Crosswind Max Verstappen

crosswind ✧ max verstappen

max verstappen x fem! pilot! reader

fc: monica barbaro (i think it’s a crime if i don’t choose her as my faceclaim in this one (งಠ_ಠ)ง)

disclaimer: i have no prior knowledge about pilots or airplanes, so i apologize if there are any mistakes!

being a pilot can be exhausting at times, so max decided to take Y/N for a short getaway to help her unwind (requested!)

[instagram]

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1 and 427 others

yourusername in desperate need for a short getaway (mostly from them😬)

view all 43 comments

friend1username oUCH?

maxverstappen1 Miss you💙

↳ yourusername can’t wait to get back home to you 🥰

friend2username the caption hurts 😞

friend3username hope @/maxverstappen1 can cheer y/n up because she’s been driving me cRAZY and not in a good way👺

↳ yourusername 🫂 -> this is me trying to strangle you virtually

↳ friend2username you just said that you’re going to miss her when she’s on vacation

↳ friend3username IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A SECRET?!??!

↳ maxverstappen1 Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her🫡

↳ friend3username the future of america is in your hand 🇺🇸🦅

landonorris when will you take me to fly in your helicopter? 🚁

↳ yourusername I FLY A FIGHTER JET NOT A HELICOPTER?!??? 😞

↳ oscarpiastri take me with you too 🥹 IT’S NOT FAIR THAT YOU ONLY TAKE LOGAN AND NOT US?!

↳ logansargeant 😁✌🏻

↳ yourusername 🇺🇸🦅

↳ danielricciardo You probably can’t handle it, I swear I had vertigo for a week after Y/N took me flying

↳ landonorris it’s probably because you’re old

[twitter]

[instagram]

maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername and 1.726.102 others

maxverstappen1 Safe to say it’s a week well spent 😉

tagged yourusername

view all 2.862 comments

yourusername thank you for the amazing week! so so proud of you🥰

↳ maxverstappen1 I’ll visit you soon. Miss you already 💙

username MAX IS SUCH A SIMP BUT I CAN’T EVEN BLAME HIM

redbullracing 🏆🙌

username THEY’RE SO CUTE

username max i think i’m in love with your girlfriend

sophiekumpen 🧡😍

username hey god it’s me again💔😔

landonorris still waiting for the invite @/yourusername🚁

↳ yourusername 🤦🏻‍♀️

friend3username please return y/n back to us, she’s been away for too long 🧎‍♂️

↳ yourusername I’M ON MY WAY BACK 👺

↳ friend1username y/n just so you know i was hoping that you’d take your time to get back here and enjoy a longer vacation 😌

↳ friend3username traitor

username can max fight

username MOTHER🧎‍♀️

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1 and 582 others

yourusername all smiles :)

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maxverstappen1 I love you, Lieutenant🤗

↳ yourusername love you more, champ💙

victoriaverstappen Luka and Lio miss their tante already 💙

↳ yourusername I MISS THEM MORE🥹

lilymhe MY WCE😍

carmenmmundt take me with youuu 🪽

↳ yourusername just tell me the time and place babe

↳ landonorris Y/N?!???! WTH 💔

francisca.cgomes 😍😍

friend3username maybe dial down the smiles a little bit, it kinda scares me

↳ yourusername i hate you

↳ friend1username what do you mean?!?! y/n’s smiles are the energy that powers our jets to fly 🤷🏾

↳ yourusername okay i will take you to max’s next gp ☺️

↳ friend3username I TAKE BACK WHAT I SAID PLEASE FORGIVE ME

i am not immune to a dark haired man’s slutty waist

thoughts on the Pevensies returning home

Peter Pevensie was a strange boy. His mind is too old for his body, too quick, too sharp for a boy. He walks with a presence expected of a king or a royal, with blue eyes that darken like storms. He holds anger and a distance seen in veterans, his hand moving to his hip for a scabbard that isn't there - knuckles white. He moves like a warless soldier, an unexplained limp throwing his balance. He writes in an intricate scrawl unseen before the war, his letters curving in a foreign way untaught in his education. Peter returned a stranger from the war, silent, removed, an island onto himself with a burden too heavy for a child to bear.

Only in the aftermath of a fight do his eyes shine; nose burst, blood dripping, smudged across his cheek, knuckles bruised, and hands shaking; he's alive. He rises from the floor, knighted, his eyes searching for his sisters in the crowd. His brother doesn't leave his side. They move as one, the Pevensies, in a way their peers can't comprehend as they watch all four fall naturally in line.

But Peter is quiet, studious, and knowledgeable, seen only by his teachers as they read pages and pages of analytical political study and wonderful fictional tales. "The Pevensie boy will go far," they say, not knowing he already has.

His mother doesn't recognize him after the war. She watches distrustfully from a corner. She sobs at night, listening to her son's screams, knowing nothing she can do will ease their pain. Helen ran on the first night, throwing Peter's door open to find her children by his bedside - her eldest thrashing uncontrollably off the mattress with a sheen of sweat across his skin. Susan sings a mellow tune in a language Helen doesn't know, a hymn, that brings Peter back to them. He looks to Edmund for something and finds comfort in his eyes, a shared knowing. Her sons, who couldn't agree on the simplest of discussions, fall in line. But Peter sleeps with a knife under his cushion. She found out the hard way, reaching for him during one of his nightmares only to find herself pinned against the wall - a wild look in Peter's eye before he staggered back and dropped the knife.

Edmund throws himself into books, taking Lucy with him. They sit for hours in the library in harmony, not saying a word. His balance is thrown too, his mind searching for a limp that he doesn't have, missing the weight of his scabbard at his side. He joins the fencing club and takes Peter with him. They fence like no one else; without a worthy adversary, the boys take to each other with a wildness in their grins and a skillset unforeseen in beginner fencers. Their rapiers are an exertion of their bodies, as natural as shaking hands, and for the briefest time, they seem at peace. He shrinks away from the snow when it comes, thrust into the darkest places of his mind, unwilling to leave the house. He sits by the chessboard for hours, enveloped in his studies until stirred.

Susan turns silent, her mind somewhere far as she holds her book. Her hands twitch too, a wince when the door slams, her hand flying to her back where her quiver isn't. She hums a sad melody that no one can place, mourning something no one can find. She takes up archery again when she can bear a bow in her hands without crying, her callous-less palms unfamiliar to her, her mind trapped behind the wall of adolescence. She loses her friends to girlishness and youth, unable to go back to what she was. Eventually, she loses Narnia too. It's easier, she tells herself, to grow up and move on and return to what is. But her mourning doesn't leave her; she just forgets.

Lucy remains bright, carrying a happier song than her sister. She dances endlessly, her bare feet in the grass, and sings the most beautiful songs that make the flowers grow and the sun glisten. Though she has grown too, shed her childhood with the end of the war. She stands around the table with her sister, watching, brow furrowed as her brothers play chess. She comments and predicts, and makes suggestions that they take. She reads, curled into Edmund's side as his high voice lulls her to sleep with tales of Arthurian legends. She swims, her form wild and graceful as she vanishes into the water. They can't figure out how she does it - a girl so small holding her breath for so long. She cries into her sister, weeping at the loss of her friends, her too-small hands too clumsy for her will.

"I don't know our children anymore," Helen writes to her husband, overcome by grief as she realizes her children haven't grown up but away into a place she cannot follow.

Do you ever just look at a guy's hand and think yes

i would NEVER have a praise kink... the fact i moaned when you caressed my cheek and said i was such a good girl is just a coincidence. i just felt like doing that