#he’s charming and a good driver | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

harrysfolklore · 8 months ago

Text

misunderstood hero with a heart of gold - mv1

summary: max verstappen has never been one to read books, but everything changes when he comes across a pretty booktuber who describes him better than anyone else did before

word count: 8.2k + social media posts

folkie radio: another one of my babies finally sees the light of day 🥹 this fic is really special and i was lowkey gatekeeping it but i feel ready to share it, plss take care of it <3 i hope you like it

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

Max Verstappen was bored.

It was late and he was alone in his hotel room. He had a race the following day and he knew better than staying up late. His team was already on his ass for sim racing at ungodly hours of the night when he had a race, but nevertheless, he was bored and not sleepy yet.

He scrolled through his phone, not really paying attention to what popped up on his Instagram feed, Tiktok for you page or Twitter timeline.

After a few minutes, his finger landed on the YouTube app, one that he barely used if he was completely honest, but for some reason he never deleted it.

A bunch of videos showed up on his main page, most of them about F1, gaming, fitness or cats. He scrolled through the thumbnails absentmindedly until one title caught his eye: "Formula 1 Drivers as Romance Book Character Tropes."

Max had no idea how that video ended up in his suggestions page. He wasn't much of a reader—he had only read two books in his entire life, for crying out loud— but curiosity got the better of him. He clicked on the video.

The screen shifted to a bright and lively setup, where a young woman with vibrant energy and a contagious smile greeted her viewers. "Hey everyone! Welcome back to my channel. Today, we have a fun video where I'll be pairing Formula 1 drivers with romance book tropes!"

Max found himself smiling for some reason, he thought she was really engaging and funny — and really pretty—. He leaned back against his pillows, more intrigued by the second.

"As some of you might already know, books are not my only passion, I'm also a huge Formula 1 fan since I was a little kid thanks to my dad, so I thought it would be fun to do a little crossover of my two obsessions."

Max grinned again, finding himself oddly invested in this unexpected combination of romance literature and Formula 1. Or maybe just mesmerized by the pretty girl who was talking on his screen.

"Let's begin with Mercedes," she said, clapping her hands together, "Lewis Hamilton is definitely our 'Charming Prince Charming.' He's got the looks, the talent, and that air of royalty about him."

Max chuckled, thinking it was a fitting description for his rival.

"Now for George Russell," she continued, "I'm going with 'The Boy Next Door Who Grew Up Hot.' I mean, have you seen his glow-up?"

Max chuckled again, nodding in agreement. George had indeed transformed quite a bit since his Williams days.

"Moving on to Ferrari," she continued enthusiastically. Max wondered if that was her favorite team on the grid, "Charles Leclerc is our classic 'Childhood Best Friend You've Always Had a Crush On.' He's got that sweet, familiar charm, but with a spark that makes your heart race every time you see him."

Max raised an eyebrow, surprised by the change in description. He had to admit, it fit Charles quite well.

"And for Carlos Sainz," she paused dramatically, "he's either our 'Older Brother's Best Friend' or the 'Bad Guy Who's Mean to Everyone but His Sweetheart', just think about it, he's got that rugged exterior, but you just know he's a total sweetheart deep down."

Max laughed, realizing she had Carlos pegged perfectly. He watched with growing interest as she continued.

"Now, let's talk about McLaren," she said with a sparkle in her eye. "Lando Norris is our 'Adorkable Comedian Who Steals Your Heart.' He's funny, relatable, and has a way of making you fall for him before you even realize it," Max grinned at the description of his good friend, "And Oscar Piastri... he's 'The Shy Genius.' Quiet, reserved, but incredibly talented and intelligent. He might not be the loudest in the room, but he's someone you'd definitely want on your side."

Max nodded in agreement, thinking of how Oscar had impressed everyone since joining McLaren. She continued pairing each driver with a character trope, she described Daniel as the "Life of the Party with a Sensitive Soul," highlighting his infectious energy and hidden depths. Pierre was dubbed the "Resilient Underdog," emphasizing his ability to bounce back from setbacks. Yuki was described as the "Fiery Spitfire with a Soft Center" and Logan was labeled the "Rookie with Untapped Potential," suggesting a character arc of growth and discovery.

With each driver's description, Max's anticipation grew. He found himself eagerly awaiting his own characterization, both curious and slightly apprehensive about how the pretty girl with an obsession with books and Formula 1 would describe him.

When she finally got to Red Bull, he sat up a little straighter, his interest piqued.

"Now for Sergio Perez," she said, "he's our 'Loyal Wingman Who Deserves His Own Happy Ending.' Always there to support, but with a story of his own waiting to be told."

Max nodded, thinking it was a pretty accurate description of his teammate.

"And finally, saved the best for last," she said, her eyes twinkling, "we have Max Verstappen."

Max held his breath, oddly nervous about how this stranger would categorize him.

"Max is our 'Misunderstood Hero with a Heart of Gold,'" she said with a warm smile. "Often perceived as cold or distant, but actually deeply caring and protective of those close to him. He's the type who shows his love through actions rather than words."

Max felt his cheeks warm significantly. This description caught him completely off guard. It wasn't the usual 'aggressive driver' or 'arrogant champion' narrative he was used to hearing. Instead, it felt... true. Uncomfortably true. He wasn't sure how to feel about being seen so accurately by a stranger.

As the video ended after she said her goodbyes, Max found himself staring at his phone screen, replaying her words in his mind, his thumb hovering over the comment section. He had never left a comment on a YouTube video before, but something about this one compelled him to break that habit.

After a moment's hesitation, he tapped the comment box and began typing, Once he was done, he paused, reading over his words. It felt strange, almost vulnerable, to acknowledge her characterization of him. But there was also something liberating about it. He added a thumbs-up emoji at the end and hit 'Post' before he could second-guess himself.

As Max set his phone down and settled into bed, a small smile played on his lips. He had a important race the following day, but all he wanted to think and dream about was the pretty stranger who had somehow seen through his carefully crafted public persona.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by username1, username2 and 10,725 others

f1gossip “I went to bed early last night. Just listened to the team’s orders, you know?”

Max Verstappen for media day today, however he left a comment on a YouTube video around 2:46 am 😭

view all comments

username1 HES SOOOOO

username2 the fact that he left a comment on a BOOKTUBER’S channel MAX VERSTAPPEN YOU DONT EVEN READ BOOKS 😭

username3 he looks so pretty tho

username4 MAX WE ALL SAW YOU

username5 max was actually checking which romance trope is him according to booktubers

username6 HES SO RANDOM

username7 max’s search history: lestappen as fictional couples

liked by username1, username2 and 102,438 others

ynreadsbooks in honor of max verstappen x3 world champion commenting on my latest video (which is insane to say out loud wtf) should i do another f1 themed video?? any suggestions?

view all comments

username1 YES QUEEN

username2 that max comment was so random but so real

username3 max verstappen, the man who has read two books in 27 years watching booktubers was not on my bingo card

username4 @/maxverstappen1 you favorite youtuber will do another video about you

username5 BOOKS WITH RACING THEMES

username6 books inspired by f1 circuits would be fun

username7 @/maxverstappen drop a suggestion

maxverstappen1 started following ynreadsbooks

liked by username1, username2 and 15,836 others

f1gossip Max Verstappen was seen outside of a bookshop in Monaco today !

view all comments

username1 BABYYYY

username2 max ??? bookshop ????

username3 WHAT SHIFTED

username4 he thought it was jimmyz

username5 HEELPP what is he doing there

username6 hello i work there. he arrived with a list of books in hand that he wanted, he bought around 15 action and fantasy books

↳ username1 FOR REAL???

↳ username2 max said book girl summer

↳ username3 this is so random

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

If someone had told Max that this year he would spend his summer break reading, he would've laughed at their faces. Yet here he was, lounging by the pool in his Monaco house, a book in his hands and a smile on his face.

As he turned the page of "The Martian," the latest sci-fi recommendation from YN, Max couldn't help but reflect on how different this summer break was.

Usually, his days off were filled with lavish yacht parties, exclusive clubs, or intense training sessions and hours of sim racing to stay sharp for the second half of the season. But now, he found himself eagerly devouring books and spending hours chatting with YN about plots, characters, and everything in between.

As the weeks passed, Max found himself growing increasingly close to YN, despite never having met her in person. Their text conversations flowed effortlessly, ranging from in-depth discussions about the books they were reading to playful banter about racing and life in general.

Max was surprised by how much he enjoyed her company, even in this digital form. Her wit, intelligence, and genuine interest in his thoughts beyond his racing persona were refreshing. He found himself sharing things he rarely discussed with others, and looking forward to her messages became a highlight of his day.

He also thought she was absolutely gorgeous.

As if on cue, his phone buzzed with a new message from her.

Max chuckled, about to reply when he heard the doorbell. He remembered Lando and Daniel were coming over for dinner. As he got up to let them in, he quickly typed a response, telling her that he would talk to her later.

"Well, well, well," Daniel's voice boomed as Max opened the door. "If it isn't the newly minted bookworm of Formula 1!"

Lando peered around Daniel's shoulder, "I half expected to find you wearing glasses and a sweater vest, mate."

"Very funny, guys. Come in," Max rolled his eyes as he stepped away from the door.

Ever since his friends noticed his brand new habit, they took it upon themselves to tease him whenever they could. As they made their way to the backyard, Daniel spotted the book on the lounger.

"The Martian?" he read, picking it up. "Isn't this a bit advanced for your reading level, Maxy?"

"Ha ha," Max deadpanned, snatching the book back. "It's actually really good. It's about this astronaut who gets stranded on Mars and has to use science and engineering to survive-"

"Whoa, whoa," Lando interrupted, holding up his hands. "Who are you and what have you done with Max Verstappen?"

Daniel draped an arm around Max's shoulders. "I think our boy here is trying to impress a certain bookish YouTuber. What was her name again? YN?"

Max felt his cheeks warm. "It's not like that. We just... talk about books and stuff."

"And stuff," Daniel repeated, wiggling his eyebrows. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

Max rolled his eyes, trying to brush off their teasing. "Seriously, it's not like that. We just have a lot in common."

Daniel and Lando exchanged knowing glances before bursting into laughter.

"Sure, mate," Daniel said, patting Max on the back. "Whatever you say."

They settled by the pool, beers in hand, and started chatting about the upcoming races and their plans for the rest of the summer. Despite the playful ribbing, Max found himself genuinely enjoying their company. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed his friends.

As the evening wore on, the conversation eventually circled back to Max's books and his little friend on his phone.

"So, Max," Lando started, a mischievous glint in his eye, "have you color-coded your bookshelf yet? Or are you more of a chronological order kind of guy?"

"Nah, mate. I bet he organizes them by how many times YN has mentioned them," Daniel chimed in, "Top shelf is probably her favorites, right Maxy?"

Max felt his cheeks flush, but he couldn't help grinning. "You two are impossible."

"When are you finally going to meet her in person anyway?" Lando said, sipping from his beer.

Max shrugged nonchalantly, trying to hide the slight flutter in his chest. "I don't know. That's not something I've really thought about,"

He lied. In truth, the thought of meeting YN had crossed his mind countless times. The idea of finally seeing the girl who had captivated him with her intelligence, humor, and beauty made his heart race. He'd catch himself daydreaming about her smile, wondering if it was as warm and infectious in person as it seemed in her videos. But he wasn't ready to admit that to his friends just yet.

Lando and Daniel exchanged a look, clearly not buying Max's nonchalant act.

"Oh come on," Lando scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. "You expect us to believe that? You've been glued to your phone for weeks, mate."

"I bet he's already planned their first date," Daniel leaned in, "What'll it be, Max? A romantic book reading by candlelight? Or maybe a visit to the library?"

Max felt his cheeks heating up again. "It's not like that, guys. We're just friends."

"Friends who talk every day and have you blushing like a schoolgirl," Lando teased, nudging Max with his elbow.

"I do not blush like a schoolgirl," Max protested, knowing full well that his face was probably bright red by now.

"Sure, sure," Daniel said with a wink. "Just friends. So, have you at least thought about inviting her to a race? You know, show her what you do when you're not reading about Mars?"

"Why would I invite her to a race, that would be weird," Max protested again, "And she already knows what I do, she's a fan of the sport."

"Man, you're so stubborn sometimes," Lando rolled his eyes at him, "If you like this girl, why don't you invite her to a race? It could be a great way to finally meet in person."

"And who said that I liked her," once again, Max's defensive self came through.

Daniel and Lando shared an exasperated look before turning back to Max.

"Come on, mate," Daniel said, his tone gentler now. "It's pretty obvious. We've never seen you this invested in someone before. Not to mention, you're reading books voluntarily for the first time since... well, ever."

"It's written all over your face," Lando said, shaking his head. "You like her, and there's no shame in that. You light up every time your phone buzzes. It's kind of adorable, actually."

Max sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew his friends were right, but admitting it out loud felt like a big step. "Okay, fine. Maybe I do like her. But it's complicated, you know? We've never even met in person."

"That's exactly why you should invite her to a race," Lando insisted. "It's the perfect opportunity. She gets to see you in your element, and you get to finally meet face-to-face."

"Plus," Daniel added with a mischievous grin, "if things go well, you can always show her your trophy collection. I hear that's a great way to impress the ladies."

Max couldn't help but laugh at that. "You're ridiculous, you know that?"

"Maybe," Daniel shrugged, "but I'm also right. What have you got to lose?"

Max pondered this for a moment. The idea of meeting YN in person both thrilled and terrified him. What if they didn't click in real life the way they did over text? But then again, what if they did?

"I'll think about it," Max finally conceded.

Lando and Daniel exchanged triumphant grins.

"That's our boy," Lando said, patting his back.

After a few more beers and food, Lando and Daniel left.

As the night deepened, Max found himself lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. The conversation with Lando and Daniel kept replaying in his mind. His phone sat on the nightstand, silent but somehow still demanding his attention.

Max's thoughts raced. Should he text YN? Invite her to Zandvoort? The idea made his heart beat faster. He imagined seeing her in person for the first time, wondering if her smile would be as pretty as it was in her videos. But doubt crept in too. What if things were awkward? What if the chemistry they had online didn't translate to real life?

He rolled onto his side, eyeing his phone. The urge to reach out to her was strong, as it always was. Max realized that Lando and Daniel were right - he did like her. A lot. The thought of meeting her filled him with equal parts excitement and nervousness.

Taking a deep breath, Max grabbed his phone. Before he could overthink it, he started typing.

Hey YN, hope I'm not messaging too late. I was wondering if you'd like to come to the Dutch GP at Zandvoort? It's the first race after the summer break, and my home race. Thought it might be fun if you could make it.

He hit send before he could second-guess himself. The wait for her response felt eternal. When his phone finally buzzed, Max's heart leapt.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing and 286,375 others

ynreadsbooks this week’s video will be delayed for some ~personal reasons ☺️

view all comments

username1 GIRL

username2 ARE YOU GOING WHERE I THINK YOU’RE GOING

username3 f1 x books this is literally me

username4 hot girls support max verstappen

username5 ahh if she’s going to the gp i’ll be so happy bc she’s a huge fan

username6 the way roles reversed and now max is his fan 😭

redbullracing We can’t wait 💙

↳ username1 REDBULL???

↳ username2 AHHH THEY PROBABLY INVITED HER

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

As Max headed to Zandvoort Circuit for the Dutch Grand Prix, he felt the familiar weight of expectations settling on his shoulders.

The second half of the season loomed ahead, and the pressure to maintain his championship lead was on. He knew the team was counting on him to deliver strong results, especially at his home race where the orange-clad fans would be out in full force.

But amidst the pressure and responsibility, there was another emotion bubbling up inside him - a giddy excitement that he couldn't quite contain.

The thought of finally meeting YN in person after months of texts, calls, and shared book recommendations made his heart race in a way that had nothing to do with driving at a car at a very fast speed.

As he drove to the track, Max found himself smiling at random moments, his mind drifting to imagine what it would be like to see her smile in person, to hear her laugh without the filter of a phone call.

Max realized that for the first time in a long while, he was looking forward to a race weekend for reasons that extended beyond the track.

Unfortunately, his busy schedule kept them from meeting right away. Media commitments, team briefings, and practice sessions consumed his time, leaving him feeling frustrated and guilty for not being able to see her sooner. He sent her a quick message apologizing for the delay, promising they'd meet after qualifying.

As he made his way to the garage, a familiar voice called out behind him.

"Oi, Max! Ready for the big day?"

Max turned to see Daniel jogging up to him, his trademark grin in place.

"Yeah, should be a good quali," Max replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't talking about qualifying, mate. Your special guest arrives today, right?"

Max felt his cheeks warm. "How did you even remember that?"

"Please," Daniel scoffed. "It's all you've been talking about for weeks. So, have you met her yet?"

"No, my schedule's been packed. We're supposed to meet after quali."

"Ah, saving the best for last, eh?" Daniel's grin widened, "Smart move. Nothing like the adrenaline of a good qualifying session to make a great first impression."

"Or to completely mess it up," Max muttered.

"Hey, none of that," Daniel clapped him on the shoulder. "You'll be fine. Just be yourself. She already likes you for who you are, remember?"

Max nodded, feeling a bit reassured. "Thanks, Dan."

With a deep breath, Max headed into the garage, Daniel's words echoing in his mind.

Qualifying went smoothly, with Max securing a front row start to the delight of the Dutch fans. The cheers of the home crowd were deafening as he climbed out of the car, but his mind was elsewhere.

After the post-qualifying interviews, Max sent YN a quick text letting her know that he was free now and she let him know that she was around the hospitality area.

As he walked towards there, Max spotted YN standing near one of the motorhomes, looking around with wide eyes. She hadn't seen him yet, and for a moment, Max just watched her, taking in the sight of the girl who had been on his mind for months now.

She was even more gorgeous in person than he had imagined.

Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she took in the bustling paddock around her. The way the sunlight caught her hair, the gentle curve of her smile as she observed everything with wonder - it all took Max's breath away.

He noticed little details he couldn't have seen through a screen: the way her eyes sparkled, the subtle freckles across her nose, the graceful way she moved as she looked around.

Taking a deep breath, Max walked over, his heart pounding. "YN?"

She turned, her face lighting up with a radiant smile that made Max's breath catch. "Max! Finally!"

They moved toward each other, and without hesitation, Max pulled her into a hug. The embrace felt natural, as if they'd done this a hundred times before. He was aware of how perfectly she fit in his arms, the subtle scent of her perfume, and the warmth of her body against his.

"It's so good to finally meet you," he murmured into her hair. "I'm so sorry it took so long, this weekend's been crazy."

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with understanding in her eyes. "It's okay, Max. That qualifying was amazing! I've never experienced anything like it."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. Come on, let me show you around."

He took her hand and he was struck by how natural it felt. Her fingers intertwined with his perfectly, and a warm sensation spread from their joined hands throughout his body.

They strolled through the paddock, Max pointing out the various team motorhomes, the garages, and the media center. YN was all wide-eyed fascination, asking questions and soaking in every detail. As they walked, Max found himself relaxing more and more, his previous nerves about their chemistry being gone fading away.

As they rounded a corner, they nearly bumped into Lando Norris. Who couldn't help but smirk at the sight of their hands intertwined.

"You guys met already!" he cheerfully said, "You must be YN."

Her cheeks flushed, clearly surprised that Max had mentioned her to his friends. Max felt a warmth spread through his chest at her reaction.

"Yeah, this is YN," Max said, unable to keep the smile off his face, "Meet Lando, the perpetual pain in my ass."

"Nice to finally meet the girl who's got Max reading," YN laughed, and Lando extended his hand, "Quite the accomplishment."

"Nice to meet you too, Lando," YN said, shaking his hand. "I've enjoyed watching you race, I'm a big fan. Congrats on the pole position."

"Cheers," Lando replied, then turned to Max with a mischievous glint in his eye. "So, has he bored you with car talk yet, or has he actually remembered how to discuss books?"

Max rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Shouldn't you be preparing for tomorrow, Lando?"

"Alright, alright, I can take a hint," Lando chuckled. "Enjoy your tour, lovebirds!"

As Lando walked away, Max felt a mix of embarrassment and pleasure. He glanced at YN, relieved to see her smiling.

"Sorry about him," Max said, shaking his head with a chuckle. "Lando has a way of making everything awkward."

YN laughed softly, her eyes twinkling. "It's fine. He seems like fun."

They continued their walk, finally making their way to the rooftop terrace of the Red Bull hospitality area. The view was stunning, offering a panoramic look at the circuit and the sea of orange-clad fans below.

"This is incredible," YN said, leaning against the railing and taking it all in. "Thank you for showing me around, Max."

"Of course," Max said, standing beside her. "I'm really glad you could come."

They stood there for a moment, enjoying the view and each other's company. Max felt a sense of contentment wash over him, the stress of the weekend melting away in her presence.

"Max," YN said softly, turning to face him. "I know this weekend is important for you, and I don't want to be a distraction. But I'm really happy to be here and to finally meet you."

"You're not a distraction," Max replied, reaching out to take her hand again. "You're the best part of this weekend, honestly."

They shared a smile, Max was well aware of the butterflies that fluttered on his stomach and the high school girl blush his friends teased him about, but he didn't care. He felt happy with the pretty girl who had been his source of comfort for months, finally face to face.

"You know," YN said softly, "when I made that video calling you a misunderstood hero with a heart of gold, I never imagined I'd get to see it firsthand. But being here, seeing how you are with your team, with the fans… I was right about you, Max Verstappen."

Max felt a warmth spread through his chest at her words. He had always been guarded about his public image, but hearing her perspective meant more than he could ever imagine.

"I'm glad you think so," he said softly, his voice filled with sincerity. "You know, that video... it changed things for me. Not just because it led to us talking, but because it made me reflect on a lot of things."

"Who would've thought," YN said with a smile, "When I recorded that video, I never thought you would ever see it, let alone have an impact on you and let alone lead us to talking and me being here."

"Everything happens for a reason, right?"

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo and 301,257 others

ynreadsbooks best experience ever. thank you, thank you, THANK YOU 🥺💙

view all comments

username1 OMFGGGG

username2 no one deserved this more than her for real

username3 SHE MET MAX TOO?? DESERVED

redbullracing Come back soon! 😉

username4 red bull finally inviting people who actually love the sport

username5 GIRL WE NEED A VLOGGGG

username6 omg how did this happen spiiiill

↳ ynreadsbooks let's say i got invited by the world champion

↳ username1 WTF

↳ username2 so MAX invited her not redbull help he really did become a fan after that video

danielricciardo Hope to see you around soon, love ! 👀

↳ username3 how do i sign up for this

username7 THAT PIC OF MAX IS SO BOYFRIEND CODED

maxversteppen1 Thank you so much for coming and making this day special ☺️

↳ username1 OMG MAX

↳ username2 i'd be screaming if i was her

liked by charles_leclerc, ynreadsbooks and 1,028,479 others

maxverstappen1 Enjoyed every moment in Zandvoort with this amazing atmosphere and the best company 🧡

view all comments

username1 KIIING

username2 how can a man be so babygirl

username3 all smiles even tho he finished p2

danielricciardo 🦁🦁

landonorris Simply lovely

↳ username1 menace

username4 bro who got you smiling like that

ynreadsbooks ❤️

↳ username2 biggest max girlie

↳ username3 WE NEED THAT VLOG

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

When it came time for YN to leave the Netherlands, Max insisted on driving her to the airport himself. The car ride was filled with comfortable silence and soft conversation, both of them trying to stretch out their remaining time together.

Despite their short time together, Max found himself completely smitten, captivated by YN's intelligence, humor, and the way her eyes lit up when she talked about books or reacted to the thrill of the race.

He didn't want to admit it to himself, but he was head over heels for her.

As they stood in the departure terminal, Max felt an overwhelming urge to kiss her. He hesitated, his heart racing, but ultimately settled for a long, warm hug, breathing in her scent and committing it to memory. As he watched her walk through security, he already found himself missing her presence.

Now, a week later, Max was in Monza for the Italian Grand Prix. The day had been busy with media commitments and team meetings. Finally back in the quiet of his motorhome, Max flopped onto the couch, feeling drained but content. Without thinking, he reached for his phone and hit the FaceTime button next to YN's name.

Her smiling face appeared on the screen, and Max felt an immediate surge of warmth.

"Hey, you," she said, her voice soft and welcoming even through the phone's speakers.

"Hey," Max replied, unable to keep the grin off his face. "How's your day been?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. Editing videos, reading, missing the excitement of the paddock," YN teased. "How about you? Surviving the media circus?"

"Barely," Max groaned dramatically, "I swear, if I have to answer one more question about RedBull and their big mess, I might go mad."

YN laughed, the sound making Max's heart skip a beat. "Poor Max. Whatever shall we do to take your mind off your beloved team?"

"Well," Max said, shifting to get more comfortable, "I've been reading that new sci-fi book you recommended. 'The Martian-like Odyssey to Titan,' or whatever it's called."

"'Project Hail Mary,'" she corrected, "And? What do you think so far?"

"It's incredible!" Max's eyes lit up, "I mean, the science is fascinating, and the way the main character problem-solves is just... I don't know, it reminds me a bit of what we do in racing, you know? Constantly adapting, finding solutions on the fly."

"That's exactly why I thought you'd like it! The way Andy Weir writes about scientific problem-solving is so engaging."

They dove into an animated discussion about the book, Max marveling at how easily conversation flowed between them, how YN's passion for books was infectious. As they talked, a thought that had been brewing in Max's mind for days suddenly surfaced.

"YN," Max said, his voice softer than before. "There's actually something I've been wanting to ask you."

"Oh? What is it, Max?" she tilted her head, curiosity evident in her expression.

Max took a deep breath, suddenly feeling like he was about to qualify for a crucial race. "Well, I was wondering... have you ever been to Monaco?"

"No, actually, I haven't," YN's eyebrows raised in surprise, "It's always been on my travel wish list, though. Why do you ask?"

Max felt his heart rate pick up. He'd rehearsed this moment in his head countless times over the past few days, but now that it was here, he found himself fumbling for words.

"Well, you see, I have a two-week break coming up before the Baku GP, and I was thinking... maybe... if you're free, of course, and if you'd like to... you could come visit me in Monaco?"

The words tumbled out faster than he intended, and Max felt a blush creeping up his neck. He watched YN's face carefully, trying to gauge her reaction. His mind raced with possibilities - what if she said no? What if this was too forward?

YN's eyes widened, and for a moment, she seemed at a loss for words. "Oh, Max, that's... wow. That's really sweet of you to offer."

Max, sensing a hint of hesitation, quickly added, "You could stay at my place. I have plenty of room, and it would be great to have you around. Plus I have two adorable cats that I'm sure you'd love."

YN's expression softened, a mix of excitement and uncertainty in her eyes. "That sounds amazing, Max. But… are you sure? I wouldn't want to impose on your personal space or your time off."

Truth was, Max wanted to spent every free moment he had with her, but he wasn't sure how to let her know without sounding too forward or like a creep, so he just pressed on.

"You wouldn't be imposing at all, I promise. I really want us to spend more time together, away from the craziness of the race weekends. And I'd love to show you around Monaco."

He watched as YN bit her lip, considering his offer. The silence stretched for a moment, and Max found himself holding his breath.

"If you're not comfortable staying at my place," he added quickly, "I could book you a hotel room, or there are some great Airbnbs with amazing views of the harbor. Whatever makes you feel most at ease. I just… I really want to see you again."

As he spoke, Max realized just how true his words were. The thought of having YN in his space, sharing meals, exploring the city together - it filled him with a warmth he couldn't quite describe. It was more than just attraction; there was a comfort in her presence that he craved.

YN smiled, a warm look in her eyes. "You really mean that, don't you?"

"I do. Look, I know it might seem like a big ask, but I just... I can't stop thinking about how much fun we have together. And Monaco is beautiful this time of year. We could go for drives along the coast, have dinner at some amazing restaurants, or just relax by the pool if you prefer. No pressure, just... us. And well, the cats."

Max held his breath, waiting for her response. The thought of having YN in Monaco, of being able to spend uninterrupted time with her away from the pressures of the race weekend, made his heart soar. He imagined showing her his favorite spots in the city, maybe taking her out on his boat, or just lounging by the pool and talking for hours.

"Alright, Verstappen, you've convinced me. But I have one condition."

"Name it." Max grinned, relief and excitement washing over him.

"If I'm staying at your place, you have to let me cook my infamous waffles for breakfast. They're a secret family recipe, and I guarantee they'll be the best you've ever tasted."

"Deal," Max's smile widened, a burst of joy exploding in his chest. "But I warn you, I take my waffles very seriously. They better live up to the hype."

"Oh, they will. And I can't wait to meet the cats."

As they continued to chat and make plans for YN's visit, Max felt a warmth spreading through his chest. The prospect of having YN in his home, of waking up and knowing she was just in the next room, of being able to spend lazy mornings together over homemade waffles - it all seemed almost too good to be true.

He found himself imagining what it would be like to have her there. Would she curl up on his couch with a book? Would they watch the sunset from his terrace? Would he finally get the courage to kiss her?

The thought made his heart race. He remembered the moment at the airport when he had wanted so badly to kiss her goodbye. This time, he promised himself, he wouldn't let the opportunity pass by.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

ynreadsbooks has added to their stories

maxverstappen1 replied to your story

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The day of YN's arrival in Monaco had finally come, and Max felt like a giddy teenager preparing for his first date.

In the days leading up to YN's visit, Max had found himself unusually preoccupied with preparations. He wanted everything to be perfect for YN's stay. He'd bought new sheets for the guest bedroom, making sure they were the softest he could find. He'd stocked the fridge with an array of foods, unsure of her preferences but making sure to have options. He'd even gone so far as to buy a small collection of books he thought she might enjoy, arranging them carefully on the nightstand in her room.

The morning of her arrival, Max woke up early, his stomach a knot of excitement and nerves. He double-checked everything one last time - fresh towels in the bathroom, extra toiletries in case she forgot anything, a vase of fresh flowers on the kitchen counter to brighten up the space. He felt almost silly with how much effort he was putting in, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted everything to be perfect for the girl he was smitten with.

As the time to leave for the airport approached, Max found himself pacing, checking his watch every few minutes. He'd planned the route to the airport meticulously, factoring in potential traffic to make sure he'd be there in plenty of time. Just as he was about to grab his keys and head out, the doorbell rang.

Confused, Max paused. He wasn't expecting anyone - he'd made sure to clear his schedule completely for YN's visit. Frowning slightly, he opened the door to find Lando standing there, a wide grin on his face.

"Lando? What are you doing here?" Max asked, glancing at his watch.

"What, can't a mate drop by for a visit?" Lando replied, trying to peer past Max into the apartment. "Thought we could hang out, maybe play some FIFA."

Max shifted awkwardly, blocking the doorway. "Lando, mate, I'm actually just about to head out. I can't hang out right now."

"Oh, come on," Lando's grin faltered slightly, "Just for a bit? We haven't had a proper catch-up in ages."

"I'm sorry, I really can't," Max insisted, glancing at his watch nervously. "I have to pick up a friend from the airport."

Lando's eyes narrowed suspiciously, a mischievous glint appearing. "A friend, huh? Is it that your book dream girl? You're flying her out over here?"

Max felt his face heat up, a blush creeping up his neck. He tried to deny it, but his reaction gave him away.

"It is! Oh man, this is brilliant," Lando's eyes widened in delight, "Max Verstappen, blushing like a schoolboy over a girl."

"Shut up," Max grumbled, but there was no real annoyance in his voice. He couldn't help but smile.

"So, YN is finally gracing Monaco with her presence," Lando teased. "No wonder you've been so distracted lately. When do I get to hang out with her?"

"You don't," Max rolled his eyes, "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go."

"Alright, alright," Lando stepped aside, still grinning. "But I want details later, yeah? And tell YN I said hi."

Max waved him off, hurrying to his car. Despite Lando's teasing, he couldn't wipe the smile off his face. The excitement was bubbling up inside him again as he drove to the airport.

As he parked and made his way to the arrivals area, Max felt his nerves almost making him want to throw up. He found himself fidgeting, alternating between pacing and sitting, his eyes glued to the arrivals board.

Finally, he saw that YN's flight had landed. His heart rate picked up as he watched the doors, scanning the crowd for her familiar face. And then, suddenly, there she was.

YN emerged from the arrivals gate, looking a bit tired from the journey but still radiant. Her eyes scanned the crowd, and when they landed on Max, her face lit up with a brilliant smile.

Max felt his breath catch in his throat. He raised his hand in a small wave, a grin spreading across his face as he walked towards her.

"Hey, Max," she said as she reached him, her voice warm and slightly breathless.

"Hey," he replied, suddenly feeling shy. "How was your flight?"

Without thinking, he pulled her into a hug. As he wrapped his arms around her, breathing in the scent of her hair, he felt a sense of rightness wash over him. It was as if all the pieces were falling into place.

"It was good, just long," she hugged him back tightly. "I'm so glad to be here though."

As they pulled apart, Max found himself reluctant to let go completely. He kept one hand on her back as he reached for her suitcase with the other. "Here, let me get that for you."

"Always the gentleman," YN teased, but her smile was soft and appreciative.

As they walked towards the exit, Max found himself stealing glances at her, still hardly believing she was really here. "So, um, I thought we could grab some lunch if you're hungry? Or if you're tired, we can head straight to my place so you can rest."

YN considered for a moment. "Lunch sounds great, actually. I'm starving, and I'm too excited to sleep just yet. I want to see Monaco."

Max chuckled, feeling a warmth spread through his chest at her enthusiasm. "Lunch it is then. I know just the place – it has a great view of the harbor."

As they made their way to Max's car, chatting easily about YN's flight and Max's plans for her visit, Max felt a sense of contentment he hadn't experienced in a long time. The nervousness from earlier had melted away, replaced by pure happiness.

Loading YN's suitcase into the trunk, Max caught her eye and smiled. "I'm really glad you're here, YN."

She returned his smile, her eyes sparkling. "Me too, Max. Me too."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 276,488 others

ynreadsbooks roomates for the week 🥺

view all comments

username1 AWEEE

username2 those are cute kittens

username3 those look like max verstappen's cats

username4 JIMMY AND SASSY VERSTAPPEN??

↳ username1 how CRAZY would it be

danielricciardo Don't hesitate to shout if he's much trouble

↳ username2 HOLD ON??

↳ ynreadsbooks he's just fine don't worry 😅

↳ username3 IS SHE REALLY WITH MAX??

↳ maxverstappen1 I'm not trouble...

↳ username1 OMFGGG

↳ username4 THIS PLOT TWIST

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Three days had passed since YN's arrival in Monaco, and Max couldn't remember a time when he'd been happier.

True to her word, YN had cooked her infamous waffles for breakfast on the second morning of her stay. As Max had taken his first bite, his eyes had widened in surprise and delight. The waffles were light and crispy on the outside, yet fluffy on the inside, with a perfect balance of sweetness and a hint of vanilla. He'd declared them the best he'd ever tasted, earning a proud smile from her.

The days that followed had been filled with laughter, conversation, and exploration. They'd spent hours by Max's pool, talking about everything and nothing. YN would often bring a book, reading aloud passages that she found particularly interesting or amusing, while Max listened, content to hear her voice and watch the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about something she loved.

They'd explored Monaco together, with Max showing YN his favorite spots and discovering new ones together. He'd taken her to the Monte Carlo Casino, where they'd marveled at the architecture and people-watched. They'd strolled through the streets of Monaco-Ville, the old town, where YN had been enchanted by the colorful buildings. They'd even spent an afternoon at the Oceanographic Museum, where YN's enthusiasm for learning had been infectious, and Max had found himself just as excited as she was about the marine life exhibits.

Throughout it all, Max felt himself falling deeper for her. It wasn't just her beauty or her intelligence that captivated him, but the way she saw the world. Her curiosity, her kindness, her ability to find joy in the smallest things - it all made Max see his surroundings through new eyes. He found himself noticing details he'd never paid attention to before, appreciating moments he might have otherwise overlooked.

What struck Max most was how easy and right it all felt. There was no pressure, no awkwardness. Being with YN was as natural as breathing. They could talk for hours without running out of things to say, but they were also comfortable in silence, simply enjoying each other's presence.

As they returned from another long day of exploring the city, both Max and YN retreated to their respective rooms to change into more comfortable clothing. Max opted for a soft t-shirt and sweatpants, relishing the feeling of being relaxed and at ease in his own home.

When he emerged from his room, he found YN already settled on his couch, her legs tucked under her, a book in her hands and one of his cats curling beside her. She was wearing one the t-shirt she picked the night she arrived when she realized she forgot to pack pajamas. It was too big for her frame but Max felt like melting knowing she was wearing his shirt.

The sight made Max's heart skip a beat. There was something so intimate and domestic about the scene - YN looking completely at home in his space, in his clothes, absorbed in a book as if she'd always been there.

Max couldn't help but smile, a warmth spreading through his chest. He found himself wanting this view in his life every day - coming home to find YN there, comfortable and content. The thought both thrilled and terrified him. He'd never felt this way about anyone before, never wanted to intertwine his life so completely with another person's.

YN looked up from her book, catching Max's gaze. Her lips curved into a soft smile. "Hey. Want to join me?"

Without hesitation, Max crossed the room. Instead of sitting next to her, he surprised both of them by lying down on the couch and resting his head in her lap. He looked up at her, his eyes vulnerable. "Would you read to me?"

YN's expression softened, her eyes twinkling with affection. "Of course," she said, her free hand moving to gently run her fingers through his hair.

Max closed his eyes, reveling in the sensation. He felt her shift slightly, getting comfortable, and then her voice filled the air, soft and melodious as she began to read.

Max's lips curved into a smile. "Emma," he murmured. "I remember you mentioning it was one of your favorites."

YN paused her reading, looking down at him with surprise and pleasure. "You remembered that?"

"Of course," Max opened his eyes, meeting her gaze. "I remember everything you tell me."

A huge grin appeared in YN's face, and she bent down to press a soft kiss to Max's forehead. The gesture was so natural, so tender, that it made Max's heart flutter.

As she continued to read, her fingers still combing through his hair, Max found himself only half-listening to the words. Instead, he was acutely aware of every point of contact between them - the warmth of her lap under his head, the gentle touch of her fingers, the soft cadence of her voice washing over him.

In that moment, Max realized with startling clarity that this was what he wanted for the rest of his life. Not just the glamour of racing or the thrill of victory, but this - quiet moments of intimacy, the comfort of being with someone who understood him, who made him want to be better.

He reached up, gently taking YN's free hand in his own, intertwining their fingers. She paused in her reading, looking down at him with a question in her eyes.

"YN," Max said softly, his voice filled with emotion. "I'm really glad you're here."

She squeezed his hand, her smile radiant. "So am I, Max. So am I."

As she resumed reading, her voice mixing with the soft sound of the Mediterranean breeze outside, Max closed his eyes again, a sense of peace settling over him. Whatever the future held, he knew that this moment, this feeling, was something he'd cherish forever.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo and 302,479 others

ynreadsbooks monaco you're the dream 🤍

view all comments

username1 GIRL

username2 THIS ESCALATED QUICKLY

username3 how do you go from max randomly commenting one of your videos to this

username4 girl we can tell that's max dw 😭😭

username5 YOU OWE US A TWO HOUR STORYTIME VIDEO

username6 anything you want to tell us best friend?

username7 she just had a book and a dream fr

landonorris Has he bored you yet?

↳ username1 IM DYING

↳ username2 she really masterminded her way into the f1 circle

↳ ynreadsbooks he's nice, makes good smoothies 😉

↳ maxverstappen1 Good to know that ❤️

↳ landonorris I'm disgusted

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

As the final day of YN's stay in Monaco dawned, Max found himself feeling so many bittersweet emotions. The past week had been nothing short of magical, and the thought of it coming to an end left a hollow feeling in his chest. She hadn't even left yet, and already he missed her.

For their final day, Max had decided to take YN out on his yacht. He wanted their last hours together to be special, just the two of them away from the bustling streets of Monaco. As they prepared for the day, packing a picnic and gathering sunscreen and towels, Max couldn't help but reflect on the past week.

Daniel and Lando had teased him mercilessly about his sudden disappearance from their usual hangouts. They'd made jokes about Max being "whipped" and how he'd fallen hard for his "YouTube dream girl." But Max didn't care. He was too happy, too caught up in the bubble of joy that surrounded him and YN.

As they boarded the yacht, the Mediterranean stretching out before them in shades of turquoise, Max felt a pang in his chest. This perfect week was coming to an end, and he wasn't sure he was ready to face reality again.

Once they were out on the open water. YN leaned over the railing, a look of wonder on her face.

"This is incredible, Max," she said, turning to him with a dazzling smile. "I can't believe I'm here, experiencing all of this."

Max moved to stand beside her, their shoulders brushing. "I'm going to miss you," he said softly, "This week has been… I don't even have words for it."

"I'm going to miss you too, Max. So much. But you know I have to go back home. I have videos to make for my channel, work stuff to catch up on…"

Max nodded, understanding but not liking it. "Maybe you could make a video about 'A Week with an F1 Driver'? I'm sure your subscribers would love that."

YN laughed, playfully shoving his shoulder. "Oh yes, I'm sure that would go over well. 'Day 3: Watched Max eat his bodyweight in pasta. Day 5: Learned that F1 drivers are actually big babies when they lose at Mario Kart.'"

"I am not a baby!" Max gasped in mock offense. "I'm just… competitive."

"Uh-huh, sure," she teased, her eyes twinkling. "Is that why you pouted for an hour after I beat you?"

"I did not pout," Max protested, but he was grinning.

"You know, it's still surreal to me that a random video I published got us here. If someone had told me a year ago that I'd be spending a week in Monaco with Max Verstappen, I would have laughed in their face."

Max reached out, caressing her cheek softly. "I'm glad you made that video," he said softly. "I'm glad I stumbled across it. I can't imagine not knowing you now."

As they stood together on the boat, the gentle rocking of the waves mirroring the tumultuous emotions within them, Max found his gaze drawn to YN's lips. They were slightly parted, soft and inviting. His heart raced as he lifted his eyes to meet hers, a silent question in his gaze.

YN's eyes, warm and full of affection, met his. A small, knowing smile played at the corners of her mouth, and in that moment, it was all the permission Max needed.

With a gentle tug, he pulled her closer, one hand coming to rest on the small of her back while the other cupped her cheek. Time seemed to slow as he leaned in, their breaths mingling in the space between them. And then, finally, their lips met.

The kiss was tender at first, a soft exploration. But as YN's arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers threading through his hair, it deepened into something more passionate. Max poured all of his pent-up emotions into the kiss - his joy, his longing, his hope for what they could be.

When they finally parted, YN's eyes were sparkling. "You know," she said, a playful tone to her voice, "I've been waiting for you to do that all week."

Max couldn't help but laugh, a mixture of relief and happiness bubbling up inside him. "Really? All week, huh?"

"Mmhmm," she nodded, her smile widening. "I was starting to think I'd have to make the first move myself."

"Well," Max said, his voice low and teasing, "allow me to make up for lost time."

With that, he pulled her in for another kiss. This one was different from the first - more confident, more passionate. His hands roamed her back, pulling her flush against him as her fingers tangled in his hair. The world around them faded away until there was nothing but the two of them, the taste of salt on their lips, and the warmth of the setting sun on their skin.

When they broke apart this time, both were slightly dazed. Max rested his forehead against YN's, unwilling to put any distance between them.

"I really like you," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "More than I've ever liked anyone before. This week with you… it's been incredible. I don't want it to end."

YN's hand came up to cup his cheek, her thumb gently stroking his skin. "I really like you too, Max," she replied, her voice equally soft. "These past few days have been like a dream."

Max pulled back slightly, just enough to meet her eyes. "I know you have to go back, but… I want to make this work. Us, I mean. If that's something you want too."

"I do want that. Very much. It might not be easy with our schedules and the distance, but I think you're worth it."

"We'll figure it out," he said, determination clear in his voice. "I'll come visit you when I can, and you can come to some of my races. We'll make time for video calls, and I'll text you so much you'll get sick of me."

YN laughed, the sound like music to Max's ears. "I don't think I could ever get sick of you," she said, her eyes twinkling. "But I'm holding you to that promise about the races. I expect VIP treatment, Mr. Verstappen."

Max grinned, pulling her close again. "For you? Always," he murmured, before capturing her lips in another kiss.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

ynreadsbooks has added to their stories

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The month following YN's stay in Monaco had been blissful happiness for both YN and Max. Their parting at the airport had been bittersweet, filled with lingering kisses and tight embraces. They had spent a good hour cuddling in Max's car in the airport parking lot, neither wanting to let go.

"I'm going to miss you so much," YN had whispered, her face buried in the crook of Max's neck.

Max had tightened his arms around her, breathing in her scent. "I'll miss you too. But we'll see each other soon, I promise."

When they finally managed to separate, their goodbye kiss had been passionate and filled with promise. As Max watched her disappear into the airport, he already felt a piece of his heart leaving with her.

In the weeks that followed, they took every opportunity to be together. Max would fly to YN's home during his breaks between races, often arriving exhausted but immediately revitalized by her presence.

Their reunions were always intense, filled with desperate kisses and roaming hands as they made up for lost time. But it was the quiet moments that Max treasured most - waking up with YN in his arms, her sleepy smile the first thing he saw; cooking breakfast together, stealing kisses between flipping pancakes; or simply sitting in comfortable silence, each lost in their own tasks but finding comfort in the other's presence.

Now, as they walked hand in hand through the paddock in Austin for the USA Grand Prix, Max felt a sense of pride and joy unlike anything he'd experienced before. Having YN by his side at a race weekend, this time as more than just a friend, felt right in a way he couldn't fully express.

"This is incredible, Max," YN breathed, squeezing his hand. "I don't think I'll ever get used to it."

Max grinned, his heart swelling with affection. He loved seeing the paddock through her eyes, rediscovering the magic that he sometimes took for granted.

"Wait until you see the track," he said, pulling her closer. "And the sound when all the cars start up… there's nothing like it."

They paused for a moment, watching as a group of mechanics wheeled a set of tires past them. Max took the opportunity to really look at his girl. She was radiant in the sunlight, her hair catching the light and her eyes sparkling with excitement. He couldn't resist leaning in to place a soft kiss on her cheek.

YN turned to him, a playful smile on her lips. "What was that for?"

"Do I need a reason to kiss my girl?" Max replied, his voice low and teasing.

She laughed, the sound music to his ears. "I suppose not. But maybe save some for later? We are in public, after all."

"You're killing me," Max groaned dramatically. "How am I supposed to focus on racing when you look like that?"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll manage," YN teased, patting his chest. "After all, I hear you're quite good at this driving thing."

Their playful banter was interrupted by a familiar voice calling out. "Oi, Verstappen! Finally decided to grace us with your presence?"

Max turned to see Daniel approaching, his trademark grin in place. Lando was close behind, an equally mischievous look on his face.

"Hey guys," Max greeted, unconsciously pulling YN closer. "You remember YN, right?"

"Ah yes," Daniel's grin widened. "Nice to see you again, love."

"It's great to see you too, Daniel," she smiled warmly. "And you, Lando."

Lando's eyes darted between Max and YN, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "So, Max, finally managed to seal the deal, huh?"

Max felt his cheeks heat up, but before he could respond, YN jumped in.

"Oh, he did more than that," she said, her tone light but with a hint of something that made Max's pulse quicken. "He's been quite… impressive."

Daniel let out a low whistle while Lando burst into laughter. Max couldn't help but join in, marveling at how effortlessly YN fit into his world.

As they chatted, Max couldn't keep his hands off YN. He found himself constantly touching her - a hand on the small of her back, playing with her fingers, rubbing her arm softly. Each touch was like a spark, reminding him of their passionate reunions over the past month.

He thought back to their last meeting, just a week ago. He had flown to her place straight after he was done with some meetings in Monaco, exhausted but desperate to see her. The moment he stepped through her door, all fatigue had vanished. They had barely made it to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes in their wake. The memory of her skin against his, the taste of her lips, the sound of her gasps and moans… it was enough to make him want to whisk her away to his motorhome right now.

Max was pulled from his thoughts by the approach of another familiar face. Charles Leclerc was walking towards them, his trademark charming smile in place.

"Max! Good to see you, man," Charles said, clapping Max on the shoulder before turning his attention to YN. "And who might this lovely lady be?"

Without hesitation, the words tumbled from Max's lips: "This is YN, my girlfriend."

He felt the girl stiffen slightly beside him, and for a moment, panic flared in his chest. Had he overstepped? They hadn't explicitly discussed labels yet. But when he glanced at YN, she was smiling warmly at Charles, her hand still firmly in Max's.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Charles," YN said, shaking his hand.

Charles raised an eyebrow at Max, a hint of surprise in his expression. "The pleasure is all mine. I hope you're enjoying your time in the paddock."

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, they parted ways. Max led YN towards his driver's room. Once inside the relative privacy of the small space, YN turned to him, a playful glint in her eye.

"Girlfriend, huh?" she said, her tone light but with an undercurrent of something Max couldn't quite identify.

Max felt a flutter of nervousness in his stomach. "I… yeah. I mean, if that's okay? I know we haven't really talked about it, but…"

YN stepped closer, her fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. "It's more than okay, Max. I was just surprised. We've been in this beautiful bubble, and hearing you say it out loud… it made it feel real in a way it hasn't before."

Max let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. His hands found their way to YN's waist, pulling her closer. "It is real," he said softly. "I've never felt this way about anyone before. Feels like you're everything."

Her eyes softened, her hand coming up to cup his cheek. "You're everything to me too, Max. I love you."

The words hung in the air between them for a moment, both realizing it was the first time either had said it. Then Max surged forward, capturing YN's lips in a kiss that was equal parts tender and passionate.

When they broke apart. Max rested his forehead against YN's, his eyes closed as he savored the moment.

"I love you too," he whispered. "God, YN, I love you so much."

YN's answering smile was radiant and she pulled him in for another kiss.

"So," he said, his voice husky, "ready to watch your boyfriend win a race?"

YN laughed, the sound filling the small space and Max's heart. "Always," she replied. "My misunderstood hero with a heart of gold."

7K notes · View notes

joeyfromthetrack · 2 months ago

Text

Whipped - OP⁸¹

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Summary: Oscar being so hopelessly in love with his girlfriend on so many occasions. Contains: so much fluff, time jumps, minor mention of Hungary '24, established relationship

Oscar had just finished qualifying. P1, not perfect, but damn near it. He stepped out of the media pen, peeling off his cap, hair damp underneath. His race engineer handed him a bottle of water and nodded him toward the scheduled interview with Sky Sports. Just another four-minute carousel of answers he’d given a hundred times before.

The interviewer greeted him with a practiced smile. “Oscar Piastri, in the championship fight and putting it on pole. You looked sharp in sector one and two, little wobble but great recovery in sector three. Talk us through the lap.”

He responded with the usual diplomacy. “Yeah, I felt strong in the first half. The wind shifted a little toward the end, and I overcommitted on the last chicane. Still, car’s feeling good. We’ve got a good chance tomorrow being on pole.”

Another question about tire strategy. Another about the standings.

Then, just as the interviewer was winding down: “You’ve been bringing your special someone into the paddock a little more recently. Fans are curious. Is she your lucky charm?”

Oscar smiled, not the showbiz grin, but something smaller, real. He could feel the answer rising before he even thought about it.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, eyes flicking away for just a second. “I mean, she’s not here for luck. I just” He paused. “I think... everything just feels better when she’s around. I don’t know how else to put it.”

The interviewer chuckled, clearly not expecting something so soft from a man known for his sharp focus. “That’s the most romantic thing we’ve heard from a driver all year.”

Oscar shrugged, not trying to play it down. “I think if someone makes you feel like yourself when everything else gets noisy... that’s worth holding onto.”

Later, she would see the clip online. She wouldn’t text him about it. She wouldn’t need to.

At Suzuka, just before race start, the sky was moody, crowd roaring behind fences, and Oscar stood in his grid slot, helmet in hand. She kissed his cheek, lingering longer than usual.

“You always do this,” he said, smiling.

“What?”

“Kiss me like it’s the last time.”

“Because I never know.”

He sobered. “Hey. Don’t say that.”

“I have to think about it. One of us has to.”

He pulled her into him, briefly, like the world would stop if they didn’t connect in that moment. “Then think about this. Every time I brake at 300, I’m thinking about coming back to you.”

“You better.”

“Always.”

The door shut behind him with a quiet click. He was still damp from the podium, shirt half untucked, champagne drying against his skin. It had taken forever to leave the circuit, media, debriefs, a hundred hands to shake. But this, this was what he’d wanted the entire time.

She was sitting on the bed, knees drawn up, one of his hoodies swallowing her frame. She looked at him like he was both ridiculous and beautiful, the way someone does when they’ve watched you chase something impossible and actually catch it.

He dropped his bag on the floor and crossed to her without saying a word.

Their hug wasn’t dramatic. No sweeping gestures or declarations. Just arms tightening around each other until it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. She pressed her face into the crook of his neck. He closed his eyes.

“You did it,” she whispered eventually, her voice muffled.

“Yeah.” His voice cracked a little, surprising even himself. “I did.”

“You okay?”

“I don’t know yet.”

They lay back slowly, limbs tangled, the room dim around them. He exhaled, one hand resting on her hip, thumb moving in small circles like he needed to keep touching her to remember it was real.

“It didn’t hit me until I saw you in the crowd,” he said after a while.

“What didn’t?”

“That I’d actually won.”

She smiled against his chest. “So I’m the confirmation of reality?”

“You always are.”

They didn’t talk much after that. He buried his face in her hair, still smelling like sweat and podium champagne. She hummed softly, some melody he couldn’t name, and their legs twisted together under the sheets, warm and quiet and full.

Later, when she was nearly asleep, she murmured, “You looked calm up there.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I know.”

“But I am now.”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

He stayed like that for a long time, holding her like the trophy was just a formality, and this was the only victory that really mattered.

Between races, in the sleek quiet of their apartment in Monaco, he didn’t need to speak in laps or strategy. Here, he was stripped of the helmet, the overalls, the persona. Just Oscar.

She was curled on the sofa, reading a paperback, one of those tragic love stories she claimed she didn’t like but always read twice. Oscar was supposed to be reviewing data. The iPad lay forgotten on the table, his head resting in her lap instead. She absentmindedly ran her fingers through his curls, and each touch slowed his heartbeat until he felt like he could drift into sleep just to the rhythm of her breathing.

“You’re supposed to be working,” she said, not looking away from the book.

“I am. I'm working on not losing my mind over you.”

“That’s terrible,” she laughed, flicking his ear gently.

“I know. I'm better on track.”

“Debatable.”

He opened one eye, grinning up at her. “If I win next week in Baku, it’ll be because of this exact moment.”

“What, my lap therapy?”

“Exactly. You’re the secret weapon.”

After crossing the line first in Baku, she met him behind the hospitality unit, arms crossed like she hadn’t predicted it already.

“I told you,” he said, pressing a hand against the small of her back to draw her closer. “Therapy.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

But he already had. He was used to the way she made his pre-race nerves vanish with a simple touch. Used to how she wore his team hoodie like it was stitched from a part of him. Used to waking up beside her on Sunday mornings and pretending that the day’s risk didn’t weigh heavy in the air, just so she wouldn’t worry.

He was used to loving her so hard it made his chest ache.

────⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡ ────

Word count: 1.1k

#f1 x reader #f1 #formula 1 #f1 fanfic #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #op81 x reader #oscar piastri fluff

2K notes · View notes

papayainsectorone · 1 month ago

Text

no comment

summary: a professional outburst pushes emotions to the surface

content: 18+!! smut, nsfw, emotionally repressed idiots, workplace setting, semi-public sex, praise, light angst, p in v, blowjob (m receiving), desk sex, unresolved tension resolved extremely thoroughly

word count: 3.3k

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

a´s masterlist

You’ve handled world champions before in other sports, numerous sponsor scandals, and a driver in F2 who once live-streamed himself getting a sunburn on purpose.

But nothing—nothing—has tested your limits like Oscar Piastri.

He’s polite. Unproblematic. Sharp as hell. But in the media pen, he’s… “Impossible,” you mutter under your breath, watching his latest interview wrap up.

You slam your laptop shut.

The motorhome is quiet. Too quiet. Except for the sound of your pacing footsteps and the faint hum of the paddock outside.

Oscar watches you from the couch. Still. Hands folded in his lap. Calm in that infuriating, unmoved way that makes you want to scream.

“This interview was supposed to be it,” you snap. “And now the social numbers are tanking, your quotes are dry as hell, the sponsors are—God, I can’t make you interesting if you won’t meet me halfway!”

Nothing. No reaction.

You throw your pen onto the table. “Say something.”

He shrugs. “You’re doing great.”

And that’s it. That’s the moment you snap.

“Fuck this,” you say, chest heaving. “Fuck this whole job. I’ll quit. I’ll change teams. I’ll go to Ferrari, to Williams, to Haas, I don’t care. I can’t do this anymore.”

He goes still.

His jaw tightens. His hands unclasp.

“What?” he asks. Quiet. But not as calm anymore.

“I said I’ll leave. Maybe they’ll appreciate me there. Maybe they’ll actually respond when I ask them to do something. Maybe they won’t just sit there like—”

“Don’t.”

It’s one word. But it cuts through the air like a crack of thunder.

You blink. “What?”

He stands. Slowly. Doesn’t look away.

“Don’t leave.”

You’ve seen Oscar after wins. After losses. After everything in between. But you’ve never seen him like this, his voice low and tight, eyes dark, shoulders stiff like he’s barely holding something in.

“What?” you ask again, sharper this time, like maybe you misheard him. Like maybe you imagined the crack in his voice. “What do you mean, don’t leave?”

He swallows but doesn’t move.

And something in you just snaps.

“I can’t work like this, Oscar,” you say, arms flying out. “This—whatever this is—isn’t sustainable. You don’t tell me what you want, you don’t give me feedback, you don’t smile unless someone crashes or you’re watching race highlights. You sit there like a statue while I try to promote you to the world, and I’m the one who has to spin it into ‘mysterious Aussie charm’ instead of just zero effort whatsoever.”

Still nothing.

“And I’m tired,” you say, voice catching. “Because I care. I care about how you come across. I care about my job. About how you’re perceived. And you… you make it really fucking hard.”

He finally speaks, quiet but unflinching. “I’m not good at this.”

You stare at him, breathing hard. “At what?”

“At saying things. At… at knowing what I’m allowed to say.” He exhales sharply, looks away, then back at you. “But I really enjoy being around you.”

You blink. “You what?”

“I enjoy being around you.”

There’s a beat.

And then you burst out—half laugh, half incredulous bark: “Have you considered telling your face that?! Or expressing that in literally any way that a human person might pick up on?”

“I thought I did.”

Your facial expression says it all.

He sees it—clearly. And something in his chest shifts. You notice the way he breathes deeper, chest rising a little too quickly, like his body is betraying what he’s trying to keep contained.

He takes a step forward.

You don’t move.

Maybe it’s stubbornness. Maybe it’s hope.

His voice is low when he says, “Maybe this will express it.”

And then he kisses you.

Not gently. Not like a testing-the-waters moment. It's a collision—urgent, unpracticed, like the truth finally breaking free after being kept behind his teeth for too long.

His hand grips the side of your jaw, thumb brushing just below your ear, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he doesn’t hold you right there. Like his mouth is the only part of him that knows how to speak properly.

You're startled at first—eyes wide, heart hammering—but you don’t pull away.

You lean into it.

Your fingers curl into the front of his hoodie, yanking him closer, like if he’s going to finally give you something real, he better do it right. He groans into your mouth, low and quiet, and it makes your knees threaten to give out.

The kiss doesn’t slow. It deepens. Like every clipped reply and unspoken thought between you is being rewritten—translated now, not in words, but with tongue and breath and too much feeling.

When you finally break for air, you're both breathless, staring at each other like you just stepped off a cliff.

Oscar is flushed. Chest rising and falling. Completely unguarded.

His hands haven’t left you. One still cups your jaw like he doesn’t know how to let go now that he finally allowed himself to touch. The other rests on your hip, thumb stroking unconsciously over the fabric of your shirt.

“I don’t want to stop,” he murmurs, voice wrecked and barely there.

The words don’t echo—they press. Press against your ribs. Your spine. Your throat.

The room suddenly feels smaller. The overhead light buzzes like background noise, but you only hear him. Only feel his breath brushing your cheek, his fingers tightening slightly at your waist like he’s waiting for a signal that it’s okay to keep going.

“Fuck,” you whisper, head spinning.

And then you’re kissing him again. Desperate. Messy. All of it too much and not enough.

He moves without thinking, turning both of you so his hips hit the edge of the desk. He drops back just enough to half-sit, one leg bent, the other bracing for balance as he pulls you with him. His thigh wedges between yours, firm and unyielding.

You gasp against his mouth at the contact. He breathes in sharply like he felt it too.

Your hands slide under his hoodie, fingers skating over warm skin. He shudders. not from cold, but from the shock of being touched like this, finally. Like someone wants him and isn’t afraid to show it.

He kisses down your neck now, less cautious, more needy. Your hips press forward, involuntarily grinding down on his thigh, and his breath stutters against your skin.

His hands slide down your back, anchoring you in place as your movements grow more heated. Every shift of your hips against him pulls a sound from deep in his throat—surprised, aroused, alive.

“You’re…” he breathes, eyes searching yours, “…so different from everything else in my life.”

Your fingers tangle in his hair. “So show me.”

And this time, when he kisses you, it’s not repressed at all.

You grind down once more on his thigh and his hands seize your hips like he’s drowning. His mouth breaks from yours with a gasp—sharp, almost shocked by how much he feels, how much he wants.

“I—” he starts, then stops. “I’ve thought about this.”

You blink, breathless. “Thought about what?”

“This,” he says, dragging his hands up your spine. “You. Me. Like this. But I didn’t think I’d ever get to…”

You don’t let him finish. You kiss him again—hard, needy—and he groans, sliding his hands further under your shirt like he’s memorizing you through touch. His palms are warm, almost reverent, but there's nothing slow now. Nothing shy.

He helps you up onto the desk in a stumble of limbs and quiet curses. The surface is cluttered—notes, a water bottle, a pair of team headsets—but neither of you cares. He shoves them aside with one arm, lifting you onto the edge like you weigh nothing.

You pull at his hoodie and he lifts it over his head, revealing a strip of toned skin that flushes beautifully as you look at him. He doesn’t hide. Doesn’t joke. Just watches you like this is the first time he’s let himself want something out loud.

Your hands find his skin—his chest, his stomach, the small notch of his hip—and he jerks slightly, eyes fluttering shut for a second.

“You’re shaking,” you murmur, a half-smile breaking through the haze.

He kisses you again, and this time he presses his hips into yours, grinding the growing hardness in his jeans right against where you need him. You moan into his mouth, and he swears under his breath, voice raw.

“Tell me what you want,” he says, lips brushing your neck.

“I want you,” you breathe. “All of you. Now.”

He exhales hard, like he’s holding back a wave. “Here?”

You nod. “Here.”

His hands slide beneath your waistband, thumbs hooking your underwear and pants in one smooth motion. He watches your face the whole time, like if you flinch, he’ll stop. But you don’t. You lift your hips for him. You want this just as much.

When you’re bare in front of him, his hands still on your thighs, he just stares for a moment—open, reverent, wrecked.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers.

You pull him in. He grinds against you again, and this time there’s no pretense left. Just friction and gasps and hands clutching desperately. He fumbles with his zipper, and you help, frantic with a kind of anticipation

You hop down from the desk with a fluid, determined motion that makes him blink—uncertain for just a breath.

“Wait, are you—” His voice is quiet. Almost unsure.

But then your hands go to his belt, and his mouth falls open.

You don’t say a word as you unbuckle it—slow, smooth, fingers confident. His eyes stay fixed on your hands like they’ve got gravity. Like he can’t believe this is really happening.

When the metal clinks softly, he sucks in a breath. His jeans slide down with ease. And when you press your palm against the hardness beneath his boxers, he gasps, shoulders tensing, eyes darkening.

“Shit,” he groans, the sound ripped from his throat.

You do it again, press a little firmer, fingers tracing the shape of him and he curses under his breath, hips twitching like he can’t help it. His hands grip the edge of the desk now, white-knuckled. He’s trying so hard to hold still, but his body betrays him, every small reaction magnified.

You look up at him, eyes soft. “You okay?”

He laughs, breathless. “I’m hanging on by a thread.”

And you hook your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and pull them down, slow and deliberate.

He hisses in air when he’s finally bare, completely vulnerable in front of you now. All sharp cheekbones and flushed skin and need, so much need.

His hand brushes the side of your face—tentative, reverent. “You don’t have to…”

“I want to,” you cut in, meeting his eyes.

Because this isn’t just about arousal. It’s about all the ways he’s held himself back—emotionally, physically, all of it. And now you get to show him what it’s like to be wanted, deeply, openly, without fear.

He swallows hard, chest rising and falling like he’s still catching up to his own heartbeat.

He leans back against the desk, eyes locked on yours, chest rising unevenly. You’re on your knees before him now—not rushed, not teasing, but purposeful.

You wrap your hand around him first—gentle, steady, like you’re testing weight, warmth, size. He shudders visibly, a breath catching hard in his throat. He’s so quiet in most things, but now he’s unraveling with every exhale.

You stroke him once, slow. His hips twitch. He groans, barely audible and one hand reaches to tangle loosely in your hair.

“Fuck…” It slips out like he didn’t mean to say it aloud.

You meet his eyes when you lean in, lips brushing the tip of him. His head falls back against the wall behind the desk with a dull thud.

“Jesus,” he breathes. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You smile and then close your mouth around him.

He jerks, cursing under his breath again, and tightens his fingers just slightly in your hair. Not pulling. Not guiding. Just holding on.

You move slow. Purposeful. Letting him feel the heat of your mouth, the glide of your tongue along the most sensitive part of him. You hollow your cheeks just slightly and he bucks forward without meaning to, immediately groaning like he’s ashamed of the sound.

“Shit—sorry—”

You hum, sending vibrations through him, and his whole body tenses. That shuts him up fast.

You settle into a rhythm, slow strokes of your mouth, your hand twisting at the base, every movement calculated to pull more sound out of him. His other hand joins the first, both now buried in your hair, thumbs brushing your temples like he’s grounding himself on you. On this. On the realness of it.

His thighs tremble. His abs clench. You glance up and he’s watching you now, jaw clenched so tight it’s almost painful. You pull back slowly, lips slick, and stroke him with your hand while meeting his eyes.

“You okay?” you ask, voice wrecked from the pace of your breathing.

He nods a little too fast. “Y-Yeah. Just—fuck, just don’t stop.”

So you don’t.

You take him in again, deeper this time. Slower. You let yourself feel it—his hands, his reactions, how his whole body seems to hover on the edge between restraint and collapse. His fingers twitch in your hair every time you moan around him. The tension builds so tight, you can almost taste it on him.

“I’m—” he chokes out, voice hoarse. “You have to stop. If you don’t stop I’m gonna—”

But you keep going. Not to tease. Not to push him too far. But because you want to see it. You want to be the one who makes him fall apart.

And when he finally does—when he comes with a broken moan, hips twitching, voice raw—it’s quiet, but devastating. His grip on you goes slack. His body shakes. He tries to catch his breath, but he can’t quite manage a full inhale until he’s leaned down, pulling you up into his arms and kissing you like he doesn’t know how else to say thank you.

His hands roam, memorizing every inch of you now that he’s tasted what it’s like to stop pretending.

He presses you back against the desk again and as your breath stutters, his fingers trail down, slipping beneath your waistband with ease—familiar now, and bolder.

The moment his fingers slide through your wetness, he groans against your mouth. “Fuck…” His voice is tight, low, wrecked by the combination of how ready you still are—and the sound of his name, soft and breathless, falling from your lips as you roll your hips into his hand.

“Say it again,” he murmurs, mouth brushing your jaw, fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles that make your knees weak.

“Oscar—” it slips out without thought, part plea, part confession.

He shudders. You feel him twitch against your thigh, already getting hard again. The sound of your voice, the way you melt against his touch—it lights something primal in him, something he’s buried for so long under dry wit and carefully timed smiles.

“Can’t get enough of you,” he mutters, and kisses you again—this time slower, deeper. But his fingers don’t slow. They slide inside you, curling just right and when you gasp, he smiles against your mouth. “That’s it. Just like that.”

You’re not sure how long you stay like that—panting into each other’s mouths, your hand slipping down to wrap around him again, feeling him throb under your touch. It’s all so close. So intense. And when he finally pulls his fingers away and lifts you onto the desk again, both of you already flushed and trembling you know exactly what’s coming next.

He doesn’t hesitate this time. No second-guessing, no quiet restraint just the press of his hands on your thighs, spreading you open on the desk again like he already knows what you need. Because he does. He’s memorized it in the way your voice trembles when you say his name, in the way your body arches for him with the barest touch.

Oscar lines himself up, still flushed and half-breathless from before, but hard again, impossibly so. The sight of you, slick and ready for him, has undone every ounce of control he ever thought he had.

His eyes meet yours, dark and glassy. “You sure?”

You nod, pulling him in with your legs. “Oscar. Please.”

He sinks into you slowly, not teasing, but savoring the stretch, the heat, the way your breath catches as he fills you. His jaw clenches. His hands tremble at your hips.

“God, you feel—” he can’t even finish. Just buries his face in your neck and groans as he starts to move.

The rhythm is different now. Less frantic, more deliberate. He thrusts into you with deep, rolling movements, like he wants to feel every inch, every flutter, every soft whimper you let out. One of his hands slides to your back, holding you steady, while the other finds yours—intertwining your fingers, grounding you to him like this is something sacred.

Your head falls back, and he kisses along your throat, murmuring your name like a vow.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” he breathes.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, chests flush. “Maybe I already have.”

He thrusts harder, deeper, drawing out a cry from your lips. Your legs lock tighter around him and the desk shifts with the rhythm of your bodies. The risk of being overheard, the messy tangle of half-dressed limbs—it only heightens everything. It’s like the world shrunk down to this: you, him, and everything unsaid now being written into your skin with every movement.

Oscar’s breath stutters. “I’m close …”

You kiss him, biting at his lip just enough to make him groan. “Then let go.”

And he does. hips stuttering, breath ragged, holding you like he might break from how good it feels. But you follow seconds later, drawn into it by the rhythm of his body and the low, desperate way he moans your name as he comes.

This time, when you both collapse against each other, trembling and wrecked, there’s no fear in the silence. Only heat. Breath. The weight of something real settling between your ribs.

You’re both still breathless, your forehead pressed to his, skin hot and damp, laughter caught somewhere between exhaustion and disbelief. His arms are wrapped around you like he’s never letting go—and for a second, you don’t want him to.

Then you murmur, voice wrecked but playful, “Fuck… that’s the emotion I needed in an interview.”

Oscar huffs a laugh, still panting. “So what, you want me to repeat this in front of the media?”

You grin, eyes still closed, lips brushing his jaw. “Please do. Let’s see you emotionally climax mid-press conference.”

He snorts, finally pulling back to look at you—cheeks flushed, hair a mess, eyes lit with something between amusement and awe. “You realize that would be a PR disaster.”

You laugh, full and unguarded, letting your head drop to his shoulder. “Yeah. But honestly? It would finally be an good one.”

Oscar grins, his fingers tracing idle circles along your spine. “God. We’d both be out of a job by Monday.”

You kiss him once more—quick, sweet, still smiling. “Worth it.”

tag list

@mara1999 @random-movie

#oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 x you #oscar piastri one shot #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri imagine #mclaren #mclaren x reader #oscar piastri x fem!reader #oscar piastri #op81 #𓊆papayainone𓊇 #op81 smut #f1 smut #oscar piastri smut

2K notes · View notes

luludeluluramblings · 7 months ago

Text

Socialite!BatSis!Reader x Yandere!Bat Family

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part Two

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Hi! I don't know where the fuck this came from. But, it has plagued me for months. Inspired by Labour and the Fruits by Paris Palmoa, Please Don't Cry for Your Daughters Eve by Lydia the Bard, and Curses by the Crane Wives. This my attempt at being dark, so either this fucks you up or I fucked up. Apologies for both.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Implied assault, neglect, yandere themes at the end

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You got the Wayne looks, the Wayne charm, the Wayne name, but you’re fragile. Bruce would tell you. Damian would tell you. (Not so kindly.) Everyone in the manor would tell you.

But, charm and good looks still have their uses. And, everyone in the family despises all the galas they need to attend.

So, when Bruce offers to take you to one, you up the charm, you dress your best. You use your finest manners and all the proper ways your Momma raised you to your advantage. And, you flourish.

You can tell from the slight smile Bruce has on his face on the way home. The hint of pride in his eyes at your job well done.

You can’t help your family or Gotham as a Bat. But, you can help them as a Wayne.

The socialite. That’s your roll. Not a bird, not a bat. A little social butterfly. Drawing the public attention away from the things that go bump in the night.

You like your role. Sure, you're not bounding over the Gotham skyline saving people from muggers and insanely themed villains. But, you're helping your family, and that's what matters to you.

At least, that's how it starts.

It was special to you in the beginning. Going to charity gala's and events with your father, Bruce. No one else in the family enjoys going to these events. It was your own personal father and daughter bonding time, in a way.

But, as you got older the pressure started and the distance between you and the others grew.

You were a music box ballerina. Spinning in place to the same tune over and over again while sitting on a dusty shelf. And, Bruce would wind you up to dance every time he need his social butterfly to charm Gotham's public.

Soon you had a whole team of faceless people picking out your dresses, changing your style, cutting your hair. You couldn't be anything less than a vain air-headed heiress, because that was your role. Brucie needed someone to follow in his footsteps, not Batman.

The dresses got more expensive, the flashes got brighter. The diets got stricter.

And, the distance grew farther.

And, then Bruce stopped going with you to the galas.

You weren't upset the first time. Or, the second time. Or, even the third time.

It was the fourth time that things started to crack.

Sure, Batman was needed. Sure, there was Justice League business. Sure, there was a patrol that ran late. Sure, there was a breakout at Arkham.

But, the fourth time, when you found him and the rest of the family laughing in the cave, it really didn't feel like they were focusing on the good of Gotham while you were struggling to smile sweetly at men twice Bruce's age wanting to take you home.

Still, you powered on. Kept doing your part. You were making the family proud afterall.

Right?

It was the ninth time it happened that you broke.

The nineth time you had gone to a gala alone in an expensive dress you didn't pick, one that showed off way too much skin. One that seemed to tell everyone in that grand ballroom that you were up for the taking. One that just barely hid the bruises from their fingers and palms under the fabric.

You wore that placating smile and that dress all the way home. With a driver you didn't know at the wheel of the car Bruce sent for you. The backseat empty even if you sat on it.

When you got home, you walk in on something that made each cracked piece of you ache.

Apparently it was game night. Everyone that mattered was playing Mario cart of all things.

"Look at that Cinderella’s back from the ball." Jason was the first to notice you standing in the doorway of the room. And, his words burned.

Cinderella. Cinderella. Back from the Ball.

"Hey, glad you’re back. Hope you had fun." Dick didn't even glance at you as he spoke, took focused on beating Stephanie who had her tongue sticking out as she concentrated.

"God, those galas are so boring, I don’t know how you do it." Duke says in passing. It would be meaningful if he hadn't said the same thing the last six times you had come home.

Tim and Damian were also playing the game, with Tim occasionally nudging Damian to mess him up. Like typical siblings.

Barbara was in the room as well, a book on her lab to read. Only you could tell she hadn't read much, judging from where her book mark was located.

"Good job." Bruce says absentmindedly. You can't even tell if its directed at you or at the blueshell Damian just managed to hit Dick's racer with.

Words don't even leave your lips as you exit the doorway, pieces of you falling to the floor as you wobble to your room.

Cinderella. Cinderella.

The clock striking twelve in your mind as you feel the rotten pumpkin sinking in your gut and the magic wearing off.

You don't notice that Cassandra seems to hear it too as she watches you. Like she can hear the shards falling to the ground. And, she's unsure if she needs to warn the family that something just broke down the hall.

As you enter your room, taking in the fancy decor. It feels disgusting. The magic is gone. It's all rotten and you want it gone.

Cinderella. Cinder. Cinder.

Your tear the fabric of the dress as you take it off. Tears falling down your cheeks s you struggle against the fabric and clasp. Expensive gemstones falling to the floor as your finally rip it free.

There bruises under your dress. Finger prints on your bones. And, you're choking on air as the fabric rubs your skin as it falls to the floor. The fabric ripples like water and you hate it. You want the opposite of cool rippling water. Water drowns, and you need air.

Your skin feels to hot and each bruise burns.

Cinder. Cinder.

You're Cinderella and you crave ashes. You need air, but smoke will do instead.

Instead of letting it lay on the ground like it's dead, you throw open that grand window in your room and chuck it out the window. Watching as it flutters and falls to the grass in a heap, the breeze doing nothing to cool your anger on and underneath.

It’s not enough. Not enough. It's not going to be enough.

More. Cinderella. Give it more.

Your closet door was cracked when you left for the gala tonight. Now you break it the rest of the way and grab each hanger carrying a pretty dress in a bag and throw it over the ledge.

Still not enough. Needs more ash.

Cinderella. Cinderella.

You break you dresser as you rip out the drawers. The wood splintering as you throw it out the window and on to the pile of dresses on the night dew covered grass.

You want to throw more, but you chest is heaving and your hands are shaking. Instead you stumble out of your room with just the bruises on your skin and towards the kitchen. You don't even hear the pans and cabinets doors slamming as you search for the matches.

Before you can find your light, you find a bottle of fancy wine. One that reminded you of the smell of this night.

You grab it, not caring that another bottle falls and shatters by your feet. Drawing attention, but not yours, as you finally find the matches and wobble out the door towards your pile of soon to be ash.

Cinderella. Cinderella.

You're laughing as you shatter the bottle on to the fabric. Lighting up a single match and then throwing the entire box at it the pile.

It catches light quick and the air around you finally matches the heat under your skin.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You can barely hear Bruce's voice from behind you as your laugh. Turing to face him and the rest of the family's horrified faces at the sight of you.

You can barely restrain the giggles.

“I’m Cinderella. Cinder fucking Ella.” You spin like the little figurine you are. Like the pretty paper ballerina before she burst into flame.

Bruce rushes towards you, words spilling from his lips as terrifying thoughts fill his head at the sight of the bruises illuminating your skin.

“What happened tonight?”

“You would know if you had been there. But, you weren't. You never are.”

“Listen, you said you liked the galas-“ Excuses, excuses. You made enough for him and the rest of them in your own head that you don't want to hear more spoken out loud.

“I did! I did! But, that was when I had my father there to keep me safe.” You mock, spinning out of reach and looking at the flames.

They don't last long. The wood from your broken dresser drawers the only thing keeping the fire going. The expensive fabric not lasting long at all. Pretty things rarely ever do.

“But, no. I’m just another little one of your pawns in this family. Only you didn’t fuckin’ train me on how to fight off wandering hands. You taught me that I just had to grin and bare it.” Bitterness trips from your lips as you wipe of that sweet tasting wine from the night off your mouth.

“What happened?” His voice almost shakes. Almost, but not quite. You were the fragile one. The paper ballerina. The little Cinderella of the family.

You weren't suppose to break under his care.

But, was there any care if he let you fall from the shelf after he so haphazardiously placed you on it between uses?

“I’m not a whore.” You whisper to yourself. Words that had been dying to say to the hands that touches to tonight. Words that you wanted to shove down the throats of the strangers that pinched your skin, that gripped you too tight and too close.

“I’M NOT A WHORE!” Instead you scream it at him. Uncaring if you don't look pretty and perfect while doing it. Uncaring if your voice cracks from the way the emotion bubbles from your chest.

Startling enough, Bruce wraps his arms around you. Like he was trying to shield you. Like he was trying to keep you safe. Like he should have done. It feels awkward and tight. Your arms pressed tightly to your chest at an awkward angle. Your legs giving out at you sob and scream at him.

“Don’t touch me. Don’t you touch me. Let me go— I don’t want you to touch me.”

“I’m sorry. I’m— I’m so sorry.” His whispers over into your hair as he clutches you close. So close that you feel more bruises forming on your skin.

Cinderella. Cinderella.

“I’m not—" Your voice breaking as you wail. Like the child you are in his arms.

Through your tears you watch Dick turn away, followed by the others. Cass lingering to brush your hair back as Bruce holds you tight.

You don't see his fist clench so tight his knuckles turn white.

You don't hear the silence in the cave as Jason changes out the bullets in his gun.

You don't feel the chill in the air as Damian scouts out the fancy house.

You don't feel the fear of God that Tim puts into grown men as that watch their wealthy drain to zero before their eyes on screens.

You don't watch as Barbara makes a few calls and plants evidence of crimes that can't be covered up.

You don't see Stephanie ripping out teeth.

You don't see Duke letting Gotham go dark as terror reigns for that one long night and day.

You just see Bruce, holding you close and apologize over and over again while Alfred puts out the flames behind you.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Yeah, I love the thought of Reader being the one to be the Socialite Wayne while everyone does vigilante stuff. But, interacting with Gotham’s elite would suck so much and so many things could go wrong.

A/N: Apologies if I missed the mark with it or if it’s all over the place.

A/N: I just really loved the imagery of standing in front of a fire of expensive burning dresses while screaming at Bruce naked as the day you were born much to the rest of the family’s horror.

#yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #yandere dc #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfamily x reader #platonic yandere batfam #platonic batfamily #socialite!reader

3K notes · View notes

elliotsgrl · 11 days ago

Text

somebody's watching me ♡

pairing: jinu x f! reader

synopsis: the sexual tension between you and jinu finally snaps in the bathroom of a nightclub.

warnings: smut, possessive! jinu, tiny bit of toxic! jinu (sorry), degradation, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, overstimulation, forced creampie; read responsibly!! (PLEASE stay safe. wrap it before you tap it!) will proofread later lol

a/n: i'm SOOO down bad for jinu it's insane... i would give up my soul so quick (and my virginity) i got carried away at the end cause i'm currently ovulating ok bye

thank you to @angelltheninth for originally writing the idea i had commented under their post! this is just my own spin on it :)

divider creds: @anitalenia

ever since you and the huntrix girls had seen the saja boys perform soda pop, things felt... weird. not only were these boys secretly demons in human form, but you had felt yourself being weirdly drawn to the group's leader, jinu. maybe it was their demon charm? this must have been the same way they got so many fangirls and fanboys gushing over them.

you were even more weirded out when you felt jinu's gaze focused on you after they finished performing their song. for your own good, you chose to ignore the chills that went down your spine and how hot your body was getting from his intense stare. you knew getting involved with a demon of all people would never end well. he could devour your soul at any moment, for fuck's sake!

nightfall had arrived, and the girls had come to a consensus that they would like to let loose at a nightclub. this nightclub was highly exclusive, which meant you would not have to worry about getting bombarded by crazed fans. you were all getting ready at rumi's place so you could leave together.

you had put on one of the hottest outfits that you had in your closet, pairing it with platform heels to give your outfit an even sexier vibe. you felt like you needed to change things up a bit and do something out of the ordinary for once. mira and zoey were usually the crazy ones, but you decided to join them in their craziness this time.

before leaving, you had taken some pictures of you and the girls as well as taking solo pictures to post on your story on your secret spam page on instagram. it was public, but only a certain amount of people knew about it. you liked it that way. you had posted a picture of yourself on your story, adding the song i wish you roses by kali uchis with the caption "goin to (clubname) <3", while trailing behind the girls who were already by the door to get to rumi's personal driver waiting outside.

you all got in the car, with rumi in the passenger's seat. you, zoey, and mira were in the back seat, talking amongst each other as the driver made his way to the nightclub. even though you ignored how you felt earlier because of the way jinu was looking at you, you still felt like you could talk to them about it, but you were going to make sure you would conveniently leave that part out.

zoey was right next to you, laughing at something silly that mira said. you lightly thwacked zoey's shoulder, snapping her out of it.

"hey, what the heck was that for?!" zoey whined, grabbing her shoulder. mira looked over at you, while rumi turned around to see what was going on.

"you'll be fine, zo. i had to get your attention somehow-" you shrugged, making mira stifle a laugh.

"anywho, was it just me or is there something really off about the saja boys, i mean, other than the fact that they're demons, of course..."

the girls were silent, staring at you like you were some kind of conspiracy theorist. "guys, hear me out. did you guys not see jinu staring at me very oddly after they were done performing soda pop?!" zoey pretended to think, while mira scratched her head, and rumi was looking around like she was being pranked.

"i was too busy staring at abby to even notice what jinu was doing, to be honest with you." zoey chimed. "those abs..." zoey began to drool, reminiscing what abby looked like when his shirt popped open. right then and there you gathered that zoey would be no help.

"i don't understand, what do you mean he was staring at you "very oddly"?" mira asked, with her eyebrow raised. she looked very confused with what you were saying.

"what i mean, is, he was staring at me like he wanted to devour my soul! how did you guys not notice this?!" you felt like you were going insane. rumi had broken her silence by letting out a quiet chuckle. "y/n, do you have a crush on this guy or something? because we're all so lost trying to understand you.."

you felt your cheeks heat up. there is NO way you have a crush on that demon!! although you have to admit he is very attractive. not to the girls, obviously. you did not want to give them another reason to tease you further.

"what?! no!!! why would i have a crush on the enemy??? you know what, forget it." you let out a long sigh. there was a short pause before the girls mumbled a quick "okay.." and resumed what they were doing.

you opened up instagram, switching to your secret account. you enjoyed the little community you had built. it felt authentic, interacting with your mutuals during your free time. your story had already been getting likes and comments. as you were mindlessly scrolling through the viewers, a username you were unfamiliar with was at the bottom.

who the heck is j63249? you thought.

you furrowed your brows, clicking on the username. the profile had zero followers, and was not following anyone. you assumed it was just a random instagram user who happened to stumble across your page. you brushed it off, closing out of the instagram app and leaned your head on the car window for the rest of the ride.

mira's driver had finally made it to the club. you all stepped out of the car, heading into the club's entrance. mira's driver honked as he drove off.

the loud bass of the music could be felt through your whole body as you held mira's hand to make your way through the crowd. you and the girls were headed to the bar to have a few drinks to get buzzed, and would be going to the dance floor afterwards.

as you were sipping on your drink at the bar and laughing with the girls, you felt something. you felt like someone had been staring at you. you slowly turned around to where the crowd was, and you saw nothing. everyone seemed to be engrossed in whatever they were doing. people dancing, couples making out, but no one was staring at you. so, what was that presence you felt?

you refused to let whatever that nagging stare was ruin your night. you had dragged the girls to the dance floor when your favorite song came on, singing the lyrics word for word and dancing on rumi. despite all the fun you were having, that uncomfortable feeling of being watched never went away. it was starting to drive you nuts. you needed to escape. and quickly.

you yelled into rumi's ear, "i'm going to the bathroom, i'll be right back!" rumi nodded, giving your hand a quick squeeze. you slithered past zoey and mira to leave the crowd. you laughed to yourself seeing their dance moves. after leaving the crowd, you had let out a breath you did not even realize you were holding.

you quickly scurried into the private bathroom, locking the door behind you. you stared at yourself in the mirror, grabbing onto the sink. "am i losing my fucking mind?" you muttered to yourself. a figure had appeared from a purple mist behind you, making you shriek loudly.

you could not believe what you were seeing right now. the figure was jinu, smirking at your reflection. you scowled back at him in the mirror and began to stomp towards the exit. as you reached for the doorknob, a sudden force pulled you back, leading you straight into jinu's arms and leaving zero space between the two of you.

"not so fast, little human." jinu's voice sounded like velvet. you wondered what he wanted with you. no matter, you had to find a way to get out of here, far away from him. this was not the time to be fraternizing with the enemy. you tried to slap him to get him to release you from his hold but he effortlessly grabbed your wrist, leading you to let out a gasp.

"what the hell do you want from me?" you questioned, struggling in his grip. jinu's eyes slowly traveled down to your outfit then back up at you. was he seriously checking you out right now? you felt so naked and exposed.

"cute outfit." jinu chuckled darkly, tilting his head.

"but i don't like anyone else seeing what's mine." jinu wore an angry expression on his face. his eyes flashed yellow, and you were starting to get more freaked out by the second.

you scoffed. "have you gone mad? i do not belong to you!” you paused, furrowing your brows in confusion. "wait... how did you even know we would be here?"

"you crazy demon stalker! let go of me! ugh!" you attempted to get out of his grip once more. your bodies pressing together was starting to make you feel things that you shouldn't be.

"i don't think so, darling." jinu smirked. "you weren't exactly discreet about your whereabouts on your instagram..." jinu said, in a condescending tone. you looked at him dumbfounded, connecting the dots. he was the one who had been watching you in the club like a hawk.

"so, it was you creeping on my page. i didn't realize there was a wi-fi connection in the depths of hell." you spat. jinu looked at you with amusement.

"and why the fuck were you watching me so hard? do you not realize how creepy and weird that is? i guess you wouldn't, since you're a demon." jinu's expression soured for a quick moment. you bit back a smirk, knowing you had successfully gotten under his skin.

"you think you're funny, hm?"

"i had to make sure no one touched what is rightfully mine." jinu released your wrist, trailing his long finger down your arm. this immediately gave you goosebumps, which did not go unnoticed by jinu.

"and what makes you so sure that i'm yours?" you stared at jinu with a skeptical look, as the gap between your faces was beginning to get smaller.

jinu leaned down into your ear, speaking softly. "i know you feel it too, y/n, you don't have to keep resisting me." jinu grabbed your waist so you couldn't run away again. he left a soft kiss on your ear, with his lips trailing down the side of your neck. he was leaving wet kisses on your neck. you were using all of your willpower to stop yourself from moaning.

of course you felt it too. but this was not supposed to be happening. what would the girls think if they knew what was going on right now? getting handsy with your sworn enemy? you couldn't. you had to end this.

"jinu- stop it." you gripped his hair in an unsuccessful attempt to pry him away from your neck. instead, he bit on your neck, leading you to let out a loud moan.

"are you sure you want me to stop?" jinu resumed his wet kisses on your neck, gripping your waist harder. he moved his kisses up to your jaw, then pulled away so that you were face to face now.

"i do, now let go of me. we shouldn't be doing this." you said, putting your hands on his shoulders to push him away from you. before you could push him away, he placed his lips on yours. you had kissed him back, but you quickly used all of your strength to pull him away from your lips, leaving the both of you breathing heavily.

you were conflicted, wondering how something so bad for you could also be good for you at the same time. fuck it, you thought.

you gave into your desires, grabbing his shirt to pull him back into a heated kiss. you were both moaning and jinu used the opportunity to put his tongue in your mouth, swirling his tongue with yours as you kissed each other roughly. jinu lifted you up into his arms, with you wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. he placed you on the bathroom counter, getting in between your legs as you continued making out.

jinu pulled away from you, a string of saliva connecting your lips while he pulled the straps of your dress down to reveal your breasts. your nipples were already hard and standing at attention. jinu flicked both nipples, making your body twitch. an erotic gasp came from your mouth when he leaned down to suck one of the hard buds, pinching the other nipple. you gripped onto his hair, biting your lip.

jinu's hand left your nipple and trailed down your thighs, spreading them open. he ran a finger over your clothed clit, groaning on your nipple after feeling your wetness. he let go of your nipple to face you, a cocky grin on his face. “i wonder who got you this wet.”

you were not going to give him the satisfaction. instead, you muttered “shut up,” as you pulled his face back to yours. you sucked on his bottom lip before going back to explore each other’s mouths. jinu raised the fabric of your dress up to get better access to your aching cunt. he pulled your underwear down your leg, and you assisted him in kicking them off.

jinu rubbed his index and middle fingers around your opening, gathering your slick on his fingers. he slowly put his middle finger inside you, making you break the kiss and dig your nails into his shoulders, moaning desperately.

he moved his finger in and out of you, slowly. he watched you to see your reaction to his one finger opening you up. "you're so fucking tight. i don't think you'll be able to take my dick, honey." jinu's finger in you moved faster. you threw your head back against the mirror, whimpering pathetically.

jinu grabbed your throat to get you to face him. "it'll fit," you choked out, barely able to utter a sentence. "more..." you chanted, wanting his fingers to stuff you full before the real thing.

jinu added his index finger to your sopping hole, your cunt was squelching from how wet you were. jinu curled his fingers inside you and used his thumb to rub on your clit, sending you into overdrive. you were grinding your hips into his fingers, chasing the release that would soon be around the corner.

"you like it when i fuck your slutty pussy with my fingers, baby?" jinu questioned. you nodded, breathing heavily. he was not happy with your response. he let go of your throat to give you a light tap on your cheek, scolding you.

"ah, ah, ah. use your words, sweetie." he demanded, his hand wrapping itself back around your throat. "yes, i love it, i love it so much. please don't stop," you begged, grabbing onto his arm that was choking you.

jinu smirked triumphantly at your compliance. "that's a good girl." he looked down at his soaked fingers sliding in and out of you. the thought of getting your wetness all over him made his dick twitch in his pants.

"jinu- i'm close-" you panted out, your breathing was getting heavier and heavier as you felt that familiar build up about to reach it's breaking point.

"you gonna cum on my fingers, love? cum for me."

your orgasm washed over you not long after jinu coaxed your release. you had your mouth wide open in an "o" shape as your legs started to shake uncontrollably, arching your back against the mirror as he helped you ride out your high. you had never come that hard before, even by yourself. you leaned back, letting out a sigh as jinu released his grip on your throat.

jinu slowly pulled his fingers out of you, putting his fingers in his mouth to taste your cum. he groaned, cleaning up the mess you made on his fingers while savoring your sweet taste. "you taste divine, love." he grabbed your chin, putting his mouth on yours to let you taste yourself on his tongue.

you reached in between you to rub on his bulge through his pants, making him growl in your mouth. the kiss got more desperate, as jinu grabbed your breasts and you hastily unbuckled his belt. he broke the kiss to unbutton his jeans, pulling his big dick out of his briefs. his dick was huge, veiny, and pre cum was leaking out of the tip. you let out a quiet gasp. your cunt throbbed at the sight. was that really going to go inside you?

he spread your thighs wider, slapping his fat tip against your clit, making you whine. he rubbed his girthy length all over your lips, mixing his pre cum with your slick. he hissed as he put the tip inside your tight hole. you let out a sharp moan and pushed him back out. jinu grabbed your wrist, pinning it up to the mirror.

"uhn uhn, you said it could fit, remember?"

"it's too big- mmph!" you squealed, feeling jinu push his thick length deeper into you. he was stretching your tight cunt out to the limit, and it hurt so good.

jinu pushed more and more of his thick dick into you, making you cry out with every inch that made it's way into your snug walls. when he finally got all of him inside you, he wore an evil grin on his face. you were his now. your pussy was his, whether you liked it or not.

"don't move yet-" you babbled, trying to get used to the feeling of being stuffed full by the biggest dick you've ever had. jinu didn't move. he leaned into your neck to kiss and bite it while you were adjusting. you unconsciously clenched around him as he kissed your neck. he groaned in your neck, rolling his hips into you.

you freed your wrist from his grip, pulling his face back up to yours. you whispered on his lips, "you can move now..." he immediately pulled his length out and slammed it back in. you wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, resting your arms around his shoulder. you both were moaning onto each other's mouths as jinu rocked in and out of you at a steady pace.

"faster..." you commanded. you swore you saw his eyes flicker a shade of yellow right before he started to plow into you. you were already starting to cream all over jinu's dick, you couldn't think straight; it felt so damn good.

"can't you see that we were meant to be together? look how your body responds to me." jinu breathes, glancing down at where the two of you were connected.

"i bet no one else has fucked you this good, have they?" jinu questioned. you decided not to answer, too caught up in how good you were feeling. he slapped your breast harshly as he fucked you, making you scream.

"answer me, slut." jinu growled, his eyebrows furrowing. your pussy throbbed around him at the degradation.

"no, they haven't-- shit!" his dick hit a certain spot inside you, making you see stars. he let out a menacing laugh, realizing he has you right where he wants you.

"that's right, only i can fuck this pussy like this, and make you cum on this dick like this." jinu grabs your thighs, thrusting into you harder and faster.

you mindlessly agree, "mhm, no one else, jinu. keep fucking me just like that," you wailed. one of your arms resting on his shoulders finds its way to his hair, gripping onto it.

"kiss me," you pant against jinu's lips, wanting to feel him close to you. he wasted no time in claiming your mouth. the kiss was slow, wet, and passionate. jinu slowed his thrusts to match the pace of your kissing. each thrust was getting you closer to the edge. your walls clamped down on jinu's dick, letting him know you would cum soon. he reluctantly let go of your lips to ask,

"gonna cum again?"

with hazed eyes, you nodded slowly. he rubbed slow circles on your sensitive clit, adding extra stimulation. it didn't take long for you to start falling apart on his cock.

"cum on this dick, baby," jinu purred, speeding up his thrusts once more.

"mmf- coming!" you murmured, feeling the familiar buildup rising in your core, ready to explode.

your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your whole body convulsing as you came on jinu's thick cock, your grip on him getting even tighter. jinu grunted from being squeezed so tightly by you, fucking you through your orgasm.

you let out a blissful sigh as you came down from your second high of the night. you thought jinu would finally take it easy on you, but he was not. he continued to drill himself roughly into you.

"jinu, i'm still sensitive!" you yelped, holding onto his shoulders. he pinched your right nipple, leading you to sob from the overstimulation.

"you think you're the only one who gets to finish, whore? no. i'm gonna fill this pussy up, to ruin you for any other man but me." jinu roared, cupping your right breast in his hand.

in a panicked tone, you gasped, "wait, don't cum inside me!" you knew you would be forever bound to him if he were to cum inside you. it would be a point of no return, with you at his mercy.

"that's not up to you to decide, my love." jinu smiled sinfully, his canines on full display. you looked at him frightfully while your heart rate sped up. "the fear in your eyes only makes me want to fill you up even more." his voice had went down a few octaves, the demon side of him was itching to come out.

jinu bit onto your shoulder, growling, as he spilled his warm cum inside you. you whined out in pain and ecstasy, feeling his canines digging into your skin and his release filling you up. you hated that you enjoyed it. his thrusts came to a complete stop while his cock went limp inside you.

you both were catching your breath, the aftermath of everything was now starting to hit you. what had you done? you put your hands on your face, shaking your head. you have no idea how you were going to face the girls after what just went down.

you removed your hands from your face, glaring at jinu. the bastard had the audacity to cockwarm you, wearing a cocky grin on his face. looking at his pretty face just made you angrier. "pull out of me, now." you sneered, putting your hands on his chest to push him out. being the stubborn demon that he is, he would not move. you groaned in frustration.

"you got what you wanted, now pull out of me already!" jinu obliged your request, slowly removing his cock from your hole. his cum was now leaking out of you. you rolled your eyes in annoyance. "this is exactly why i told you not to cum inside me." you sighed, pulling the straps of your dress back up. you reached over to the paper towels to clean yourself up, but jinu reached it first, carefully wiping away the cum that was leaking out. he used his fingers to push the rest of the cum back in your hole.

"what the fuck do you think you're doing? unh!" you choked, gripping his wrist to remove his fingers. you were not going to fall into his trap again. jinu chuckled, using his demon force to remove himself from your hold, successfully trapping you in place to keep you from moving, so he could continue to finger you.

"it seems like you still don't understand that this pussy belongs to me. i guess i have to show you." jinu put his thumb on your clit again, rubbing on it as he continued fingering his cum back inside you.

you wailed out, "jinu! stop! it's too much!" your thighs were beginning to shake, letting out broken moans. jinu leaned in to your ear, whispering, "tell me this pussy is mine and i'll stop." you were done fighting. you would do anything to stop the torture.

"fine! this pussy is yours... now stop!" you surrendered, wanting the delicious but dangerous pleasure to end. jinu bit on your earlobe, grunting in a disapproving tone.

"say it like you mean it, baby." jinu demanded, increasing the pace of his fingers inside you. you were already getting so close.

"this pussy is all yours, i promise," you rasped, so close to having your third release. "i'm almost there, don't stop, please," you hissed, rolling your hips on his fingers.

"good girl, now come for me." jinu praised, stretching your cunt out on his fingers. you screamed out, your body vibrating as you had yet another orgasm from jinu. this demon was going to be the death of you. he released his grip on you, pulling your face to his for a wet kiss. you slowly pulled away from each other, breathing rapidly.

"you're all mine now, and don't you ever forget it."

a/n: i hope you all enjoyed it! 🥹 i'm still an amateur writer trying to improve my writing so i'm sorry in advance if it's not the best 😔 constructive criticism is very much appreciated!!! <3 also open to writing another part if anyone has any ideas!!!

#kpop demon hunters #kpdh x reader #jinu x reader #jinu kpdh #kpop demon hunters x reader #jinu x you #jinu x reader smut #jinu smut #kpdh smut #saja boys #saja boys x reader #saja boys x you #saja boys smut

1K notes · View notes

ari-ana-bel-la · 9 days ago

Note

Hello! thinking if you woulf write a history about Kimi Raikkonen and the fact the e everytime he go back to the paddock, but he NEVER talk to anyone only see (and play) with one of the drivers daughter (and she even smile to her)

your blog is amazing!!!🩷🩷

The Ice Man and the Princess

The sun was blazing down on the paddock, shimmering heat rising off the tarmac as drivers, team principals, and media bustled around like ants in designer sunglasses. Everyone was abuzz with excitement. Not because of the race. Not because of the rumored upgrades to the Red Bull car. Not even because Seb was visiting with his usual charm and environmental flyers.

No. The paddock had one topic of conversation: Kimi was back.

The Iceman had returned.

Except, he wasn’t back to make any statements. He wasn’t there to support the GPDA, or give nostalgic interviews, or do that awkward thing where Sky Sports tries to wrangle more than three sentences out of him.

He was here for one person, and one person only:

Yn.

The two-year-old daughter of Alex and Lily, toddling sunshine with tiny sneakers, round cheeks, and a shock of slightly-too-much hair for a toddler. And, for reasons the entire grid was still trying to figure out, she had managed to melt the heart of Kimi Raikkonen himself.

"Is he coming over?" Lando whispered, peeking out of the McLaren hospitality unit like a meerkat.

"To us?" Charles scoffed, sipping his espresso. "Don’t be ridiculous. He’s locked on target. Look. Baby in sight."

Sure enough, Kimi was gliding through the paddock like a ghost. Drivers and team members tried to wave at him, some even attempted a handshake.

Kimi walked past them all like they were ghosts in his simulation.

"Hey, Kimi!" Seb tried, cheerfully stepping in front of him.

Kimi blinked. Calculated. Then took a single step to the left and walked right around him.

Seb stared after him, mouth slightly open. "Did he just... detour me?"

"You got Kimi'd," George muttered, trying to contain his laughter.

Meanwhile, over in the Williams garage, Yn was sitting on the floor next to a crate of tires, stuffing her teddy bear’s head into a toy teacup.

"Teddy say aaah," she mumbled seriously.

"You say aaah," Kimi said, suddenly there, crouching beside her.

"KIMI!" she squealed, leaping into his arms with all the grace of a flying watermelon.

Kimi caught her with practiced ease. “Bwoah, heavy today.”

Alex, sipping coffee nearby, barely looked up.

"She made you carry her bag last time, mate. She’s training for it."

"Bwoah, she's strong," Kimi muttered, letting her hang onto his neck like a baby koala. He moved to the corner of the garage and sat down on a stool. Yn, being the tiny dictator she was, instantly clambered into his lap.

Then she pulled out a pink marker.

"I draw!"

Kimi extended both arms like a seasoned professional.

"Make it good."

Moments later, Lando—young, bright-eyed, full of optimism—spotted Kimi across the garage.

“Okay, I’m going to try again. Maybe if I ask about the Sauber days, he’ll warm up.”

“Don’t,” Daniel warned.

“I got this.”

Lando jogged up to him. "Hey, Kimi, just wanted to—"

Kimi didn’t even look up.

“Bwoah. Not you talking to me."

Lando stopped like he'd hit an invisible wall.

Behind him, the collective will of the paddock crumbled into silent laughter. George turned away, biting his knuckle. Charles dropped his coffee and didn't even notice. Pierre took a picture. Daniel physically sat down to wheeze.

Lando blinked. “I—I just wanted to talk about karting—”

Kimi patted Yn on the head. “Good girl. No small talk.”

Yn nodded solemnly. “Boring.”

Lando staggered away in defeat. “She called me boring!”

Seb, watching all this from a distance, looked betrayed. “I got bypassed. I was detoured.”

Max, leaning against a wall, smirked. “You were traffic.”

Later, in the hospitality area, all the drivers gathered at a table like gossiping teenagers at lunch.

"He lets her draw flowers on him," Lewis said, showing a photo. “Flowers. On Kimi.”

“Last week in Austria, she put a sticker on his forehead,” Pierre added. “He wore it. All day.”

“He drank pretend tea from a pink plastic cup,” Oscar said, holding up a finger. “Twice.”

Fernando raised an eyebrow. “I heard he smiled.”

Everyone went quiet.

“No.”

“Full teeth,” Oscar confirmed.

Charles gasped. “He smiled at me once. But it was… like… a mistake. He thought I was a cat.”

Back in the Williams garage, Lily arrived to see Kimi sitting cross-legged on the floor, with a flower drawn on his bicep, a tiara on his head, and a toddler trying to explain to him in a mix of Thai and Mandarin how her teddy had fallen asleep in the pit lane.

“Xiong xiong sleep! Bù kěyǐ! Too loud vroom vroom! Must nap!"

Kimi nodded solemnly. “I understand. I also hate vroom vroom sometimes.”

She handed him a tiny blanket.

“Shh, teddy cold.”

He tucked it around the bear’s head. “There.”

Lily blinked. "You alright, Kimi?"

“Bwoah, yeah. We’re just chillin’. Teddy's in coma.”

“Right.”

Alex appeared behind her. “She tried to explain a tire compound to him this morning.”

“She said medium tires taste like chicken,” Lily nodded.

Later that afternoon, the drivers tried one more time.

They lined up—Seb, Daniel, Lando (now cautiously at the back), Charles, and Lewis.

George held a sign: “We Just Want To Say Hi.”

Kimi walked past.

Only paused briefly to say:

“Not now. Busy.”

And there she was, giggling in a pile of bubble wrap, holding Kimi’s phone (he had given it to her, no case, just vibes), while he pretended to be asleep next to her.

“Why does she like him so much?” Pierre asked later, still trying to figure it out.

“He doesn’t try too hard,” Alex said simply.

“He doesn’t talk too much,” Lily added.

“He doesn’t treat her like a baby,” Oscar shrugged.

“And,” Max added with a sly grin, “he lets her draw on his shoes.”

Charles looked horrified. “She ruined his shoes?!”

“No. Made them better,” Kimi said behind them, holding up one sneaker covered in glittery stickers and a badly-drawn sun.

“It’s fashion,” he added.

That evening, as the sun dipped low and the paddock began to wind down, Kimi sat outside the Williams motorhome, Yn asleep in his arms, her thumb in her mouth.

The drivers walked past silently. No teasing now.

“He really loves her,” George murmured.

“Not sure love is the right word,” Seb said quietly. “More like... she’s his person.”

“He picked her,” Lewis smiled.

And from across the paddock, Lando sighed dramatically.

“Wish I was that toddler.”

After this comment, Charles never stopped giving Lando big side eyes 😊🫡🙂‍↕️

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you!

-♡○♡

1K notes · View notes

cheftsunoda · 10 days ago

Note

hello hello hello my love! i definitely dwelled on this for far too long so it’s time to request it before i change something else.

oscar has stated casually that he has a twin. nicole has mentioned that they are nothing alike. it’s revealed that not only is oscar’s twin a girl, but a extroverted, expressive, social and newly successful broadway actress!

think glinda upland, very pink, very peppy, has no off button.

as if the world needed more to obsess over than how different the oldest piastris are from one another, they start to obsess over how different she is from another f1 driver who can’t seem to make it less obvious he’s into her. a driver who absolutely would not be into glitz and glamour of broadway. one who notoriously hates anything that isn’t racing, winning, and partying (in that order).

max verstappen x broadway actress! piastri!reader

god i hope that made sense, it’s 10pm, it’s hot asf and i’m dehydrated so just do your best, i believe in you, love you🫶🏾🫶🏾

wickedly charming — mv1

smau + blurbs

max verstappen x !broadway actress piastri reader

oscar piastri x !twin sister reader

everyone knew oscar piastri was calm, collected, and laser focused on racing. what nobody put together—until now—is that he has a twin. and she’s absolutely nothing like him. yn piastri is broadway’s newest “it girl.” all glitter, giggles, and pink heels, she’s just been cast as glinda in wicked, and the world can’t get enough of how wildly different the piastri twins are. while oscar is quiet and dry witted, yn sparkles with an energy that could light up times square.

the f1 paddock is in chaos over the reveal, but not as much as one max verstappen, who—despite hating musicals, broadway, and anything unrelated to racing—suddenly can’t stop showing up where she is. opposites attract? maybe. or maybe max verstappen is just helplessly obsessed with the one person who makes absolutely no sense in his world.

fc : ariana grande, allie trimm and mckenzie kurtz

(a/n) : WHDJSJSJJDJ im screaming. this was such a good idea. i had way too much fucking fun. i absolutely adore you. and i love the piastri fam dearly. side note— my second day in a row posting max content. who am i? BUT I LOVE YOU BABY. hope you enjoy.

—

liked by lando, mclaren, nicolepiastri and 5,705,007 others.

f1 : hey it’s admin and im totally not chill about this and i will be doing tons of detective work to find this twin. thx oscar. (pls don’t get me fired for this)

—

view 534,000 other comments.

mclaren : typical oscar behavior. when do WE get to meet her?

charles_leclerc : i for one, HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS.

↳ lando : the most important being…is she single?

olliebearman : I NEED TO KNOW EVERYTHING. what’s her star sign. what’s her favorite sandwich. what’s her opinion on Crocs. please admin you have to find her

↳ username00 : ollie pls😭

username15 : wait WHAT IF SHE’S FAMOUS TOO. what if i’ve seen her in something. what if i’ve been obsessed with piastri’s twin this whole time and DIDN’T KNOW??

lando : @/nicolepiastri pls confirm

↳ nicolepiastri : i went through 15 hours of grueling labor and two babies came out…can confirm

↳ olliebearman : does she like crocs????

↳ nicolepiastri : unless they are pink…no

username7 : Admin I will Venmo you to find her. We need to know IMMEDIATELY.

gabrielbortoleto_ : oscar lore drop was not on my bingo card for this season

carlossainz55 : Oscar you HAVE A TWIN and didn’t tell any of us????

↳ oscarpiastri : sorry?

lando : i stg if she is even an ounce cooler than you im switching sides

↳ nicolepiastri : she is

↳ oscarpiastri : this feels personal

maxverstappen1 : Just curious. What is her full legal name?

↳ lando : i know her last name 🤓👆🏻

↳ maxverstappen1 : no fucking shit sherlock.

username77 : how is everyone just finding this out??? when nicole did that podcast ages ago she mentioned oscar has a twin and she’s absolutely NOTHING like him.

↳ username55 : WHERE IS IT

↳ username77 : @/f1gossipgirls recently posted another clip of it

—

f1gossipgirls

liked by lando and 3,507,007 others.

f1gossipgirls : Clips from a Podcast with Nicole Piastri a while back where she speaks about Oscar’s mysterious twin.

—

view 175,000 other comments.

username000 : You’re telling me there’s a pink wearing, spotlight loving, sparkle dripping Piastri twin out there just waiting to be revealed??? This is my multiverse of madness.

username00 : no offense but i would ditch oscar in a heartbeat if she turned up in rhinestones and heels

username0 : if she’s even a little unhinged i will be dedicating my life to her

username1 : NICOLE PLEASEEEEEE I’ve suffered enough

lando : any new developments guys???

liked by f1gossipgirls

↳ oscarpiastri : oh i see you are still taking this very well

↳ lando : maybe if my teammate IVE KNOWN FOR YEARS wasn’t so sneaky I would not be spiraling and asking fangirls for help

↳ oscarpiastri : it really must suck to be you

↳ lando : @/nicolepiastri your son is being mean to me

↳ nicolepiastri : he is just like that sometimes sorry

username5 : i know that Nicole is LOVING watching the internet crumble at this

↳ nicolepiastri : it is very entertaining to me

liked by f1gossipgirls

—

Lando was pacing the McLaren motorhome like a man possessed. His phone was abandoned on the table, open to the gossip page post of Nicole Piastri casually dropping the twin bombshell, while Oscar sat calmly across from him, picking at a granola bar like it was just another day.

“Okay,” Lando said, hands on his hips, like he was bracing himself for a tsunami. “So I’ve known you for years. Years, Oscar. I’ve been to your house. I’ve met your mum. I’ve met your sisters. All three of them. And now you’re telling me there’s a fourth?!”

Oscar didn’t look up. “I never said you met all of them.”

“What does that even mean?” Lando practically shouted. “You have a twin, mate! That’s not a side note! That’s not a fun fact at the end of a race debrief!”

Oscar shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”

Lando stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “So you just… forgot to mention the girl who literally shared a womb with you?”

“She’s kind of busy,” Oscar said, finally glancing up. “It’s not like she’s hanging around the paddock waiting to be noticed.”

“Busy doing what?! Solving world hunger? Living on the moon?!”

Before Oscar could answer—or dodge the question, which he was alarmingly good at—the door swung open.

“Hey.” Max Verstappen stepped in, casual as ever, but with that unmistakable look in his eye. The one he wore when he smelled blood in the water. “I heard Lando’s yelling from outside and wanted to see what all of it was about?”

Oscar groaned. Lando immediately pointed at him.

“Did you know?” Lando demanded. “Did you know Oscar has a twin?!”

Max blinked, lips twitching ever so slightly. “No. But now I’m interested.”

Oscar leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling like it might swallow him. “Why do I feel like this is going to ruin my life?”

Lando’s arms flailed. “Because it is! There is a twin! A secret twin! And his mum literally said—and I quote—‘bubbly little princess.’ That’s not a personality, Oscar, that’s a threat! She probably wears pink! And glitter! And sings!”

“She does,” Oscar said, far too casually.

Max raised a brow, voice quiet. “She sings?”

Oscar sat up straight, slapping his granola wrapper down. “Okay. Enough.”

Lando froze.

Oscar pointed at Max. “You clearly want to meet her.”

Max didn’t deny it. He just tilted his head, waiting.

Oscar sighed. “Fine. Get your jet ready. We’re going to New York.”

Lando’s jaw dropped. “New York?! Why New York?! What’s in New—wait.” His voice cracked. “No. No no no. You’re joking. Tell me you’re joking.”

Oscar didn’t blink.

Lando spun around in a full circle, his mind short-circuiting. “Is she on Broadway?! Like actual Broadway?!”

Max, still infuriatingly silent, simply grabbed his phone and walked out of the room like a man with a purpose.

Lando turned back to Oscar, eyes wide, heart clearly in full meltdown. “I am not emotionally equipped for this.”

Oscar just smiled faintly and said, “No one is.”

—

gigglesandglitz

liked by hattiepiastri, nicolepiastri, oscarpiastri and 1,750,007 others.

gigglesandglitz : ✨it’s good to see me, isn’t it?✨ beyond thrilled (and still a little in shock) to share that i’ll be stepping into the bubble as glinda in wicked on broadway 💖 dreams do come true—see you in oz 💫🌟🎭

tagged : wicked_musical

—

view 172,500 other comments.

username000 : your tone, your energy, your smile—this is about to be ICONIC. see you in the front row 😭💖🫧

liked by gigglesandglitz

↳ gigglesandglitz : thank you sweetheart!! cannot wait to see you 💞🎀

username00 : you floated into our hearts long before you floated in that bubble. congratulations angel 💕✨🧹

liked by gigglesandglitz

username0 : I’ve followed your journey since the community theatre days and now…Broadway Glinda?! This is surreal. You deserve it all 💫💫💫

liked by gigglesandglitz

username1 : a lot of piastri’s in the likes 👀

↳ username7 : i will literally scream, cry and jump for joy if this is Oscar’s twin.

yourbff : I SAID SHE WAS DESTINED FOR THIS!!! Our pink princess is headed to Oz!!! 🌟💖

liked by gigglesandglitz, hattiepiastri and nicolepiastri

↳ gigglesandglitz : i love you so much 🤧🤧💓💓

hattiepiastri : STOP IT 😭 i’m already crying and i haven’t even seen you float down in the bubble yet

liked by nicolepiastri, gigglesandglitz and oscarpiastri

↳ gigglesandglitz : love you to the moon and back my hattie!! 💐💕 i cannot wait to see you

↳ username5 : erm???? r we seeing this???

lilyzneimer : my girl!!!!!! there is no one in the world more perfect for this role💖 you are going to kill it. I AM SO PROUD OF YOU!

liked by gigglesandglitz, nicolepiastri and oscarpiastri

↳ gigglesandglitz : MY LILY. MY BABY. love you forever and ever 🩷💕

username17 : oh this is definitely the twin and im eating up every bit of it

nicolepiastri : We always knew you were born for this. You were singing before you could talk 💕💫

liked by lilyzneimer, oscarpiastri, hattiepiastri and gigglesandglitz

↳ gigglesandglitz : could have never done this without you💓💞💞 love u always

↳ username22 : mhm mhm *me examining the evidence*

oscarpiastri : The most Glinda to ever Glinda. So proud of you (but still not wearing pink, sorry)

liked by lilyzneimer, hattiepiastri, nicolepiastri and gigglesandglitz

↳ gigglesandglitz : aw but my ozzie, you would look so pretty! but i love you— pink or no pink🥹💞💓

↳ username22 : this sealed the deal for me. case is dismissed

—

Oscar already regretted everything. The moment he stepped onto Max’s private jet and saw Lando Norris sprawled across the cream leather seats with a smoothie in hand and a million questions already queued, he knew it was going to be a long flight.

“You still haven’t told me what show she’s in,” Lando said, for the fifth time in ten minutes.

“You’ll see when we get there,” Oscar muttered, settling into the seat opposite him, desperately wishing for noise-canceling headphones. Or earplugs. Or a tranquilizer dart.

Lando leaned in dramatically. “Is it Hamilton? Wicked? Oh my god, wait. Is she in Les Mis? Is she Fantine? Does she die??”

“She doesn’t die,” Max muttered from the back, where he was sipping coffee and pretending not to care—while very clearly listening to every word.

Nicole Piastri stepped on board next, glamorous as ever, sunglasses on, effortlessly composed as if she hadn’t just been dragged into the most random F1-Broadway crossover of the decade. She beamed at Max.

“Max, darling. Thanks for flying us.”

Max nodded. “Of course.”

Oscar something muttered under his breath. Nicole gracefully ignored her son and dropped into a seat next to Hattie, who was FaceTiming one of the other sisters to keep them updated. Chris Piastri followed after, wearing a jacket that screamed “tourist dad in New York” and holding a Tupperware of homemade sandwiches.

“Thought we might get hungry,” he said cheerfully, offering one to Max.

Max blinked. “Thanks.”

“Do you think she’s playing a princess?” Lando continued. “I bet she is. She sounds like a princess. Nicole literally called her a ‘bubbly little princess.’ You can’t just say things like that and expect us to not obsess.”

Oscar leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. “I can’t believe I did this.”

“You did this,” Max agreed.

“And you,” Oscar said, pointing accusingly at Max without even opening his eyes. “Are acting like you don’t care when I know you’re just as obsessed.”

“I’m not obsessed,” Max said.

“He offered the jet,” Lando whispered to Nicole, who giggled behind her mimosa.

“Did she always sing as a kid?” Lando asked, now leaning over the aisle toward Nicole.

“Always,” Nicole said proudly. “She was the one performing in the living room, while Oscar built LEGO cars in the corner pretending not to watch.”

“I wasn’t pretending,” Oscar mumbled. “I wasn’t watching.”

Chris chuckled. “He was. He knows all the words to Defying Gravity.”

Max glanced over, brow raised. “Wait. That’s from Wicked, right?”

Silence. Lando dropped his smoothie. “IS SHE GLINDA??”

Oscar rubbed his face with both hands. “I didn’t say anything.”

“YOU DIDN’T NEED TO,” Lando shouted, now fully losing it. “THIS IS WHY YOU’VE BEEN SO CAGEY. SHE’S GLINDA THE GOOD WITCH. OH MY GOD. I’M GOING TO FAINT.”

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Max muttered under his breath.

Chris blinked. “You alright, mate?”

“I’m fine,” Max said through gritted teeth, staring out the window like it personally offended him.

Nicole sipped her mimosa delicately. “He’s just overwhelmed. It happens. She does have that effect on people.”

“You’ve all seen her perform?” Lando asked, looking between the family members like they were the last witnesses to a secret society.

“Opening night is tonight,” Hattie said, eyes shining. “She’s been working toward this her entire life.”

Lando clutched his chest like he’d been stabbed. “And we’re going to see her?! LIVE?! In the bubble?!”

Oscar opened one eye and stared at him. “If you embarrass me—”

“I’m going to cry so hard,” Lando whispered dramatically.

Max still hadn’t moved. He hadn’t said much, either. But he was leaning just slightly forward now, legs bouncing, coffee long abandoned.

Oscar sighed. “You’re all hopeless.”

Nicole smiled at her son and patted his arm gently. “And yet, you’re still the one who told Max to book the jet.”

Chris grinned. “Face it, mate. You love her.”

Oscar stared ahead.

“I tolerate her.”

Hattie snorted.

“Sure,” she said. “And Max just came for the sandwiches.”

From the back, Max muttered, “They are really good.”

—

oscarpiastri added two posts to his story!

seen by gigglesandglitz, lando, hattiepiastri and 7,500,000 others.

—

f1gossipgirls

2,789,000 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris AND Max Verstappen were all spotted in New York City. The three were seen alongside the rest of Oscar’s family and his long term girlfriend, Lily, as they were attending the opening night of Wicked on Broadway. There have been rumors swirling for weeks that Oscars twin is the new Glinda, is this all the confirmation we need???

—

The theatre hums with nerves and glitter. You’re halfway through vocal warmups, perched in fuzzy pink slippers and your satin “Glinda” robe, lips stained with gloss and eyes already sparkling with half-done stage makeup. You’ve got curlers in your hair and butterflies in your stomach. It’s opening night in your new role, and nothing could possibly make this moment more surreal.

Until, of course, you turn around and see your entire family standing in the hallway behind you. You blink. Then blink again.

“Mum?” you say, squinting through the haze of hairspray. “Dad? Hattie?!”

Your mother grins and holds up a Starbucks and a tiny bottle of champagne like a trophy. “We made it, sweetheart.”

“WHAT?!”

You break into a squeal, racing across the narrow hallway with slippered feet and throwing your arms around them, your heart pounding faster than it had when you stepped into the bubble during tech rehearsal.

“You said you had work! Oscar said he had media—”

“I lied,” Oscar says dryly, arms open as you throw yourself into them. “You’re welcome.”

“You liar!” you shout, laughing, pulling back to smack his shoulder. “You hate surprises!”

“I hate being on Max’s jet more.”

You blink. “Max’s jet?”

“Hi.”

You turn—and your world tilts. Max Verstappen is standing there. In your theatre. Backstage. Wearing a nicer suit jacket, arms crossed awkwardly, somehow managing to look both completely out of place and like he belonged in the center of this chaos.

Behind him, Lando Norris is practically vibrating, and next to him is a serene, smiling Lily, holding Oscar’s hand and sipping a green juice like this is the most normal thing in the world.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Oh, wow.”

“Hi,” Max says again, voice softer now.

Before you can say anything else, Lando launches at you.

“You’re YN!” he yells, hugging you like he’s known you forever. “You’re Glinda!! You’re the twin!! I can’t believe you’re REAL.”

You laugh into his shoulder. “You must be Lando. You sent me 46 TikToks about glittery F1 cars this week…after you managed to find me on social media.”

Oscar groans behind you. “You gave him your number?!”

“She’s delightful,” Lily chimes in, stepping forward to kiss your cheek. “And our very own Glinda?! I had wicked posters on my walls growing up.”

You’re still reeling. Still processing. Max still hasn’t moved.

You turn to him slowly, head tilted, curiosity bubbling in your chest. “You okay, Red Bull?”

He nods once. “You look… pink.”

“That’s usually the goal,” you say, grinning.

He exhales through his nose—almost a laugh. You watch his eyes scan the glitter on your eyelids, the rhinestones on your cheeks, the blush pink satin tied around your waist like a second skin.

“You’re not a fan of musicals, are you?”

“No.”

“Sparkles?”

“No.”

“Stage makeup?”

“No.”

You lean in a little, voice dropping just enough to make him blink. “And yet… you’re here.”

His gaze doesn’t waver.

“I’m here.”

And for the first time tonight, it’s not the spotlight or the stage that makes your heart race—it’s him.

From behind you, Lando’s voice cuts through. “OH MY GOD, are you two flirting?! Is this a slow burn?! Someone warn the internet!!”

Oscar groans again. Max just smiles. And you? You float back into your dressing room like you were born on air—because for the first time tonight, the magic didn’t come from the stage. It came from them. From all of them showing up. From Max Verstappen, standing in your glittering world of pink and theatre and sparkle… and not running away.

—

The curtain falls. The orchestra swells, the crowd erupts, and you’re standing center stage with a wand in your hand, heart in your throat, and glitter in your hair.

You did it. Opening night had been conquered.

You bow so deeply your tiara nearly falls off, and when you lift your eyes, your family is on their feet in the front row. Your mum’s wiping tears. Hattie’s holding her phone sideways, probably recording everything. Your dad is cheering like he’s at the Grand Prix.

And right in the middle of them—between Lily and Lando—is Max Verstappen. Standing. Clapping. Watching only you.

You’re still in costume when you burst into the dressing room afterward, laughter bubbling in your throat as you collapse into your chair. Your castmates are hugging you, handing you flowers, someone pops open champagne, and you feel like you’re floating again.

But nothing prepares you for the pounding on your dressing room door.

“HELLO?! IT’S ME, YOUR BIGGEST FAN,” comes Lando’s voice. “OPEN UP BEFORE I START CRYING IN THE HALLWAY.”

You unlock the door and are immediately tackled by Lando Norris—who is, indeed, already crying.

“YOU WERE AMAZING,” he sobs, crushing you in a hug. “YOU SPARKLED. YOU BELTED. YOU DID THAT BUBBLE THING. I AM OBSESSED WITH YOU.”

You’re laughing and crying and trying to hold your wand in one hand and a bouquet in the other when Lily gently peels Lando off of you and hugs you properly.

“You were stunning, darling,” she says, brushing a rhinestone off your cheek. “I think I actually stopped breathing during ‘Popular.’”

“Join the club,” Oscar mutters from behind her. He’s standing awkwardly in the corner, hands shoved in his pockets.

You grin. “You okay there, Oz?”

“I’m fine,” he says flatly. “It was… well executed.”

“You cried.”

“I didn’t.”

“He did,” Nicole adds as she enters, dabbing at her eyes. “Second verse of ‘For Good.’ I caught him.”

Oscar glares at her. “Betrayal.”

“I loved it,” Chris announces, squeezing your shoulders. “Couldn’t understand a word in the second act but it looked fantastic.”

And then—Then you see him.

Max is lingering in the doorway. Quiet. Still in all black, still looking like he stepped onto the wrong movie set. But he’s holding flowers.

You raise an eyebrow. “You bring those for me, or did someone mistake you for Elphaba?”

His lips twitch. “They’re for you.”

You walk toward him slowly, pink skirt rustling, glitter still clinging to your skin.

“You stayed.”

“I said I would.”

“I figured you’d sneak out at intermission.”

“I almost did,” he admits. “But then you floated down in that bubble and started singing about being popular and… I don’t know.”

You blink. “You don’t know?”

He clears his throat. “It was funny. You were funny.”

You tilt your head. “You laughed?”

“A little.”

You pause, then grin. “You loved it.”

“I tolerated it,” he deadpans. “With great effort.”

“You loved me in it.”

Max doesn’t respond. He just looks at you, really looks at you, like he’s still trying to process how someone like you—bright, glittering, unapologetically pink—exists in the same world as him.

“I loved you in it,” he says finally.

And your heart does something dangerous.

Oscar loudly clears his throat. “I hate this.”

“You’re welcome,” Nicole says.

Lando fans himself dramatically. “I KNEW this was a slow burn! The way he clapped like his life depended on it? Romantic.”

“Can someone remove him?” Oscar grumbles.

But you’re not listening. You’re still staring up at Max, holding your flowers, your heart racing. Because maybe this was a little ridiculous. Maybe you’re pink and glitter and bubblegum and musical theatre.

And he’s Max Verstappen—champagne, circuits, podiums, fire. But right now? In this moment? He’s yours. And he stayed.

—

After photos and flowers and what felt like ten thousand hugs, your cast slips away to their dressing rooms, leaving you alone with your chaotic entourage. Your cheeks hurt from smiling, your feet hurt from heels, and your heart is still thudding like it never came down from the final note. Max hasn’t left your side. Which is wild. And a little suspicious. And also making Oscar increasingly twitchy.

“You don’t have to stay for stage door,” you say, glancing at Max as you peel off your false lashes. “It’s going to be a madhouse.”

He leans against the dressing table, arms crossed, eyes soft. “Do you want me to leave?”

You pause mid wipe with a makeup remover pad. “…No.”

“Then I’m staying.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away. “You’re going to get glitter on your jacket.”

Max looks down at himself like he’s already accepted the consequences. “I’ll live.”

You glance up to see Oscar watching the two of you like a man who regrets every life choice that brought him to this moment. Including birth.

“Are we seriously letting this happen?” he mutters to Lando.

“I mean,” Lando shrugs, “he flew your entire family to New York. You let him sit front row. This ship has sailed, my guy.”

Oscar sighs into his hands. “She’s my twin.”

Lily gently pats his arm. “And Max is… surprisingly soft. Let it happen.”

“He’s Max Verstappen,” Oscar hisses. “He barely has feelings.”

“Tell that to the way he looked at her during ‘Popular,’” Lily says with a smug little grin. “He literally leaned forward like she was the main event at a Grand Prix.”

You’re still blotting glitter off your collarbone when a stagehand pokes her head in. “YN? They’re ready for you at stage door.”

You nod, heart thumping. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

You slip into your coat—still in stage makeup and pink heels, because, well, theatre—and follow the low hum of noise growing louder as you approach the back exit.

Outside, it’s electric. Fans are lined up against barricades, Playbills and pens in hand, camera flashes ready. You hear your name shouted in waves, a few scattered gasps as people recognize your face.

Lando, naturally, steps out first.

“HELLOOOOOOO NEW YORK!” he yells, signing a Playbill that isn’t even his. “YN WAS ICONIC! GIVE HER A TONY NOW!”

You shriek with laughter as security gently moves him back.

“Lando!” you hiss. “You’re not in the show!”

“I AM IN THE MOMENT!”

Oscar groans so loudly a few fans look over and gasp.

“Oh my god, is that—?!”

“OSCAR PIASTRI?!”

And then—chaos.

Phones are up. Fans are screaming. Someone literally yells, “THAT’S HER BROTHER??” followed by, “WAIT—IS MAX VERSTAPPEN WITH HER?!”

You don’t even have time to react before Max—very calmly—steps behind you, one hand resting lightly on your back, the other tucked into his coat. Silent. Protective. Firm.

And just like that, the crowd explodes again.

Max doesn’t flinch. But you swear you feel him shift just a little closer. Like he’s shielding you from the madness. Like this glittering, pink, musical chaos you live in doesn’t scare him off at all.

You sign Playbills. Take photos. Someone calls you “Broadway Barbie” and you nearly cry. You feel hands squeezing yours, hear compliments that leave you breathless.

And all the while, Max stays just behind you. Steady. Quiet. Watching.

You turn to him at one point, cheeks flushed, overwhelmed.

“You’re still here.”

He nods. “I said I’d stay.”

You smile. “You’re gonna end up in a DeuxMoi submission.”

He smirks. “I’ll live.”

Oscar appears between you like a panicked chaperone. “Okay. Time to go. We’ve flirted. We’ve sparkled. Let’s exit before this becomes a trending topic.”

“Too late,” Lando says, holding up his phone. “You’re literally on the F1 subreddit right now. Titled ‘Oscar Piastri’s twin is Glinda on Broadway and Verstappen’s in love—Discuss.’”

Oscar’s eye twitches.

You laugh so hard you nearly drop your wand.

As the crowd begins to thin and the magic starts to settle, Max leans close to your ear.

“You were really good.”

You tilt your head back to look at him, your nose almost brushing his.

“You’re really bad at hiding feelings.”

He breathes out a quiet laugh.

“I’m not trying to hide anything.”

—

gigglesandglitz

liked by oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1, lando and 3,470,005 others.

gigglesandglitz : opening night vibes 💕💞💗💓 ft how i arrive everywhere now that i can say im glinda @/trixiemattel

—

view 252,000 other comments.

trixiemattel : oh you better WERK mama. absolutely stunning.

liked by gigglesandglitz

↳ katya_zamo : you did more for the gay community in one night than we've done in YEARS baby.

liked by gigglesandglitz

↳ gigglesandglitz : i love you both so fucking much

oscarpiastri : I’m never recovering from this. You were ridiculous. You were loud. You were sparkly. You were perfect.

liked by gigglesandglitz

↳ hattiepiastri : she made him CRY and he won’t admit it

liked by gigglesandglitz

↳ oscarpiastri : blocked.

liked by gigglesandglitz

↳ gigglesandglitz : aw my ozzzzz ily both sm

nicolepiastri : The most magical night for the most magical girl. We are SO proud of you 💖🌟✨

liked by gigglesandglitz

lilyzneimer : You were everything. And I will be referencing your Glinda laugh for the rest of my life 💅

liked by gigglesandglitz

lando : I’m not saying you changed me as a person but… I sobbed. And also stole someone’s pink heels. We’re all different now.

liked by gigglesandglitz

maxverstappen1 : Congratulations, superstar.

liked by gigglesandglitz

↳ gigglesandglitz : thanks champ ;)

liked by maxverstappen1

↳ username00 : brb spiraling.

—

It’s their last night in New York. You know it the second you wake up—curled up on your tiny dressing room couch in an oversized hoodie someone draped over you after the afterparty—and the weight of it settles in your chest like something bittersweet.

You haven’t seen Max all day. He disappeared after brunch with your family, claiming something vague about meetings and logistics. But when your phone buzzes around six, it’s his name on your screen.

come to dinner with me?

You don’t ask where.

You just say yes.

—

You don’t expect the place he takes you to.

It’s not the usual Manhattan buzz. No white tablecloths, no chandeliers. Just a tiny, tucked-away restaurant in SoHo with dim lights, warm wood, a booth in the back where no one seems to care who you are—or who he is.

Max slides into the booth across from you, hair still a little damp from the rain, wearing a navy sweater you’re almost sure he stole from Lando. He looks tired. Comfortable. And for the first time, not even trying to be guarded.

“You okay?” you ask as you set your purse beside you, tugging off your coat. Your voice is soft. Stage-weary.

He nods, then pauses.

“I didn’t want to leave without seeing you.”

You blink, heart flipping in that way it always does around him now—quietly, suddenly, like your body knows something before your brain does.

“Why does that sound like a goodbye?” you ask gently.

He shrugs. “Because I hate goodbyes.”

You both sit there in the soft hum of the restaurant for a moment. There’s candlelight between you. You watch it flicker and try not to get lost in the fact that Max Verstappen just flew halfway across the world to watch you float down in a bubble and sing about popularity.

“I’m glad you came,” you whisper.

His gaze lifts to yours. It’s steady. Quietly intense.

“You were amazing. I meant it.”

You smile, pressing your cheek into your palm as you look at him across the table. “Didn’t think musicals were your thing.”

“They’re not,” he says. “But you are.”

Your breath catches. And there it is again—that quiet, heavy something that always seems to settle between you when the noise dies down. Something pink and unspoken and real.

The server brings wine. You clink glasses. You make him try half your plate because he “doesn’t trust anything that isn’t steak or pasta” and you force him to admit your grilled peach salad is “weird but good.”

He watches you like he’s memorizing. And when you lean forward, elbows on the table, chin in your hand, asking about Spa or Monza or how it really felt to win that last race—he opens up. Just a little. Just enough.

“You make it easy to talk,” he says eventually.

You grin. “Maybe I should start offering therapy sessions in full Glinda costume.”

“I’d pay for that,” he deadpans.

You snort.

And maybe that’s your favorite thing about him—that you can go from glitter to silence, from stage lights to city shadows, and he still feels the same. Still sees you.

—

After dinner, he walks you back to your apartment even though his hotel is in the opposite direction.

The New York streets are wet and glowing. You’ve changed into boots and a hoodie and you’re walking beside him with your hands in your pockets and your heart doing cartwheels.

When you reach your door, you both stop.

He doesn’t say anything right away.

You lean against the railing and look up at him, heart fluttering.

“When’s the next race?” you ask.

“Two weeks.”

You nod. “You’ll be gone by morning?”

He hesitates.

“Yeah.”

You glance down at your shoes. “Okay.”

Max steps forward, closing the space. Gently. Carefully. His voice is low.

“I’m not good at this. You know that.”

You look up. “At what?”

He lifts one hand to your face, brushing a curl behind your ear.

“Saying I don’t want to leave.”

Your breath stutters.

“But you have to.”

He nods. “But I’ll come back. If you want me to.”

You wrap your fingers around the front of his sweater. “I want you to.”

He leans in slowly. No fireworks. No crowd. Just you and him and the sound of the city breathing around you.

And when his lips touch yours, it’s soft. Certain.

Like something you’ve been moving toward for a long, long time. When he finally pulls away, he smiles.

“You still taste like lip gloss and glitter.”

You laugh, breathless. “You still smell like champagne.”

He presses his forehead to yours.

“Don’t change,” he whispers.

“Only if you don’t.”

And just like that, Max Verstappen kisses Glinda goodbye on a quiet street in New York—pink, glitter, chaos and all. And you already know he’ll be back. Because he never really left.

—

several weeks later...

vogue

liked by gigglesandglitz, oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1 and 9,000,000 others.

vogue : Broadway’s brightest star takes center stage—and this time, the spotlight follows her offstage too. ✨ Meet YN Piastri, the breakout actress redefining Glinda for a new generation, bringing sparkle, strength, and unapologetic softness to the role (and the real world). In our latest cover story, she talks twinhood, opening night tears, and the unlikely romance that has turned her world upside down.

—

maxverstappen1 has reposted this to his story!

oscarpiastri has reposted this to his story!

nicolepiastri has reposted this to her story!

lando has reposted this to his story!

hattiepiastri has resposted this to her story!

—

f1gossipgirls

2,110,000 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Glinda goes grid?! Broadway’s newest it-girl and certified sparkle queen YN Piastri was spotted trackside today, casually strolling the paddock with her twin brother Oscar (who looked like he aged 10 years), Lando Norris (who was clearly THRIVING), and none other than Max Verstappen… who, by the way, has never smiled this much in public. Ever. Sources say she flew in during her Broadway break to support her “favorite driver” 👀 (Max’s reaction suggests it’s not Oscar… sorry king). We’re not saying anything, but the body language is body languaging.

—

You weren’t supposed to be here. Technically, you were supposed to be resting. “Take the break,” your stage manager had told you, practically forcing you to shut off your phone and escape New York before you talked yourself into attending more rehearsals “for fun.”

But rest? Boring. So now, here you are, standing behind the pit wall at the paddock, disguised in a hoodie, sunglasses, and a hat that Oscar left at your apartment months ago and never asked for back. Which was rude of him, really, because it’s clearly yours now.

The paddock is buzzing. Engines screaming, radios chirping, sun glaring down on the garages like something cinematic. You’ve missed this chaos more than you expected to.

You peek toward McLaren’s side first, trying not to laugh at the way the crew is already muttering about Oscar’s increasingly obvious restlessness. He's pacing, glancing toward the media pen like someone should be showing up but isn’t.

im wearing this dumb hat just for you and you don't even notice me.

A second later, you see him stop mid-step, eyes narrowing at his phone.

Then he turns. And freezes.

You lower your sunglasses and give him a small wave.

Oscar’s face drops into full big brother disbelief. You watch the exact moment his internal monologue short-circuits. He storms toward you, practically tackling you in a hug, his helmet bumping against your shoulder.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says.

You grin into his fireproof suit. “Neither are you. You should be in Q3 right now.”

He pulls back, inspecting your face like he doesn’t quite believe it’s real.

“You flew out for this?”

You shrug, cheeky. “Broadway’s shut down for three days. Did you really think I was going to spend it sleeping?”

Oscar shakes his head like he’s debating launching you into the pit lane. But you can see it in his eyes—how much it means to him.

Before he can say anything else, a voice cuts through the chaos behind you.

“You’re both blocking the damn entrance.”

You turn—and there he is.

Max.

Still in his Red Bull kit, still sweaty from practice, still looking at you like the noise of the whole world just dropped out.

“You’re here,” he says, not even hiding the smile.

You grin. “I’m here.”

Max doesn’t waste a second. He strides over, wraps an arm around your waist, and lifts you just enough to make you squeal before kissing you in full view of every stunned mechanic in the garage.

“Hi,” you whisper when he finally sets you down.

“Hi,” he replies, forehead pressed to yours. “I missed you.”

Oscar groans audibly behind you. “I’m leaving. This is disgusting.”

“You’re welcome for the hat,” you call after him as he walks off.

Max just smiles at you, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“You came all this way?”

“I had to see my favorite driver,” you say, sweet as sugar.

He quirks a brow. “You mean me, right?”

You gasp. “I meant Lando.”

Max glares. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

He sighs, hands on your waist, pulling you back in. “No. I don’t.”

—

You spend the rest of the afternoon ducking media pens, sneaking snacks from Red Bull’s hospitality, and sitting in the back of Oscar’s garage with Lily, who’s wearing a “Glinda’s #1 Groupie” shirt that she definitely made on Etsy.

Max keeps glancing over at you from the garage wall. He doesn’t say much.

But the way his gaze softens every time your laugh echoes over the team radio?

Yeah.

You were so worth the flight.

—

You’re buzzing. Not stage-opening-night buzzing. This is different.

This is champagne-slick, sun-drenched, roaring-crowd kind of buzzing. Because somehow—somehow—Oscar finished P2 and Max finished P1, and now you're standing behind the podium barrier with Lily and your dad, watching both men you love absolutely beaming at the top of the world.

Oscar’s grin is real and wide and completely unfiltered for once. Max has that rare, unbothered smile—the one that’s soft and secret and not meant for media. And you know without even trying that part of it’s for you.

They haven't spotted you yet. You debated staying low, out of view, just another guest in the crowd.

But then your mum slipped a tiny glittery tiara into your hand and said, “Just go give your brother a heart attack.”

So now it’s perched in your hair, subtle but sparkling under the podium lights, and you’re bouncing on your heels, waiting for that perfect moment.

The national anthems finish. The champagne sprays.

Oscar gets Lando right in the face, Max laughs like a boy in a street fight, and for a second, they’re both kids again—wild, joyful, golden in the sunset.

Then Max looks down.

Sees you.

And stops smiling for half a second—like the world short-circuits—before that private little smirk comes back, deeper now. Directed just at you.

You lift your fingers in a wave, tiara glinting.

His eyes narrow playfully.

Oscar looks over to see what Max’s staring at… and nearly slips in champagne when he spots you.

“NO,” he mouths.

You blow him a kiss.

Max watches all of this unfold like it’s his favorite play.

When they come down from the podium, Oscar wraps you in a damp, fizzy hug first. He smells like podium and panic.

“Couldn’t stay away,” you tease.

“You wore the tiara on purpose,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “You're going to break the internet.”

You grin. “Again?”

He rolls his eyes, but kisses your temple.

And then Max is there—still clutching his bottle, still damp from celebration, his eyes locked on yours like the rest of the track doesn’t exist.

“Hi,” he says softly, voice rough from shouting.

“You did good,” you whisper, stepping close.

“You were watching.”

“Always.”

He looks at you, champagne-slick and flushed from adrenaline, and says nothing.

Just lifts a hand to your cheek and wipes away a speck of podium glitter you definitely didn’t earn.

Then- a kiss, quiet and real and quick. Not hidden. Not rushed.

Someone in the crowd gasps. Lando yells, “I KNEW IT!” from somewhere behind you.

Oscar audibly groans. “Absolutely not.”

But Max doesn’t care. And neither do you.

You’re his Broadway star. His good witch.

And this time, you came down in a bubble just for him.

—

gigglesandglitz

liked by maxverstappen1, hattiepiastri, lando and 7,900,000 others.

gigglesandglitz : stepped out of glinda and into the paddock and forgot which team i was supposed to root for...srry oscar

tagged : maxverstappen1

—

user has disabled comments on this post.

—

maxverstappen1

liked by gigglesandglitz, oscarpiastri, lando and 11,000,000 others.

maxverstappen1 : She came down in a bubble and wrecked me.

tagged : gigglesandglitz

—

number of comments on this post have been limited.

oscarpiastri : absolutely not. this man has less emotions than i do.

↳ lando : HE SAID BUBBLE OSCAR. BUBBLE. THIS IS CINEMA.

liked by gigglesandglitz

yukitsunoda0511 : does this mean i have to watch wicked now?

liked by gigglesandglitz and maxverstappen1

↳ maxverstappen1 : yes.

↳ charles_leclerc : grid trip to broadway???

liked by gigglesandglitz

↳ lando : YES

↳ oscarpiastri : lord please no.

hattiepiastri : my roman empire

liked by gigglesandglitz and maxverstappen1

—

bonus scene! grid takes on nyc

Max texts you one sentence at 10:37 AM on a Thursday.

what’s the group rate for wicked

You blink at your phone. Then immediately call him.

"Max, what did you do?

“I told a few people I was flying back to New York,” he says calmly. “And then a few became everyone.”

“Everyone?”

There’s a long pause.

“…The grid.”

—

You don’t believe it until the stage manager pulls you aside before curtain and whispers, “Hey, there’s like fifteen European men in the front rows arguing about tires. Should we be concerned?”

You laugh so hard your false lashes nearly fall off.

—

From the stage, it’s impossible to miss them.

The front center row is filled with the most absurd collection of racing drivers ever assembled. Charles is wearing a button-down that’s a little too unbuttoned. Lando brought opera glasses. Yuki is eating something from his jacket pocket. Fernando Alonso is sipping wine.

Oscar looks like he’s praying for the floor to swallow him.

Max is in all black, sunglasses tucked into the collar of his shirt, and somehow still manages to look like the only person meant to be there. But even from up here, you can tell he’s nervous.

You wink at him mid-song. He almost falls off his seat.

—

Backstage, after bows, you’re mobbed in your dressing room before you can even change.

“YOU WERE FLOATING!” Lando yells, practically vibrating. “YOU WERE IN A BUBBLE AND YOU SANG ABOUT SHOES—THIS IS HIGH ART.”

Charles grabs your hand dramatically. “I cried. Twice. Maybe three times. When you sang 'For Good'? I saw God.”

Isack is holding up his Playbill like it's a diploma. “This is going in a frame.”

Yuki squints at your wig on the counter. “Do you wear that the whole time?”

Oscar is sitting on your couch with his head in his hands. “You were amazing, but I will never recover from Carlos saying ‘bro she has pipes’ during act one.”

“Oh come on,” Carlos says from the doorway. “She does!”

“Who yelled ‘SLAY’ when I hit the high note?” you ask.

Everyone points at Ollie.

“Fair,” you laugh.

Pierre holds up his phone. “Can we take a photo? The lighting in here is tragic, but I need to flex.”

“Absolutely not,” Max cuts in smoothly, stepping beside you with a rare, proud smile. “She gets a proper photo. Outside. After party lighting only.”

“After party?” you blink.

He raises a brow. “I’m Max Verstappen. You think I’d bring the entire grid to Broadway and not plan a party after?”

You’re still in pink heels and half a tiara when Lando drags you out to the alley behind the theatre, where Max has arranged for a glowing rooftop bar, themed cocktails including a "Defy Gravity" drink that turns your tongue green, and a tiny cake with gold icing.

Oscar’s still somewhere in the corner muttering, “This is not happening,” while Carlos tries to flirt with your Elphaba understudy and Yuki steals glitter stars off the cake for no reason.

Max just stands beside you, arm around your waist, champagne in hand, looking utterly out of place in a room full of theatre kids and F1 chaos—but still completely, entirely yours.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” you murmur.

He glances at the crowd—Lando dancing to “Popular” on a barstool, Charles holding a drink that sparkles, Kimi Antonelli taking selfies with a Glinda wand someone gave him.

He smiles.

“I’ve survived Monaco. I’ll survive this.”

You tilt your head up. “Are you proud of me?”

He looks at you like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“I’m in awe of you.”

And then he kisses you again—under rooftop lights, with the whole grid cheering, the whole city twinkling, and just the faintest trace of glitter still on his jacket.

—

1K notes · View notes