*ೃ࿔ ≡ 🏎️🌫️🫧 .･*｡ max verstappen x olympic!reader — — the one where max doesn't mind taking the time to correct an ignorant man and show you off on international television at the same time.
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—— MAX VERSTAPPEN WAS A PRIVATE MAN.
Rarely did he share personal anecdotes or details with people who didn't know him very well. In particular, the press and media that often ask those invasive questions any chance they get. But he liked the illusion of complete and total privacy, like that of someone without his reputation. Someone who could walk outside without someone taking a photo of them.
That's why you two worked so well. Growing up in the limelight, as a shadow of a elitist, the child prodigy of someone who was one of the greats. Pushed to be better than the best, no matter the cost. That's way everything about the two of you, meshed so perfectly well. You two understood each other.
Max remembered those nights the best. Usually when people found out the details of his childhood, all he got was pity. But when the both of you indulged into the horrific stories and traumatic experiences— you'd both spent the night laughing so hard tears welled in your eyes. Two people able to laugh at their misfortunes, smile as what was now the past and happy they'd escaped it. They were in better places now, no longer grieving the childhood they'd lost. You'd both moved on, and were able to live their life presently, with each other.
He'd been left as a gas station, left to walk miles back home alone. You'd been locked out of the house in your thin pajamas in winter, forced to skate on a frozen lake until your neighbor called the cops and you nearly lost a couple toes to frostbite. Max had been knocked around by his dad, you'd been pushed into frozen water by your mom. Life sucked back then, and it didn't now.
His life was better now. You made his life better.
You both enjoyed the luxury of privacy at home, a home that he happily shared with you in Monaco. it was a recent development in your relationship, only having lived together for a few months after dating for years. At the prime of both of your careers— neither one of you was ready for marriage or settling down. But sharing an apartment? That was easy. You practically lived at his apartment anyway. And he declared you were an expert at relationships, especially the more mundane parts that he hadn't thought about.
He'd never been in such a healthy relationship, something so pure and well-intentioned. There was a chore list that you two split pretty evenly. You both knew how to ask for time alone. There were nights he was in his simulation room for hours, and you were just as happy in your own world watching shitty reality t.v. in the living room with the cats. You still went on romantic dates— and Max liked to make it seem like you didn't live together those nights. He'd leave the apartment and drive to find a bouquet of flowers, before pulling up his car in front of the apartment building and knocking on the door with a giddy smile— as if he didn't have a key and paid half the rent.
