Danny_oh
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- Formula 1 RPF (5)
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Summary
He’s glaring at a chip in the wall when he feels the heavy weight of someone staring at him.
Oscar looks around from where he is on the couch he’s claimed in the deserted lounge of an old hospitality room, trying to find the source of it, brows furrowed.
His eyes catch Max’s easily enough.
The driver hasn’t even stepped into the room, standing just outside of it, still in his racing suit, which hangs open, pooling low at his waist, showing off the white fireproofs he wears. His eyes are fixed on him, unmoving, no particular emotion showing on his face except for the typical neutral scowl Oscar has grown used to.
Oscar had already been irritated on his own, but the unwanted attention just when he’d come here to be alone makes an irrational burst of anger rise in his chest, one that feels like a burn from how sharp it is. A muscle in his jaw twitches. His lips twist in anger as he straightens to stare right back at the Dutchman.
“What do you want?” he calls, voice loud, but strained from lack of use over the past hour.
Or: Max finds Oscar after a bad testing session, intent on showing him he'll have to take control if he wants things to go his way.
Series
- Part 2 of Tumblr requests
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George hadn’t seen the bullet itself, only the reaction it had caused. Max’s shocked, pained gasp, the jolt that had wracked through his body as the strength of the impact had forced him backwards, the blood that had instantly started seeping at his chest, barely visible through the dark fabric of his race suit yet so jarring as it marred the gold of the trophy he held in dark splatters.
Max had disappeared behind the podium, his body collapsing, tearing through the backdrop. One moment he’d been there, solid, beaming, and the next, he was gone, the only traces of him the blood he’d left behind.
Distantly, George could remember the moment as the last time he’d seen the man in person. There was nothing more to it: after the fateful blow, Max Verstappen had vanished off the face of the earth.
Or: three years, three championship wins after Max Verstappen’s unfortunate passing, George Russell learns things might not be as he’d thought they were, as Max might be well and alive out there. He embarks on a quest for truth, and purpose, chasing something -someone- he isn’t sure he’ll find.
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“Max,” George finally says, after silence has stretched on for a few seconds.
He takes a step closer. Max takes a step back.
“Hey. Come on,” George breathes, and stills, cocking his head aside as he takes in the distance between them. After a few seconds, he throws a hand forward, towards Max, palm open.
“I thought I was welcome on the Nordschleife,” Max mutters through gritted teeth.
“Well, you are, aren’t you? With open arms, I’ll add,” George smiles, bright and open, unguarded.
Max squints at him, nostrils flaring in annoyance.
Still, he reaches forward, after a beat of hesitation. His fingers have barely touched George’s palm before he’s pulled in, closer and closer until their chests touch, and George’s arms close in around him, hands landing at Max’s waist.
“You’re not making this easy for yourself, huh?” The words are whispered into his hairline, just as gentle hands brush up his spine, tracing a path to his shoulders.
Max doesn’t answer, though a sigh slips past his lips as he allows himself to rest his forehead to George’s collarbone, closing his eyes.
Or: George goes to comfort Max after Shanghai '26
Series
- Part 1 of Tumblr requests
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Summary
“Well, nice to meet you officially then, Max,” George says as they step away.
For a brief moment, Max thinks this is it. He’s been unmasked, George knows who he is, finally remembers him. But when he looks up, the man is as surprisingly casual as he’s been since they got out of their cars, no recognition in sight. He sighs in relief, nodding as he watches how George offers his hand.
“Yeah. Nice to meet you, George Russell,” he mutters. He delights in the laughter it earns him, George’s palm warm against his own.
—
Jos Verstappen had a son. A gifted child, a prodigy, promised to a solid racing career- Until he vanished without a trace. Jos pretends the kid simply didn’t have it in him, lacked the drive, tells whoever will listen the boy bolted away as soon as he could.
Truth is, Max has been drifting aimlessly for years, since his father threw him out the door, and crushed any attempts he’s made to pursue his dream. He goes from place to place, race to race in underground circles, with no goal in sight but the next thrill to come. Until a chance encounter with two-times championship winner George Russell, who’s grown weary of being at the top of his game, changes things.
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Summary
The rash is there during the first race weekend.
It’s there when they run into each other while getting to the paddock, so visible under the collar of Max’s Red Bull polo, despite his attempt at pulling the fabric as high as it can go.
It’s there during qualifying, when Max finishes first and waves at the crowd, grinning bright. It can be seen peeking out on the only visible strip of skin under his helmet.
It’s there when they cross paths later between garages, just before the race, and Max doesn’t even look his way, doesn’t spare a glance. He’s too busy scratching at his throat absently, obviously focused on the upcoming race. His nails are digging ridges in the dry skin. It won't be long before he draws blood.
Or: Max Verstappen has never really shown his skin any care, until George Russell takes it upon himself to fix it for him.
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