sucks to not even have the option. And…” You shook your head. “It’s silly.”

“It’s not silly. Tell me what’s on your mind.” He rolled his chair closer, his knee slotting itself between yours.

You sighed. “I just… we can’t dance? In public, I mean. It’s dumb. I don’t even like dancing.”

For a moment, Yoongi was silent, his lower lip captured between his teeth. His brow furrowed as he stared at your hands in his. Then, without saying anything, he rolled away from you. You felt stupid for even bringing it up. You’d only been officially dating for a few months. It seemed unfair to just burden him with your problems like that, especially when there was literally nothing he could do about it.

He started clicking away at something on his computer and your heart sank, assuming that he was getting back to work. He was busy, after all, and you knew he was determined to leave early that day. You reached down, grabbing your bag. You’d get out of his way so that he could work and not have to worry about you.

Just as you were about to stand and bid Yoongi goodbye, a soft song started to play through the speakers on his desk. He spun around in his chair to face you, a soft smile on his lips. Carefully, he stood, his hand outstretched to you as he crossed the short distance. Confused, you let him take your hand and tug you up.

He clutched your hand tightly, his other arm snaking its way around your waist, pulling you flush against him. Gently, he started to sway and you got the hint, wrapping your arm around him and resting your hand against his shoulder blade. He hummed along to the song, the soft sound rumbling in his chest. You didn’t recognize the tune.

“Why don’t you like dancing?” Yoongi whispered after what felt like an eternity in silence.

He was warm and soft in your arms, and his thumb rubbed gentle circles into your lower back, sending pleasant tingles up your spine. Your mind was a little hazy in the bliss of the moment, but you managed to respond.

“I don’t know. Just not my thing, I guess.” You felt him nod in understanding. “This isn’t so bad, though.”

Yoongi laughed at that, the feeling reverberating through your own chest. If only he knew how much of an understatement that was. Someday, you’d tell him. You’d tell him how, even though you’d only been together for a short time, he made you feel safe, and loved, and like you mattered. That no one else had ever made you feel as special as he did. That after such a short time, his attention and care meant more to you than almost anything else.

But until then, you supposed you could enjoy your little secret.

Read more of the series here.