Midnight in Monaco

Max’s eyes locked on the apex, his grip tight on the wheel as the car screamed through the flat-out left-hander. The vibrations rattled through his hands, every nerve firing.

“Inside line... inside line...” he muttered under his breath, barely audible.

He glanced at the timing; two-tenths up. “Don’t mess this up, Max.”

The world around his focus tunnel was blurry, aside from consciously listening to his Redline Teammates. every now and then.

Chat was a blur of lap-time spam and back seat driving.

They couldn’t hear it clearly, soft but unmistakable, was a click of the front door. Max didn’t glance over, but the faint thump of shoes being kicked off on the hallway mat bled through the otherwise silent apartment.

A slow, groggy “Heeey…” floated in. And instantly, the driver smiled. “Hi, liefje,” Max said, tone effortlessly warm even as he was trying not to crash in-game.

The chat barely reacted at first, until the words really sank in.

what’s a liefje?? DID HE JUST CALL SOMEONE BABE IN DUTCH?? whose voice was that omg

Something else was mumbled from somewhere in the room, but too quiet to make out for chat.

Max didn’t answer until the next straight. He reached behind his chair, grabbed the folded blanket slung over the backrest, and tossed it toward the couch.

The camera didn’t catch her, only the sound of fabric hitting cushions, the soft rustle of her curling up, and a tiny, content sigh.

HELLO??? WHO TF JUST WALKED INTO HIS HOUSE blanket toss mid race?? Damn

Max’s mouth twitched into a small smile. “Don’t fall asleep before the end, want to show you something,” he said over his shoulder, voice pitched lower than usual.

Aside from a soft ‘Mhmm’, no answer came.

Ten laps later, after finishing the race, Max relaxed in his seat, pushing the headset off his ear on one side. The guys in the call were already laughing in his ear. “So, uhm… Max? Anything you wanna tell us?” He blinked, feigning innocence. “About what?”

“About who just wandered in mid-race.”

Max leaned back in his seat, taking a sip from his water bottle like he had all the time in the world. “Oh, yeah. That was my girlfriend.”

For half a second, there was silence. Then chat detonated.

GIRLFRIEND??? MAX HAS A GF??? SINCE WHEN??

The Redline guys were cackling. “Mate, you just drop that in like it’s nothing?”

Max only smirked, glancing toward the couch, voice dipping softer. “She’s a teacher. Had parents’ evening tonight, so she’s wrecked. Pretty sure she’s already asleep.”

A soft ‘nuh-uh’ was heard from the direction of the couch. The camera caught just a sliver of her when Max tilted it over a bit, a blanket draped over her, the curve of someone curled into the couch. Still no face.

Max twists in his chair, eyes wide open in suprise. “Hey,” he said softly. “You want some tea or just… sleep?”

From under the blanket came a muffled, “Sleep. Forever.”

He chuckled. “Long night?”

A groan, then: “Do you know how many parents told me today that English isn’t important anymore? Like, apparently spelling doesn’t matter because ‘we have autocorrect.’ Or, get this, they say their kid doesn’t like reading so I should just… not make them do it?” She yawned mid-sentence. “Max, I swear, some of them are worse than the kids.”

Max’s smile turned helpless. He leaned an elbow on the armrest, just watching her. “Yeah?” he murmured, like every word she said was gold.

bro’s in love this is DISGUSTING i want what they have

“Go to sleep, liefje,” he said eventually, still grinning. “I’ll be done soon.”

“Mm.” She was already halfway gone again.

Max reached over without thinking, adjusting the edge of the blanket so it covered her shoulder completely, tucking it underneath her chin. “Sleep well,” he murmured, almost too low for the mic to catch.

Then he turned back to his screen, shaking his head with a smile on his face.

It was barely past nine in the morning on the first day of summer break, when a Redline stream was up and running. Max’s headset was snug, wheel centered and he looked freshly showered, hair still wet in some spots. Chat was still waking up too, their greetings a mix of sleepy emojis and half-hearted banter.

“Morning,” he said into the mic, sipping his coffee. “Early start today. I’m more awake than some of you, I think.”

He was mid-qualifying lap when the soft shuffle of bare feet came from the hallway. His eyes flicked toward the camera for half a second, subtly thinking of what could be seen from this angle, which was second nature by now, before answering one of his teammates questions.

“Max…” came a hoarse, gravelly voice, still warm from sleep.

“Mhm?” he hummed, braking into a chicane.

“…there’s no coffee.” She stood in the doorway like she’d walked straight out of bed (which was probably the case), hair messy, one sleeve of her (Max’s) oversized T-shirt slipping off her shoulder, and the blanket still trailing behind her like a cape. 

She spotted the half-full mug in his hand and gasped in mock outrage. “Hey!”

Chat latched on instantly.

SHE’S BACK bro she sounds like she just crawled out of the grave

Max bit down on a smile. “There’s beans in the cupboard,” he told her, ignoring his teammates giggles in his ears.

“…the grinder’s too loud,” she mumbled, and he could practically hear the pout without looking.

“That’s… how grinders work, Liefje,” he said, steering with one hand for a moment just to shrug, and eye her with a teasing smile.

A pause. “Can’t you make it for me?”

bro make the coffee for your queen he’s WHIPPED i know it

Max let out a short laugh. “I’m,” the car twitched for a second, he corrected it “,kind of busy here Schatje.”

She didn’t argue. Just a deep and dramatic sigh, the quiet scuff of her feet retreating, and the whump of her collapsing onto the couch. “I guess you want your girlfriend to have a terrible start to her summer holidays.”

Over comms, one of his teammates snorted. “Mate, that’s cruel. Your girlfriend’s asking for coffee and you’re ignoring her?”

Another chimed in immediately, tone dripping with mischief. “Bet you could wake her up better than any espresso, huh, Max?”

Max burst into a laugh so sudden he clipped a kerb, muttering, “Oh my god, shut up,” as he tried to stop his cheeks from blushing. “They’re saying I could have woken you up differently,” he called over his shoulder.

From under what sounded like a pillow came a muffled groan, “Tell them they’re worse than my teens.”

He laughed out loud, flipped the mic back on, and relayed, “She says you’re worse than her students.”

The guys roared, one muttering something else questionable. Max laughed so hard he had to lift off the throttle.

“What’d he say?” came the sleepy voice from the couch.

He hesitated, still grinning. “…That you should give him detention.”

She snorted. “Yeah, well, I’d make him write out ‘I will not be gross on the internet’ a hundred times.” Max smirked, relaying it word for word while his teammates howled. Chat spammed that he should just put her on the call instead of being the transmitter.

The rest of the laps went by with the occasional background yawn, the rustle of a blanket, and the faint hum of her scrolling on her phone and laughing at some TikToks. 

this is so domestic i can’t stand it not her giggling in the background

When the team finally took a short break before the next race, Max decided to be a nice boyfriend. “Alright, I’m gonna make her coffee now.” He turned in his chair to get up, only to find her curled up, blanket pulled to her chin, already fast asleep again.

Max just shook his head, smiling to himself. “Never mind. Crisis averted, she’s back to sleep. Gotta make the most of the time without school.”

From the couch, without even opening her eyes, she mumbled, “Still no coffee, though…”

Max just sighed in defeat.

The stream started unusually quiet that evening in the winter. Max’s usual chatter was replaced by a soft tone when he talked, and the glow from his racing rig was the only light in the room. The Redline team and chat noticed immediately.

One of the guys on comms teased, “Oi, Max, what’s with the creepy mood lighting? You look like you’re hiding from a ghost.” Another chimed in, “Yeah, mate, this isn’t supposed to be a séance!”

Chat flooded with laughing and confused emojis, but Max just smiled gently.

“Yeah, I’m sitting in the dark today,” he admitted quietly, “Because… well, my girlfriend’s had a migraine all day. She missed me while I was at work, and she didn’t want to be alone.” His voice softened as he spoke, eyes flickering to the shadowy couch nearby.

One of the guys asked, “She’s there right now?”

Max nodded, lips curling into a fond little smile. “Yeah. I moved the couch closer so she could be next to me while we do our stuff. She’s just resting, but she’s here” 

Between practice laps and breaks, Max shared a few little updates, careful not to sound too heavy. “She’s wrapped up in that big blanket, it's weighted so it feels really good,” he said, “and she’s really tired… but she keeps reaching out for me.”

Then he shifted the camera angle slightly, revealing the outline of a blanket pile on the couch, after a moment, a hand crept into view, gently resting on Max’s thigh. Really she was going for his hand, but her arm wasn’t long enough, so she settled for the thigh.

“Ohhh, hand reveal,” Luke teased. “She’s real!” one of the others laughed, while chat was freaking out an equal amount.

Max chuckled, a little embarrassed but clearly amused. He adjusted his seat, sliding his hand gently over hers and letting her hold on before rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “She’s just grounding herself, I guess,” he explained softly, the warmth in his voice unmistakable. “I’m lucky she trusts me enough to do that.”

During one of the races, a quiet, pained sound came from the couch. Max’s whole focus shifted. “Hang on, guys,” he said into his mic, before abandoning his sim-rig mid lap. He took off his headset and set it on the desk, then leaned toward her.

“You still hurting, Liefje?” he whispered. She nodded under the blanket, barely opening her bleary eyes.

Max brushed her hair gently back from her forehead. “Alright. I’ve got something for you.” He moved to the fridge and came back with one of those gel-filled cooling headbands. He knelt beside the couch and eased it over her hairline, adjusting it until it sat just right over her eyes.

“Better?” he asked softly.

“Mm… yeah,” she mumbled, but after a beat, her lips twitched. “You know this makes you an official migraine assistant now, right?”

Max huffed a quiet laugh. “That’s not a real job title.”

“It is now,” she said, eyes already closed underneath the eye mask again. “And you’re really good at it, maybe I'll give you a promotion”

He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand before tucking the blanket more securely around her. “I’ll be right here.”

Sliding back into his seat, he put his headset on again. “Alright, crisis handled,” he told the guys.

“What’d you do?” Diogo asked.

“Cold headband. Weighted blanket, and of course - Me,” Max deadpanned, earning a round of snickers.

From the couch came a faint, sleepy murmur. Max leaned back, his eyes flicking to her silhouette under the blanket.

“She’s been so tired all day,” he said. “I think she’s been fighting the migraine more than she lets on.”

For the rest of the stream, Max’s attention was split between the track and the hand in his. When she shifted slightly, Max smiled wider.

The final lap ended, and as the stream wound down, the dim light bathed the room in a warm glow. She was asleep again, nestled against the couch cushions, hand still softly clasped in his.

Max whispered, barely above the hum of his computer, “Sleep well, liefje.”

Max’s fingers danced over the sim wheel, as they were watching some footage back, the familiar hum of a race filling the living room. His eyes were sharp and focused, but behind him, the soft creak of the front door caught his attention.

“Hey,” came a sleepy, barely audible voice from just off camera.

Max smiled without turning, the immediate ‘Tell her hello!’ from his teammates filling his ear.

“Hey, liefje. What’s up?”

Slow footsteps padded closer. Before Max could say more, a small tray appeared at the edge of the frame. A hearty dinner plate with a jug of water beside it. “I thought you’d be hungry, and I just ate, so..” she murmured, voice thick with tiredness.

“Thank you,” Max said, reaching out to take the tray, tearing his eyes away from the screen. “You didn’t have to.” She shrugged, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. “I didn’t want to bother you, but you’re ignoring your stomach. And while it’s still early, I’m gonna crash any minute now.”

Chat instantly lit up with heart and food emojis, some playful teasing about Max being whipped.

Max chuckled, keeping his eyes on her. “You’re a saint.”

Quickly he pushed the camera downwards so that he could press a gentle, thankful kiss to her lips in peace. What he hadn’t thought about was how everyone could now see a) the hoodie she was wearing was definitely his, and b) the grip he had on her waist.

There was a beat of silence before Enzo whistled low over comms. “That’s not very PG-13, mate.”

Gianni laughed, “Forget the hoodie, chat! I’m more concerned with where your hands are, Romeo.”

Chat was already going feral:

HELLO?? WAIST GRAB?? that is NOT a handshake max

Max’s ears went a little pink as he straightened the camera again after ensuring that she was out of frame, or at least her face. “You’re all ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Enzo shot back, “and you’re whipped.”

Max just grinned, not bothered by their teasing at all. “She just brought me dinner, in my hoodie, in my apartment… of course I’m whipped.”

Before he could take a bite, she yawned, “I’m gonna go crash on the couch after this,” she mumbled, almost to herself.

Max nodded, voice warm but steady. “Go get some rest. I’ve got you. Thank you again for dinner, Schatje. It’s delicious.” She disappeared fully from frame, the soft footsteps retreating as Max turned back to his teammates and the chat buzzing with questions.

Gianni grinned, “So, who is she, really? You’ve gotta spill some secrets, mate.”

Max laughed softly. “She’s a teacher. Right now, exam season’s been brutal for her. Tons of stress, migraines have been hitting hard. And she tries to help her students as best as she can, and when they get stressed, she gets even worse. So yeah.. bit rough at the moment.”

“Ah, she’s one of the good ones then? The kind who really cares?”

Max’s tone grew a little softer, more thoughtful as he stared at his sleeping girlfriend. “Yeah. She cares.. a lot. When we started dating, she wouldn’t let me take care of her. She was always the strong one… didn’t want to be the one needing help.”

Enzo teased, “Sounds like she’s got you wrapped around her finger now.”

Max smiled, shaking his head. “Yeah, well… she’s still that strong girl. But now? I get to be the one who’s there. When the migraines hit, when she’s tired or stressed, I’m here. Even if it’s just sitting quietly while she naps.”

Chat filled with “awws” and hearts.

Max glanced toward the couch, voice dropping to a gentle whisper. “She’s the kind of person who doesn’t ask for help easily. But she lets me in now, and that means a lot.”

During this particular stream, chat notices how distracted Max was, glancing at the door and his phone every few minutes.

You okay, Max? don’t mind him.. he’s just hearing voices

Max’s voice is tight. “Yeah… she’s had a long day at work. Said texted and said that she would be home by now, but, nothing yet.” He types a quick message, then puts his phone down.

The front door opens quietly. Footsteps shuffle in.

She steps into their shared home, eyes red and tired, shoulders heavy as her bag and jacket were dropped next to the door. Without a word, she beelines it towards Max, blind to the fact that he was streaming, before sliding into his lap, burying her face against his throat.

WHO IS SHE?? is this THE girlfriend???

Max’s arms close around her immediately, pulling her even closer in the tight space as he pressed soft kisses to her hair, “Hey Schatje, there you are. Rough day, huh?”

A shaky, muffled nod.

In Max’s ear, his teammates kept their voices low, not wanting to disturb the quiet moment. Luke whispered, “Max, do you want to end the stream? You can take a break if you need.” Max glanced down at her, then back at the screen. “She’s okay with me staying, right?”

From his lap came a tired but calm, “As long as you let me stay.”

i’m gonna cry this is so soft max being boyfriend of the year rn

Max strokes her hair, voice almost a whisper. “It’s okay, Schat, just let it out.”

She trembles slightly, tears soaking into his shirt as she cries silently against his neck. Max stays as still as he can, letting her lean into him as they start the next race in the simmulator. 

Slowly, her tears dry as exhaustion finally wins over, and she drifts to sleep, curled against his chest, breathing soft and even. Max doesn’t move, just gently brushing her hair back, careful not to wake her.

After a while, she blinks awake, still curled against Max’s chest. He carefully lifted a second headset over her ears, and leaned toward the camera with a soft smile.

“Alright, chat,” Max said, voice warm but playful, “the moment you’ve all been waiting for. This is the mystery girl who’s been sneaking into my streams and stealing me away from you guys.”

From the call, Luke’s voice broke in, teasing and a bit impatient. “About time, mate! We’ve been waiting forever for this.”

Diogo laughed quietly, “Finally! She’s making her debut. Hi there!”

Max glanced down at her, then back at the stream. “Yeah, this is my girlfriend. Go ahead and say hi.”

She shifted slightly, heat rising to her cheeks, voice a little shy but steady. “H-hi... Sorry for crashing in like this. It’s been a really rough day.”

hi gf!!! OUR girlfriend nowwwww

Gianni’s voice was quick to respond, gentle and welcoming. “No need to apologize! We’re just happy to finally meet you.”

Luke’s tone softened, clearly impressed. “We like you already. Liefje, you’ve got yourself a whole fan club now.”

Max grinned, cutting in with mock seriousness. “Hey, ‘Liefje’ is my name for her! Get your own! That counts for you too, chat.”

A small laugh escaped her lips, mixed with a tired sigh. “Thanks for letting me just... be here. With him.”

Diogo chuckled. “He’s wrapped so tight around your little finger, I don't think there was any other option.”

Max relaxed back in his chair, wrapping an arm around her as she settled beside him. He gave her a gentle squeeze to make sure she’s okay.

While Max raced, she stayed curled in his lap, half-listening to the hum of the sim and half-soaking in the easy banter between him and the guys, Max’s quiet chuckles rumbled against her cheek, calming her down one by one. 

The steady rhythm of their voices, the familiar sound of tires screeching in the headset, and Max’s hand idly tracing circles on her arm all worked together to ease the tight knot in her chest. 

By the time the next race ended, the heaviness in her shoulders had lightened, and there was the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

Luke grinned, “Hey, so when’s she gonna hop in the sim and show us how it’s done? You think she’s got what it takes?”

Max laughed, glancing over at her. “You wanna give it a go?”

She lifted her head from his shoulder, eyes sparkling despite the exhaustion. “You bet. I’ll wipe the floor with you guys.”

YESSS LET HER DRIVE this is gonna be chaos and I’m here for it

The team erupted into laughter. “Oh, it’s on now!”

Max shook his head, smiling. “Guess I better step up my game, she’s coming for my seat.”

Oscar's eyes flicked down, just briefly, to the fist you hadn’t yet unclenched. Then his gaze drew back to your face, steady, unreadable. He hummed thoughtfully, a sound closer to amusement than approval, and leaned back in his chair.

“Y’shouldn’t advertise that,” he advised, though the words almost seemed more warning than wisdom. The words weren’t cruel, but they were edged with something pointed. 

He shrugged, leaning back in his seat. “Someone could take advantage, you know.”

You swallowed, suddenly looking alarmed, trying to steady your voice. “Are you—?”

He cut you off without raising his tone. “Am I that someone?” he finished for you.

His lips twitched, not quite a smile, not quite not. Oscar shifted forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his body closing the distance between you enough for you to feel the warmth of his body heat. Or perhaps it was your own.

Dark, hooded eyes meet yours, the moody lighting of the place making them gleam obsidian.

“Well, bunny,” his mouth quirked, holding back a smirk. “Depends how dumb you’re willing to be.”

Your pulse kicked hard, but you forced a breath, forced yourself to hold his gaze. That seemed to entertain him—his eyes flickered, sharp, appraising, like he’d found something unexpected.

“You’re nervous,” he murmured, softer now, like he was speaking to himself. “And curious. Dangerous combination.”

He reached out—not fast, not threatening, just extending a hand across the table, palm open, patient. “Show me what you brought.”

The bills felt heavier as you uncurled your fist. For a second, you thought you might change your mind, retreat up the stairs into the safety of noise and the swarm of bodies. But his eyes held you in place, steady, waiting, already seemingly certain of your choice.

The bills looked small in your hand when you handed them to him. It was a crumpled handful, your fingers reluctant to let go until you forced yourself.

I can’t believe I’m buying drugs. Oh my god. Oh my god–

Oscar’s hand lowered, flattening each note against his knee before he flipped through them. He counted slowly, lips moving just enough for you to notice. Then he stacked them back together and tapped the slim bundle (if you could even call it that) against his knuckle, finally meeting your eyes again.

“Cute,” he said, voice low, casual. “This all you brought?”

You nodded. “It’s—”

“Not enough,” he interrupted smoothly, pushing the money back toward you.

Heat rushed up your neck. “But you said—”

“I said I’d sell you a bag,” he drawled, leaning back in his chair again. His glass clicked softly as he set it aside. “Didn’t say I’d give it away for free.”

Your stomach dropped. “What? What do you mean?”

He cocked his head, like you’d just asked him what color the sky was. “I mean,” he drawled, waving the money once before setting it back down in front of you, “this gets you half a gram, maybe. Like, if I was feeling generous.”

Heat crept up your neck. You had no way of knowing that of course, but hearing it said like that—like he’d expected it, like it amused him— still stung. You always were a perfectionist like that – always had to get it right.

“Oh, uh– I can… I can Apple Pay you?” you tried, fumbling for your phone.

Oscar’s laugh was a quiet exhale through his nose, barely there, but it lit up his eyes. “Apple Pay?” He leaned back again, lacing his fingers loosely in his lap. “What do you think this is, a farmer’s market?”

Your face flamed hotter. “I just—I didn’t know—”

“Yeah.” He cut you off gently, not unkind, but with that same sharp edge. “Not trying to get arrested tonight.”

“Oh! Oh, right. Sorry about that.”

You bit your lip, glancing down at your bag, at the little wallet where the rest of your cash was stuffed. It wasn’t much—barely enough to get you home. You shifted in your seat. “Well, I do have… a little more.”

Oscar arched a brow, waiting.

“It’s just—” You exhaled, embarrassed. “It was kinda supposed to be for taxi fare…?”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just studied you, that unreadable calm still plastered over him, though you could feel the shift—the way his silence pressed heavier than words. Then he smiled, finally, lazy and deliberate.

“You sure are something,” he murmured, almost to himself. He thought for a moment, before he added, “Don’t worry. I don’t leave girls stranded. Not my style.”

Your heart hammered, and you hated how much you wanted to prove him wrong. “So… what am I supposed to do?”

He leaned back again, taking his time, letting the pause work on you. When he finally spoke, it was with that same calm certainty, like he was only stating the obvious.

“For a girl like you?” His gaze drifted down, then back up, deliberate. “I can be flexible. Doesn’t have to be cash.”

The words settled between you, heavy with implication but never rushed, never sharp. He wasn’t pushing—you could feel that. 

The air seemed to thicken, charged, the unspoken hanging heavier than the bulb above. He didn’t lean closer, didn’t have to. His voice carried the weight all on its own—smooth, certain, a clever fox cornering his rabbit without lifting a paw.

“Question is,” he added, lips twitching like he was biting back another laugh, “how bad do you want it?”

Oscar let the silence work you up, his thumb tapping idly against the rim of his glass. You swore he was enjoying this a little too much—the way your nerves tangled with eagerness, how you couldn’t quite hold his gaze without looking away again, cheeks singed pink.

Finally, he tipped his chin at you, voice low and amused.

“C’mon, bunny.” The nickname slid out lazily, unbidden. “You have anything else you can offer me?”

Your stomach dipped. You opened your mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “I…” Your fingers twisted in the hem of your shirt sleeve. “Oh, uhm. Maybe I could… do something for you? Like… like a trade?”

The corner of his mouth pulled up, slow and knowing, as if that was exactly the answer he’d been coaxing out of you all along. He didn’t move right away, didn’t pounce—just sat back, letting the weight of your own words settle on you.

“A trade,” he echoed, savoring it. “Don’t hate that. What’ve you got?”

You froze, scrambling. “Well, I, um… I bake? 

One of his brows ticked up.

Sometimes. Like banana bread. Or muffins? I don’t know if you’re a banana bread kinda guy,” she chuckled nervously, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear that had never really come loose in the first place.

“But I don’t exactly—” you gestured helplessly at your relatively empty hand, containing only your small wallet, “—carry loaves of it around, so I guess that wouldn’t really help right now.”

Your heart thumped rapidly in your chest.

What do drug dealers do if you don’t have enough money? Can they kill you? Oh no, I’m going to end up on some TV show, aren’t I?

That earned you a soft huff of laughter. He leaned back, lazy as ever, watching you trip over yourself. “Shame. Banana bread would’ve been a first.”

You swallowed, heat crawling up your neck. 

Think of something else, c’mon.

“O-or, I mean… I could share my notes? I’ve seen you in the back of my physics lecture sometimes, and I know people sell theirs, so if you needed—”

That earned the smallest huff of laughter, more breath than sound. He shook his head, disbelieving and almost fond, and leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees.

“Oh, sweetheart. Banana bread and physics notes?”

Your cheeks burned hotter. “I’m just… trying to think of something useful. I don’t exactly have anything valuable just… on me.”

Oscar’s smile deepened, lazy, like a cat watching a bird tire itself out. “Depends how you define valuable.”

Your brows pinched. “I just told you—I don’t have anything.”

Oscar hummed like he was considering it seriously, even though the glint in his eyes could’ve easily gavin him away. “Banana bread, physics notes…” His gaze dragged down your figure, then back up, the pause deliberate. “…nothing else comes to mind?”

Your mind scrambled, stuttering through possibilities—laundry, tutoring, walking someone’s dog—

Did he even have a dog?

You were interrupted from your thoughts when he shifted forward, the chair creaking softly as he leaned his forearms onto his knees. That alone shortened the space between you, made your pulse spike. His eyes stayed fixed on you, steady, unblinking in a way that made you squirm.

“Why don’t you c’mere a sec,” he murmured. Not a command, not quite, but the kind of suggestion you felt tug low in your stomach.

You stepped closer before you even thought about it, and his hand lifted—fingertips brushing a strand of hair back behind your ear. The touch was casual, almost careless, but it made your breath stutter all the same.

“There we go,” he said softly, studying your face like it was something worth taking his time on. “Much better when I can see you.”

Your throat went dry. “I– I don’t really know what you mean, though.”

“Really?” he drawled, leaning back in his chair like this was all a game he had endless patience for. 

“Because I can think of plenty you’ve got to offer.”

And suddenly it clicked—the weight in his words, the way his gaze lingered, the casual touch that felt anything but. Your stomach flipped, heat rushing under your skin. Your breath hitched, his thumb still ghosting along your jaw. 

Oh.

Oh.

“I think I get it now.”

Oscar’s mouth curved, slow and faint, like smoke curling at the edge of a flame. Like he’d just been waiting for you to catch up. “Yeah?”

You fumbled, cheeks hot. “Like… not banana bread. Or notes.”

His chuckle was soft, warm enough to ease some of the tightness in your chest. “Not banana bread,” he echoed, amused.

You swallowed hard, nerves buzzing. “Something with… me?”

For a moment, he just looked at you, steady and unreadable. Then he leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed your skin, and spoke low. “Now you’re gettin’ there.”

Your stomach flipped, the confirmation leaving you dizzy. He wasn’t mocking, not sharp-edged—his tone was almost gentle, coaxing, like he was proud you’d figured it out.

“See,” he went on, brushing your hair back again, lingering this time, “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Your breath hitched, eyes wide as they looked up to meet his. 

“So you… you really would take…” 

He brushed your hair back again, gentler this time, almost fond. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m not gonna bite.” His smile deepened, warm and wicked all at once. “Not unless you ask.”

The room seemed to shrink, the bass upstairs humming through the floor, but all you could focus on was the quiet certainty in his voice. He wasn’t rushing you, wasn’t pushing—just sitting there, patient, letting you choose if you wanted to take the step he’d already laid out.

It was the look that did it—the steady, knowing patience of it, like he wasn’t surprised, like he’d been waiting for you to catch up.

You wet your lips, voice barely steady. “So… what happens now?”

Oscar leaned in just enough that the smoke from his last exhale curled between you. His smile was small, almost kind, though the glint in his eyes betrayed it.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he murmured. His thumb traced your jaw again, feather-light. “You tell me how you want to pay, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

A joint smoldered between his fingers now, smoke curling lazy toward the ceiling. His hand looked too elegant for something so careless, long fingers rolling the paper like it was second nature. You shouldn’t have been staring, but you were. Smoke curled upward in thin ribbons, catching the light, and when your eyes darted back up, the glow haloed his face in a way that made your stomach twist.

Your breath hitched, and suddenly it was impossible not to notice the rest—the warmth of his knee a hand’s breadth from yours, the way his shoulders slouched like he had all the time in the world, the line of his throat when he tilted his head back to take a drag.

The silence between you stretched, heavy but not uncomfortable, like the air had thickened. You couldn’t tell if it was the heat from the smoke, or him. 

Maybe both.

You realized how close you’d let yourself get. Close enough to feel the heat of him. Close enough that your pulse tripped, panic and want muddled together.

Your gaze darted down before you could stop it, quick and betraying — tracing the line of his hand, lowering over the slope of his chest under that loose shirt, down to the way he sprawled like he owned the room. Then back up, fast, guilty, to find him still watching you.

Oscar’s mouth curved, slow and sure, as his voice dropped into something lower, something that made the air feel thicker. “Want a taste?” He turned the joint lazily between his fingers, holding your gaze.

Your breath hitched. Heat spread through your chest, your neck. Slowly, almost shyly, you nodded. 

He hummed, approval soft, and lifted the joint to his mouth. You blinked, confused, brows knitting as he drew in a drag—like maybe you’d misunderstood, maybe you were too naive again.

You blinked, confusion knitting your brow, and then—

His free hand slipped up, steady at your jaw, tilting your face just enough. His lips pressed to yours in one smooth, unthinking motion, smoke blooming between your parted lips as he exhaled into you.Your gasp turned into a shiver, your body caught between surprise and the rush of the high threading in all at once.

When he pulled back, just enough for your lips to part, his thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, catching the stray smear of tinted lip balm. His eyes stayed locked on yours, steady, unblinking, a sly glint under the haze.

It was dizzying, all heat and haze, the sharp burn of it chased by the warmth of his mouth. By the time you realized what he’d done, he’d already leaned back just slightly, watching you through half-lidded eyes, that same sly glint tucked into the edges of his calm.

“Sweet,” he murmured, like a verdict.

Your lungs still burned, chest fluttering as you tried to catch your breath. The haze clung to you, curling at the edges of your mind until all you could do was stare at him, wide-eyed, heart thundering.

His face hovered close, the bass from upstairs thrumming through the floor in rhythm with your pulse. You tried to think of something to say, anything, but all that came out was a small, shaky breath.

Oscar’s lips curved, like he could read every scrambled thought on your face. His hand was still at your jaw, warm and steady, guiding without pressure.

His lips tilted into a lazy smirk, and then they ghosted against the column of your throat, feather-light. “Say the word,” he murmured, the word dragging slow, intentional. “,-and I’ll show you all kinds of tricks.”

Your breath hitched, your body leaning into the touch before you could stop it. Dizzy, hazy, you nodded, quick and small, like your body was answering faster than your brain.

He chuckled under his breath, leaning in just enough that his mouth brushed the barest graze against the side of your throat. The touch made your heart trip over itself, made your breath hitch audibly. “Mm, not enough.” His mouth brushed higher, near your jaw, voice soft and teasing. “Gotta hear the words, baby.”

He could feel the bob of your throat when you swallowed nervously.

The smile that pulled across his mouth then wasn’t mocking—it was slow, sweet, edged in satisfaction but soft in its core. He pressed a brief kiss beneath your ear, reward-like, before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze again.

You blinked up at him, still dazed, lips parting on instinct. Your voice came out small, roughened from the smoke. “Yes.”

That was all it took. The smirk on his mouth broke wider, sharper, like he’d been waiting for it—then he kissed you. No hesitation this time, just a sudden, dizzying heat that knocked the air out of you. His lips pressed hard and slow, one hand sliding up to cup your jaw, tilting your face so he could take his time. 

Your head spun, breath catching, and then his mouth was back on yours, hungrier this time. His teeth caught your lower lip, tugging until you gasped, and he laughed softly against you—quiet, cocky, like he liked hearing how you couldn’t quite keep it together.

One hand slid down to your hip, fingers pressing just enough to make you shiver. “Easy, baby,” he whispered against your ear, his lips brushing the shell of it. “Let me take my time with you.”

Every kiss after that was messier, wetter, the kind that left your lips swollen and your lungs begging for air. He nipped down along your jaw, then lower, his breath hot against your throat. 

You gasped, the sound swallowed by him as his hand slid lower, gripping your waist and dragging you flush against his lap. The rough pull sent you tumbling into him, your knees straddling his thighs before you could think twice.

His grin pressed into your mouth. “That’s it…”

The bass thudded through the walls, but all you could hear was your own heartbeat, frantic and loud. His fingers slid under the hem of your top, warm against your bare skin, trailing up your spine.

You shivered. He noticed.

His other hand tightened at your hip, rolling you forward until the friction made your head spin.

“Oh-!”

Oscar swallowed the sound with another bruising kiss, his tongue pushing deeper, controlling the pace. You clung to his shoulders, nails digging through the fabric as he coaxed you to grind down harder.

“That’s it, baby. Yeah, there you go.”

The joint still smoldered in the ashtray, forgotten. The only haze left was the one clouding your thoughts as his thumb brushed under the band of your bra. A teasing graze, then a firmer press that made your back arch.

You broke the kiss with a whimper, lips slick, chest heaving.

Your back hit the couch cushions before you could even catch your breath, Oscar pressing forward like he’d been holding back for hours instead of minutes. His mouth was on yours again, harder this time, stealing every sound you tried to make.

You arched up to him without thinking, and that was all the invitation he needed. His hand slid beneath your shirt, fingers splaying hot against your stomach before skating higher, higher—until your gasp broke the kiss.

He chuckled low, lips brushing yours. “Sensitive, huh?” His thumb stroked once across your skin like he wanted to memorize the texture. Then his mouth was back on yours, swallowing the small, desperate noise you gave in answer.

Your hips moved before you realized it—pressing into him, needy, clumsy, trying to close the unbearable distance. He caught it instantly, rolling his hips into yours in a slow grind that pulled a whimper from your throat.

“Fuck, baby…” he murmured into your mouth, teeth catching your bottom lip before sucking it between his. “Want it that bad?”

Hoping it would distract from your questions, your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, closer still. His hand traced down your side, gripping your hip and dragging you flush against him, the friction sparking white heat up your spine.

You gasped into his kiss, breath hitching when his other hand slipped beneath the waistband of your jeans—not far, just enough to tease the edge of you, just enough to make your head spin.

He groaned against your mouth, the sound raw, hungry. “Feel good?”

Every nerve in your body screamed yes, but all you could do was nod against his lips, dizzy, lost, chasing the next kiss like it was air.

His hand slipped lower then – past the dip of your waistband until your jeans were pushed past the curve of your ass and halfway down your legs.

You broke the kiss with a sharp inhale, your head tipping back against the couch. You whined, tried to kiss him again, but he was too busy watching your face as he slid a finger past the fabric. His lips chased your throat, mouthing at your pulse, his breath rough when his fingers finally slid inside your underwear.

“Fuck…” His voice cracked soft with awe, then curved into a smirk. “Already wet for me? Didn’t take much, did it?”

You whimpered, hips twitching against his hand. He pressed two fingers through your folds, lazy at first, spreading the slick before circling your clit just enough to make your knees tremble.

Oh my fucking god.

You tried to speak, but his fingers pushed deeper, slow, filling you in a way that stole the air from your lungs. Your nails dug into his shoulders, clutching his hoodie like it was the only thing tethering you down.

Overwhelmed by the pleasure, you bit down on his shoulder, muffling another sound, and he laughed softly — then hissed when you rolled your hips harder against the hand still inside you, angled so his palm rubbed against your clit with every roll of your hips.

“That’s it, baby,” he coaxed, voice low and filthy against your ear. “Take it. Good, lemme hear you.”

His thumb found your clit, rubbing tight circles that had your hips grinding down on his lap, desperate, messy. He groaned when your thighs clenched around his wrist. “Fuck, you’re practically riding me already. Sweet little bunny, can’t even keep still.”

You turned your face into his neck, gasping against his skin, and he laughed softly, almost cruel in how gentle it sounded. “Aw, shy now?”

Your hips chased every thrust of his fingers anyway, desperate and needy, and he kissed you filthy when you tried to answer, swallowing your moans like they belonged to him. The rhythm of his hand quickened, each thrust of his fingers matched with a roll of his hips beneath you, denim rough against your soaked underwear.

“You are fucking dripping for me,” He kissed you again, hard, swallowing your moans like they belonged to him. “Bet you’ll let me fuck you stupid if I ask nicely.”

The moan you let out was answer enough.

In the blink of an eye, your back was against the couch cushions, Oscar turning the pair of you around and following you down without breaking the kiss.

Oh, fuck me.

His jeans were unzipped now, your legs tangled around his waist as if they had a mind of their own. Every brush of denim against your bare skin had you gasping into his mouth, clutching at his shoulders.

“Fuck, bunny,” he muttered against your lips, voice rough, hips rolling just enough to make you whimper.

“Please?” The word tumbled out half-broken, half a breath, more desperate than you meant it to be. Doe eyes stared up at him, shining in the low lighting of the room, glimmering with far more innocence than he’d seen in a long time.

He groaned — low, guttural, the sound vibrating through his chest — and tugged his jeans down far enough to free himself, shoving his briefs down in the same motion. The sight made your stomach clench, your pulse thunder in your throat.

He caught your gaze, smirking faintly as he stroked himself once, slow, right in front of you. “This what you want, baby?”

You nodded, wide-eyed, lips parted.

His hand slid back to your hip, steadying you as he shifted between your thighs. The blunt head of his cock nudged against your slick entrance, and the shock of it had your breath catching, a soft “ahh—” spilling out before you could stop it.

“Easy,” he murmured, pressing forward a fraction, enough to feel the stretch. “Breathe f’me.”

You did — or tried to. The burn and pull had you clenching tight, another shaky moan breaking free. “ahh—oh, God—”

Oscar swore under his breath, his head tipping forward to your shoulder. “Fucking hell, you’re tight.” He pulled back, pushed a little deeper, slow, deliberate.

Your nails dug into his back, your body arching up to meet him without thought. “Please, please, want more–”

That earned a quiet laugh against your skin, his breath hot on your collarbone. “Greedy little thing.” But he gave it to you, inch by inch, until your walls fluttered around him, until you couldn’t bite back the desperate moans spilling from your lips.

The moment he bottomed out, you both stilled — his jaw slack, your body trembling, the only sound the sharp little gasps of your breath and his low, ragged groan.

“Shit,” he hissed, pulling back and slamming back in one rough thrust that made your whole body jolt. “You feel… nghh—ah, fuck—unreal.”

Your answer was incoherent, a high-pitched moan as your hips bucked, meeting his. Every snap of his hips drew another sound out of you — little whimpers that he swallowed with hungry kisses, teeth catching your lip.

He set a rhythm, hips rolling deep, groans spilling past his clenched teeth every time you clenched around him. “That’s it, sweetheart… ahh—take it… nghh—just like that…”

The couch creaked, your thighs trembled, the room thick with the sounds of skin on skin and the wet slide of him dragging in and out of you. You were gone to the haze, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing left, every thrust wringing another broken moan from your lips.

“uh, uh, oh god—”

Oscar smirked against your cheek, his breath shaky but teasing all the same. “Look at you, takin’ me so well.”

The room filled with the sharp slap of skin, the wet drag of every thrust, your gasps and his groans tangled in the thick air.

“Ahh—ahh—don’t—don’t stop—”

Oscar’s laugh was broken, dark. “Not stoppin’, baby. Not ‘til you cum all over me. That’s the deal.”

Every thrust had your head tipping back, lips parting on broken sounds you couldn’t hold in. The couch creaked under the pace, his hips driving up into you, unrelenting.

Your thoughts were soft around the edges, blurred from the little smoke he’d coaxed between your lips earlier. Not high, not really—but enough that everything felt amplified. His touch, his voice, the dizzy thrum in your chest.

And God, he was beautiful.

From this angle, with his head tipped back, throat straining, jaw flexing with every groan—your stomach flipped. His lashes were damp, cheeks flushed, sweat already beading at his temple. You wanted to memorize him like this, wanted to kiss every part you could reach.

So you did.

Shaky, half-dizzy kisses pressed to his jawline, then down his throat when he groaned and tipped his head to give you more. Your lips parted against his skin, breathing him in, your voice catching on a whimper.

“Fuck—” your words broke against his collarbone, too raw, too unfiltered, “you feel so good—”

Oscar’s laugh cracked low in his chest, his breath hot against your ear as he thrust deeper, sharper, forcing another cry from you. “Yeah? Thought so,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple. “Look at you… fuckin’ drunk on it already.”

Your hips stuttered, your forehead pressing to his collarbone, overwhelmed. All you could do was cling to him, bite down soft at his neck between desperate little moans, because he was everywhere—inside you, around you, against you.

And he let you, let you scatter open-mouthed kisses across his throat, his chest, your voice trembling between them. Each one only pulled more broken groans from him, like you were unraveling him right back.

“Shit,” he gasped, voice rough, “sweetheart, you’re—fuck—gonna fuckin’ ruin me.”

The rhythm built sharp and steady, every thrust dragging a cry out of you. Your nails scraped down his back, useless at grounding the way your body coiled tighter and tighter.

“Oscar—ohh—fuck—please!” Your voice cracked, words tumbling out between gasps.

He groaned low at the sound, hips grinding deep before pulling almost all the way out, making you whine. “Please what?” he murmured against your cheek, his tone maddeningly calm.

You squeezed your eyes shut, clutching at him. “Please—please let me—ahh—please, I need to—”

His pace faltered just long enough for you to open your eyes, only to find his gaze on you, steady, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Begging for permission?” His voice dipped rough, each word punctuated with another hard thrust that had you gasping. “Fuck. You really are a good girl.”

Your whole body shivered at the praise, a helpless whimper slipping out as you nodded, desperate.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Wanna hear you ask.”

“Please,” you choked, the word breaking. “Please let me cum—need it, I’ll be good, I’ll do anything—”

Oscar groaned, sharp and guttural, his hand gripping your jaw, forcing your hazy eyes to lock on his. “Christ. You sound so fuckin’ sweet when you beg.”

Another thrust, deeper this time, his voice frayed with restraint. “Alright, sweetheart. Cum for me. Wanna feel you lose it on my cock.”

The words barely left his mouth before your body obeyed.

Your walls clenched tight around him, release tearing through you so fast you could only sob out a broken, “O-ohhh—Oscar—!”

Your thighs shook, nails digging into his shoulders as wave after wave crashed over you. Every thrust only sent you spiraling deeper, your cries caught between moans and gasps, until all you could do was hang onto him and let it take you under.

“Fuuuck,” he groaned, voice guttural, jaw slackening as he felt you clamp down around him. His rhythm stuttered, hips jerking erratically as your climax dragged him over the edge with you.

“Shit, baby—nghh—”

He buried himself deep, a raw groan tearing from his chest as he spilled inside you, forehead pressed hard against yours. His whole body shuddered with it, the sound of skin slapping, breathless moans, and the couch creaking beneath you filling the room.

You were both gasping, chests heaving, lips brushing but too wrecked to kiss properly.

Oscar finally managed a low laugh, husky and frayed at the edges. You were pretty sure he spoke then, but the words were muffled against the curve of your shoulder. 

“Fuckin’ hell… you’re incredible.”

Your only answer was a dazed hum, eyes fluttering shut as you slumped against him, your skin hot and damp against his. He kissed the top of your head, still catching his breath, his hand stroking slow down your spine as if to steady you both.

Your body molded to his, cheek to his chest, breaths syncing slowly as the haze ebbed into exhaustion. His hand moved absentmindedly along your spine, steady, grounding.

“You alright, baby?” he murmured, voice rougher than usual.

You nodded, still catching your breath. Then, shyly, softer, “Was it… good? For you too?”

Oscar huffed a laugh, tilting his head back against the couch. “Good?” He looked down at you, smirk tugging his lips. “You were amazing.”

Heat flared in your cheeks, but he didn’t let you hide, tipping your chin up for a quick, easy kiss before pushing you gently off his lap.

He tugged his jeans back up, wandered to the table, and plucked up the baggie of weed. Tossed it your way with a casual flick. It landed in your lap, heavier than you expected.

“Little extra,” he mumbled, not meeting your eyes, already leaning down to fish something else out of the drawer. When you looked back up, a lollipop came sailing toward you too. You caught it clumsily.

Your brows furrowed, confused.

“A… lollipop? Why are you giving me a lollipop?”

Oscar just grinned, hoodie half-pulled back over his head, hair mussed from your hands. “Pretty sure it’s called customer service.”

The laugh that broke out of you was breathless, disbelieving, but warm. And when he sank back into the couch, lighting another joint like nothing had happened, you couldn’t tell if your heart was hammering from the weed, the sex, or just… him.

a/n: holy shit. oml. so that's there. i don't know whether to be proud or scurry away and hide, but here it is! my usual readers know i've written smut like once before (literally), so this was something of an experiment. plus with the pov for x reader, this was a bit different from my usual work. but i hope you liked it, and love to hear your feedback!

dedicated to @rizzlonso81, who enabled me to write this 5.5k piece of porn!!

“Hello? Is this thing on?” Max had to giggle at himself as he sleepily tapped the phone screen in his hand. It was still dark, the only thing illuminating the kitchen being the small light above the oven.

“It’s seven in the morning,” he yawns, “and today we travel to Austria for Sunday's race.” Carefully the dutchman sat the phone down on the counter, “PR Team thought showing more behind the scenes shit would be good.”

“So welcome to our kitchen-living-room area? I don’t know… it's this open concept stuff.” The driver just gestures vaguely behind himself, where people that watch the redline stream can see familiar things, just from a different angle. Like Max’ sim-rig and the big couch his girlfriend tends to nap on.

“First mission? Coffee.” Jimmy and Sassy were awake now as well, slinking around his legs as the machine grinds the coffee beans. “Christ she’s right… this is way too loud,” he winces at the loud noise, the cats flee and he throws a careful glance at the bedroom door, hoping it would stay closed. 

After a few silent minutes he held up two cups, “One black and one with milk, syrup and sugar. How do I…” It took forever until he had figured out a way to carry his phone in one hand, the two cups in the other. 

“Morning Liefje,” he said, flipping the camera around to catch the rest of their bedroom. A familiar figure stirred under the covers, one arm emerging only to flop back down with a muffled groan.

Max chuckled, panning back to himself after setting down the cups on her nightstand. “She’s not a morning person. At all. But we’re leaving for Austria today, so you’ll see everything, and that includes a very tired teacher on summer holiday.”

He set the camera down, leaning it against the cups, showing himself leaning over the bed to press a kiss to her temple. Only a sleepy grumble was returned. “You have to get up Liefje.”

Nothing.

“I have your coffee ready.”

Even with the blankets completely covering her, Max could see how her head shot up and the blanket pile started to move. He threw a sly grin at the camera, “Works every time.”

It cut to a couple of minutes later, after she finally made her way out of the blankets. Max crouched in front of her with two cups in his hands. “Here,” he said, handing her the one with milk and sugar and way too sweet chocolate syrup. “But…” he tilted his head toward her, eyes narrowing “,water and vitamins first.”

She tried to argue, reaching automatically for the coffee, but he pulled it back just out of reach. “Nee, liefje. Coffee doesn’t count. You’ll get a headache before we even get to the airport.”

Her groan was exaggerated, but she took the water bottle he offered, sipping reluctantly while he watched like a hawk. Only when she handed it back, half empty and after swallowing the little capsule did he finally give her the coffee.

“See? Not so hard.” His grin softened as he pressed a kiss to her hair ignoring her tired complaints.

His phone was now propped up against the wall on the nightstand, hoping it wouldn’t fall. “Okay. Next step is packing our necessities into the carry-on bags.”

The frame caught him kneeling at the foot of the bed, unzipping a carry-on bag, half talking to himself and half to her as she just continued to sip her coffee.

“You’ve got your migraine stuff, right? The little case?” His voice was quiet, distracted.

“Yeah…”

He paused, turning his head toward her with a frown. “Show me.”

A groan, but she shuffled upright anyway, hair messy, sleeves hanging over her hands. She reached across the duvet and grabbed the case off the nightstand, giving it a lazy shake so the pills rattled. “See? Prepared.”

Max wasn’t convinced. He took the case from her, popped it open, checked inside, and only then gave a short nod. “Okay. Good.” He handed it back, brushing his knuckles over her knee. “Sorry. Just… you know. Better to be prepared.”

She rolled her eyes but her lips twitched, amused despite the sleep still clinging to her ,“Thank you Maxie. What would I do without you?”. The driver knew that his girlfriend truly meant it, just by how much love was spilling out of her eyes as she watched him.

It didn’t take too much longer until headphones, chargers and anything else they needed was packed.”So! Now it’s time for us to get ready!”

The next clip showed them squeezed into the bathroom together, the phone perched on the edge of the sink. Max was bent over brushing his teeth, glancing up at the mirror every so often, while his girlfriend tried getting her hair presentable, also with a toothbrush in her mouth.

“You’re not filming this,” she said around a mouthful of toothpaste.

“I am,” Max grinned, foam spilling at the corners of his mouth. “This is high-quality content. Very important.”

She elbowed him lightly, laughing despite herself. “Yeah, because everyone wants to see you spit toothpaste.”

Max leaned into the mirror dramatically, foaming and ridiculous, before ducking his head to rinse. Her entire body shook from laughing so hard, cheeks pink from trying not to choke on the bubbles.

The video cut again to the girl sitting on the floor in the bedroom, directly in front of a full length mirror, a small makeup bag in her lap, dabbing concealer on her face while Max sat behind her pulling on socks. He peeked over her shoulder, watching curiously.

“Why do you need that? You look fine already.”

She shot him a look, one brow raised. “Because I need to get rid of these dark circles under my eyes.”

“Hmm.” He leaned closer, bumping her shoulder with his. “Okay. But I think you look like the cutest little raccoon with them.”

The next part was to get dressed: Max stood with a pile of clothes in his arms: a team polo, a pair of dark skinny jeans, and his favourite sneakers.

She groaned. “Max. No. Not again.”

“What?” he defended himself, holding them up. “It’s easy.”

“It’s tragic,” she said, already reaching past him to pull out a softer t-shirt and a pair of more relaxed trousers. “You’re not going to Austria looking like a Red Bull action figure. It’s enough that you show up like that to the races!”

He laughed, tossing the jeans onto the bed anyway. “So you’re my stylist now?”

“Obviously. Someone has to stop you,” she said, handing him the new outfit “Pleaseeeee?”

Barely a minute later Max stepped back into frame, tugging the shirt into place. She gave him a slow, satisfied nod and a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Much better. Thank you Schat.”

Max turned towards his phone, remembering it was still recording. “Apparently this is what you get behind the scenes, her making sure I don’t look like I’ve been wearing the same jeans since 2016.”

“Because you have,” she called from off camera, laughter bubbling under her words.

He shook his head with a grin, brushing past her to grab their bags. “Alright. Teamwork.”

Once they finally made it out of the house, they were met with two men, one with a camera and one with a microphone. They explained that they had already prepared the car with small cameras for different angles and placed a microphone in the front.

“Isn’t this a little much for just a short drive to the airport?” she asked, narrowing her eyes against the bright Monaco sun, still clutching her coffee mug.

Max smirked as he took both carry-ons from her, tossing them easily into the trunk. “PR never does anything small,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “Next time, they’ll probably want to mic me up in the shower.”

The crew laughed, but she only shook her head, sliding into the passenger seat with a soft groan. By the time Max started the engine, the little cameras mounted on the dash were already blinking red.

The first few minutes were calm, the narrow Monaco streets winding past, sunlight flashing across the dash. From the back, one of the crew leaned forward. “So, Max,” he asked, “is this a normal travel day for you?”

“Pretty normal, yeah,” Max said easily, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “Except normally she’s already doing a lot worse than now.”

Her head thunked softly against the window, eyes shut. “Max…” she muttered, voice strained. “Don’t.”

That was enough to make him soften instantly. One hand slipped from the wheel, resting warm and steady on her thigh. His thumb moved in slow, absent circles, grounding her. “Almost there, liefje. You’re doing good.”

“Does she get travel sick often?” another crew member asked.

“Oh yeah. Every time we get in the car. Especially in Monaco,” Max answered, straight-faced. “These streets are like a rollercoaster. And maybe I don’t help.”

That earned a burst of laughter from the backseat, but she just groaned again, making Max squeeze her thigh gently. “You’re fine,” he murmured, voice low for her alone. “Just focus on breathing. Smooth road soon, I promise.”

The crew tried again. “She’s looking a little pale there, Max. You sure you’re not driving like you’re in quali?”

That earned a short laugh out of him, eyes flicking toward the rearview mirror. “I’m driving like a grandma. She just has the stomach of a rookie.”

Her head tilted on the seat, eyes narrowing even through the discomfort. “Hey.”

He grinned, squeezing her thigh gently. “What? It’s true. Two laps around Monaco and you’d be waving a white flag.”

A reluctant laugh bubbled out of her, muffled behind her hand. “God, shut up.”

“See?” Max shot a triumphant look at the camera. “Still managed to make her laugh.”

A few bends later, he leaned toward her slightly, still keeping his eyes on the road. “See? Smooth now. Almost at the airport.”

“Thank God,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by the window.

That set the whole car laughing again. Max grinned straight into the dash camera, smug as ever.

The car rolled to a smooth stop right at the base of the Falcon 8X, the sun glinting being swallowed by its sleek matt black body. Max killed the engine and glanced over, smirking when he caught her peeking blearily out the window.

“Not bad, huh? Made it alive after all.” he said, already slipping out to grab their bags.

She accepted his hand as he helped her out, muttering under her breath, “Yeah, okay. You win. This is definitely better than running through the airport.”

The crew, trailing behind with their equipment, tried to catch it all. One of them leaned down to fix a small camera just inside the cabin door before retreating to the back of the jet, giving the couple space in one of the four-seaters.

Inside, the plane was all polished cream leather and warm wood trim. She sank into the nearest wide seat with a sigh of relief. Max stowed the carry-ons, then crouched in front of her, pressing a cool water bottle into her hand. “Here, liefje. Drink a bit before we take off, it’ll help.”

She obeyed, sipping carefully, but when he sat down beside her she noticed the faint tightness around his eyes, the kind he got whenever he was running on too little sleep. Her hand slipped over his, squeezing gently.

“You’re fussing over me again,” she murmured. “But when was the last time you ate? Coffee doesn’t count.”

He blinked at her, caught off guard, then laughed quietly. “Hmm. Busted.”

She rolled her eyes and reached for the little basket of snacks already laid out on the table. Picking out a protein bar, she unwrapped it and held it out to him expectantly. “Eat, Max. If you want me hydrated and functioning, then I want you fueled and not running on fumes.”

The camera caught the way he hesitated for a second, then leaned forward and took the bite straight from her hand, grin curling around the corner of his mouth. “You’re bossy,” he teased, his voice softer than usual.

“You like me bossy, we both know that,” she shot back, smiling despite herself.

The hum of the engines grew louder as the pilots prepared for takeoff. Max leaned closer, lacing their fingers together, his other hand brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Head back, schat. Just squeeze my hand, yeah?”

She nodded, eyes slipping shut as the jet surged down the runway. His thumb traced slow, grounding circles against her palm, his voice low in her ear. “Almost there… almost…”

The cabin leveled, the pressure easing, and when she opened her eyes again she found him watching her. His gaze was soft, but a little tired still, the strain of constant travel written in the slump of his shoulders.

“See?” he said with a crooked grin. “Easy.”

“Hmm. Easy for you to say,” she replied, tilting her head until it rested against his shoulder. She nudged the half-eaten bar into his free hand without even looking. “Finish that. Then nap. Doctor’s orders.”

Max laughed under his breath, shaking his head, but he didn’t argue. “I think you mean teachers orders.”

“Nuh uh, no work talk, it’s the summer holidays.”

The cabin had gone quiet not long after takeoff, save for the soft hum of the engines. Max sat reclined in his seat, her head tipped against his shoulder, breaths already deep and even against the side of his neck. He shifted just enough to make sure her blanket didn’t slip, smiling faintly at how quickly she’d gone under, nothing new in their household.

The little camera still perched near the front was angled toward them, catching the way he glanced down at her, voice pitched low like he didn’t want to wake her.

Soft footsteps announced the return of two crew members who’d been giving them space, taking pity on poor Max who looked bored out of his mind. They slid into the seats across, careful not to disturb her where she was tucked against Max’s shoulder.

“She doing better?” one asked quietly, nodding toward her.

Max’s hand shifted, thumb brushing over her knuckles where their fingers were laced. “Mm. Better here, yeah. Cars though…” He pulled a face. “Not her favorite. Ten minutes in traffic and she looks ready to murder me.”

That drew a ripple of laughter. One of them leaned forward conspiratorially. “She’s sleeping like a baby now, though. Maybe she just needs the jet life.”

Max huffed a laugh, leaning back against the leather. “She always swears she’s not made for this. The planes, the hotels, all of it. But…” his mouth curved, eyes dropping to her peaceful face, “...look at her now. Out like a light. Ten times better than in the car. Maybe she was made for the rich-life after all,” he chuckles.

The crew grinned, and Max smirked a little at himself, careful not to jostle her as he adjusted the blanket around her shoulders.

That was when one of the men across from him added, “You know, they make these goggles for motion sickness? Look ridiculous, but apparently they work. Whole car companies are testing them.”

Max’s brow rose, clearly intrigued. “Really?”

“Yeah. Big white frames with little liquid rings inside. Tricks your eyes and inner ear into balance, or something like that.”

Max’s lips twitched, amusement tugging at his mouth as he could feel her bury her face in his shoulder even further. “If it helps her not feel like shit every time we drive, I’ll get her some.” He gave a small shrug. “Though she’s gonna kill me if I tell her she’s secretly built for private jets.”

The crew laughed softly, at seeing the big, bad Max Verstappen, “the grid’s most dangerous driver”, looking every bit the man hopelessly in love.

The Falcon’s wheels screeched softly against the runway, the gentle jolt pulling her from sleep. She blinked blearily, still warm and tucked against Max’s shoulder, until he shifted to nudge her awake.

“Hey, wake up, love,” he murmured, thumb brushing along her arm. “We landed. Come on.”

She groaned, rubbing her face into his hoodie. “Already?”

Max’s laugh was soft. “Already. You slept like the entire flight.” He reached over to unbuckle her belt, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. “You survived. No complaints.”

By the time she’d stretched and stumbled off the plane, the crisp Austrian air had already sobered her up. At the bottom of the steps, one of Max’s crew members was waiting with the SUV, grinning as he handed something directly to Max.

She squinted. “What’s that?”

Max’s smirk was immediate, boyish and far too pleased with himself - and you loved that smirk more than anything. He held up the object like a prize. “Your new solution.”

“…It looks like ski goggles.”

“They’re not,” he said, already tugging open the car door for her. “They’re motion-sickness goggles.”

Her brow furrowed, torn between suspicion and amusement. “Motion… what?”

“Yeah,” Max said, clearly enjoying this. “They’ve got these little liquid rings inside, see?” He tilted the oversized white frames in his hands so the faint slosh was visible, holding them closer to her so she could actually see them. “Your eyes focus on the horizon, your brain catches up with your inner ear. Balance restored.”

She blinked at him, incredulous. “And you just… have these? Here?”

Max’s grin widened, shameless. “I made some calls. Someone from the team picked them up before we landed. Told you I’d fix your problem, should have fixed it a while ago.”

“Max.” She covered her face with one hand, half-groaning. “I am not putting those on. I will look so stupid and we're filming today.”

“You are.” He bent toward her, lowering his voice just for her as he gently coaxed her into the seat. “Please, liefje? Just try. If they don’t work, fine. But if they do, no more headaches. No more groaning at me in Monaco.”

Her hand dropped, eyes narrowing at him. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed without shame, sliding the goggles onto her head before she could stop him. The oversized frames swallowed her face instantly. Max leaned back, admiring his handiwork. “Perfect. You look amazing.”

“Max!” She shoved at his shoulder, cheeks heating. “This is ridiculous.”

But he was grinning like a cat who’d caught the fattest mouse alive. “Nah, this is brilliant.” He tapped the roof of the car. “Alright, let’s go.”

The SUV rolled off the tarmac, mountains and green fields flashing by. She slumped against the seat with a sigh, waiting for the familiar wave of queasiness to creep in. Except… it didn’t.

Her eyes opened slowly, darting toward Max. “Wait.”

He arched a brow, already smug. “Yeah?”

“…I don’t feel sick.”

Max’s grin turned feral. “Ding! Ding! Ding! I just won the lottery.”

She gaped at him, then back at the absurd goggles. “No. No way. These stupid things actually work?”

“Told you.” His tone was maddeningly self-satisfied, his thumb stroking over her knuckles as he drove one-handed. “Genius.”

“Ugh.” She dropped her head back, muttering, “I hate that you’re right.”

Max laughed, triumphant. “You love that I’m right.” He leaned closer just enough for the camera to catch the way his grin curved sharp and smug. “And you love me. Otherwise you’d have left me for someone who takes the bus.”

She groaned again, but the smile tugging at her mouth betrayed her. “You’re unbearable.”

“Mm,” Max hummed, squeezing her hand once more, utterly smug. “Unbearably good at taking care of you.”

The hotel driveway rolled up quietly beneath the sleek SUV, Max eased the car to a stop and reached across to unlatch her seatbelt after he did his own.

“Ready?” he murmured.

She blinked up at him, cheeks flushed from the gentle breeze rushing in as the doors opened. “Yes! Oh my gosh, yes!” She practically bounced in place, ignoring the motion-sickness goggles now perched on her head, even though they nearly fell off.

The crew trailed behind, packing up cameras and microphones, but Max waved them off with a grin. “Alright, you’ve got what you need. We’re good.”

Once they disappeared, Max pulled out his phone, holding it up casually. “And now… private vlog time. Finally got rid of those guys.”

Her eyes lit up as they stepped into their room and Max set up the phone so they could see both her walking through the room and him in the doorway, and she started chattering without pause. “Look at that chandelier! And the carpet! Do you see how soft it is? Oh! I could take naps here. The cats would love it!”

Max just smiled, leaning against the doorframe, letting her ramble while his thumb idly brushed hers as they moved through the space. “Mm-hmm,” he murmured, his eyes tracing her animated gestures.

“Look at the space! The window! I could literally roll around in here! And the desk! The desk is huge. Look at this. I could grade all my stuff here. It’s so pretty!”

Max’s phone tilted to catch her wide-eyed excitement as she circled the desk, tapping it like it was a magical artifact. She didn’t notice him subtly opening a new tab on her phone (after stealing it from her purse), searching for the desk online.

By the time she flopped onto the chair and leaned back with a satisfied sigh, Max had already found it, fingers hovering over the “buy now” button. He tapped it without hesitation. “Done,” he said lightly, almost as if it were nothing.

Her eyes went wide. “You… you actually?”

He just shrugged, smirking like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You love it. That’s all that matters.”

Her jaw dropped in a mix of awe and amusement, but she couldn’t stop herself from grinning ear to ear. “You know,” he murmured, voice soft as she bounced lightly in the chair, “this is why I travel with you. You make even a hotel desk exciting.”

She laughed, spinning slightly on the chair, her hair catching the light from the large window. “Well, someone’s gotta keep life interesting for you, right?”

Max’s smile deepened, eyes warm and unguarded. “Yeah. Yeah, you do that really well.”

She pushed away from the desk after a while, her coffee mug still in hand from earlier, and wandered toward the minibar. Max trailed after her lazily, phone in one hand, his other stuffed into his pocket.

“Oh my god, Max,” she gasped, crouching in front of the tiny glass fridge. “Look at this! They’ve got the fancy sparkling water that I like. And, oh, tiny Toblerones!” She pulled one out triumphantly, holding it up like treasure.

Max zoomed in on the camera, chuckling. “That’s what does it for you? Not the view? Not the five-star service? The minibar chocolate?”

“Yes!” she shot back without hesitation, tearing the wrapper open. “You don’t understand, Max. These are always the best part. They’re like… vacation chocolate. Tastes better than normal chocolate.”

He shook his head, laughing quietly as he turned the camera back on himself. “She gets five-star hotels and private jets, but the minibar Toblerone is what makes her happiest. I don’t stand a chance. This might be the most awake you’ll see her.”

She popped a piece into her mouth and wandered toward the window, chewing happily. The huge mountain range stretched out in the distance, the late afternoon light gilding the peaks. Her breath caught. “Oh. Max.” She pressed her free hand to the glass. “It’s so pretty. Look at that view. I could sit here for hours. Grade, drink coffee, just…”

“Eat Toblerones?” he teased from behind the camera.

She turned and glared at him, but her grin broke through too quickly. “You’re impossible.”

Max lowered the phone just enough to catch her smile from his own perspective, her silhouette framed against the golden peaks. “Yeah,” he murmured, mostly to himself, “but you love me anyway.”

She didn’t hear him, too busy pulling the curtains back farther so she could see more of the mountains. “Oh! And this armchair! Look how deep it is!” She plopped into it dramatically, arms thrown wide. “Max, I could plan my lessons so much better in this. Like, it’s built for grading. Or napping. Maybe both.”

Max just shook his head, already unlocking his phone with his free hand and discreetly opening the hotel’s furniture supplier page. A quick search later and there it was—the same armchair. Without batting an eye, he tapped “buy now.”

But when the payment screen popped up, his brows drew together. “What the hell is this?”

“What?” she asked suspiciously, finally noticing.

“You’ve got your card saved, not mine.” His tone was half-accusing, half-shocked. “Why don’t you have my card details saved?”

“Because I don’t need them!” she shot back, reaching for the phone. “It’s my phone, Max. I’m not adding your card just so you can buy me random furniture I didn’t ask for.”

Max leaned back easily, phone held out of reach, typing with deliberate slowness. “No, no, this is unacceptable. I’m changing it right now. Delete yours, add mine. Done.”

“Max!” she laughed in disbelief, lunging half-heartedly toward him.

He only smirked, tucking the phone against his chest after confirming the order went through. “Fixed it. Now you can’t stop me anymore.”

She groaned, flopping back into the chair with her hand over her face. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re welcome,” he corrected, lowering the phone again to catch her laughing despite herself. “Now every time you sit in this chair at home, you’ll remember I was right. And I’ll transfer you the money I spent on the table. I didn’t see that it was your card.”

She groaned, throwing her head back against the chair dramatically. “Max, you can’t just keep spending your money on me like this.”

He lowered the phone just enough so she was back in frame, smirk tugging at his mouth. “It’s not my money, liefje. It’s our money.”

“Mm, nooo,” she argued, covering her face with both hands, laughter muffled. “Don’t start with that. It’s your job, your career, your money.”

Max crouched down in front of her, prying one hand away so the camera could catch her flushed cheeks. “And your comfort, your smile, your chair. That’s all I care about.” He kissed her knuckles, eyes glinting with mischief. “So… our money.”

She tried to glare but it dissolved into another laugh, her free hand tugging lightly at his hoodie. “You’re impossible.”

“Unbearable,” Max corrected with a grin, turning the phone back on himself. “But now she has my card saved, so technically I win.”

She groaned again, shoving lightly at his shoulder. “No, technically I win, because you’re stuck with me.”

Max’s grin softened as he turned the camera back toward her, zooming slightly just to catch the smile she was trying (and failing) to hide. “Yeah,” he murmured, thumb brushing her head.

The video wobbled for a second as his thumb shifted across the screen, catching one last blurry frame of her laughing before it went black with the faint click of the recording ending.