Masterlist

Fallen Petals (Max Verstappen)

part one

Summary: How a relationship wilts and comes to an end. 

Pairing: Max Verstappen x fem!reader

Warning: ANGST, so much angst, I LOVE ANGST lol, Wordy as hell hehehe, tension,  unresolved feelings, implications of cheating,  SMUT, sexual content. 18+

NOT PROOFREAD 

Word count: 3.6k (oops)

•

•

2021

Max Verstappen’s shoes and clothes were starting to collect dust in the closet. His towels unused for weeks, his toothbrush next to hers on the bathroom counter. Everything seemed to be mocking her. Everywhere she looked remnants of the man she loved were there tormenting her.

Things were coming to an end and she knew it.

She knew it as she sat on the chair on her usual end of the table. Her in her usual place and his space as empty as ever. Dinner served on the table. Two plates of rigatoni and wine served, plated ever so carefully to make everything special. A small homemade cheesecake for dessert sat in the fridge.

The pink peonies in the middle of the table, two petals had already fallen.

Her phone read 10 pm in her shaky hands. He was supposed to be home at 7. Three hours ago and yet not a single text was sent her way. Not an apology, not even an excuse.

Keep reading

Cry Me A River | Masterpost

— pairing: bts x reader

— genre: angst, slight fluff, poly!au, mafia!au, arranged marriage!au

— status: ongoing

— warnings: (triggering topics! please read at your own discretion) childhood trauma, mental abuse, allusions to physical abuse, child neglect, manipulation, gaslighting, violence, mentions of assault, hurt and comfort, divorce, emotional neglect, minor character deaths, kidnapping, some emotionally unstable scenes

one. the breaking | you tried so hard to be enough

two. the lie | a house made of cards, they lived in your beautiful fairytale

three. the promise | if you told them about the darkness inside of you, would they still look at you like you're the sun?

four. the gentle heart | keep your heart warm, no matter how cold they have been to you

five. the void | no matter how many times you read a story over and over again, it always ends the same

six. the puppeteer | father wanted perfection, you fell in love with disorder

seven. coming soon...

Oh my god... this is sooo beautifully written... i cried😭😭

POV

Imagine as you lay across his lap, he breathes hums of your favorite song that he memorized just for you.

Imagine as your vision blurs because he’s such a pretty sight to fall asleep to.

Imagine as a warm smile spreads across your face and you whisper your love to him because he has to know.

You don’t know why the urgency of your feelings is there but the warmth of his hand sweeping your hair across your cheek is enough to halt any thoughts. 

Imagine as his eyes grow teary because he loves you so deeply and he cannot picture life without you.

Imagine as he places a shiny ring on your finger because he never plans on leaving your side. 

Imagine as you smile warmly up at him and whisper ‘yes’ before you fall asleep to his gentle humming.

Imagine being in love.

Now imagine his point of view.

Imagine as he cradles your head with gentle hands like he’s carrying glass.

Imagine him trying to steady his breathes long enough to hum your song because you look so confused and he just wants to settle your mind. 

Imagine he watches your eyes glaze over and his body strains to hold his weight and your own without breaking.

Imagine him glancing away to wipe his tears because your smile is slowly tearing him apart and you whispering your love is the same as whispering goodbye.

Imagine his eyes growing teary because you’re getting colder and colder and he can’t do anything to stop the slowing of your heart.

Imagine him placing a shaky hand on your cheek to ground himself and hold you one last time.

Imagine as he slides a ring onto your finger, the ring he was supposed to propose with tonight at your birthday, the ring that promises you’ll be with each other until the end.

Imagine as sobs heave through him and he struggles to continue humming your song as you whisper ‘yes’, because he finally has his answer but this isn’t how he wanted it.

Imagine as his scream rips through the air when your eyes close.

Imagine being in love until death do you part.

Imagine breaking his heart.

Max Verstappen x reader

Summary: Everyone believes Max died in an accident, but meanwhile he's fighting to get back to you.

Blinding lights. Tires screeching. Then bam—proof that Newton’s laws of motion cannot be changed. His face hits the dashboard, and the pain is temporarily subdued by a sudden thought that maybe if he was the one driving, his much better instincts would have helped avoiding the crash. 

The world soon fades away, leaving darkness and silence behind, the kind of void that’s strangely comforting. It’s like a warm blanket that keeps him safe, shielding him from the harshness of reality. 

The crash. He’s been in an accident. 

He can’t help but think about the practical things. That was his rented car. He wasn’t the one driving. Who was it? Oh, yes, that gamer guy he met at the party. He let him try the car after a lost bet. They were heading back to the club where he left his wallet with all of his documents. 

The car is his. Well, it was rented by him. They have to know it’s him even without the ID, right? It can’t be that bad, someone must have recognized him. 

And if they did, do you already know? Are you there with him? Maybe holding his hand and begging him to return to you? 

Despite the rapidly rising number of questions, he still feels calm—happy, even. This world is nice, and forgiving. A part of him wishes the outside world could be just like this. 

Well, it is like that, but only when it’s just the two of you. 

Max knows how to party. And drink. But that’s okay, he can handle it. He’s the typical fun drunk person, you usually enjoy being around him when he gets wasted. Sure, you obviously prefer your boyfriend sober, but even he deserves a night off every now and then, right?

This is why you aren’t worried when he stops responding to your messages. For you, it’s early in the morning in your shared Monaco apartment; for him, it’s the middle of the night in Miami. Maybe he bumped into another driver in the club and they started chatting. Maybe he’s already back in the hotel, sleeping like a baby. 

Everything’s going well until the first ping of your phone three hours after the last message. Because then that one ping is followed by dozens of others, then—before you could see what’s going on—the first phone call arrives from Daniel, who sounds extremely worried.

“Please, tell me you didn’t see the photos,” he opens the conversation. 

A crease forms between your brows as you come to a halt in the office and look at the person beside the printer as if he knew what your friend was talking about. He looks confused, then he scurries like some little animal after encountering a predator. 

Shaking your head, you return your attention to the call. “What photos?” you wonder. 

There’s a surprised gasp on the other end of the line. “Wait, you don’t know?” 

“Don’t know what?” 

“It’s all over the news. The Aston Max rented was found in pieces after a crash, and they could only save the passenger’s life according to anonymous sources. Nothing’s official yet, though, so take this report with grain of salt, okay?” he says. 

Only the passenger survived? “Max wouldn’t let anyone else drive his car, even if it’s just rented. And even after a party, if he was drunk, he would have just left it there and got into a taxi instead,” you spill the words quietly, trying to make sense of what you just heard. 

Daniel knows what’s going through your mind, because he’s quick to stop you from overthinking. “Okay, calm down. We don’t know if that source is correct, we don’t know who the passenger is. No one knows, you hear me? If it was Max, someone would have called you, after all, you’re his ICE contact, right?”

Blowing out the air you didn’t even know you’ve been holding, you lean against the wall behind you and pinch the bridge of your nose. “I need to go there. I—I need to know what’s going on,” you state hesitantly. 

There’s a part of you that doesn’t really know what to do now. You’re terrified of the possibility of losing him, but you can’t just stay here and wait for someone to finally tell you something. And why didn’t they call you? Why didn’t they check his phone to see who’s the contact for such cases? Why—

“Hey, I already booked you a jet to Miami. I’ll send you the details, so go, pack a suitcase, then head to the airport now,” Daniel tells you. “I’ll meet you there, okay?”

“Okay, thank you.”

Before you could end the call, you hear him say a quiet hey. “Under no circumstances check the photos that are circulating, okay? Promise me that.”

You promise not to do that. They must be terrible if he doesn’t want you to see them, so you come to the conclusion that you don’t need this in your life. If you don’t see the photos, if you don’t read the news, there can be at least some hope that he’s alive. 

After God knows how much time, he feels like the lightness is slowly shifting into crushing pressure, and excruciating pain, and panic, and he feels like his world is inevitably collapsing as he returns to reality. The sound of machines fill his ears, the blinding lights burn through his closed eyelids, and he can hear the murmurs of people around him.

He can’t hear your voice though. 

When he opens his eyes, he doesn’t see anything, but that’s because there’s gauze or something wrapped around his head. So, without thinking much about it, he tries to raise his hand to push it out of the way, but he’s stopped before he could actually move that thing. 

“Easy, Mr. Lillard, please, don’t touch it. Try to calm down,” a woman says. 

Lillard? Who’s Lillard? Don’t they recognize him? Didn’t the cops identify the car? 

He wants to speak, he wants to tell the woman that there’s a misunderstanding, that he’s not Lillard, he’s Max Verstappen. He left his wallet in the club, but his phone was there with him, if they have that, they can contact you, and if they can contact you, you can tell them who he is. 

But no sound leaves his throat. 

No matter how hard he tries, he can’t speak. He can’t see, he can’t speak. It feels like he was locked into a prison, away from the rest of the world.

He misses the void. He truly does. 

You get the notification after you turn on your phone. A missed call from an unknown American number. With trembling fingers, you hit the call button, then wait for whoever is on the other side to speak up. 

The conversation is short and to the point. 

Are you Max Verstappen’s fiancée? Yes. I am sorry to say this, but he was involved in a car accident, and the paramedics couldn’t save his life. Are you sure? Yes. And we need you to officially identify the body, so I will send you where to come. 

That was all you got from the cop who called. 

You break down right there at the airport, collapsing on the tarmac with tears falling from your eyes. All you manage to do is sending Daniel a text with the news, asking him when he will get here because you simply cannot do this alone.

You don’t want to see his body. If you do, it will be permanent, it will mean you lost him forever. It will mean you’re now going to focus on the logistics of taking his body home, focus on organizing a funeral that’s worthy of his legacy, focus on surviving. 

An hour later you’re standing in the door of the morgue, talking to the detective on your side. The driver of the other car was running a red light, and his system was full of drugs and alcohol. According to his ex, he was suicidal, she wouldn’t be surprised if this was his ticket out of this world. 

“Are you ready?”

Can anyone ever be ready for something like this?

But you nod nonetheless, trying to steel yourself until your friend arrives to help you through the worst of it. Until now, you ignored the messages and calls, but eventually, you’ll have to talk to people. Family and friends. The members of the Red Bull family. Other drivers. God, it’s gonna be a really dreadful task.

The table isn’t that far from the door, but the moment your eyes fall on the figure on it, covered with a white sheet, time seems to stop moving. This can’t be real, this can’t be real, this can’t be real, you keep repeating. 

When the coroner removes the sheet from his face, though, you feel like screaming. From shock? From pain? From relief? From happiness? 

Because the man on the table is definitely not Max. They look strangely alike, that you admit, but he’s definitely not your fiancé. Then who is he? And why was he driving Max’s car?

Max has fallen in and out of sleep in the past hour or so, although that’s just a guess, he has absolutely no idea what time it is. Time passes differently when he’s locked into his own body, when he simply can’t get himself to talk. 

He keeps trying whenever he’s awake and there’s someone in the room with him. If he can say as much as his name, they can hopefully realize that he’s not the man they think he is. Then they could contact you. Then he would be reunited with you. 

“Max!” 

Yes. That’s it. That’s exactly what he wants to say. If he could only say it out this loud…

“Where’s Max?” he hears it again, the voice he knows and loves so much sounding almost hysterical in his mind. “Max!”

“Miss, this is Richard Lillard, if you’re looking for—”

“Your Richard Lillard is in the morgue, the man in there is my fiancé, and I’m going to see him right now,” you tell the nurse angrily, and he can imagine you push past her before he hears your loud, confident steps getting closer. 

But is it really you? Isn’t it just his injured brain playing tricks on him? 

Did he have brain damage, though? Who knows, maybe that’s the reason why he can’t speak. 

When he feels a soft hand wrap around his own, he immediately knows it’s you. You’re here with him, so he squeezes your hand in an attempt to tell you that it’s okay, that he’s alive. He can hear you cry, repeating something under your breath that he can’t quite understand, but it’s okay, everything’s gonna be okay now. 

He would have come back from the grave just to come home to you. 

Even death wouldn’t be enough to keep you apart. 

Plushie Kidnapping

(A/N): This one just ran away from me.

Summary: Max accidentally packed his girlfriends favorite plush toy. Now it's his chance to show her how good he can care for her loyalst compagnon.

Pairing: Max Verstappen x reader, Max interacting with other drivers

Wordcount: 2.2k

🏎Masterlist🏎 ___________________________

(Y/N) is on her way home from work when her boyfriend called her. She accepts the call through the car’s entertainment program, excited to hear Max’s voice after a grueling day.

“Hey Baby,” She greets him while steering the car along the streets. A smile takes place on her face, always giddy to talk to her love. “Schatje,” Max breathes into his phone, “how was your day?”

After some small talk and light banter, (Y/N) taxis her car into the parking space of her apartment building. “Are you home?” Max asks, hesitation in his voice. The young woman frowns upon hearing that. “Yeah, but we don’t need to end the call.” She assures him.

The driver hesitates again. “I made a… let's call it a moderately bad mistake.” He confesses, his voice quiet. (Y/N) stops in her tracks as she previously rummaged in her purse for her key. She looks up at the car’s display, as if it’s Max itself standing in front of her, wringing his hands with a nervous smile.

But he is not, instead he stands in a hotel room thousand of kilometers away from his girlfriend, staring at an object on his bed. She clears her throat, her little bubble of giddy having burst. “What?”

Her sharp tone makes Max wince. “This morning I did some last minute packing and - please don’t be mad at me - I may have accidentally, unwanted, really, by mistake… packed your little lion plushie.” Said toy stares back at Max accusatory. The Dutchman swears he is getting judged by it.

(Y/N) is silent for several moments. Max feels the weight though the line. He wishes for nothing more than to be able to turn back time to put the soft lion back onto her bed. Finally, (Y/N) sighs. “It’s” She starts and stops again, taking a deep breath. “You are on a triple header, right?”

That was more of a theoretical question. Of course she knows the answer. The date of his return, nearly four weeks away, is circled red in her calendar. Max doesn’t see the point in answering, instead choosing to keep quiet.

(Y/N) nods. “I- okay. You are sure you got Leon? The Leon who has been with me for most of my life? Who has been here before you?” She is waving her hands around as she is talking, still sitting in the car.

Max sits, pacing around in his hotel room. “I am so so sorry, Schatje. I- sending a package would be way too risky. We can’t have him getting lost somewhere. Or even risk it.” He paces a little more, knowing how much that lion means to his girlfriend. “I will have someone take my jet and fly Leon back to you.” At that (Y/N) lets out a humorless laugh. “Max, that’s too extreme. It’s okay. I will manage without Leon. Just… gosh this sounds pathetic. But please. Make sure he is safe. He means so much to me, even though he is just a plush animal.” (Y/N)’s voice gets quieter and quieter.

He stops in his tracks. “I promise you, Schatje. He is in the second best hands possible. No one can top yours, of course.” (Y/N) smiles to herself, albeit a bit warily. Okay. I trust you.”

Soon after, they end the call and the young woman finally leaves her car to enter her apartment.

For the remainder of the day her mind circles back to her plush animal. It was gifted to her some time during her early childhood days. (Y/N) doesn’t have a single memory or picture without that little yellow plush lion.

When she is making dinner, her phone pings. Max’s contact name with an attached photo lights the screen up. Curiously, (Y/N) puts the knife she used for chopping vegetables down and opens the messenger app.

The first thing she sees is Leon, sitting in front of an empty plate. Then the young woman spots her boyfriend, having taken a selfie of himself and her plushie during dinner, his own plate being filled. Leon is taking your spot during our dinner dates, I hope you don’t mind! Max texted her with the picture.

(Y/N) giggles to herself, her worries being eased for now. I hope you insist on paying like you do with me! Don’t let my best friend starve though. Love you two! After that, he sends her a picture of Leon sitting in front of a plate filled with a few peas. Not letting the little man starve, trust me.

And this is a common recurrence during the following weeks. Every day Max sends his girlfriend several pictures of him and Leon in different situations.

During the first weekend, Max brought Leon with him into the paddock, his little head looking out of his backpack. With a red bull can in hand and a smile on his face, he enters the paddock and is immediately greeted by different media personnel.

One of the red bull social media girls catch him on his hot girl paddock walk. “Hey Max. What’s up with the lion? Is this another opportunity to sell?” She asks, keeping up with his step and holding up the phone to film him for their instagram and tiktok channels.

He laughs a bit, tucking some hair behind his ear. “Oh no, he's my girlfriend’s most loyal companion in life and I accidentally packed him up. I promised her to take care of Leon during the triple header, and I felt like he would have been too lonely in my hotel room. So I’m showing him the paddock.” He explains, waving his arm around and pointing towards the plushie in his backpack.

That clip goes viral quicker than any video that had the word “inchident” uttered.

Soon enough, (Y/N) gets another photo of them, Leon being placed on a treadmill next to Max’s, “training” at the gym together. The picture has been taken by Rupert.

A few minutes later, the young woman receives a video of Leon bench pressing some very small weights, with Max spotting him. “He is very strong, I can see now why he is your actual protector instead of me”, he winks into the camera before the recording ends.

By the end of the first race of the triple header, the whole team has already been roped into the spiel of showing (Y/N) how good the Dutchman takes care of her stuffed companion.

Especially the red bull social media team jumped onto that wagon. They make clips of Leon getting a spa treatment at a place specialized on stuffed animals. They take Max and Leon to a zoo, showing him some actual lions. The team also ropes Leon into challenge videos with Yuki, who loses to the stuffed toy every time. (Y/N) gets the first view of course before the video hits all social media channels.

Every single video goes viral. Even other sports try to hop onto that train. But a person in a fursuit for a football team can never step up to be as iconic as a small plush lion.

Soon enough, Leon becomes some kind of mascot for the team, especially for Max.

“Schatje”, he mutters into the phone after turning another pole into a race win, still wet and sticky from champagne combined with red bull, “I think I need to bring Leon to all my races from now on.”

(Y/N) just gasps. “So it was deliberate of you! You packed him on purpose!” Ever since Max has told her that he took the stuffed lion with him, the couple has been bickering whether or not the Dutchman did it intentionally or not. The opinions on both sides are steadfast.

“Lies! Slander! I wouldn’t do such things. Maybe you just need to quit your day job and accompany Leon and me for the rest of the season. I have a championship to win and Leon has a championship winning driver to support!” (Y/N) groans at that. “Come home with my guy first and then we can do some talking. From what I saw, there were attempts to kidnap Leon. Your chances of being able to even have a conversation about my future as part of the workforce will be non-existent if something happens.”

This is true. After other drivers have witnessed the magic of the little lion, plans were made to claim that energy for themselves.

First and foremost the rookies under the lead of Kimi and Ollie tried to make some elaborate plan. In the end they didn’t go through with it, because between them all, they couldn’t agree who is allowed to keep Leon if their plan was to be successful.

Charles actually got close to getting his hands on the trophy in the form of a plush lion as he walked into the paddock with Max during the sunny afternoon for another day of media day. Staying in step with him, the Monegasque put his arm around his shoulder, acting friendly while his hand crawled towards Leon hanging out the backpack. “What is your opinion on the new soft tyre Pirelli introduced yesterday?” He tries to divert his attention.

But there is one thing he hasn’t accounted for, dealing with Max. His lightning fast reflexes. Quickly, Charles’ arm is pinned off Max. “Just touch Leon without my blessing and it’s not only my wrath you’ll get to witness, but (Y/N)’s anger too. And you don’t want to try her.” He warns the Ferrari driver. Charles backs off, a bit scared if he is being honest.

Even through all the evil attempts of commiting crimes, Leon also experiences the full mischief and chaos that comes with the other drivers and daily life in the paddock.

“Has Leon ever tried it?” Yuki asks during a fanzone appearance, gesturing towards said lion that is sat on the table on stage where they held some kind of building blocks challenge against the mclaren boys. The soft toy leans against a can of red bull.

Max is shaking his head laughing while Lando dashes to the front, his excitement barely contained as he puts his own can of Monster next to the red bull. “If he has to try something, it has to be the best energy drink in the world”, he speaks into the microphone. Their sponsors love him.

The Dutchman is quick to set the record straight. “Leon will not try any caffeinated drinks. He is like (Y/N), it would only upset his stomach and make him anxious.” Then he turns towards the crowd. “Especially some sugar water like that neon green piss.” Other sponsors hate him.

The interviewer has some work to do to calm the fans back down.

But also during drivers parades, the stuffed animal has become an icon quickly. It’s the only time where Max lets another driver hold him, since so many eyes and cameras are on them at that moment no one would dare to do something to or with Leon.

To everyone’s surprise, Oscar is weirdly possessive when he gets his fingers on him.

“I feel like it’s my turn to hold him now”, Alex whines as he makes grabby hands towards Oscar, who cradles the stuffy in his arms. He fixates the Thai with a dry look. “Too bad, I have him now.” The Australian successfully fends off everyone's advances of taking Leon from him with his witty remarks and mean glances. Up until the truck is back in the pits, where he gets approached by Max. With a sigh, he hands Leon over. “Ask your girlfriend if she also has a koala. This is weirdly soothing.”

Luckily, eventually all triple headers come to an end. The press later argues that Max’s drive to the airport after the race was faster than his actual fastest lap on track.

Finally, after three poles to wins, Max flies back to his shared apartment with (Y/N) in Monaco. He arrives in the middle of the night, rolling in his suitcase, his backpack slung over his shoulders and gripping Leon tightly in his free hand.

He dumps his luggage at the door quietly to tiptoe into the master bedroom. Max halts in the doorway, his eyes softening as he sees his love cuddled up in tshirt, clutching also one of his hoodies.

While trying to be as silent as possible, he changes out his plane clothes into some pjs before slipping under the blanket on his side of the bed. (Y/N) stirs slightly. Then turns around towards him.

“Did you-” Max already puts the small plush lion into her arms. “I did”, he reassures her with a gentle smile. He pulls her into his arms, before sighting satisfied. This is his home.

“He smells like you.” “Me?” (Y/N) hums, close to falling asleep again. “Like burnt rubber and victory.”

Max chuckles and presses a kiss to her forehead. “And you smell like home.” He whispers, knowing she has fallen asleep already. While he looks at her, wishing he can take (Y/N) with him like he did with Leon. Carrying his love in his pocket at all times.

Too Late

in which the love you have for him is the cause of your death

requested pairing: seokjin x reader word count: 3,242 genre: angst hanahaki disease au

*****

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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..

papercuts🌷

gym crush au!

“popular”! jungkook x underclassman! reader

genre: smau, fluff, slight angst, crack, high school au, college au, everyone is kinda dumb, strangers to lovers to ex’s to lovers

warnings: language, drinking, mentions of s*x, tattoos

synopsis: flirting with your crush of 3 years wasn’t something you thought of when first getting twitter, a nasty breakup wasn’t what you expected either… but why is it that after 3 years and loads of droning on self-improvement and trying to become “that” girl , your gym buddy reminds you of the one person you wanted to forget?

-—

0.5 intro🌷

1. yn and friends🌷

1.5. jk and friends🌷

2. alphabetized🌷

3. blocked🌷

4. too bold🌷

5. left on read

6. Peter Holland

6.5. lost🖊

tbc!

taglist❕

@chaeinyourlane @epiph4ny @90s-belladonna @bubblytaetae @somelazysundays @flowerprincejin @silscintilla

message me to be on the tag list!

look me in the eye | pt.3

pairing: max verstappen x rbr!engineer!reader

summary: the rb21 is unfixable-the whole world knows that, now-but you've become so much more than just his engineer and they should know that too.

a/n: i just...max verstappen...and thank you guys sm for the love you've shown this series! here is the last part <3

part one / part two / part three

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The moment you step out of the storage room-you figured that out when Max shoved you against a nice metal rack and some probably important things crashed to the ground-reality crashes down on you like a tidal wave.

You just kissed Max Verstappen.

Max Verstappen just kissed you.

You don't know how it can get worse, but it will. He looks completely at ease, like he didn't just change the trajectory of your entire life in the span of a few heated seconds. Meanwhile, you feel like you're about to combust. Your lips are still tingling, your mind racing, and you’re suddenly hyperaware of the noise outside: the team is still celebrating, the media is still circling, and maybe you're being a little dramatic but people will want answers that you can't give.

Max notices your panic before you can even say anything. He leans in slightly, lowering his voice. "Breathe."

You shoot him a glare that lacks any real venom. "Don't tell me what to do."

His lips twitch. "Then don't look like you’re about to pass out." Which is ironic, because if he hadn't kissed you senseless, you probably wouldn't look like...whatever you look like right now. You need a mirror. Your hair is all messed up from the frenzy-his is too, though it suits his post-race look-and you straighten the collar of your shirt.

Damn you. You shove past him, desperate for space, for air, for something that isn't Max Verstappen and his infuriating ability to act like everything is fine. Your body betrays you, though, because even as you move, you feel his warmth lingering, his presence like a gravitational pull you can’t escape.

And then, as if the universe is determined to make your life a nightmare, Christian Horner appears. The devil himself.

You barely manage to school your expression into something neutral as he approaches, eyes sharp, mouth set in a line that promises nothing good.

"Max." He nods at Red Bull's star driver before turning to you. "We need to talk."

Max doesn't move. "She's busy," he quips.

You whip your head toward him, eyes wide. "Max."

Christian doesn't look amused. "Now."

You sigh, throwing Max one last look before following Christian into one of the back offices. The second the door closes, he lets out a heavy breath and pinches the bridge of his nose like he's trying to will away a migraine.

"You know why we're here."

You cross your arms, steeling yourself. "If this is about that stupid interview-"

"Stupid?" Christian cuts you off and his eyes narrow quickly. "Do you have any idea what you just walked into? The media is losing it. The fans are in a frenzy. And now I have PR breathing down my neck asking if Max Verstappen is in a relationship with one of his engineers."

This isn't good. No, not at all. Today is not a good day to have Christian Horner mad at you. "It's not-"

"It doesn't matter what it is," Christian interrupts. "Believe me. The only thing I care about is what it looks like."

You don't have an argument for that. Because he's right. Perception is everything in this sport, and right now, the perception is that you are tangled up in something that no team principal wants to deal with.

Christian sighs and it's like all his fury is evaporating. "Look. I really don't care what you do in your personal life. I don't even care what Max does, as long as he keeps winning. But I need to know if this is going to be a problem."

You hesitate. "Define 'a problem.'"

Christian levels you with a look. "Are you going to be a distraction? To him? To yourself?"

Your mind flashes back to the kiss, to the way Max looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered in that moment. Your heart stutters.

"No," you say, more firmly than you feel. "This doesn't affect my work."

Christian watches you for a long moment, then nods. "Good. Then handle it."

You swallow. "Handle it?"

"Either shut it down or control the narrative," he says. "But I don't want any more surprises."

You nod, even though you don't know what exactly you're affirming with that nod. The problem is, you don't know if you can shut it down. You don't know if you even want to.

When you leave the office, Max is leaning against the wall, waiting. Of course he is.

He leaps up when he sees you. "What did he say?"

"That I need to handle it," you explain.

Max’s expression doesn’t change. "And are you going to?

"I don’t know."

There it is again. You can't read Max Verstappen. He asks, "Do you want me to?"

All your problems come from the same thing-you should say yes, no, whatever it takes to shut down all this that's happening. You should make him go on some press circuit and laugh it off as a misunderstanding, to make sure your name isn't attached to his ever again. You should be walking away from this mess because it's not part of your job description and getting involved with an athlete never seems to end well. Even if it's Max Verstappen.

But you don't.

You never do, it seems.

Instead, you look at him: the way his jaw is clenched, the way his fingers twitch like he wants to reach for you but won't unless you let him, and you keep making the same choice.

"I think," you say carefully, "we should talk."

Max’s lips curve slightly. "Dinner?"

You groan, shoving his shoulder. "Not helping."

His laugh is soft, but there's something else in his eyes now. Something serious. "Then let’s talk."

It's been a long time coming, but right there, you realize you're past the point of no return.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The ride back to the hotel is suffocating. Not the air-no, the air-conditioning in Max's car is great, thankfully, because it sure cost a lot-but because Max is sitting next to you, silent, his fingers drumming against his thigh so close to you if he shifts just a little his hands will be on yours. You push that thought aside. Now's not a good time to get worked up over him. Not now.

You should say something. You should clear the air. But every time you open your mouth, nothing comes out. Instead, you replay everything in your head: the kiss, the way he looked at you after, Christian's warning, and the way Max had asked if you wanted him to handle it. Like it was his responsibility. Like he was willing to do whatever you asked, even if it meant pretending none of this ever happened.

The thought unsettles you more than it should.

"You're thinking too much."

You blink, snapping out of your spiral. Max is watching you instead of the road. Stupid, stupid.

You roll your eyes. "And you’re not thinking at all."

He smirks, eyes darting back forward for a moment before they rest on your face. "That’s not true. I'm thinking about dinner."

"Max, this isn't a joke." You let out a frustrated sigh, turning to face him.

"I know." He's suddenly serious, his voice quieter. "That's why we should talk. Properly. Without Christian breathing down your neck."

You hesitate. You know he's right. You can't keep avoiding this, can't pretend that what happened in the storage room didn't just flip your world upside down. But you also don't know how to have this conversation without risking everything.

Max waits patiently, letting you come to your own conclusion. He always does that. He gives you space, but never too much. Always just enough to make sure you don’t run.

"Fine," you mutter. "But not dinner. We saw how that went."

He raises a brow. "Drinks?"

"No."

"A walk, then."

You sigh, but you don't argue. You suppose a walk is neutral territory. You can talk without the pressure of sitting across from him at a table, without the weight of eye contact that lasts too long.

When you arrive at the hotel, you don't give yourself time to hesitate. You step out, waiting for him, and he follows without question after tossing his keys at the valet. There's a cool breeze, and you focus on that instead of the way your fingers still tingle from where they brushed against Max's earlier.

You walk side by side, the silence stretching, but it isn't uncomfortable. It never is. That’s part of the problem, isn't it? It's always been too easy with him.

"I meant what I said," Max finally says. "I don't want this to be a problem for you."

"It's not that simple, Max."

"It could be."

You huff out a short laugh. "For you, maybe."

He stops walking, and you do too, turning to face him. There's something in his expression that makes your breath catch.

"I like you," he says, and your heart stutters. "And I think you like me too."

You swallow hard. "Max-"

"I know it's complicated. I know Christian is watching us like a hawk. I know you're worried about your job, your reputation." His voice is steady, unwavering. "But I'm not going to pretend this isn't happening just because it's inconvenient."

Your mouth feels dry. It does sound simple when he's saying it.

"Tell me to stop. Tell me this is nothing, and I'll walk away."

You hate him for that. Hate him for putting the choice in your hands, for making you responsible for whatever happens next.

But you don't tell him to stop. You don't say anything at all. You look at him clearly: this man you've watched grow up from a boy. You've seen him destroy things in fits of rage after bad races, you've seen him beam like the sun, and you've seen the way his eyes turn stormy oceans when they look at you. He sees you too.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

bahrain 2025 post-race interview

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

y/n 🌎 gee, max, you're going to get to my ego

y/n 🌎 first "my everything," then "the constant"

y/n 🌎 and what's that about always? i don't believe that.

my mashed potato Are you referring to us or you being the constant? Because I don't believe in that either, but you have me as long as you want

y/n 🌎 are you SERIOUSLY CHECKING YOUR PHONE DURING AN INTERVIEW

y/n 🌎 sorry for all caps i just like it a lot when you get all romantic

my mashed potato i know ❤️

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

a/n: max verstappen and 3-post series are very special to me