Call Me When You Breakup
Call Me When You Breakup
Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader
Summary: Max is in the wrong relationship, and you both know it. But knowing isn’t choosing, and you’re done waiting.
1.8k words / Masterlist
You don't want to be here.
Not in this overpriced, dimly lit restaurant. Not sitting across from your best friend who, for all intents and purposes, should be yours but isn't. Not watching him share a plate of something too delicate, too refined, with someone who doesn’t know him the way you do.
You shouldn't be here, but you are. Because Max asked, and you’ve never been able to say no to him.
His girlfriend, the word itself sticks in your throat like it doesn’t belong there, sits beside him her hand curled possessively around his arm like it’s an accessory.
She's beautiful in that effortless way that makes it impossible to hate her, but easy to envy and you do, not because she's done anything wrong, but because she has him and you don’t. She’s the kind of girl who wears white to brunch and never spills anything. Who smiles with her teeth but never with her eyes. She laughs at all the right moments, smiles like she’s being watched, and you suppose she probably always is.
She tells people he’s different with her, like it’s some accomplishment, like she’s smoothed out all the parts of him that used to be real. And maybe that’s what she wants, a version of Max that’s easier to manage. More polished. Less... passionate.
And maybe he needs that. Maybe it’s easier to be loved when no one sees the cracks.
But you do.
And you love him anyway.
"You're quiet tonight."
Max's voice breaks through the fog of your thoughts, dragging you back into the present. His blue eyes flick to yours, brow furrowed. You know that look. Concern. Like he always gets when you're not yourself. Like he doesn't realise he’s the reason why.
"I'm fine," you lie, forcing a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. "Just tired."
His girlfriend, her name, why does her name escape you? Leans in, pressing a kiss to his cheek, whispering something you can’t hear. Max laughs, low and affectionate, and it splinters something inside you.
You force your attention back to your plate, pushing the delicate food around with your fork, though you have no appetite for it. Each bite seems tasteless, it’s not the kind of meal you’re used to. You’d much rather be somewhere familiar, somewhere real, where the food is greasy and the air is thick with laughter, the kind of places where Max talks with his hands and lets himself forget who he has to be.
But tonight, he’s wearing someone else’s life. And you’re just the spectator.
Max's laughter, though, it’s still real. It’s just harder to swallow now, harder to accept, because it’s not for you. Not tonight.
Then he leans in closer than necessary, voice dropping again, warm and soothing, bringing you back to the present. "Are you sure you're okay?"
Your heart stutters for a beat. The question, the tone it’s always the same. Always concerned. Always directed at you. But never for you. You’ve learned to ignore the quiet ache that blossoms each time, because it’s pointless.
"I'm fine," you repeat, this time with more conviction. The smile feels less forced but still unnatural. "I promise."
His eyes linger on you like it’s a habit he can’t break, and you can tell he’s not buying it. His gaze flicks briefly to his girlfriend, who is now chatting animatedly with the waiter about some wine pairing, before he leans in, close enough that only you can hear.
"Are you sure? You know you can talk to me right?"
That damn sweetness in his voice. That quiet tenderness he saves just for you, like a secret between the two of you, a secret you’re not sure you can keep much longer. His girlfriend is only a few inches away, but the distance between you and Max has never felt more cavernous.
You swallow, unable to look at him, because if you do, you might say something you can’t take back. Something that would shatter the delicate balance you’ve managed to maintain.
You want to tell him that you're not fine. That you haven’t been for a long time. But you can’t. You just can't.
Instead, you nod, your throat tightening, unable to force the words past your lips. He doesn’t need to know. Not now. Not when it could ruin everything.
Later that night when you’re alone in your apartment, you do what you swore you wouldn’t.
You scroll through old photos, ones where it was just you and Max, before… before everything became complicated. Late-night drives through Monaco, your legs propped up on his dashboard. His arm around you after a race, champagne still clinging to his skin. The way he looked at you, like you were his whole world.
And maybe you were.
Maybe, for a time, he was yours too.
You miss him. Not the version of him you get now, careful and distant, but the Max who used to call you at 3 a.m. just to talk. The Max who used to sit on your bathroom counter while you took off your makeup, who would trace patterns into your wrist absentmindedly as you talked about the future.
That version of Max doesn’t exist anymore.
Or maybe he does. Maybe he’s just buried under the weight of a relationship that isn’t meant for him.
She’s the safe choice. The quiet, easy path. She’ll never demand the real version of him, but she’s there and for now that’s enough for him.
Your fingers hover over his name in your phone, heart hammering in your chest. You shouldn’t call.
But you want to.
Call me when you break up.
The words sit on the tip of your tongue, but you swallow them down.
Instead, you type a message you’ll never send.
We’re so meant for each other, when will you wake up?
You read the words, and the weight of them sinks deep in your chest. But you delete them immediately. They’re too raw. Too desperate. Too honest.
With a shaky breath, you shut off your phone, the screen fading to black.
The thing about being in love with Max Verstappen is that you never really stop waiting.
You wait for him to see you. Wait for him to realise what you've always known. Wait for the moment when he’ll turn to you and say, it was always you.
But waiting is exhausting.
And you're tired of feeling like an afterthought.
So you do what any rational, heartbroken person would. You try to forget.
You let strangers buy you drinks, let them whisper sweet nothings into your ear, let them kiss you in the dark corners of bars where no one knows your name. You chase distractions, hoping that one of them will make you feel something, anything, other than the ache of missing him.
But they never do.
Because none of them are Max.
And maybe that’s why when your phone rings one night, his name flashing across the screen, you still answer without hesitation. Because this isn’t the first time. It’s become a pattern. A quiet, painful ritual. A fight with her. A call to you.
"Hey."
He sounds off. Tired. Worn down in a way you’ve never heard before.
"Can I come over?"
Your pulse spikes. "Max—"
"I just… I don’t want to be alone right now."
The unspoken words hang between you.
I don’t want to be with her right now.
You exhale shakily. "Yeah. Of course."
Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rings, cutting through the silence that had settled over your apartment like a heavy fog. You stand frozen for a moment, uncertainty crawling up your spine, before you force your legs to move.
He looks wrecked. Like he hasn't slept in days. He doesn't say anything at first, just steps inside, closing the distance between you in a way that makes your breath catch.
"Did something happen?" you ask softly.
Max shakes his head, exhaling sharply. "I just needed to see you."
The space between you closes with a speed that makes your pulse skip. It’s like he’s always known the exact way to find you, to make everything else fade away, to pull you back in like you’re a magnet and he’s the force that won’t let you escape.
His eyes search yours, and it’s in that moment you realise he knows.
He knows he's with the wrong person.
He knows that no matter how much he tries to pretend, it’s always been you.
But knowing something and choosing it are two entirely different things.
And you’re tired. Tired of waiting for him to make the right choice. Tired of standing here, always second. Always the backup when things aren’t perfect in his world.
So you step back, putting space between you that feels like a chasm.
"You can’t do this," you whisper. "You can't just run to me when things go wrong with her. It’s not fair."
His jaw tightens at your words, the muscle in his cheek twitching, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he looks down, taking a long breath, his chest rising and falling with the weight of something unspoken. You can see the frustration, the guilt in the way his shoulders tense, but it doesn’t change anything.
"I—"
"You love me Max." Your throat tightens, interrupting him before he can pull you in, and you hate the way your voice cracks on the last word, but you don’t care. "I know you do."
Silence.
Painful, suffocating silence.
But then—
"I do." His voice is raw, like the words are being torn from him. "I do love you."
Your breath stutters. "Then why are you still with her?"
Max opens his mouth to respond, but the words die on his lips. His eyes dart away from yours, like he’s trying to find the right thing to say but can’t. He clenches his fists at his sides, and the tension in his body is palpable. "I... I don’t know," he mutters, voice thick. "I don’t know what I’m supposed to do."
"You’re supposed to choose Max!" Your voice cracks, the frustration bubbling over.
He opens his mouth again, but the words won't come. You watch him struggle, like he’s stuck in a loop of his own making. "I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to hurt you," he says, regret creeping in.
"But you have," you say, your voice steady but filled with everything you’ve been holding in. "You have hurt me Max. And you don’t get to keep doing that and expect me to just be here when you feel like it."
Max takes a step toward you, but you shake your head, stepping back. "No," you whisper, shaking your head. "You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to have me when it’s convenient for you. You either choose me, or you don’t."
Max opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Because there’s no excuse. No reason good enough.
Just fear.
Of change. Of consequences. Of finally choosing what’s real over what’s easy.
And you? You’re done waiting for him to be brave.
So you smile, even though it hurts. Even though your heart is shattering.
"Call me when you break up."
Then you shut the door.
More Posts from Mint--yoongs and Others
REACTION : BTS reacting to you being “cancelled” for ridiculous reasons
pairings : OT7 x reader (separate)
genre : fluff, slight angst??
warnings : mentions of online hate
authors note : notice how twitter is a recurring theme in all of them? yeah.
KIM SEOKJIN — Smiling at another member
this all started when jin went on vlive and showed the BTS of their recent music video
he invited you to join and of course, you said yes
when you got there jin was busy ranting about his makeup so you decided to let him be
taehyung was on his phone in the back and you went over to greet him
however, when you did you smiled
now it wasn’t anything special
just a normal smile . like :) not ;)
after finally getting jins attention, he showed you to the fans and gave you a hug
nothing out of the ordinary
but when you got home you checked your phone and saw your twitter was blowing up
apparently a fan made an innocent edit of your interaction with tae during the live
and it got blown out of proportion
now you were being accused of cheating on jin???
and with taehyung of all people???
you didn’t bother engaging in it so you turned off your phone and went about with your day
when dating someone as famous as jin, it wasn’t surprising to see this
however jin thought otherwise
he was furious
it wasn’t the first time something like this had happened
he raced over to your house expecting you to be in tears about the accusations and hate you were receiving
but when he burst through the door he saw you watching Netflix and eating some food you had just ordered
“jin?? what are you doing here? is something wrong?”
“aah, nothing is wrong.” he gave you a nervous smile
“uh okayy… do you want some?”
he joined you, also ignoring his phone
but don’t get it confused
he still posted a picture of you and him making cute faces on twitter and weverse
“MY love <333”
MIN YOONGI — Walking away from paparazzi when you had something to do
with yoongi you had a private relationship for roughly 5 months before it was exposed
yoongi was mad about the weird comments you got
but they slowed down after a while
your personal life was invaded quite a bit but you didn’t mind
it was something you got used to rather quickly
but that didn’t mean you liked being on camera
even if it was one of the boys recording, you would try your hardest to stay out of the frame
making it clear that the recording life wasn’t for you
at all.
so when you came out of a store on your way to your mothers house and saw reporters and paparazzi outside…
you already knew what was going to happen
once they caught sight of you
they went feral
“miss y/n what do you have to say about BTS’s recent song?” “how’s your relationship with yoongi?” “did you hear about the rumours? yoongi was sighted getting cosy with another woman. do you have anything to say about it?”
of course you heard the rumours but there was nothing to be angry or upset about
you completely trusted yoongi and everyone knew he was head over heels for you
“u-uh… sorry but i have somewhere i need to be, im sorry” you smiled and scuffled off to your car
you could hear the distant shouts as you drove away
but you didn’t think anything of it
3 hours later and yoongi wouldn’t stop calling you
he wasn’t in the country so it was lowkey concerning
“hey, what’s up?” “you haven’t seen what they’re saying on twitter?” “what? no. you know i don’t use twitter.”
he sighed, shuffling heard from his line
“….why? is everything okay?”
“yeah. it’s just… people were saying some stuff about you running away from the reporters earlier.”
“oh.”
“don’t worry i have people dealing with it right now.” he grumbled
a smile printed itself on your lips, “it’s okay, honestly. as long as you’re good, im fine.”
there was a distant shout from the other side of the phone, something along the lines of practice and being late
“ah y/n i have to go but i’ll call you later. i love you.”
“i love you too, have fun.”
“will do.”
JUNG HOSEOK — Pranking him
something that kept you and hoseoks relationship exciting was the pranks you often pulled on one another
it was a war he started and wouldn’t let end
the pranks varied from feeding each other extremely salty foods to randomly making the water in the shower freezing cold
the last prank he pulled on you resulted in you having to give multiple flower stores large boxes of flowers
he had hired someone to drop off 10,000 roses in your house
a “romantic” gesture as he called it
you let it peacefully pass and moved on
until he began complaining about his hair dye washing out
you swear you could hear heaven singing
an opportunity handed directly to you
so you bought some pink hair dye and waited for him to leave the house, eventually mixing it in with his usual shampoo
said shampoo was conveniently purple so the colour difference wasn’t too noticeable
hoseok showered and boom.
came out looking pretty <33 with his new hair
he wasn’t particularly angry about it, more shocked that you managed to pull it off
but once the shock wore off, you could tell he loved it
it wasn’t the reaction you was initially going for but hey
seeing him cheesing made you cheese
“y/niee this is cuteeee”
he pulled out his phone and took selfies ready to showcase his new hairstyle to the world
deciding on twitter, he posted a selfie with the caption “my y/n pranked me ;(( #newhair<3 #ilookgood”
this wasn’t the first time your prank war was mentioned online, the topic coming up in a run!bts episode months ago
but when the fans saw what you did, they were livid
with the hashtags he added you would think people wouldn’t take it so seriously
but damn
you and hoseok didn’t take the hate personally
people always had something to say and blocking it out was easier than engaging in it
he wanted to post another tweet defending you but you told him no
silly comments weren’t going to ruin your one free day with your boyfriend
“hoseok, babe, trust me it’s not that bad. hate doesn’t affect me, never has and never will”
he stared at you with hearts in his eyes
everything you did was so admirable to him
“it’s my fault, i wanna help”
“you can help by making dinner while i find a movie for us to watch”
“yes ma’am” he gave you a heart warming smile and tight hug before scurrying off to the kitchen
KIM NAMJOON — Calling out the people who were stalking you
now it may seem like you caused this
but really it wasn’t your fault
you were going about your day, as usual
then you noticed a group of girls look at their phones and point at you
it wasn’t odd, but it didn’t make it feel any better
they didn’t even care to whisper so you heard everything about they said
everything.
from being namjoons girlfriend to hoping to find out where you live incase namjoon, or anyone for that matter, was visiting you
walking on and praying they would lose sight of you, you continued doing what you was doing
but it was clear that they weren’t planning on letting you go
eventually you managed to get some help from a security guard who noticed them following you
instead of ignoring the issue
like always
you went to twitter to peacefully express your thoughts
“hey guys, i know you don’t mean anything bad by it but i’d really like it if people stopped following me when im doing personal things. it’s not a nice feeling to hear people talk about exposing my private life for no reason. again I’m not mad, but please stop <33.”
within minutes, your tweet blew up setting off a chain reaction of hate
“she goes out with someone famous and automatically thinks she’s famous🤣🤣. girl byeeee” 1.56K likes, 459 Retweets, 619 Replies
..wut.
you groaned and moved on, not wanting to dwell on it for too long
namjoon was also unaware of what you posted until yoongi texted him the tweet
once he saw the replies, he was ready to pop off
but as the leader, he was always expected to keep a calm head and leave a good impression on people
so he called you, letting your calm demeanour replace the fury he previously felt
once he knew you weren’t hurt and made arrangements for you to stay at the dorms for a couple of days, he went to weverse to express his feelings
“Please respect Y/N’s privacy. I know you all want to meet her and get to know her but please respect her boundaries.”
of course many comments were deleted after namjoons post and you received more support than ever
PARK JIMIN — Being too busy to go on vlive
people always wondered how you and jimins relationship survived
it’s like your schedules were made to clash
when you have a free week, jimin would be on tour or busy with photoshoots/concerts. when he had a free week, you would be swarmed with work
it was like a match made in hell
but you somehow made it work
when the public found out about one of the most loved bts boys being in a relationship, they were in need of seeing who this person was
eventually they met you and things were alright
until jimins birthday rolled around
fans were pressuring you to join his birthday live
even after you said that you would be busy
now you didn’t say busy with work (because you were planning a getaway weekend for just you and jimin)
but the internet assumed otherwise
and of course, you were accused of pushing him to the side
one account even posted clips of you “prioritising” the other boys over him
like what??
you didn’t even know you were getting hate until you overheard the boys talking about you
“i don’t think she knows, i haven’t seen her look at her phone all day.” jungkook chuckled
“yeah she hasn’t seen it, we all know she would’ve went off if she did” jin smiled
“seen what?” you butted in, more confused than worried
“people are saying that you don’t really like jimin, you only want his fame and clout” namjoon cautiously mumbled
“hm, that’s nice” you walked away
“oh no”
you were ready to get your phone and fight fire with even hotter fire
but when you heard jimin mention you on his celebration vlive, you paused
“"are you upset that y/n was too busy with work to celebrate your birthday?" who said she was busy with work? she’s trying to plan a surprise for me and keep it a secret, but im smarter than her so i know everything” he giggled, knowing you would argue about his last comment
but hey, maybe you didn’t need to say anything after all
KIM TAEHYUNG — Dying your hair and accidentally matching with another member
this had to be one of the weirdest experiences you’ve been through
it started when you woke up and got tired of your natural black hair, wanting something more exciting
after contemplating, you decided on a cute lighter brown
it had been a while since you saw the boys in person so this would be a nice surprise for them all
especially tae, he always got hyped when you changed your hair but this would be your first time dying it
after purchasing the dye, you carefully followed the instructions, being extra cautious when you got to your roots
but you succeeded and was pleased with the results
[type 1 : curly] [type2 : straight]
you left your natural hair in a puff, not applying any extra products as your head was still sensitive
you meet up with the guys and it’s safe to say that they were shocked
but in a good way
tae had screamed and chased you when he caught a glimpse of the new hair
he squeezed the life out of you once he caught up to you
even after he let everyone greet you, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you
basically hypnotised by your beauty
it was jungkook who first made the connection to you matching with hoseok
after joking about it you all disregarded the topic and tae took you to the side to take selfies with you
(ones he couldn’t stop looking at when he left the city for a couple of days)
he posted two on weverse (one of you two and one with everyone) and left it as that
until someone decided to zoom in and crop you next to hoseok, tweeting “they’re matching hair colours?? isn’t that a couple thing???”
the tweet gained a lot of traction because it came from a user with a relatively large following
eventually it was trending and almost everyone was talking about it
however the rumours didn’t last long considering everyone knew that you were taehyungs soulmate
but even that didn’t stop a flood of hate comments coming your way
it’s pretty clear that taehyung doesn’t have an issue with expressing his emotions about certain situations
his post on weverse said it all
“🤮🤮🤮🤮no”
JEON JUNGKOOK — Listening to a Kpop song from another band
jungkook decided to do quick vlive in his hotel when you were still in the room, chilling on his bed
he knew people missed talking to him so he was excited to talk to ARMY and see what was going on
it was a normal live, he would sometimes check on you to see if you needed anything but nothing too interesting
you were scrolling on tiktok with your airpods in, not wanting to impose too much
a tiktok with the song love shot by exo popped up and you quietly sang along in background, not realising that jungkook had turned his attention back to you
he smiled at your voice, “she has a pretty voice, right? she doesn’t like it when i say it but im sure she can’t ignore ARMY :)”
well people took notice in your voice
not specifically your voice but the song you were singing
apparently, singing a song from a band that was a rival to your boyfriend’s was a crime
…
the tweets came the second jk ended the live
one of the hate comments even came from an account that followed and posted exo
in all honesty it wasn’t that big of a deal, more ridiculous than angering
jungkook still took the time to get the tweets deleted and reported
as he should .
© 2021 all rights reserved.
What started out as a headcanon, ended up becoming, well, this.. Cha Young is overcome with a strong sense of déjà vu as she strolls around the upscale men’s clothing store, waiting as her boyfriend gets fitted for his new Booralro suit.
Honestly now, the man is quite rich, not to mention has a good number of gold bars to his name, and yet he wants her to buy him his new suit. All because of a stupid bet they made during one of their makgeolli nights. Okay, so she may have somewhat grudgingly admitted that even the simplest, most basic pasta made by him, Spaghetti Aglio e Olio in this case, tasted better than the one Chef Toto served at Arno. She had tried to reason her way out — it was probably the wine he paired the pasta with that enhanced the taste. Alas, the soft moan that escaped her, as flavours of garlic, parsley and olive oil exploded in her mouth in the first bite itself, was enough to have Vincenzo smirk in victory like the insufferable git he can be when he wins. And that had been that.
They should have stuck to their old finger flick bets, she muses as she walks past a glass display of cuff links and tie pins. Except finger flicks weren’t just finger flicks anymore. Sometimes, they were soft kisses on the forehead, and sometimes, a little something more. It wasn’t something either of them minded; in fact, these bets often became playful excuses. But one day, in a silly fit of competitiveness, Cha Young had declared they up the stakes. And that’s how she finds herself in this fancy store once again, the same one where she’d bought him his suit and pen after their first court victory together, waiting as Vincenzo tries on yet another suit. In hindsight, she should’ve suggested the loser buy bungeoppang instead. Oh well..
“It’s for the party next week,” he’d insisted, at which Cha Young had merely scoffed. The man would do anything for a new Booralro suit. But it was a party she was looking forward to, a fancy one at the Italian Embassy to which her partner had snagged invites. And she had treated herself to a new dress using the same excuse, so it was a bit hypocritical of her, wasn’t it?
She walks over to the corner that houses a display of silk ties, all meticulously organised by colour, prints and size, where a light blue paisley tie catches her eye, and she asks one of the store attendants to take it out of the display for her. She can’t remember if she’s ever seen him wear a paisley tie before, but the tie is beautiful. It’s soft and the print delicate, but it’s the colour that catches her fancy. It’s a light greyish blue, a colour she knows would go well with either of the three suits he’s shortlisted. But more importantly, and she won’t admit this to him, well not yet at least, the colour is almost the same shade of the dress she bought. She’d always found the idea of couples matching their outfits amusing, however, in that moment she’s willing to concede that there’s something sweet about it after all.
“Byeonhosa-nim, ” Vincenzo calls out to her as he steps out of the fitting room, closely followed by the store attendant who had been assisting him with the fitting. Cha Young tries not to roll her eyes at the employee who trails after her boyfriend with a starstruck look akin to the one adoring fans have upon meeting their favourite idol. “How’s this one,” he asks as he adjusts the cuffs of his suit.
She walks over to him, first running her hands over his shoulders and then smoothing the lapels of his jacket. Stepping back, she gives him a once over, and ignoring the fluttering in her heart, replies as nonchalantly as she can, “I think it should do the trick.” When the store attendant enthusiastically gushes about how good the suit looks on Vincenzo, Cha Young graces him with a glare that is enough to remind him that he needs to go and look after the other non-existent visitors in the store.
Finally without an audience, she holds up the tie with a slight flourish and asks, “what do you think?”
For a moment, she’s worried that perhaps the tie doesn’t match up to his high standards. The man does have impeccable taste, and is quite fussy about his clothing. Her little moment of doubt vanishes when Vincenzo smiles. “Yeppeuda.” It’s pretty.
“Here, let me,” she says as she closes the gap between them and reaches out to do up the top buttons of his shirt (a pity, really, because she loves it when he leaves his collar unbuttoned), smirking at the way Vincenzo gulps when her fingers are at the collar of his shirt. Besotted man that he is, he lowers his head in submission so that she can place the tie around his neck.
“Have you ever done this before?”
“A couple of times..”
When he raises his eyebrows, Cha Young realises what he might have misunderstood it as.
“For Abeoji,” she sheepishly clarifies. What she doesn’t tell him is that she would always loop the tie around her neck first, tie it, loosen it and then hand it over to her father. She had never tied a tie for someone on their person this way.
She adjusts the length of the tie (she thinks she’s got the length right), crosses the wider end over the thinner one, then passes it from the back the other side and then.. Damn it, what do you do next? Cross it over from the other side? Loop it all over again? She tries to remember the next step, forehead scrunched up in concentration, trying to jog her memory. It doesn’t help that Vincenzo’s cologne serves as a distraction. Feeling his gaze on her, she looks up.
“What are you looking at?”
You. “Your tie tying. I’m trying to figure out what knot you’re going to go for. Say, Byeonhosa-nim, are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Yah! I’m just.. trying to recollect. It’s been a while since I’ve done this.”
“Ahh.”
“…”
“Pass the wide end through the gap between the tie and the collar, and take it to the right side. That’ll be your left.”
“Mhmm. Like this?” “Yes. Now wrap the wide end across the thinner end, and then pull the wide end through the gap between the tie and collar like before. But don’t pull it too tightly. See that loop on top of the knot? You’ll need to—“
Before he can finish, she’s already sliding the wide end of the tie through the said loop, and pulling it tight.
“Yes, yes, I know. Now hold still, let me just adjust this.”
As she goes about making the final adjustments to the tie, pulling it tighter and fixing it into place, an old memory flashes in Cha Young’s mind — one of her mother tying a tie for her father in a similar manner, and Hong Yu Chan looking down at his wife with an adoring smile, very much like how Vincenzo is looking at her in this moment. She never understood why her mother did that, or why her father let her when he was perfectly capable of doing it himself, or why the late lawyer pretty much gave up wearing a tie (unless it was absolutely necessary) after the death of his wife.. but now she gets it.
“There, all done.”
She turns around, so that both her and Vincenzo are facing a full-length gilded mirror, and he can review her handiwork.
“That’s not a bad Half-Windsor, you know.. especially for your first try”
“A what now?”
“The knot. It’s called a Half-Windsor. It’s the one I usually go for. Either that, or a Four-in-hand..”
“Ooh. Are you giving me a crash course in tie knots now?”
“Well, it never hurts to know about different knots, you know. They can come very handy,” he adds suggestively, to which he promptly gets smacked in the shoulder with a “Yah!”
“I do think the length’s a bit off though. It needs to be longer. You’re going to need some practice, Byeonhosa-nim. I guess you’ll just have to do this for me a few more times again,” he tells her, smiling at her reflection in the mirror.
As they stand there in front of the mirror, their reflected gazes locked on each other, both of them all smiles, Cha Young thinks there’s something so intimate about moments like these, and it leaves her feeling warm.
Still looking at her in the mirror, Vincenzo leans down a little, an arm going around her waist, and whispers in her ear, “Interesting choice of colour, by the way,” and ohhh he knows. He knows why she picked this particular tie. Their reflections show his smile getting wider as her eyes widen in surprise.
A second later, Cha Young turns in her place, and gently tugging on his tie, pulls Vincenzo down to her and places a soft kiss where his neck meets his jaw. Satisfied with his flustered expression, she innocently smiles at him.
“I think you look very handsome, Jagiya. Now, I’m going to go pay for this. But you’re buying me lunch, so hurry..” And as she skips towards the billing counter, she leaves a besotted fool in her wake, who stares at her in a manner that can only be described as the human equivalent of the heart eyes emoji. What a pair of lovestruck idiots these two make..
Don't ever hesitate. Reblog this. TUMBLR RULE. When you see it, REBLOG IT.
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DON'T LEAVE ME
Ollie Bearman X fem!reader
Summary: When Ollie accompanies Y/n to her endoscopy. The anesthesia can make her say funny things, but also, some questions that make Ollie's heart break.
Words: 3.0K+
Warnings: Mention of the hospital, surgery (but nothing serious), Y/n under anesthesia, cute, funny, a bit of insecurity, mention of Y/n's almost profession, anguish, but romantic and happy ending.
Author: English is not my first language, so apologies for any spelling mistakes and slang that may be in the story. ❤️🇧🇷
MASTERLIST
Ollie wasn't the type to pass up any opportunity to take care of Y/n—not even when she said, with all the firmness in the world, that everything was fine, that it was just an endoscopy check-up, nothing serious.
But for him, there was no such thing as "anything major" when it involved her.
"What if I let you go alone and you, numb, start telling me everything we do in a room? No, no! I need to be there to ensure my reputation!" He said with a mischievous smile, drawing a rolled, but amused, look from her.
Now, a few hours later, Ollie was alone in the room where Y/n would recover. He was sitting in an armchair in the corner, his cell phone in his hands, but his eyes fixed on the screen without really taking anything in. His leg was bouncing up and down, fast, as if his body reflected the silent whirlwind of his mind.
He knew, rationally, that it was a simple procedure. She herself had explained it a thousand times. But the most idiotic and unwanted thoughts insisted on going around in his head, creating catastrophic scenarios.
It was disgusting how anxiety acted like that.
The door opened with a soft creak and a friendly nurse smiled at Ollie. Right behind, the doctor was pushing a wheelchair where Y/n was sitting, her head resting on her hand and her eyes blinking slowly, completely groggy.
Ollie smiled the moment he saw her. He jumped up from his chair, his heart relieving just seeing that familiar, yet somewhat lost, face.
"She's still under the anesthesia." The doctor explained, stopping beside the bed. "The procedure went excellently, we didn't find any abnormalities, everything was clean.
Ollie let out a sigh of relief, resting his hands on his hips.
"Thank God." He murmured with a tender smile.
The nurse began to help Y/n out of the chair and put her on the bed. She snuggled into the pillow almost immediately, with that lazy and cute movement of someone who just wanted to go back to sleep.
"She may say some nonsense because of the anesthesia, but it should pass within 30 minutes to 1 hour." The doctor completed. "If she exhibits anything else out of the ordinary, notify the nurses' desk down the hall."
"Okay, I'll do that if I need to." Ollie nodded. The doctor and nurse left the room, closing the door behind them.
Ollie stood there for a few seconds, watching Y/n lying there, her eyes heavy. A warm relief filled his chest. He approached carefully, arranging the blanket about her. He sat down next to her, again in the armchair, holding her hand between his, observing every detail.
Y/n slowly opened her eyes and frowned when she saw him. "Where am I?"
"Hospital."
She looked around.
"Hospital?"
Ollie nodded, trying to hold back his laughter.
"Damn... I wish I was in a diamond castle like Barbie's and had a prince charming as my chauffeur."
"Look, this isn't a diamond castle and I'm not a prince, but I can be your private driver."
She smiled, still a little dazed, with a small smile. "As long as there's music in the car and you buy me a milkshake later..."
"Deal" Ollie said, chuckling and patting her hand lightly.
Y/n looked at their intertwined hands and frowned.
"Hey, you can't hold my hand like that... I have a boyfriend and I love him so much." She let go of his hand and ducked under the covers. Ollie laughed.
"Wow! Passed the loyalty test and everything. Wow!" Y/n made a confused face, and he leaned in with a smile. "It's me, Y/n. Oliver. Your boyfriend."
She pushed herself up a little, supporting herself on her elbows, and Ollie stepped closer to make sure she didn't fall over.
"My boyfriend? You?"
"Myself. Your boyfriend. With a ring and an apartment."
Y/n smiled as if she had won the greatest prize in the world.
"Ah... then I chose well."
Ollie's heart melted. He chuckled softly as she lay back down, gripping his hand more firmly.
"Do people live together?"
"Yes, we recently bought an apartment."
Her eyes widened. "Wow! That's really cool... how long have we been dating?"
"Let me think... about five or six years?"
"Wow, a really, really long time..."
"It's just that when I love, I stay." Ollie said with a sweet smile.
"If we've been together for so long... have you asked me to marry you yet?"
Ollie's eyes widened and he burst out laughing. "My God, you're really rude with these questions right now."
Y/n smiled, turning to him.
"How many times have we kissed? Do you remember the first time you saw me without makeup? It was horrible, wasn't it?"
Ollie laughed, confused by the bombardment.
"Okay, princess of the diamond castle! One question at a time!" He held up his hands. "Here we go: we've kissed more times than I can count, but I remember the first time—it was after the movies, you were wearing that silly strawberry sweatshirt. And the first time I saw you without makeup? It was perfect. Because you were just...you."
Y/n nodded slowly, looking around.
"Have we ever... you know... done adult dating things?"
Ollie coughed in surprise. "OH MY GOD, Y/N! You're putting me in a very unfair situation here!"
She chuckled softly. "Just scientific curiosity."
"Yeah, scientist, of course! I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that, crazy doctor." He said, squeezing her hand affectionately.
"If we had a child, do you think it would have your nose or mine?"
"Probably yours. Mine's kind of boring."
"Your nose is cute... it looks like an elevator button." She wrinkled her nose, smiling.
Ollie frowned, laughing. "What?"
"Cute... makes you want to squeeze it."
"Now I'm scared you'll try to use my nose to get to the 12th floor."
Y/n smiled and began to blink slowly, looking at the ceiling. Ollie thought she was going to sleep and began to caress her hand and her brown locks lightly, lulling her to rest. But she opened her eyes again.
"Did you know that octopuses have three hearts? And that they dissolve if they get too sad?"
Ollie arched an eyebrow.
"That explains why you cry when you watch margarine commercials. You're an octopus!"
"It's not because of the margarine... it's the warm bread..."
"Of course, the drama of warm bread." He replied, smiling.
"You know what else? I once read that sleeping in a spoon position helps with immunity..."
"So we'll live to be a hundred years old."
"Yes..." She stirred happily in bed. "Or until the bones turn to fairy dust."
"That's it, love. Until our bones turn to Tinker Bell dust."
Her eyes lit up at that reference. "I remember I really wanted to be Tinkerbell when I was little..."
"Did you wish you had wings?"
"No. I wanted to throw magic dust at others and fly away when they scolded me."
Ollie laughed.
"Fair enough. Very emotionally healthy."
"I also had a phase where I thought Peter Pan was my boyfriend. Sorry, my love."
"No hard feelings. I'll just keep an eye out if he shows up in a green leotard."
She laughed, still a little groggily, and then turned around, a fond smile on her face.
"You're so beautiful, you know that?"
"Thanks, honey... do you still think I'm cute? I've been up all night and my hair is all messed up."
Y/n squeezed his hand lightly.
"Yes... looks like an angel... tired... but an angel."
"An angel on duty?"
"Exactly." She smiled, her eyes closing. "And you smell nice... like home... like my favorite pillow."
Ollie squeezed her hand and murmured, "You're my favorite pillow too, for the record."
The room was silent, muffled by a soft light that filtered through the window. And Y/n sighed, tired, her eyes fixed on a random spot on the wall.
"Back to talking about marriage..."
Ollie's eyes widened slightly, surprised by the sudden change of subject. But she continued, calmly, as if it had been on her mind for some time.
"Do you think if we got married, we should get a dog or a turtle?"
Ollie smiled, letting his body sink a little deeper into the chair.
"Hmm... dog, but only if he likes sleeping late and eating leftover pizza."
"What if we had a house with a balcony? One of those with a hammock..."
"And a giant couch, with room for your cold feet," Ollie added, still smiling.
She let out a muffled chuckle.
"And the walls would be yellow." Y/n hums.
"I didn't approve of that, calm down." Ollie said, amused.
Y/n paused for a moment, her eyes still on the wall, and she became serious. "Okay, okay, love. I'm sorry..."
Ollie held back a laugh. It was so like her to apologize for the silliest things.
And silence filled the room again. She closed her eyes, relaxing, almost giving in to sleep. Ollie reached out and began to gently stroke her hair. The only sound she could hear was the muffled rumble of the city.
Suddenly, she began to laugh softly, as if she had heard something that only she could understand.
"Listen, listen..." Ollie looked at her curiously. "My heart is singing..." She laughed again, softly, delighted with her own sentence.
Ollie frowned and laughed along.
"Are you sure you're just numb or did you end up drinking alcohol in there?"
Y/n didn't respond, she just kept laughing as if the world was lighter. Then he hummed some made-up tune.
She opened her eyes and saw Ollie smiling at her goofily. Suddenly, her eyes widened, as if a penny had just dropped.
"OMG, I REMEMBER! You're a Formula 1 driver!"
Ollie laughed, delighted.
"Yes, and you fell in love with a crazy guy who runs at 300 Kilometers per hour"
"Have you ever wanted to honk your horn in the middle of a race?"
"Love, there's no horn on an F1 car."
"So how do you curse others?"
"With the hand and with the radio."
Y/n laughed, finding that the funniest thing in the world.
"Are you the type to swear nicely or swear badly?"
"It depends. If it's Verstappen, I'll swear badly."
She put her hand over her mouth, feigning shock. "OLLIIIEE!"
"You just asked me!"
She blinked slowly and murmured, her eyes dreamy, "Have we ever taken a bath together? Like, a real bath..."
Ollie couldn't contain his laughter and closed his eyes.
"Bath? What do you mean 'a real bath'?"
"I really do. With shampoo, conditioner and everything..."
"We've drowned in soap suds a few times."
Y/n blushed. "That sounds a lot like us."
"Yeah!"
She turned slightly in bed.
"I'm really weird, right? Kind of silly, kind of lost..."
"You look beautiful."
"You are obliged to say that."
"No. I'm your boyfriend. And your number one fan. I say that by choice."
Y/n smiled, her eyes slightly teary. "I like it when you talk like that. It makes my heart stop hurting."
"Was it hurting?" Ollie asked cautiously.
"No..."
Ollie laughed. But she frowned.
"But would you love me if I were a worm?"
The pilot's eyes widened. "A worm?"
"You wouldn't love it, right?..." Y/n began to cry silently. Ollie leaned over, concerned, and gently wiped her face.
"Hey, hey. I would love you if you were a worm, okay? I would make a garden just for you to roam free and eat dirt..."
"Thank you..." She sniffs.
"You're welcome, love!" The pilot smiles, holding back his laughter.
The room became quiet again. Ollie continued to caress her hair, and Y/n settled down, curled up, warm under the blanket. She seemed to have fallen asleep. He smiled, relieved, and picked up his phone, scrolling slowly.
But then, in a low voice, she spoke again,
"Have you seen the other pilots' girlfriends? I mean... they're beautiful, aren't they?"
Ollie lowered his phone, alert.
"Beautiful...? In what sense?"
"They have these amazing jobs, like model, businesswoman, artist... You know? And me... I'm just an aeronautics student."
Ollie looked at her, surprised.
"Just an aeronautics student? Y/n, do you realize that? You're literally an airplane pilot! You're a thousand times more amazing than any of them!"
Y/n smiled slightly, hesitantly.
"But they always seem so confident, so collected. Beautiful. Elegant. I'm just... me."
Ollie leaned closer, his voice softer, "Are you just you? Y/n, you've always been true to who you are. And that's what made me fall in love the most. You have this light... this way of seeing the world with rocket eyes and a marshmallow heart."
Y/n chuckled softly, groggily.
"Rocket eyes, Ollie?"
"Yes! You see everything with intensity, passion. And even when you feel small, you keep trying. That is much bigger than any standard."
Y/n looked at him, still with tears in her eyes.
"Do you really think so?"
"I'm sure. And if one day you forget... I'll repeat it a thousand times. Because you're my standard." She reached for his hand. "I'm here reminding you that you're perfect and that I love you."
Her voice came out as a whisper lost in the sheets. "They have blonde hair... blue eyes... haven't you ever wondered if you'd be happier with someone like that?"
Ollie felt his chest tighten so much that it hurt to breathe. This wasn't just silly jealousy. It was insecurity, raw and alive, and he felt every crack of it echo through him.
Before he could respond, she continued.
"Do you think you'll ever get tired of me? Because... if you look at it, the other pilots' previous girlfriends were just like me. Simple. Students. From small families. And they traded them for powerful women... with blonde hair and eyes the color of the sea..."
The tears flowed soundlessly. Only then came a sniffle and a whisper. "I'm scared, Ollie..."
He felt his heart shatter. The air seemed trapped between his lungs. The pain of seeing her like this, so fragile, so overcome with fear, made him wish he could take every single one of those doubts away from her and cast them away forever.
Ollie sat up straighter, his eyes fixed on her. His voice was firm but thick with emotion.
"Honey, listen to one thing: I am NOT them. And you are NOT replaceable. I didn't fall in love with you because of the color of your eyes or your hair... I fell in love because when you talk about airplanes, your eyes light up. Because you dance barefoot around the house, with incredible energy. Because you are a captivating person who wins over everyone around you. Because you are a determined, strong woman who fights for her dreams. Because you make me laugh even when the world seems heavy. Because you ARE and always will be my best friend... And because, even when you are scared, you are the bravest person I know..." Ollie held back his own tears. "Because you, my love. Are the person I always waited to spend the rest of my life with. I love you so, so, SO MUCH. These last six years that I've been with you have been the best of my life, and I know that we will still have many happy years ahead of us. Because I want to marry you, build a family, travel the world and conquer the moon!"
Y/n cried helplessly, her eyes red. "Please, don't leave me..."
Ollie couldn't keep his distance any longer. He got up from the chair and lay down next to her, pulling her gently into his arms. Her body fit against his, her sobs still shaky but beginning to calm.
He hugged her tightly, feeling her heart beat fast against his chest. He kissed the top of her head, whispering.
"I will never leave you. Nothing in this world would make me change you. Because you are my home, Y/n. It's where my heart rests. Where my laughter lives. Where I am whole. And even if one day the whole world changes, I will continue to choose you. Every day."
Y/n closed her eyes, still sobbing softly, but holding tightly to his shirt, as if holding on to a promise. Ollie hugged her tighter, stroking her back slowly.
The room, previously illuminated by light, now seemed enveloped in the melancholy she exuded. He took a deep breath, pulling her closer and resting his chin on the top of her head.
"You don't need to be a model, or have eyes the color of the sea..." He began, his voice low and full of sincerity. "Because you are already all I need to see the sky."
Y/n, even with wet eyes, looked up at him, as if that affection was slowly sewing together every broken piece inside her. Ollie wrapped her even tighter, and with a slight smile on his lips, he continued.
"All I can think about is our future. I know how much you love making plans, so listen to mine..." His palm gently caressed her back, his fingers tracing a comforting path. "I want to be with you when you take your first solo flight." Ollie said, looking up at the ceiling as if he could see their sky there. "I want to be in the audience, screaming louder than everyone else, when you get your diploma. I want our house, with kids running around the yard, knocking over flowerpots and staining the walls."
Y/n smiled, even with tears in her eyes, and he noticed. He took advantage of the moment, pressing his forehead against hers.
"I want to be the guy who holds your hand when you think you can't... and reminds you that you can do anything, anything at all."
A softer sob escaped Y/n, as if her heart was being carefully cradled by his words.
"Besides..." Ollie chuckled, lowering his tone to a conspiratorial whisper. "Blue-eyed blondes? Pff. None of them look as good in army uniforms as you do."
Y/n let out a muffled chuckle, hiding her face in his neck, blushing.
"Because let me tell you..." He said with a smug smile. "You look extremely hot and sexy in them!"
She actually laughed now, still shy, and he took the opportunity to kiss her cheek affectionately, a long and secure kiss.
"Here it is..." Ollie murmured against her skin. "My favorite sound from the person I love the most."
Author: I would probably never be chosen, I'm a tall brunette, with brown eyes and from a small family hahahahah Just kidding.
hiya, i have no idea if you do requests but i have a very brief and simple idea, which you can do your own take on - overly sensitive reader is dating oscar piastri & people are bothering her online but she doesn't tell oscar, instead she hides it and acts like she's fine but one night, she's in bed with him but then moves out to the living room & she's reading people's posts and messages about her not deserving him and she just sobs her eyes out, very quietly, thinking he's asleep - but he's not and he hears her, he walks out to the sight of her crying,,, then you can do whatever you want! just basically a hurt/comfort fic idea :) thank you!
𝒏ote , hi nonnie! thank you so much for requesting this. im convinced he is the sweetest sweetest bf and this thought goes so well with him . . .
fem!reader x oscar piastri. established relationship. hurt -> comfort. fluff. insecure!reader. mean online comments.
you knew better.
you knew better than to look. you knew better than to click on the notifications, the comments, the threads where strangers, bold and faceless, tore you apart like it cost them nothing.
you know it’s not true. these people don’t you. they don’t really know oscar. they don’t know anything about your relationship. and you knew better than to give them so much power over you, but you did it anyway.
it felt like a constant in your night routine at this point. after the steady rise and fall of oscar’s chest tells you he’s surrendered to sleep, you slip quietly from the bed.
you try to convince yourself you’re just stretching your legs, grabbing some water, anything to justify the gnawing pull toward your phone, toward the weight you tuck away during the day but can’t seem to ignore when it’s dark and that inner voice manages to convince you to look.
you curl up on the couch, wrapped in one of his hoodies that still smells faintly like him, like the smell of your safe space can wrap around you and stop the words from piercing as deep as they always do.
“he could have anyone and he settles for that?”
“you can’t convince me she’s there for anything but the money”
“he could do way better”
“why do the best guys always tend to settle for the most basic, gold digging girls”
one after another they appear on the screen. picking apart your body, your intelligence, your motives.
you don’t even realize you’re crying until the drops fall on the screen. little blots of water smearing and obstructing the words that had already twisted like knives in your chest.
you know you should turn it off. climb into bed and let oscar cuddle away all the insecurities gnawing at your chest. but it feels like you’re stuck. like if you just read one more comment, maybe you’ll find one that makes it all make sense, one that explains why you feel like you’ll never be enough for him.
you flinch when a familiar hand gently closes over yours, steady and warm, taking the phone from you. you hadn’t even heard him come in.
you don’t move, don’t blink, don’t breathe as he scrolls through the comments himself, brow furrowing more and more the further he goes.
after a few minutes he locks the phone and discards it on the table, settling next to you and pulling you onto his lap.
“you know none of it is true right?” he mumbles against your head, pressing a kiss to your temple and you sniffle
“osc—” you go to argue but he interrupts
“no” he says, the word so blunt and direct it catches you so off guard for a second that you pull your head away from his chest to look at him
“i’m not gonna sit here and listen to you justify what they’re saying. they don’t know you. they don’t know me. and they sure as shit don’t know anything about our relationship” he says, shaking his head slightly at the utter ridiculousness of what he just read.
“but it’s true. i’m not perfect and you could do so much bet—“ you mumble but he interrupts you again before you get the chance to finish, this time with his lips on yours, kissing you until those thoughts float away and the only thing you can focus on is the way his hand is running through your hair
“you’re perfect with me, to me, and for me. hell perfect doesn’t even begin to describe you baby. you’re everything. you’re all I want. the only way these people have any power over you is if you actually believe there’s some truth to what they’re saying. do you?” oscar asks, holding your jaw so you can’t look away from him.
“are you only with me for the money? the attention?” oscar asks, raising his eyebrows dramatically in a way that makes you wanna laugh and by the slight tilt in his lips, he knows.
“no” you say softly and he gasps in mock surprise
“really? I for sure thought you were” he teases and laughs when you hit him playfully.
“i’m just kidding baby. you hate attention even more than I do and you practically tackle me every time I try to pay for anything. and if you think for even one second that I don’t believe you’re the sexiest woman in the world, you come tell me and I’ll prove you wrong, yeah?” he says, pressing kiss after kiss against your temple, your cheek, your nose, your jaw, your lips. every inch he can reach.
“I love you” you say softly, hoping your gratitude for him shines through in your tone.
“I love you the most,” he murmurs back, no hesitation, no doubt. just the pure, simple truth.
his hands gently frame your face, thumbs brushing away the last of your tears with a tenderness that makes your chest ache all over again, but in a different way this time. a softer way.
“let’s go to bed,” he says, voice thick with exhaustion and affection as he picks you up and carries you to the bedroom, leaving your phone and all the negativity on it right there on the table.
♪ — 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗦𝗘 𝗠𝗘 max verstappen x fem! reader ( fluff ) fic summary . . . You spend a season running—from him, from the feeling, from everything it could become, you call it a game, a fun chase. But in the end, under the lights of Abu Dhabi, something finally gives (3.1k words)
( main master list | more of max verstappen ) ( requests )
Venice, Italy – The Balcony
Venice smells like rain and old stone, like secrets exhaled from the cracks of a city that remembers everything. The air is thick with the ache of something ancient, ghost stories that cling to damp bricks and kiss your skin when you’re not looking. The Grand Canal glimmers below like a mirror that only reflects the past, gondolas gliding with a lazy elegance that belies the electricity in your chest.
You're on the balcony, fingers curled around cold iron, your silk dress slipping from your shoulder like it’s trying to escape before the storm hits. But the storm isn’t in the sky. It’s behind you—six feet of tension and temptation, wrapped in Dutch stubbornness and Red Bull blue.
“You keep finding me,” you murmur without turning, eyes on the water, on the world, on anything but him. But your voice is softer than your smirk, tinged with something dangerously close to longing.
Max steps closer, his presence like thunder. You can feel it before you hear it. The air tightens.
“You keep running,” he says, each word low and even, but there’s something trembling beneath the surface. A ripple in the calm. A warning.
You turn just enough to meet his gaze, and it hits you—harder than it should, as always. That ridiculous face of his. Beautiful in a brutal kind of way. All edges and sharp lines softened only by the strange gentleness he saves for you alone. His eyes, glacial and guarded with the world, melt when they land on you.
And you hate that you love it.
“It wouldn’t be fun if I didn’t,” you say, letting your smile curl slow and wicked like the smoke of a dying candle.
He’s too close now. The kind of close that sets off every alarm in your body but makes you want to stay anyway. He plants his hands on either side of you, caging you in without touching you—just heat and threat and want, radiating off him in waves.
“You left me in Amsterdam,” he says, voice a blade that nicks something just beneath your collarbone. “Again.”
You arch a brow. “Poor baby. Did you miss me?”
His jaw ticks, eyes darkening just a touch. He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t flinch.
And that silence—it says everything.
Your heart’s racing, traitor that it is. You wonder what would happen if you said yes. If you told him you missed him too. If you told him you keep running not to escape—but to be chased.
“Tell me,” Max whispers, his breath a brush of fire against your mouth, “do you ever miss me?”
You don’t speak.
You kiss him.
And the second your lips crash into his, it’s war. His hands fly to your waist, your hair, your jaw—gripping like he’s terrified you’ll vanish again if he lets go. You drag your fingers through his hair, yanking just to hear that sound he makes when he loses control.
He’s never gentle with his love. It’s always been a wildfire. And this—this is an inferno. Burning every city you’ve touched, turning history into ash.
But you let him.
You always let him.
Paris, France – The Empty Bed
The morning is quiet in that cruel way only Paris knows—silver light slicing through the curtains like judgment, the kind that peels back the night and asks, what did you think this was?
Max wakes slowly, the warmth of dreams evaporating as his fingers search for you in the sheets. He’s still half-asleep when he reaches out, expecting the curve of your waist, the softness of your thigh, your breath dancing against his neck.
But all he finds is cold linen.
And silence.
His eyes crack open, and the room tells him the story before his brain does.
You’re gone.
Again.
The pillows still hold the ghost of your perfume—amber and something floral, sweet and defiant. The scent clings to the air like a dare, like a memory that refuses to leave, and it makes his chest tighten in that infuriating way only you can.
The sheets are twisted, evidence of a night spent tangling and unraveling. His hoodie is draped across the armchair—yours now, apparently, because you steal things you don’t ask for. Like hoodies. Like hearts.
On the nightstand, he sees it. That familiar scratch of your handwriting, scrawled in black ink on hotel stationery like you were in a rush—or maybe you just didn’t care.
Je t’aime bien plus quand tu dors. I like you much more when you sleep.
He stares at the note for a moment too long. Not blinking. Not breathing. Not sure if he wants to laugh or scream.
“Fucking hell,” Max mutters, dragging a hand over his face. His voice is low, wrecked from sleep and something worse.
You always do this. Slip away while the world is still dim, while his guard is down. Like a thief who only wants the thrill of the chase, not the prize. Never the prize.
And he should hate it. Hate you. Hate the games, the vanishing acts, the lipstick on his collar and the cigarette burns in his soul.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he sits up, bare-chested and exhausted, the note still in his hand like a brand. His thumb smudges the ink, and it feels like desecration, but he doesn’t stop. He never stops.
He reaches for his phone, voice steady even as his pulse betrays him.
“Call Lena,” he says to no one in particular, to the room, to the ghost of you still echoing in the corners.
A pause. Then—
“Book me a flight to Tokyo.”
Tokyo, Japan – The Hotel Room
The door clicks shut behind you with a soft finality.
Tokyo hums behind the glass, neon lights bleeding into the night like bruises—red, violet, electric blue. The air tastes like rain and sakura petals, like a story just starting even though it’s been written a hundred times before.
And he’s already there.
Max Verstappen, framed by the window like something out of a fever dream. Arms crossed. Eyes unreadable. Jaw tight. Still wearing Red Bull team gear, like he came straight from the paddock, still humming with engine heat and fury and the weight of a thousand expectations. But none of them matter now.
Not here. Not with you.
Your pulse stutters in your throat. Just a beat.
“You’re in my room,” you say, voice even, but there’s something sharp under the surface. Surprise, maybe. Or dread. Or hope you’re not ready to name.
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Just watches you with that look—the one that’s both fire and glacier, the one that melts and freezes you in the same breath.
“This is new,” you say again, a touch more amused this time.
“You’re predictable.” His voice is calm. Icy. Like he rehearsed this moment on the plane. “Every time you run, you come here.”
You click your tongue, letting the silence stretch as you cross the room, hips swaying, heels clicking against the polished wood like punctuation marks in a poem no one dares read aloud.
“And yet . . .” you purr, eyes glittering, “you still chase me.”
You reach out—just the ghost of a touch, fingers aiming for his collar, for something real—and that’s when he moves.
Fast.
His hand closes around your wrist, not hard but firm, pulling you into him like gravity always wins.
Suddenly, it’s skin on skin. Heat on heat. Breath shared and shallow. You’re close enough to feel the thunder of his heart. Or maybe it’s yours.
“I don’t want to chase anymore,” he says, low and rough and dangerous.
Your smirk wavers, just for a second. A crack in the mask. “That’s a shame.”
You twist, slipping from his grasp like smoke between his fingers—like you always do.
But Max follows. He doesn’t give you space to run this time. He crowds you back, herding you across the room with silent fury until your back hits the glass. Tokyo sprawls out behind you in chaotic beauty, but all you see is him.
“You think this is a game?” he growls, voice like gravel wrapped in velvet.
Your eyes narrow. Your chin tilts up like a dare. “Isn’t it?”
His hands land on your hips. Not to restrain. To anchor. To remind.
“Not to me.”
Then he kisses you.
Not gently. Not sweetly.
He kisses you like punishment. Like confession. Like he’s empty and you’re the only thing that can fill the void.
It’s teeth and tongue and fingers in hair. It’s breath stolen and given back. It’s every late-night call, every whispered don’t go, every bruised heart and burning look. It’s everything he’s never said carved into the curve of your lips.
When you finally pull apart, gasping, dizzy, wrecked— He doesn’t let go.
And for once, neither do you.
Monaco – His Apartment
It took a lot to get you here.
Phone calls you ignored.
Voicemails left in the middle of the night—raspy and tired and a little desperate.
A dozen texts that never quite said please, but every word was laced with it.
And finally, Max himself. At your door. Rain-soaked and stubborn. Eyes wild with something too tender for a man like him.
He said your name like a confession. Said come with me like a vow. Said I don’t want to chase anymore with his voice cracking like the sky.
And somehow . . . you said yes.
So now you’re here.
Wrapped in one of his hoodies, perched on his marble kitchen counter like a question he’s still afraid to answer. The sleeves swallow your hands, and the hem brushes your bare thighs. You look too soft in his space. Too dangerous.
Because this isn’t a hotel.
It isn’t Tokyo or Madrid or a back alley in Singapore.
It’s his home.
And the sunlight in Monaco is different.
Softer. Gentler.
Less about the thrill of pursuit, more about the ache of what comes after.
Max moves through the kitchen like he’s done this before—like this is normal. Like you are.
He’s barefoot, hair still damp from the shower, eyes focused as he flips something in a pan with the kind of precision that usually only lives on race tracks.
It’s unnerving.
This quiet. This domesticity.
The hum of something almost peaceful blooming in your chest.
You stare. Unblinking. Curious. Like he might vanish if you stop.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, without turning around.
You hum, stretching lazily, your back arching like a cat in sunlight. “I’m trying to decide if you’re real.”
That gets him. He turns, spatula still in hand, expression unreadable but eyes locked on you like you’re the only fixed point in the world.
“And?”
You swing your legs. Feet bare. Heart not quite. “Jury’s still out.”
He huffs a laugh, low and warm, shaking his head like you’re something ridiculous and holy all at once. He mutters something in Dutch under his breath—something you can’t quite catch but feel all the same.
But he’s smiling. Small. Barely-there. Real.
And it hits you, quietly, like all the best truths do:
This is what it looks like when a wildfire learns to stay.
The Côte d'Azur – Mid-Summer
You’ve never spent more than one night with Max.
It’s always been fleeting. A few hours wrapped in linen sheets, breathless silences in penthouse suites, the distant hum of a city that never quite felt like yours. Always a whisper of what could be—never enough time to see it through.
But then summer arrives like a dare. And somehow, he convinces you to stay.
At first, you think it’s a trap. Some beautiful illusion disguised as reality—a mirage with his arms around you and the Mediterranean just outside the window.
But the days bleed into one another with startling ease.
Mornings become late afternoons.
Late afternoons become dinners on the balcony, wine-stained laughter and fingers interlocked beneath the table.
And suddenly, you’re not counting hours anymore.
You’re just . . . here.
And it’s disorienting. The way he touches you now—like you’re made of something delicate. Not fragile like glass, but rare like a secret he never wants to lose. Like he’s not trying to catch you anymore, just hold you. Just keep you close enough to memorize the shape of your stillness.
One afternoon, you find yourselves on a quiet stretch of beach.
The sun melts over the horizon in shades of gold and fire, and Max lies beside you, one arm flung carelessly across his eyes, the other tracing patterns on your stomach. His fingers are lazy. Warm. Reverent.
“Stay,” he murmurs, almost too softly to hear.
You glance sideways, catching the shadow of him behind golden lashes. “I already am.”
He turns, props himself up on an elbow. The sand clings to his skin. His voice, however, is clean and clear.
“No.” There’s a catch in the word. “Stay after this.”
The wind tugs at your hair. The sea sighs behind you. And your throat tightens like it always does when he shifts the rules of the game.
“Max—”
“I’ll win for you,” he says, sudden and sharp. Like a promise he’s been holding on his tongue all week.
“Every race. Every championship. I’ll give you everything. Whatever it takes. Just . . . don’t leave.”
You let out a soft, startled laugh. Because what else can you do? He already wins. He already conquers the world at 300 kilometers per hour.
“You already do that,” you say, your voice a breath away from shaking.
He shakes his head, brushing a thumb across your cheek, his touch feather-light but grounding. “Not for me,” he whispers. “For you.”
And gods—it’s terrifying. The way he says it. Like it’s simple. Like it doesn’t change everything.
Because you were never meant to be loved like this.
Not so completely. Not so sincerely.
You were born to run. To vanish. To slip between fingers and leave only the echo of your laughter behind.
But lying there, in the afterglow of a half-formed future, Max’s heart beating steady against your shoulder, your fingers tangled in the space where promises go to rest . . .
You wonder. And yet. Maybe you don’t want to run anymore. Maybe—for once—you want to stay.
Round Fourteen – Singapore
It took weeks for Max to convince you.
Calls that stretched into the early morning. Messages you left on read. Voice notes you almost didn’t listen to. He begged without shame—told you he didn’t care if you stayed in the paddock or the hotel or halfway up Marina Bay Sands—he just wanted you there.
And god, you wanted to say no. But the way he said your name made it sound like home. So you came.
You wore black. Slipped into the paddock with quiet grace and sunglasses big enough to hide the hesitation in your eyes. Max spotted you immediately—grinned like the sun came back just to light up the weekend.
He kissed you like he’d already won.
But then Sunday came.
And Max didn’t.
The win streak snapped like a rubber band, loud and cruel. A slow pit stop, a strategy that unraveled, traffic that swallowed him whole. He didn’t even make the podium.
And the thing is—you didn’t care.
You didn’t care about the trophy or the points or the standings. You only cared about him—the way he clenched his jaw, the way he avoided your eyes after the race, the way his hand slipped from yours before you could ground him in something softer.
But somewhere in the mess of post-race silence, a horrible thought bloomed.
You ruined it.
You, with your cursed presence and clumsy heart. You broke the rhythm. The magic. The momentum. He had begged you to come, and you came, and he lost.
So you left.
Quietly. No note this time. No cryptic French.
Just your absence. Your perfume in the sheets. Your toothbrush missing from the sink.
And when Max returned to the hotel—tired, aching, and already looking for you—you were gone.
He stared at the untouched wine glass you left behind and felt the loss like a punch to the ribs. And then he assumed the worst.
She left because I didn’t win.
Because that’s what you do, right? You chase winners. You haunt champions. You don’t stay for failure.
Something cracked open inside him that night. Not anger. Not even grief. Something quieter. Something hollow.
So he did what he always does.
He drove.
Japan. Qatar. Austin. Mexico. Brazil. Vegas.
Every race, he drove like he could undo the loss in Singapore. Like he could put the broken thing between you back together with lap times and champagne.
And he won.
God, did he win.
But every time he looked up at the crowd—at the garage, the grid, the VIP lounge— You weren’t there.
No slow smile behind oversized sunglasses. No click of heels across the concrete. No ghost.
Max kept driving. But the victory never tasted sweet again.
Abu Dhabi, The Final Race
Lap 58 of 58.
Nineteen wins. A season written in gold and sweat.
A symphony of records shattered, rivals silenced, legends carved into carbon fiber.
Max takes the checkered flag like a man possessed. Not with hunger. Not with fury. With purpose.
He parks the car. Throws the wheel aside. Climbs out to the roar of a world on its feet.
And still, he feels . . . incomplete.
Until he sees you.
Not in the VIP suite.
Not hidden behind tinted paddock glass.
You’re on the other side of parc fermé—leaning against the rail, heels digging into the concrete, that unmistakable silhouette framed by twilight and floodlights.
For a second, he thinks he’s hallucinating.
The ghost he’s been chasing all season.
But then you tilt your head, and that teasing, infuriating smile curves across your lips—so real it knocks the wind out of him.
You came.
You came to him.
And god, it guts him—because for once, you’re not the one disappearing into the smoke and silence.
You’re not the one he has to run after.
This time, you found him.
He’s still standing on the podium when his eyes catch yours again.
They hand him champagne. He barely notices.
His gaze never leaves you—not through the anthems, not through the trophy lift, not through the artificial rain of celebration.
Because nothing else matters. Not the title. Not the cameras. You’re here.
Later, in the half-lit quiet of his hotel suite, you walk toward him like a slow exhale, barefoot and sure, wearing one of his shirts like you never left in the first place.
You press a kiss to his jaw, soft and smug. “You look hot when you win.”
Max laughs, breathless, the sound cracking open something inside him.
“I win for you,” he murmurs, mouth brushing your skin.
You don’t run.
You don’t vanish with the sunrise.
You stay.
Fingertips in his hair, lips at his throat, body tucked into the space beside him like you were made to be there all along.
And maybe—just maybe—the chase is finally over.
Or maybe . . .
Maybe this is what it feels like when you both stop running.
Practice Makes Perfect
Max Verstappen x reader
Summary: Max is teaching you how to sim race, and it’s all cute and fluffy, but you are so bad, so when Max is gone to races and stuff, you are practicing and getting better, and one day you surprise Max by showing the improvement.
Requested: yes
Warning: none
"No, not like that! You're braking way too late again," Max sighed, running a hand through his hair as he watched you spin out for what felt like the hundredth time. His gaming setup was pristine—three monitors, a professional racing wheel clamped to a custom rig, and pedals that had the perfect amount of resistance. It looked like a mini Formula 1 cockpit in your living room.
The virtual car slammed violently into the barrier, parts flying across the screen as the red "DNF" flashed mockingly. This was your fifth crash in less than fifteen minutes.
"I don't get it," you groaned, releasing the wheel in frustration. "I swear I'm following the racing line exactly like you showed me."
Max leaned over your shoulder, his cologne distracting you momentarily from your embarrassment. The warmth of his breath against your neck sent shivers down your spine as he spoke. "You're looking at the wrong thing. You're focusing on where you are now, not where you need to be in two seconds."
"That makes no sense," you huffed.
"Let me show you again." He gently moved you aside and took your place, his hands confidently gripping the wheel. "See how I'm looking ahead? I'm already planning for this corner while coming out of the previous one."
You watched, mesmerized, as he effortlessly guided the car through a series of complex corners. He made it look so natural, so easy.
The next day's lesson wasn't any better. You managed to lock up the brakes on a straight section of track—something Max claimed he'd never even seen before.
"How is that even possible?" he laughed, not unkindly. "You weren't even turning!"
"I panicked," you admitted, feeling your cheeks burn. "I thought I was going too fast."
On day three, you somehow drove the wrong way around the track after a spin. "At least you're being creative," Max teased as you narrowly avoided a head-on collision with an AI car.
By the end of the first week, you'd discovered at least twenty different ways to crash a virtual race car. You'd flipped it over a barrier, beached it in a gravel trap, and once managed to get it stuck between two tire walls in a way that Max had to take a photo of "for posterity."
"Maybe I should just stick to watching you race," you suggested after a particularly spectacular crash that had Max doubled over with laughter.
"No way," he insisted, wiping tears from his eyes. "You're getting better."
"At crashing maybe!"
"Everyone crashes at first," he said, suddenly serious. "I crashed constantly when I was starting out. The difference is, I didn't have anyone watching me fail repeatedly."
You slumped back in the seat. "I'm hopeless at this."
Max's expression softened immediately. He leaned over, his arm brushing against yours as he reset the sim. "You're not hopeless. Nobody gets it right away." His voice had that gentle patient tone he reserved just for you, a stark contrast to his competitive fire on real tracks.
"Easy for you to say, Mr. World Champion," you teased, trying to mask your frustration.
He laughed, the sound warming you from the inside. "I've been doing this since I was a kid. Trust me, I was terrible at first, too." He placed his hands over yours on the wheel, his fingers gently interlacing with yours. The tender touch made your heart race faster than any virtual car. "Like this, okay? Feel the way the car moves. It's a conversation between you and the track."
The next attempt ended with your car upside down in a ditch. The one after that saw you spin out three times in a single lap.
Two days before he was scheduled to leave, you finally managed to complete a full lap without crashing, though your time was nearly double his. Max celebrated as if you'd just won a championship, picking you up and spinning you around the living room. When he set you down, his hands lingered at your waist, and for a moment, his eyes dropped to your lips before he caught himself.
"See? Progress!" he exclaimed proudly, his voice slightly lower than before.
You tried a few more laps, still slow but at least keeping the car on the track. It felt like a minor miracle.
"I've got to head out tomorrow for the race weekend," he reminded you. "Three weeks on the road."
"I know," you said, forcing enthusiasm into your voice. "I'll be cheering you on from here."
Later that night, as Max packed his things, you caught him looking at you with that half-smile that always made your heart skip. His gaze held something deeper than just amusement—something that made your cheeks flush with warmth.
"What?" you asked, your voice softer than intended.
"Nothing," he replied, setting down the shirt he was folding and crossing the room to where you stood. "Just thinking how cute you look when you're concentrating on not crashing." He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek.
You threw a pillow at him, which he caught effortlessly. "I'll have you know, I'm going to be amazing by the time you get back."
He raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"
"Maybe," you said with mock confidence.
He kissed you goodbye the next morning, lingering longer than usual. His hands cupped your face tenderly as he pulled away, his forehead resting against yours. "I'm going to miss this," he whispered. "Miss you."
"It's only three weeks," you reminded him, though your heart was already aching at the thought of him leaving.
"Three weeks too long," he replied with a sigh, stealing one more quick kiss before reluctantly heading out the door, leaving you with his spare key and the sim racing setup all to yourself.
𐙚
The first day alone, you just stared at the equipment. It was intimidating without Max there to guide you. But after scrolling through social media and seeing posts about his qualifying session, determination filled you. You sat down and turned everything on.
"Okay," you whispered to yourself. "Let's do this."
The first week was disastrous. You crashed constantly, forgot brake points, and once even forgot how to shift gears properly. But you kept at it, setting an alarm to practice two hours every day.
You started watching YouTube tutorials while eating breakfast. During lunch breaks, you studied track maps. Before bed, you watched Max's old races, noting his racing lines.
By the second week, something clicked. You weren't good—not by any stretch—but you were finishing laps. Your times were improving by fractions of seconds each day.
The third week, you became obsessed with Spa. You drove it over and over, memorizing every curve, every elevation change. You knew where the shadows fell across the track at different times of day, where puddles would form in the rain simulation.
Max called every night, usually exhausted from his race weekend.
"How's everything at home?" he'd ask, his voice softening when your face appeared on his screen.
"Perfect," you'd reply, carefully hiding the racing gloves you'd bought yourself behind your back, out of the camera frame. "Just missing you." The words weren't just part of the deception—you meant them, counting down the days until he'd return.
"Miss you too," he'd say, his eyes reflecting the hotel room's dim lighting. "The bed feels too empty without you." His voice would often drop to a whisper on those words, as though sharing a precious secret. "Haven't touched the sim setup, have you?"
You laughed nervously. "Why would I do that? You know I'm terrible."
𐙚
The day before Max was due home, you set your personal best—still nowhere near his times, but respectable. More importantly, you'd completed twenty consecutive laps without a single crash.
You heard his key in the lock the next afternoon and jumped up from the couch, heart pounding with excitement.
"Welcome home!" you called, throwing your arms around him.
Max hugged you tight, his face buried in your neck. "God, I missed you," he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes drinking you in as though memorizing every detail of your face. Then he kissed you deeply, backing you against the wall, three weeks of separation dissolving in an instant.
After dinner and catching up, he glanced at his sim setup. "I think I need to blow off some steam. Want to watch me do a few laps?"
You bit your lip, trying to contain your smile. "Actually... I was thinking maybe we could race together?"
He looked surprised but pleased. "Really? You want to try again?"
"Something like that," you said mysteriously.
You sat down at the rig, and you let him choose the track. Your heart leapt when he selected Spa.
"You go first," you insisted.
Max shrugged and proceeded to drive a nearly perfect lap. When he finished, he handed you the wheel with an encouraging smile. "Your turn. Remember what I taught you about the bus stop chicane?"
"I think so," you said innocently.
You settled in, adjusted your position, and started your lap. You hit the first corner perfectly, feeling Max's surprise beside you. By the time you navigated Eau Rouge flawlessly, he was leaning forward, completely focused on your driving.
"How are you—" he began, but stopped himself as you nailed the next series of corners.
When you crossed the finish line with a time only five seconds slower than his, Max's jaw had literally dropped. You turned to him with the biggest grin.
"Surprise?"
"When did you—how did you—" he stammered.
"Every day while you were gone," you admitted. "I wanted to impress you."
His stunned expression melted into something incredibly tender. He pulled you into his lap, nearly knocking over the wheel. His arms encircled your waist as he gazed up at you with adoration. "You practiced all that time for me?"
You nodded, suddenly feeling shy under the intensity of his gaze. "I know how much you love this, and I wanted to share it with you properly."
Max cupped your face in his hands, thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. "That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me." He kissed you softly, then more deeply, one hand sliding into your hair to draw you closer. When he finally pulled away, you were both breathless. "But you know what this means, right?"
"What?"
A competitive glint appeared in his eyes. "Now we can race against each other for real."
You laughed. "I'm still not going to beat you."
"No," he agreed with a mischievous smile. "But it'll be fun to watch you try."
He pulled you closer, your bodies fitting perfectly together. "Best welcome home ever," he whispered against your lips before kissing you again, slow and deep, the race forgotten for now. His hand traced lazy patterns along your back as you melted against him, feeling as though you'd won something far more valuable than any virtual race.
The next morning, you woke to find Max already at the sim rig, setting something up. Sunlight streamed through the window, gilding his profile as he worked, and you took a moment to admire him—the concentration in his eyes, the slight furrow of his brow, the way his t-shirt stretched across his shoulders.
"What are you doing?" you asked sleepily, hugging the blanket around you as you padded over to him.
He turned with that boyish excitement you loved so much, his face lighting up at the sight of you. "Setting up a two-player race." He reached for your hand, pulling you onto his lap and nuzzling his face into your neck. "I've got a week off, and we're going to make you even better."
You walked over and wrapped your arms around him from behind. "I like the sound of that."
"Plus," he added, turning to face you with a grin, "now I finally have someone who understands why I'm always talking about apex angles at dinner."
"I created a monster, didn't I?"
"Absolutely," he nodded, pulling you down for a quick kiss. "And I couldn't be happier about it."
As you sat side by side, racing together in comfortable silence occasionally broken by his tips or your triumphant whoops when you managed a good corner, you realized that sometimes the best surprises were the ones that brought you closer together—one lap at a time.
𐙚
A few days later, Max walked into the living room with an unusually mischievous look on his face.
"I have an idea," he announced, setting his phone down on the coffee table.
You looked up from your book. "That expression always makes me nervous. What are you plotting?"
"How would you feel about racing with me on my live stream tonight?"
Your eyes widened. "Your stream? With all your fans watching?" Max's regular sim racing streams had hundreds of thousands of viewers—mostly racing enthusiasts and his F1 fans.
"They'd love it," he insisted, already setting up the webcam. "Everyone's always asking about my personal life anyway. It would be fun to show them what we've been up to."
Your stomach fluttered with nerves. "But I'm nowhere near your level."
Max sat beside you, taking your hands in his. "That's not the point. It's about sharing something we both enjoy." His eyes softened. "Plus, I'm kind of proud of how far you've come. Is that weird to say?"
You felt your cheeks warm. "Not weird at all."
"So?" he asked hopefully.
How could you say no to that face? "Okay, fine. But don't blame me when I crash and embarrass you in front of everyone."
He kissed your forehead. "You won't embarrass me."
That evening, Max set everything up—the cameras positioned to capture both your faces and the screens, the chat window minimized but visible enough for him to catch questions.
"Going live in three, two, one..." Max clicked the button and instantly shifted into his stream persona. "Hey everyone! Got something special for tonight's stream." He glanced at you with a warm smile. "Many of you have been asking about what I do when I'm not on track, so I thought I'd introduce you to someone who's become my favorite racing partner."
You gave an awkward wave to the camera as the chat exploded with messages.
"We're going to do something a bit different," Max continued. "A few weeks ago, I started teaching her how to sim race, and today, we're going head-to-head on Spa. One of my favorite circuits, as you all know."
The chat scrolled by too quickly to read, but you caught glimpses of excitement and surprise.
Max guided you through setting up the race, occasionally answering questions from viewers. "Yes, she's been practicing while I was away at races. No, this isn't staged—I genuinely had no idea she was getting this good."
When the race started, your nervousness melted away as you focused on the track. Max took an early lead, but you kept your lines clean, remembering everything you'd practiced.
"She is actually keeping pace!" Max commented on the stream, sounding genuinely impressed. "Look at that line through Eau Rouge—perfect!"
You bit your lip, concentrating hard as you navigated the trickiest sections. The chat was going wild, and Max was narrating both his own driving and commenting on yours with professional precision.
On the final lap, Max was still ahead, but you were much closer than either of you had expected. As you crossed the finish line just seconds behind him, he let out a whoop.
"Did you all see that?" he exclaimed to the camera. "That was impressive!" He turned to you with undisguised pride. "You're getting dangerous, you know that?"
You couldn't help but grin at his enthusiasm. The chat was filled with supportive messages and demands for you to become a regular on the streams.
"What do you think?" Max asked you, nodding toward the comments. "The fans seem to like you."
You leaned against his shoulder, no longer caring about the camera. "I could be convinced to make another appearance."
"Good," he said, wrapping an arm around you while still addressing the stream. "Because I think I just found my new favorite racing rival."
As the stream continued, with Max fielding questions from fans and the two of you taking turns on different tracks, you marveled at how something that had started as his passion had become a shared joy—one that now even his fans were part of.
And when Max looked at you between races with that special smile that made your heart race faster than any sim car could, his fingers intertwining with yours beneath the desk where the camera couldn't see, you knew you'd found something far more valuable than improved lap times. In that moment, with his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand and his eyes full of admiration, you realized you hadn't just learned to master virtual corners—you'd found your way even deeper into his heart.
BIRTH OF TWINS
DadLando Norris X Mom!fem!reader
Summary: To which Y/n goes into premature labor for the birth of the twins, however, Lando is at the airport returning home and fears that he will not make it in time.
Words: 5.9K+
Warnings: Mention of childbirth, complications of childbirth, twins, pain (??), a little distressing, cute, romantic and happy.
Author: English is not my first language, so apologies for any spelling, grammar and slang mistakes that may be in the story. This is part of a small universe, but can be read separately. ❤️🇧🇷
Universe Of NORRIS TWINS
MASTERLIST
There were still three weeks until the twins' expected delivery date, but Y/n had already been feeling light, training contractions for a few days. However, he didn't tell anyone, not even Lando, that he was about to catch a flight to a race and would be gone for four days.
"Are you sure you want me to go?" Lando asked, taking her hands in his.
"I do. I'll be fine. My mom and Cisca will stay with me." She smiled, trying to convey confidence.
Lando sighed and nodded, leaving a lingering kiss on her forehead before leaving.
Days passed and that morning, Y/n woke up feeling strange. The contractions seemed to be stronger, but they were still spaced out for hours. She decided to ignore it and went about her day as normal while Christy, her mother, and Cisca were at home helping her.
As the day went on, Y/n began to notice that the contractions were becoming more frequent and painful. A discomfort in her lower belly began to appear, and for the first time, she wondered if labor was starting. Still, I didn't want to alarm anyone.
As they talked in the living room, Y/n suddenly grimaced, holding her belly and leaning on the arm of the couch as a stronger contraction came.
"Y/n?" Christy called, worried.
She took a deep breath before looking up at her mother and Cisca.
"I think... I'm in labor."
The silence lasted for a second before Cisca hurriedly stood up.
"OMG, we need to go to the hospital!" She exclaimed, standing up.
"Calm down, Cisca." Christy placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Are you sure, honey?"
Y/n nodded and carefully sat down on the couch.
"The contractions aren't regular yet, but... I've been feeling them for a few days."
Cisca's eyes widened. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN A FEW DAYS AGO?!"
Christy sighed, massaging her daughter's back. "Daughter, you should have told me sooner."
"I thought it was nothing..." Y/n muttered, biting her lip.
Cisca took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "Then, let's go to the hospital now."
Y/n shook her head.
"Not yet. The doctor said we only need to go when the contractions get closer together."
Although reluctant, Christy and Cisca agreed to wait, but decided to monitor every detail. Christy took out her cell phone and began to time the contractions.
After a few minutes, Y/n looked at Cisca.
"Did Lando text? Is he coming back already?"
Cisca shook her head. "I haven't received anything yet, dear."
"Can you hand me your cell phone? It's over there on the counter." Cisca picked up the phone and handed it to her. "Thank you."
Christy continued to rub her back when Y/n unlocked her phone and saw that there were no messages from Lando. Her eyes burned and she placed the device aside, covering her face with her hands.
"I'm scared." Her voice was choked. "Lando should be here... the babies are too far along... I don't know if I can do it.
Cisca crouched down in front of her, holding her hand.
"You can do it, honey. You're strong. The babies might be a little early, but it'll be okay."
"Yes, you will." Christy reinforced, squeezing her daughter's arm. "Lando is coming, and you're not alone."
Y/n took a deep breath, running her hand over her stomach.
"Liam, Lola... stay calm, okay? Daddy's coming."
Cisca got up to get the maternity bags while Y/n tried to calm down.
An hour passed. The contractions had slowed down, but Y/n knew another one could come at any moment. Then, her phone lit up with a text from Lando.
'Honey, I'm boarding the jet now. In two hours I'll be home with you and the babies.
Y/n felt her heart tighten. Could she wait two hours for Lando to arrive?
She quickly responded.
'Lan...I'm in labor.'
He saw it at the same moment and, seconds later, the cell phone screen showed a video call.
When he answered, Lando appeared pale, walking quickly towards the jet.
"YOU'RE WHAT?!" He put his hands on his head, his voice filled with panic. "Oh my God, love, are you okay?! How are the babies?!"
Y/n tried to remain calm, but her voice still came out shaky.
"I... I'm fine. The contractions are still spaced out, but I think it's going to happen today."
Lando took a deep breath, trying to process.
"I'll be on time. I promise."
"Cisca and my mom are with me." Y/n turned the camera to show the two of them busy organizing their bags.
Lando shook his head.
"They need to take you to the hospital now."
"Not yet." Y/n replied. "The doctor said to go when the contractions get closer together."
"What if it speeds up all of a sudden? I don't want you having babies at home!"
"Lan, this wasn't supposed to happen for another three weeks. The babies can't come now, they need to stay a little longer." Her voice broke at the end, and a tear ran down her cheek.
Lando squeezed his eyes shut, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "Baby, it's going to be okay. I know it's early, but Liam and Lola are ready to come into the world. And I'm going to get there as soon as I can."
Y/n sniffed and nodded. "I wanted to wait for you..."
Lando closes his eyes for a moment, trying to remain calm, and says firmly: "Nothing will go wrong. You are strong, love. Liam and Lola have the best mommy in the world. I'm going as fast as I can, and if they decide to come before... then I trust that you will bring them into the world in the best way."
Y/n runs her hand over her belly and smiles with tears in her eyes. "Did you hear that, babies? Daddy's coming. But how about we wait for him?"
Lando smiles on the other side of the screen, visibly moved. He is about to say something else, but the call starts to fail. Yin realizes that the plane is taking off.
"I love you. I love you. I love you..." Lando repeats over and over, wanting Y/n to hear his words before the screen freezes and the call drops.
Y/n sighs deeply, holding her cell phone against her chest. Cisca places the delivery bag at the door, aware that the moment had arrived.
A new contraction arrives, more intense than before. Y/n lets out a moan and tears stream down her face, but this time it wasn't just from the pain-it was from fear. Christy quickly approaches, holding her hand tightly.
"Shh, my love... I'm here. It's going to be okay. You're strong, and I know you can do it."
Y/n lets out a sob, trying to control her breathing. "I want to go to the hospital. The pain is too much, mom... something is wrong."
Christy and Cisca exchange a worried look before nodding. Cisca grabs the bags while Christy helps Y/n to stand up carefully. Little by little, they leave the house, and Y/n leans on her mother, feeling another strong tightening in her belly. Lando's mother grabs the keys and locks the door, already sending a message to Y/n's doctor.
On the way to the car, Y/n cries softly, holding her mother's arm. "I thought we would have more time..." She murmurs, her voice breaking with emotion.
Christy runs her hand through her daughter's hair lovingly. "You've waited long enough, my love. Now it's time to meet your babies."
Cisca smiles as she gets into the car and looks in the rearview mirror. "I think Liam and Lola just want to meet their mommy, who they already love so much."
Y/n lets out a little laugh through her tears, feeling her heart warm with those words.
The drive to the hospital is long. Traffic is bad, the lights seem to take forever to change, and with each contraction, Christy holds Y/n's hand and helps her breathe. Cisca drives as fast as she can, trying to stay calm, but the worried look in the rearview mirror gives her away.
As soon as the car parks in front of the hospital, a nurse is already waiting for them with a wheelchair. Christy and Cisca rush out - one opens the door for Y/n, while the other grabs the bags.
Y/n hesitates for a moment before sitting down in the chair, holding her belly. "Lando isn't here yet..." She murmurs, concern evident in her voice.
Christy squeezes his hand. "He's coming, my love. But right now we need to focus on you and the babies."
"Honey, do you know how long there is between contractions?" The nurse asks.
Y/n responds with a shaky sigh. "They were an hour apart... but now they're closer."
When they enter the hospital, Y/n is taken straight to a room. Christy holds his hand until they have to part momentarily.
"I'll make your entrance, dear. Cisca will stay with you until I get back."
Cisca nods in agreement and smiles at Y/n.
In the room, the doctor who monitored the pregnancy performs some tests while the nurse checks Y/n's dilation.
"Three centimeters," the nurse says. "It's still too early to push. It may take a few hours to reach the ten centimeters needed for delivery."
Y/n lets out a shaky breath, looking at the doctor. "There are still three weeks until they are born..."
The doctor nods with an understanding look. "Yes, ideally they would stay a little longer, but twin pregnancies tend to come early. You were already receiving corticosteroids to help the babies' lungs mature, and we'll give them another dose now to make sure they're born strong."
Y/n nods, feeling a little more relieved. Closing her eyes for a moment, she tries to relax. Cisca sits next to her, holding her hand.
Shortly after, the nurse arrives with the medicine and applies it to Y/n, who takes a deep breath.
The nurse smiles at her before leaving. "You're doing great. If you need anything, just call."
And then, Christy returns to the room. "Okay, I've already checked you in and told Lando that we're here. I also sent a message to your father, and told him not to worry, that we're with you."
Y/n smiles, grateful. "Thank you, mom."
Christy strokes her arm. "Always, my daughter."
Cisca stands up. "I'll tell the Norrises too. I'll be right back."
"Thank you, Cisca." Christy smiles. "I'll take care of our grandchildren."
Cisca laughs. "Needless to say, you've already started."
Y/n lets out a weak laugh, feeling calmer.
Christy sits next to her, holding her hand and looking into her daughter's eyes. Now so grown up, a strong woman, married and about to have babies of her own.
"My love, I still remember the day I held you in my arms for the first time. You were so tiny... and now here you are, about to bring your own babies into the world." Y/n smiles weakly, still feeling the anxiety. Christy squeezes her hand tighter. "I always knew you would be an amazing mother. You have so much love in your heart, Y/n. Liam and Lola are so lucky to have you."
Y/n's eyes water. "What if I'm not strong enough?"
Christy runs her hand through her hair, her voice firm but full of affection. "You're already strong. You've been through so much, and look where you are. You've created a beautiful family, found someone who truly loves you, and now you're bringing these two little miracles into this world." Y/n closes her eyes, feeling a few tears fall. Christy wipes them away gently. "I'm so proud of you, my love. You've always been my brave little girl."
Y/n looks at her mother with emotion, her voice coming out as a whisper: "Thank you for being here... I couldn't do it without you."
Christy smiles and kisses his forehead. "I always will be, my love. Always."
And then a cell phone beeps inside the bag, Christy gets up and reaches for the cell phone inside and sees that it was from Y/n, smiling when she sees the screen lit up.
"It's a message from Lando," he said, handing the device to his daughter.
Y/n quickly unlocked her phone and opened the conversation.
Love❤️: "We're landing in 30 minutes. Are you at the hospital yet? I'll be right there!"
She smiled, feeling immediate relief at knowing he was so close. With slightly trembling fingers, she typed a reply.
Y/n: "Yes, I'm already at the hospital. The contractions are still bearable, so there's no need to run like crazy. Drive calmly, love."
Love❤️: "You know me, right? Running is part of my DNA. But I promise I'll arrive in one piece. I love you!"
Y/n: "I love you more. We're waiting for you, daddy."
After sending the message, he sighed deeply, closing his eyes for a moment and placing his hand on his stomach.
"Lando will be here in a few minutes," he said, his voice still thick with emotion.
Christy smiled, leaning forward and placing a loving kiss on her daughter's forehead. "So now you can relax a little. He's on his way, and soon you'll be together to meet these two little angels."
Before Y/n could respond, Cisca entered the room with an amused smile, holding her cell phone in her hand.
"I just told Adam and Lando's brothers. I think their reaction was even more intense than ours." He said with a laugh. "You should have seen the messages, it looked like they were freaking out!"
Y/n chuckled softly. "I expect no less from the Norris family." She commented, amused by the image in her mind of her desperate brothers-in-law.
"Flo, Cisca and Oliver's wife also sent their support to you," Cisca added, sitting down in the armchair next to the bed. "By the way! Flo already asked me to deliver flowers here for you!"
Y/n smiled, feeling their affection. "Tell them I appreciate it. And that they'll soon meet Liam and Lola."
Time passed and the contractions began to get closer together, but the dilation was still low. The doctor returned to the room to check the babies' heartbeats while the nurse performed some tests on Y/n.
Taking a deep breath, she looked at the monitor, listening carefully to the two little hearts beating loudly.
"They're both strong," the doctor said with a smile. "And look at their fast heartbeats. It's like they're ready to run."
Y/n chuckled softly. "Well, they're Lando's kids. And he's not exactly the epitome of calm."
The doctor laughed along. "That explains a lot."
The room was prepared for the arrival of the babies. In the corner, there were pink and blue balloons, some welcome cards and flowers sent to Y/n. Two large teddy bears were placed side by side, each with a name embroidered on the belly Lola and Liam. A gift from Y/n's father.
There was a knock on the door and Christy got up to answer it. When she opened it, a smile lit up her face. "Look who's here!!"
Y/n turned her head immediately, feeling tears well up in her eyes as she saw Lando standing in the doorway, holding a bouquet of flowers.
"You did it..." She murmured, sighing in relief.
Lando smiled and walked over to the bed, leaning down to kiss her forehead before looking into his wife's eyes.
"I told you I wouldn't miss this for anything." He handed her the bouquet and smiled. "To my strongest, most amazing girl. I love you more than I can put into words."
Y/n smiled and a few tears fell from her eyes, holding the flowers lovingly. "Thank you, love. I love you sooo much."
Lando then bent down to get closer to her belly, running his hand over her skin with an enchanted look.
"And you two, huh? You didn't even want to wait for daddy to get here." He joked. "But now everything is fine. Daddy came to help mommy, so you can rest easy." He looked up and only then noticed Christy and Cisca watching the scene with smiles on their faces. "Ah... I hadn't even seen you there." He said, laughing.
Christy laughed. "Don't worry, dear. We didn't mean to interrupt the moment."
Lando walked around the bed and hugged first his mother-in-law, then his mother. "Thank you for taking care of her and the babies."
"No need to thank me, Lan. We wouldn't leave her side for anything." Cisca said fondly.
"And now that you're here, let's leave you two to enjoy this moment." Christy added. She held Y/n's hand once more. "If you need anything, I'll be downstairs, my love."
"Thank you, Mom."
Christy smiled, kissing her daughter's forehead. "You're amazing, Y/n. Everything will be okay."
As soon as the two left the room, Lando turned his attention to his wife. But before he could say anything, he felt Y/n squeeze his hand tightly.
"One more..." She mumbled, closing her eyes as the contraction came.
Lando immediately grabbed her hand with both of his. "I'm here, love. Take a deep breath, this will pass. You're doing great."
Time passed and, with each contraction, Lando remained by her side, holding her hand, whispering sweet words and encouraging her. He felt her fingers tightening around his with increasing force, but he did not complain. Her pain was greater than anything he could feel.
And then the nurse came in again and smiled at Y/n. "I'm going to check your dilation, okay?"
Y/n nodded, taking a deep breath as a few tears ran down her face.
After examining her, the nurse smiled. "We are fully dilated. It's time to bring the babies into the world."
Y/n's heart raced. As the nurse began to prepare the room and equipment, she looked at Lando with wide eyes.
"I don't know if I can... I'm in a lot of pain, and it feels like there's something wrong with one of the babies."
Lando cupped her face in his hands and looked into her eyes, "Hey, nothing's wrong. They're okay, love. You can do it. I'm here for you."
The doctor entered the room with an excited smile.
"The time has come! Let's meet these little champions."
Y/n smiled nervously. "It seems so..."
As the equipment was sterilized and everything was prepared, Lando noticed that Y/n was watching everything with a frightened look.
He held her hand and called softly, "Love, lean forward a little."
"Why?" She asked, frowning but doing as he asked.
Lando smiled and swung a leg over to the other side of the bed, positioning himself behind her. "I'm making sure my first love is comfortable to bring my other loves into the world."
He hugged her from behind, holding her hand and kissing the top of her head, which was slightly wet with sweat. Y/n closed her eyes for a moment, feeling safer in his arms.
The nurse put on gloves and smiled.
"Come on, Y/n. When the next contraction comes, I want you to push as hard as you can."
Y/n took a deep breath, nodding.
The contraction came hard, making Y/n lean forward a little. Lando ran his hand over her back in a light, comforting caress, while holding her other hand firmly. She took a deep breath and began to push, trying to help Lola be born.
But pain, fear and fatigue quickly mixed together. Her breathing became ragged, and the contraction began to ease without her being able to finish the effort.
"I... I can't do it..." Her voice came out shaky, choked with tears that were building up. "I'm scared..."
Y/n laid her head on Lando's shoulder, tears streaming silently as her body shook with exertion.
The nurse gave her a gentle look, trying to calm her down. "You're doing great, honey. Just a little longer, we need to wait for the next contraction, okay?"
Meanwhile, the doctor monitored the babies through the ultrasound, paying attention to their heartbeats. Minutes passed, and then the new contraction arrived. Y/n took a deep breath and pushed again.
"That's it, Y/n, you can do it!" The nurse encouraged.
Lando leaned in close, whispering sweet nothings in her ear. "You're doing so well, love... our little girl is almost here."
But suddenly, the nurse frowned and looked at the doctor before muttering, "WAIT a moment, something's wrong..."
"What's wrong?" Y/n, panting, opened her eyes in fright.
Lando felt her hand grip tightly and tensed. "What's going on?"
The nurse manually examined the baby's position while the doctor kept his gaze fixed on the ultrasound screen.
"The umbilical cord is wrapped around Lola's neck. This is making it difficult for her to come out because the oxygen flow to her lungs is compromised. She is getting weak." The nurse explains.
Y/n's face drained of color. Her eyes instantly filled with tears, and her breathing became faster and more irregular. She squeezed Lando's hand tightly.
"She... she'll be okay, right?" Her voice came out in a shaky whisper.
Lando swallowed, feeling his heart hammer in his chest, but he kept calm for her. He kissed the side of her head and murmured, "Baby, trust them... Lola will be fine, I promise."
The doctor sighed and looked at the team. "We can't continue with a natural birth. We need to act quickly before her oxygen saturation drops any further."
He quickly left to call the OR team, reserving a room for the emergency C-section. The nurse began to organize the room and prepare Y/n.
Lando got up from the bed to stand beside her while the nurses adjusted the IV and monitors on her. The nurse explained everything calmly, but Y/n was already crying, distressed.
"Why is this happening? I was trying! Did I do something wrong?" She sobbed, turning her face to Lando.
He cupped her cheeks in his hands, resting his forehead against hers. "Hey, hey... this isn't your fault. You did everything right, my love."
"But I wanted to do this for them..." She whispered, her eyes filled with pain.
"And you still will, Y/n. You'll still bring our babies into the world, just in a slightly different way. What matters is that you're okay."
The door opened, and nurses came in with the gurney to take her to the operating room. Lando had to let go of her hand for a moment as they moved her, and the tightness in his chest grew when he saw the frightened look on her face.
"Lando..." Y/n called in a tearful voice, extending her hand.
He quickly grabbed hers and followed her as they pushed the stretcher out of the room. The nurse noticed Y/n's desperation and turned to Lando.
"You can come into the room and watch the birth if you want."
Y/n looked at him, eyes shining with tears.
"I'm going in, I just need to let our family downstairs know, okay?"
The nurse nodded. "We'll be heading up to the surgical floor, tenth floor. When you arrive, look for me at the nurses' desk, my name is Izzie."
Lando nodded and kissed Y/n's forehead as they entered the elevator.
"I'll be quick, I promise. I'll be there in minutes." Y/n nodded, but she was still nervous. "Soon, we'll be holding our babies."
She smiled weakly. "And you're going to be an amazing daddy."
"We already are. We'll just make it official in a little while." He chuckled softly.
The elevator doors closed, and Lando blew a kiss into the air before rushing out to tell his family downstairs.
Meanwhile, Y/n was wheeled into the operating room and prepped. The doctors explained the procedure, assuring her that they would pay special attention to the babies. They put the surgical cap on her and monitored her vital signs.
Sitting on the stretcher, Y/n listened to a nurse explaining: "We're going to apply spinal anesthesia, which will block the pain from the waist down. You'll feel touches and pressure, but no pain, okay?"
She nodded, but her breathing was fast. She looked around, missing Lando.
Before she could say anything, the door opened. Nurse Izzie walked in, bringing Lando with her. He was wearing a surgical cap and putting the mask on his face, smiling at Y/n.
"You came back quickly..." She sighed in relief.
Lando stepped closer, holding her hand. "And miss this moment? Not even if I were in another country."
She smiled at him, feeling immediate comfort.
The anesthesiologist came over. "I'm going to give you the anesthesia now, okay?"
Y/n nodded, squeezing Lando's hand a little tighter. Once they had applied the anesthesia to Y/n's back, they carefully laid her down on the stretcher, with the surgical field positioned so that she couldn't see the procedure.
"Now we're going to start the incision. You may feel some pressure, but no pain. If you feel anything different, let us know, okay?" The doctor explains some steps.
Lando squeezed her hand gently. "It's going to be okay, love. Lola and Liam will be with us soon." Y/n looked at him, feeling stronger with those words. "You've been so strong all these months... and you're going to be an amazing mommy now."
She smiled at him excitedly. "And you're going to be the best daddy."
The procedure began with precision and speed. Lando kept his attention divided between the surgery and Y/n, observing every detail with a mixture of fascination and anxiety. The environment around him was controlled, but the tension was inevitable. He watched the doctors and nurses working in a coordinated manner, monitors emitting rhythmic sounds, surgical instruments gleaming under the bright lights.
Time seemed to drag on until the doctor announced that they were about to take Lola out. Lando immediately looked at Y/n, and the two exchanged a smile filled with emotion and pride.
"Our first baby is coming, love." He whispered, squeezing her hand affectionately.
Y/n smiled back, her chest filling with anticipation. A few seconds passed, and then she realized that Lola had already been born, but something was wrong. Silence hung over the room. The cry she had been waiting for never came.
"Why isn't she crying?" Y/n's voice was shaky, her eyes filling with dread. "Why is our Lola so quiet?" She turned her head to Lando, searching for some answer.
Lando felt his stomach churn, fear seeping into every cell of his body. "What's going on?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady, but his tone held an undeniable urgency.
One of the nurses quickly took Lola to the next resuscitation table, while another began suctioning her airway. The pediatrician, keeping his tone calm and firm, explained, “She was without oxygen for a while, but we’re managing it.”
Y/n's eyes filled with tears. She tried to move, but Lando grabbed her hand, bringing her back to him. "Baby, calm down... they're taking care of her. She'll be fine."
The doctor looked at Y/n with concern. "We need to keep going. Liam is almost here, but we need you to stay calm so your heart rate doesn't increase too much, okay?"
Y/n closed her eyes, sobbing softly, while Lando stroked her hair, trying to comfort her.
The seconds felt like an eternity. The silence in the room was piercing. Y/n's heart was pounding, insecurity suffocating her. Lando tried to stay strong for her, but the fear of losing his daughter made him restless.
Then, a low, hoarse cry filled the room. Everyone in the room smiled, and Y/n sobbed in relief, letting out a tearful laugh.
"There you go!" The nurse smiled, looking at the couple. "I just needed a little help."
Lando sighed, running his hand over his wife's still sweaty forehead. "Our little one is already causing drama."
Y/n let out a weak laugh through her tears.
The doctor smiled at the comment and then focused again. "Liam is almost here."
"I hope this one is calmer than his sister." Lando looks at his wife, smiling.
Y/n smiled, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders. Now that she knew Lola was okay, she could breathe a little easier.
Seconds later, Liam was born, and a loud, characterful cry echoed through the room.
Y/n closed her eyes, smiling. Her babies were fine. She was fine.
"This one came in already making a fuss." Lando laughed, looking at his son over the surgical field, still holding his wife's hand.
"That's how I like it." Y/n replied, smiling weakly.
As the doctors finished the procedure, the nurses examined and cleaned the babies. One of them came over with Lola in her arms and smiled at the parents.
"Do you want to meet your little girl?"
Y/n, still lying down, turned her head and saw the nurse approaching with her little girl. Her eyes filled with tears of happiness when she saw her healthy, breathing and extremely cute daughter there.
"Hi, my love... mommy's here." She whispered, touching the baby's delicate cheek.
Lando came closer and smiled, completely enchanted. "Hi, little princess. You gave us a scare, huh?" He gently caressed Lola's cheek. "But I can see that you're going to be just like mommy... you like to keep everyone on their toes.
Y/n laughed softly, still emotional. But her maternal concern soon surfaced.
"Why is she so small?"
The nurse smiled reassuringly. "This is normal for twin pregnancies. The babies share nutrients in the womb, so they are usually smaller at birth. But she is fine, strong and healthy."
The explanation calmed Y/n, and she nodded, looking at her daughter tenderly again.
A few seconds later, the other nurse arrived with Liam in her arms and approached the other side of the stretcher, near Lando.
"Hey, champ..." Lando murmured, completely enchanted by his son.
Yin smiled, touching his cheek affectionately. "My love, look at you! So beautiful and strong!"
Liam shifted in the blankets, seemingly searching for his mother's voice, which made Y/n and Lando chuckle softly.
"They're perfect..." Y/n whispered, watching the two babies with her heart overflowing with love.
"Just like you." Lando replied, kissing her forehead affectionately.
The nurse smiled at the couple, holding one of the babies gently. "We're going to take them for some tests and monitoring while you rest, Mommy. Just in case."
Y/n blinked a few times, still feeling slightly drowsy from the anesthesia. "Will they need to stay in the neonatal unit?"
"We will evaluate, but apparently it won't be necessary. Just one night for observation."
Relief washed over her, and she nodded with a small smile. Watching them be taken away was strange—a tightness in her chest that only eased when she felt Lando's warm hand clasp hers.
"You can go with them, love." She looks at Lando, already feeling very drowsy from the anesthesia.
Lando smiled, his eyes soft and full of affection. "I know... But first, I need to make sure my first love is okay."
He brought her hand to his lips and placed a kiss there. And then he stood by her side throughout the rest of the procedure and when they took her away for observation.
••••••••••••••••••••••••
It was almost dawn when Y/n insisted on going to see them. Recovery from the anesthesia had been slow, and painkillers helped ease the pain, but the need to be with her children was greater than any discomfort.
With the help of a wheelchair and, of course, Lando, she finally made it to the pediatric ward.
Lando was different. Even with the dark circles under his eyes and the obvious tiredness, there was something about him that wasn't there before. A sparkle in his eyes, a smile that seemed impossible to contain. He looked at Yin as if he were seeing the love of his life transform before his eyes because that was exactly what was happening. She wasn't just his woman, his wife. Now, she was the mother of his children.
She held Liam in her arms, studying every little detail of the baby. He had delicate features, but the same way as Lando. His little nose, the shape of his lips, his serene expression. Everything she loved about her husband was there, condensed in that little boy who slept peacefully against her chest.
On the other side, Lando walked slowly, cradling Lola in his arms. The baby was so small that she seemed to get lost in the soft blankets they had bought for her. But her eyes were open, fixed on him, as if she already knew exactly who this man was who was holding her with so much love.
"You already know I'm your daddy, don't you, little princess?" He murmured, rocking her lightly. "I know I'm very handsome, hard to look away from."
Y/n chuckled softly, watching the scene with a smile.
"But don't get used to it, okay? You and your mom already boss me around too much, soon Liam will want to give orders too. I'll have to move to the garage." Lola just winked at him, and Lando let out a laugh. "Oh, so that's how it is? Are you going to pretend you don't understand?" He nuzzled her little face. "It's okay, I know you already love me."
The atmosphere was peaceful, with other babies nearby and a few parents sitting in the armchairs around them. The low sound of conversation and the occasional cry made the moment even more special.
Then a nurse approached with a warm smile. "There are visitors for the babies."
Y/n looked up and her heart sank as she saw, on the other side of the large glass window, the most important people in her life.
Cisca held Adam's arm, her eyes filled with tears of happiness. Y/n's father wore a proud smile, while her mother looked ready to cry. Flo, on the other hand, was restless, anxious to see her nephews.
Lando helped Y/n get up and walk to the window, with extreme care, he turned Lola in his arms so that everyone could see her. The little girl was sleeping peacefully now, surrendered to sleep, a pacifier in her mouth, which seemed almost bigger than her.
Flo smiled and spoke loudly for them to hear. "My God, that pacifier is bigger than her face!"
Lando laughed. "That's the cutest thing!!"
Christy and Cisca put their hands to their chests, completely enchanted. Y/n arranged Liam in her arms and lifted him slightly so they could see him. Her father's eyes lit up and he let out a laugh.
"He's all Lando!"
Cisca and Adam agreed, laughing. "Just like Lando when he was born!"
Y/n felt her eyes water, her heart aching at having her whole family there, even separated by glass. The squeeze of Lando's hand in hers brought her back. "They are already so loved."
She nodded, smiling excitedly. "From the first second."
Lando and Y/n exchanged a look before turning their attention back to the family.
"In a few days, you'll be able to hold them." Y/n said loud enough for them to hear.
"I can already imagine spoiling these two to the limit!" Cisca smiled.
Christy looked at her daughter, her eyes shining with pride. "You were amazing, my girl. They are perfect."
Y/n listened and smiled, feeling her heart overflow with happiness.
Lando was still talking to his family about Lola, but his attention turned to Y/n when he noticed the way she looked at the babies. Completely in love, radiant, exhausted, but happy in a way he had never seen before.
He bent down a little and touched her cheek affectionately.
"I love you, Mama Norris."
Y/n smiled, feeling her eyes fill with tears again.
"I love you more, Daddy Norris."
Lando chuckled softly, resting his forehead against hers.
parents of three l MV1 imagine
a/n: sooo max is officially a dad 😭😭 so I picked up the draft of my dad!Max series with the twins which you can find here! I hope you like it and let me m ow if you have some ideas!
summary: baby verstappen nº3 is here, and the twins are now happy with the idea.
It had been a quiet morning, at least by the new Verstappen household standards.
The Monaco penthouse, usually alive with the squabbling of six-year-old twins and the occasional feline disaster, was unusually peaceful. The cause of this rare tranquility? The arrival of Baby Lia had everyone mesmerized, literally and metaforically having everyone wrapped around her little finger.
Youcradled the newborn in your arms, gently rocking her in the nursery Max had insisted on painting himself. Pale pink walls, soft grey furniture, and a mobile of tiny stars that the twins helped assemble.
“You’re not even crying today,” you murmured, brushing a soft kiss on Lia’s forehead. “It’s like you know I needed a break, what a smart baby, yes you are.”
Footsteps padded down the hallway, fast and energetic. Then came the crash of something toppling over. The twins ready to disrupt the quiet.
“Mila!” Luca’s voice rang out, shrill and dramatic. “You almost dropped her bunny!”
“It’s not my fault Jimmy knocked it down!” Mila huffed back.
You sighed, smiling despite the quiet moment gone. The calm had lasted exactly twelve minutes.
You stepped into the hallway with Lia, just in time to see Jimmy dart out from under the baby’s toy box with a fluff of pink clutched between his teeth.
“Mama!” Mila wailed, dramatic tears already forming. “Jimmy stole Lia’s bunny!”
“Yes, because you dropped it, Mila!” Luca reprimanded his twin.
Before you could intervene, Max’s voice boomed from the kitchen. “Jimmy! No stealing from the baby!”
Max appeared, wearing sweatpants, a Red Bull hoodie, and holding two sippy cups. He looked equally amused and tired. parenthood in a nutshell.
“Crisis averted?” he asked, eyebrows raised.
“I think Jimmy wants attention,” you replied, bouncing Lia gently. “He’s jealous, he probably thought it was only going to be the twins forever.”
Max chuckled, scooping up the cat and plopping him into Luca’s arms. “That’s what happens when you’ve ruled the house for years. Then babies come and steal your spotlight. Tough life.”
“And what about Sassy?” You asked Max.
Max glanced toward the back of the couch where Sassy lounged with the disinterest of a feline queen, which of course she was. “She’s plotting our demise, probably.”
You snorted, the vibrations of your body earning a smile from Lia.
The twins came running, now united in their mission: cooing at their baby sister.
“Can I hold her again?” Mila asked, reaching for Lia’s tiny hand.
“No, me first!” Luca insisted, already positioning the couch pillows for support just like Max had shown them.
You sighed again, this time with a full heart. You remembered the day you told the twins about the pregnancy, Luca had declared he didn’t want “a baby stealing his toys,” and Mila had spent the afternoon sulking because “babies are boring.” And both of them had tried really hard to stop the baby’s arrival.
Now? They were obsessed.
It was later that weekend in Miami when Max found himself being cornered in the paddock for an interview with Sky Sports Netherlands.
“So Max,” the interview began in Dutch, “congratulations again on the new addition to the family! How are things going at home with three kids now?”
Max grinned, hands in his pockets. “Chaotic. Loud. Exhausting… Perfect.”
The interviewer laughed. “And the twins? How are Mila and Luca adjusting? I remember they weren’t too pumped when we crossed paths a few months ago.”
Max didn’t hesitate. “Honestly? I thought they’d hate it. When we told them (Y/N) was pregnant, Luca wanted to move out.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Mila made us sign a paper saying we’d still play Barbie games with her even after the baby came. They were so in denial that we got a call from their teacher.”
The small group of journalists laughed.
“But now?” Max continued. “They’re obsessed. They follow Lia around like bodyguards. Luca brings her toys she can’t even use, Mila sings to her. They fight about who gets to hold her. I think I’ve held her less than both of them.”
“And the cats?” The interviewer teased. “I hear Jimmy and Sassy have opinions.
“Oh, Jimmy’s a menace. He tries to sleep in the crib,” Max said, his tone fond. “Sassy’s smarter, she gives Lia a five-foot radius. She watches from a distance like she’s evaluating her for royal court or something which is very entertaining.”
There was more laughter.
“Sounds like a full house.”
Max nodded. “It is. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
-
Back home, the house was quieter than usual.
With Max in Miami, you were managing the trio on your own. Your mother had offered to stay, but you politely declined, liking the rhythm and evolving routine; early mornings with Lia after the twins left to school, midday chaos with the twins, and long, quiet evenings watching Max on the TV while feeding the baby.
You curled onto the couch, baby Lia nestled in a wrap on your chest, Mila curled up beside you, and Luca was completely knocked out from building a Lego fortress with a secret baby princess chamber, which he assured was for both Lia and Mila.
Max’s interview played in the background. “Luca wanted to move out,” Max said on the screen, laughing.
You giggled, watching Luca’s face twitch in sleep as if he’d heard his name.
The moment made your heart ache with pride and love.
Two days later, Max came home.
The door opened quietly, he’d learned not to make noise just in case Lia was sleeping, but before he could take a step in, Mila barreled into him.
“Papa!” she squealed.
Max laughed, lifting her with one arm and dropping his bag with the other. Luca followed, hugging Max’s waist.
You appeared at the end of the hall, holding Lia with one hand and balancing a bottle in the other. “Hello babe, the house didn’t burn down.”
He met you halfway, kissing you deeply, letting his hand rest over Lia’s tiny head. “Missed you,” he whispered on your lips.
“She missed you too. She kept staring at the TV every time you talked.”
“She’s a Verstappen, she knows good racing.” Max bragged, a habit he picked since the twins were born was now at its peak after the birth of Lia. “Plus, she was conceived the night I won the fourth so she knows what’s good.” Max whispered the last part so the twins wouldn’t hear.
Later that night, the five of you, cats included, were on the bed.
Mila had brought her blanket, Luca had brought snacks which were promptly confiscated by Max. Jimmy snuggled into Max’s feet while Sassy stared at the baby with mild disapproval.
Lia gurgled softly between you, wearing a pale pink Red Bull onesie Max had been gifted by the team.
“I can’t believe we made her,” you whispered, resting your head against his shoulder.
“I know,” he whispered back, brushing his thumb along Lia’s little hand. “She’s perfect.”
“I was so scared,” you admitted. “I thought adding another baby would ruin the balance and let’s be honest, we never really thought about having another baby, we were just desperate to celebrate your championship.” You giggled, remembering the night.
Max turned to you, cupping your cheek. “You were right to be scared. But we didn’t ruin anything. We just… added more love.”
Luca yawned. “Papa, can Lia come to the next race?”
Max smiled. “Not yet, buddy. But soon.”
Mila curled next to her mother. “She needs earmuffs with her name printed, like the ones we use when we go see daddy race.”
“She’ll have them,” Max promised. “We’ll get her baby-sized ones.”
You smiled, the warmth in your chest spreading like sunlight.
“I know we have enough but… I think we need a new cat.” Max proposed.
You snorted. “Excuse me?”
Max shrugged. “It’s only fair! The twins have Jimmy and Sassy, Lia deserves her own.” Your husband worked his beautiful blue eyes on you.
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” You said, knowing this fight was already lost.
“Mila was also talking about a puppy after meeting Leo.”
“Max!”
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