꒰ :🥀 [ The radio star lost ] ”♡ᵎ꒱ˀˀ ↷ ⋯
Summary : Your husband was the feared serial criminal in New Orleans, Louisiana, and you where his dearly beloved wife, his right hand. So.. Oh what a despair was awaiting you soon..
Pairing : Human! Alastor x Wife! Reader
Word count : 3549 Words
Genre : Angst, Drama, Romance (a bit)
Warnings ➵ Murder, Swearing, Blood, Death, Guns,
Death penality, Corpses
a/n : Continuation of my Alastor x Wife! Reader > Till death do us part < , seeing as this isn't really a continuation, but rather a prequel, it can be read as a stand-alone, hope ya'll still enjoy it just as much as the first part!♡
Another thing in advance, this is purely fiction and shall not be seen anywhere near reality, I do not condone anything in this and it's pureply based on fiction.
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1933'
You were like Bonnie and Clyde. A criminal duo, invincible. Or so you thought.
Alastor, your beloved husband. The man you had known for almost two decades, married for almost one decade now. You loved him dearly, even with his little quirks and tendencies. He worked as a well-known and quite popular radio host in New Orleans. Yet he had a tendency for disposing of those he deemed right, you had helped him many times already. Having found out way before you even married him, how he was a murderer, yet you found it enticing, how his mind worked, who he deemed worthy to let go.
"Dear, the meal is almost ready!" You got pulled out of your thoughts by the soft voice of your husband. It was rather unusual for the man to cook in a marriage, but your relationship was far from ordinary, so you enjoyed it. His cooking was far better than yours after all. "I'm coming!" Standing up from the couch, you make your way over to the kitchen, there he was in all his glory. His brown hair was pushed back, glasses sitting on top of his head instead of resting on his nose, and sleeves pushed up to not get them dirty, ironic considering the amount of times he got them bloody. "It smells amazing my beloved! Thank you so much!" A quick peck was pressed to your husband's cheek, as you took a seat at the table, some amazing meal steaming on the table. Alastor puts his apron away, sitting down as he slides his glasses back onto his nose.
Dinner time was always one of your favorites during the day, enjoying a warm meal while talking to your husband about both of your days.
Just after you had finished dinner, your husband took a seat in front of the piano, letting his hands softly glide over the tiles. The instrument echoed with the soft tune he was playing. Walking behind him, you lay your arms around his neck softly, swaying your body a bit to the music he played. Alastor was a talented man with instruments, being able to play a few of them, the piano being one of them. Also quite talented with the violin. "Oh my darling, what a beautiful tune as always~" Humming along now. No one heard the screams coming from the basement. The desperate screams of your next victim.
"When we're talking about music right now my dearest, Mimzy invited us to her performance tomorrow! So how about we postpone our.. plans to the day after tomorrow?" No killing and instead going to Mimzy's show? Oh yes! "Oh, how lovely that sounds! Of course!" Agreeing to his proposal. But for now, you two get ready for bed, lying down in your shared bed.
Another one of your favorite times of the day, getting to lay down with him and finally rest, letting the stress and exhaustion of the day pass. "Did I ever tell you that I love you a lot?" Resting your head on your husband's chest now, who was silently reading a book, closing it now that you were talking to him. "Many times darling and I do love you a lot too~" Alastor knew his way around words for sure, he was such a sweet talker, but that's one of the things you appreciated about him. Raising your head to face him, you take a glance at his lips, before up into his eyes, you knew how he felt about touches he didn't initiate, right now you were only cuddling because he pulled you onto him. Chuckling lowly, he lowers his head down and captures your soft lips with his. Alastor's kisses mostly were soft, like a butterfly resting on your hand or like a spring breeze. Usually, his kisses were planted on your hand or cheek, but from now and then he gave you the satisfaction of a soft kiss on the lips, which always left you giggling like you were right now. Falling asleep in the safe embrace of your husband shortly after.
The next day went by smoothly. Alastor was busy with his work as a radio host, while you took care of the house and did some grocery shopping, meeting up with a few friends of yours over tea. Shortly before you went home for the day, you visited Alastors mothers grave to leave some flowers and clean it, you sadly never met her, but your husband tends to tell you a lot of stories about her. Sitting down by the grave for a minute, you tell her a bit about what Alastor has been doing, how you were loving his cooking and music as always. It was a habit of yours, you hoped she was listening to all the good things you were telling her about him. Taking your things after a while, you bid your goodbye to his mother's grave as you make your way back home. Putting away the groceries before starting to freshen up. Loving to take your time to get ready when you and Alastor decide to go out in the evening.
"Dearest I'm home!" Hearing the lovely voice of your husband calling from the door, answering him now, how you were getting ready. Putting on your favorite dress. It was made out of a beautiful deep red color with black lace all over it, a few gems here and there. Your best jewelry could of course not be missing, most of it you got from Alastor or your own mother. "Darling I'm ready! How far are you?" Exiting the bathroom now, searching for your husband and finding him in the kitchen with a glass of whisky. "Oh my, what do I see here? What a lovely gem you are darling!" Abandoning his glass, Alastor walks over to you, taking your hand as he twirls you around, before kissing the back of your hand. Clad in a black suit, his button-up shirt underneath dark red matching to your dress, while his bowtie was adorned with a red gem, he looked lovely. "My you also look lovely dearest! Definitely going to catch some eyes!" Hooking your arm in his now, you together leave the house and make your way to where Mimzy's show will be held.
Mimzy was a great friend of Alastor, a blonde gorgeous but short lady, who performed like no other. Arriving at the place, you were led to a table for the regulars, as Alastor and you were known by the staff by now. Ordering two drinks, as you await the show. Soon lights go out and Mimzy comes out, her singing and dancing amazing like always.
"Dollface! Pumpkin!" Mimzy's voice was booming as she approached your table, giving both of you an affectionate hug. You ended up talking with her for quite a while, telling her how amazing her performance was and that you were so glad that she invited you two again. Thanking you for your kind words, her attention quickly diverted to Alastor again. It was almost always like this, she said she liked both of you, but you couldn't shake the feeling that she did have a certain distaste for you. But you decided to let it slide like always, as you listened to Alastor tell Mimzy what you two were up to since you've last seen her.
Alastor of course started to notice how you were getting irritated by Mimzy and how she was only focusing on him. "My dear, I think my lovely wife is not feeling so well tonight, perhaps it would be better to take our leave now, still thank you for having us as always. Till the next time." Alastor stood up now as Mimzy stomped off with an annoyed face, extending his hand for you. Smiling at him softly as you take his hand and let him lead you outside. A shiver ran down your spine as your arms got goosebumps, a coat was soon placed over your shoulders, looking over to Alastor who watched you with a soft smile. "Dear, next time you feel uncomfortable please do tell me and we will leave immediately, you know how much I care for your comfort." Thanking him, you take his arm as he leads you through the park to your home, it was a little longer than walking through the streets, but it was calming to walk through nature together.
"Shall we head to bed? It's been a long day and evening." Taking the coat from your shoulders at home, he hangs it on the hanger beside the door. "I love that idea, let me tell you about my day in bed, I visited your mothers grave again." You were already walking to the room as you talked to him, so you weren't able to see his eyes follow you as they softened. It saddened him you never got to meet his mother, she would've loved you dearly, just as he does. Telling him all about what you told her before, how you left flowers and also cleaned her gravestone, as you settled into bed, as he was changing into his sleepwear. Alastor was so thankful for having a caring and lovely wife like you.
The night went by fast, today Alastor would finally have a day off from work, which meant a different kind of work today for both of you!
The steps down to the basement squeaked as Alastor put his weight on them, your heels making clicky noises as you followed him down a stark contrast in sound. And there sat the victim he deemed perfect for his next case. The screams would be recorded for his personal little collection. You were getting everything ready for him, it would be interesting to watch like always. Alastor changed so much when he killed, no shimmer or glimmer in his eyes, not how he looked at you, the soft gaze replaced with a blood thirsty one. Liking it quickly, you were soon getting rid of the victim, this time deciding to bury him in a forest, you opted for the forest a few times already even though it was a bit risky, it was the easiest to get rid of them. At home, Alastor decided to take a bath, as he told you to head to bed already with a kiss on your cheek.
When he joined you in bed, he looked relaxed, cuddling up to you. Murders always ended like this, it somehow made him so calm and affectionate with you. Placing a soft kiss on your neck, as his arms hold your waist. Your hand threaded through his brown soft locks, something you loved to do. For once your beloved husband fell asleep quicker than you, making you be able to watch him sleep, not in a creepy way, but in a loving way. Alastor was often so stressed with work, yes he loved being a radio host, but it sometimes got to him. Rubbing your fingers over his cheek softly, then over the bags under his eyes before pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. Yourself slowly falling into dreamland.
Morning came way too quickly, Alastor was back to work, and while you decided to stay at home and do some housekeeping, a few rooms needed cleaning. A friend of yours stopping by to tell you how a new corpse was apparently discovered by the police, which is connected to the many murder cases lately. Tensing up a little bit when she told you how they discovered it in the forest after one of the farmers nearby saw some shadows in there. It couldn't be the corpse from last night, right? Simply agreeing with her that you would be careful, even telling her how your dear husband would never let something happen to you on his watch, which made her coo at your marriage, if only she knew..
Mid conversation your husband comes home, greeting you with a soft kiss on the cheek before he leaves for the back of your home. Your friend leaves soon after, as you go and search for your beloved. Finding him in his office, gripping the table. You knew what was about to come.
"Dear?" Approaching him, Alastor pushes everything on his table off, papers scattering, a cup breaking as pens roll all over the floor. "They already discovered it.. HOW?! I was careful! Pathetic! How dare they! Are they making fun of me?!" Worried for your husband, yet you stood still, listening to him. "I had to talk about it today! At the broadcast! Act as if I was surprised! Haha! If only they knew! Right doll?!" Turning around, his eyes were darting around the room, before falling onto you, laughing as he took your hand to pull you in. "They really think they can discover us like this! US! They are worthless! Pathetic even! Oh my dear! We truly are the greatest!" He was twirling you around as if dancing now, despite no music playing. Only his mad monologue. You've dealt with this behavior a couple of times already, knowing to just let him act and talk for now as he pleased. "Oh, what a wonderful day my beloved! I will go and make my favorite dish for us now! How beautiful!" Leaving the room now, a skip in his step, as you bend down to clean up the mess your husband caused.
Joining him in the kitchen now, as he was softly humming to the radio as he was cooking his favorite, Jambalaya.
A knocking sounds from your door, looking up, you tell Alastor you are going to get it, and upon opening it you come face to face with a detective and a police officer. "Greetings ma'am, is your husband home?" His voice was deep, you nodded, leaning the door closed as you hurried into the kitchen to get your husband. "Greetings gentleman, how may I help you?" Alastor opened the door composed as ever, drying his hands from washing them with a clean towel, as he gave the men at the door a polite smile. You retreated back to the living room, still listening to their conversation. Asking him about the murder cases, why him? It was probably only because of the radio broadcast, right? Maybe his boss told him to talk about it without the detective's permission. As the door closes and Alastor is back in the kitchen, still calm as always as you join him. "Dear? What did they talk about?" Looking up at him with worry written all over your face, he turns to you. "Don't worry your pretty little head dearest, it was nothing to be mentioned! Smile dear, you know you're never fully dressed without one!" Pushing the corners of your mouth up with his fingers now, making you smile, before shushing you out of the kitchen so he can cook. Not able to help it but worry, were you about to be figured out?
But over the course of the next few days it all calmed down again, no more police officers or detectives visiting you, which finally calmed your mind. Alastor meanwhile had found a new target, telling you about this man he met the other day and what bothered him. It was all back to normal now, which you were glad about. Till this one dreadful day.
Alastor and you made quick work of the man, your husband telling you to stay home this time to clean up and that he would take care of this on his own. You worried again, but he assured you that he would be quick, after cleaning up and getting rid of any evidence, you cleaned yourself and sat down to wait for your beloved. Yet after hours of not coming back, you grew anxious, desperate even to know what took him so long. As a knock echoes through your house, you rush to the door, opening it ready to scold your husband for taking so long, but your breath stops when a detective stands in front of you.. What happened?
He asked to enter your home, sitting you down on the couch as he took a seat opposite of you on the armchair. "Your husband got shot ma'am, he was burying a corpse, we assume him to be the serial killer at fault for so many murders lately. He passed away instantly, I'm sorry for your loss and to bring you this horrific and murderous news." Your ears were ringing. Huh? Shot? Was that man joking with you? Was he someone Alastor paid to prank you? No, he wasn't the type for these kinds of pranks. Tears were streaming down your face, burying it in your hands now, sobs shaking your whole body. If that stupid man just knew, knew how you helped your husband with everything! Stupid! "Ma'am I-" The detective started, when you darted up, grabbing the man by his hair and throwing him out of your house. "Get lost! Never show up again! Leave.. NOW!" Slamming the door shut now, he probably took this as a shock to knowing who your husband really was, but you knew that already for years. Sinking to your knees, your arms hug around you as your head hits the floor, screams and cries of agony echo through the now empty halls. Your husband, the man you loved so much was dead, just like this? What sick nightmare was this? Cries reduced to soft sobs when your throat started to hurt, by now your body was curled up into itself on the floor and like that, you fell asleep.
The next day you awoke to the sunlight, your body sore from crying and sleeping on the floor, looking around for a second, for Alastor before it doomed on you, he was dead. Shot like an animal.
Your mother accompanied you to identify your late husband, you of course clad in all black. His forehead is now adorned with a hole, the detective explaining to you that he was mistaken for a deer. Asking for some privacy from everyone, you were left alone in the room. If it wasn't for that damned hole he looked like he was simply sleeping, peacefully like the night before. Leaning down to press one last kiss to his temple. "I will always love you my dearest, for now and forever, till I join you in death."
Leaving the room, you didn't dare look back, you were going forward from now on, knowing that someday you would meet him again.
Your mother had offered for you to move back in with her, but you told her despite what he did, he was a lovely husband to you and that you weren't able to yet let go, which she understood. Back at your home, you sat down and just stared at the wall. Why did this have to happen? You could be cuddling together right now or enjoying a meal, but that would never be the case ever again. But you told yourself, swore yourself with that last kiss to his temple that you would carry on in his memory. And so you did, three more murders continued after your husband was dead, till you were discovered.
In front of the law, you were sentenced to the death due to having caused three murders yourself and helped with multiple, carried out by your late husband. You accepted it, not that anyone asked, but you would be seeing your husband again, at least you hoped you would. A few days later after the case was closed and you were sentenced, it happened.
1935'
"Alastor! Dearest! Charlie told me you wanted to see me?" Entering the radio tower with a bright smile, Alastor turned to you with his signature smile. "My beloved! You look lovely as always! Look at you, aren't you a little gem!" He was walking over to you, his red ears on his head bouncing slightly with each step he took. Closing your eyes now as he told you to do so, a sensation of something cold around your neck running through your body now. "Open up doll!" Opening your eyes and looking down, your eyes tear up. It was a necklace, that looked similar to one he gifted you on the first anniversary of your marriage. "Alastor.." Looking up at him, as a few tears escaped your eyes.
"Now now sweetheart, we don't want you crying hm? Smile dear! You know you're never fully dressed without one!" Giggling a little bit at that quote, he had used it so often when you two were alive. Not being able to help yourself, you throw your arms around his neck and pepper kisses all around his face and lastly a big kiss on his lips, you would be apologizing for suddenly kissing him later, but right now you just needed to kiss him. "I'm glad you love it dearest!" His arms are around your waist now as he laughs at the tickling kisses placed on his face, starting to spin you around as with a snip of his fingers music starts to play.
Charlie and Vaggie watch the soft moment from the door, tears streaming from the blonde's face as her girlfriend pulls her away to give you two some privacy.
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For Club and Country || Alexia Putellas
warnings : smut (18+), Daddy kink, cunnilingus, strap-on's, throat fucking, choking (r giving + receiving), slight subspace, riding, fingering, spanking, rough sex.
summary : Alexia is on a hot streak, scoring stunner goals at the last minutes to send her country closer and closer to the finals of the Olympics but she needs her girlfriend to help her burn off all that excess energy the only way she can think of.
“What a goal scored by Alexia Putellas in the last seconds of the game to send Spain to the quarter finals!”
The girls are overjoyed and your voice is hoarse from all the screaming you’ve been doing over the past few days. With your Alexia jersey on proudly, you’re sitting next to her mother in the stands hugging each other joyfully.
Alexia comes over and climbs up onto the stands, hugging her mother. She smiles when she sees the look on your face, proud as can be of your girlfriend. Her mother shoves you into her daughter's arms and you cling to her tightly, telling her how proud you were of her in her ear. She sighs into your form, whispering a thank you as the whole stadium starts to drown itself out.
You cup her cheeks and smile with tears, kissing her hard on the lips. She doesn’t care for all the cameras pointed in her direction, she was proud to show you off to them.
“I love you,” she whispers when you hug her again, arms tight around your middle.
“I love you too, mi reina,” you giggle, holding yourself back from jumping the stands. She doesn’t stop there, her arms that were tight around you haul you over like you weighed nothing, before yelling to her mother that she’d text them where to meet for breakfast tomorrow.
“Alexia! I can’t go in there!” you scold, dragging your feet like a toddler hoping she’d stop.
“Don’t worry about it, it’s fine,” she grins, pulling you into the changing rooms.
The girls don’t even flinch seeing you there, chucking out hi’s and hello's all across the room. You wait patiently, praying no one finds you in here and punishes the team for it.
“Come,” Alexia calls, hand held out for you to take.
“Alexia,” you start as you walk towards her cubby, “I can’t be in here amor, what if they penalize you?”
“Oh please, everyone’s brought their significant others everywhere in the olympic village, why the hell do you think they gave out condoms in the welcome bags?”
“Those condom wrappers were very cute though, don’t you think?” Laia inserts, pulling her shorts on after taking a shower. Alexia strikes up a conversation with her, agreeing that they were such a nice touch to the goodies. Ona grins at you and you sit beside her, elbows on your knees.
“She’s been raving about you the entire time, you know?”
“Really?”
“La Reina isn’t as private as the world thinks.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s just say the whole team knows what you’re in for and you’re certainly going to like it.”
Just as you’re about to ask her to elaborate, you hear Alexia calling your name. You look at Ona suspiciously and she merely shrugs, going back to massaging moisturizer into her calves.
“What are you up to?” you ask your girlfriend and she acts like you’ve asked her to give up football.
“Nothing!”
“I heard the girls talking.”
“You only heard Ona talking and you know she’s a shit stirrer.”
“Alexia!”
She shoves you onto the team bus headed back to the village and you sulk, arms crossed over your chest like a child. Alexia takes a picture and sits beside you, a bag of peanuts in her hands that she’s already munching on.
“What did Ona tell you?”
“She said you’ve been blabbing to the team about what you’re going to do to me all week,” you lean in, “you’re not going to murder me and leave my body in the dirty seine are you? It would certainly leave a bad taste in the triathletes mouths.”
“Madre de Dios, ¡no!”
“Then? Alexia, if this is a shitty surprise, I’ll punch you!”
She takes a deep breath and suddenly goes cold, leaning in with her lips pressed right against your ear.
“Ahora escucha aquí, nena. He estado trabajando muy duro en los Juegos Olímpicos y necesito desahogarme. You're going to help Daddy do that, sí?”
You’re sitting and you still feel your knees go weak from her tone.
“Yes Daddy,” you whisper and she smiles proudly, hand in your lap rubbing her thumb gently.
You’re sitting right in the front of the bus, feeling the burn of the girls staring at you hard. They all watched as you threw a little fit trying to figure out what Ona was on about but it seems like Ona wasn’t lying after all.
Alexia stands up and you watch her with wide eyes as she goes through the analysis of the game with the team. Her mouth is moving but you can’t hear a thing. All you can think about is all the things you wanted that mouth to do to you. She noticed but kept it subtle, hand resting on your shoulder with a tight squeeze.
As the girls begin to argue amongst themselves playfully, Alexia leans down and whispers one last thing before reaching the village.
“Close your mouth darling, you’re giving yourself away to the girls. Wouldn’t want them to see how I'm gonna use that pretty mouth later right?”
You close your mouth fast and wipe the corners with your hands, sipping deeper into your seat. Jenni, who’s sitting diagonally behind you, sees you reel yourself back. As the bus comes to a stop and the girls begin to gather their things, her tall self leans over and says something in your ear that gives you butterflies.
“Be good for her, si? Your contributions to the team are greatly appreciated,” she tells you, winking as she steps off the bus.
Alexia takes your hand and you’re a little startled, standing up and following her off the bus. You hear the girls begin to holler and it takes everything in you to not tell them to shut up. Alexia yells at the to calm down before disappearing into a different hallway to the rest of the team.
“Why aren’t we with them?”
“I’ve got a surprise for you, mi princesa,” she tells you, pulling a blindfold over your eyes. You trust her to take care of you, feeling her press herself into you from behind to guide you. You hear a door open and the scent of lavender hits you; the sound of several locks being engaged behind you should not have turned you on as much as it did.
“Alexia, what the-”
“Surprise,” she says with a calm smile, hands pulling the blindfold off gently. She lets you take in the room, busying herself with the bags of goodies she’s brought in.
There’s a table filled with snacks, oils and your favorite coffee. The bed has a huge towel on it and a diffuser already going on the side table. Alexia comes up behind you and smiles, hands resting on your hips. You lean back into her and smile, feeling her warm breath on your shoulder comforting.
“I’ve been feeling so much energy build up over the past few days and you’re the only one who can help me, princesa,” she starts, turning you in her arms. “Will you?”
“Yes Daddy,” you answer, letting Alexia do whatever she wanted.
She starts by taking your bag off you, laying it carefully on the tv table. Her hands reach for her jersey on you, match worn by the way, and she gently pulls it off you.
“This jersey looks so much better on you than it does me,” she whispers seductively, kissing your cheek as she comes closer to mess with your shorts. Her hands skillfully pull the buttons open and zipper down, pushing them off your hips eagerly.
“Eres tan hermosa, mi reina,” she tells you, hands smoothly tracing your every line and curve.
“Only for you, Daddy,” you whine, hand reaching back to cup her head as her lips begin to leave kisses all along your neck and back.
She picks you up into her arms suddenly, the show of her strength sends waves of pleasure straight to your core. Your breath picks up and she notices, smirking as she places you down in the middle of the bed. She strips herself naked and you stare at her shamelessly, eyes ogled at her toned abs and violently perky breasts.
She pulls her strap on and turns to face you, eyes taking in the look on your face. You’re still staring, face with a little look of surprise and desire. It sends pulses to her cunt that she rather enjoys, crawling onto the bed between your legs. She kisses you, the feeling of her soft lips gives you a sense of calm.
Your breath quickens as her hands caress your thighs and she groans at the feeling of your warm skin. The soft flesh beneath her fingers makes her mouth water and she wastes no time in letting out her energy. Teeth sink into your thigh and make you moan, the sharpness of her teeth only makes you wetter and needier.
Big, rough hands press your legs to your chest and have you in a vulnerable position, pussy clenching tightly as you feel the cold air on your leaking arousal. Your lips are already bitten, sore and swollen, breath hitching when Alexia practically bends you into half. Your knees reach your ears and air fails to reach your lungs properly, sending your head spinning in the most pleasurable way possible.
“Hold them there,” growls Alexia, large hands spanking your ass as it opens up for her. Your pussy glistens at her and she smiles, leaving two more harder smacks on your ass. They’re red and it leaves a sting but you don’t move a muscle.
“Feels good princesa?” Alexia asks, looking down at you. She grins when she sees your eyes slowly go in and out of focus as you nod, settling into a headspace that she absolutely loved. You were ‘pliable’ and trusted her to know what you needed though it was said to be what she needed; Alexia had always prioritized your pleasure over hers.
She circles her fingers around your soaking clit; they’re slow and send pulses of energy right into your veins. You knew Alexia meant it when she said she had the energy to go on today, so you settled into your comfy space and let her do whatever she wanted. But you knew for her to do so, you needed to tell Daddy.
“Daddy?” you whisper, looking right into Alexia’s hazel eyes.
“Sí, princesa?”
“Want you to use me, do whatever you want,” you whine, tears already prickling in your eyes
“Oh sweetheart,” she states pompously, “I was already going to.”
Her thick fingers have filled your pussy more times than you can remember but when you were lightheaded and a little oxygen-deprived, the feeling of them filling your pussy always sent you into hysterics.
Your pussy swallows her fingers obediently and they’re just long enough to press into your sweet spot every time they pump inside. She spreads them and works on opening you up, free hand pressing your thighs open wider.
“You take them so well, mi amor,” Alexia praises, eyes glued to your core. You stretch around a third finger that joins the two, sounds of your pleasure fill the room.
You can hear how wet you are and you turn a little red with embarrassment. Alexia however, has her ego boosted when you begin to slightly cream around her fingers. She groans and fingers you faster, lips wrapping around your clit as she begins to suck hard.
Her tongue flicks over your clit as she sucks, fingers pressing right into your sweet spot with every pump of her arm. Her free hand holds you down as you thrash about, pressure building up behind your belly button hard and fast.
“Daddy!” you moan, cumming around her fingers and making a little mess on her chin. She pulls away grinning and licking her lips, fingers shoved into her mouth after to taste you. She moans and pulls your legs back down, crashing her lips onto yours.
You kiss hot and hard, one breath shared between two. She pulls away and you fall in love with her all over again, hand grasping your jaw to pull you back into the kiss. You melt and tangle your tongue with hers, feeling her hands caress your body in ways only she knew possible.
“Turn over, princesa,” Alexia demands, strong arms already turning you over. You push your ass up and arch your back as deep as you can for her, slipping a pillow under your head to hold onto.
Alexia spanks your ass again, harder this time and it leaves a handprint on your cheek. She aims and spanks you again, hitting the same spot. Like earlier, the sting is pleasurable and makes your thighs shake, lips left whimpering for Alexia.
“More Daddy!” you whine, and she gladly obliges. Five more spanks land on your ass, blood pricking underneath your skin. She’s aware of what you’re doing, knowing you’re really prepping yourself for when she’s seven inches deep inside and fucking you roughly.
Alexia shifts her focus to the silicone dick she’s got hanging between her legs that seems to be neglected. She moves beside your head and you look up at her, clearly seeing that her oral fixation needed satiating.
Your jaw slacks and she slips in, moaning when you take most of the toy down your throat. A loud gag rings in the room which only motivates Alexia more. She holds your hair in her hands, fucking your mouth hard. She groans and swears loudly, hips driving the toy deep into your cavity. She pushes your head down onto her cock and you gag noisily, before she pulls away and the mess you leave only spurs her on.
She slaps your cheeks and kisses you sloppily, holding your body up like a doll. She presses you back down and slips into your mouth again, fucking your throat faster.
“Fuck baby, taking Daddy’s cock so well,” she praises, “getting me all wet to fuck your pussy aren’t you?”
She pulls you off her cock and gives you a stern look, your brain short-circuits as you struggle to form a coherent answer. Alexia chuckles.
“Yes Daddy, all for you!”
She lets you go and you flop onto the bed, her strong hands pressing your back into the deep arch she went feral for. She slaps her cock on your entrance and you beg for her to put it in you, voice breaking when she slips it in mid-sentence.
“What was that, darling?” she teases, cock buried to the hilt inside you.
“Fuck me!”
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” she growls, fucking into you hard. The sound of skin slapping loudly you were sure could be heard throughout the whole village but you did not care. The pure ecstasy your girlfriend was administering at the moment brought fog into your brain. You were on cloud 9.
Her cock slipped so easily into you, filling you deep and thick. Your walls gripped and she welcomed the resistance, hands grasping your hips as leverage to fuck into you harder.
“Like this, bebita?”
“Exact-” you choke, as she angles her hips to hit your sweet spot, “EXACTLY LIKE THIS!”
She pounds her hips up into you and you’re seeing stars, the tug behind your belly button starts to build up again.
“Daddy!” you scream, feeling the dam break as you come again. Alexia doesn’t stop and you’re becoming delirious with pleasure. It’s red hot and almost makes you pass out, before Alexia stops.
“Fuck mi reina, want you to ride me,” Alexia says, laying down as you climb into her lap. You’re absolutely soaking and sit on her easily, cock filling you up in a different way in this position. You slowly build up a rhythm, hands lightly wrapped around Alexia’s neck.
Her eyes roll into her head and she grins mindlessly, hands tightly gripping your hips. You bounce faster and she feels the air slowly leave her head as you begin to grip her neck a little more.
“Is this what you wanted, Daddy?” you ask cheekily, grinding your hips on her cock slowly. Alexia spanks your ass and suddenly tightens her already tight grip of your hips.
“No, I wanted to do this.”
She lifts you and fucks up into you with power you didn’t know your girlfriend had. Her cock reaches places inside you you had never felt before. She was rearranging your guts and it fucking felt amazing.
She turns you over and doesn’t lose an ounce of power, hips fucking into you so hard the bed was moving. She held your lower body up as she fucked you, your back arched off the bed so far that your shoulders were barely touching the bed.
“You want me to cum in you, baby?” she grunts, panting hard but her hips never slow down or show signs of wanting to. Her hands wrap around your neck this time and squeeze hard, the pressure behind your navel goes from 0 to 100 in mere milliseconds.
“Yes Daddy, YES!”
You squirt all over Alexia which sets her orgasm off. She moans your name and your lips crash on hers, breathing each other in. She fucks into you slowly which gives both of you a nice, long high. You tuck your face in her neck and take her in, wrapping your arms around her sweaty skin.
“I love you,” she whispers, holding you in her lap with her cock still inside you.
“I love you too,” you whisper as she pulls out, kissing you one last time before carrying you into the bathroom to clean up. She carefully washes you clean in the shower, paying more attention to you than herself. You gently clean her up too, kissing loads and loads between scrubs. She does eat you out one more time before the water goes cold, one last cry of her name echoes in the room before midnight curfew.
Back on the team bus the next day for training, you have her hoodie on and the hood pulled up, a slight limp in your walk. Alexia walks onto the bus as smug as can be, all the girls whistling like teenage boys as you try to negotiate with god to open the ground up to swallow you.
“Daddy please!” “Fuck me!” the girls yell, making faces and teasing you the whole ride there. You’re blushing an undiscovered color of red, thoughts running a mile a minute as you replay the events of the night before in your head. You catch Alexia’s eyes and she smiles a knowing smile, putting one on your face too.
Ona coming up to you just as they start to get off the bus again.
“Didn’t I tell you you’d enjoy yourself?”
“Oh shut up Oni,” you scolded loudly before pulling her close enough to whisper in her ear.
“Tell me everything she says about sex, will you?”
“¡Vamos España!” she yells with a wink, leaving you giggling and excited for more.
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A Gentleman’s Guide to Courtship
Max Verstappen x reporter!Reader
Summary: Max decides to get relationship advice from a book written in 1815 and it goes about as well as you would expect. But sometimes the wrong formula still gets the right answer
“In our modern age, when so many standards of propriety have shifted, a gentleman may find himself at a loss when attempting to court a young lady. The rules of etiquette that governed such relationships in decades past offered a framework to guide conduct and ensure all was done properly.
This humble volume intends to provide today’s gentleman that same guidance, so that he may pay suit to the object of his affection in a manner befitting them both. Within these pages, the reader will find what constitutes proper introductions, suitable topics of conversation, appropriate gifts or tokens of regard, and protocols for exchanging correspondence.
While society evolves, there remain certain courtesies that bespeak good breeding. Master these, and you shall go far in winning the hand of any respectable young lady.”
- Excerpt from “A Gentleman’s Guide to Courtship” by Reginald Worthington, 1815
A gentleman must display impeccable manners, never using foul language and maintaining a calm and collected demeanor at all times.
“So Max, tell us how you’re feeling ahead of the British Grand Prix this weekend,” you ask, microphone in hand.
Max shifts in his seat, avoiding your gaze. “Uh, yeah, feeling good. The car has been quick so far this weekend in practice.”
You nod enthusiastically. As the newly appointed F1 reporter for Sky Sports, you’re eager to prove yourself in the paddock. And getting an exclusive interview with the reigning double world champion is a great start.
“You have not won at Silverstone before. Do you think you can do it for the first time on Sunday?”
“Absolutely. The team have been working hard and I think we have a good chance,” Max replies.
You glance down at your notes. “Now Max, let’s go back to last weekend in Austria. The incident with Lando on the first lap — can you walk us through what happened from your perspective?”
Max feels his face getting hot. The controversial collision is still a sore point after the race stewards penalized him. He takes a breath, pushing down his true feelings.
“Well, it was racing incident,” he says slowly. “Lando had a good start and was alongside going into turn one. It was tight between us and unfortunately we made contact.”
You raise an eyebrow. “But do you feel that you were more at fault? It seemed to be quite an aggressive move.”
Max clenches his fist under the table discreetly. Calm and collected, he reminds himself.
“Like I said, it was just racing. These things happen sometimes between us drivers.”
“So you don’t think it was an unsafe maneuver on your part?” You press. Your piercing gaze makes Max shift again.
Just stay polite, he thinks. But his frustration boils over.
“It was freaking racing, okay!” He snaps, his calm demeanor vanishing. “Shit happens! Lando didn’t leave me space and we collided. Don’t try to blame me!”
You lean back, eyes widening in surprise at his sudden outburst. Max’s heart drops, immediately regretting his loss of composure.
“Uh, sorry about that,” he mutters, not meeting your eyes. “I didn’t mean to curse.”
“No worries, I understand it’s a sensitive topic,” you say evenly. But inside, you’re taken aback. You’ve never seen Max Verstappen react like this.
Desperate to get the interview back on track, you move to the next question. “Let’s talk about your rivalry on the track. Do you feel the tension has somewhat decreased this season as you run ahead with the championship?”
Max nods, clinging to the redirect. “All twenty drivers on the grid are competitors at heart. For sure the rivalry grows each season. Not everyone is fighting for the title so there’s less at stake for some but that can change at any moment. There is always respect between us.”
His standard PR answer seems to bore you. Glancing at the clock, you start wrapping up the interview.
“Last question, Max. Any special plans for the British Grand Prix weekend?”
“Eh, not really,” Max mutters, still kicking himself for losing his temper earlier. So much for gentlemanly manners around ladies. You’ll surely think he’s a foul-mouthed jerk now.
“Okay, I think that’s all we have time for,” you say, standing up. “Thanks again for the interview, Max, I know you’re quite busy here.”
“Yep, no problem,” Max mumbles, avoiding eye contact.
You turn to leave, but stop. “And Max? Don’t worry too much about the clash with Lando. It happens to all drivers sometimes. See you around!” You flash him a smile before exiting.
Max sits stunned for a moment after you leave. Even after his swearing and temper, you hadn’t been upset with him.
A grin slowly spreads across his face. Maybe he hadn’t ruined his chances after all!
Walking back to the Red Bull motorhome, Max can’t stop thinking about you. The way you smiled at him, so warm and understanding. And how you smelled vaguely of lavender.
Max has been captivated since you arrived in the paddock but he has no idea how to approach you … or any woman for that matter.
His only experience is with fast cars, not beautiful reporters.
Pulling up to his driver room, Max is greeted by his physio, Bradley.
“How did it go mate? You look bothered,” Brad asks.
Max sighs. “That interview with Y/N was a disaster. I screwed it up!”
He recounts his slip-up angrily cursing about Lando to Brad, who tries to stifle a laugh.
“Really, that’s what you’re worried about? A little swearing? I’m sure she’s heard far worse around the paddock!”
“But the book said to never use foul language around ladies! To be a gentleman at all times! And I failed at the first test!” Max runs an agitated hand through his hair. “Now she’ll never consider me as a suitor.”
Brad gapes at him. “A suitor? Max, what century are you living in?” He glances down and notices the antique book peeking from Max’s backpack.
Grabbing it, Brad starts flipping through the pages incredulously.
“Wait, you’re actually trying to follow advice from this ancient thing to get a girl?”
Max tries to grab the book back, his cheeks reddening. “Give it back! Yes it’s old but shouldn’t dating still be proper and polite?”
“This stuff is wildly outdated. Just ask her out for drinks. Be yourself!” Brad gestures exasperatedly.
“I can’t just ask her out, are you crazy?” Max sputters. “What if she says no?”
Brad places a hand on his shoulder. “You’re the bloody world champion. And you’re not too hard on the eyes. She’d be mad to turn you down!”
Max cracks a reluctant smile, appreciating the confidence in him. Maybe Brad is right, Max considers. He just needs to relax and stop overthinking things.
“Tell you what, the team is throwing a big party after the race on Sunday. Why don’t you invite Y/N as your date?” Brad suggests.
Max’s stomach flutters nervously at the thought. “I guess I could try ...”
Brad claps him on the back. “That’s what I’m talking about! Now hand that daft old book over so I can throw it in the bin.”
“No! I mean … I’ll hold onto it,” Max says, snatching it back.
It may be outdated but it still has some wise words, he thinks. Even if he doesn’t follow everything word-for-word, a brush up on manners couldn’t hurt.
Max feels reenergized. One mishap wouldn’t ruin his chances with you.
This weekend he would focus on winning the British Grand Prix. And then he would ask you to be his date for the after-party.
Properly, like a gentleman.
What could go wrong?
A gentleman should compose handwritten letters with eloquence and embellished language to express his sentiments, as these missives often carry great weight.
Max sits at the desk in his driver room, pen poised over a pad of stationary borrowed from the hotel.
He takes a deep breath.
My Dearest Y/N …
He pauses. How exactly does he eloquently express his feelings here? Chewing the pen anxiously, he tries again.
My Dearest Y/N,
Since first you did arrive upon the Formula 1 scene, I have been captivated by your beauty and grace ...
Max groans, crumpling up the paper. This sounds ridiculous! But the book had stressed the importance of handwritten letters to woo a lady. And with his shyness around you in person, writing a letter seemed the best approach.
If only he could find the right words.
Staring at the blank sheet of paper, Max thinks back to the British Grand Prix last weekend. He had taken Brad’s advice and invited you to the post-race celebrations as his date.
To his delight, you had happily accepted.
The party had been going perfectly. You both laughed and chatted easily over drinks. Then the DJ started playing and Max got the courage to ask you to dance. With your hand in his, bodies swaying gently together, Max was sure this was his moment to finally tell you his feelings.
But when he tried, the words tangled up inside. His throat went dry and he could only stare mute into your eyes. The song ended and the magic of the moment faded. You slipped away back to your friends, leaving Max cursing his nervousness.
Which is why he’s now resorted to writing a letter. If only he can find the right poetic phrases, he would be able to express everything in his heart.
Chewing his lip, Max starts again.
My Dearest Y/N,
Ever since you did arrive in this paddock, I have admired you from afar. Your beauty and spirit doth light up the Formula 1 world. Being in your radiant presence doth make my heart soar ...
Max frowns. He sounds like Shakespeare on steroids. This is getting him nowhere. Crumpling up another attempt, he gets an idea. He needs advice from someone more eloquent. Pulling out his phone, he selects Daniel Ricciardo’s number.
“Maxie! To what do I owe the pleasure?” Daniel answers cheerily.
“I need your help. I’m trying to write a letter to Y/N telling her ...byou know, that I like her,” Max mumbles. “But I’m struggling with the words. You’re so smooth and charming — any advice?”
Daniel laughs loudly through the phone. “A love letter mate? That’s adorable!”
Max rolls his eyes. “Haha. Yes, it’s hilarious. Do you have any tips or not?”
“Hmm okay, don’t stress too much over the fancy wording. Keep it simple and heartfelt, you know? Just speak honestly about why you like her.”
Max nods. “Right, speak from the heart. I can do that.”
“Go get her champ! Let me know if you need any more romantic advice,” Daniel teases.
“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Max hangs up with a smile.
Taking a fresh piece of paper, he starts writing.
Dear Y/N,
I wanted to properly tell you how I feel about you. From the moment I first saw you in the paddock, I thought you were the most beautiful and amazing woman.
Your smile makes me weak. Being near you gives me butterflies in my stomach.
Spending time together at the party was really special for me. I wish I had told you then how I felt. But I get so nervous around you that the words don’t come out right. So I thought writing this might be easier.
I know we haven’t known each other long. But I would love the chance to get to know you more. Maybe we could have dinner sometime, if you feel the same way?
Let me know.
Yours,
Max
Max reads over the short letter and nods, satisfied. It’s simple and honest, just saying the thoughts he can never seem to speak out loud around you.
So, after carefully folding the stationary, Max slips out of the Red Bull motorhome in search of you.
Max finds you chatting with some other journalists near the media center. He hangs back shyly, waiting for you to be free.
You glance up and catch his eye, giving a smile and wave. Taking a deep breath, Max approaches.
“Hi, Y/N. Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Of course!” You say, turning to him. The other reporters conveniently scatter, leaving the two of you alone.
“So uh, I wrote you this letter.” Max mutters, pulling the folded paper from his pocket. His palms are sweating and he rubs his neck nervously. “It’s just some thoughts I wanted to share with you.”
“Aww Max, you didn’t have to write me anything!” You beam at him sweetly.
Max shoves the letter toward you, willing himself to just give it over before he loses confidence. But as you reach out for it, anxiety grips him.
What if you reject him after reading it? Or worse, what if you show the soppy love letter to your coworkersto laugh about?
His pulse pounding, Max swiftly yanks the letter back. Before he can think twice, he starts hastily ripping it up into tiny shreds.
“Max!” You cry out in surprise. “What are you doing?”
“I, uh, just realized how weird it was to write you something so personal,” Max stammers, face flaming red.
He lets the shreds of paper fall from his fingers.
“Oh.” Your face falls in disappointment. “That’s too bad, I’m sure it was very thoughtful ...”
An awkward silence follows. Max curses internally, hating himself. Why had he chickened out at the last second? He scrambles for something to say.
“Yeah, it was too forward of me,” he rambles nervously. “I wouldn’t want people to get the wrong idea about us. Not that there is an us! I mean, we’re colleagues.”
You frown slightly in confusion. “Colleagues? I thought we were becoming friends ...”
“Right, yes friends!” Max amends quickly. “Friends is good. Don’t want rumors or gossip spreading. Not that what I wrote was gossip worthy! It was boring really, nothing important.”
He forces out a laugh, cringing at his bumbling excuse. You just stare at him in bewilderment.
“O-kay then ... well, I need to get back to work. See you around, Max.” You give him a strange look before turning away slowly.
Max watches you walk off, letting out a long groan once you’re out of earshot.
He slaps a hand to his forehead. Could that have gone any worse? He’d absolutely butchered it and now you must think he’s a complete weirdo.
Dejected, Max trudges back to the motorhome. He replays the scene in his head, berating himself over and over. If only he had the guts to just give you that letter!
Instead he had to go and make a complete fool of himself. There’s no way you have any interest in him now after witnessing that trainwreck.
Sulking back to his driver’s room, Max finds his teammate in the hallways.
“What’s up with you? You look like you just lost the championship,” Checo remarks.
Max just opens his door and flops down onto the sofa with a dramatic sigh. “I really screwed things up with Y/N ...”
He recounts the whole awkward encounter to Checo, who tries and fails to hold back laughter.
“It’s not funny!” Max snaps, tossing a scrunched up sock at him.
“Sorry, hermano,” Checo says, composing himself. “But really, I doubt it was that bad. Just explain to Y/N what happened and try again.”
“No way. It’s hopeless now,” Max moans. “I can’t face her after that.” He grabs one of the shredded letter pieces off the table, smoothing it out to reveal a fragment of his confession.
Crumpling it back up, Max tosses it aside bitterly. He definitely lost his chance thanks to his own nerves and stupidity.
Max does everything he can to avoid you over the next days, too embarrassed to face you after the letter fiasco. For your own part, you seem equally uncertain how to act around him now.
At races you keep interactions strictly professional. The ease and friendship that was developing between you is gone.
Max hates that he ruined everything before it could even really begin.
It’s not until the Dutch Grand Prix weeks later that you finally confront him.
“We should talk,” you say, catching Max alone after practice one day. “Why have you been avoiding me since Silverstone?”
Max shuffles his feet, staring at the ground. “I just made things weird with that letter. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
You step closer, tilting his chin up gently so he meets your eyes.
“I thought the idea behind it was really sweet. I was so disappointed when you just ripped it up. I care about you, so don’t push me away, okay?”
Heart pounding, Max manages a sheepish nod.
You lean in slowly and kiss his cheek, pretending not to notice how his skin turns rosy.
“I’m still waiting to see what you wrote for me one day,” you whisper with a smile before walking off, leaving Max stunned.
Touching his cheek, a grin spreads across Max’s face. Maybe he hadn’t ruined everything after all.
The book might know a thing or two.
A gentleman should present small tokens of affection: Offering a lady flowers, a lock of hair, or a sentimental keepsake is a cherished practice.
Max paces the floor of his Monaco apartment, phone in hand as he scrolls through a website about flower meanings and symbolism.
Max clicks on the different options, overwhelmed. Who knew flowers were so complicated? Red roses mean passion but are too strong for courting. Yellow roses signify friendship. White lilies convey purity and innocence.
Max frowns. None of these seem quite right.
Finally he comes across the perfect choice — peonies. According to the guide, pink peonies signal romance, prosperity and good fortune.
Isn’t that romantic? This will be the ideal flower to to show how much he cares for you.
Satisfied with his floral choice, Max orders an impressive bouquet of pink peonies to be delivered to you before the upcoming race.
As soon as you receive them, he anxiously waits for your reaction.
To his disappointment, no thank you comes. In fact, you don’t acknowledge the flowers at all.
When Max finally spots you in the paddock on Thursday, his smile fades at your red-rimmed eyes and congested voice.
“Are you okay? You don’t look well,” Max frowns.
You give a stuffy laugh. “Thanks, just what every girl wants to hear.” Dabbing at your runny nose with a tissue, you sigh. “Sorry, I’m a mess today. Turns out I’m quite allergic to peonies. Those lovely flowers you sent put me out of commission the past two days.”
Max’s eyes widen in alarm. “Wait, you’re allergic to peonies? I had no idea, I’m so sorry!”
He mentally kicks himself. Some romantic gesture this was, practically making you ill. “I was just trying to do something nice ...” he says guiltily.
But you wave off his concern with a smile, touched that he went to such effort. “It’s really sweet of you, truly. They were beautiful. My immune system just seems to have other plans.”
Max shoves his hands in his pockets. “Let me make it up to you. What if I cook you dinner next week instead of flowers?”
Your cheeks flush slightly. “I would really like that.”
***
The following Tuesday, Max puts his meager cooking skills to use whipping up pasta. Pretty soon he has an aromatic tomato sauce simmering away while he slices bread for garlic toast.
When you arrive, bottle of wine in hand, Max greets you wearing a “World’s Okayest Chef” apron. Laughter and light banter flow easily between you two all evening. The domesticity of sharing a meal together feels wonderfully natural. Lingering glances and touches over the table make it clear this is now a proper date.
After dessert, you help Max tidy up the kitchen. Playfully flicking soap suds at each other soon turns into a full-on bubble fight. Laughing and stumbling into each other, Max ends up gently pinning you against the counter.
Your giggles trail off, smiles fading into something warmer. Slowly Max leans in, lips meeting yours in a soft kiss.
When you eventually pull apart, he rests his forehead against yours contentedly. No flowers or grand gestures needed.
Just this — being together.
***
Before free practice of the following race, Max seeks you out, fidgeting nervously with the small pair of scissors in his hands.
“I … I wanted to give you something special. A token of my affection for you.”
Before you can react, Max takes a lock of his light brown hair and starts snipping right there in front of you. Your eyes widen in surprise as the severed strands fall into his palm.
“It’s uh, a lock of my hair. For you to keep,” he explains, holding it out to you sheepishly.
You have to stifle a laugh at how earnest he looks. “Wow Max, that’s really thoughtful but you didn’t have to cut your hair for me!”
Max’s cheeks flush pink. “No, I want you to have it! To show, you know, that I’m devoted to you and all that ...” His voice trails off at your amused expression.
Maybe this romantic gesture is a bit stranger than he realized. But you take the lock of hair from him with a gracious smile.
“Well, I’ll always treasure a piece of you.”
His grin brightens. Then he remembers the other part of his gift. “Oh wait, there’s more!”
He pulls a small oval locket from his pocket and clicks it open to reveal an empty compartment.
“I thought you could keep the hair in this locket, close to your heart,” he explains earnestly. “That way you will always have a part of me with you.”
Your eyes soften, touched by the sentiment if not the unconventional nature of his gift. But seeing how much thought Max put into it makes you melt and you give him a quick kiss.
“It’s perfect, thank you. Here, would you put the hair inside for me?”
Carefully, Max places the strands into the golden locket and fastens it around your neck, face lit up.
“So you really like it then?”
You nod, gently clasping the locket in your hand. “I’ll cherish it always.”
A gentleman should bring a tasteful gift, such as a book of poetry or a hand-painted fan, as a gesture of appreciation for her hospitality when visiting a lady’s home.
Max double checks the address on his phone as he pulls up outside your London flat. He’s visiting for the first time today and wants to make a good impression.
Max looks down at your gift on the passenger seat — a squirming bengal kitten, licking up the treat Max had brought to calm her for the car ride.
You had completely fallen for his two rambunctious bengal cats when you met them at his apartment.
“They are just the cutest! I’ve always wanted a bengal,” you had cooed as Jimmy curled up contentedly in your lap while Sassy climbed across your shoulders.
So when Max saw that the ethical breeder he bought his cats from had this spirited little kitten available, he knew she would be the perfect gift for your first proper date at your home.
A living reminder of the night your relationship began.
Scooping up the wriggling furball, Max walks up and rings your buzzer.
You greet him at the door with a smile and quick kiss, then abruptly stop short at the sight of the kitten in his arms.
“Max, what is that?”
“It’s a bengal kitten!” He announces proudly, holding her up like he is reenacting The Lion King. “I got her for you, as a gift.”
He holds the mewling kitten out to you eagerly. You stare back, mouth agape.
“You got me a kitten? Max, that’s insane!” You exclaim. “Bengals cost thousands of euros, you can’t just show up with one. Oh my god, please tell me you didn’t seriously buy me a €3000 cat.”
Max’s smile falters, realizing suddenly how over-the-top the gift seems.
“I mean, I just wanted to do something really special for you,” he mumbles, face reddening.
The kitten lets out a pitiful meow. You bite your lip, conflicted. She really is adorable. And you know Max meant well with his lavish gesture. Sighing, you open your door wider.
“Okay, I guess I can’t turn away this cutie now. Come on in.”
Max’s face lights up in relief. “You’ll keep her then? That’s amazing!”
He carefully sets the energetic furball down and she immediately starts exploring. You have to laugh as she pounces and tumbles over her paws.
“She’s going to destroy all my stuff,” you stare resignedly as she claws her way up your upholstered couch, claws snagging the fabric.
Max waves off your concern. “Don’t worry, I’ll pay for anything she ruins. And I’ll make sure she can come to races too, so you’re never apart.”
You raise an eyebrow. “You think they’re going to let a kitten into the paddock?”
“Lewis brings Roscoe so they have to allow cats too or it’s not fair! Don’t worry, I will make it happen,” Max declares confidently.
Despite yourself, you smile at his determination. Gazing down at the kitten now nibbling your toe, your reservations melt away.
She really has stolen your heart already.
“Well, I guess we’re in this together now, huh little one?” You murmur. “Thank you. I think she’s the perfect gift.”
His whole face lights up at those words. Impulsively, you stand on tiptoe to kiss him.
“I think I’ll name her Emiliana,” you suggest softly. “Since she’s my special gift from Max Emilian Verstappen.”
Max grins. “I love that idea.”
Maybe Max is out of touch with normal gift-giving. But looking into his smiling eyes, you know everything he does comes from a place of love. And you wouldn’t change his thoughtfulness for anything.
Even if it means welcoming a hyperactive €3000 kitten into your life.
A gentleman should exercise prudence and restraint in the event that his family honor is insulted. Engaging in a duel must be the last resort, pursued only when all other means of resolving the matter have been exhausted.
“Who’s ready for her first race?” You coo to Emiliana, clipping a leash on to her harness. The energetic bengal kitten twirls in excited circles hearing the jingle of her collar.
Max chuckles, scooping Emiliana up. “I know you’ll love exploring the garage!” Kissing her furry head, he nestles her safely in his jacket pocket for the walk over.
Arriving at the bustling paddock, Max gently puts Emiliana down to allow her to explore, the kitten’s wide eyes reflect the flash of cameras and bright team colors swirling around. With Max’s hand securely in yours, you both smile proudly showing her off to the other drivers and staff.
Most are delighted, stopping to fawn over the curious feline. But as you pass by the Alpine motorhome, she ends up scampering across the asphalt and almost tripping Esteban Ocon in the process.
“Ugh, control your overgrown rat!” He grumbles loudly.
Max freezes, blood boiling at the insult toward Emiliana. Clenching his fists, he spins to confront Esteban. But you grab his arm firmly.
“Max, stop. He’s not worth it,” you murmur. After a tense moment, Max reluctantly relaxes his stance, not wanting to cause a scene.
You steer him away, stroking Emiliana comfortingly. “Don’t listen to the mean man, sweetie. You are perfect.”
But Max continues seething silently.
The remainder of the weekend passes uneventfully and you assume Max has let go of the unpleasant encounter. But once the race starts, you grow anxious seeing the two drivers battling unusually close together.
Sure enough, despite leading comfortably, Max slows his car to allow Esteban to catch up. Your heart drops as Max then swerves aggressively into Esteban’s side, sending him spinning off in a blaze of shredded carbon fiber. Meanwhile, Max continues on unfazed to take the chequered flag.
You’re fuming when Max finally makes his way back to the garage. Seeing your crossed arms and fiery glare, his triumphant smile fades.
“I know what you’re going to say ...” he starts guiltily.
“That you promised not to seek revenge and then deliberately crashed Esteban?” You snap.
Max winces. “Seeing him just brought back all that anger ...”
“So you decided to punt him at 200 mph?” You throw your hands up in exasperation.
“I was not thinking clearly,” Max scuffs his shoe. “My temper took over again.”
Your anger melts slightly seeing Max’s remorse. With a sigh, you pull him into a tight hug. “Do you have any idea how badly you both could’ve been hurt by pulling a stunt like that?”
Max looks down, properly chastised. “You’re right, it was really dangerous what I did.”
“Not to mention nearly ruining your own race!”
“I didn’t care about losing position,” Max admits. “I have already secured the championship. Defending Emiliana’s honor was more important in the moment.”
You shake your head. “Our kitten’s honor is not worth you risking your life! Please think these things through before acting so rashly.”
“You’re right, I wasn’t thinking straight,” Max says sincerely. “I promise to be more responsible going forward. No more putting myself or anyone else in danger over petty spats.”
He hugs you close again. “Thank you for keeping me rational and safe.”
You smile up at him with a soft laugh, letting some of your tension melt away. "Someone has to.”
A gentleman should keep a strict code of chivalry: Offer your seat to a lady, hold doors, and protect her from harm, both physical and emotional.
The Singapore Grand Prix is always a grueling one thanks to the heat and humidity. But this weekend, Mother Nature seems intent on making it even tougher.
Dark ominous clouds have been building all afternoon before finally bursting open right as final practice ends. Fat raindrops pelt down rapidly, sending the paddock scrambling for cover.
Safely under the shelter of the Red Bull garage, Max keeps an eye out for you. He knows you’re stuck in the media pen finishing interviews along with the other reporters.
Sure enough, he spots your ponytail across the pen, soaked through as you attempt to shield your equipment from the downpour.
Without thinking, Max hands off his mic and races out into the rain toward you. Holding his team jacket over your head, he guides you under the shelter of a nearby awning.
“Oh my gosh, Max! You’re soaked!” You exclaim, taking in his drenched state.
But Max just shrugs it off. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry. Couldn’t let you get caught out there though.”
He rubs your arms briskly, trying to warm you up. Seeing you shivering in your thin blouse — now transparent from the rain — Max feels a pang of protectiveness.
“Here, let me get you something dry ...” He sprints off, returning minutes later with a Red Bull hoodie and umbrella from his driver’s room.
Bundling you up in the warm dry clothes, Max finally relaxes. “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. But I wasn’t about to leave you stranded in that!”
You smile up at him, sincerely touched. “My hero! Thank you, superstar.”
Leaning up on your tiptoes, you give him a soft kiss. Max thinks that heart swells three sizes, thrilled that he was able to protect you.
As the weekend goes on, Max keeps finding little ways to display chivalry. Opening doors, giving you his seat, shielding you with umbrellas whenever the rain returns.
You assure him that the fussing is unnecessary but Max insists. He wants you to feel cared for and safe at all times.
Unfortunately, not everyone in the paddock shares that sentiment.
You’re rushing to grab some coffee before the race when you overhear a muttered conversation by a group of reporters that are huddled together.
“There she is — Verstappen’s girl ...”
“Ugh, it’s so obvious she only got the job with Sky Sports because they’re dating.”
“Sleeping her way to the top if you ask me. No way she’d be here otherwise ...”
Their cruel laughter cuts through you sharply. Blinking back sudden tears, you hurry away before they can notice you.
Of course you’ve dealt with doubters questioning your skill and merits before. It’s an occupational hazard as a woman in motorsport.
But having your relationship with Max twisted in such a way stings deeply.
Arriving at the grid, you paste on a smile and try not to let the nasty remarks ruin your day. You have always had to work twice as hard to prove yourself and you were not going to give up now.
But Max notices that something is off immediately. And, when you keep avoid his concerned gaze, he gently presses for answers.
“What’s wrong, liefde? And don’t say nothing,” he adds, seeing you open your mouth to brush it off.
You sigh, reluctantly telling him about the reporters’ hurtful comments. Instantly Max’s jaw tightens, anger flashing in his eyes.
“Who said that? Point them out to me.”
You hesitate, not wanting to cause a scene. But Max takes your hand firmly.
“I won’t let them get away with questioning your integrity like that. It’s unacceptable.”
So you subtly point out the gossiping reporters huddled nearby. Max’s gaze darkens. Turning on his heel, he marches straight for the media center.
By the time you catch up, he’s already deep in a terse conversation with Formula 1’s head of communications.
You watch in astonishment as the offenders’ media access is promptly revoked despite their loud protests. But Max stands firm, insisting this is non-negotiable if he is expected to keep participating in his media duties.
When he finally returns to you, his anger has melted away into concern. “I’m so sorry you had to hear their garbage. Don’t ever listen to it, okay? You are brilliant at what you do.”
Your eyes well up again but this time from gratitude. Even during the pre-race chaos, Max made defending you his top priority.
“Thank you,” you whisper, hugging him tightly. “My knight in shining racing gear.”
Max just holds you close, wishing he could shield you from all harm. Because your happiness and comfort are paramount to him. And Max will gladly take on any dragon — or unscrupulous reporter — that dares to threaten that.
With Max by your side, ready to come to your aid in rain or shine, you know everything will be okay.
A gentleman should always be well-dressed in the latest fashions and ensure that his cravat is tied to perfection.
Max frowns down at the open suitcase on his bed, clothes strewn everywhere. He’s digging through the wardrobe he packed trying to find something stylish to wear for the United States Grand Prix.
The problem is, Max has no idea what the latest fashions even are. Jeans and a team-branded shirt are his staples both on and off the track. But he needs to make more effort for you.
Sifting through his options unsuccessfully, Max sighs. There’s nothing here that screams high fashion. He would have to do the unthinkable and ask advice from someone … like Lewis Hamilton.
Max cringes at the thought of approaching his rival for fashion help. But Lewis is always complemented for his outfits so he is clearly an expert on the subject.
Swallowing his pride, Max fires off a text before he can overthink it.
To his surprise, Lewis responds enthusiastically with suggestions and styling tips. Their competitive rivalry is momentarily forgotten as the veteran driver dedicates all day to helping Max looking sharp.
Arriving at the paddock on Thursday morning, Max scrutinizes his reflection anxiously while scanning his pass. He’s wearing slim-fitting distressed jeans with a silky patterned shirt that Lewis instructed was to be left half-unbuttoned.
Definitely way flashier than his normal attire but Lewis assured him it was very on-trend. So Max takes a deep breath and heads out to find you.
Your eyes widen in surprise taking in his dramatic style overhaul. “Whoa, look at you!”
Max preens a bit, relieved that you don’t seem to be put off by his bold fashion choice.
“I figured it was time to elevate my fashion game,” he spins cheekily to show off the full look.
You have to stifle a laugh at seeing straight-laced Max suddenly dressing like a runway model after fans used to be shocked to see him in anything other than a white shirt.
It’s certainly different but cute that he’s putting in so much effort for your relationship.
As the weekend continues, so does Max’s parade of high fashion outfits. He turns up looking like he stepped off a catwalk in trendy printed shirts, embroidered jackets, and even sequined trousers.
By Sunday, the dramatic style transformation has paddock tongues wagging. Max appears entirely oblivious to the gossip though, just happy that his attempts to impress you seem to be working.
But watching him awkwardly fidget with the billowing oversized silk sleeves of today’s shirt as he tries to focus on preparing for the race, you realize that this isn’t your Max. Not really.
Catching his eye, you gesture for him to join you out of earshot and away from the view of cameras. Gently taking his hands, you meet his gaze.
“Be honest with me, what’s going on with the makeover? This isn’t like you at all.”
He ducks his head with a sheepish smile. “I just wanted to dress nicely for you this weekend. Like a proper gentleman.”
You lift his chin until he’s looking at you again. “You don’t have to try and be someone else for me. I like you for you — jeans, team kit, and all.”
Max’s shoulders relax in relief. “Yeah?”
“Of course! Please don’t feel like you ever have to change.” You lean up to kiss him softly. “Now let’s get you into some racing gear, champ.”
A gentleman should know that prolonged eye contact is a powerful tool for conveying one’s intentions.
“So Max, I have to ask about the incident with Carlos last race. Do you think your aggression was over the line?”
You fixes Max with an inquisitive gaze, microphone poised as you wait for his response. But instead of answering, he just stares back intensely without blinking.
After a long awkward pause, you shift in your seat. “Uh, Max? Did you hear my question?”
“Hmm? Oh right, yeah. It was just racing, these things happen,” he says vaguely, eyes never leaving yours.
You move on to the next question, puzzled by his distracted behavior. Throughout the interview, Max continues gazing at you unwaveringly.
It’s a bit unsettling to have him stare so fixedly without looking away.
Finally you wrap up the stilted conversation, feeling relieved to escape his laser focus. What was up with that?
Over the weekend, you catch Max staring silently at you on numerous occasions — in hospitality, on the grid, across the garage. Without blinking or looking away, he’ll fix you with that powerful gaze until you flush and look away first.
By Sunday you’ve gotten used to the drawn out m moments of extended eye contact.
But during the post-race press conference, Max cranks it up a notch. As you ask Charles a question about the race, you feel Max’s eyes boring into the side of your face. Glancing over, you nearly fumble your recorder.
He’s just ... staring. Blatantly. Right at you as you’re trying to have a professional conversation.
The other drivers keep sneaking amused looks between you two and trying to hide their snickers.
You finally wrap up hurriedly, flustered by Max’s unrelenting eye contact. As the rest of the press file out, you hang back.
“So the whole staring thing ... we’re really doing that huh?” You raise an eyebrow at him.
Max has the grace to look sheepish. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to throw you off! I’ve just been trying to connect with you even more.”
You have to stifle a laugh imagining him sternly holding his own gaze in a mirror for practice. “I could tell! But maybe dial it down a little bit during interviews?”
Rubbing his neck, Max chuckles. “Yeah good call.”
He’s quiet for a moment before meeting your eyes again, this time softer. “I do like the way it makes me focus just on you though. Like the rest of the world fades away.”
“Yeah,” you duck your head, “I like that part too.”
Max’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles. Reaching out, he gently tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
When Max leans in, eyes fluttering closed, you let yourself get lost in the moment. The outside world disappears and all that’s left is his lips on yours, saying more than words ever could.
A gentleman should never speak of his own accomplishments or wealth in a boastful manner, instead let your actions and character speak for themselves.
“Liefde, have you seen my phone charger?” Max calls from the living room of his apartment. “Nevermind, found it!”
He grabs the charger off of the coffee table, narrowly avoiding knocking over the World Drivers’ Championship trophy displayed prominently in the center.
You stifle an amused smile as you enter. Ever since you jokingly teased Max about being humble, he has made his accomplishments strangely hard to ignore.
Like the fact that his trophy room door now mysteriously stays wide open whenever you’re over. Or how he keeps offering for you to take Air Max whenever you need to travel instead of flying commercial. It’s his unique way of bragging without actually saying a word.
Joining him on the sofa, you have to shoo away one of the cats that is trying to swat the trophy off the table. Max just grins.
“Sassy really loves that thing! Although I guess I can’t blame her, it is very shiny.”
You laugh, curling into his side. “It certainly seems to belong front and center lately. Along with your three championship-winning helmets on the table in the foyer.”
Max attempts an innocent look that doesn’t quite stick. “What? They’re nice decorative pieces!”
“Mmhmm,” you hum skeptically. Glancing around, you note magazine covers bearing his face displayed on the walls along with a framed race-worn suit hanging randomly next to the kitchen.
Meeting his eyes, you give him a knowing look. Max holds your gaze for a moment before cracking.
“Okay fine, I may have highlighted some ... accomplishments since your little humble comment,” he admits with a sheepish grin.
You have to laugh. “Max, you know I was just teasing you! I would never want you to downplay your achievements.”
Twisting to face him, you take his hands in yours. “You’ve worked so hard for everything you have. Please don’t feel like you can’t be proud about it.”
Max’s expression softens. “I know and I am really proud of my racing success.” Glancing around the trophy-filled apartment, he chuckles. “Maybe a bit too loudly recently.”
You lean in to kiss him tenderly. “I love you and I’m so proud of you. But it’s this,” you tap his chest on top of his heart, “This is what made me fall for you, not the jet or the trophies.”
“Yeah?” Max asks, eyes crinkling happily.
You snuggle into his shoulder. “Of course. You’ll always just be my Max.”
But then the gifts start arriving. An Hermes Birkin bag here … some Van Cleef jewelry there. Presented nonchalantly but you know that their extravagance is no accident.
Finally, you have to say something when a couture Chanel gown appears in your hotel room one day.
“What’s going on with all these gifts all of a sudden?” You ask gently.
“Nothing! I just want to treat my amazing girlfriend the way she deserves to be treated.”
You raise an eyebrow and look … and look … and look … until Max cracks. “Okay fine, I may have been trying to show off a bit,” he admits. “But it’s hard not to when I want to give you the world!”
Your expression softens. Taking his hands, you wait until he meets your eyes.
“You could give me plastic rings and clothing from the thrift store and I would be just as happy. Your love means everything to me, not material things.”
“Really?”
You nod and climb into his lap to connect your lips in a slow kiss. Pulling back, you add teasingly, “But I am keeping the dress.”
He laughs, all tension vanishing. “Of course, it will look incredible on you. Like everything does.”
A gentleman should demonstrate a willingness to adapt to a lady’s interests and preferences, cultivating shared hobbies and passions.
“Here we are!” You announce, gesturing at the entrance of the padel club. “I know you’ll love this. It combines the best parts of tennis, squash, and racquetball.”
Taking Max’s hand, you lead him inside eagerly. You’ve been trying to get him to try padel, your favorite hobby, for ages. Finally convincing him to play while visiting him in Monaco, you do a quick rundown of the rules in the locker room.
“So basically we score just like in tennis but the walls and mesh are also in play. You can use them to bounce shots off of strategically,” you explain, miming hitting the ball off the glass wall.
Max nods along, game face on. He’s determined to share your passion for this sport.
“Got it. Use the walls, beat the opponents, win the match,” he summarizes confidently.
You laugh. “Pretty much! Now let’s go kick some butt out there.”
Gripping your paddles, you head onto the slick court. Max gravitates right to the mesh wall, intrigued by the unique setup.
You have to hide your grin — he’s like a kid exploring and testing shots out eagerly. His competitive nature means that he is completely engrossed within minutes.
And Max certainly has a knack for padel. His fast reflexes and coordination transfer over as he adapts his technique. Soon you’re both moving seamlessly around each other, dominating the points against a random couple Max had convinced to play against the two of you.
Hours later, sweaty but exhilarated, Max slings an arm around you grinning.
“That was epic! This is such an awesome game, I can’t wait to play more.” His excitement makes your heart swell. Nothing better than sharing your interests with someone special.
Over the next weeks, you find any excuse to play padel together. On lazy mornings, Max coaxes you out of bed. During race weeks, you even manage to squeeze in a few matches after media day.
Soon Max transforms into a padel fanatic, always scouting new courts and competition. His dedication to mastering every shot warms your heart. And the silly trash talk and celebrations make every match so much fun.
It was no surprise when Max decided to organize a players tournament between races. Getting the other drivers involved had your makeshift paddock league battling it out.
“Here for the padel party!” Daniel crows, showing up in head-to-toe tennis gear.
Charles, Carlos, Lando, and Pierre are there too, warming up their swings. You help Max demonstrate the rules, the other guys teasing him good-naturedly about his new obsession.
Once play begins though, the intensity heats up quickly. Max’s laser focus kicks in as he charges around you protectively, looking to crush anyone who dares hit near you. Luckily you hold your own plenty well too against the drivers.
When the final point is called in your favor, Max tackles you in an exuberant hug, the guys applauding around you. Grinning and flushed with exertion, you all head inside to refuel and celebrate a fun day of sport and competition.
One padel date turned into a shared passion that bonded you both with the other drivers too. And seeing your smile reflecting Max’s own euphoric one, you know this is only the start of many joyful tournaments and casual games together.
Maybe Max went a bit over-the-top in his newfound padel fever. But his willingness to dive headfirst into your interests fills you with more love than you ever thought possible.
Having someone care enough to enter your world so fully and share the things that light you up — that’s the most meaningful gesture of all.
A gentleman should learn to play a musical instrument or be a connoisseur of music, as serenading a lady can be a charming expression of affection.
Max turns the acoustic guitar over in his hands, plucking experimentally at the strings.
With your birthday coming up, serenading you seems like the perfect romantic gesture. Now he just has to actually learn how to play this thing. It seems simple enough — how hard can the guitar really be?
Max starts pressing on the strings randomly, the resulting discordant notes making him wince.
Okay, this might take some work.
Pulling up a beginner tutorial on his phone, he starts practicing the basic chords. But his fingers fumble clumsily, refusing to contort into the proper shapes. The more he tries, the worse the mangled sounds get.
Frustrated after the thirty minute lesson yields little improvement, Max sighs. “How am I supposed to woo my girlfriend with music if I can’t even play a damn C chord?”
Time for a professional to step in. Max books lessons with a private guitar instructor, determined to nail this down in time for your birthday surprise.
At the first lesson, the instructor eyes Max’s hands critically. “Right, let’s start by getting your fingers conditioned ...”
He takes Max through various stretching and dexterity exercises to limber up. Max nods along dutifully until the instructor pulls out a contraption with rubber bands and metal prongs.
“What the hell is that thing?” Max asks warily.
“A finger strengthener — we need to work on your independence and stamina,” he explains matter-of-factly, fitting the device over Max’s hand.
Max grimaces as the rubber bands strain against his fingers. The instructor just nods approvingly. “Perfect, twenty minutes per day with that.”
By the end of the torturous lesson, the only progress Max has made is identifying the parts of the guitar. He’s nowhere close to actually playing.
Max leaves discouraged but even more motivated to conquer the instrument somehow before your birthday. He continues meeting with the instructor multiple times a week, practicing rigorously outside of lessons too.
You notice his new habit of constantly stretching his fingers but Max plays it off casually not wanting to spoil the surprise.
The week before your birthday, Max has made marginal improvements but is still far from properly playing full songs. Desperate, he invites the instructor over for one final intensive lesson.
After two grueling hours of relentless drills, the instructor throws his hands up. “I’ve never had a student struggle this much with guitar basics. Maybe we should consider something easier, like the triangle or a recorder ...”
“No!” Max interrupts forcefully. “The guitar is a classic romantic instrument. I just need more practice before her party tomorrow.”
The instructor sighs. “If you say so. Just keep working on your fretting transitions and we’ll hope for the best.”
After he leaves, Max stays up late into the night strumming determinedly. By your birthday, his fingers are sore and calloused within an inch of their lives. But he can semi-confidently stumble through a love song and that’s enough for tonight.
When the moment arrives, he takes a deep breath and begins gently playing the intro to “Thinking Out Loud,” ready to serenade you. Max makes it halfway through before the chords descend into choppy noise.
You still applaud enthusiastically after, smiling ear to ear. “That was amazing, my love! Thank you so much.”
Max ducks his head bashfully. “It still needs some work. But I’m glad you liked it.”
Laughing, you take his tortured hands and kiss each fingertip. “I loved it because it came from you. That’s all that matters to me.”
Warmth blooms in Max’s chest. No matter how imperfect, you appreciated his efforts because of how much heart he put into it just for you.
In the end, no amount of lessons could transform Max into a virtuoso overnight. But he did become accomplished in one universal language — love.
And at the end of the day, that means everything.
A gentleman should recognize and appreciate a lady’s accomplishments, whether in the arts, charity work, or society.
“So Max, what are your thoughts on taking pole position here in Brazil?” The reporter asks.
Max grins into the mic. “Yeah, feels great to put it on pole here. The team has done an amazing job dialing in the car.”
He pauses and then adds, “Of course my girlfriend Y/N also put in a stellar qualifying effort yesterday covering the action for Sky Sports. Her commentary is always so eloquent and insightful.”
The reporter smiles amused as Max continues raving about your on-air skills for several minutes before remembering to refocus him on the results of the actual qualifying seasion.
This has become a familiar trend lately in Max’s interviews. No matter the question, he manages to redirect the conversation to highlight your various talents.
“... our pace was really strong today, I think we will be able to keep the top step tomorrow. Oh, speaking of strong pace, Y/N just ran a personal best 5k time last week during training ...”
In team debriefs, the same thing happens. Engineer queries about race strategy are derailed into praise about your presenting skills. PR reps trying to discuss Max’s social media posts somehow end up hearing about your recent venture into pottery making instead.
Even in casual conversations, you come up constantly.
“Morning, Max! How are you today?” His trainer asks while spotting a weight lifting session.
“Doing great! Y/N is also doing great, she’s learning Dutch and picking it up so quickly. Have I mentioned how talented she is with languages?”
By now the whole paddock is highly familiar with your many accomplishments, since Max seizes every possible opportunity to spotlight them.
You find it rather endearing, if a bit silly at times. Like when Max commandeered an entire interview just to detail the charities that you volunteer with.
“You know I’m capable of mentioning my own accomplishments if they come up naturally, right?” You tease him later.
Max looks sheepish. “I know, I just like bragging about you! I’m really proud of everything you do.”
You soften, giving him a quick kiss. “That’s really sweet. But maybe tone down the constant spotlight a little?” You suggest gently.
“Noted,” Max chuckles.
He makes an effort after that to highlight your achievements only when truly relevant. Because while he could praise you all day, Max also respects your wishes.
And he realizes you don’t need him to validate your worth — your talents speak for themselves. But he still can’t resist sharing little proud snippets whenever your accomplishments come up organically.
Over time you appreciate Max’s admiration and support more and more. Having someone so genuinely invested in all aspects of your life is incredibly touching.
Maybe he goes a bit overboard in his praising sometimes. But knowing that Max is always your biggest cheerleader, when it comes to racing coverage or otherwise, means everything.
A gentleman should seek the permission of the lady’s father or guardian before proposing, demonstrating respect for her family and social conventions. Once granted, he should choose an intimate setting for the proposal, away from the public eye. He must then express his intentions with sincerity, dropping to one knee and presenting a ring as a symbol of his commitment.
Max takes a deep breath, fidgeting with the small velvet box in his pocket. Today’s the day — he’s going to ask your father for permission to marry you.
You’ve reassured Max time and time again that your dad loves him but that does nothing to settle his nerves as he knocks on the front door of your childhood home.
When your father welcomes Max inside warmly, he relaxes slightly. Clearing his throat, Max launches into the speech he prepared.
“Sir, I’ve come today because I want to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage. We have been together for years now and I want to spend the rest of my life with her, completely committed to her happiness. She is the most amazing person I’ve ever known.”
Max pauses, blushing. “Sorry, I had this whole thing planned out better. I guess what I’m asking is — may I have your blessing to propose to Y/N?”
Your dad grins, clapping Max on the shoulder. “You know you didn’t have to be so formal about this. I already see you as part of the family.”
Max smiles bashfully. “I just wanted to show my respect for you and Y/N. Your blessing would mean a lot to me.”
“You have it absolutely. I couldn’t imagine anyone better for her than you.” He pulls Max into a hug. “Welcome to the family, son.”
Max leaves on cloud nine, thrilled to have this traditional step done right. Now on to planning the perfect proposal location away from prying eyes ...
After scouring options, Max selects a peaceful mountaintop in the Swiss Alps. Complete with luxury chalet just for the two of you — intimate but romantic.
Max painstakingly decorates it with flowers, candles, and photos of your relationship throughout the years. For the ring, he chooses two large natural diamonds in an unique asymmetrical setting, symbolic of two imperfect halves making a flawless whole.
Now fully prepared, Max just has to wait for your upcoming vacation to pop the question. He spends the days leading up to it buzzing with nervous excitement.
The helicopter ride to the mountain is pure torture for him. What if you say no? What if he fumbles the proposal speech? Endless doubts race through Max’s mind.
But as soon as he sees your delighted smile taking in the warmly lit cabin, his anxiety melts away. This evening is about letting his heart speak.
Through a private chef-cooked dinner, your laughter echoes in the chalet just like it always sounds. Full of joy and life and love.
Max knows that he’s ready.
Taking your hand gently, he leads you outside onto the moonlit balcony. Time to finally ask you to be his forever.
Max clears his throat, meeting your eyes. “Y/N, from the moment I met you, my world changed. Your smile and your light fill my days with meaning. You make me a better man.”
He slowly kneels, pulling out the ring box with trembling fingers. “I want to laugh with you, cry with you, share every high and low for the rest of our lives. Will you make me the luckiest man in the universe by becoming my wife?”
You clasp a hand over your mouth, eyes glimmering with tears. You only manage to get out a watery “Yes!” before also dropping to your knees in front of him.
Grinning ear to ear, Max slides the ring onto your finger with a kiss. “I promise to always love and cherish you.”
“And I promise the same to you, today and always.”
You throw your arms around him, both giddy with joy under the stars.
The customs that got you to this moment may have been old-fashioned but your love is timeless.
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