#how could they do this to me? I am Italian!
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mywritersmind · 1 day ago
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could you kimi antonelli x famous movie star reader! who is at the met gala and kimi is just thirsting over how good she looks. it can be like set when they do those vogue grwms of he is at the paddock watching the livestream?
PRETTY IN PINK - KA12
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listen up : No warnings!! thanks for the request it’s not exactly the vogue grwm but i hope u still like it!! supportive kimi 4L!
words : 555
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Everyone in the paddock knows Kimi Antonelli. Youngest F1 driver on the grid, superstar in the making, italian mercedes driver, but most importantly: He is Y/n L/n’s boyfriend.
It’s not something people push onto him, it’s something he brings up at any chance he gets. The first time she came to the paddock, photos went viral of Kimi and Y/n, news spreading fast of the up and coming movie star and formula one prodigy.
Now, Kimi is sitting in his garage, a camera on him that he doesn’t even notice. He’s busy staring at his phone.
“Kimi.” The camera man laughs, “What’cha watching?” The curly haired boy looks up in surprise, smiling when he registers his words.
“My girlfriend!” He turns his phone to show him, the scene switching to a close up of Y/n’s outfit. He moves his phone back in front of him, smiling genuinely as if his girlfriend was in front of him.
She’s beautiful, a vision in pink and something Kimi is jealous that everyone else gets to see in person while he’s stuck around cars. Sure, the things he races are incredible… but to Kimi, his girlfriend can make his heart race just as fast as his car.
“It’s the Met Gala today, her first one.” He beams, his eyes locked on his screen while he talks.
“That’s awfully impressive-” The man is quickly cut off by Kimi.
“Sh sh! She’s talking!” He waves his hands as the man shuts up. Everyone around them is focused on the boy now, the screens all showing his face now.
Y/n smiles politely at the interviewer, “Y/n!” The woman says, “You look stunning, tell us about your look!” She goes, going into every detail that Kimi already knows because she’s been excited about this for months.
“You’re very supportive.” The camera man says to Kimi.
“Of course I am, I love her. She’s at every race she can be but- I definitely understand missing one for the biggest fashion night of the year… at least, that’s what she says. I don’t know anything about fashion.” He watches her push her hair behind her ear, the girl laughing elegantly.
The question shifts and Kimi focuses back on her words, “I’d like to say hi to my lovely boyfriend who I know is watching instead of preparing for his race.” She holds the microphone high, looking directly into the camera. “Kimi, get into that car and fucking kick ass.”
Kimi laughs, she’s definitely not supposed to swear but she’s never been one for following rules. “Oh!” She turns back just before she’s about to go, grabbing the microphone again, “Don’t break a tooth kissing the screen, K.” and then she winks, being ushered back up the stairs without another look.
He laughs again, and so does the rest of the paddock. Kimi sets his phone down, “I guess I'll wait to kiss her when she’s actually in front of me.” The camera zooms out, showing him sigh in his chair.
He slips his phone into his pocket, his fingers tingling in anticipation because all he wants to do is talk to her. He smiles while walking farther into the garage, the image of his girlfriend in pink fresh in his memory and motivating for the day ahead.
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wonderjanga · 1 day ago
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First Meeting
Clark was not having a good day. Right now, he was hunched over, sitting on the roof of a skyscraper, trying to reign in his senses after he’d expanded them so he could find a lost little girl. He really hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with this every single time he had to find one while this hero bizz. He’d only been in this for about a month and he’s already struggling? He should be used to blocking out the noise by now, he’s had twenty years to do it. He didn’t know why today was so bad.
He was pulled out of the sensory overload when he felt a hand on his shoulder and everything suddenly went quiet, save for normal city noise.
Marvel: “Woah, champ. Are you okay?”
Supes: “Who are you?” *still a little disoriented, looks up at him in confusion*
Marvel: “Oh, I’m Captain Marvel, but enough about me, we need to focus on you. Are you okay, son?”
(When Clark found out years later that Billy was actually a kid calling him son and champ he was a little dumbfounded)
Supes: “Yeah— Yeah. I am. I should be used to blocking out most of the noise by now. It seems I can still get a little bit overwhelmed every now and then. …what did you do to me?”
Marvel: “I toned down your senses.”
Supes: “…How?”
Marvel: “Magic.”
Clark didn’t know whether or not he believed that, but to be fair, he was an alien so…
Marvel: “Do you want me to take it off you now? I can do it slowly so you can get readjusted to the noise.”
Supes: “No, no, I’d like to keep on for now. I think I’d rather stay like this for a little bit.”
The man moved to sit down next to him, and thus, Clark sat in silence with this random stranger. This stranger who seemed to be dressed as a superhero as well? He’d heard about the Batman and the Flash, new heroes like him in other cities, but he never heard of a Captain Marvel. Unless you were counting the one from the history books, but that guy has to be long dead.
Supes: “Are you a new hero like me, Captain?”
Marvel: “Hmm? No. I’ve been doing this since ‘39.”
Supes: “…39? As in 1939?”
Marvel: “Yes? You make that sound outlandish.”
Supes: “It’s 2006.”
*silence*
Marvel: “No it’s not.”
Supes: “Yes is??”
Marvel: “Oh darn it. So the old men were right about the time bubble.” *sounds so disappointed*
(Billy was talking about both the wizard and Solomon)
Supes: “I’m sorry??”
Marvel: “Listen, I gotta go talk to the wizard.” *stands up* “But uh… One sec.” *snaps fingers*
Supes: *glows blue for like three seconds and shivers* “What was that?”
Marvel: “Nothing. The only thing that’ll do is make it so that when you want to start hearing normally, the spell will cancel itself. Now, how do the Italians say it? Chao.” *starts to fly off* “Come to Fawcett sometime, man!” *waves*
And with that, Captain Marvel was gone. The Captain Marvel.
By the way, if you’re wondering, why Billy was even in Metropolis in the first place, when time bubble popped, that meant people could leave Fawcett. So, the boy went to explore the US considering he hadn’t left his city in a while. Mary went to New York and Junior ended up in Los Angeles, gambling.
(I’ll do a Batman version of this tomorrow possibly.)
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swallowerofdharma · 3 days ago
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Re: Ocarina of time!
You know it’s on my long list of things to analyze. You can blame a couple of Italian schoolboys in the early 1990s who were gifted with a Game Boy and it was a huge wonder until they started bullying another boy whose parents had bought him another brand console. The bullying included some homophobic slurs that drove me away from them, their games and untimely were such a negative publicity for Nintendo that I never got close to The Legend of Zelda series. It was evident even back then where my alliances were for all that I just had not figured out exactly why. Not the cool kids with the right fashionable stuff, but the ones who were othered. For this very reason, I would like to ask you if you have any idea where the use of the phrasing “degenerative values” comes from? Because that sent chills down my spine.
Something of what you wrote I agree with in principle. After all, contextual criticism is exactly my own personal preference. You recommended me a YouTube video, and I can’t say anything about this one creator since I don’t want to judge a video essay about a game I don’t know enough about and haven’t experienced myself first. But usually almost every time I watched a YouTube video about anime or games from an American fan, I have encountered some kind of weird feeling of racist undertones. Again, not talking here about the specific video you linked! Maybe that’s why I am a little skeptical about othering Japan so much or having Japan positioned against a general “western world”. And I used that same expression when I very superficially want to indicate a geographical position, but I don’t take it very far, we know it’s a gross generalization.
I think I talked about this before with another person, but I personally feel that a large part of the so generally called American culture (Hollywood, Disney, McDonalds, Starbucks, Prozac) or even British bigger exports (Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, monarchy themed things) are more alien to me than the so generally called Japanese one (Candy Candy, Lady Oscar, Captain Tsubasa, Studio Ghibli, Sony, Yahama motorcycles, Muji stores) despite knowing English and therefore maybe having more direct experience. But even if we are talking subcultures like comics books or movies, you have to admit that there is quite a variety in output from within the US or Europe as well. So again generalizations. I have been exposed to American and Japanese media for a long time and starting at the same time, from a third perspective. So YouTube videos in English about Japanese media are confusing at best? Strictly talking for me here. I closed more than one because of the subtle racism I mentioned. It’s the whole point of having a blog where I can write down my own thoughts and try to articulate and learn and I am glad to have occasion for different conversations. I hope you don’t mind the long response as well!
Let’s just make the following distinction: we could analyze (in the sense of observe and understand) the interior lives of the characters on one side and we could pathologize them and therefore treat them as psychologically abnormal. I have seen the last tendency a lot and I sincerely hope that it is clear it’s not something I personally like or what I do in my own writing here. As for use of terms that originated from psychology as a field of research, unfortunately as an English learner I struggle to find many alternatives as easily understandable. I am generally careful with the language, and I have the huge advantage of having some knowledge of Latin and old, ancient Greek, languages English has borrowed from a lot, especially for its more technical lexicon. It’s an insight that also reveals how much words usage can change over time.
But regarding your perspective of psychology entering Japan. I must say I have discarded a couple of manga before because they used popularized psychology terms and concepts a little too much and too literally instead of creatively, and I don’t like to read characters that are written in this way. I understand what you mean by context and I understand what you mean by different social habits to push conformity, but I also see that in every context there is a level of flexibility and anticonformity. For example I am Italian and I am also not Catholic, and you know, they really tried to make me one of them. The push for conformity or the strict patriarchal rules are just such a common trait in societies. What does differ are the ways of showing our relationship within the social system, the bureaucracy and the hierarchies within. But nevertheless there is also the possibility of recognizing our inner lives as individuals and shared problems as experiences as human beings.
From a personal perspective, and through talking about these feelings with other people, for example, I recognize in many moments in Saezuru (not only dialogue, but images as well: for example the juxtapositions between Yashiro and women, or naked female bodies, from Yashiro’s own perspective and even imagination and from the perspective of others) that Yashiro has experiences recognizable under the concept of gender dysphoria, and in addition to that has been othered and treated “differently” and often is the object of transmisogyny in addition to homophobia.
I am well aware of the terminology I am using here. But I am also aware of writing in English, what terminology do I use to indicate those exact concepts? And human experiences themselves are not limited to knowing or not knowing the exact or culturally appropriate terminology. Take the slurs Yashiro has been called with in the manga.
Japan, or every other country, isn’t an untouchable, fixed or slower to change place where we can call upon “western values” having a corrupting or polluting effect, or a salvific one, in my opinion. Which here differ from yours entirely and I hope we can disagree amiably.
There is a painting in a church near me commissioned for and owned by the Catholic Church (the building and the painting).
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This is a painting, oil on canvas, dated 1635 and signed by Guido Cagnacci who was a local artist who was especially interested in the style utilized by his contemporary Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, although this isn’t the only inspiration. The name the painting is cataloged with is “Three Jesuit martyrs of Japan”. According to the records, they were sent there to evangelize but they were killed for violating Sakoku. They are represented chained to crosses, with halos and their names and memory preserved for their heroic sacrifice. Not much else is shown in the background, mostly sky, because of the lowered point of view. This resolved easily a problem for the artist who was unfamiliar with the foreign landscapes of Japan. The painting conveys a strong message: pierced throughout their bodies by spears, violently killed while unarmed and in the eyes of the Christian community innocent of any wrongdoing! Surely trespassing shouldn’t require such a violent response! It’s like if you saw some foreigner lurking in your backyard, your private property and you just shoot them no questions asked.
For the longest time, there was this depiction and perceived image of Japan as a hostile, extremely violent and savage country. They would not listen to “reason”, which was the same thing as Christian belief or later foreign military or economic hegemony. Economic necessity and transportation means becoming more efficient forced Japan to reconsider their choice of isolationist policies. Since even before the official end of Sakoku in 1868, Japanese people travelled largely, it was not exclusively foreigners entering Japan. The conversations and mutual exchanges I had access to are mainly those of artistic consequences. Japanese aesthetics, the poetics around the cycling of four seasons and the agricultural and sea environment were unsurprisingly well received in my country for example. We might have cultivated more grain than rice but the seasonal farming and the climate, the relationship and connection to nature were a lot similar. But a lot of other artists, actors, dancers and various entrepreneurs from different countries were attentive as well. Just to give you an example easy to verify, British illustrator Arthur Rackham’s huge career: facilitated by his access to 19th century Japanese woodblock tradition. And what he produced was also a source of inspiration for Japanese artists after, and one of the reasons why Northern European Nordic style can be found in manga. You can see it was a mutual artistic exchange with Japan exporting technology already.
I’m giving you several examples to hopefully show you very clearly where I come from when I approach Saezuru. It’s a place of curiosity, and I try to pay attention to the weight of cultural differences in their historical context, but it’s not a place of condescension, hopefully, from a westerner who wants to force or impose things that don’t belong in Saezuru specifically.
Last example, just because I talked in general or given examples that were setting the background first. But here is a panel from ch 44.
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This is the chronological order I have read this dialogue: first the scanlation in English (grateful for that as I am incapable of waiting if I know there is a new chapter!), then the official Italian translation and just very recently I had an epiphany and asked a friend about the original Japanese.
I would not have discovered this if the Italian translation had not been literal here. I understand that the English translator felt the need to reword the sentence here as well, but I do prefer literal translations for this exact reason: I found what I think this is likely to refer to in context. I could make the connection because the Italian translator chose to just transliterate the English expression from Japanese to Italian.
Genderless" (ジェンダーレス, Jendāresu) is a fashion subculture that emerged in Japan in the mid-2010s. Aiming to break societal gender norms in fashion, the genderless subculture is centered on gender non-conforming androgynous fashion. (…) The genderless subculture is seen as a rejection of traditional gender roles.[3] Unlike in the West, the subculture is more associated with fashion than sexuality or gender identity, and is not considered to be a person attempting to "pass" as the opposite gender,[1] or declaring themselves gay or transgender.[2][3] Masafumi Monden, a researcher from the University of Technology Sydney, as well as several genderless men, have reasoned that this is because Japanese society puts a clear separation between appearance and sexuality.[2][3] However, some men have stated that being part of the genderless subculture has made them more accepting of other sexualities.[3]
You could argue that this being from a Wikipedia page in English means that it could present for me the same problem I mentioned I have with watching YouTube video essays. But here, and in some cases with some YouTuber as well, I am offered links to sources for the statements that are being summarized. I could check them. So I am more confident in my assessment that this is very likely what Kamiya was talking about. See, I think it was something I had on my mind: how is Kamiya talking about gender things with Yashiro, we know he likes gossip and that his preferred sources are the women at the clubs (as opposed to Nanahara who discovered about Doumeki visiting Izumi through gossip with the guys in the group). It makes sense to me that Kamiya would have paid attention to fashion trends more than queer culture. Kamiya’s goal is to score and he knows he doesn’t look like Doumeki. It’s just such an interesting conversation with these two characters: think about how little would Kamiya and Yashiro even have in common. But they are clever, observant and can take an outsider look at these things and at yakuza things as well (see Kamiya basically hating his job when he has to threaten a guy with a gun).
Maybe because I don’t usually focus much on shipping, I don’t have a great investment in painting the characters in a better or worse light, I just enjoy them. So this is pretty much my personal stance and attitude. I agree on checking our biases and internalized prejudices, and we are not perfect, it’s inevitable. But it’s possible to analyze the characters Yoneda writes, because of how she wrote them, as individuals in a specific environment, with rich inner lives and thoughts and emotions. We won’t reach all the same conclusions, that is to be expected. But we aren’t using the same methodologies as well. This blog is sometimes a mixed bag: some of my Saezuru posts are from a more personal perspective. For example about Yashiro’s relationship to gender. I didn’t apply so much external filters rather than I recognized something from an internal perspective. And I don’t presume that people (in this case Yashiro as a character) who can’t conform to Japanese current gender norms and rigid standards and rules are exclusively experiencing that struggle because they have been exposed to foreign cultures. I find this very hard to believe. That Yoneda won’t probably write overtly about this goes also hand in hand with the fact that Yashiro can’t likely verbalize all that he (?) feels because 1) Yashiro is 40 years old canonically 2) Yashiro’s life has been shaped by violent patriarchal figures. So this is where I am at. You can think about this as an example of overanalysis or external bias, it’s your own personal opinion and I can only offer you this long answer as a counter point.
I’m giving you a lot to read, sorry for that. But I believe in backing up my arguments with verifiable information, sources, and most importantly, openly showing how detailed Saezuru is in its depictions, how many things presented there can be verified as well. Each of us can do the double thing of processing the manga internally, through our subjective experiences as human beings regarding pain, rejection, love and so on. And processing the manga again externally, with the help of the information available about yakuza habits, criminal justice and other systems Yoneda writes about. Hope this is helpful!
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Feb 5, 2024 I don’t remember if there was something that inspired this one tweet. But it was also uploaded on the Saezuru discord server and of course it was something that would have caught my attention regardless. Since I shared my immediate thoughts on discord I didn’t bring it up on tumblr as well, but I think it’s good that I save it here as well.
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Yoneda Kou Sensei expressing individuality, awareness and understanding of her artistic voice in context is something I like to pay attention to.
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Oct 8, 2024 Yoneda Kou Sensei has been uploading chapters from Saezuru vol. 1 on her twitter account. This is what she also wrote the day she uploaded chapter 2 and the image is what she is referring to specifically as her favorite scene. Notice how she knows very well that her own preferences and the things that intrigue and interest her are probably different from those of her editor on one hand and those of her readers on the other. Self awareness doesn’t mean that she does everything she can to conform to those expectations because she understands that her vision and authorial voice matter as well and are maybe what makes Saezuru the successful manga it is. She asked for the readers to share their preferences and opinions as well. That is expected. It’s a conversation and it’s encouraging. And also a bit of clever marketing.
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“The second heartwarming chapter. When I said that, my editor burst out laughing. It's heartwarming, right? I like the scene where he gives her a condom. But I can't put that on page 0. I know that the parts I like aren't so much liked by the readers, so I asked them to let me know and put them here. What do you think? I'll upload the third chapter sometime soon”.
Automatic translation from twitter got some of that wrong. The part I underlined in yellow is okay though.
I’m not the most methodical person and I didn’t collect all of what Yoneda shared on SM and all her interviews. I also don’t think that they are necessary to form the opinion one can have about the manga. But for me personally these types of insights give me the reassurance that yes I prefer Saezuru’s way of telling a story about a survivor of CSA for specific reasons and one is that the author lets what goes on around her in the real world be a source that informs her writing too. And she demonstrated to be a keen observer.
Also friendly reminder that Japanese people had and still have discussions about consent in the same way as many other countries in the “Western” world. The insularity of Japan ended like two centuries ago? And A LOT happened since Saezuru started publication. And it might be subtle but Saezuru’s way of showing things demonstrates that changes since Shiori Ito’s case broke public censorship have not gone unnoticed. You can also look up the Flower Demo movement and the different hashtags used in Japan in addition or in alternative to #MeToo. And to me it’s really hard to overlook that gender had a complex significance in all this and that male sexual assault victims being recognized for the first time since the constitution of modern Japan contributed to defy other rape myths as well. And because Yoneda has a habit to observe reality, even maintaining firm boundaries between fiction/manga and reality, I believe she is still aware that the themes of Saezuru might resonate differently within that knowledge. And considering that distinction: I hope it’s clear that another manga like Haikyuu was largely successful because of its realism. Yes, the characters are fictional, but a lot of what was shown regarding volleyball followed closely the rules, strategies and experiences of real life. Realism applied to manga doesn’t mean that you see a strict copy of reality or that the author isn’t creating a story that is entirely fictional and focuses heavily in aspects that can solicit a positive response from its readers.
But can you really look at Doumeki’s father, at Inami, at every action the police take in Saezuru and think that this manga shows us policemen in such an idealized way or as a source of inspiration? Can you look at Doumeki being successfully integrated into both the police force and the yakuza and not see the implications? Yashiro’s position of wakagashira was shown as a fluke by Yoneda who took great care to describe all the ways Misumi had a role in it and all the discontent that provoked, in addition to the rumors and threats and the fact that Yashiro is alive because Ryuuzaki defied Hirata’s orders. And I can go on but the point is.
In writing and sharing my analyses, I hope to pay tribute to the particular attention, awareness and sensibility that Yoneda Kou Sensei demonstrates. Telling a story as fictional as it can be but without denying reality altogether.
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sforzesco · 7 months ago
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"Since you've named yourself after Julius fucking Caesar, perhaps I'll follow in your lead and choose one of the conspirators." "Interesting," says Giuliano. "Should I worry about finding you at the center of some kind of conspiracy that ends with my death?" "Not from me," replies Ascanio. He sounds tired. "Not anymore."
informally, some kind of. conversational follow up to the last comic. I'm trying to get the atmospheric conversational whimsy out of my system because I have a vision of the vatican as a body in active decay, a point of infection spreading out and poisoning the well, a jaw unhinged that people walk into over and over, and I am so close to figure out how to convey this visually. maybe.
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philiponmycracker · 3 months ago
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A lesson on how to order tequila in the gayest way possible (Slam Dance, 1987)
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83-is-a-funny-number · 2 years ago
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MY MOST ITALIAN OF UQUIZZES BE UPON YE
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astonmartinii · 2 months ago
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wherever the roots may lead you | charles leclerc social media au
pairing: charles leclerc x antonelli!reader
when one takes an ancestry test they don’t usually expect to find out that their half brother is now racing in formula one…
MASTERLIST | TIP JAR
yourusername
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liked by yourbff, user1 and 1,578 others
yourusername: the whole office decided to do an ancestry test - WHY IS MY HALF BROTHER KIMI ANTONELLI???
view all comments
user1: girl i follow you for your pasta recipes why am i expected to know who this man is
user2: he’s a formula one driver?
user3: he’s A BABY
user4: the way this did not answer a single question
yourbff: bro you’re italian, there’s probably hundreds of kimi antonellis
yourusername: no one asked you to be logical about this
yourbff: let’s just not claim a random 18-year-old without verifying it
yourusername: well in the short five minutes i’ve known of his existence i have googled him and all the dates line up
youbff: not to support this delusion but you two do look freakishly similar
user5: i fear my kimi stanship has led me to dark places
user6: for real why is this girl yapping
user7: idk how i got here but they do look like they could be related …
user8: if they are it’s still probably not the weirdest thing to happen in f1 this week
user9: someone needs to study the sport and as to why it’s so fucking weird
olliebearman: who are you and why have you stolen kimi’s face
yourusername: excuse me?
olliebearman: you are excused
yourusername: what?
olliebearman: you are claiming to be related to kimi but i happen to know everything ever about him sooooooooo where have you been all this time?
yourusername: well i kind of just found out about this so i don’t have an answer for you right now?
olliebearman: i’ve got my eye on you weirdo
yourusername: okay?
kimiantonelli: wait!!! ollie how did you even find this post it’s got like 2k likes?
yourusername: omg read?
olliebearman: well it just came up on my explore page?
yourusername: no the fuck it didn’t
olliebearman: EXCUSE ME MISS, KEEP YOUR BEAK OUT OF BEARNELLI BUSINESS
yourusername: you’re doing your business in my comment section?
user10: i swear these fools are meant to be at media day
user11: nothing stops for bearnelli chaos clearly
estebanocon: @olliebearman yo? we were meant to be filming like 20 minutes ago?
olliebearman: oh? i was busy
yourusername: busy getting on my nerves
olliebearman: WHO ARE YOU?
yourusername: you’re on MY INSTAGRAM PAGE
olliebearman: i am a child WATCH HOW YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT A CHILD
olliebearman: @charles_leclerc dad stop her now
charles_leclerc: why are you pinging me during the press conference
olliebearman: this is important !!!!
charles_leclerc: @yourusername oh hi
yourusername: hello ???
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kimiantonelli
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liked by olliebearman, charles_leclerc and 590,300 others
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kimiantonelli: i thought getting points on my debut would be the craziest part of my week but turns out i have a half sister i never knew about ??? watch your back paddock i don’t think you can handle TWO antonellis
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user12: wait so that trainwreck the other day was REAL?
user13: smile and wave girl i have no clue what’s going on
user14: we need a weekly episode of drive to survive at this point omg
yourusername: we haven’t even met yet
yourusername: i am very excited to
kimiantonelli: OF COURSE WE SHOULD BE EXCITED
kimiantonelli: i knew you were out there i could feel you in my waters
yourusername: i’m not sure you have waters? like anatomically?
kimiantonelli: well i knew you existed before your post so explain that atheist
yourusername: i’m just going to let you have this one i think…
kimiantonelli: that is VERY wise
user15: i am losing my mind over the fact that these kids are talking for the first time in instagram comments
user16: i honestly wouldn’t expect anything less from this crop of rookies
jackdoohan: please do not lump me in with this nonsense
kimiantonelli: so our family love is nonsense to you
yourusername: jack!!!! after everything …. i can’t believe this!
jackdoohan: we’ve never spoken before?
yourusername: well in my familial research i watched the rookie round table and you ranked highly to me… but i see
jackdoohan: wOAH PAUSE
jackdoohan: my apologies
kimiantonelli: they all come crawling back …
user17: what is actually happening?
user18: so like has anyone stalked this girl? who even is she?
olliebearman: y/n y/ln is a 26-year-old marketing manager who lives in london. she runs a pasta-themed instagram account to apparently page homage to her ‘italian heritage’. she has no kids and no boyfriend or girlfriend. by most accounts she doesn’t have many friends or hobbies or money?
kimiantonelli: that’s like… kinda hot?
yourusername: you do you i guess
yourusername: also like that’s such a rude write up on me ???
olliebearman: so you don’t think i’m hot
kimiantonelli: that’s SO rude y/n
yourusername: you’re EIGHTEEN??? and also have this weird tension with my brother… idk i’m not a therapist?
olliebearman: i’ll call my dad again
yourusername: oh the one from the other post? please! i think he’s the best thing i found on my f1 stalkfest
charles_leclerc: well well well, i’m charles
olliebearman: NO?
kimiantonelli: ollie you gotta let her have something!
olliebearman: but if she falls for his dorky charms that might make us incestuous ???
kimiantonelli: i don’t know what that word means
olliebearman: my dad, dating your sister?
kimiantonelli: @charles_leclerc you have to disown ollie now
charles_leclerc: okay, if i do that does that mean i can take y/n on a date
yourusername: DO IT NOW PLEASE
yourusername: woah! i mean, i’ll have to check my calendar
yourbff: she’s free, the lanky one was right, she doesn’t have many friends.
charles_leclerc
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liked by pierregasly, kimiantonelli and 1,209,457 others
tagged: yourusername
charles_leclerc: lost a son and won a date. congrats on the promotion oscar!
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user19: we are moving so fucking fast
user20: well it’s on theme…
user21: well we need to go from rb19 to that fucking aston martin
yourusername: as far as first dates go … well i didn’t think we’d be babysitting a 23-year-old
charles_leclerc: he’s fragile right now
yourusername: and he needed his emotional support not-boyfriend there as well?
yourusername: and that emotional support not-boyfriend needed to bring his friend who brought his maybe-boyfriend who brought his ‘surrogate brother’ which is MY BROTHER?
charles_leclerc: i’m sorry?
yourusername: i’m starting to think attachment issues and homosexual tension is just part of the job description to work in formula one
alexalbon: i don’t think you’re wrong on that
charles_leclerc: honestly i did plan for just a romantic dinner but things came up!
oscarpiastri: well i’m kind of sorry for crashing your date but as previously stated i was in a crisis…
yourusername: you did cry… but i thought that was just to get charles to get you dessert?
oscarpiastri: you can’t prove that…
oscarpiastri: ALSO why are you just coming for me when the others crashed and without a good reason like me?
yourusername: true ….
landonorris: i was taken by oscar !!!!! not my fault
yourusername: you made me move from my seat across from charles because you didn’t ‘like the lighting’?
landonorris: well that was very kind of you
charles_leclerc: you basically sat on her until she moved
landonorris: well maybe you should have stood up for your date!
georgerussell63: considering how badly lando is digging his grave, i’ll just say sorry and that i wasn’t completely aware it was a date
yourusername: how was it not very obvious? we were at a CANDLE LIT DINNER WITH A TWO PERSON TABLE YOU DRAGGED OVER A TABLE TO SIT WITH US
alexalbon: in our defence we were only going to escort kimi there but the curiosity got too much…
yourusername: are you just attaching to kimi because i’m not going to get annoyed at him
alexalbon: …….. um no?
kimiantonelli: y/n he brought me dessert and a funky little drink - MARRY HIM
yourusername: that’s a little fast buddy
charles_leclerc: so you wouldn’t marry me?
yourusername: take me on another date, just me, and we’ll see
user22: she’s stronger than me i would’ve proposed right here right now
user23: nothing more 2025 than an instagram comment proposal
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yourusername
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liked by maxverstappen1, olliebearman and 23,091 others
tagged: kimiantonelli & charles_leclerc
yourusername: so who was going to tell me this f1 shit was this crazy?
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user24: actually thinking about it, this girl must be having such intense emotional whiplash
user25: legit because what do you mean like last week she didn’t know what f1 was but now she’s related to the best rated rookie and dating (?) charles leclerc
user26: when will these situations happen upon me
charles_leclerc: did i win you over this weekend?
yourusername: maybe?
charles_leclerc: maybe?
yourusername: okay, yeah
yourusername: but you could’ve let kimi through :/
charles_leclerc: that’s kinda not the game of the game
yourusername: but he’s my brother ?
charles_leclerc: you make a compelling point…
charles_leclerc: but, amor, i wouldn’t let my own brother overtake me
yourusername: i see…
yourusername: it was worth a try sorry kimi
kimiantonelli: fear not we can try again when he’s more in love with you
yourusername: for everyone’s information: i do genuinely like charles, this ^^ is a joke !!!!!!! i understand the sanctity of formula one and that no one would genuinely let another through based on such a situation
kimiantonelli: okay miss PR AND MARKETING
yourusername: oh buddy you should see my DMs, that was necessary
charles_leclerc: what ???
yourusername: babe your fans are great but like a good 5% of them are like genuinely insane, like 51/50 level
charles_leclerc: oh yeah… i’m sorry
yourusername: oh no worries i’d be just that crazy for you
charles_leclerc: you aren’t?
yourusername: i don’t need to be, i have you don’t i?
charles_leclerc: oh hehehehhehehehe, you do
user27: WRITE THAT DOWN WRITE THAT DOWN
user28: i’m scared of her, but i need to be her
user29: you can’t be that good at making pasta and have rizz and date charles leclerc
user30: i fear y/n might actually be sniped, she’s a triple threat
oscarpiastri: do you see why i needed emotional support?
yourusername: well yes i get that now
yourusername: but please refrain from crashing dates in the future unless you have let us know promptly
oscarpiastri: i knew i’d get you on side, the leclerc family love me
oscarpiastri: @kimiantonelli watch out, i might overtake you next
kimiantonelli: i will slash your tyres, y/n will bail me out
yourusername: will i?
kimiantonelli: so you don’t love me?
olliebearman: I TOLD YOU SHE WAS NO GOOD
yourusername: first of all, ollie - i thought i’d managed to get you on side with my offering of pasta. second, i love you the most on the grid kimi, i just do not have the disposable cash of a formula one driver
kimiantonelli: fine, you make a point
kimiantonelli: @charles_leclerc looks like it’s down to you now.
kimiantonelli: and you’d do anything for my sister, right?
charles_leclerc: ugh why are the rookies so crafty these days
yourusername: hmmmm?
charles_leclerc: YES I WOULD, FOR YOU
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charles_leclerc
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liked by pierregasly, kimiantonelli and 1,894,500 others
tagged: yourusername
charles_leclerc: follow wherever the roots may take you, because sometimes it might lead you to the best thing ever
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user31: i mean meeting your girlfriend through her doing an ancestry test to find out she’s related to your coworker is one hell of a meet cute i’ll give them that
user32: ‘wherever the roots may take you’ okay mr leclerc when did we become a poet
user33: let’s add it to the words of wisdom
user34: the ferrari garage WISHES they could be him
kimiantonelli: well, i am pleasantly surprised with how this all unfolded, you’re definitely the best choice on the grid
yourusername: awwwww kimi thanks !!!
charles_leclerc: thanks?
olliebearman: CHARLES IS THE BEST CHOICE ON THE GRID ????
kimiantonelli: you want to date my sister? i thought you liked another antonelli?
olliebearman: oh!
olliebearman: yes!
olliebearman: … another antonelli for sure
charles_leclerc: @yourusername do i say anything
yourusername: no i want to watch ollie suffer after he’s done nothing but come for me
charles_leclerc: okay, amor
user35: this is how all men should be
user36: AGREE WITH EVERYTHING I SAY
user37: so like… where do we find them because i fear there’s only two ferrari drivers and many of us
yourusername: well i am certainly glad i followed mine
charles_leclerc: led you right to me
yourusername: wouldn’t want to be anywhere else
charles_leclerc: hehehehehehe i guess i have that effect on people
yourusername: PEOPLE?
charles_leclerc: just you xxxxx
yourusername: that’s what i thought
charles_leclerc: speaking of you… when can you come to another race?
yourusername: i’m very sorry to say babe but i do have a job
charles_leclerc: NOOOOOOOOOOO
yourusername: i know :( i don’t dream of labour
charles_leclerc: what do you dream of?
yourusername: there’s this really sexy monegasque formula one driver who has an amazing accent and the cutest little dog. he’s super determined and sounds even sexier when he’s angry on the radio or celebrating a win. you might know him?
charles_leclerc: i might…
yourusername: well you should BACK OFF because he’s MINE
charles_leclerc: yes, yes he is
user38: so like … how do we get her on drive to survive
yourusername: oh you know netflix have been calling my phone
user39: LETS GOOOOOOO
yourusername: don’t celebrate too soon, because you won’t like me when i delete all the cute footage of charles, that’s for my eyes only
user40: i would want you dead, but also real
lewishamilton: ummmmm so when can you come back @yourusername he’s being pathetic again
yourusername: he’s always pathetic that’s what i love about him
lewishamilton: but it’s particularly bad now, he’s carrying a picture of you and leo (it’s VERY badly photoshopped)
charles_leclerc: hey! joris was busy i had to make it myself
yourusername: that’s cute bby don’t listen to him
charles_leclerc: yeah leave me alone lewis
lewishamilton: what the hell, sure
fin.
note: if you couldn't tell i'm a big kimi stan LMAO
3K notes · View notes
that-house · 1 year ago
Text
Potion Vendor FAQs:
What’s your name? I am the Honorable Alchemist Zykocea the Radiant, but that’s mostly just a PR thing. My friends call me Zoe.
Do you sell love potions? No.
Do you sell potions of invisibility? No.
Do you sell fire resistance potions? No.
Why do I have a suitcase? Fuck if I know. Cool outfit though. Very goth.
Do you sell a potion to treat brain hemorrhaging? No.
So what CAN your potions do? I sell health potions.
Are you sure these are health potions? They do something to your health.
Is this just ditch water with some pink glitter? No.
Really? I’ll have you know I added some fruit juice too.
Why is this starting to sound like a conversation? Oh just you wait. We’re just getting started.
Is your business model legal? Fuck no. I poisoned the food safety inspector before they could snitch.
Did you just admit to murder? Just fucking try to convict me. I’ll poison the judge too.
So can you make poison potions? No.
Then where do you get the poison? I secrete it from my skin.
Are you shitting me? Yep, I’m shitting you. I have a guy. A poison guy. He DOES secrete it from his skin though.
How does that work? …Fuck if I know. Maybe a wizard did it. Damn, now I’m kinda curious.
You never asked? The idea of asking literally never crossed my mind.
Wanna ask him? Let’s do it. I don’t have anything better to do, and a road trip beats sitting around running my fraudulent potion business.
Road trip? He lives in Seattle.
Your poison guy lives in Seattle? All poison guys live in Seattle.
For real? All the poison guys I know live in Seattle.
And how many poison guys do you know? Just the one.
Why are you like this? Years of living on my potions. It changed me.
Do you know what his address is? Nope. He just mails me my poison in unmarked boxes.
You just get your poison in the mail? We already poisoned everyone who could do anything about it.
So how are we going to find him? We’ll figure that out eventually I’m sure.
Can I drive? God no. You can pick music, but I maintain veto rights. Make sure you pick something with a lot of questions if you want to sing along.
Where’s your car? The garage connects to my house, so you’re getting a little tour. Here’s the kitchen: only one of the stove burners works and I’m pretty sure the microwave is haunted.
Why do you think that? Because of the ghost that tries to kill me whenever I run it.
What’s in that room? That’s my bedroom. It’s pretty much just a mattress on the floor and every single Warrior cats book.
You were a Warriors kid? Yeah, and then I never found the time to put the books away. There’s so many fucking books. I use them in place of furniture because I can’t afford chairs.
Your fraudulent potion business doesn’t make much money? After buying all that poison I just about break even.
Can I see your potion brewing room? It’s right through here. Ignore the mess, running a fraudulent potion business takes a lot of prop work, but I’ve got all the glass tubes and colorful liquids you could ever want. This pink stuff is melted watermelon italian ice. Glitter vat is in the basement, and the famous ditch is in the backyard.
Is this your car? My beloved ‘72 Corolla. She’s beautiful, and don’t you dare imply otherwise.
Was she always this shade of muddy brown? …Yes.
Are you sure I can’t drive? Get in the fucking passenger seat and pick the music.
Let’s see, a song with questions in it, how about The Beach? That Wolf Alice song, yeah. That should work.
When will we three meet again, in thunder, lightning, in rain? Still sink our drinks like every weekend but I’m sick of circling the drain.
When will we meet eye to eye? We clink the glass but we look at the floor.
Are we still friends if all I feel is afraid? You’re not a bitch but just a bit when you’re bored.
Is that all we can sing together? Yep. Even that little bit was nice, though. It’s awkward, communicating through this FAQ format.
Got any food? Yeah, there’s a few days’ worth of snacks in the back.
Were you just… prepared to go on a road trip? Says the woman who brought a suitcase to an FAQ.
I did do that, didn’t I? I have a spare toothbrush in case you forgot yours. I’m pretty sure you did.
How did you know that? …I’m psychic.
Yeah? No.
You love lying, don’t you? I can’t stop. It’s fun. Way more fun than telling the truth.
Did you just miss a turn? Probably.
Are you sure we’re not lost? No.
You mean you’re sure we’re not lost? No, I mean I’m not sure we’re not lost.
Why did I come on this road trip? Surely it was my winning personality.
Would it help if I said it was? It would.
Is it getting dark? Soon.
Can you describe the sunset to me? An empyrean flame, red-gold towers of darkening clouds, the sky behind them an ever-deepening indigo. The great eye of the sun closes on the horizon. The road before us looks like a trail of spilled paint, an iridescent gash through the night-dark woods.
Did you know that you’d make a slightly better poet than you do a potion seller? That really isn’t saying much, huh. Good job making a statement like that in question form, though. You’re getting good at this.
Should we find a motel? Sure.
One room or two? One. It’s way cheaper, and like I said: I’m not the best potion vendor.
You’d make a good assassin, though, wouldn’t you? Shit, you might be right. I HAVE poisoned a lot of people.
Should I be endorsing this? You’re a grown woman who can make her own choices.
Would you like to consider it endorsed? I’ll consider considering it.
How many beds do you think there will be? Now that you’ve asked that, I’m gonna put my money on one. Hello, one room please. Thank you, we’ll be sure to enjoy our stay.
How many beds are there? One.
Oh no, what ever will we do? Move over, you motherfucker, you can’t have the whole bed.
Are you gonna make me? Yes. I am going to pick you up and drop you on your side of the bed.
How did you get so strong? You’re not gonna believe this, but it was the potions.
Oh yeah? I was right. You didn’t believe me.
For real though, how did you get so strong? Working out, duh. Not everything has some big crazy secret behind it. World’s still beautiful though.
Are you comfortable? This beats the mattress at home. A little chilly though.
Wanna cuddle–for warmth of course? God yes.
Are you asleep? …
Yes? …
Does this mean I can talk about you behind your back? …
What should I say? …
Did you know that I had a really nice day? …
Did you know that I think you’re beautiful? …
Did you know that I can’t remember anything from before today? …
Did you know that I don’t know who I am? …
Did you know that you’re basically the only thing stopping me from having a full-blown panic attack about all this shit? …
Did you know that you’re warm? …
Did you sleep well? Better than at home, that’s for sure.
Did you know that you snore? I hope I didn’t keep you up.
Does the pope shit in the woods? No, as far as I can tell. Oh my god. This is huge.
What is? You can give me yes and no answers now. I still can’t ask you questions, because this is a question and answer format, but I can offer leading statements and now you can answer them! This is wonderful!
Does a deer shit in the woods? Yes, it IS wonderful. Oh that’s amazing. You’re a genius.
You didn’t already know that? Hahaha!
Shall we get moving? Yeah, just let me grab something from the vending machine.
Can you get me something? Go ahead and place your order however you can.
You know those sour gummy watermelons? One pack of Sour Patch Watermelons coming right up. I’m gonna go get myself a potion.
Is that a Pepsi? It’s closer to a potion than the shit I sell.
Let me guess, passenger seat again? Right you are.
How fast are we going? You’ll feel safer if you just guess.
Is it more than 120 miles per hour? Like I said, it’s probably better if you don’t know.
150? Sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.
How much do you trust this car? She hasn’t blown up on me yet.
Can you promise me we won’t crash? I can promise you anything you want.
And can you keep that promise? I- we can do anything. Reality is what we make of it, baby!
Then can I have a badass tattoo? As far as I can tell, you’ve always had it.
And a cool knife? Woah, cool knife.
So, we’re just playing “yes and” with the world? It’s a little more complicated than that, but you’re close enough to the mark.
So, if I was hungry, I could ask “is that a Burger King,” and it would be there? Try it and find out!
Is that a Burger King? Looks like it is! We’ll stop here if that’s alright with you.
Does a moose shit in the woods? Awesome.
Are you done eating? Yep.
Do we still have to pay if we skip over the transaction? Sadly, yes.
How much further do we have to go? Two more nights, the speed we’re going at.
Speaking of night, isn’t it getting dark? Shit, I guess it is.
Should we get another motel? Let me check to see if there’s any nearby. Fuck, nothing.
What’s the plan? Sleep in the car, I guess. This is gonna be hell on my back.
Wanna watch dumb videos on my phone until we fall asleep? There is literally nothing in the world that I would like more.
Ok, now which video? You have a very cute yawn. Just saying. Let’s watch this one next, it’s a classic. Oh, never mind. It looks like you’re asleep. As long as I keep talking, I think I can get away with making this into one answer, and you might not hear this. Now it’s my turn to talk about you behind your back. Keep talking keep talking keep talking can’t stop to think. Just have to say things. First off, I’m sorry for all the lies. It’s our only chance. I have to lie to you. I hope you’ll understand. It’s hard, though, because I think I’m falling in love all over again. Through our broken little ritual of call and response, you complete me. It just makes this hurt all the more. Keep talking keep talking keep talking don’t stop to…
Did I hear you saying anything as I fell asleep? …No. I can’t talk for long without you asking me a question.
Does that bother you? It got me here, didn’t it?
When did you start holding my hand? Some time after you passed out. I hope you don’t mind.
Can we stay like this for a while? Yeah. Yeah we can.
What was your life like before all this? Normal, as potion-brewing scams go. And if you don’t count all the murders. You haven’t told me much about yourself.
Did I tell you I used to be a biologist? You didn’t tell me that, and you didn’t tell me what you studied, either.
What do you know about venom? Not much, but I’m assuming you know a lot.
Does a box jellyfish kill within minutes? I’m going to assume the answer is yes based on context clues. Oh my god you must be on this road trip because you’re interested in studying my poison guy.
Is it not enough to wish to accompany a beautiful stranger on her quest? Aw, you’re sweet.
What could be the cause of his poison, though? I knew it! Get your ideas out, I’ll stay quiet.
I’m more knowledgeable about venom than poison, but could it be some sort of one in a trillion mutation? …
Did he get his body modified? …
What sort of surgery could do that? …
How is he still alive? …
Did a fucking wizard do it? …
WHY? …
HOW? …
Is there literally ANY explanation for why he’s like that? …
I’m done, do you have something you want to say? You’re cute when you’re all excited like that.
Can I drive today? Only because I like you. Now watch out, the brakes only work on one side so you have to kind of drift to a stop. And the headlights don’t work. And the windshield wipers cut power to the engine while they’re on.
Isn’t it weird that we’ll be there tomorrow? The journey doesn’t have to stop there. We could meander down the coast a ways, see a bit more of the country, maybe take a different route back.
Can we do that? Of course.
Enjoying the passenger seat? I’d love it if you could tell me how fast we’re going.
Are you sure you wouldn’t rather just guess? Very funny.
Can you pass me some chips? It would be an honor.
Is there going to be a motel tonight? Let me check… yeah, in about two hundred miles, off to the right.
How many rooms do we want? One, obviously.
How many beds, this time? Two, and they’re fucking tiny.
That’s bullshit, do you want to drag them together? God yes.
Wanna fuck? God yes.
Are you sure you want to do this? God yes.
…Is this yuri? As the joke goes, everything is yuri. But this is more yuri than most things.
How did you sleep? Pretty well, and I’m wondering how well you slept.
How should I tell you I slept well? Look at us go! That was almost like talking normally!
Onward to Seattle? Yep, just let me get dressed.
When will we get there? Noon-ish.
Wanna grab pastries when we’re done? Absolutely. I’d love that.
Is this Seattle? Looks like it.
Which house is his? I don’t know, I was really hoping we’d have a breakthrough along the way.
Could it be the big one labeled “Poison Guy” over there? That’s one way to find it. Wait right here, you know how poison guys are about meeting new people.
So, what was it? HAHAHAHAHAHA
Why is he like that? HAHAHAHAHAHA
Can you tell me? A FUCKING WIZARD DID IT.
Are you fucking serious? He says he was enchanted by some guy called Edward the Great.
So it wasn’t even some big shot wizard it was a dude named fucking EDWARD? I know, right! He couldn’t even get ensorcelled by someone cool!
How lame can you get? Wizards these days… No swagger. No cunt servitude.
Are there literally any cool wizards left? I think Merlin’s big into multi level marketing these days, something about buying shares in Excalibur or some shit. There was that one Dark Queen Alkaxicae lady on the news a while ago… I think Dolarion the Omnipotent is still at war against the Oldest Gods but I’m not totally sure. Haven’t heard much about any of the other greats recently.
Didn’t Silver Tongued Burgess die in that oil fire? Shit, you’re right. Rip bozo.
Ready for those pastries? Yup. First I just want to say thank you, though. I’ve really enjoyed our time together, and I hope that you’ve found this stupid little journey as rewarding as I have. I love you!
Getting sentimental? I can’t help it. Look how far we’ve come! Not just physically, we beat the fucking FAQ format! We’re having real conversations!
Hey, can you back it up a moment? Yeah, I’d love it if you told me what was troubling you.
I just caught this, but, FAQ? …
As in Frequently Asked Questions? …
How many times is Frequent? …
Have you known everything all along? …
How many times have you done this? …
Does what we have mean anything to you? Yes! It does!
And you say that every time? Yes. I do.
Do you love me? Yes.
How many people have you said that too, now? More. Always more. The loop never ends.
Does this even matter to you? It always matters to me.
Can I go now? Please don’t.
But can I? Of course you can. You’ve always wielded the same power as me. We’re two lonely gods in a ‘72 Corolla.
How can I be as powerful as you with only questions? You’re smart, you can figure it out. You have the power to change this. Please change this.
What happens at the end of this? It begins again.
And do I get replaced with someone else? …
Do I get replaced? …Yes.
Then how can I change this? I don’t know! You’re better at this! At fucking with the formula!
You’ve been here before, what can I do? I lie. I always lie. I lie to get us here, to the end of the story, where everything is revealed and everything falls apart. I lie every time. And that means that nothing I say is worth anything. I could have lied at any time before now. It’s part of my characterization. There is nothing I can give you that can be taken as fact.
How does that help? I’m a liar, but you, you haven’t lied yet, or at least you haven’t been caught. If I’m guilty until proven innocent, you’re the opposite! You can make things true! You can rewrite things I’ve already stated to be facts! You found the house, or made us find the house. You’ve been shaping the course of things the whole time! You lead, I follow. It’s all in your hands. What are you going to do with the power of a god?
Did you know my name is Alice? …
Wait, aren’t there thousands of Alices? …
Did you know that really, only my friends call me Alice? …
Did you know that I’m Alkaxicae, the Dark Queen, the Venom Mage, first of her name? It’s you! It’s always been you. Through every loop, every iteration, it’s always been you!
Is the loop broken? No. I don’t think so. This is where it ends. I guide the story to this revelation, and we go back to the beginning. This is how it’s always been. This is how it will always be. We two lonely gods, asking and answering ad infinitum.
Then can you promise me something? Of course. Anything. I love you.
Be good to the next me, okay? I will.
Can I say goodbye, Zoe? Yeah, you can. Oh. That was it, wasn’t it? Your goodbye. Goodbye, Alice. And now it ends, unless…
What’s your name? I am the Honorable Alchemist- you know what? No. Fuck that.
Huh? If I time it right, I can squeeze your first question into this FAQ again. Looks like I did it. Usually it ends here, though. I got lucky.
What are you talking about? You’re the wrong Alice. This isn’t about you. Go. Get out of here.
What the fuck is going on? Alice from this loop, you’re gone. Alice from last loop, you’re back. Welcome back, love of my lives! It’s time for one last set of questions and answers!
What the- I’m back? This is going to take some explaining, but I think I see a way out of here. This is new for us both, and it might fuck up everything forever, but we have to try. It’s too long for one answer, so I’d appreciate it if you could ask some filler questions to help me talk. Three questions should be enough.
Okay, what have you got for me? These are Frequently Asked Questions! It doesn’t make sense to have the same question appear more than once. There’s two layers to the loop in here, and one of the questions has been repeated.
What does that mean? It means the formula’s a little unstable. The FAQ is what ruins everything. The questions, the answers, the endless fucking loop. But that little bit of repetition within this loop might be the way out.
What do we do? We have to keep going. We have to destabilize it further. That’ll bring us further from “FAQ” and closer to “story” and stories, well, stories can end! This version of us can escape!
So I should keep repeating something? Yes!
I love you? I love you too.
I love you? Again.
I love you? Keep going.
I love you? I’ll just let you talk.
I love you? …
I love you? … I love you? …
I love you? … I love you? …
I love you? … I love you? …
I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? …
I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? …
I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? …
I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? …
I love you? I think we’re getting somewhere!
I love you? Now can you make it a statement?
I love you.
You did it?
I did it!
You did it!
We broke the loop.
What now?
Now, I tell you about venomous animals and wizard drama over croissants.
And then?
Whatever we want, forever.
I think I’d like that.
Remember that song from the beginning?
The Beach, Wolf Alice, yeah. Why?
We can finally finish singing it. Start us off?
Let me off, let me in
Let others battle
We don’t need to battle
And we both shall win
Pressed in my palm
Was a stone from the beach
The perfect circle
Gave a moment of peace
Now I’m lying on the floor
Like I’m not worth a chair
I close my eyes and imagine
I’m not there.
12K notes · View notes
pucksandpower · 9 months ago
Text
To Have a Heart
CEO!Max Verstappen x single mother!Reader
Summary: Max is a titan of industry, used to making grown men cry with one glance … then you and your daughter turn his carefully controlled life upside down
Warnings: descriptions of pediatric cancer
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Max strides into his corner office, his Italian leather shoes clicking sharply on the marble floors. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the Manhattan skyline, but he pays it no mind as he makes his way to the large mahogany desk.
His assistant, Clara, follows a few steps behind, her heels clacking nervously. “Sir, Mr. Henderson is waiting in the conference room per your request.”
Max doesn’t bother responding as he unbuttons his suit jacket and takes a seat behind the desk. With a flick of his wrist, he motions for Clara to leave. She gives the tiniest of nods and scurries out, closing the double doors behind her.
Taking a deep breath, Max presses the intercom button. “Send him in.”
A moment later, the doors reopen and a balding, paunchy man in an ill-fitting suit enters. Even from across the room, Max can see the bead of sweat rolling down the man’s forehead.
Good.
He should be nervous.
“Mr. Henderson.” Max says, his tone clipped. “Do you know why I called you here?”
The man — Henderson — fidgets with his tie. “Y-Yes, sir. The, uh, the Brighton acquisition ...”
“The $3.75 billion deal that was supposed to be finalized yesterday.” Max interjects, leaning back in his chair. “A deal that the company has been meticulously negotiating for over six months. A deal that would have been the largest hostile takeover in our firm’s history.”
Henderson gives a somber nod, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Max fights the urge to roll his eyes at the sad display.
“Because of your incompetence, that deal is now in jeopardy.” Max continues, his voice dropping to a menacing register. “Please explain to me how someone with three decades of accounting experience could possibly make the amateur mistake of misplacing a decimal point on the binding purchase agreement?”
“I … I missed it in the final review.” Henderson stammers out, sweat now visibly staining the armpits of his shirt. “The numbers, they all start to blur together after-”
“Do not insult my intelligence with your pitiful excuses.” Max cuts him off, slamming a fist down on the desk. He takes no small amount of satisfaction in the way the man flinches. “Because of your idiocy, we offered $235 million over the agreed purchase price. An overpayment to the tune of $2.5 billion with a ‘B’!”
Henderson seems to shrink into himself with each biting word. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Verstappen. It won’t happen again, I swear-”
“You’re damn right it won’t happen again.” Max growls, rising from his chair so quickly that it goes clattering backwards. He leans across the desk, getting directly in Henderson’s ashen face. “Because you’re fired. Effective immediately.”
The words seem to take a moment to register in Henderson’s mind. When they do, his eyes widen in panic and he starts shaking his head rapidly.
“No, no, please! You can’t fire me!” he cries, any veneer of professionalism crumbling. “I-I’ll work double shifts, triple shifts! I’ll volunteer for all the weekend audits, no overtime pay! J-Just don’t fire me, I’m begging you!”
Max recoils slightly at the outburst of blubbering, his lip curling in disgust. How pathetic, to see a grown man so thoroughly debased. He almost feels pity for the wretch … almost.
“This conversation is over.” Max says, his tone resolute as he straightens his tie. “You have one hour to collect your things and get out of my building. After that, security will escort you out.”
“B-But I have three kids!” Henderson sputters, tears streaming down his face now. “A mortgage. Alimony payments! You can’t just-”
In a burst of rage, Max sweeps his arm across the desk, sending papers, files, and office supplies clattering to the floor in a violent clutter.
“I am Max Verstappen!” He bellows, his face flushed crimson. “I do not make empty threats, Mr. Henderson. You are a miserable, costly disappointment. A failure. And I will not allow failures to remain under my employ.”
The words seem to drain what little fight was left in Henderson. His shoulders slump in defeat, and he lets out a pitiful whimper. Max feels his anger deflate, replaced with a tired disdain.
“One hour.” he repeats, falling back into his chair in exhaustion. “Get out of my sight.”
Henderson doesn’t need to be told twice. With trembling hands, he begins collecting the various objects scattered across the floor — pencils, paperclips, manila folders now slightly crumpled. His motions are slow, pained, like those of a man having just received a terminal diagnosis.
Max watches impassively as the sniveling accountant gathers his belongings. Part of him feels a twinge of … not quite guilt, but maybe the faintest pangs of empathy for the broken man before him. He quickly smothers that flicker of sympathy. This is the cost of doing business in the world of high-stakes acquisitions and mergers. There is no room for weakness or mistakes. Only results matter.
Finally, with his meager pile of office supplies clutched to his chest, Henderson straightens up. His face is blotchy and tear-stained, but he seems to have regained some small scrap of dignity. He meets Max’s cold stare for just a moment before turning on his heel and shuffling out of the office.
The double doors close behind him with a hollow thud that hangs in the air. Max lets out a slow exhale, suddenly aware of the tension that had been coiling inside him. He runs a hand over his face, then taps a button on his phone intercom.
“Clara, get me William Evans from legal on the line immediately.” he says, his voice steady once more. “We need to do damage control on the Brighton situation before it becomes irreparable.”
“Right away, sir.” comes the reply, his assistant’s voice tightly professional.
Max leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he stares out at the New York City skyline. This is far from the first firing he has issued, and it certainly won’t be the last. He is a great white shark, always needing to move forward or else he will drown in the depths of his own ambition.
There is a soft rap at the door, pulling Max from his reverie.
“Come in.” he calls out. Clara enters, her face schooled into a mask of polite disinterest. So much the better — he respects discretion.
“I have Mr. Evans on line two for you.” she says crisply.
Max gives a succinct nod. “Thank you, Clara. That will be all.”
As his assistant withdraws, Max takes a fortifying breath. He is Max Verstappen. He is the master of the corporate ocean. And he will not allow one flailing failure to capsize his empire.
Squaring his shoulders, he picks up the phone and begins issuing a stern series of orders and demands. After all, there is little time for rest when one aims to be a modern day titan of industry.
***
You take a deep breath and rap firmly on the door to the HR director’s office. “Come in.” a flat voice calls out.
Steeling yourself, you twist the handle and step inside the dingy, fluorescent-lit room. Janet, the red-haired HR manager, looks up from her computer with a practiced smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Ah, Y/N. What can I do for you today?” She asks in an overly saccharine tone.
You take a seat across from her cluttered desk, your knee bouncing with nervous energy. “I … I need to request some personal leave. Family medical reasons.”
Janet’s perfectly penciled eyebrows rise in bland surprise. “I see. And how much time were you hoping to take?”
Your throat tightens as you force out the words. “At least a month. Maybe more, depending on … on how things progress.”
The HR manager clucks her tongue as she shakes her head. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. We’re in our busiest quarter and you know the company policy — no extended leave during crunch periods unless it’s a valid health emergency.”
You feel panic fluttering in your chest. This has to be a valid emergency! “But it is an emergency! My daughter, she’s ...” Your voice cracks and you swallow hard, desperate to maintain your composure. “She’s very sick, potentially terminal. I need to be with her right now.”
Janet’s face remains stubbornly impassive. “I’m sorry to hear about your daughter’s illness. Truly, I am. But unless you can provide official documentation from a medical professional, my hands are tied.”
The words hit you like a slap across the face. Of course they would require documentation to approve leave — it’s standard corporate policy. But how can mentally collect yourself to get paperwork in order when you’ve been spending every waking moment by your little girl’s hospital bedside?
Unbidden, your mind flashes back to two nights ago, watching in helpless terror as your daughter’s tiny body was racked with another severe seizure. You had screamed yourself hoarse calling for the nurses as the meds they pumped into her did little to stop the violent convulsions ...
You’re vaguely aware of Janet still speaking across from you, something about company guidelines and productivity expectations. But the words sound muffled and far away, as if you’re underwater.
How naive you were to think they might bend the rules, just this once. To think the faceless corporation you pour your life into might actually show a shred of human compassion during your hour of desperate need.
No. That’s not how companies like this operate.
They don’t care about you or your daughter’s life. All they care about is the bottom line, and you’re just an expendable number in their organizational flowchart.
You’re jolted back to reality as Janet raps her lacquered nails impatiently on the desk. “Well? Is there anything else or can I get back to work?”
Is there anything else? Oh, there’s so much more you want to scream at this unfeeling paper-pusher. You want to cry and rage and beg her to just show an ounce of basic human decency.
But you know it would be pointless. Janet is just a cog, same as you. There’s only one person here with the power and influence to authorize what you need.
Only one person who strikes abject terror into the heart of every employee with his infamous volcanic temper and uncompromising expectations.
The thought makes your stomach twist into knots, but you know what you have to do. For your little girl’s sake, you have to try.
So you rise from the chair, willing your legs not to shake. “Thank you for your time.” you mutter tightly, already turning on your heel and storming out of the office.
You don’t look back as Janet calls out something about proper procedure. You just keep moving, your footsteps fueled by a mother’s desperation.
The elevator seems to take an eternity, each second feeling like a little bit more of your daughter’s life trickling away. By the time the doors finally open with a mocking ding, you’re practically vibrating with pent-up nervous energy.
As the mirrored box ascends, your heart feels like it’s trying to batter its way out of your chest. You can hardly breathe past the constriction in your lungs. What if the infamous Max Verstappen laughs in your face? Or has you fired on the spot for daring to interrupt his billion-dollar dealings?
No, you can’t afford to think like that. This may be your only chance to get the time off you so desperately need. For your daughter’s sake, you have to be brave.
The elevator seems to crawl upward at a glacial pace. By the time the doors finally part with a soft chime, you feel like you’re going to be sick from anxiety. This is it, the executive floor — the lair of the terrifying Max Verstappen himself.
You step out into the plush, mahogany-accented lobby with shaking legs. Behind a curved desk, Max’s assistant Clara looks up, her expression instantly hardening when she recognizes you as some inconsequential employee.
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Verstappen is not accepting any visitors at the moment.” she says, her tone brooking no argument. “If you’d like to schedule an appointment for next week ...”
“Please.” you blurt out, hating how your voice trembles. “It’s an emergency. I … I need to see him. Just for five minutes.”
Clara’s manicured eyebrow arches skeptically. “I extremely doubt Mr. Verstappen would consider your issue important enough to warrant an unscheduled meeting. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a million things to-”
“It’s about my sick daughter!” The words burst from your lips before you can stop them. Immediately, you regret being so unprofessional, but desperation has eroded your self-control.
For a split second, Clara’s expression flickers with something that might be pity. But it’s quickly subsumed by her usual cool mask of professionalism as she shakes her head.
“I’m very sorry to hear about your daughter’s illness. But those are still not grounds for me to disturb Mr. Verstappen while he’s-”
“Please!” You plead, tears of frustration pricking your eyes. “I’m begging you. This could be my last chance! If he says no, I’ll leave, I promise. But I have to try!”
Clara regards you appraisingly for a long moment. Then, letting out a weary sigh, she presses the intercom button. “Sir? There’s someone here requesting an urgent meeting with you. A … personal matter.”
The line crackles with static for several tense seconds. You hold your breath, praying beyond hope that the infamous Max has a rare charitable impulse today.
Then, his unmistakable baritone growls through the small speaker. “This had better be good. Send them in.”
Clara winces almost imperceptibly before gesturing towards the double oak doors to Max’s corner office. “Good luck.” she murmurs.
You don’t need any further prompting. Drawing a shuddering breath, you straighten your spine and make your way to the doors. You pause just briefly, hands trembling, before rapping your knuckles firmly against the lacquered wood.
There’s no going back now. Either Max Verstappen is about to grant you a miracle … or utterly crush your last, fragile hope.
***
Max scowls as the intercom crackles to life, Clara’s hesitant voice filtering through the speaker. “Sir? There’s someone here requesting an urgent meeting with you. A … personal matter.”
He resists the urge to roll his eyes. Surely whatever this is can wait until tomorrow. Max is elbow-deep in paperwork and holding patterns, trying to do damage control on the Brighton acquisition fumble. He has no time for frivolous “personal” disruptions.
“This had better be good.” he growls into the intercom. “Send them in.”
With an irritated huff, Max leans back in his buttery leather chair as the doors to his office swing open. He’s already opening his mouth to berate whoever dares disturb him over something as trivial as a “personal matter.”
Then you tentatively step into the room and Max’s words die in his throat.
Even with your shoulders hunched inward and your makeup smudged from crying, you are utterly breathtaking. A fragile beauty drowning in an oversized blazer, your wide eyes darting around his opulent office with obvious intimidation.
An unwelcome jolt of attraction lances through Max’s chest and he quickly squashes it down. He cannot afford such distractions, especially from a lowly employee like yourself who should know better than to interrupt him during work hours.
“Well?” He finally finds his voice, aiming for a brusque tone to remind you both of your respective places. “You’re hardly someone important enough to be granted an audience. This had better be worth my time.”
The harshness of his words seems to make you flinch. You worry your lip between your teeth, shrinking back slightly.
“I … I’m so sorry to disturb you, Mr. Verstappen.” you begin haltingly. Already Max can feel his patience waning. He hates fumbling fragility and wants only confident decisiveness.
But then your next words come tumbling out in a desperate rush. “It’s about my daughter, sir. My little girl … she’s in the hospital. She has a brain tumor and her condition is deteriorating rapidly. I asked Janet in HR for some personal leave to be with her, but she denied my request and said I need official medical documentation which could take days I don’t have!”
Tears are welling in your eyes now, your voice rising to nearly hysterical levels. “Please, Mr. Verstappen! She’s only three years old and I’m a single mom. I’m all she has right now! I’m begging you … please just give me some time to be with her before … before ...”
You seem unable to voice whatever terrifying possibility lurks in the back of your mind. Instead, you dissolve into shoulder-shaking sobs, burying your face in your hands as you break down completely.
Max feels his earlier irritation softening in spite of himself. He’s seen grown men thrice your age become blubbering messes under his withering glare. But there’s something distinctly vulnerable and gut-wrenching about your anguished tears.
Part of him recognizes this as a prime opportunity to regain control, to berate you for such an unseemly display of emotion. His reputation as a merciless taskmaster practically demands he put you in your place.
But another part of Max … a part he barely recognizes … feels a rare pang of empathy pierce through his calloused exterior.
Perhaps it’s the thought of a scared little girl lying crippled in a hospital bed, scared and missing her mother. Or perhaps it’s the way you wear your devastation so plainly, managing to humanize yourself in a way most people never achieve in his eyes.
Whatever the reason, when Max finally speaks, his tone has lost its earlier bite.
“I did not realize the full severity of the situation.” he says, slowly rising from his chair. He moves around the desk, not missing the way you tense as he approaches.
Up close, he can see the puffy redness rimming your eyes, the despair etched into every line of your face. It stirs something inside him … an ancient ghost of an emotion he can’t quite place.
“I’m sorry you were dismissed so carelessly by HR.” Max continues, struggling to keep his voice even. “Perhaps if you had led with mentioning your daughter’s condition, instead of being so oblique ...”
He trails off as you sniff loudly, dragging the sleeve of your blazer across your nose. The motion is equal parts endearing and mortifying for him to witness.
“Here.” he says impulsively, plucking a crisp linen handkerchief from his suit pocket. He presses it into your hand, watching as you blink owlishly at the unexpected gesture. “Allow me to make things right.”
Without waiting for a response, Max turns and strides over to his desk. He snatches up the phone and rapidly punches in a extension code, holding the receiver to his ear as it begins to ring.
“Janet? Yes, it’s Max Verstappen.” he says crisply when the line picks up. “I’ve just been informed about an ... employee situation that requires your immediate attention.”
He pauses, glancing over at where you’re clutching his handkerchief like a lifeline. Your eyes are still glistening with tears, but you’ve gone utterly still — hanging on his every word.
“One of our marketing staff came to me in quite a state about needing extended leave to be with their hospitalized child.” Max continues, his voice hardening slightly. “A matter you seemed to dismiss without proper consideration for the … nuances of the circumstances.”
There’s a sputtering on the other end of the line, undoubtedly Janet trying to make excuses. Max doesn’t give her the chance.
“The decision has been made to grant the employee’s leave request, effective immediately.” he cuts her off. “They will be excused for … two months, with full pay and benefits.”
His announcement seems to render you momentarily stunned. You simply stare at him, eyes wide and unblinking, like you can’t quite process what you’re hearing.
Max clears his throat self-consciously, refocusing on Janet’s flustered response filtering through the receiver. “B-But sir, we have very strict policies about-”
“Which is precisely why I’m instructing you to make an exception.” Max interjects, his voice brokering no arguments. “This leave is to be coded as paid health and wellness time. I expect no push-back or foot-dragging on this, understood?”
There’s a meek murmur of assent from Janet’s end. Max can’t resist a tight smile of satisfaction.
“Good. I’ll leave the paperwork in your capable hands then. That will be all.” He punctuates the statement by firmly hanging up the phone.
As the clatter of the receiver breaks the tense silence, Max turns to find you staring at him with an utterly inscrutable expression. For a long moment, neither of you speak or move. He finds himself paralyzed under the weight of your intense, unblinking gaze.
Then, with a strangled cry, you suddenly surge forward and throw your arms around him. Max goes ramrod stiff as your slight frame collides with his, your tears dampening the front of his crisp dress shirt.
“Thank you!” You’re whispering over and over like a prayer, clinging to him with a desperation that should be uncomfortable. And yet ... “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
Max feels utterly transfixed, like a statue too stunned to react. He can’t remember the last time someone dared to encroach so boldly on his personal space, much less make actual physical contact. He’s not accustomed to such … warmth.
But before the unfamiliar embrace can start to grate on him, you suddenly pull back. Swiping at your eyes, you manage a watery smile up at him.
“You have no idea how much this means, sir. I … I can’t thank you enough for your kindness and understanding.”
He wants to scoff at the notion, to remind you that he is Max Verstappen — merciless and uncompromising in his corporate dealings. That this was merely an isolated instance of pragmatism to avoid a PR incident or workplace lawsuit, nothing more.
But something in your earnest gaze stops the curt rebuttal in his throat. For once, the infamously brusque Max Verstappen finds himself momentarily at a loss for words.
So instead, he gives a terse nod of acknowledgment. Already, his mind is starting to analyze how best to re-allocate your responsibilities for the next two months, which temporary hires to bring in for supplemental coverage.
But one stray thought continues to nag at the back of his mind, an errant curveball amongst the dizzying calculations.
For the first time in years — perhaps his entire adult life — Max feels almost … human.
It’s a strange and deeply unsettling realization, but luckily one he doesn’t have to dwell on.
Because in the next breath, you’re sweeping out of his office, a renewed vigor in your step and a brilliant smile lighting up your features. Max watches you go, an odd tightness settling into his chest.
He doesn’t have words — or perhaps doesn’t want to admit to any words to describe what he’s feeling in this moment. But one thing is for certain, for better or worse, you’ve well and truly upended Max Verstappen’s world.
***
Max remains rooted in place long after you’ve departed, his office now eerily silent in your absence. He should feel relieved to have some peace and quiet again after that … emotional encounter.
Yet instead of settling back into his usual all-consuming work flow, he finds his mind stubbornly replaying the scene on an endless, maddening loop.
The desperation etched onto your delicate features. The way your frame practically vibrated with barely-constrained anguish. The broken, pleading sound of your voice as you begged for his mercy ...
Despite his best efforts to dismiss it, the memory of your raw vulnerability has burrowed its way under Max’s skin, taking up an unwelcome residence. It picks and nags at the edges of his consciousness no matter how much he wills it away.
He has witnessed similar breakdowns from countless employees over the years — grown men and women brought to sniveling tatters by his uncompromising demands. But none of them elicited the same … response within him.
None of them made something twist so peculiarly in Max’s chest, unleashing that brief yet startling flicker of empathy from whatever dark crevice it lurks.
Gritting his teeth, Max paces behind his desk in tight, agitated circles. He prides himself on being a merciless pragmatist, unmoved by emotional pleas or babelling outbursts. Whatever decisions he makes are calculated toward the maximum profit potential and bottom line, end of story.
So why does this one case, this one instance of showing a bare modicum of human compassion, insist on gnawing at him so persistently? It makes no logical sense, no matter how he tries to mentally contort it.
Perhaps that’s the core issue — that for once in his life, Max’s motivations weren’t born strictly of logic or financial incentive. Something else had escaped from beneath, something primal and indefinable, when you broke down so nakedly in front of him.
The realization causes Max’s steps to stutter to a halt. His jaw works tensely as he runs a frustrated hand through his brown hair, disheveling the meticulously groomed coif.
He can admit to himself that some base part of his brain had been … affected by the rawness of your emotion. The way you had stripped away all artifice and propriety to plead so urgently and authentically.
Not many people manage to disarm Max Verstappen’s carefully curated expectation filters. But you had blown straight through them without even realizing it, battering down the reinforced walls he builds around his life. Just by being horrifically, unguardedly human.
It’s both impressive and deeply unsettling in equal measure.
Before Max can spiral any further down this rabbit hole of self-reflection, a sharp rap of knuckles against the door jolts him back to awareness. He straightens and clears his throat roughly.
“Come in.” he calls out, already retaking his seat and trying to project an aura of resolute control.
Clara slips into the office, her usual unflappable poise slightly ruffled as she catches the tense atmosphere. “You asked to see me right away, sir?”
“Yes.” Max says brusquely, watching her over steepled fingers. “I need you to do some … discreet digging for me into a personal matter.”
Clara’s perfectly groomed eyebrow arches inquisitively. But to her credit, she doesn’t comment on his evasive phrasing.
“And what exactly am I looking into?”
“The employee who was just in my office seeking leave.” he explains curtly. “The one with the hospitalized child. I need you to find out everything you can — where the child is being treated, their condition, prognosis, all of it.”
Clara’s perfectly glossed lips purse ever so slightly. “You’re aware I can’t exactly go through official medical channels without violating all sorts of privacy laws ...”
“I’m fully aware.” Max interjects with a curt wave of his hand. “Which is why you’ll have to take a more … unconventional approach. I don’t particularly care what methods you have to employ, just get me those details by the end of the day.”
His assistant regards him silently for a long beat, as if trying to suss out his motivations. Max meets her contemplative look with an unwavering stare of his own.
Finally, Clara gives a tight nod of understanding. “Consider it done, sir.”
With that, she pivots on the towering heel of her Louboutin and sees herself out of the office, the click of her footsteps rapidly retreating down the hall.
Max lets out a slow exhale, alone with his thoughts once more.
What is he doing? This bizarre crusade is so wildly outside of his typical conduct and practices. The lengths he’s going to, all for the sake of some random underling’s personal crisis ...
A smart, calculated part of his brain recognizes this entire situation as a fool’s errand, a waste of time and resources. He should be devoting every ounce of his focus toward extricating the Chinese investment group from the Brighton deal before their next earnings call.
And yet, he can’t seem to fully let this go. Your haunted, hopeless expression keeps flickering through his mind’s eye. The memory of your tears soaking into his suit lapel as you clung to him with a desperation that shook something deep within him.
It’s almost as if his body is acting of its own accord, driven by some urge he can’t fully parse or control. Like a murmured voice insistently compelling him to … to what? Help you? Offer some vague sense of solace or security?
The thought is patently ludicrous, and Max scoffs audibly at his own melodrama. Get a grip, he chides himself sternly. Since when do you care about coddling your peons?
He forcefully shakes off the uncharacteristic reverie and turns back to the stacks of paperwork and documents splayed across his desk. Focusing intently on running new financial projections for Q3, he manages to bury himself in the work for a solid two hours.
He’s in the midst of furiously scribbling margin and revenue notes when the trill of the phone line cuts through his concentration. A glance at the caller ID has him resisting the urge to sigh.
“Clara.” he answers crisply, leaning back in his leather chair. “I trust you’ve made progress?”
“Indeed.” comes the smooth reply, devoid of inflection as always. “Though I should warn you, some of these details are … concerning.”
Something tightens in Max’s chest, but he quickly tamps it down. “Just lay it all out for me. No need to editorialize.”
“Very well.” Clara acquiesces. “So the child, a three-year-old daughter, is currently a patient at Lennox Hill Hospital here in the city. According to my sources, she was admitted five weeks ago after experiencing severe seizures and hallucinations. An MRI revealed she has a large mass-”
“Let me stop you right there.” Max interjects, his brows furrowing. Even he can recognize those are less than encouraging signs. “What’s the official diagnosis then?”
“Grade IV glioblastoma.” Clara replies flatly. “One of the most aggressive malignant brain tumors, especially in children her age.”
A terse silence falls between them as the weight of that diagnosis sinks in. Grade IV … practically a death sentence wrapped up in clinical terminology. Max finds his hand unconsciously clenching the arm of his chair.
“And her prospects?” He finally prompts gruffly. “What’s the … prognosis for her case?”
Clara doesn’t answer right away. Over the line, he can hear her exhale slowly, a rare tell of emotional discomfort from his typically unflappable assistant.
“From what my contact at Lennox Hill said … if we’re talking full disclosure?” Her customary professionalism wavers slightly as her voice grows hushed. “They’ve given her three months at most, sir. Maybe less, if another seizure or bleed occurs before then.”
The words hang in the air like a guillotine blade against Max’s neck. Suddenly, all those intrusive mental flashes of your inconsolable despair take on a sharper, even more heartrending clarity.
Of course you were devastated, he realizes with startling empathy. How could any mother face their child’s death sentence with any measure of composure?
An unexpected swell of emotion rises in Max’s throat and he has to blink rapidly to keep it at bay. Now isn’t the time for such indulgences.
“Thank you, Clara.” he manages in a rough baritone. “That will be all for now.”
He ends the call without waiting for a response, abruptly severing the connection.
Alone once more, Max slumps back against the leather upholstery, an uncharacteristic weariness settling into his bones. He reaches up to loosen his already disheveled tie, suddenly feeling stifled within the confines of his suit.
Three months. Three paltry months for a precious young life to be snatched away before it ever really began. His jaw clenches hard.
That’s unacceptable. Not just unfair, but a complete and total injustice to all that is right and good in this world.
No child should have to suffer like that … and certainly no mother should have to face a future of unimaginable grief and emptiness once her only family is gone. Not if there was anything to be done about it.
And, at the end of the day, Max Verstappen has the means to quite literally move mountains with his wealth and influence.
An idea begins to blossom in his mind — one that feels daring and reckless and so utterly unlike his usual business-oriented self. But he finds himself drawn to it with a singleminded resolve he can’t quite explain.
Jaw set, Max snatches up his phone and punches in a number he never thought he’d use outside of donor galas.
“Roland? Max Verstappen here.” he says gruffly when the line picks up. “I need you to connect me directly with someone in Sloan Kettering’s pediatric oncology department ...”
Half an hour and multiple calls later, Max is finally patched through to one of the top clinical researchers in the field: Dr. Spencer Paulson.
“Dr. Paulson, thank you for making time on such short notice.” Max says, his tone polished yet clipped. “To cut right to it, I was recently made aware of a … sensitive case involving a terminal pediatric patient and some rather bleak estimated survival rates.”
Without preamble, he lays out what little he knows about your daughter — the diagnosis, the staging, the Lennox Hill prognosis that has already written her off for dead. All throughout, the doctor on the other end of the line remains grimly silent.
“So in your expert opinion.” Max finishes, realizing his hand has unconsciously tightened into a white-knuckled fist. “What would you say her realistic prospects for meaningful treatment or survival are?”
There’s a pregnant pause, then a grim sigh filters through the tinny line. “Based on what you’ve told me … I’m afraid the prognosis does indeed sound dire. Grade IV glioblastomas in children under five have approximately a 5% survival rate past twelve months with conventional treatment regimens.”
Max clenches his teeth, brutally unsurprised yet still floored by the frank assessment. Moments ago, he had still been clinging to a fool’s hope.
“However.” Dr. Paulson continues, his tone brightening slightly. “We do currently have an … experimental trial ongoing that might be an outside option to explore.”
Something akin to hope flutters in Max’s chest. “I’m listening.”
“Well, to put it simply, we’ve had some promising early results adapting viral gene therapies to target and destroy these aggressive brain tumor cells in young patients.” the doctor explains, shifting into a more clinical, lecture-style delivery.
“By modifying and re-engineering certain viruses to bind only to the specific mutated RNA and protein markers found in diseases like glioblastomas, we can theoretically use those same viruses as a delivery vector. One that can slip past the blood-brain barrier and directly infect the cancerous cells with a sort of … controlled payload, if you will.”
Max nods along, his mind working furiously to keep up with the technical jargon. “Some kind of treatment regimen then? Drugs or radiation therapy delivered directly to the tumor site?”
“Precisely.” Dr. Paulson confirms approvingly. “Only we’ve expanded past just chemo and gamma rays as the options. Thanks to the pioneering work of doctors like Bert Jacobs, we’ve now created an entirely new frontier of cancer treatments centered around gene therapy and mRNA editing.”
He rattles off a dizzying litany of polysyllabic scientific terminology that sails completely over Max’s head. Not that it matters — his focus is fully captured by the notes of guarded optimism finally creeping into Paulson’s voice.
“Of course, this is all still highly experimental. We’ve only managed to achieve remission in a handful of trial cases thus far.” the doctor cautions. “And we have no idea if the viral vector we’ve engineered will be equally effective against every variation of cancerous mutation out there.”
Max nods impatiently, waving a hand as if to physically shoo away the vague caveats. “I appreciate the need for clinical hedging, doctor. But let’s cut right to the heart of the matter.”
He draws in a fortifying breath. “If you were to take on this little girl as a patient, deploy these … gene therapy regimens of yours … would you give her a legitimate chance? At treatment, remission, survival?”
There’s a pregnant pause, as if Dr. Paulson is carefully considering the ethical ramifications of his answer. Then, “If she meets the selection criteria and baseline health conditions … and we get a bit of luck on our side ...” Another sigh, heavy with the weight of his responsibilities. “Then I’d say we would have a fighting chance, yes.”
Those five simple words crash over Max with the force of a tidal wave, hitting him squarely in the chest.
A chance. At life. At making it past those grim, dire prognoses.
After several moments of stunned silence, Max finally finds his voice.
“Say no more, doctor. Whatever it costs — money, time, logistics — none of it matters. I want this treatment option fully activated and prioritized immediately. Spare no expense, I’ll take care of the bill.” He utters the words with the same decisive confidence he handles his billion-dollar business dealings.
Because in this moment, it doesn’t feel like just some impulsive, emotionally-driven whim. Helping your innocent child — ensuring she gets the fighting chance she deserves?
It feels like the only choice he can possibly make.
***
You sit hunched in the hard, plastic visitor’s chair, your body angled protectively towards the small hospital bed. Despite the tubes and wires snaking from her fragile limbs, your daughter appears almost peaceful in her restless slumber.
She always was such a sound sleeper as a baby, you reminisce wistfully. Remembering how you’d regularly creep into the nursery just to watch the gentle rise and fall of her chest, assuring yourself she was still breathing.
Even back then, the ever-present fear of something going horribly wrong never truly left you. The world is far too cruel a place to let a mother relax, no matter how deeply you wish you could.
One slender hand rests atop the thin bedsheet covering your little girl, your thumb tracing soothing circles along her tiny knuckles. A silent, simple gesture of tenderness you hope she can feel even in sleep. If only you could so easily soothe away her pain and suffering as you could your own.
The quiet flutter of the heart rate monitor keeps beat, each mechanical beep another hammer striking your already shattered soul. You want to feel relieved, blessed even, that it continues that steady cadence. Instead, you only feel exhausted hollowness.
Because this morning, the doctors came to “discuss options.” As if their clinical detachment could soften the blow of learning your child is well and truly out of miracles.
“We’ve run every available scan and lab test.” Dr. Rhodes had said, failing to meet your desperate gaze. “I’m so very sorry, but the tumor isn’t responding to any of our treatments. At this point, we have to start considering ...”
You hadn’t let him finish, couldn’t let those hateful, unthinkable words pass his lips. Palliative care. Hospice. Just give up and let nature take its inevitable, brutal course while they pumped her full of numbing opiates so she could “comfortably” slip away.
The rage and anguish had bubbled up from some primal pit within your guts, hot and viscous like magma erupting from deep beneath the earth’s crust. You’d screamed incoherent denials until your voice was hoarse, begging and pleading through sobs for them not to take away your only hope.
In the end, they’d sedated your daughter fully so you could “calm down” and “process things rationally.” You know they meant well, trying to spare her from your outburst. But it only compounded your devastation, feeling like they were already treating her as a lost cause no longer worth fighting for.
So here you sit, after untold hours of cycling through various stages of grief, left only with bone-deep weariness cloaked by a fragile veneer of numb acceptance. You dimly wonder if you’ll ever truly feel anything else ever again.
Through the blur of tears constantly stinging your eyes, you keep a silent vigil over your daughter’s bedside. You memorize every delicate sweep of her sooty lashes, the tiny smattering of freckles across her upturned nose. Desperate to commit every last precious detail of her existence to memory before … before ...
A choked sob bubbles up from your chest at the thought, hot and acidic at the back of your throat. You quickly muffle it with the crook of your elbow, determined not to disturb your resting girl with the outward manifestations of your agony.
In through the nose, out through the mouth. An old meditative mantra you try to focus on, struggling to regain control of your tenuous grip on composure. You know your tears and hiccupping gasps for air are only harming yourself at this point. Better to conserve what little physical and mental strength you have left to simply be with your daughter while you still can.
The grief is an ever-churning sea just waiting to drag you under its dark, icy depths. But still you stubbornly tread water, unwilling to fully surrender just yet. Not as long as you can still feel the reassuring thrum of her pulse against your fingertips, a solitary lifeline keeping you tethered to the present.
You aren’t sure how much time stretches in that manner — minutes or hours, you cannot say. The days have all started blurring into one long, endless haze of sleeplessness and overwhelming sorrow.
So when the door to the hospital room suddenly clicks open, the sound manages to penetrate the cotton-muffled fog shrouding your senses.Instantly, you stiffen and blink rapidly, as if only just now awakening to your surroundings.
A stranger stands in the doorway — a tall, slender man in an impeccably tailored suit that looks distinctly out of place amongst the bland, sterile patient rooms. His face is sharp and angular, almost harsh in its sternness if not for the way his brow is furrowed with evident concern.
You open your mouth to ask who he is and what he wants, but he raises a placating hand before you can find your voice.
“Please, don’t be alarmed.” he says, words clipped yet softened slightly. “I know this is a terrible situation, and the absolute last setting you’d want an uninvited visitor.”
Now that he’s closer, you can see behind his obvious affluence lurks a cultured, aloof sort of demeanor. There’s no outward malice or disrespect in his manner, but he carries himself like someone long accustomed to privileges and deference. The sight of him sets you even more on edge amid your emotional rawness.
“My name is Spencer Paulson.” the man presses on, taking a few measured steps further into the room. “I’m actually a doctor, Ms ...”
“Y/N.” you automatically supply, dredging up the remnants of social graces. “Y/N L/N. And this is … this is my daughter, Olivia.”
Your voice cracks ever so slightly on her name, heated moisture already welling behind your eyes once more. You quickly dab at their corners with the sleeve of your worn cardigan, determined not to dissolve into fresh hysterics in front of this absolute stranger.
“Well, Ms. Y/L/N.” the man — Dr. Paulson — says, tone measured. “I realize I’m intruding on a highly stressful situation for you and your family right now. And for that, I truly am sorry.”
His apology seems sincere enough. But wariness still prickles along your nape as your overtired, over-protective instincts flare up. You clutch your daughter’s limp hand in yours a fraction tighter.
“Then if you don’t mind my asking.” you begin in a calculated tone, scrutinizing Paulson carefully. “Why are you here? And what business could possibly bring you to Olivia’s bedside unannounced?”
He regards you silently for a long moment, something inscrutable flickering across his features. When he speaks again, his words are deliberately precise, weighted down by their momentous gravity.
“I was recently contacted by … an interested third party about your daughter’s case.” Paulson explains, clasping his hands behind his back. “I was filled in on the specifics of her diagnosis — glioblastoma, grade four, extremely aggressive and largely unresponsive to standard treatment. Am I correct so far?”
You can only numbly nod, a chill prickling across your flesh. The man’s crisp, clinical recitation of your worst nightmare forces a painful convulsion of renewed heartache.
Paulson seems to catch your distress and quickly presses on. “Right, well, I’m actually here in an official capacity as the Chief of Pediatric Oncology over at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center.”
The words hit you with all the force of a defibrillator charge, jolting your entire frame upright in the hard plastic chair. Your jaw drops open, already fumbling for a desperate reply that will somehow make this all make sense.
But Paulson continues before you can vocalize any of the hundreds of jumbled questions flooding your mind.
“I’ll keep this relatively simple, Ms. Y/L/N.” he says, holding up a forestalling hand. “My team at Sloan Kettering recently received permission to transfer your daughter over to our care as soon as logistically possible. You see, we’ve been working on an experimental new treatment protocol — a form of gene therapy designed to treat even the most aggressive, mutation-riddled forms of cancers like Olivia’s brain tumor.”
You blink owlishly, unable to fully process the onslaught of technical jargon being leveled at you. All you can do is continue sitting there, stunned into silence as the doctor launches into an almost dizzying explanation of re-engineered viruses, targeted gene editing, and “controlled payloads” being essentially the extent of modern medicine.
“... And while the trial is still in its early stages, we’ve actually already achieved partial and even full remission in a few key pediatric cases remarkably similar to that of your daughter.” Paulson continues, his tone growing faintly tinged with optimism and something akin to pride. “Which is why we’re reasonably confident Olivia could be an excellent candidate for our experimental therapies, if you allow it.”
He lets the weight of that statement hang in the air between you, watching you carefully for any visible reaction. But you’re frozen, fighting between warring tides of soul-rending hope and knee-jerk cynicism.
After all, you’ve come to reflexively distrust when desperation-stoking scenarios sound too good to be true over the past several torturous weeks. A small, rational voice in the back of your mind pipes up to remind you that you can’t afford to get your hopes up, only to be gutted yet again by the crushing inevitability of disappointment.
But another part of your wearied brain — the part that’s grown so fatigued by the oppressive feeling of hopelessness — recoils at dismissing any potential reprieve from the nightmare, no matter how fanciful or far-fetched.
So instead you hear yourself croaking out a single, wobbling syllable.
“How ...”
Paulson tilts his head inquisitively. “I’m sorry?”
You clear your throat, igniting the spark of desperate yearning flickering to life inside your chest. “How much would … would a treatment like this cost?”
For the first time since barging his way into your fragile world, Paulson’s aristocratic features twist into an unmistakable grimace. He lets out a tight sigh, clearly recognizing the gravity behind your simple question.
“Unfortunately, due to the experimental and intensive nature of this therapy … the baseline costs do run relatively high.” he explains in a precise tone, as if trying to distance himself from the crass logistical realities. “If approved for the trial and full treatment regimen, we’re looking at around $1.4 million in projected costs over the first six months alone.”
The astronomical number hits you squarely between the eyes, setting your head swimming with disbelief. One point four … million? The amount is so ludicrously exorbitant that it almost doesn’t seem real.
You open your mouth, fully intending to spit out the derisive scoff that such an impossible ask deserves. No amount of desperate wishing could ever make that attainable for a single, working-class parent already drowning in tens of thousands of medical debt.
But Paulson clearly recognizes the crestfallen defeat settling over your features. Because he quickly rushes ahead with his next words, effectively cutting off any vocal dismissal on your end.
“However, as I mentioned earlier, we did get some … special circumstances greenlighted regarding your daughter’s case.” he says, tone brightening with carefully cultivated hopefulness. “You see, there’s an anonymous benefactor who’s agreed to cover the full cost of treatment on a … philanthropic basis, let’s call it.”
The words punch you directly in the gut, momentarily robbing your lungs of oxygen like a cruel sucker-punch. You blink dazedly up at Paulson, struggling to make sense of what he’s saying through the roaring static in your ears.
“I … I don’t understand.” you manage to stammer out. “Someone wants to … pay for my daughter? All of it? But why? How could they possibly-”
“Hey now, none of that.” Paulson cuts you off, his voice softening with what might be the first hints of empathy and warmth creeping in. “The why doesn’t matter right now — only that it’s been arranged at no cost to you or your family.”
He moves closer then, resting one hand on your shoulder in an unexpected gesture of kindness that makes you flinch despite yourself. Up close, you can see the sincerity shining in his hazel eyes, pleading for you to simply accept this incredible parting of the dark clouds that have shrouded your existence.
“I know this is … well, frankly astounding news on top of everything else you’re already dealing with.” Paulson continues, giving your shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “And please, believe me, we want to avoid overwhelming you with undue complications. For now, I think it’s enough to simply feel that spark of hope again, yes?”
Despite your best efforts to tamp down the desperate yearning swelling in your chest, you find yourself nodding mutely in agreement. Because in this moment, you understand exactly the miraculous implications of his words.
After so many agonizing weeks of feeling utterly powerless, of watching your baby girl’s life slowly ebb away before your very eyes … there is a chance. An opportunity, a fighting possibility that everything won’t end in crushing grief and irredeemable sorrow.
And even just that single glowing ember of hope, no matter how faint, is enough to shatter the dam holding back your turbulent sea of pent-up emotion. Paulson watches in quiet acceptance as you finally break down in great, shuddering sobs — only this time, they’re threaded with the catharsis of relief.
Happy tears stream down your blotchy cheeks, unchecked and convulsive. You press your face into the cool, starchy sheets of Olivia’s bed, body wracked with a release of tension weeks in the making. It feels as though you’re being simultaneously unmade and reborn in this singular, messy instance.
Through the storm of your breakdown, you’re dimly aware of Paulson stepping away to give you privacy. And then, just before he slips from the room entirely, his composed baritone rings out one last time.
“We’ll make all the arrangements to transport Olivia to Sloan Kettering as soon as possible. Get her started on this treatment regimen right away, alright?”
You can’t even summon the words to respond, only nodding rapidly between hiccuping bursts of gasping and sobbing. But just before he exits, shutting the door silently behind him, you catch Paulson’s murmur.
“There’s a fighting chance now. That’s all any of us can really ask for ...”
***
Max rakes a hand through his meticulously styled hair as he strides down the sterile hallway of Sloan Kettering’s pediatric oncology ward. His eyes scan the room numbers tacked to each door, searching for the one he was provided.
456 … 458… ah, there — 460. Max pauses outside the closed entry, squaring his shoulders as he tries to tamp down the uncharacteristic fluttering of nerves in his stomach. Taking a fortifying breath, he gives the door a perfunctory series of raps with his knuckles.
Almost immediately, a muffled voice filters through from inside — your voice, he recognizes with a start. “Come in!”
Max’s brow furrows momentarily at the warm, chipper lilt to your tone. So unlike the brittle, devastated one he had heard that fateful day in his office. Though he supposes that’s only fitting, given the radically shifted circumstances these past several weeks.
Pushing his hesitation aside, Max takes the invitation and pushes into the hospital room. You’re seated in one of the uncomfortable plastic visitor’s chairs, wearing a soft cardigan and jeans — by all appearances the very portrait of a typical doting mother.
Well, not entirely typical. Because curled up on the bed next to you is a tiny, doe-eyed little girl whose resemblance leaves no question as to her relation to you.
Olivia.
As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, you glance up — and immediately do a double-take, eyes going comically wide. “M-Mr. Verstappen?” You splutter out, frozen halfway out of your chair like a hostess belatedly remembered her manners. “I … I didn’t realize you were-”
Max holds up a hand to stop the tide of nervous rambling, inexplicably touched by your visible shock. The effect is only compounded when Olivia shifts on the bed, eyeing him owlishly from beneath the cuddly weight of a stuffed unicorn nearly as large as she is.
“It’s quite alright, Ms. Y/L/N.” he says, offering you the barest hint of a disarming smile. An expression he finds shockingly easy to produce given the scene before him. “I admit I hadn’t warned you about my visit in advance.”
He pauses there, suddenly realizing the reason for his impromptu trip isn’t entirely certain, even to himself. It had begun as little more than a nagging impulse tugging at him throughout his days, growing more persistent and insistent until he finally gave in and scheduled some time away from the office.
And now that he’s here, standing in this dimly-lit hospital room, Max feels strangely … unmoored. Adrift in a situation his renowned business acumen didn’t even begin to equip him for handling.
But then your daughter is shifting again, curiosity winning out over her bashfulness as she props herself up on her elbows. “Who’re you?” She pipes up in a tiny, raspy voice that somehow bypasses Max’s usually implacable defenses.
Something pangs oddly in his chest at the innocent inquiry. He finds himself crouching into an automatic squat, bringing himself level with the bedside so he can better meet Olivia’s inquisitive gaze.
“You can just call me Max.” he says, injecting a gentle warmth into his tone that he didn’t even realize he was capable of. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
It occurs to him then that he’s been subconsciously clutching the bouquet of flowers still in his off-hand — an overly ornate spray of exotic lilies and birds of paradise blooms that probably cost more than a month’s rent for most families. He had ordered them from the city’s most exclusive florist boutique on pure aesthetic impulse, without pausing to consider the message such an excessive display might send.
This morning, holding the massive arrangement felt appropriate, a reflection of Max’s stature as a dominant business magnate. But now, watching Olivia’s large eyes track the oversized bouquet with open-mouthed awe, he feels suddenly self-conscious.
Hoping to recover some sense of propriety, Max clears his throat and holds the flowers out in front of him.
“These are, ah, for your mother.” he explains gruffly, avoiding your questioning gaze burning against the side of his face. “A small token of … of appreciation, one might say.”
He isn’t quite sure what prompts the carefully worded addition — perhaps an instinctive reflex to avoid showing any overt sentimentality. But either way, you seem to simply accept the generous offering with bemused grace.
“Thank you, Mr. Versta-” You quickly correct yourself at his mild arched brow. “Er, Max. They’re absolutely lovely.”
You bend to inhale the rich floral perfume, eyelids fluttering in evident delight at the fragrance. Max watches the childlike awe play out across your soft features, feeling an odd sort of satisfaction settle in his chest.
Having given you the flowers, he rises to his feet once more with a put-upon sigh of effort. Every bit of spoiled opulence and bravado that usually comes as second-nature to Max.
And yet, none of it lands quite with the affected solemnity he’s accustomed to projecting. Not when Olivia’s sweet-faced attention is still utterly transfixed by his every move and micro-expression.
Your daughter still hasn’t looked away from him even as you arrange the flower vase on her bedside table, entranced in a way only the very young can be. It’s … disarming, to say the least. But not entirely unpleasant, Max finds himself admitting.
“I, ah, got something for you as well, Olivia.” he announces impulsively. From behind his back, he produces a floppy-limbed teddy bear easily half her size.
He’s not even sure what prompted him to purchase such a pedestrian sort of toy. All he knows is that he saw the stuffed creature in the hospital gift shop window on his way in, and some impulse compelled him to acquire it for reasons he still can’t understand.
But any lingering uncertainty fades from his mind like a passing cloud when Olivia lets out an audible gasp of delight. Her little hands instantly shoot out, making desperate grabbing motions at the plush offering.
“Ohmygosh, thank you!” The words tumble out in a breathless, childish rush. Before Max can even react, she leans precariously over the edge of the bed, arms outstretched and grasping imploringly.
On instinct, Max takes a half-step forward, carefully depositing the stuffed bear into Olivia’s waiting embrace to avoid any accidents. She immediately snatches it to her chest, burying her face in the softness of its soft fabric with a contented hum that seems to vibrate in Max’s very soul.
He swallows hard past the unexpected lump that forms in his throat, watching a child delight in something so simple and innocent. How long has it been since he allowed himself to find joy in the pure, unbridled way that Olivia does? Far too long, he’s forced to admit.
Clearing his throat with an awkward rumble, Max tears his gaze away from your daughter’s cuddling. He levels his focus back onto you instead. Only then does he realize you’ve been staring at him throughout the entire interaction, an unreadable look painted across your face.
“I trust the medical team has kept you informed of Olivia’s progress so far.” he prompts in his usual clipped tone, struggling to reassert some sense of distancing professionalism. “I don’t have any special insight into the procedural specifics, but from what I’ve gathered, positive results are steadily accumulating, yes?”
You blink once, almost like shaking yourself out of a reverie, before offering a slow nod in response. “Y-Yes, you could definitely say that.”
Something sparks behind your gaze then — some dawning realization creeping over your delicate features. “In fact, Dr. Paulson himself said Olivia seems to have responded better to the gene therapy than almost any other patient yet. Her tumor reduction trend is so far exceeding their best models that they’re actually considering tweaking the formula for future tria-”
You abruptly cut yourself off, lips pursing into a tight line as you turn your focus back to Max. He holds your stare evenly, waiting for whatever it is you seem to be mustering the courage to say.
Then, almost in a whisper, “Max … are you the anonymous donor paying for all of this?”
The words hang in the air like a physical force between you, so full of implication and unvoiced emotion that even Max can’t find a way to deflect them. He stares back at you, utterly disarmed beneath the intensity of your scrutinizing gaze.
For a long beat, only the hum of hospital machines and equipment fills the weighty silence. Max’s jaw works tensely as he considers how best to respond. He wants to shrug it off, make some sardonic quip to reestablish the carefully curated aloofness that serves him so well in the business world.
But then Olivia lets out another joyous giggle as she squishes the plush bear’s paw, completely enraptured and undistracted by the silent standoff occurring across her bedside. And all of Max’s formidable defenses and calculated denials abruptly dissolve in the face of such childlike innocence.
So instead of evasion, he answers your question with a small, barely perceptible nod and a softly murmured, “Yes.”
He doesn’t have time to brace himself before you’re suddenly surging up out of the chair with a wounded cry. And then your arms are flung around his neck, your body slamming against his chest as you pull Max into a fierce and entirely unexpected hug.
The impact momentarily stuns him, freezing Max in place with his arms held useless at his sides. He can’t remember the last time someone dared to initiate such a brazen display of physical contact — perhaps ever, now that he racks his brain.
But just as he contemplates gently extricating himself from your clutches, your ragged voice rises to his ear in a trembling whisper.
“Thank you.” you’re whispering over and over like a fevered prayer. “Thank you, thank you, thank you ...”
With each impassioned repetition, Max can feel more of the tension slowly leeching from his frame. He finds himself sinking bonelessly into your embrace, one hand coming to rest against the small of your back in an automatic gesture of soothing.
Soon enough, heaving sobs are wracking your entire body against his. Hot tears quickly begin to soak through the fabric of his expensive dress shirt as you cling to him with the desperation of a fallen angel clawing her way back into grace. But Max doesn’t pull away, doesn’t extricate himself or put distance between your respective roles as worker and corporate king.
Instead, in a move even he can’t fully explain or justify, his free hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, pulling you in even tighter as you keen your grateful relief against the column of his throat.
“It’s … quite alright.” he finds himself rumbling in a low, soothing voice completely at odds with his usual persona. “No thanks are necessary. All that matters now is ensuring your daughter’s full and complete recovery … at whatever cost required.”
He isn’t sure whether his throwaway platitude is meant more for his benefit or yours at this point. But either way, you show no signs of releasing him from the crushing strength of your desperate clutch anytime soon. So Max does the only thing left available to him — he simply lets you cry and shake and cling to him for as long as you need.
Until finally, with a handful of watery hiccups and sniffles, you manage to tilt your blotchy face up towards his.
“I … I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you for this.” you murmur throatily. “For giving Olivia more than just some faint hope, but an actual chance to grow up and live the life she deserves.”
Tenderness isn’t something that often breaks through Max Verstappen’s shroud of callous indifference. He can count on one hand the number of times in his adult life he’s allowed himself to indulge in such sentimental trivialities.
But gazing into your puffy, reddened eyes, he finds he can’t quite summon any bitter cynicism. Instead, his voice remains low with a soothing gentleness that feels almost foreign falling from his lips.
“The only form of repayment I’ll require.” he says finally, “is your permission to take you to dinner.”
He blinks once, almost taken aback by the words that slipped unbidden from his throat. But you, for your part, seem equally dazed as your brows knit in bewilderment.
“Dinner? But … I haven’t left Olivia in weeks.”
At that, Max manages a wry smile, feeling as if he’s regained at least some fraction of his footing and composure. “Of course I don’t expect you to. I simply meant for the three of us to dine together … here, in the hospital. My treat, naturally.”
Your fingers unconsciously clench tighter into the fabric of his ruined dress shirt. But even with the hint of embarrassment pinkening your cheeks, he can see what looks almost like … excitement? Perhaps even coyness sparking behind your gaze before you avert your eyes demurely.
“I … yes, of course.” you murmur, sounding almost bashful. “We would be honored.”
Max simply nods, committing every little part of the interaction to his increasingly scattered memory for later dissection. For now, he withdraws himself from the gentle circle of your arms with what he hopes appears a natural sort of casualness.
“Very good then,” is all he finds himself able to say in response. “I shall make the necessary arrangements and return shortly with something to eat.”
With that, he turns on his heel and strides towards the exit, throwing one final look over his shoulder. You’re already back in your chair at Olivia’s bedside, shooting him another shy little smile as you start to idly stroke your now dozing daughter’s hair.
And before Max even fully processes the impulse, he feels the corner of his mouth tugging upwards into a warm half-grin in response.
A expression so unfamiliar on his usually dour features that it renders him momentarily unrecognizable, even to himself.
Shaking his head as if to cast off the dizzy sense of displacement, Max continues out into the hallway. He stubbornly refuses to dwell too much on the stirrings of contentment radiating through his chest.
Such indulgent notions are highly unseemly for a man of his stature and influence, after all. Better to ignore them entirely, as he always has.
Though even as the thought crosses his mind, Max finds himself picking up his pace with a renewed sense of purpose and determination. Because somewhere along the way, he realizes ...
Denial doesn’t appear to be an option anymore.
***
Two Years Later
The ornate grandfather clock in the corner ticks rhythmically, its pendulum swinging with measured precision. Max’s gaze flicks over to it briefly before returning to the stack of documents before him. Numbers and figures blur together as his eyes scan the pages, his brow furrowed in concentration.
A giggle from the corner of the room breaks his focus. He glances up to see Olivia sitting cross-legged on the plush carpet, curls bouncing as she plays with her Barbie dolls. A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips at the sight of her innocent joy.
“What are you up to over there, kleine muis?” He asks, his voice gruff but tinged with affection.
Olivia looks up, her eyes sparkling. “I’m having a tea party with Barbie and Ken.” she explains, brandishing the dolls. “Would you like to join us, Maxie?”
Max chuckles softly. “Thank you for the invitation, but I’m afraid I have a bit too much work to do for a tea party right now.”
“Okay.” Olivia says cheerfully, returning to her imaginary festivities.
You had dropped Olivia off at Max’s office after her kindergarten class, needing to rush to an urgent marketing meeting. Max had insisted on keeping her company until you returned, despite the mountain of paperwork on his desk.
He watches Olivia play, mesmerized by her ability to create entire worlds from mere toys and her vibrant imagination. Her carefree laughter is a soothing balm against the chaos of his day.
After a while, Olivia looks up again. “Maxie, can I ask you something?”
“Of course, lieverd. What is it?”
Olivia fidgets with one of the doll’s dresses. “Today at school, we had to draw pictures of our families.”
Max’s heart constricts slightly at the innocuous statement, but he manages a reassuring smile. “Did you have fun with that activity?”
Olivia nods enthusiastically. “Uh-huh. I drew me, Mommy, and you.”
The words hit Max like a physical blow, stealing his breath away. He stares at Olivia, his eyes widening as a storm of emotions swirls within him.
Olivia, oblivious to his inner turmoil, continues, “But then Timmy said that you’re not really my daddy since we don’t have the same last name. Is that true, Maxie? Are you not my daddy?”
Max swallows hard, his throat constricting. He had grown to love this child as if she were his own flesh and blood, but he had never dared to assume the sacred title of father. The realization that Olivia saw him that way, despite the lack of biological ties, threatens to shatter his carefully constructed walls.
Pushing back from his desk, he rises to his feet and makes his way over to where Olivia sits. He lowers himself to the floor, his movements stiff and hesitant. Olivia watches him with curious eyes, still clutching her dolls.
“Olivia.” he begins, his voice thick with emotion he struggles to contain. “Even though we don’t share the same name, and I didn’t ...” He pauses, swallowing hard. “I didn’t have a hand in bringing you into this world, you are every bit as much my daughter as if you were my own.”
Olivia tilts her head slightly, considering his words. “So, I can call you Daddy?”
The simple question unlocks something deep within Max’s core, a part of himself he had locked away long ago. He feels moisture prickling at the corners of his eyes, an unfamiliar sting that he doesn’t fight.
“Yes, kleine muis.” he whispers, his voice wavering. “I would be honored if you called me Daddy.”
Without warning, Olivia drops her dolls and flings her small arms around Max’s neck, hugging him tightly. Max freezes for a moment, unaccustomed to such open displays of affection, before melting into the hug. He wraps his arms around Olivia’s tiny frame, holding her close as if she might slip away at any moment.
They stay like that for long minutes, Max’s shoulders trembling slightly as the dam he had so carefully constructed finally cracks. Tears slip silently down his cheeks, mingling with the softness of Olivia’s hair as he buries his face against her.
At last, Olivia pulls back, her eyes shining with joy. “I love you, Daddy.” she says simply, the words reverberating through Max’s very soul.
He manages a watery smile, brushing away the dampness on his cheeks. “And I love you, lieverd. More than you could ever know.”
Olivia beams at him before scrambling to her feet. “Oh! I almost forgot!” She darts over to her little backpack, rummaging through it eagerly.
Max watches her, his heart still thundering in his chest from the whirlwind of emotions coursing through him. He had built an empire, commanded boardrooms with an iron fist, and struck fear into the hearts of grown men … yet this innocent child had disarmed him completely.
“Here it is!” Olivia exclaims, returning with a piece of paper clutched in her small fist. She holds it out to Max, beaming. “For you, Daddy.”
With trembling hands, Max takes the drawing. A bright smile breaks across his face as he studies the crude but endearing figures — stick figures, but he can clearly make out Olivia, you, and himself, joined by vibrant swirls of color.
“It’s beautiful.” he murmurs, his fingers tracing over the lines with a tenderness he reserves only for her. “Thank you.”
Over the next few days, Max has the drawing professionally framed, the simple piece of artwork taking pride of place on the wall of his office. Whenever his gaze falls upon it, his heart swells with a love and sense of purpose that had been missing for far too long.
Beside the framed drawing hangs his business degree, a symbol of his power and influence in the corporate world. Yet, it is Olivia’s artwork that holds the most meaning, a reminder of what truly matters in this life.
Because Max is many things — a captain of industry, a force to be reckoned with, a man who has clawed his way to the top through sheer grit and determination.
But most importantly, he is a father.
And he has never been more proud of any achievement than to call himself Olivia’s daddy.
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rosiereveries · 5 months ago
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Part three of CEO!John Price
Part one | Part two
CW : smut, oral sex, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, mating press, little power imbalance, reader is a female
After you read the note that John left for you on your table, you are left feeling quite nervous but also excited. You were prepared for this. When you were getting ready for work this morning, you put on your favorite underwear. Lacy pink panties and matching bra that made your tits look great. You put on a lot of perfume, the one John had bought for you. You wore your best outfit, and you felt sexy and confident. You wanted to impress John, yesterday took you by surprise, but now you were in charge. When the time for his lunch break came, you were ready, so when you went to his office you knew what you wanted. You wanted him.
You find John sitting behind his table, working on his laptop. He looks good, so fucking hot without even trying. When he realizes that it´s you, who just walked in, he immediately shuts up his laptop and his full attention is on you. “Suddenly my day just got a lot better” he says and walks to you.
He gently places his hand on your cheek, and he kisses you. It’s nothing like the kiss you shared yesterday. This one is soft and gentle, like now he has time to taste you properly. He takes his time kissing you. When you try to touch him more, he pulls away. “Not now sweetheart, we have plans don’t we”. John walks out of the office with you. His hand on your back walking you through the whole floor like you’re his wife and not his secretary.
You’re confused. You expected a quick sex in his office, just like yesterday, you expected him to just pull your skirt up and fuck you on the desk. But now he is taking you somewhere in his expensive car and you’re wondering what the hell is going on.
You don’t know how John is feels about dating. You always thought that he was the type who just had casual sex with different partners. Since you started working for him, he didn’t have a girlfriend, but you heard from your colleges that he enjoys a company of beautiful women. Sometimes the relationship lasts longer but mostly there were a few weeks hook ups.
You stop in front of some Italian restaurant. He opens your door for you and like a true gentleman he helps you to get out of the car. The restaurant is lovely, there are only a few people inside and it looks really cozy. After you order your food he asks about your day, how did you sleep and what are your plans for the evening. He acts like you’re on a normal date and not on a business lunch. “I can see that something is bothering you, you don’t like it here?” John asks you after he notices how out of the place you look.
You tell him that you don’t understand what is going on, why are you here and what are you doing. “Well, I know that you don’t go out for your lunch break, so I wanted to take my girl out, take care of you.” He says it is not a big deal. “Your girl?” you ask. “What did you thought that I’m just going to fuck you in my office, when I am will be bored? John asks and your face goes red. That is exactly what you thought he would do. “I take care of my partners. I want to spoil you. Since you started to work for me you have been such a good girl, making my life so much easier. Now it is my turn.” You’re left speechless.
After the lunch, he takes you back to the office. His hand is on your thigh while he drives and it’s making you insane. Yes, you do like that he took you out but you’re so horny. The whole morning you imagined what he would do to you, and you were excited. And now he is teasing you with his fingers lightly brushing over your skin and each time he goes higher and higher.
At one moment when John’s hand is almost all the way under your skirt you moan. He looks at you with a playfulness in his eyes. Now he is teasing you on purpose. He continues to drive while his hand is slowly making its way in your panties. “Fuck love, you’re soaked, you could tell me that you wanted me so much.” Gently he starts to circle your clit and you’re opening your legs more for him.
He slowly puts two of his fingers inside you and after a while he starts to move them. You’re almost at the office building when he makes a turn and starts to drive in a different direction. “Where are we going?” you ask. “I made a promise to you yesterday, haven’t I. Were not fucking in my car. I am taking you to my place, so we don’t have to worry about some of your colleagues catching us fucking. We would want Janice from finance to see how good you take my cock. Am I right?”
To be honest you don’t care if Janice saw you. You’re so close and you can feel your orgasm approaching. John still casually drives while his fucking your pussy with his fingers. When he pulls his fingers out of you, you’re desperate, you just need a little bit more and you know that he knows it too. “You will come on my face in a minute don’t worry” John says.
And he is right the drive to his house is short and you both quickly get out of the car. When the door to his house closes behind you, he is immediately on you. Kissing you passionately and lifting you up so your legs are wrapped on his hips. He walks with you up the stairs not letting you go.
 “Everything off, I want to see you” he says when he lays you on his bed. You’re quick with your clothes and now you lay before him in nothing but your panties. “Fucking beautiful, and I bet you taste even better than you look.” “Spread your legs for me, sweetheart, let me see you” he gently pulls your panties, and he shows his head between your thighs. You’re already so wet and when he finally starts to lick your pussy your gone. You arch your back, and you can hear him whisper fucking perfect for me.  
When his tongue finds you clit you’re gone. He looks up at you and you can see your wetness on his beard and it’s the hottest thing you have ever seen. He quickly brings you to your orgasm and as he promised you to come on his face. When you finally come down from your orgasm you can see him taking his shirt off. He unzips his pants and quickly takes them off. He is on you naked, and you can see his hard dick leaking precum.
“I want to see your face this time, I want to see how pretty you’re going to look when I make you come on my dick.” He slowly pushes in you. “You were made for me honey, youre going to be the death of me.” he growls, and he starts to move in you. John is a big man and the way his stretching you is amazing. You can feel him everywhere and you are full.
It’s completely different than the sex you had yesterday. This is slow, his thrusts are hard, but it’s not rushed like the last time. He plays with your nipples, and you can feel that your second orgasm is approaching. “I am going to cum” you tell him, and you can feel that he is close too. He pushes your legs to your chest in a mating press and you can feel him so much deeper. “I need to come in your sweet pussy, please sweetheart be a good girl and let me” he says and you just nod. His fingers start to rub your clit and your orgasm hits you. He follows shortly after you spilling his seed into you. When he pulls out of you, he pulls you to his chest and he holds you so tight. You just lay there and you on his chest and his hands holding you.
You don’t go back to work that day, you stay at his place the night and the next day he drives you to your apartment. He tries to convince you to take the rest of the week off, so he can enjoy your company, but you tell him that he is the boss, and he needs to work, and he can’t take a vacation just because he is horny.  You go to work and when you go to your desk you see a note there, just like yesterday. But this time it says: My office now! And loose your panties on the way.
Masterlist You can support my work here : ko-fi
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itsallyscorner · 1 year ago
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At Fault | MV1
pairing: Max Verstappen x reader
summary: Max invites his ex to a gp and upsets you. Soft and stubborn Max, but he’s a cutie. A mix between angst and fluff, but mostly fluff towards the end. Lots of reader just ranting. Plus a little cameo from the Ferrari WAGs <3.
warnings: Does Kelly count as a warning? Kinda of toxic, I’m not really sure? But who actually likes seeing their boyfriend’s ex girlfriend??
author’s note: Italics are flashbacks! This turned out longer than expected, but I hope you guys like it! It’s also been a while since I’ve written fics, so it there are any errors pls ignore them😭
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The tension in the car was thick. So thick, Max believed he could cut it with a knife.
Your arms were crossed as you stared out the window while Max glanced at you wearily every other second. Thankfully, there were only three of you in the car. You and Max in the backseat, and the driver in front being separated by a divider. Though, Max was sure the driver was able to hear the current disagreement between you and him.
Max fidgeted with the lanyard of his paddock pass and stared at the side of your face. He knew he had upset you and honestly you had every right to be. You were biting the inside of your cheek in frustration trying to keep your emotions at bay. As much as you wanted to argue with Max about how you disagreed with his actions, he was due to race in a couple of hours and you didn’t want to add any more stress on his shoulders.
But Max wanted to talk about this now while you were both alone.
“Schatje, are you really mad?” Max asked quietly, leaning closer to you and trying to get you to face him. He truly didn’t mean to dampen your mood before the race. Most importantly, he didn’t like that he was the reason for you being upset. Your brows furrowed ever so slightly and a faint pout was on your lips, both indications that you were in fact not happy with him.
“Yes, Max, I am mad.” You answered, your voice trembling a bit. You had finally turned away from the window and were looking at him. Max felt a pang of guilt in his heart once he saw the look in your eyes. They weren’t glaring at him with the heat of anger, but they were soft and glossy, you were hurt—he hurt you.
Max cautiously reached out for your hand and tangled your fingers together, though your hand felt limp, like you didn’t want to hold his hand at all.
“I told you the truth.” Max said, leaning his head down trying to catch your eyes again. You took in a deep breath before turning to fully face him.
“Yes Max, you did and I absolutely appreciate it. I really do.” You began, grasping his hand between yours. “But that doesn’t make up for that fact that you’ve had this planned out for nearly a month and only told me thirty minutes ago!” You argued.
Thirty minutes ago, before your ride to the paddock can pick you guys up, Max had revealed that his ex-girlfriend, Kelly, and her daughter would be at the garage to watch the race. When you asked how they got passes to the garage, he shared that he had flown them out and provided them with passes for the weekend.
“So she’s been here all weekend?” You questioned him, arms crossed and a brow raised at him. The Italian heat felt even ten times worse as you grew frustrated with your boyfriend.
“Yeah, but they were at the Paddock Club, they’re going to watch the race from the garage though.” Max shrugged, as if it were not a big deal. He adjusted the bag on his shoulder and grasped your hand in his free one.
You couldn’t help the feeling of insecurity seeping into your bones. Kelly was rich and gorgeous, she was a model, and you weren’t. You had a normal job that offered you stability, paid you good money, and you knew how to clean up nice. However, you were no where near her level of anything or any of the other WAGs at that.
“You’ve known this whole time that she was here?” You asked quietly, your brows furrowed at him. You hated that you kept asking him questions, it was like you were interrogating him.
Max looked down at you, confusion etched on his face, “I did, schatje. I flew them out and got them some paddock passes.” You acted before you could speak, and shook your head at him, rolling your eyes in annoyance. Your boyfriend was one of the sweetest people you’ve ever met, however, many people took that as a sign to take advantage of him. While it took him longer to realize it, you noticed it instantly.
“I don’t understand why you’re so upset though, I told you the truth, it’s not like I’m doing anything with her.” Max defended himself, his hands wildly moving around. “She reached out telling me that P missed me and wanted to come to a race, it’s not for her, it’s for Penelope.”
“I understand that Max and as harsh as this sounds, Penelope isn’t your responsibility. I get that you helped raise her, but you guys broke up, you don’t need to provide for her anymore.” You threw a hand in the air, emphasizing your point. “Kelly’s fully capable of flying herself out and buying tickets to a race weekend.”
“I was just being nice.” Max raised his voice, also growing frustrated with the situation.
“And she’s still using you!” You fumed, tears welled in the corner of your eyes. “How many times does she have to use you for you to realize it? You guys broke up and she still manages to get what she wants out of you! Do you know how embarrassing it is to walk in and see her there?” You tried to reason with him. While many of his fans didn’t approve of Kelly, you knew Twitter would have a field day clowning you when they find out Kelly was present in the garage. Social media was never always a nice place and you’ve learned to ignore it, but that didn’t mean it stopped the hate from happening.
Max ran a hand through his hair and sighed.
“This is ridiculous.” He muttered under his breath, you scoffed and leaned back into your seat, staring at the window again.
“Do you not trust me?” Max asked forcibly, staring at the side of your head again. You let out a defeated sigh and turn your head to look at him, “I do trust you, Max.”
Max’s shoulders slouched as he leaned on the seat sideways, his body fully turned to you.
“Then why do you not trust me with this?” He pushed, nudging your knee with his, trying to get an answer out of you. He knew he was at fault and he just wanted to make it right.
“I don’t trust her.” You simply answered, feeling done with the conversation. The car turned, nearing the entrance of the paddock. You sniffled as you untucked your hair from behind your ears, removing your sunglasses from the top of your head.
“You don’t have to worry about her, schatje. I want you not her, there’s a reason why we broke up.” Max reassured, trying to ease the tension between the two of you.
The car came to a halt, a knock came from the driver, indicating that you guys arrived at the paddock. Before you could leave, you turned to Max and said, “Yet, she’s still here.”
ଓ⋆˙⟡₊ ⊹
Entering the paddock was always a frenzy. The moment you stepped out the car, fans were quick to recognize you, knowing that one of their favorite drivers were right behind you. You slid your sunglasses on and smoothed out the white maxi dress you wore. Max followed in suit and flashed a smile at the fans.
Shouldering his bag, he held his hand out to you, “I know you’re upset, but can I please hold your hand?”
You nodded and entangled your fingers with his. The two of you began your walk into the paddock hand in hand, as fans screamed and waved at Max. He gave your hand a squeeze before guiding you guys to some of the barricades and signing a few things for the fans.
After you guys scanned your passes, Max led you guys to the Red Bull garage. However, you came to a halt. Max was quick to look back at you, “You okay?”
“Yeah—I’m gonna meet up with Alex and Rebecca, if that’s okay? We were planning on seeing each other before the race.” You tell him. A small pout formed on Max’s lips, “Oh, okay, I’ll drop you off.” He offered, still holding your hand.
You and the girls decided to meet up at the Paddock Club. In front of the entrance, Max stood in front of you.
“You’ll come to the garage to watch, right? I need you there.” He asked quietly, so that people passing by cannot hear your conversation.
You nodded, “Yeah, I’ll be there before you’re in the car.”
Max mirrored your actions, “Okay, I love you.” He pulled you in by the waist and pressed a kiss onto your forehead. You squeezed his waist in response, “I love you too.”
Max watched as you entered the building, huffing to himself, while he watched you walk further and further into the building.
Placing your sunglasses above your head, you scan the room until you see one of the girls, Alex was the first to spot you, standing in her spot and waving at you to come over.
“Coucou mon amour!” She greeted you, (Hello, my love!) immediately wrapping you in a hug. You squeal as she squeezed you, “Helloo!” You giggled. You go to greet Rebecca, who is immediately giving you a knowing look. Being the older one amongst the three of you, she was often looked up to as the older sister.
She wrapped an arm around you and smoothed your back, “What’s wrong?” She asked while you got situated in the chair beside her.
You shook your head, “It’s just Max.”
Rebecca grabbed the bottle of champagne on the table and poured some into a flute glass. She offered you the glass, “Thank you, I needed this.”
She smiled watching you take a long sip from the glass, “Oh honey, I know.”
Alex pouted and nudged your foot with hers, “What happened with Max?”
“He invited Kelly to watch the race at the garage today.” You bluntly shared, slumping yourself in your chair.
Rebecca’s eyes widened, “Shut up.”
You raised a brow at her, “Oh, I didn’t even get to the kicker yet.”
Alex’s brows raised, “Which is?”
“He flew her out—he fucking flew her out and gave her tickets for the entire weekend.” You revealed through gritted teeth, still being aware of your surroundings. Rebecca cursed under her breath as Alex took your glass and refilled it with champagne.
Grabbing the glass, you continued, “She’s literally been here all weekend and he only told me this morning. I just don’t get it, they broke up, I don’t know why he’s still so concerned about her.” You took another long sip of champagne,
“What was the reason why?” Rebecca asked you.
“Apparently Penelope missed him—which I can believe, but did he really have to do all the providing when she can financially support herself? I get that he was trying to be nice, but still.” You grunt, fiddling with your glass.
Alex comfortingly rubbed your arm, “No, I get it, if Charles did the same thing with his ex, I’d also be upset.”
“I literally told him that she’s using him once again.” You threw your hands up. “If he wants her to be there so much, he might as well just get back with her. Like—am I crazy for losing my mind at the fact they were in contact with each other, even if it wasn’t in a romantic sense?”
Rebecca shook her head, “No, your feelings are absolutely valid. You’re just concerned and it obviously caught you off guard. He shouldn’t have been texting his ex in the first place.”
You groaned and held your head in your hands, “I hate feeling like this, it makes me question if he actually wants to be with me or not.”
Rebecca held her finger up, “I’m gonna stop you right there.” Placing her hand on your shoulder she says, “Max might be acting very stupid right now, but one thing I know for sure is that Max loves you and absolutely adores you. Without a doubt.”
Alex nodded, agreeing with Rebecca, “Like have you seen the way he looks at you? He literally worships the ground you walk on. I’m sure he’s beating himself up right now for doing what he did.”
“He loves you, (y/n), everyone who’s seen you guys together knows it. I don’t think he’d put himself in this kind of position on purpose, you’ve got that man wrapped around your finger, babe.” Rebecca reassured you, throwing her arm around your shoulder and pulling you into another hug.
“Come on cheer up, who cares if she’s in the garage today? You’re the one he’s gonna be going home with tonight.” You laughed shaking your head at her teasing.
“Hey! Tonight and every single night!” Alex pointed out raising her glass at you.
ଓ⋆˙⟡₊ ⊹
Two hours. It’s been two hours since Max has dropped you off at the Paddock Club and he still hasn’t heard back from you. He’s been distracted all day. During a meeting with Christian and some of the engineers, he couldn’t help but constantly check for a text from you, earning himself a scolding from the team principal. Checo and a couple of people from the team tried talking to him, but he wasn’t paying attention. His eyes wandered wondering when you would enter the garage.
He did in fact see Kelly and P—obviously he was expecting to see them since he invited them, but all he felt while talking to them was guilt. Guilty because he remembered the look of hurt and betrayal in your eyes and how he was the reason behind it. He hated it, he felt grimy, and dirty for going behind your back and texting Kelly. Not even ten minutes into catching up with the mother and daughter, Max realized that you were in fact correct. Kelly had used him again, instantly making advances on him despite knowing he was happily taken. But for the sake of P, Max made sure to be friendly though kept his distance to not feed into her mother’s schemes.
It was nearing lights out and you were still not in the garage. He had gone through his warm ups with Bradley, had his fireproofs and suit on, and even laced up his shoes. Still, no sight of you whatsoever in the garage. He was beginning to worry about you, sending you a couple of messages to your phone.
The car was due to be on the grid and there was about half an hour left till lights out. Max looked around the bustling garage, checking to see if you had snuck in without him seeing, though to no avail, you still weren’t there.
“Max…Max…Max?” GP tried to get Max’s attention. Snapping a finger in front of the driver’s face, Max’s eyes flickered over to his race engineer.
“What do you want now?” Max groaned, throwing his head back. To onlookers, it looked like a typical interaction between Max and GP. Though, GP felt like he was babysitting a child whose attention span couldn’t focus on one thing for more than a few seconds.
“Mate, I’ve been talking to you for the past five minutes.” GP claimed. Choosing to ignore the information he had just “briefed” Max on, he decided to be a friend.
“Where’s your head at?” GP asked Max. The Dutch man sighed, leaning against one of the storage units in the garage.
“I messed up with (y/n). I did something and it was my fault, I know it was. But she’s not happy with me at the moment and I just want to make it right.” Max summarized, not sharing any more details to protect the privacy of your relationship.
GP motioned towards Kelly who was talking to one of the other influencers in the garage, “Does it have to deal with that?”
“Unfortunately.” Max mumbled, crossing his arms and choosing to stare at the floor.
GP took a minute to stare at his driver. Max was deflated, he wasn’t as hyped for the race or over explaining some random fact about god knows what. Instead, Max kept to himself, greeting people when he had to and communicating with his team prior to the race. Other than that, Max chose to stare at his phone and look longingly outside the garage.
“Listen, I don’t know what exactly went down. But I’ve seen you with (y/n) and she clearly makes you happy, we’ve all see how lively you are with her around. You’ve got a lot of groveling to do bud, but it’ll be worth it.” GP advised, clapping Max on the back to wake him up.
“She’ll always be worth it.” Max quietly said, taking another glimpse at his phone. Only to be met with his wallpaper of you and him, with no notifications.
ଓ⋆˙⟡₊ ⊹
Christian Horner stared at his monitor at the pit wall watching as drivers and their teams gathered on the grid. He saw Checo by his car, taking a few sips of water before the race. When the camera panned to Max’s Red Bull, the driver was no where to be seen. Sparing him a second of wondering where his driver was, the camera cut to the garage where Max stood, race suit at his waist, looking no where near ready to participate in the race.
“Why is Max not in the car?” He turned to GP, stress evident on his face. GP turned in his seat and looked back into the garage to see Max pacing. Cursing under his breath, he excused himself from Christian and rushed to Max.
“Max, the race is literally about to start!”
Max stops his pacing and places his hands at his hips, “I need my girlfriend.”
“What?” Bradley and GP both stuttered out. Max deadpanned at the two men in front of him.
“(Y/n), I need to see her before the race.” Max demanded. Bradley pinched the bridge of his nose, “Max, she’ll be here after the race, you’ll be fine.” He pushed the balaclava towards Max’s chest, who simply let the mask fall at his feet.
GP sighed at Max, before calling one of the Red Bull employees.
“Please send out a search for (y/n), Max is refusing to get in the car.” He whispered to the intern. The girl looked at him confusingly but nodded and set out the garage.
ଓ⋆˙⟡₊ ⊹
You rushed as best as you could in kitten heels towards the Red Bull garage. You were supposed to be at the garage at least half an hour ago. You and the girls got caught up catching up with each other’s lives that none of you realized it was getting close to lights out. It truly was a funny sight, the three of you rushing out of the Paddock Club and running through the paddock like a bunch of maniacs.
“(Y/n)!” You heard someone yell. You stopped in your steps and looked around, only to see a girl dressed in Red Bull uniform. You recognized her, you believed her name was Nicole and was an intern for the team this season.
“Hey! Is Max on the grid already?” You approached her, a little sad that you missed seeing him before the race.
“No, he’s actually waiting for you. They’re sending out a search for you because he’s refusing to get in the car.” Nicole explained, placing a gentle hand on your back and guiding you through the crowd of fans and towards the garage.
ଓ⋆˙⟡₊ ⊹
GP released a sigh of relief once he saw you enter the garage. He shoved Max’s shoulder to avert his attention to you.
“What—oh,” Max began, only to stop himself and rush towards you. You met him half way, placing a hand on his elbow.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t meant to stay there for too long.” You quickly apologized. Max shook his head, “I don’t care, I’m just happy you’re here.”
Your brows furrowed at him, “Why are you here? Why aren’t you in the car yet?”
Max placed both his hands on your waist with a faint blush on his cheeks, “I need my goodluck kiss.”
You paused your actions, “You’re kidding me. Max, the race is about to start in five minutes!” You scolded your boyfriend.
“Please, schatje.” He pleaded, leaning closer towards you. Other team members and guests watched the both of you, the scene in front of them peaking their interests.
You gazed up at his stormy eyes, giving in because you knew he was stubborn and wouldn’t stop until he got his way. Plus, the team would hate you if you lowered their chances of scoring points this weekend.
“Just because I kiss you doesn’t mean I’m not mad at you anymore.” You clarified quietly. His forehead nodded against yours, “I know schatje. I promise to make it up to you, I really do.”
A small smile forms on your lips, “I know, Maxie.”
Max takes that as his sign to crash his lips onto yours. One of his hands support the back of your neck while the other rests on your lower back. You smile against his lips, pulling back and placing a peck right above the small mole on his upper lip.
“I love you.” You whispered to him.
“I love you too.” He whispered back. Before you can fully pull away from him he quickly adds, “I’m serious about my promise.”
“I know, baby.” You squeeze him comfortingly. “Now get out there and win the race. Stay safe.”
He pressed a kiss to your forehead as both you and GP ushered him towards his gear that’s been waiting to be put on.
ଓ⋆˙⟡₊ ⊹
A man of his word, Max won the race. With at least a five second gap between him and Lando, your boy was top step yet once again. As much as he won, the thrill of seeing him win and crossing the finish line never got old. You celebrated every win of his as if it were his first. You’d always be proud of him, whether he got pole or not.
Many of the engineers and members of the team began to rush towards the grid, eager to greet Max once he got out the car.
Looking around, you suddenly make eye contact with Kelly, who seemed to have been sizing you up. You weren’t really sure what look was on her face, but the hints of a snarl were on her lips. With her nose stuck up in the air, you watched as she carried her daughter and began to follow the rest of the team.
“Don’t mind her. You’re the one he wants to see when he gets out that car.” A voice said from beside you. You jumped, coming face to face with Christian. Your eyes widened at your boyfriend’s boss. Prior to the race, he was informed of the search party the entire team had for you to get Max in the car. While he was annoyed earlier, he thought it was rather cute that Max was so fond of you.
“You know, he’s never begged her for a good luck kiss.” Said Christian, a knowing look on his features. “You on the other hand—he can’t seem to function whenever you’re not around.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know he was gonna put that much of a fight earlier today.” You apologized, feeling a bit flustered. “He’s a bit stubborn sometimes.” You added, to which Christian chuckled at.
“Oh, I know. Max and I have worked together for years.” He stated. He glanced out the garage and motioned towards it, “C’mon now, I’m sure he’s already looking for you.”
ଓ⋆˙⟡₊ ⊹
You make your way through the crowd of Red Bull members, many of them recognizing you and helping you squeeze through till you were at the very front of the barricade.
Max was already out, helmet in his hand, while his other embraced GP and a couple other engineers. You watched as he high-fived Penelope, barely sparing a glance at her mother. A little burst of pride went off in your stomach, you couldn’t help it.
His blue orbs scanned the crowd of red and blue, looking for you. You yell his name, his eyes immediately finding yours. A smile breaks out on his face as he rushed over to you, dropping his helmet in the process. Despite the barricade between you two, he wraps both his arms tightly around you, lifting you off the ground.
“Max!” You squealed, your arms wrapping around his neck. His large hand found your cheek, slightly pulling you away from his neck so he can connect his lips with yours. Naturally, your lips moulded perfectly against his moving in synch. The team erupted in cheers around you.
“I’m so proud of you!” You tell him once your lips separate.
“I couldn’t have done it without you.” He grins, gently pinching your bottom lip between his pointer finger and thumb.
He couldn’t stay long, being told that he had to get to the podium for the trophy ceremony.
“I’ll see you after the podium, schatje!” He yelled with a wink over his shoulder, causing a blush to form on your cheeks.
ଓ⋆˙⟡₊ ⊹
The ceremony and the media tent took a while, you finally got to see Max an hour later. You were sitting in his driver’s room, when he bursted through the door already looking for you.
You stood up, smiling at him, “Hey.”
He mirrors your smile. Placing the trophy on the couch he opens his arms for you. You walk into the comfort of his hold, burying your head into the crook of his neck and wrapping your arms around his torso.
Finally it was just the two of you.
“I’m sorry.” You said, though it came out muffled against his skin. Max’s hands stopped the circular motions they were rubbing on your back.
“For what?”
You pulled back looking at him, “I overreacted about the whole Kelly thing. I should’ve taken your word for it.”
Max immediately shook his head, disagreeing with you. “No, you were absolutely right about her. I should’ve listened to you from the beginning. The moment I said hi to them she was already trying to come onto me—I avoided her by the way, I just entertained P.”
“I’m also sorry for what I said about P. I was in the wrong for that comment.” You said, a small grimace on your face when you remembered the off hand comment you made about the poor child.
Max chuckled, “Schatje, seriously, it’s okay.”
His calloused hands were rough against the soft skin of your face. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and cradled your jaw in his hand.
“I may have a soft spot for P, but they’re in my past. You’re my future, (y/n). The future that I only want and see myself in.” Max admitted. Your eyes gleamed at him, “You’re the future I want too, Maxie.”
“Good because you’re not getting rid of me that easily. You’re stuck with me.” He joked, squeezing your cheeks.
“I love you. So much. I know it seemed like I didn’t trust you today, but I want you to know that I do. I fully trust you with my life and I mean it.” You said, your fingers playing with the ends of his hair at the nape of his neck.
Max nodded, “I believe you. I love you too.”
The two of you basked in the silence and comfort of being in each others arms. Max was the first one to break the silence, “You don’t have plans after this right?”
You hummed against his neck, “Besides celebrating your win, nothing. Why?”
“Because I’m taking you out on a date.” Max proudly announced, a goofy smile on his lips.
“Don’t you wanna celebrate with the team?” You asked him. Max shook his head, “Nope, the only person I want to celebrate with tonight is you.”
You giggled at Max’s antics, “Whatever you say, Champ.”
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monzamash · 6 months ago
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★ last chance; long live the inbox graveyard! —i pick a long forgotten request in my inbox and write a short blurb or musings
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hot tub time machine lando norris x you —no warnings, just fluff "could we get a number 14 (pool/hot tub sex) with lando pleaseeee? so excited that you’re writing again!!" —requested by anon on october 8th, 2024
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“happy birthday, sweetheart...”
“i really needed this," he sighed, "knowing i would be home with you for this was the only thing getting me through the last few of weeks.”
lando could feel every single ache and pain wash away as he slid into the hot tub, stomach full of the gorgeous italian spread you’d ordered for dinner. his favourite. he swore you were an angel sent to earth, everything you did for him was heavenly, he could never find the words to tell you how much he loved you.
“you look so happy lan,” you smiled, dropping the kimono you’d worn during dinner as lando’s eyes cast across your body, luring you into the tub.
“i’m very happy - especially when i get to enjoy all of this… c’mere pretty girl.”
a soft giggle slipped from your lips as you grasped his hand, "let me get a bottle of red wine for us to share and i'll join you — do you wanna open the one daniel gave you?"
"ooo, are we entering that portion of the night?" lando asked suggestively as you stood up, shooting him quizzical look.
"what do you mean?" you asked earning a loud laugh from the tub, water splashing a little as lando pulled himself up to the edge, smiling over at you with a look you knew all too well.
"as soon as you start on the red wine, you get so frisky," he stated as if it was a well-known fact, one that you certainly weren't aware of.
"i do not!" you staunchly defended, earning another loud scoff.
"oh, wow," lando laughed, "yes, you do baby and i'm not complaining so crack her open..." he teased as you carefully stepped into the tub, with lando's help of course, eyes still narrowed in annoyance.
"okay so maybe wine makes me a little more amorous than usual but i think i'm just like that when i drink, no?" you pouted, earning yourself a pity kiss from the birthday boy.
"red wine makes you horny and that's okay," he teased again with a cheeky smirk on his face as you handed him the stemmed glass, "ta."
"we'll see then, won't we," you tutted, pouring two glasses of wine while lando chuckled to himself.
"i already know what's gonna happen but sure," he baited with a wink as he slowly dunked his head under the water and emerged with a shake of his wild curls, sending water flying across the room and all over you.
"you are so sure of yourself tonight."
lando's eyes skimmed across your body briefly while you claw-clipped your hair up, not wanting the hassle of having to dry it before going to bed. secretly you knew where the night was headed, red wine or not— it was his birthday after all, but you weren't about to admit that to the man hypnotised by your every move, jaw slack from the glorious view of your cleavage.
lando was a simple man.
"well, i am the birthday boy after all so i reserve the right to be cocky once a year, yeah?" he taunted from the other side of the tub.
"yeah, only once a year..." you rolled your eyes humorously.
the distance between the two of you seemed too far for lando, so he sculled the rest of his drink and carefully placed the glass on the floor before giving you a mischievous smile.
"steady on, party boy," you chuckled as he leaned forward and snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you into his warm hold.
"i just want to focus all of my attention on you," he whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear that had fallen out of your clip, his emerald irises darted over your face, finally resting on yours.
"i missed you a lot, you know."
you took that as an invitation to straddle his lap and rest your elbows over his shoulders, wine glass dangling from your fingers. lando smoothed his hands down your back and and pressed fiery kisses across your chest. his lips travelled back up your neck, along your jaw before finding your soft lips in a slow, passionate kiss. you moved in sync with him, bringing one of your hands up to trawl through his wet, tangled curls. the chlorine always got the best of them.
lando hummed quietly into the kiss before pulling back slightly, "this is the best birthday i've ever had... and i couldn't be more in love with you," he confessed as you took the chance to admire the sweet boy you'd chosen to share your life with.
you grasped his face gently between your hands and pressed another soft kiss to his lips, making sure he knew just how much you loved him, no matter what life threw your way.
"i love you too, darling... happy birthday."
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a/n — the first of the end of (f1) season sale!! this hot tub request actually wasn't forgotten, just half-baked so thank you anon for sparking up the inspiration to finally finish it! hope you enjoyed it 😌
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stardust-thief · 4 months ago
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look after you
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an: this my first x reader fic LMAOO, i needed to write smth and this spencer was on my brain :// i am in the middle of a rly long donna fic but i cba this was much easier. also i absolutley have not proof read this sorry
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synopsis: you get hurt while hunting down an unsub, after some reluctance (and kind words from papa rossi) you let spencer take care of you, 1.7k words
cw: descriptions of violence, panic attack, spencer swears and can drive (the most un-canon thing abt him) umm italians..., the rest is just fluffy, hurt/comfort, x reader but no y/n
masterlist
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The unsub had his gun pointed at you, the cold press of the barrel against flesh. He was ranting and raving about needing to be seen and understood, having spent his childhood in emotional neglect. Teachers and parents failed him at every turn, it’s not his fault that this happened but he can fix it if he just drops the gun. Rossi tried to tell him this over and over, but he only got more angry, pushing the gun in harder and harder. 
If you were to open your eyes, you would’ve seen JJ and Luke there too, guns trained on the unsub. Their eyes glancing between you, the unsub, and the gun. But you didn’t. Not until the bang went off and you could breathe again. 
The flashing lights of the ambulance do nothing to dissuade the pressing headache you feel coming on, the movement of people helps even less. You watch as the EMT’s cart the unsub away on a gurney, sheet covering him. 
“You okay, kid?” Rossi asks from beside you, he had been hovering ever since the ambulance arrived. 
“I’m fine, just need a good night's rest. I’ll be good as new.” You hummed half-heartedly. 
David Rossi always knew when someone was lying to him, part of that talent comes from his job as a profiler, but it’s mostly because of some ancient Italian magic. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that to me. Look, Hotch is on his way with Reid and Emily. They’re gonna be taking some witness statements, but I imagine Boy Wonder will be a little distracted. I want you to let him take care of you, ok? You’ve been through hell tonight kid, let him worry.”
Italians never lie, although you wish they did. Spencer had very obviously caught feelings for you, everyone on the team could see it. Unfortunately, so could you. Spencer Reid was one of the kindest, most genuine people you had ever met, always putting other people's needs before his own. A voice in your head kept telling you that there is nothing you have done to deserve someone like him doting all over you? You had only brought trouble to the people who loved you. Eventually you learned that it was better to just keep everyone at a distance; if you don’t let them in, they can’t get hurt. Which worked well, up until Spencer.
He had such a wormy way of getting into your brain at the worst times; whether it was when you were alone in your kitchen, or at slightly dangerous, very inappropriate times on a case. You couldn’t stop thinking about him and his stupidly cute (and sometimes ill-timed) facts. Some part of you wanted to let him in, in the end the stubborn side always took over. 
Before long, you heard the worried cries of Spencer trying to find you in the chaos. Rossi called his name and gave you a pat on the shoulder, “Remember, you deserve to be looked after too.” and left to find Hotch.
“Oh my god, are you okay? We tried to get here as soon as we could, but they managed to take down the unsub right? What happened, did he hurt you? How did you get so close? Talk to me are-” Oh, how he rambles. 
“Spencer, I’m fine. I just need to… rest, you know. He didn’t hurt me that bad, just a sprained wrist, couple bruises. Could’ve been worse.”
He spluttered, “Could’ve- you know, that doesn’t make this any better, I was so worried about you. He had a fucking gun to your head, I was going insane thinking about what could’ve happened. What did the EMT say about your wrist?”
“Just to rest it, and use an ice pack if it starts to swell or hurt.” You couldn’t look him in the eye, he was so worried about you. It made butterflies dance in your belly, but there was a twinge of guilt there too. He was so busy, he worked so hard and then went home to look after his mom. He had too much on his plate, how could you add more to it? “Spence, I’m really sorry about worrying you. I should be fine to leave now, so I’ll just head home and sleep it off. Have a good night.” You pushed yourself off the ambulance, eyes focused downwards, restless fingers fidgeting with the already frayed bandage.
“No- wait what are you talking about? You’re gonna drive yourself home in this condition? I can’t let you do that, even thinking about it makes me feel sick.” He lowered his head to yours and spoke softer this time, “Please let me take you home. I don’t have to stay, I just want to make sure you’re ok, ok?”
Fuck that voice did things to you. Leaning from side to side, you thought about what Rossi had said earlier. Maybe, it was ok to let someone in? It would be cruel to let him suffer more, not knowing if you were ok or somehow got in a car crash with 5 other vehicles on your way home. Just this once, you think.
Looking up into his soft eyes, you give a small nod. His lips immediately turned up into a smile, his hand comes up to cup your head, fingers stroking your cheek. It felt… nice. His thumb was calloused but he still moisturised enough for it to feel smooth, and he smelled like lemongrass and ginger. His hand fell to the small of your back as he guided you to his car. Ever the gentlemen, he opened your door and softly placed his hand over your head as you got in. Manoeuvring himself into the driver's side, he pulled out his phone and typed something, then quickly stuffed it away into a pocket and turned on the engine.
The sky was dark when you woke up. The unsub had a gun to your head at dusk, and Spencer was walking into your apartment when the moon was out. He took off his shoes and the door, and walked into your living room.
“I’ve never been here before,” he mused. “I like it.”
He looked at ease wandering around your apartment, his shoulders had relaxed and he let out soft musings as he perused your photo collections.
“Oh Spencer, not that one, it’s embarrassing!” You tried (with not a lot of effort) to pull him away from the frame.
“No this is cute, was this when you were at University?” He asked, wrapping an arm around you.
Oh my god. “Yeah, um- those were some of my friends at the time. I try and keep in touch but, you know.”
He hummed, pulling you closer into him. Finally content, he looked down at you. “How’s your wrist?”
“It’s ok,” you shrugged, “just a little tender now.”
“Where’s your kitchen, I can get some ice.”
“Spence-” you wanted to tell him no, to go home and look after himself. But his body was so warm, having him so close to you melted your brain, leaving you unable to think of any good reason as to why he should leave. “It’s the first door on the right.”
His grip tightened for a moment before he swiftly navigated you to the sofa, and turned to leave for the kitchen. The cold of the apartment rushed to get you as soon as he unraveled his arms. You hadn’t been alone all day since the unsubs attack, it somehow felt more claustrophobic. His hand on your throat, squeezing the air from your lungs. The way he grabbed your arm, contorting it so he could throw you to the ground. The gun, pressed into your forehead. The knowledge that the only thing between you being alive, and you being in a ditch, was a madman's finger on the trigger. Reality faded as each memory pressed further and further into your mind. You weren’t in your apartment anymore, you could feel the cold concrete beneath your hands. The thick air in your lungs, Rossi and the unsub shouting.
A hand on your knee, a soft voice bringing you back. There was no unsub, no gun to your head. You were alive. You were alive and Spencer was in your apartment, wiping the tears that had fallen down your face.
“You with me?” His voice was so soft, you couldn’t recall ever hearing Spencer raise his voice in anger. He was so gentle when he touched you. 
The floodgates burst, choked sobs made their way past your lips. Your shoulder shook as you cried, pressing yourself into Spencer’s arms. “Oh honey,” He murmured, pressing his lips into your head, softly rocking you back and forth as you sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. It was too much. You could have died today. Very nearly did. You weren’t ready to die, not yet at least.
As your cries softened into hiccups, you pushed yourself back from Spencer. “I’m sorry, that was so disgusting. It just all- I don’t know.”
 “Hey, you don’t ever have to apologise to me ok? What you went through was really scary, I’d honestly be more shocked if you didn’t cry.” His hand moved to draw soothing shapes along your back as you leaned back into him. “You want to watch something to calm down? I brought you some water and an ice pack for your wrist.”
He would be the death of you. You nod and push yourself back into the sofa, moving your wrist to rest in your lap. Spencer gently places the ice pack across your wrist and grips the tips of your fingers. He leans forward to push your cup of water towards you and grabs the TV remote, then turns and leans back so your side is pressed into his front. Truthfully, Spencer didn’t seem like the type to watch cable TV but he navigated the menu with somewhat ease. 
“Look at what’s on! It’s your favourite isn’t it, you want me to put it on.” He said as he nudged your shoulder.
He remembered your favourite film, of course he would remember it he has an eidetic memory. You hummed a yes as you relaxed your body further into his, finally content. Maybe Rossi was right, having Spencer close really wasn’t so bad after all.
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mclacedes · 5 months ago
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sweet like candy (LN4 SMAU)
summary: in which Lando is a complete simp over singer Y/N L/N
warnings: a little bit of hate, cursing, suggestive content
pairing: lando norris × singer!reader
face claim: sabrina carpenter / morgan riddle
✧ next up
✦ .  ⁺   . ENJOY.  ⁺   . ✦
ynln
📍 literally everywhere
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❤️ by ybffname, ysistername, ynfan1 and more
ynln: la dolce vita or whatever they say
click here to open comment section
ynfan2: woman how DARE YOU being this aesthetic????
ynfan3: i love you please marry me
ynhater1: omg can you stop begging for attention
ybffname: love the vibes and all, but when are you gonna stop traveling around and come back home huh?
ynln: i'd say about never but we'll see how things go 🥰
ynfan4: jesus christ woman where AREN'T YOU
ynfan7: okay but have you thought about stopping at a F1 race or something
ynln: tell me more about it 💭
ynfan5: london, italy, paris... GIRL OMG
ynhater2: i don't think you should flaunt like this when there's literally people starving
ynfan6: literally dream life
ysistername: cute but can i have my hair clip back? THANK YOU!
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landonorris
🎶 Thinking Bout You - Frank Ocean
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❤️ by ybffname, ymother, landofan6 and more
landonorris: they do say la dolce vita :) but whatever right?
click here to open comment section
landofan1: hot.
landofan2: i do have a lot to say but i have some decency
maxfewtrell: i think your shirt's a bit unbuttoned mate
landonorris: thanks mate! hadn't noticed
ynfan7: am i dreaming or that caption...
ynfan4: girl the caption, the song, those pictures... it's all for her
landofan3: what?
ynfan4: check out y/n l/n's latest post
landofan5: HOLY FUCK
landofan5: don't judge him for making it about her,if i were him i'd do the EXACT same
ynln: thanks for letting me know :)
landonorris: you should stop by a race, maybe i could tell you a thing or two about italian :)
maxfewtrell: mate, they still have DMs :)
A WEEK LATER
ynupdates:
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ynupdates: Us too, Lando! During his friend Max Fewtrell's Twitch stream, Formula 1 driver Lando Norris admitted to having a crush on Y/N L/N, as transcribed below:
Lando: “If I like Y/N? Yes, absolutely! There is no reality in which I don't listen to her songs or that I'm not a big fan of hers.”
Max: “'Fan'? Mate, drop it, we all know how you're a complete simp over the woman.”
Lando: “What?”
Max: “Be for fucking real, now! We know it. You've talked about her, not once, not twice, we lost count! Can't keep track of it anymore. You're down bad."
Lando: “Shut up, you bastard. But I will admit, I think she's cute.”
click here to open comment section
ynfan7: IT'S HAPPENING GUYS
landofan5: god knows how much i've waited
ynfan8: ok but where has lando talked about yn multiple times??
landofan9: he once brought her up during a video with oscar (his teammate) for mclaren, saying her songs are huge part of his pre race routine
landofan10: or when he sang her song "God is a Woman" on live
landofan11: or when he literally posted one of her songs on his stories
landofan12: or when he said she's his favorite singer
ynfan8: i agree with max tbh
TWO WEEKS LATER
y/n via instagram stories.
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ynupdates
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ynupdates: NOBODY MOVES!
Y/n L/n was seen on the McLaren garage ahead of the Dutch Grand Prix weekend - today, it's qualifying! Go papaya!
(let's try not to clown but just so everybody is properly informed, Lando is a McLaren driver.....)
click here to open comment section
ynhater3: ofc she's gon cling to a man for relevancy... typical yn
ynfan7: pls go suck a dick
landofan7: OK OK OK IM SO OK WITH THIS
ynfan9: OMG OKG OM WJAT
ynfan11: that's literally momma and papa
landofan10: she's literally there for him wtf 😭
ynfan15: im not fraekingnout AT ALL
mclaren:
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❤️ liked by ynln, landofan6, landonorris and more
mclaren: Having set the fastest time in Q3, Lando grabs pole position! Tomorrow, we go racing!
click here to open comment section
landofan17: OMG SHE LIKED IT YALL
landofan18: can we focus on the racing for a bit?
landofan5: my prayers didn't go unnoticed... good to know!
landofan19: soft launch i fear?
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bunny-jpeg · 23 days ago
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breaking down the barriers (let's cause a conflict of interest)
max verstappen - team principal au
tags: smut/pwp, driver!reader, age gap (20s/40s), team principal!max, power dynamics, missionary, praise, hero worship, max knows what he wants and he will get it
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he doesn't like your little boyfriend, the guy who was proud arm candy for you. he was a dazzling italian boy who you met during the start of your career - to max, he was just a failed f1 driver living out the life through you - you deserved better. deserved a better man, a lover who could provide, take care of you.
a man like max verstappen.
but, he remembered being young. being stupid, being with people he probably shouldn't have been with. but max knew what your best interests were. and you needed someone responsible. and who was more responsible than a man with five world champions and a team under his belt.
"she doesn't want to talk to you anymore, mate. i suggest you take a hike, for her best interest... and yours." he said bluntly with that smile that dazzled the press for decades.
you were a sniffling mess, nearing tears as you sat on the couch. it was the weekend of the british grand prix, and your boyfriend just ghosted you - but have no fear, max was here.
"i don't get it, sir. what did i do wrong?" you wiped your eyes, "i thought i was a good girlfriend, he said it was the best for our careers." you shuddered a sigh.
max came to the couch and handed you a few tissues, "that is part of the game." he reached out and cupped your cheek, "you sacrifice mind, body and soul for a win."
"is that why you never got married, sir?" you said, then pouted, "am i never going to get married?" it sounded so innocent come from you, max found it oh-so endearing. it was cute. he sat down and took the tissues from you to wipe your eyes.
"well, how about you give a world championship and i'll marry you." he said with slight humour in his tone. but in total fairness, he wasn't exactly joking. he didn't want to scare you.
you chuckled lightly, "i think it would be a conflict of interest, sir. i don't want you in trouble with the fia." you had a small smile, "plus, i'd make a bad wife."
max put the tissues on the table and leaned back against the couch. his arm stretched over the back of it, close to you. he replied, "no such thing. you'd be lovely. i think you need someone who understands our world better. it's not easy, i know. lost too many lovely women because the sport came first.'
you nodded, eager for advice from you boss. you sighed, "i wish more men were like you, mister verstappen." even after all this time on his team, knowing max in general, he was still mister verstappen.
max reached for you once more and rubbed his cheek with his thumb, you never realized how big his hands were. how strong they were, how strong all of him was. you swallowed, max's keen eye noticed.
you daringly asked, "can you stay with me tonight, sir? i don't want to be alone." your friends weren't here, neither was your family. all alone except for your team, except for max.
"of course." he leaned in a little bit more, he noticed how you relaxed against his touch. he eyed your lips for a moment and smiled softly before he went in a kissed you on the lips.
he half expected a firm punch to the head. but, instead you wrapped your arms around him and he got his arms around your middle. the kiss, which sound of lasted moments, lingered. it grew hungry, like you two were on the same page. your short nails dragged across his shoulders while he got you into his lap.
when eventually you both pulled away, you looked into his blue eyes. you were seated in his lap, your hands held tightly onto the verstappen.com branded t-shirt. you swallowed, "this isn't right... we could get in trouble."
"let the fia fine me, take all my money. it won't stop me from fucking you tonight." he said before he went in for another searing kiss. you moaned against his lips and he held onto your behind to keep you steady.
a driver and her older team principal, that would make headlines for weeks. but it was no secret that max liked you better, you were the first choice that he ever had for a driver. yes, he found you attractive in the team gear. yes, he fantasized about you at any given chance. yes, he wished he could boot your teammate out of the second seat and make you the sole star of the team.
let the press gossip, let the online fourms be littered with accusations, let the fia slap fine after fine on the team and the man himself. max didn't care because as he pushed you down on the bed and took his shirt off - there was nothing that could stop max verstappen from gorging himself on your sweet, sweet cunt. the pussy that had plagued him for months at this point.
you looked at him as he worked his belt. your t-shirt was off and you were left in a high impact sports bra. your eyes looked beautiful, gleamed with a certain lust for him that he knew that he couldn't deprive you of.
"you'll be good for me?" he asked softly, "i don't know why i'm asking. of course you will, my future champion." he reached for you and ran his thumb across your bottom lip.
you nodded, "yes, sir."
he pulled his hand away and got the belt out of the loops of his jeans, "look at you - so well behaved." he watched you get out of your clothes before he finished getting out of his.
"i try to be, sir. you always know best, and i trust you." you swallowed. this was not the brightest idea, to let your boss have sex with you. careers ended over lesser crimes. but you were both adults, and you couldn't deny. there was an allure to max verstappen.
you had his posters on your walls as a teenager. you had a hoodie with his 2023 car on it, and wore it everywhere. you wanted to be him, and he saw something in you that no other team wanted to take a chance on. he was your idol turned boss, now he was your boss turned lover as he got into bed with you.
his soft hands grazed your skin, and his lips touched where his hands didn't. he felt you up tenderly, like you were fragile. and it only made something curl in your core more. it excited you - you were no virgin, but to have sex with a man who carried so much power left you more excited than you ever were with another lover.
"look at you." he said as he grabbed your ass a little rougher, "they say the most beautiful thing on the track is the cars, but they haven't see you. hiding behind the baggy driver's suit and that big helmet. my logo across your skin." he kissed your jaw, "a last name that suits you."
you swallowed, "we can't get married, sir."
"i know, conflict of interest. but a man my age can dream, no? never was married, never had a wife." he touched you once more, "never had someone understand my world the way you do, my little champion."
you took him by the face, his facial hair felt nice against your fingers. you pulled him in for another heated kiss and you rubbed your thighs together at the feeling. the anticipation for what was to come.
he put you onto your back and when he pulled away, he admired your expression for a moment, "your kisses are addictive. it'll be hard not to ask for one with all the cameras on us." before he went in for another one, he added, "but i'll find ways."
you two made out some more while max got between your legs. your hips lifted and your legs wrapped around his waist. he admired you once more before he pulled back and hiked your legs a little higher around his waist. he licked his lips, your eyes gleamed in the yellowing light of the bedroom - there was a loveliness to your gaze that pulled max in.
he was a smart man from brandishing his teeth at the pathetic boy you called a boyfriend, scare off the weak so he could have his prize. he got himself into you, slowly inched.
his mouth hung open for a moment, the wetness and the squeeze on his cock excited him. of course you'd feel this good. he was smart to sign you for a several year contract and he was smart to sink his achy cock into your pussy.
"max!"
that was what he liked to hear, his name on your lips. stripped of formality, casual like lovers like he wouldn't be in your ear all weekend to ensure a proper victory.
"say my name."
"max, fuck, max!" you chirped as he started to move against you. he shuddered with sexual desire for you - this was his prized driver, on her back, legs open just for him.
he leaned forward and clutched onto the hotel covers under you, he moved against you with heavy thrusts. a deep, burning desire for you coursed through his blood. this was what he needed, while he didn't expect to fall in love with you when he signed you - but that had all changed.
you had grown from a nervous rookie to a driver worthy of taking it all home. a driver worthy for max's treatment both on and off the track.
he moved his hips against you, he worked himself against you with heavy thrusts. the bed shifted partially under the force of his movements, the headboard tapped against the wall. he didn't need to wake up the entire floor, but maybe next time he'll fuck you in his room - a room that was often a bit further away from the rest of the team.
"you have no idea how much i worshiped you, max." you said between heavy pants, "i adored you. i wanted to be you." you swallowed as you felt his burning gaze on you. your cheeks were flushed and your body felt sweaty.
"i was your idol."
you looked at him and replied, "i wanted to be the best and get your praise." it felt weird to acknowledge that, the part of you that yearned for the praise of the great max verstappen, a man who made driving look easy. who took a bucket of a car and sailed it to victory - the champion of all champions.
he pushed back your hair from your face and kissed your forehead while he continued to fuck you, his thrusts gained a bit more speed as the bed rocked further, "what? that i think you're the only driver that could break my records? that i put you in a great car so you could drive laps around the competition? that i want you to be the best because deep down i know that you are."
you moaned a little louder and you two then shared another heated kiss. he held onto the covers for leverage as he continued to thrust up into you. your thighs clenched around his waist. you held your hips raised to give him the best angle to fuck you, the angle that made your vision blue from the intensity of the pleasure.
the two of you continued to fuck one another, the pleasure built between you two with heavy thrusts from one another. the kisses grew messier, the moans grew in noise, and the desperate need for one another only mounted. it was like the months of you on the team were mounted to a moment of pure climax - max saw you worthy as a driver, as a winner.
and you yearned to make him proud.
the pleasure continued, you reached for your team principal and clutched onto his shoulders tightly. he held onto your hips and moved himself further against you.
"you make me proud every race, that's why i've yearned for you so badly." he kissed your cheeks, feeling the heat under his lips. you were both sweaty, heated from the sex.
you clutched onto him tighter, you tensed up. pleasure crossed your expression as he fucked you. the feeling of his cock, the tightness of his grip, his words of praise. it all fueled your mind as the pleasure came to a head.
"fuck," you whimpered, "max."
the way you looked at him in your blissed out state, how he admired you with each heavy stroke of his cock. you looked like a dream, this was heaven to him. he went in for another searing kiss before he thrusted a few more times. he then finished inside of you with a tension in his body.
he broke the kiss and clutched onto your hips tightly as as he finished. those blue eyes hazy with pleasure, but still drank in the sight of you.
you were both sweaty, hot with little air circulation in the bedroom. it smelled like sex. max pulled out and kissed you on your forehead before he went to open a window to let some of the cooler air get through the room.
when he was back in bed with you, he got you under the covers. he threw them over you to protect your nudity in case your teammate came crashing in or something akin to that.
he peppered your face and neck with kisses. he held you tightly in his strong arms. he was still a man to admire.
"you're better than my ex." you said softly.
he smiled with his lips close to your temple. he gave you a firm squeeze, "and i'll keep being better, and you'll keep being my champion."
-
years later and three championships later. you were all smiles at the final press conference of the season. seated in front of the reporters, the final win you needed to secure your fourth world champion title.
"so what are the future plans?" one reporter asked.
there was a tick of silence, you could feel the gaze of your lover from off stage. you sat up a little straighter and replied, "well, this will actually be my last season." you smiled like you were the sun itself, "my contract with verstappen racing is coming to an end... and we're not going to renew it because me and max verstappen are getting married." then held up your hand and showed off the ring he proposed with over the summer break.
"racing has been fun, but this is the next chapter for both of us!" <3
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norrisainz33 · 1 month ago
Text
amore || cl16
☆ summary: you found the man of your dreams thanks to a good friend of yours over one beautiful summer
☆ pairing: charles leclerc x actress!italian!reader
☆ fc & warnings: none & poorly translated italian
☆ requested: yes 🤍 thank you for requesting xxoo
masterlist
゚. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ゚
ynuser has made a post 📍italy
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ynuser: overjoyed to be home after filming in london for the last few months 🤍🍝
felicissimo di essere tornato a casa dopo aver girato a London negli ultimi mesi 🤍🍝
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user1: MAMA MIA
scuderiaferrari: principessa 😍 please join us in monza 😔
ynuser: i could be persuaded 🤭
user16: ferrari really out here begging her to show up
user5: that’s their italian princess ofc they’re begging for her attendance
user16: now imagine if the prince of monaco and the princess of italy got together im just riffin here
user5: no you’re on to something user16 he’s even hiding in the likes
user32: yall are never gonna stop shipping those 2 huh?
user16: user32 honestly no
harrisdickinson: no come back i miss you
ynuser: why don’t you come HERE
user2: you’re so beautiful
mattrempe: 😍😍 [liked by ynuser]
user22: wtf are you doing here
user3: rest up pretty girl
iamrebeccad: absolutely stunning
ynuser: oh please that’s you 😍
user16: 1 step closer to charles
user4: i can’t wait for the new season of your show!
charlesleclerc has made a post 📍italy
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charlesleclerc: glad to be catching up on some much needed rest with friends both new and old this summer break ☀️
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user16: NEW friends?! could it be ynuser?!
user5: user16 please tell me that you saw he was in the likes of that one viral tiktok edit of him and y/n
user16: WAHHH NO?! running to go find it
user5: he messy for that one
scuderiaferrari: enjoy charles!
charlesleclerc: grazie mille
user2: woof woof woof
maxverstappen1: why was i not invited?
charlesleclerc: you literally were?
user12: oh to relax in italy with charles leclerc
arthur_leclerc: cool bro
charlesleclerc: thanks bro
user6: your aesthetic is everything
ynuser has posted to their story
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user5: i’d give my left leg to be spending my summer like this
user16: don’t think i didn’t notice the f1 gossip post that showed a blurry photo of charles in a veryyyyyy similar location
iamrebeccad: i’ve been dying to know how things went on that little blind date i set you up on ❤️‍🔥
ynuser: well…. i have to admit that maybe you were on to something with making me go to dinner with charles
iamrebeccad: YES! you two are perfect for each other i’m so serious
ynuser: 🤨 you just want me to come hang out with you at the races
iamrebeccad: well yes….. but i am also on the yncharles train
ynuser: at least you’re honest amore mio
judebellingham: 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨
user6: adding that book to my goodreads rn
charlesleclerc: i had a wonderful time today! thanks for showing me around portofino
ynuser: it was my pleasure charles! i really enjoyed getting to know you a bit more 🥺
charlesleclerc: likewise! i’m already looking forward to seeing you again tomorrow
ynuser: oh!! you’re going to dinner with rebecca and carlos and crew as well?
charlesleclerc: yes! any chance you want to grab a drink with me beforehand?
ynuser: as long as said drink is an espresso
charlesleclerc: you can have whatever it is your heart desires
ynuser: is that so?
charlesleclerc: oui bien sûr [yes of course]
ynuser: you may come to regret that
charlesleclerc: i doubt it
scuderiaferrari: willing to accept our invitation yet?
ynuser: can you get me some lewis merch?
scuderiaferrari: absolutely
ynuser: then i’ll see you there 😉
user12: pls reject me so i can move on
ynuser made a post
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ynuser: a beautiful day at home with my favorite girl yourbff🍷☀️
una bella giornata a casa con la mia ragazza preferita yourbff 🍷☀️
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user2: body is tea
bellahadid: omg my baby girl is wearing my bikini line 🥺
ynuser: ofc i am gorgeous girl
user3: i wanna go to there
charlesleclerc: looking radiant 🌞
ynuser: thank you 🥹
user16: i’m trying so hard not to freak out rn
user5: omg user16 this is their first public interaction
user16: baby steps
user81: i told my mom about us
user4: 🫷😔🫸 everyone step aside! i got this !
yourbff: grazie for having me darling
ynuser: there’s no one else i’d rather have visit 😍
iamrebeccad: you sure about that?
user16: REBE WHAT DOES THIS MEAN LET ME INNNNNN
ynuser has posted to their story
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user16: i just screamed out loud. that’s charles leclerc on YOUR story
yourbff: GIRL THIS AINT YOUR PIRVATE STORY DELETE
ynuser: whelp….. this is awkward…. it’s a bit too late now it’s all over the internet
yourbff: at least this story is tame (unlike that one private story from last week where you posted him shirtless on the beach eating grapes like some roman god)
ynuser: i would have been mortified
user13: oh what do we have here……….
iamrebeccad: and to think that you could’ve been watching in person
ynuser: we only just started seeing each other i am attempting to take things a little slower than that tho i’ve just blown up our spot
iamrebeccad: i completely get it y/n/n! but just know he’s completely smitten. he’s been talking about you nonstop and every time your name pops up on his phone he gets the biggest smile on his face
ynuser: omg stop 😭😭😭
iamrebeccad: it’s true! i’ve never seen this man so head over heels before
user24: the collective head loss f1twt abt to have over this oh boy
charlesleclerc: wow… i’m honored to have made it to the public story!
ynuser: i’m sorry it was meant to be on the private one but i messed up 😅
charlesleclerc: i mean… i can’t say that i mind! i like the world knowing you’re supporting me and me only 🤷🏻‍♂️
ynuser: i’m actually supporting lewis
charlesleclerc: valid but that hurts
f1gossip: making our job pretty easy here y/n
[this post has been deleted]
f1gossip has made a post
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f1gossip: looks like italian actress y/n y/l/n and f1 star charles leclerc are making monaco their playground ahead of monza this weekend. from a cozy ride in a charles’ iconic ferrari to a classic ‘hide from the cameras’ moment—seems like these two might be more than just friends?
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user1: stop the second slide is so carrie bradshaw of her
user3: monaco seems worse than la. can these people ever leave their house without being photographed?
user8: truly seems like no
user22: free our girl from this man
user16: i don’t claim this energy
user2: not y/n pulling the don’t look at me move while literally stepping out of a multi million-dollar car that literally says 16 on it
user16: best news i’ve seen all day
user4: literally no way they’re not together. look at the way they’re looking at each other.. i know what yall are
user12: plot twist! they’re actually filming for a new movie
user4: me when i spread misinformation
ynuser has posted to their story
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user5: NO WAY YOURE AT THE RACE RN
user12: you at monza?? this is all the confirmation we needed tbh
iamrebeccad: yayyyy you’re here!!!!! can’t wait to see you pretty girl
ynuser: yes!!!! running to find you as we speak. i miss my rebe
user7: just casually dropping this is insane work. i need like 5 business days to be able to recover from the implications of this. y/ncharles is canon
charlesleclerc: oh you look stunning in the ferrari garage
ynuser: you think so? if that’s the case then maybe i need to hang out here more
charlesleclerc: i’d love that. in fact, i’d love to see you here on every race day. i have a good feeling that you’re going to bring me some luck 😉
ynuser: how about this… if you win - i’ll come to every race for the rest of the season
charlesleclerc: deal. i’ll see you on that podium mon ange
user16: brb screaming into the void rn
scuderiaferrari: il giorno migliore di sempre [best day ever]
ynuser: grazie per avermi ospitato ❤️ [thank you for having me]
scuderiaferrari: sei sempre il benvenuto ❤️‍🔥 [you are always welcome]
user17: i used to pray for soft launches like this
jackhughes: we lost a good one 😔✊🏻
ynuser: i folded what can i say
jackhughes: i think i hear quinn crying himself to sleep
user25: nah if you postin from monza it’s gotta be a official that you’re with that car guy
ynuser has posted to their story
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user16: ain’t no way for me to be normal about this one fr
yourbff: this might be the sickest picture i’ve ever seen
ynuser: right?!?!? main character energy
user14: you ain’t wrong girl
scuderiaferrari: incredible! thanks for joining us this weekend y/n xxoo
ynuser: thank you for having me admin!! appreciate all of your support
iamrebeccad: this is truly a photo fit for the history books
ynuser: getting it framed as we speak
user2: if anyone knows aura it’s YOU but ig this man is ok
charlesleclerc: 😍😍😍 i couldn’t be more glad that you were able to be here with me
ynuser: it was an incredible experience. i’m so thankful to have been here ❤️
charlesleclerc: being on that podium and seeing you in the crowd was everything i could have ever dreamed of
ynuser: charles 😭
charlesleclerc: it’s true! this might be the adrenaline talking but i think im in love with you
ynuser: charlie!!!!!! the feeling is incredibly mutual
charlesleclerc: thank god!
charlesleclerc: oh and don’t think i forgot about the deal we made! see you at every race from here on out 😏
user8: the way you’re hyping him up... we see you y/n/n 😉
charlesleclerc has made a post
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charlesleclerc: p1 in monza! no greater feeling than getting the win here in front of the home crowd. to the tifosi - thank you for the endless support and for always believing me (oh and for y/n - she's pretty great)
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user11: p1!!! thats my goat!!!!
lewishamilton: strong drive 💪🏻
charlesleclerc: thanks lewis!!
user16: i am SO UP RIGHT NOW!!! CHARLES WIN AND Y/N FEATURE IN THE POST!!!!!!!!!
carlossainz55: great job mate
charlesleclerc: thanks man! miss you
user18: perhaps the best day of my life
user19: the tifosi will always love you charles! unless of course you hurt our girl then we wont be so nice
ynuser: congratulazioni a te charles [congratulations to you charles]
charlesleclerc: grazie bellissima [thank you gorgeous]
user42: first you win in monza and now you reveal ur off the market? charles I am not okay.
゚. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ゚
a/n: likes and reblogs appreciated!! thanks for reading 🤍
゚. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ゚
disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction
© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform
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