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norristrii · 2 days ago

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SO CLOSE TO GET ALONG.

“If you think they lookin’ at you, they lookin’ at me.” — How else to gain Lando's respect and attention than with your driving skills and knowledge of cars? Especially when you beat his best friend in race.

pairing. step cousin! Lando Norris x fem! reader

warnings. step cousin romance, Max F. being asshole, mention of cheating, longer than I expected, this part was written before chapter 2.

music. Looking At Me by Sabrina Carpenter.

Series masterlist.

FOUR DAYS INTO YOUR NEW LIFE IN LONDON, and the emptiness was starting to weight on you. The villa—grand and beautiful as it was—seemed far too large for just one person. Its towering ceilings and sprawling hallways echoed with silence, the kind of quiet that made you feel even more out of place.

Your aunt and Thomas were off living their best lives, constantly on trips, as though the move had unlocked a new chapter of bliss for them. They hardly seemed to stay still, returning only briefly to the villa before heading off to yet another excursion. You didn’t begrudge them for their happiness—they deserved it—but that didn’t make the solitude any easier to bear.

And Lando? He was nowhere to be found. Not that you’d expected him to stick around much, but his absence was still noticeable. You imagined him out in the city, partying, living it up, doing whatever it was rich boys did. The roaring engines of his McLaren had been missing for days, leaving behind a quiet emptiness that contrasted sharply with his flashy entrance when you first met him.

You wandered the villa, trying to fill the hours with anything that might distract you from the loneliness. You browsed through the library, flipping aimlessly through books you didn’t have the focus to read. You found yourself drawn to the framed photos of cars and F1 memorabilia, their energy and movement frozen in time—a stark contrast to the stillness surrounding you now.

Sometimes you’d sit by the French windows, staring out at the greenery, letting your thoughts drift. London was beautiful, you couldn’t deny that, but it felt foreign, too large and unfamiliar to find comfort in. Back in Los Angeles, your world had been full—of friends, routines, and the sun-soaked streets you’d known since childhood. Here, everything felt like it belonged to someone else, and you were just a guest passing through.

Your footsteps echoed softly as they carried you through the quiet villa, down unfamiliar hallways that seemed to stretch forever. Somehow, you found yourself standing in front of a door you hadn’t noticed before. The garage. You hesitated for a moment, your hand hovering over the handle, before slowly pushing it open.

The scent of polished metal and faint gasoline hit you immediately, a strangely comforting mix that brought back flashes of childhood memories with your dad. Stepping inside, the sheer scale of the space took your breath away. It wasn’t just a garage—it was a shrine to luxury and power, to speed and engineering perfection.

Your eyes widened as they wandered over the vehicles lined up like trophies. Ferraris in glossy red, their curves gleaming under the overhead lights. Mercedes in sleek silver, embodying elegance and precision. Lamborghinis with sharp, aggressive lines that seemed to demand attention. And of course, the McLarens—a whole row of them, their signature design instantly recognizable, each one more stunning than the last.

You couldn’t help but let out a low whistle of appreciation. The sight was overwhelming, but in the best way. You moved slowly, careful not to touch anything, as you took it all in. These weren’t just cars—they were art, every detail crafted with purpose and passion.

Your fingers itched to run along the edge of the nearest McLaren, to feel the smooth paint beneath your touch, but you held back, unsure if you were even allowed to be here. Still, being surrounded by these machines, so full of power and potential, felt strangely grounding. You couldn’t explain it, but for the first time in days, you didn’t feel quite so out of place.

“Like what you see?” The voice startled you, sharp yet casual, cutting through the hum of silence in the garage. You jumped slightly, your hand instinctively clutching your chest as you spun around. There he was, Lando, leaning against the doorframe, his posture effortlessly casual, yet there was something about his presence that felt magnetic. You couldn’t help but wonder how he managed to appear so quietly—no roaring McLaren engine to announce his arrival this time.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked, your voice tinged with exasperation, though your pulse was still racing from the surprise.

He shrugged, smirking as he ignored your question entirely. “So,” he drawled, his green eyes glinting with amusement as they flicked from the cars back to you, “do you like what you see?”

For a moment, you debated whether to respond, not entirely sure if he was referring to the cars—or maybe to himself. But something in his expression challenged you to match his tone, so you sighed and said, “Yeah, I love cars.” Your voice softened as you continued, almost out of habit, “That’s the only thing I’ve got after my dad.”

The words tumbled out before you realized it, and your stomach tightened the moment you heard yourself say them. Really? You thought. You were opening up to someone like Lando? Of all people? You barely knew him, and yet here you were, sharing a piece of yourself you normally kept buried.

Lando didn’t interrupt. He didn’t fill the space with another quip. Instead, his smirk faded slightly, his expression unreadable as he remained leaning against the doorframe, hands stuffed in his pockets. It was hard to tell if he was mocking you, intrigued, or perhaps—just perhaps—genuinely listening.

Your defenses kicked in almost immediately. “Never mind,” you added quickly, brushing the moment aside, your tone sharper now as you waved a hand toward the cars. “They’re impressive, though. Typical rich-boy collection, I guess.”

Lando ignored this comment of yours. “Max is hosting a party,” he said casually, his tone carrying that same cocky edge, like he was offering you the world instead of just a night out. “You want to come with me?”

The question felt odd, unexpected—especially coming from him. Did he actually want you there, or was this just something your aunt had told him to offer? It was hard to tell, and his expression wasn’t giving anything away. That smirk of his was still firmly in place, as though he already knew what your answer would be.

You hesitated, the silence stretching out between you as you weighed the idea in your mind. Parties weren’t usually your thing, and the thought of diving into Lando’s world—the world of rich boys, fast cars, and loud nights—felt daunting. But then again, you were four days into life in London, and you hadn’t exactly made any friends yet. The villa felt too quiet, too empty, and maybe, this was your chance to change that.

“Sure,” you said finally, your tone careful but steady. “Why not?”

Lando’s smirk widened slightly, like he’d been expecting your answer all along. “Good choice,” he said, stepping away from the doorframe with an easy confidence. “I’ll make sure you don’t get too bored.”

You weren’t sure whether to take that as reassurance or another one of his teasing remarks, but either way, you had a feeling this party was going to be... interesting, to say the least.

You followed him outside, the cool London air brushing against your skin as you stepped toward the sleek navy blue McLaren parked in the driveway. To your surprise, Lando walked around the car first, his hand reaching for the door. He opened it for you with an effortless motion, stepping back slightly as he gestured for you to get in.

Wow. Gentleman. You didn’t expect that from someone like him—someone who carried himself with such an air of cockiness—but it caught you off guard in a way that almost made you smile. Almost.

Sliding into the passenger seat, you noticed the details immediately. Bright yellow highlights stood out against the luxurious interior—subtle but undeniably personal. The stitching along the seats, the key fob on the dash, even the accents on the steering wheel bore his unmistakable initials. It was a bold choice, undeniably materialistic, but you couldn’t deny that it suited him perfectly.

Lando rounded the car and slid into the driver’s seat, the engine roaring to life with a sound that reverberated through your chest. You glanced at him briefly, noticing the self-assured grin tugging at his lips as he adjusted the mirror. For all the confidence that bordered on arrogance, there was something about his flair for style and detail that you couldn’t help but admire—whether you wanted to or not.

The silence in the car had stretched on long enough to teeter into awkward territory, the faint hum of the engine filling the space between you. You didn’t particularly mind the quiet, but something about being alone in the car with Lando made you feel the need to say something—anything. Without giving it too much thought, you blurted out, “The initials are cute.”

It was the kind of comment that felt awkward the moment you said it, the words lingering in the air as you wondered if he’d take it as a genuine compliment or simply as small talk. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye and were surprised to catch a small shift in his expression. That usual cocky smirk softened just slightly, replaced by something more genuine—a smile that, for a fleeting moment, felt almost disarming. “Thank you,” he replied, his voice easy, almost playful. “It’s a custom car, so…”

You nodded, sensing an opening to steer the conversation. “Custom McLaren 765LT,” you said casually, your tone light but deliberate, as if discussing high-end supercars was an everyday thing for you. As the words left your mouth, you noticed his head turn toward you sharply, his green eyes narrowing in surprise. Clearly, he hadn’t expected you to say that—or to know exactly what kind of car you were riding in.

“Custom McLaren 765LT Spider, actually,” he corrected, his smirk returning with a touch of pride as he emphasized the distinction. His tone carried a hint of satisfaction, the way someone might feel when sharing a detail they were sure no one else would notice. The way he said it wasn’t condescending, though—more like he couldn’t resist showing off, just a little.

You rolled your eyes in response, your lips curving into a faint smile despite yourself. “Of course,” you replied, letting the sarcasm slip into your voice. But before you could add anything more, he leaned back in his seat, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel. The light of the passing streetlamps flickered through the windows, casting soft shadows across his face.

“But now you see it every day,” he pointed out, his grin widening as if he’d just won some unspoken contest of wit. His words were smooth, effortlessly confident, and completely characteristic of him. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes again, though the smile tugging at the corners of your lips betrayed that you didn’t entirely mind.

The car purred smoothly along the road, the city lights of London beginning to blur past in soft streaks. Something about that little exchange—playful, teasing, and oddly comfortable—seemed to ease the weight of the silence that had hung over the ride before. And for the first time in days, you felt just a little more at ease. Maybe this night wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe this golden boy, for all his arrogance, wouldn’t be quite so insufferable as you’d first thought.

The McLaren purred to a stop in front of yet another villa, smaller than the one you now lived in but still exuding a quiet elegance. It seemed like wealth wasn’t just a part of Lando’s life—it was everywhere, shared by everyone in his orbit. The thought crossed your mind with a faint smirk: So, all rich boys have rich friends?

Outside, a guy stood waiting by the entrance, his grin wide and welcoming as he spotted Lando. “Max! My bro!” Lando shouted, his voice carrying easily as he hopped out of the car. The energy between them was immediate, loud and full of ease, like old friends picking up right where they left off. You followed a few steps behind, unsure of where you fit into the dynamic. The whole thing felt… awkward. Like you were stumbling into someone else’s world without an invitation.

Before you could dwell too much on the awkwardness, another figure appeared from behind Max—a brunette girl with a bright, carefree smile. “Hi, Lando!” she called, her voice warm and bubbly as she threw her arms around him in a hug. You watched the way he hugged her back, his grin as wide as ever, and you felt the faintest pang of… something. Was it jealousy? You weren’t sure. It sat uncomfortably in your chest, a feeling you didn’t want to acknowledge, let alone explain.

But as quickly as the feeling bubbled up, it melted away when the girl turned to you, her smile growing even brighter. “This is Y/n,” Lando said, his tone almost reluctant as he introduced you. You noticed the hesitation in his words—how he paused just a beat too long before finishing, “My… friend.” Friend? The label felt hollow, like it didn’t quite capture whatever this was. Roommate? Step cousin? Something entirely else? The uncertainty hung in the air, but no one seemed to question it.

“Hi Y/n! I’m Ria!” she exclaimed, her enthusiasm unmistakable as she pulled you into a hug before you could even react. The gesture was disarming, her warmth cutting through some of the awkward tension you’d carried from the car. Max greeted you with a casual smile, his hands tucked into his pockets, clearly content to let Ria handle the introductions.

You and Ria moved together through the crowd, the energy of the party buzzing around you. Conversations overlapped, laughter echoed off the walls, and the faint beat of music pulsed in the background. You couldn’t help but notice the effortless way Ria navigated the room, greeting people with an easy familiarity that made it clear she was well within her element.

It wasn’t long before you realized you’d lost track of Lando and Max, the two of them seemingly swallowed up by the throng of people. You didn’t mind, though—being with Ria felt much less intimidating. Her presence was warm, almost grounding, as she turned her attention back to you.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” Ria asked, her tone light but knowing, her eyes scanning your face like she was piecing together a puzzle. It wasn’t really a question—it was a statement, her ability to read you almost instant.

“Is it that obvious?” you replied with a small laugh, feeling a little exposed but grateful for her openness.

“Kind of,” she said with a playful smile, brushing a strand of her brunette hair behind her ear. “But don’t worry, that’s not a bad thing.” Her sincerity softened the moment, and you felt a flicker of ease in her words.

As the party buzzed around you, you couldn’t help but wonder how Ria seemed so effortlessly comfortable here—so at home in this world that still felt foreign to you. Maybe it wouldn’t be impossible for you to find your place here too, given a little time.

“Yeah, I just needed a change,” you said, your voice carrying the weight of the unspoken emotions you’d been bottling up. The words hung in the air for a moment, as you hesitated, gathering the courage to continue. You glanced at Ria, her open expression encouraging you without needing to say anything. She let you speak, her presence gentle yet supportive.

You took a quiet breath and finally admitted what you’d been holding back, the words tumbling out like a confession. “Right before I moved, my boyfriend cheated on me.” It felt strange to say it aloud, the truth exposing itself like a fresh wound. You’d never mentioned it—not to your aunt, not to anyone. You’d kept it buried deep inside, pretending it didn’t hurt as much as it did.

Ria didn’t react with surprise or pity. She simply nodded slightly, her expression soft and understanding. She didn’t interrupt or press you for details, and her silence made the moment feel less suffocating.

The thought crossed your mind—there wasn’t really anyone else your age who might understand. Not here in London. Well, apart from Lando, but his world felt so far removed from your own, and you couldn’t imagine talking to him about something like this. Ria, though… she was different. She was a girl, and there was something about her warmth that made the words spill out more easily than you’d expected.

“That sucks,” Ria said, her tone heartfelt and steady as she met your gaze. “He’s an idiot and doesn’t deserve you, Y/n.” Her words were sharp but comforting, carrying just enough certainty to make you feel a little better about it all. “There are way better people out there,” she continued, her expression softening into a reassuring smile.

Her comment lingered in the air, the meaning obvious—but your mind drifted as you couldn’t help but think of Lando for just a moment. Better people? People like Lando? The thought caught you off guard, and you dismissed it quickly, unsure why it had even crossed your mind. He was arrogant, loud, and more complicated than you cared to admit. But there was something about him, wasn’t there? Something that made it hard to ignore him entirely.

Ria didn’t press you for a response. She simply stayed by your side, her presence steady and unshakable as the party swirled around you. It felt grounding somehow, like you weren’t as alone as you’d feared when you arrived here in London. Maybe she was right—there were better people. You weren’t sure who they were yet, but you felt just a little more hopeful about finding them. Even if it meant crossing paths with a certain golden boy along the way.

You stopped in your tracks, the sound of their voices catching your attention like a spark igniting a fire. “She said she loves cars,” Lando’s voice rang out, the tone unmistakable—amused and full of that cocky charm he carried so effortlessly.

“Yeah, but I’d bet she can’t even drive,” Max added, his laughter following close behind. The casual dismissiveness in his comment made your jaw tighten. You exchanged a glance with Ria, who gave a slight eye-roll before muttering, “He’s an idiot sometimes.”

Before you could react, you turned to find that Lando had already vanished into the crowd. He moved like a ghost, slipping away before you could even process it. Typical. Your focus snapped back to Max, though—still standing there, obliviously grinning as if his words hadn’t hit a nerve. You weren’t about to let it slide.

“Hey, Max!” you called out sharply, your voice cutting through the hum of the party. The challenge was already forming on your lips before you even fully thought it through. “You wanna race?”

The grin slipped from his face for just a moment, replaced by a flicker of surprise. It wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting, clearly. Ria’s laugh bubbled beside you, her hand brushing your arm as if to say, Oh, this is going to be good.

Max recovered quickly, the playful arrogance returning to his expression. “Race? You think you can take me on?” he asked, tilting his head with a smirk.

You stepped forward slightly, squaring your shoulders as you shot him a confident look. “Guess we’ll find out,” you replied, the fire in your tone leaving no room for doubt.

You walked down the driveway, the cool night air brushing against your face as the party buzzed faintly in the background. A line of cars stood before you, gleaming under the soft glow of the villa’s outdoor lights, each one more extravagant than the last. But your attention zeroed in on the one you knew best—the navy blue McLaren 765LT.

Lando’s McLaren.

You approached it with purpose, your fingertips brushing lightly against the smooth, cool surface of the car. The thought crossed your mind—Idiot always leaving his doors unlocked—as you reached for the handle. Sure enough, the door pulled open without a hitch, the soft whir of the mechanism breaking the quiet.

And then you saw it: the keys, casually sitting in the ignition as if Lando had left them there just for you. You couldn’t help but shake your head, a mix of incredulity and amusement bubbling inside you. What kind of person leaves a car like this unlocked with the keys still in it? you thought, though you already knew the answer. Lando Norris. That’s who.

The temptation settled into your chest, electric and undeniable. The car seemed to almost call to you, a thrilling invitation to prove Max—and maybe even Lando—wrong. You slid into the driver’s seat carefully, the leather cool beneath you, the intoxicating scent of luxury enveloping you. Your fingers hovered over the wheel, your heart pounding as you considered your next move.

“So where are we going?” Max asked, his voice casual as he parked next to you, the engine of his car humming softly. You glanced at him, a flicker of doubt crossing your mind. Honestly, you had no clue. You barely remembered how you got to the villa, much less how to navigate the streets of London at high speeds. But you weren’t about to let him know that.

“Around London,” you replied, your tone calm and confident as you met his gaze. His eyes widened slightly, the surprise evident on his face. “Wait,” you continued, catching the way his expression shifted, “isn’t street racing illegal here?” you asked, your voice laced with a hint of challenge.

Max hesitated for a beat, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. Then, with a sly grin, he shrugged. “Not until they catch you,” he said, his words carrying a reckless edge that made your heart race—though not nearly as much as what happened next.

Without warning, Max slammed down on the gas, his tires screeching against the pavement as he took off down the street. Cheating. You narrowed your eyes, the adrenaline already coursing through your veins. He didn’t even give you a chance to count down. Typical.

You didn’t hesitate, your hands gripping the wheel of the McLaren as you started the engine. The roar filled your ears, and you could feel the power vibrating through you as you pressed down on the accelerator. The car shot forward, smooth and fast, as you sped after him, the lights of London blurring past in streaks of gold and white.

The house was alive with music and chatter, a chaotic symphony of energy that echoed through its halls, but Lando’s sharp, agitated voice pierced through it all like an alarm. “Ria!” he shouted, his tone carrying an edge of urgency that immediately caught attention. His footsteps echoed as he stormed through the rooms, each one empty of the people he was looking for. His frustration was palpable, radiating from the tense set of his shoulders as he scanned the space around him. He wasn’t usually like this, but something was clearly off.

He found Ria standing on the balcony, her posture relaxed, her eyes focused on the sprawling city below as though she were lost in thought. “Ria,” Lando called again, stepping closer to her. His voice was slightly steadier now, but it was impossible to miss the irritation beneath it. “Where’s Max and Y/n?” he asked, gesturing vaguely toward the house as if the answer might suddenly reveal itself in the quiet corners.

Ria turned her head just enough to acknowledge him, her expression neutral, calm. She didn’t respond right away, her silence stretching the tension in the air even thinner. Lando stepped closer, his brow furrowing as he waited for an answer he clearly wasn’t getting. “Well?” he pressed, his tone sharp enough to cut through the hum of conversation from the party below.

Still, Ria didn’t say a word. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, her lips twitching with what looked suspiciously like amusement. Lando’s frustration boiled over as he stepped past her, his patience officially gone. He leaned over the railing of the balcony, his green eyes scanning the driveway below—and that’s when he saw it.

The space where his navy blue McLaren 765LT had been parked just hours ago was glaringly empty, its absence striking like a punch to the gut. His eyes widened, disbelief flooding his features as the realization hit him hard.

“And where’s my car?!” he exclaimed, his voice rising in shock and fury. The sharpness of his tone echoed through the night air, leaving no doubt about his current state of mind. This wasn’t just irritation anymore—it was full-blown outrage mixed with an incredulous kind of confusion.

Ria, still leaning casually against the railing, finally broke the silence with a small laugh. She couldn’t help herself, the situation unfolding before her far too entertaining to ignore. “Relax, Lando,” she said lightly, her tone far too casual given the circumstances. “I’m sure they’re just... bonding.” Her smirk was faint but unmistakable, and it only seemed to fuel Lando’s exasperation further.

Lando’s hands moved quickly, almost frantically, as he pulled his phone from his pocket and navigated to the city’s traffic camera website. His jaw tightened, his green eyes scanning the screen as he clicked through feed after feed, the tension in his movements palpable.

And then he saw it. The unmistakable navy blue car, tearing through the streets of London. The camera caught you mid-drift, the car sliding effortlessly through a sharp turn as you overtook Max with precision that left even Lando momentarily stunned.

“She’s so good,” Ria remarked, her voice cutting through the silence as she leaned over his shoulder to get a better look. There was no sarcasm in her tone—just genuine admiration.

Lando, however, didn’t respond. He just stared at the screen, his expression frozen somewhere between disbelief and sheer exasperation. His wide eyes flicked between the car and the driver, his mind racing to process what he was seeing. Finally, he let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his curls as he muttered under his breath, “Who the fuck is living in my house?”

Ria stifled a laugh, clearly enjoying his reaction far more than she should have. But Lando wasn’t laughing. His prized car was out there, speeding through the city in the hands of someone who, until a few days ago, was practically a stranger. And the worst part? You were good—too good. It was infuriating, and yet, he couldn’t look away.

The screen went dark abruptly, the live feed disappearing without warning. “Fuck,” Lando muttered under his breath, his frustration boiling over as he stared at his phone, willing the signal to come back. But it didn’t. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of the party still buzzing in the background.

And then, he heard it—the unmistakable roar of engines cutting through the night air. His head snapped up, his green eyes narrowing as he stepped closer to the balcony railing. The sound grew louder, sharper, until finally, he saw it: his McLaren 765LT speeding into the driveway, its tires screeching slightly as it came to a halt.

Ria leaned casually against the railing beside him, her expression unreadable as she watched the scene unfold. “Well,” she said lightly, her tone carrying a hint of amusement, “looks like they’re back.”

Lando’s movements stilled for a moment, his gaze locked on the screen as the McLaren he held so dear blazed into the driveway, unmistakably driven by you. For a second, the world seemed to pause as he processed what had just happened. His car. His car. Not only being driven by someone else but crossing the finish line first, beating his best friend in a race he hadn’t even known was happening.

A smirk slowly tugged at the corner of his lips, despite himself. He hated to admit it—really hated to—but the sight of his car speeding to victory at your hands was impressive. More than impressive, actually. But his pride wasn’t going to let him say that outright, at least not yet. Snapping himself out of his momentary stupor, he bolted out of the house, his footsteps pounding against the driveway as he approached.

“Y/n, what the fuck!” he shouted as he neared, his voice sharp with a mix of panic and disbelief. You stood by the car now, your heart still racing from the adrenaline of the race, your hands tingling from gripping the wheel. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze darted between you and his McLaren as though he couldn’t decide which one of you to scold first.

You understood why he was mad—you’d practically stolen his car without asking, after all. But there was also something in his expression that stopped you from feeling too guilty. It wasn’t just frustration; there was something deeper there. Something like… admiration?

“What did you think?” Lando demanded, his tone trying to mask that faint hint of awe. His words hung in the air, a challenge and a test all at once. You knew exactly what he thought. You’d beaten his best friend, in his car, on your very first drive. That wasn’t something anyone could ignore.

Before you could answer, Ria appeared beside you, her calm presence instantly shifting the dynamic. She folded her arms, her expression equal parts amused and protective as she addressed Lando. “Lando, leave her alone,” she said firmly, her tone steady yet playful. “Her boyfriend cheated—she needed to get it out somehow.”

The words hit like a bolt of lightning, cutting through the tension and drawing all attention to the vulnerability Ria had just exposed. You felt the color rise to your cheeks, embarrassment curling in your stomach as you glanced at Lando. Did she really have to say that? You hadn’t even told your aunt, let alone expected it to come up here, in front of him.

Your eyes locked with Lando’s, and you braced yourself for the reaction. His gaze softened, just slightly, as the sharp edges of his frustration seemed to shift. He was still angry—you could see that much—but it wasn’t directed at you. His lips pressed into a thin line as he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his curls. The look in his eyes wasn’t one of judgment but of something else entirely. Understanding? Or maybe just the realization that this wasn’t about his car, not really.

Max finally rolled into the driveway, his car screeching to a stop next to the McLaren as he stepped out. He looked a little sheepish, his pride clearly bruised but not enough to stop him from acknowledging the obvious. “Well, I am sorry… this was impressive,” he said, his words carrying the weight of reluctant admiration. He wasn’t one to hand out compliments easily, but tonight had forced his hand.

You nodded, the hint of a smile tugging at your lips as you accepted his apology. The adrenaline was still coursing through you, but the tension in the air had softened. “Thanks,” you replied simply, letting the weight of your victory speak for itself.

Lando, who had been standing just a few steps away, crossed his arms as he glanced between you and Max, his expression unreadable at first. But then, his lips curved slightly into a smirk, the frustration from earlier giving way to something else—acknowledgment. “It really was,” he admitted, his voice quieter now but no less sincere.

For a moment, the three of you stood in the driveway, the hum of the engines fading into the background as the buzz of the night settled. Even Ria, who had been lingering on the edge of the group, gave you a knowing look. You’d done something unexpected, something bold—and whether they wanted to admit it or not, you’d earned their respect tonight.

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norristrii · 4 days ago

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ALL THE BOYS I LOVED BEFORE.

Your brother Carlos, tired of watching you endure heartbreak after heartbreak, couldn’t bear to see his little sister unhappy anymore. In his determination to cheer you up, he began to wonder if his best friend might just be the perfect match for you.

pairing. Lando Norris x Sainz! fem! reader.

warnings. none.

YOUR LOVE LIFE FELT LIKE A CRUEL JOKE, an endless parade of failed attempts that left you questioning your own worth. It wasn’t just heartbreak—it was the creeping fear that maybe you were the problem, that perhaps you were unlovable. The thought took root deep in your mind, leaving you wondering what you were doing wrong. Was it something about you that scared people away? Or was love simply not meant for you?

But through it all, Carlos never let you wallow in self-doubt for long. As your older brother, he refused to let you believe there was anything wrong with you. “It’s not you,” he’d say, his words firm, almost stubborn. “It’s them. Just a bunch of idiots who don’t deserve you.” His unwavering support was both comforting and amusing, and even though his bluntness often made you laugh, deep down, his words gave you strength.

Still, you couldn’t help but wonder, even as you smiled at Carlos’s efforts to cheer you up. Somewhere out there, was someone made for you? Someone who could love you the way Carlos believed you deserved to be loved? That little spark of hope kept you moving forward, searching for a connection that didn’t feel like a mistake waiting to happen. One day, you told yourself. One day, maybe you’d find them. Until then, at least you had your brother to remind you that the idiots weren’t worth your tears.

And to your surprise, the answer to Carlos’ scheming might have been closer than you ever imagined. Or, at least, that’s what Carlos believed.

Lando. Carlos’s long-time best friend, the guy who was practically a permanent fixture in your life. Sure, he was hot—those sharp features and that effortless charm weren’t exactly easy to ignore. And yeah, he was funny, with that playful banter and endless sarcasm that could make anyone laugh. But to you, he was nothing more than your brother’s best friend. That was the unspoken rule, the line that you’d never even thought about crossing.

But Carlos? Oh, Carlos had a different perspective. In his mind, it all made perfect sense. Lando wasn’t just his best friend; he was loyal, protective, and maybe even a little too cocky for his own good. And you? You needed someone who could keep up with you, someone who could challenge you but also be there for you without fail. To him, it was like a match written in the stars.

Maybe Carlos was onto something, or maybe he was just meddling. Either way, his genius idea had been planted, and once Carlos made up his mind about something, there was no stopping him. Perhaps the line you thought existed between you and Lando wasn’t as solid as you’d imagined. And maybe, just maybe, Carlos’s crazy little plan wasn’t so crazy after all.

It was typical of Carlos—always managing to drag you into something you swore you’d hate. And here you were, standing in the middle of a pristine golf course, the sun beaming down as a gentle breeze ruffled your hair. The idea of spending an afternoon playing golf with Carlos and Lando had seemed laughable at first. Golf? Really? You’d never understood the appeal of chasing after tiny white balls with oversized sticks. But, somehow, Carlos had convinced you it would be fun. Spoiler: it wasn’t.

Carlos, of course, was thriving, clearly enjoying the sight of you struggling with every swing. His laughter carried across the course, his playful taunts adding to your growing frustration. Lando, on the other hand, wasn’t quite as gleeful. Instead, he seemed content to watch from the sidelines, his smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he offered the occasional unhelpful tip.

“Try holding it like this,” he suggested at one point, demonstrating with exaggerated precision. You followed his advice, only for the ball to roll a pathetic two feet ahead. Carlos burst into laughter, practically doubling over, while Lando tried—and failed—to keep a straight face.

You groaned, gripping the golf club tighter as you prepared for another attempt. “This is torture,” you muttered under your breath, glaring at your brother, who was still wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

Carlos shrugged, his grin unapologetic. “It’s called bonding,” he replied casually, as if that made the humiliation worthwhile.

Lando stepped closer, his smirk softening into something resembling sympathy. “For what it’s worth, you’re better than I thought you’d be,” he said, clearly lying but trying to sound convincing. The teasing glance he shot Carlos didn’t escape you, though —it was clear he was enjoying this just as much as your brother.

You rolled your eyes, your frustration mingling with reluctant amusement. This wasn’t how you’d imagined your vacation, but somehow, it didn’t feel entirely terrible. As much as you hated golf, the laughter and teasing brought a strange sense of comfort—a reminder that, despite everything, you were surrounded by people who cared about you, even if their definition of bonding involved public embarrassment on a golf course.

Carlos let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “Oh my god, Y/n, are you even my sister?” he said, clearly enjoying every second of your frustration. His teasing grin widened as he stepped closer, pretending to assess your stance again. “You suck,” he added, the bluntness of his words making you groan loudly.

You narrowed your eyes at him, fed up with his constant jabs. “Well, if you’re so good, show me!” you shot back, your voice sharp as you grabbed the golf club with both hands and thrust it toward him. The force of your gesture caught him off guard, and he raised his hands in defense, laughing as he took the club from you.

“Alright, alright,” he said, still chuckling as he stepped up to take his position. “Let me show you how it’s done,” his smug tone only fueled your irritation, but part of you was curious to see if he’d actually live up to all the talk.

Lando leaned casually against his own club nearby, watching the exchange with a smirk. “Go on, Carlos, impress us,” he said, his tone dripping with amusement. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you. Between Carlos’s endless teasing and Lando’s sly comments, the whole situation was ridiculous.

Carlos stood there, his posture full of exaggerated confidence as he stretched out dramatically. “You need to be focused,” he announced, his tone dripping with self-importance as if he were some kind of golf guru. You rolled your eyes, already anticipating some kind of mishap, but you let him have his moment.

With a practiced stance, he lined up his shot, taking his sweet time as if the world was waiting for his golfing masterpiece. The swing was smooth, the ball connecting with the club perfectly—and for a brief second, you thought maybe, he’d nailed it. The ball soared gracefully through the air, catching the light like a beacon of hope.

And then… straight into the woods.

Your laughter exploded before you could stop it, a sharp and genuine reaction to the sheer absurdity of what had just happened. “Wow, Carlos,” you said, your tone dripping with amusement as you struggled to catch your breath. “That was… that was impressive. Are you trying to start a career in forestry?”

Carlos groaned, rubbing the back of his neck as he squinted toward the trees. “It’s the wind,” he muttered in defense, but the slight blush creeping up his cheeks betrayed his embarrassment. Meanwhile, Lando nearly doubled over laughing, leaning on his golf club for support.

“You know what?” you said, flashing a sly smile as an idea struck you. This was the perfect opportunity to escape the humiliation of the golf course—at least for a little while. “I think I’m gonna get it,” you added with feigned determination, already planning your retreat. Sure, you probably had at least ten more golf balls, but that wasn’t the point. You needed an out, and this was your ticket.

Carlos didn’t even look up from the app he was fiddling with, muttering something distractedly about “good luck” as he waved you off. But Lando, standing just a few feet away, wasn’t about to let you slip away unnoticed. His smirk widened as he leaned slightly toward you, his golf club resting lightly against his shoulder. “Maybe I should go with you,” he said smoothly, his tone playful yet deliberate. “What if you get lost?”

"Yeah, right," you replied with a playful smirk, sarcasm dripping from your tone. "I need my prince to save me." The joke was meant to be lighthearted, just another quip to match the teasing vibe of the day. But even as the words left your lips, you found yourself quietly savoring this moment. Somehow, it made the whole golf catastrophe feel a little more bearable. At least Carlos was getting a kick out of it, his exasperated laughter echoing faintly in the background.

Lando, however, wasn’t about to let your words go unanswered. His grin widened, confidence oozing from his every movement as he shifted closer, his presence magnetic and hard to ignore. “Exactly,” he shot back, his voice smooth and deliberate, carrying just the right amount of playful arrogance. “Every beautiful princess deserves her handsome prince.”

The words hung in the air for a beat too long, sinking into your mind before you could brush them off. Beautiful princess? Handsome prince? Did he really just say that? And the way his smirk tugged at the corner of his lips—so self-assured, so annoyingly charming—made your heart skip, even if you refused to admit it.

Your brain worked quickly to dismiss the thought. No. No, no, no. This was Lando, your brother’s best friend—the guy who had practically been a second annoying sibling at times. And yet... damn it. The worst part wasn’t the comment. It wasn’t even his confident delivery. No, the worst part was that he wasn’t wrong. He really was handsome, in that infuriating, effortless way that made it hard to look away.

Fighting the warmth creeping into your cheeks, you forced yourself to roll your eyes, putting on your best mask of indifference. “Keep dreaming, Prince Charming,” you retorted, your voice firm but laced with humor, determined not to let him see the way his words affected you.

Lando’s smirk only widened, his amusement evident as he leaned casually on his golf club. He didn’t need to say anything else—he’d already gotten the reaction he wanted. And as much as you hated to admit it, you couldn’t entirely suppress the small, involuntary smile tugging at the corner of your lips. Annoying as he was, Lando always knew exactly how to push your buttons. The problem was, you were starting to wonder if you didn’t mind quite as much as you used to.

You and Lando moved quietly toward the tree line, the hum of the golf cart fading behind you where Carlos sat engrossed in whatever had captured his attention on his phone. The air between you and Lando was heavy with unspoken words, the kind of silence that stretched on just a bit too long. You wanted to say something, to break the quiet and fill the space with anything other than the sound of your own footsteps. But the words just wouldn’t come.

Thankfully, Lando beat you to it. “How are you enjoying vacation?” he asked, his voice cutting through the quiet as the two of you stepped beneath the canopy of trees.

His tone was casual, but there was a curious edge to it, as though he genuinely cared about your answer. You glanced at him, his expression soft and relaxed, the playful smirk from earlier now replaced with something a little more sincere. The sunlight filtering through the branches danced across his features, and for a moment, you forgot the irritation golf had caused earlier.

“I mean, other than humiliating myself on a golf course?” you replied with a faint smile, the lightness in your tone matching his. “It’s been... not bad.” You hesitated, then added, “Surprisingly decent, actually.” The admission surprised even you, but it wasn’t a lie. Lando’s teasing had made the day a lot more tolerable than you’d expected.

He chuckled softly at your response, his eyes flicking over to meet yours. “See? It’s not all bad,” he said, a hint of that trademark charm slipping back into his voice. “Maybe Carlos wasn’t entirely wrong dragging us out here after all.”

You shrugged, brushing a stray branch out of your way. “Maybe,” you admitted quietly, though your mind lingered on how much of your enjoyment had less to do with Carlos and more to do with the person standing beside you.

The forest seemed quieter now, the sounds of your footsteps mingling with the gentle rustle of leaves overhead. The playful banter from earlier had given way to a more comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need filling. You focused on the path ahead, brushing aside stray branches, until Lando’s voice broke the quiet.

“I know this might sound a bit weird,” he started, his tone unusually tentative. You glanced over at him, surprised to see his expression softer, almost shy. He looked ahead as he spoke, his grip tightening slightly on the golf club he still carried. “But... are you, uh, talking to someone?”

His question caught you off guard. Lando wasn’t exactly the type to beat around the bush, so this hesitation was... unexpected. And endearing. You blinked, processing his words as your mind raced. Was he actually asking? Did he care if you had someone? The thought stirred something in you, though you quickly pushed it aside, opting for humor instead of overthinking.

“Maximally with you now,” you replied lightly, a wry smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Your tone carried a hint of amusement, but there was no denying the truth behind your words. Your love life was, well, nonexistent. It was a fact you’d come to accept—laughing at it was easier than lingering on the ache it sometimes brought.

Lando turned his gaze towards you, his lips curving into a small, thoughtful smile. There was something in his eyes you couldn’t quite place, a flicker of emotion that almost made your heart skip. Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was something more.

The question escaped your lips before you had a chance to second-guess it. “And you?” you asked, your tone steady but laced with curiosity. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, trying not to make the moment feel heavier than it already did. Sure, it was casual—just a question. But deep down, you couldn’t deny that you genuinely wanted to know.

Lando hesitated for a fraction of a second, his grip tightening slightly on his golf club. His smirk faltered briefly, replaced by an expression that was harder to read. Was that shyness? Vulnerability? You couldn’t tell, and it only made you more intrigued.

“Me?” he echoed, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he glanced sideways at you. He cleared his throat lightly, and for once, his usual confidence seemed tinged with uncertainty. “No, not really,” he admitted, his voice softer than usual.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his echo of your earlier words, the sound light and genuine. There was something comforting in his answer, something that made the corners of your mouth lift without effort. The way he looked at you now—calm, unguarded—felt different. More genuine. And it left you wondering, for the first time, if there was more to him than the teasing grin and the clever remarks.

For reasons you couldn’t entirely explain, this felt easier—lighter—than anything you’d ever experienced before. All the boys you’d loved before had left a trail of complicated emotions, fractured hopes, and moments you’d rather forget. Each had been so differently flawed, so carelessly capable of turning something that once felt beautiful into something that left scars. Those experiences had planted seeds of doubt in your mind, making you question whether love could ever truly feel natural. But walking alongside Lando now, sharing easy laughter and playful banter among the quiet trees, it didn’t feel forced or complicated. It felt... right. Like it was meant to unfold this way, no pretense or pressure, just the simplicity of two people enjoying the moment.

“Maybe we should—” Lando began, his voice soft and uncharacteristically hesitant. It wasn’t the teasing tone you’d grown used to; this felt different, more careful, as if he was trying to choose the perfect words. You glanced toward him, curious, but before he could finish, something caught your eye.

“I have it!” you shouted suddenly, your attention snagged by the small, bright ball nestled among the leaves. You hurried forward, triumphant, as though finding it somehow made up for your earlier lackluster golfing attempts. Your excitement carried you into the moment, oblivious to the way Lando faltered mid-sentence.

He blinked, startled, before letting out a soft chuckle at your interruption. There was something warm in his laughter, a fondness you hadn’t quite noticed before. Turning back to face him, you realized what had just happened. “Uh, sorry,” you said quickly, embarrassment tinging your voice as you brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “What did you say?”

Lando hesitated for a beat, as though weighing whether or not to repeat himself. Then, his gaze met yours, steady and unflinching. “I said maybe we should go out sometime,” he repeated, his voice quieter now, as if he were letting the words settle between you.

The air shifted subtly in that moment. His question hung there, simple but impossible to ignore. For a second, you could only look at him, the sincerity in his expression catching you off guard. This wasn’t banter or teasing—it was honest, unfiltered. And in the quiet pause that followed, you realized just how much weight those few words carried.

“Yeah, we definitely should,” you said, your lips curving into an easy smile. The words came out naturally, without hesitation, as though they’d been waiting there, just beneath the surface, ready to be spoken. The warmth in your voice matched the way you felt—surprised, maybe even a little nervous, but undeniably intrigued.

Lando’s expression softened at your response, his usual cocky grin replaced by something gentler, something more sincere. He seemed almost surprised himself, as if he hadn’t quite expected you to agree so easily. For a moment, the two of you stood there in the woods, the trees around you swaying gently in the breeze, creating a little cocoon of quiet away from the rest of the world.

“Well,” he said after a beat, his voice light but carrying an unmistakable trace of relief. “I’m looking forward, then.” His smirk reappeared, though it was softer now, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he added, “Just promise me one thing—you won’t make me take you golfing.”

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norristrii · 6 days ago

Text

What are we thinking chat?!

It’s a concept!! I still have series to finish, but?? Do you think it’s going to work? Send me your opinionss!!

#babs yaps #writer stuff #writing #f1 writing #f1 writer

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norristrii · 6 days ago

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MAX VERSTAPPEN

Haunted

MORE TO COME…

#max vertsappen fic #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen #max verstappen masterlist #red bull f1 #red bull racing #mv1 #mv1 x reader #f1 x reader

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norristrii · 6 days ago

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hi! I have an ideea abt the story with Lando where he cheats. I think the name was "athe fault" I was thinking maybe you can do a part 2 where he tries to change because he misses her, but she already moved on but in the end they end up togheter

Hii!! You mean fault line? Honestly I haven’t thought of part 2 because reader is strong minded girlie who doesn’t forgive cheating (so shouldn’t you!!)

And I don’t have ideas how or why they should end up together, so if you have some just write them down 🫶🏻

#answered #babs yaps

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norristrii · 6 days ago

Note

Text fic idea: Reader needs driver *now* but he’s in a meeting

NEED YOU — texting.

You really need them, but they are in meeting.

featuring. Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz, Lewis Hamilton, Daniel Ricciardo, George Russell.

warnings. mature, sexual context, grammar errors, crack. in/at are my biggest opps. Thank you for request!! Hope u like it!

Oscar, Lando, Max

Charles, Carlos, Lewis

George, Daniel

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norristrii · 7 days ago

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SO CLOSE TO BE THANKFUL.

It wasn’t really your proudest moment, Lando probably deserved to be mad after what you said. But still, he was the one who got you out of your shit. Maybe, you should be thankful.

pairing. step cousin! Lando Norris x fem! reader

warnings. step cousin romance, alcohol, reader gets drugged without knowing, asshole guys, violence but nothing bad, idk if readable (sorry for the delay).

Series masterlist.

YOU STOOD IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR, the sleek black dress hugging your frame with effortless elegance. It was a look that carried sophistication but didn’t feel out of place—it was just right for the occasion. You adjusted the hem slightly, catching a glimpse of your reflection as you tried to gather yourself. This wasn’t just any event. It was one of those nights where every person present had a role to play, a place to belong. And then there was you.

Your aunt, as always, commanded attention with her graceful charm. Tonight, she was the stylish girlfriend of Thomas, effortlessly holding her own in a room filled with influential figures. Thomas would be there, of course, representing his business with the confidence and poise he was known for. Then there was Lando, the rich boy whose presence seemed to turn heads without fail. His charisma wasn’t loud—it didn’t have to be. He carried it with ease, like it was just part of who he was, unapologetically himself.

And then there was you. No flashy title, no predefined role. Just you. In the orbit of these vibrant personalities, you couldn’t help but feel like the quiet observer, the one who soaked everything in from the sidelines. But tonight, something about the dress, the energy in the air—it made you wonder. Maybe you were more than just a spectator in their world. Maybe you belonged there, too.

You descended the staircase slowly, the faint sound of your heels against the wooden steps echoing in the quiet house. As you turned the corner, there he was. Lando stood in front of the mirror, his reflection capturing the sharp lines of his black suit, the crisp white shirt beneath perfectly tailored to him. His fingers moved with practiced ease, adjusting his collar as if he weren’t already the picture of effortless elegance. And, well, you had to admit—it wasn’t fair how good he looked.

Your eyes trailed over him for a moment longer than you intended before your gaze flickered up, meeting his in the mirror. He caught you staring, of course he did, and his lips curved into that cocky smirk you knew all too well. Turning slightly, he met your eyes directly, his voice dripping with teasing confidence as he spoke. “No need to show off,” he said, the smirk deepening as though he enjoyed the game far too much.

Your brows raised, an incredulous laugh escaping you before you could stop it. Show off? You? He was the one standing there, practically oozing charm and confidence, looking like he’d just stepped out of the pages of a magazine. If anyone was showing off here, it was Lando, and you were half-tempted to call him out on it. But instead, you simply rolled your eyes, brushing past him as his soft chuckle followed in your wake. Classic Lando—always making sure to keep you on your toes.

The limousine ride was almost eerily quiet, save for the occasional bursts of laughter from Thomas and your aunt. Their easy camaraderie filled the space, but you found yourself staring out the window, lost in thought as the city lights blurred into streaks of gold and white. The anticipation of the night ahead sat heavily in your chest, a mix of curiosity and unease you couldn’t quite place.

As the limousine came to a halt, the atmosphere shifted instantly. The roar of the red carpet hit you like a tidal wave—voices calling out, the rapid-fire clicks of cameras, a sea of lights and movement that was both dazzling and disorienting. You stepped out carefully, the noise wrapping around you like a chaotic symphony, and took a moment to adjust to the energy of it all.

That’s when you saw him. Lando.

He was just a few feet ahead, effortlessly blending into the chaos like he was born for it. Dressed impeccably, his charm seemed to command the attention of everyone around him, including the blonde girl who clung to his side. Or was it the other way around? It was hard to tell. She laughed at something he said, her hand lightly brushing his arm, and the sight made your stomach tighten in a way you hadn’t expected.

You told yourself it didn’t matter, that it shouldn’t matter. But the truth was, it did. You couldn’t quite name the feeling—it wasn’t jealousy, not exactly, but it was something close. A pang of discomfort, maybe even longing, as you watched him navigate the crowd with the ease of someone who knew exactly who he was and where he belonged. Meanwhile, you stood there, caught in a whirlwind of emotions you didn’t fully understand, wondering why his actions stirred something so undeniable within you.

The event unfolded with a level of grandeur that would impress anyone—except you. The dazzling lights, the endless chatter, the curated perfection of it all felt hollow somehow. You wandered through the room, your black dress catching the occasional admiring glance, but none of it seemed to matter. The conversations were shallow, the laughter staged, and the atmosphere weighed heavily on your chest, making it hard to fully breathe.

Thomas was in his element, effortlessly networking and charming the crowd, while your aunt played the role of his elegant partner with ease. Lando, of course, was somewhere nearby, surrounded by admirers, his magnetism making him the centerpiece of the room. But you couldn’t bring yourself to enjoy it—to revel in the excitement or join in the forced cheerfulness. The event was anything but fun. It felt like you were simply existing within the chaos, waiting for the night to end so you could escape to the comfort of solitude.

The air was suffocating, and no matter where you turned, it felt impossible to find your place. All around you, people smiled, toasted glasses, and exchanged meaningless pleasantries, their lives seemingly perfect on the surface. But beneath that polished veneer was a sense of disconnection you couldn’t shake. You couldn’t help but wonder if anyone else felt it, if anyone else saw the emptiness hidden behind the glittering facade.

The evening air hit your face as you stepped outside, your head spinning slightly from the stolen drinks you’d indulged in earlier. The lights of the cars parked in front of the building blurred in your vision, their reflections shimmering like distant stars on the wet pavement. Nobody had even noticed your departure, not that you’d expected them to. The thought settled in your chest, heavy and unwelcome, as you stumbled slightly, trying to figure out how to get home.

The sound of footsteps behind you pulled you from your haze, and then a voice—steady and familiar—broke through the quiet hum of the night. “I’m gonna drive you,” it said, firm but not unkind. You turned around sharply, almost losing your balance in the process. And there he was. Lando. Of all people.

You blinked, trying to process the sight of him standing there, so composed in his suit, his eyes locked on you with an unreadable expression. “Wow... seriously?” you muttered, half to yourself, the alcohol loosening your filter more than you’d like.

“Nah, I’m good,” you said, trying to brush him off, the sarcasm slipping easily into your tone. You waved vaguely toward the street, adding, “I’m gonna take a taxi.” Your smile was sharp, almost mocking, though it faltered slightly when you saw him step closer.

“That’s not safe,” he replied, his voice unwavering as he moved past you, his hand already on the door of his car. He opened it smoothly, gesturing for you to get inside without waiting for your protest. There was no room for argument in his tone, no opening for you to wiggle out of this. It wasn’t cocky or smug, though—you could tell he was serious.

You hesitated for a moment, caught between the lingering stubbornness in your chest and the quiet concern in his eyes. With a sigh, you relented, stepping toward the car as he held the door for you. Of all people, it had to be him. But as you slid into the passenger seat, the warmth of the interior washing over you, a part of you couldn’t help but feel... safer than you wanted to admit.

The quietness in the car was suffocating, filling every inch of the space as if the lack of sound had its own weight. You stared out the window, watching the city lights streak by like blurry fragments of the evening, each one highlighting the emptiness in the air. It wasn’t the kind of silence that offered peace—it was the kind that screamed with everything unsaid, the kind that hung heavy between you and Lando, creating a barrier neither of you seemed ready to cross.

He gripped the steering wheel tightly, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. The usual ease, the lighthearted charm that seemed to define him, was nowhere to be found. You wanted to say something, maybe a sarcastic remark to break the tension, but the words refused to come. It was as if the silence had stolen your voice, leaving you to drown in the weight of the moment.

It wasn’t comfortable, not for you, and judging by the slight furrow in Lando’s brow, not for him either. It stretched on, loud and unrelenting, until it became almost unbearable. You shifted slightly in your seat, trying to find a way to escape it, to create even the smallest crack in the wall building between you. But still, nothing came. Just the sound of the engine and the hum of the tires on the pavement.

For someone like Lando, who seemed to live his life in technicolor, it was strange to see him so quiet. And for you, who was used to filling moments like this with sarcasm and wit, the silence felt foreign, unsettling. Neither of you spoke, but the silence between you wasn’t empty—it was charged, alive, brimming with questions neither of you dared to ask.

“So,” Lando said again, his voice cutting through the dense silence that filled the car. “How do you like London?” It was an attempt, you could tell—a hesitant step toward a conversation, though it did little to ease the tension hanging in the air.

You kept your gaze fixed on the window, watching the city pass by in streaks of golden streetlights and distant neon signs. The view outside felt safer, less complicated, compared to the one sitting beside you. “Hmm,” you muttered noncommittally, your tone distant as your eyes followed the familiar rhythm of the passing scenery.

It wasn’t that you hated the question. It wasn’t even that you hated him. But something about the night, about this moment, had made everything feel heavier than it needed to be. You weren’t ready to give him anything more than that vague hum. You weren’t ready to let him in, not yet. Not while your own emotions were still tangled and unclear.

The sound of the tires rolling over the asphalt filled the void again, and from the corner of your eye, you saw him shift in his seat, glancing at you briefly before his attention returned to the road. He didn’t push for more, didn’t press you for a real answer. Maybe he knew. Maybe he understood that tonight wasn’t the time to pry.

The silence stretched on, growing heavier with every passing minute. It wasn’t intentional, but the weight of ignoring him began to settle in your chest, an uncomfortable guilt you couldn’t shake. Finally, you broke the quiet, your voice softer than expected as you spoke. “By the way, nice car,” you said, offering him a faint smile, your eyes drifting over the sleek interior that had caught your admiration earlier.

Lando’s smirk appeared instantly, his confidence flaring the way it always did when someone acknowledged the things he was proud of. “Thanks,” he replied, his tone dripping with cocky satisfaction. “That’s my baby,” he added, with an exaggerated air of pride.

Something about his response hit you wrong, stirring a twinge of irritation you couldn’t quite suppress. The annoyance bubbled over, sharp enough to cut through the awkwardness. Without thinking twice, the words escaped your lips, tinged with more bite than humor. “Baby that your daddy bought?” you countered, your tone laced with frustration rather than playfulness.

The tension in the car had shifted in an instant, the atmosphere so heavy it was almost suffocating. The moment his gaze locked onto yours, you knew the playful banter had crossed a line. His usual cocky smirk was nowhere to be found, replaced by a hardened expression that sent a chill down your spine. His hands gripped the steering wheel with a quiet intensity, his jaw tightening as he wordlessly pulled the car to an abrupt stop. The screech of the tires cut through the still night, and your heart skipped a beat as confusion overwhelmed you. What was happening?

Without a word, he pushed open his door and got out, leaving you frozen in your seat, trying to make sense of what was going on. The slam of the car door echoed sharply, and you felt a pang of unease twist in your stomach. “What are you doing?” you shouted after him, your voice laced with a mix of frustration and worry. There was no answer, no indication that he even heard you. Instead, he walked around to your side of the car, his movements steady and deliberate, his expression giving nothing away.

He pulled your door open, standing there in front of you with a calmness that only made the situation feel more unsettling. “Get out,” he said evenly, his voice almost too controlled, too composed. It wasn’t a request—it was a command, and the way he said it sent a jolt of disbelief through you.

You blinked up at him, caught completely off guard. “What?” you managed to say, your voice trembling slightly as you searched his face for some kind of explanation. But his expression remained unreadable, his gaze unwavering as he repeated himself.

“Get out,” he said again, his tone firm and unrelenting. He wasn’t shouting, but there was an undeniable edge to his words, a finality that left no room for argument. Reluctantly, and with a growing sense of disbelief, you unfastened your seatbelt and stepped onto the sidewalk. The cool night air wrapped around you, a stark contrast to the warmth inside the car. You stood there, staring at him, your mind racing to catch up with what was happening.

He didn’t say another word. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked back around to the driver’s side, leaving you standing there in stunned silence. Your pulse was racing as you watched him move, his calm demeanor only fueling your confusion and anger. “So you’re just gonna leave me here?” you called after him, your voice rising with disbelief. “On the sidewalk? In the middle of a city I don’t even know?”

He paused briefly, his hand resting on the door handle, and for a moment you thought he might respond. But when he finally spoke, his voice was cold and resolute. “Exactly,” he said simply, not even turning to look at you.

The door shut with a finality that echoed in the pit of your stomach. A second later, the car roared to life, and the headlights illuminated the sidewalk as he pulled away. You stood there, frozen in place, watching as his taillights disappeared down the street.

The chilly night enveloped you as you stood there on the bridge, its cold wind brushing against your skin and sending shivers down your spine. Your phone lay lifeless in your clutch, the screen blank, your last possible lifeline cut off. The dark stretch of water beneath the bridge mirrored your feelings—isolated, distant, and untethered. Here you were, lost in some random city, the world around you moving on as if your presence didn’t matter.

Your dress, once a symbol of confidence and poise, now felt out of place against the quiet, empty surroundings. Its fabric did little to shield you from the cold, and you hugged yourself for warmth, trying to steady the growing discomfort that gnawed at the edges of your resolve. It was poetic, really—finding yourself stranded like this after everything that had happened tonight. You couldn’t help but replay the moment in the car, the words exchanged, the irritation bubbling over.

A bitter laugh escaped you as realization settled in. It was clear now, painfully clear. Calling Lando daddy’s boy hadn’t just struck a nerve—it had led to this mess. The regret lingered, gnawing at you, though you refused to let it overwhelm you entirely. Lesson learned. You would tread carefully in the future, keeping your wit sharp but your remarks smarter. It wasn’t worth ending up alone on an unfamiliar bridge again, standing in the cold and wishing for even the slightest sign of salvation.

For now, though, you had no choice but to rely on yourself. No lifeline, no comforting presence—just you and the quiet night stretching endlessly ahead. You tightened your grip on your clutch, your breath visible in the air as you began to move forward, step by step, searching for any semblance of direction in a city that didn’t yet feel like home.

You froze for a moment, caught between the urge to laugh at the absurdity, cry out of sheer exhaustion, or give in to the rising panic bubbling inside you. Probably panic—especially as you noticed the sound of a car approaching. Its engine purred steadily, growing louder, and your pulse quickened. You tried to walk away, your heels clicking awkwardly against the pavement, but the car only seemed to follow you, matching your pace.

Finally, the car slowed and stopped just beside you. The window rolled down, revealing a man with a friendly, disarming smile. “Hey,” he said, his tone casual, almost too casual for the situation. “I’m Keegan,” he introduced himself, the sincerity in his voice catching you off guard. “Lando sent me for you. He wanted to make sure you got home safely.”

Your heart thudded in your chest as his words sank in. The explanation sounded reasonable enough—Lando had sent someone to look out for you—but could you trust him? Keegan’s demeanor was calm, his smile warm, but that didn’t quell the anxiety twisting in your stomach. After all, this was a strange city, and you were utterly alone. And yet… the name Lando carried weight. Everyone in this town seemed to know him, or at least of him.

Your eyes narrowed slightly as you studied Keegan’s face, weighing his words carefully. Should you believe him? Could you afford not to? There was no way to know for sure, and as the cool night air continued to bite at your skin, the seconds felt like hours while you debated your next move.

But what else you could do?

The air in the car felt tense, charged with unspoken words as you settled into the seat beside Keegan. The soft hum of the engine barely filled the quiet, your question slicing through it with sharp precision. “Do you know where Lando is?” you asked, your voice sweet but deliberate, your eyes watching him carefully.

The air inside the car was thick with tension, wrapping around you like an invisible weight. Keegan’s hesitance spoke volumes, the slight flicker in his eyes betraying the lie he tried to pass off. You had asked him a simple question, but his denial, paired with the way his grip tightened just slightly on the steering wheel, only fueled your suspicions. His head shook once, a poorly executed attempt to convince you. "No idea," he answered, his tone too controlled, too deliberate.

You weren’t buying it, not for a second. The frustration that had been simmering beneath the surface bubbled over as you turned to him, your voice steady but firm. “C’mon, Keegan,” you said, cutting through the lingering silence with your words. “I know you’re lying. I’m not stupid.” Your eyes locked onto his, daring him to continue the charade.

For a moment, he seemed to wrestle with himself, the internal conflict written all over his face. The grip on the steering wheel tightened once again before he sighed heavily, his resistance cracking under the weight of your persistence. “Fine,” he muttered at last, his voice filled with reluctant resignation. His eyes darted to yours briefly before returning to the road, as though conceding defeat was easier if he avoided your gaze. “I know a place where he might be,” he admitted, the words tumbling out like a secret he wasn’t supposed to share.

His confession didn’t ease the knot in your stomach, but it confirmed what you’d suspected all along. The unease you felt sitting in this car was now mixed with a new wave of frustration. Of course Lando would send someone else to do his work, to smooth over the mess he’d left behind. Typical, you thought bitterly. Typical Lando.

As the car rolled forward, the hum of the engine filled the silence once again. The night outside passed in a blur of muted lights and shadows, the city’s quiet streets mirroring the complexity of your thoughts. Somewhere out there, Lando was waiting—or hiding—and you weren’t sure which one irritated you more. But one thing was clear: this night was far from over. You leaned back in the seat, arms crossed, preparing yourself for whatever awaited you when you reached that mysterious place.

The car came to a stop behind a shadowy, unkempt street. The faint sound of music already reached you even before stepping out. Keegan glanced at you briefly, signaling for you to follow him. As you walked towards the entrance, a wave of unease settled in your stomach, growing heavier with every step. The pungent mix of smells assaulted you immediately—weed, sweat, and something indescribable that hit like a wall. It was jarring, and the environment felt anything but welcoming.

Keegan led you down a narrow staircase at the back of the building, his footsteps steady, yours hesitant. With every step, the sound of the music grew louder, thumping and vibrating through the air until it seemed almost deafening. The space seemed to pulse with chaotic energy, unbreathable air thick with humidity and smoke. The dim lighting cast flickering shadows across the walls, and you could barely make out the faces in the crowded room.

Keegan approached a young guy leaning casually against the wall, his posture relaxed despite the madness around him. He exchanged a quick glance with him, nodding towards you. “She’s… looking for Lando,” Keegan said, his voice raised just enough to be heard over the pounding music. The boy’s eyes darted to you, assessing you briefly before he jerked his head in another direction.

You weren’t sure whether to follow, whether to trust any of this, but your options felt limited. The haze of the room pressed down on you as you hesitated, trying to ignore the gnawing discomfort swirling inside.

“Hey,” the guy greeted, his voice smooth and casual, sunglasses perched on his head even in the dim, smoky basement. He handed you a glass filled with something amber and strong, his smile easy and confident. “You look nice,” he added, his tone dripping with charm, as if he’d said the same line a hundred times before.

You barely glanced at the drink, your fingers brushing the cool glass but not lifting it. You weren’t in the mood for pleasantries, not here, not now. The suffocating air, the pounding music, the haze of smoke—it all felt like too much. “Where’s Lando?” you asked, cutting straight to the point, your voice steady but edged with impatience.

The guy’s smile faltered for a split second, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you. It was subtle, but you caught it—a flicker of hesitation, as if your question had thrown him off his game. He leaned back slightly, his posture still relaxed, but his expression betrayed a hint of curiosity.

“Try over there,” he said, nodding toward a specific corner of the chaotic room. You followed his gesture, weaving your way through the dense crowd. The music thumped louder with every step, the bass reverberating through your chest as you pushed past clusters of people. The air was thick, unbreathable, and the occasional sip of alcohol from the glass in your hand did little to steady your nerves.

Finally, you reached the spot he’d indicated, and what you saw stopped you in your tracks. There, on a makeshift podium in the middle of the room, was Lando. Shirtless. Dancing. His movements were loose, carefree, and completely unbothered by the world around him. A group of girls surrounded him, their laughter and cheers blending into the pounding music. One of them had her hand on his shoulder, another leaning in far too close, and he seemed to revel in the attention.

You stood there, frozen, watching the scene unfold. It was... a lot. The carefree, almost reckless version of Lando was a stark contrast to the composed, cocky guy you’d been dealing with all night. And yet, there he was, completely in his element, as if the chaos of the room was his natural habitat. You couldn’t decide what you felt—annoyance, disbelief, or something else entirely. All you knew was that this was not what you’d expected to find. Not at all.

“Lando!” you shouted, your voice cutting through the pounding music like a sharp blade. His head snapped in your direction, his eyes widening in shock as they locked onto yours. For a moment, he froze, caught off guard by your sudden appearance. Of all people, you thought bitterly, there he was—shirtless, dancing on a podium, surrounded by girls who clung to him like moths to a flame. The scene was almost surreal, a stark contrast to the Lando you’d been dealing with earlier.

Your grip tightened around the glass in your hand, the frustration and disbelief bubbling over until it reached its breaking point. Without thinking, you hurled the drink in his direction. The liquid arced through the air, catching the dim light before splashing across his chest. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd as the music seemed to momentarily fade into the background.

Lando blinked, his expression shifting from shock to something unreadable. You stood there, your chest heaving, your emotions a chaotic mix of anger, hurt, and something you couldn’t quite name. Whatever this night had been, it had just taken a turn you hadn’t anticipated. And now, all eyes were on you.

The girls surrounding Lando turned their attention to you, their expressions shifting from amusement to irritation. One of them rolled her eyes dramatically, muttering something under her breath as she stepped back, clearly annoyed by the interruption. Another crossed her arms, her gaze sharp and judgmental as she looked you up and down, as if trying to size you up.

Their frustration was palpable, their annoyance radiating off them in waves. It was as though you’d disrupted some sacred moment, their fun now tainted by your presence. You could feel their eyes lingering on you, their whispers barely audible over the pounding music, but you didn’t care. Your focus was locked on Lando, who stood there, still shirtless, still stunned, the remnants of your drink dripping down his chest.

“What the fuck, Y/n!” Lando’s voice boomed over the pounding music as he jumped down from the podium, weaving through the crowd in pursuit. His expression was a mix of shock and frustration, but you didn’t care. Your mission was over. You’d said what you needed to say—or rather, thrown what you needed to throw—and now all you wanted was to leave.

But as you pushed through the throng of people, the room began to tilt. Your vision blurred, the faces around you melting into indistinct shapes. The music seemed to grow louder, pounding in your ears like a relentless drumbeat. Your head spun wildly, your legs unsteady beneath you.

Your chest tightened, each breath a struggle as the world around you blurred into indistinct shapes and muffled sounds. The pounding music faded into the background, replaced by the overwhelming sensation of dizziness and disorientation. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t even form a coherent thought. Your legs gave way, and just as you felt yourself falling, Lando caught you.

His arms wrapped around you, lifting you effortlessly into a bridal carry. The warmth of his body contrasted sharply with the cold air outside as he pushed through the crowd, his movements urgent and determined. The chaos of the basement melted away as he carried you out into the night, the fresh air hitting your face like a lifeline.

“Y/n!” he called out, his voice filled with worry as he looked down at you. His usual cocky demeanor was gone, replaced by genuine concern that you hadn’t seen before. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone desperate as he tried to keep you awake. His eyes scanned your face, searching for any sign of clarity. “Did you take something?” he asked again, his voice trembling slightly.

You couldn’t answer, couldn’t explain the haze clouding your mind. But deep down, you knew. Someone had slipped something into your drink. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut, but there was no time to dwell on it. Lando’s grip tightened as he carried you further away from the chaos, his focus entirely on you. For once, it seemed like he wasn’t playing games—he was genuinely worried, and that was the only thing keeping you grounded in the moment.

Lando carefully propped you against the wall, his hands steady as he made sure you wouldn’t collapse. The fresh air hit your face, a welcome relief from the suffocating haze of the basement. You tried to steady your breathing, but your head still spun, your body weak and unresponsive.

“Oh, here you are,” a voice drawled, cutting through the quiet. You recognized it instantly—the guy who had handed you the drink earlier. He strolled toward you with an air of cocky nonchalance, his sunglasses now perched on his nose despite the darkness. “Maybe I gave you too much,” he said, smirking as if this was all some kind of joke.

Your stomach churned, a mix of anger and disbelief washing over you. One day in London, and you’d already been drugged by someone. A new low, even for you. The thought made your blood boil, but you were too weak to do anything about it.

Lando, however, was not. His eyes narrowed dangerously, his jaw tightening as he turned to face the guy. Without a word, he strode toward him, his movements sharp and deliberate. The guy barely had time to react before Lando’s fist connected with his face in a swift, clean punch. The impact sent him stumbling back, his cocky smirk wiped clean off his face.

The tension in the air was palpable, the sound of the punch echoing in the quiet street. Lando stood there, his chest heaving, his fists clenched at his sides as he glared at the guy. For once, there was no trace of his usual charm or cockiness—just raw, unfiltered anger. It was clear he wasn’t going to let this slide, not after what had happened to you.

“Oh my god, man, you broke my nose!” the guy yelled, his hands flying to his face as blood trickled between his fingers. His voice was a mix of shock and outrage, but Lando didn’t flinch. Instead, he shrugged, his expression cold and unbothered. “I hope so,” he said flatly, his tone carrying no hint of remorse.

The guy stumbled back slightly, still clutching his nose, his cocky demeanor now replaced with a defensive whine. “It was just for fun!” he blurted out, his voice rising as he tried to justify himself. The words hung in the air, hollow and pathetic, as if they could somehow excuse what he’d done.

Lando’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer to the guy. “Drugging a girl for fun?” he shot back, his voice low but laced with fury. There was no hesitation, no wavering in his stance. For once, he wasn’t playing games or deflecting with charm—he was standing up for you, and the intensity in his voice made it clear he wasn’t going to let this slide.

The guy shrank under Lando’s glare, his earlier bravado crumbling as the weight of his actions finally seemed to hit him. The tension in the air was palpable, the quiet street now a stage for a confrontation that felt long overdue. Lando didn’t move, his fists still clenched, his focus entirely on the guy who had dared to mess with you. For the first time that night, you felt a flicker of safety in the chaos.

“Lando, man, stop!” Keegan yelled, his voice cutting through the tense air as he tried to intervene. But Lando wasn’t having it. His glare snapped toward Keegan, his expression a mix of fury and disbelief.

“You better keep your mouth shut!” Lando shouted, his voice sharp and unwavering. “You fucked up everything you could!” The words hit like a slap, and you couldn’t help but agree. Keegan had one job—to get you home safely—and he’d failed spectacularly.

Keegan’s face twisted in defense, his hands raised as if to shield himself from the verbal onslaught. “Bro, that’s not my fault! She forced me!” he protested, his tone desperate, as though shifting the blame would somehow absolve him.

You rolled your eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck. Forced him? Really? The excuse was as weak as his attempt to defend himself, and it only added to the frustration simmering in the air. Lando’s jaw tightened, his fists still clenched, as he stared Keegan down, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife.

Instead of escalating the chaos further, Lando exhaled sharply, his anger simmering but contained. He turned back to you, his focus shifting entirely to your well-being. With careful movements, he scooped you up once more, carrying you to the car. His touch was steady, his grip protective, as he seated you gently in the passenger seat.

Before sliding into the driver’s side, he cast one last look at Keegan and the guy who had handed you the drink. It wasn’t a glare, but it carried enough weight to leave them frozen in place, their earlier bravado crumbling under his silent judgment. Without another word, Lando started the car, the engine humming softly as he drove away from the scene.

The rhythmic motion of the car lulled you into a restless sleep, your head leaning against the window as the city lights blurred past. Despite the haze clouding your mind, you felt something unfamiliar—a sense of safety. Lando’s occasional glances toward you, the way his hand hovered near you as if ready to steady you at any moment, brought a strange comfort you hadn’t expected.

But for Lando, the drive was anything but peaceful. His grip on the steering wheel tightened, his thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and frustration. What was happening to him? Why did he care so much? He didn’t know himself. All he knew was that seeing you like this—vulnerable, hurt—had stirred something in him he couldn’t ignore. And as the car rolled through the quiet streets, he couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight had changed everything.

Yes, you were safe—with him, of all people. Despite everything, Lando made sure of that, his protective instincts overriding everything else. The usual cockiness and playful arrogance had faded, replaced by a quiet determination to keep you from harm.

Whatever whirlwind emotions the night had thrown at you—fear, anger, frustration—began to ebb away as the car hummed softly down the dark streets. Lando’s presence, steady and watchful, became the anchor you hadn’t realized you needed. In that moment, as the night stretched on, his actions spoke louder than the words you were too tired to exchange. You were safe. For now, that was enough.

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norristrii · 8 days ago

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Nobody panic, I'm here

Charles with Lando Norris' older sister (tag @mclarencarsgonyoem) OR Kimi Antonelli's older sister (tag @fastcaregonyoem) OR George Russell's twin (tag @fastcarsgonyoem) and if those dont work, Carlos Sainz's little sister (tag either of the ones stated above, unless I make a Ferrari fanpage... Should i???) Or Max's twin... I'm yapping too much

She's either a prof. Soccer player for Juventus OR a orthopedic sports doctor, and she's at the paddock semi often. I'm here if you more!

OH MY GOD.

Seriously I love you, I also thought of Max’s V. twin w Charles or Carlos’ little sis w Lando, or Lando’s twin with Max. V!! I can’t decide omh

Let me knoww!! You can message me and give me some plot/ trope ideas.. but for me fake dating could work. YOU ARE FANTASTIC.

#answered #babs yaps #writing ideas

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norristrii · 8 days ago

Text

Me trying to come out with fic based on new romantics, especially on this part

give me ideas guys I’M BEGGING. (Fics, series IDC‼️)

#babs yaps #writer stuff #f1 #f1 writer

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norristrii · 8 days ago

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Papaya on top...

Of me

Naah cuz fr 😣

Papaya on top but not today tho bcs why tf was lando cutting grass 😭

#answered #babs yaps

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norristrii · 8 days ago

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When is chapter 2 to so close to… coming out?

Also hi I love your writing ❤️

Hii!! Thank you so much! 🫶🏻

I’m STRUGGLING with that part 2 but hopefully tomorrow, I promise!!

#answered #babs yaps

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norristrii · 8 days ago

Text

HAUNTED.

“You’ll never get away from the sound of the woman that loved you.” — Torn apart by break up, bound by work, haunted by each other’s voice.

pairing. Max Verstappen x journalist! fem! reader

warnings. angst (happy ending??), Max being a bit of dick, longer than I expected wtf??

babs’ notes. IN THE HONOR OF MAX’S WIN IN JAPAN! this race was well.. something. Guys ik I promised so close to 2 BUT for some reason i wrote chapter 3 & 4 first so it’s bit complicated.. give me time 😭

music. Silver Springs by Fleetwood Mac.

JOURNALISM IN FORMULA 1 WASN’T JUST A CAREER—it was your dream, your passion, the goal you had spent years working towards. The roar of the engines, the adrenaline of race day, the stories waiting to be uncovered in every corner of the paddock—it all fascinated you. So when you finally landed your role, credentials swinging around your neck like a badge of honor, you felt like you had made it. This was where you belonged.

And then, there was him—Max Verstappen. The reigning champion, the so-called “arrogant” and “rude” driver who had built a reputation as much off the track as on it. Everyone talked about Max with a kind of reverence laced with caution, as if he were more of a storm than a man. A force of nature, unpredictable, intense. But the first time you met him, you realized there was so much more to him than the media’s caricature.

It wasn’t arrogance you saw when you interviewed him that day. It was focus, determination, an intensity that burned behind his sharp blue eyes—the kind of intensity only someone who had given their entire life to this sport could possess. His Dutch accent was strong, his words direct and unfiltered, but there was a warmth there too, hidden beneath the layers of his public persona. The kind of warmth that could make you question everything you thought you knew about him.

Max wasn’t just “arrogant” or “rude.” He was confident, unapologetically so, but not without reason. He carried himself like someone who knew exactly what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it. Yet, in those fleeting moments when he looked at you, when he softened just slightly, you wondered if anyone else had ever seen this side of him—the side that wasn’t a storm at all but something quieter.

You had gotten closer to Max, much closer than you ever thought you would. It wasn’t just the quiet conversations away from the cameras or the way his sharp blue eyes lingered on you longer than necessary. It was the way he made you feel like you mattered—like you were the only person who could understand him in a world filled with noise and expectations. He ensured you loved him, pulling you in slowly, deliberately, until the thought of him consumed your mind entirely.

You’d slept together more than few times, nights filled with fiery passion and moments of unexpected tenderness that made you believe this was different. That he was different. He didn’t just hold you physically; he held your emotions in the palm of his hand, his touch leaving a mark on your heart you couldn’t erase. For a fleeting moment, it felt real. Like the guarded driver had finally let someone in, and that someone was you.

But then, just as you had allowed yourself to believe, he shattered it. Sitting across from you, his voice low and steady, his Dutch accent cutting through the words you weren’t ready to hear. “I’m not ready for a relationship,” he said, almost matter-of-factly. “I don’t do that... I need to focus on myself and my career.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words crashing over you like cold water. He wasn’t apologetic, not really. To him, it wasn’t personal—it was just the way things were. But to you, it felt like a betrayal, like he had pulled the rug out from under your feet just as you began to stand on solid ground. Wow, you thought, your mind racing to make sense of what had just happened. Maybe you should have expected this.

The signs had been there, hadn’t they? The way he avoided deep conversations about the future, the way his life revolved around the sport he lived for, the way he always seemed just out of reach. You had seen it all, but you chose to ignore it because you wanted so badly for this to work—for him to be different.

Sitting in the emptiness of his words, you realized the truth. Max Verstappen wasn’t yours to hold. He belonged to the track, to the roaring engines and the thrill of victory, to the world that demanded every ounce of his focus and energy. And you? You were just a moment, a fleeting connection that he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—prioritize.

You still saw the day he said those words to you in your dreams. It played on a loop in your mind, vivid and unrelenting, as if the memory itself refused to fade. You could still hear his voice, the exact tone he used—calm, almost detached, like he hadn’t just ripped the ground out from beneath your feet. It wasn’t the words alone that haunted you; it was the way he’d said them, so measured, so unshaken, as if it had cost him nothing at all.

Some nights, the dream would start with the warmth of his touch, his blue eyes meeting yours with a flicker of something you once mistook for sincerity. And then, as if the universe were mocking you, the scene would shift, the same cold words spilling from his lips. “I’m not ready for a relationship.” The sound of it, the finality of it, would jar you awake, your chest heavy with the ghost of heartbreak.

The memory clung to you, reshaped you. It made the F1 paddock—once your dream, your sanctuary—feel suffocating. Everywhere you turned, there were reminders of him. The roar of the engines, the press briefings, the fleeting glances in the paddock… it all felt like too much, like you were trapped in a world where his shadow loomed over everything.

And so, you made a choice. You left. You handed in your credentials, packed up your life, and decided to start over. Football became your refuge—a fresh start, a chance to leave the echoes of Max Verstappen behind. You thought maybe, just maybe, switching to an entirely different world would silence the memories.

But you haunted Max too, probably even more than he haunted you. He wasn’t the type to dwell on emotions—not openly, not consciously—but you had made an impact that he couldn’t shake. Your voice lingered in the corners of his mind, unbidden yet ever-present. He heard it in the hum of the engines, the roar of the crowd, and in the silence of the nights that followed. It didn’t matter where he was—on the track, in a hotel room, or staring at the endless line of questions during an interview—you were there.

When he raced, he was untouchable, focused, pushing every limit. But somehow, even in the middle of the chaos, you would find him. He could almost hear your laugh, the lilt of your tone when you teased him, and the way you called him out in ways no one else dared to. It wasn’t distracting, not exactly, but it was there, a part of him now.

The interviews were worse. Sitting under the blinding lights, fielding questions about his victories, his rivals, his career—it should have been second nature. And yet, all he could think about was you. He’d catch himself scanning the press room, half expecting to see your face, your notebook in hand, your eyes meeting his with that spark that had undone him so many times before. But you weren’t there anymore, and the absence was palpable.

At first, Max explained your absence at the races with small, dismissive assumptions. Maybe you were sick, maybe you’d taken some time off—nothing out of the ordinary, nothing permanent. It was easier for him to believe that than to confront the possibility that your absence had something to do with him. That maybe you’d left because of him.

But as the weeks turned into months, it became impossible to ignore the truth. You weren’t just absent—you were gone. Completely. He found out from someone in passing, a casual mention that you had switched to football journalism. There was no announcement, no explanation, no goodbye. You had just vanished from the world you had dreamed of being part of, the same world where he had selfishly taken you for granted.

It hit him harder than he expected. The irony wasn’t lost on him—not in the slightest. He had done the same to you. He had walked away without giving you closure, without considering how his actions might affect you. And now, you had done the same to him. The emptiness left in your wake mirrored the emptiness he had created in you. It was poetic in the cruelest way.

Max tried not to let it bother him, tried to convince himself it didn’t matter. But it did. He realized it every time he glanced at the press room and didn’t see you there, every time he answered a question about his performance and your voice wasn’t the one asking. The races felt different now—not because the roar of the engines had changed, but because your presence wasn’t there to ground him in something outside of the sport.

Your departure haunted him. Not just because you were gone, but because it reminded him of the way he had treated you. He didn’t know what to do with the guilt, the regret, the quiet ache he felt whenever he thought of you. And maybe that was the real irony of it all—the fact that he had pushed you away only to realize he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Six months later, there you were, standing in front of the paddock gate once again. The world around you felt both familiar and foreign, as if you’d been transported back into a life you weren’t sure you belonged to anymore. The hum of activity, the chatter of journalists, the whir of tools in the distance—it all reminded you of a chapter you thought you’d closed for good. But here you were, holding the very thing that had once been your dream and your curse: your paddock pass.

Your fingers brushed over the laminated surface, tracing the outline of your photo and the bold letters that read Media. It felt heavier than it should have, almost symbolic, like it carried more than just access. This wasn’t just a pass; it was a ticket back into a world you’d deliberately left behind. A world that he—Max—still occupied.

You stared at the gate for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest. It wasn’t the roar of the engines that sent a shiver down your spine, nor the thought of the stories waiting to be written. It was the memory of him, the way his voice had echoed in your mind for months after he’d let you go, the way he had unknowingly followed you into every corner of your new life. And now, you were walking straight back into his orbit.

You spotted Lissie near the media setup, her smile lighting up the moment she saw you. She was one of the few familiar faces you felt truly comfortable with, someone who had been your anchor back when the paddock felt like a storm you were constantly navigating. You couldn’t help but grin as you approached her, the weight of the past six months lifting slightly with the comfort of her presence.

“Y/n!” she said brightly, pulling you into a quick hug. “I was starting to think you’d never come back.”

“Missed me that much, huh?” you teased, the warmth in your tone belying the nerves still lingering in your chest.

“Of course,” Lissie said, her eyes sparkling. “Nobody asks the questions you do.” Her voice was laced with nostalgia, and you wondered briefly if your absence had left a gap bigger than you’d realized.

The drivers started to filter in one by one, the hum of the paddock growing louder with each arrival. There was an electric energy in the air, as there always was after a race, the buzz of victory and defeat still lingering. You stood near the media setup, microphone in hand, mentally preparing yourself for the endless stream of questions, answers, and moments that would play out in front of the cameras.

But he wasn’t there. Not yet. Probably still waiting for his turn, somewhere out of sight. You told yourself it didn’t matter, that you weren’t scanning the crowd for him or bracing yourself for the inevitable moment when he’d appear. Yet, your gaze seemed to wander anyway, unconsciously seeking out the one face you weren’t sure you were ready to see.

It was almost a relief, then, to be pulled from your thoughts by the warm smiles of familiar faces. People recognized you instantly, their expressions lighting up as they spotted you standing there. Drivers, team members, journalists—they all greeted you with nods, waves, and smiles, as though no time had passed.

For Max, the whole day felt off. It wasn’t something he could pinpoint exactly—just a nagging sensation that something was wrong. Or maybe it wasn’t wrong at all. Maybe it was something else entirely. He had gone through the motions as usual, the race, the debrief, the endless stream of questions from his team. But the feeling lingered, gnawing at the edges of his focus.

As he waited for his turn to be interviewed, the noise of the paddock buzzed around him, a familiar chaos that usually grounded him. But today, it felt different. And then, he heard it—your voice. At first, he thought he was imagining it, that his mind was playing tricks on him again. He had heard your voice in his head so many times over the past six months, haunting him in moments he least expected. But this time, it felt more real. Louder. Closer.

He turned his head, scanning the crowd, his pulse quickening despite himself. And then he saw you. Standing there, microphone in hand, interviewing Charles. You were laughing at something Charles had said, your smile lighting up the space around you in a way that made Max’s chest tighten. He blinked twice, as if trying to assure himself that you were really there, that this wasn’t just another cruel trick of his imagination.

“Oh fuck,” he muttered under his breath, the words slipping out before he could stop them. His heart was racing now, a mix of shock and something he couldn’t quite name. Lando, standing beside him, turned his head at the sound of Max’s curse, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“What?” Lando asked, his brow furrowing as he looked at Max. His friend's demeanor was visibly off—nervous, tense, unlike the usual calm confidence that defined him. Max wasn’t even pretending to act normal, and that alone was enough to catch Lando’s attention.

Max’s voice was low, almost strained, as he pointed toward the media area, toward you. “Y/n’s here,” he said, his words clipped, heavy with the weight of realization.

And then, he came walking towards you. The moment you had been trying so hard not to think about was suddenly unfolding right in front of you. Max Verstappen. Of course, you knew he’d been assigned to you for the interview—how could it have been anyone else? Yet, despite your efforts to stay composed, to treat this as just another name on your clipboard, the reality of seeing him again made your heart race.

You gripped the microphone a little tighter, your pulse quickening as you watched him approach. He moved with the same self-assured confidence he always carried, his strides purposeful, his expression unreadable. You forced yourself to focus on the task at hand. You had done this thousands of times before—countless interviews with drivers, each one conducted with the poise and professionalism you had perfected over the years. This would be no different, you told yourself.

But when his eyes met yours, you felt the air shift. It wasn’t the usual tension of a post-race interview; it was something deeper, heavier. His blue gaze lingered on you for a moment too long, and you saw the flicker of something behind it. Was it surprise? Recognition? Guilt? Whatever it was, it left you unsettled.

“Max,” you began, your voice steady despite the storm brewing inside you. “Congratulations on the race today. Let’s talk about your strategy—particularly during that late overtake. What was going through your mind at that moment?”

Max adjusted the cap on his head slightly, his expression composed but with a trace of thoughtfulness behind his sharp blue eyes. “That late overtake,” he began, his Dutch accent giving his words a distinct cadence, “was about timing. I knew I couldn’t risk waiting too long—if I hesitated, the gap would close, and I’d lose the opportunity.”

Max stood before you, his expression outwardly composed, but there was something different in the way he looked at you. It wasn’t the detached gaze of a driver facing an interviewer, the routine exchange of words that he had perfected over years of answering media questions. No, the way his eyes lingered on you spoke of something more—something unspoken but undeniably present.

As you asked your questions, his voice carried the sharp precision you expected, but you noticed the subtle tremor behind it. It wasn’t enough for anyone else to pick up, but you knew him well enough to see it. With each response, his tone faltered slightly, like he was fighting to keep control over a conversation that felt far from ordinary.

Your gaze met his several times, almost unintentionally, but each meeting brought a quiet tension that neither of you could ignore. His blue eyes held yours longer than they should, breaking away only to wander back moments later. And even as you tried to focus on the task at hand, your own eyes betrayed you, drawn to him in a way that made the air around you feel heavier.

Max’s answers were calculated, yet distracted, as if he were answering out of habit rather than genuine thought. When he spoke about his late overtake, his words stumbled briefly, his gaze flickering back to you as though seeking something he couldn’t put into words. For a moment, you saw the mask slip—the professional veneer cracking just enough to reveal the man beneath it.

The interview drew to a close, your professionalism intact despite the weight of the moment. You lowered the microphone, offering a polite nod. “Thank you for your time, Max,” you said, your voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil simmering beneath your calm exterior.

Max matched your professionalism with his own, nodding briskly. “No problem,” he replied, his words clipped, almost routine. For a moment, you thought that was it—the end of the interaction, the closure you needed to move forward. But the moment was far from over.

As the cameraman turned off the equipment, signaling the end of the broadcast, the air around you shifted. The noise of the paddock faded slightly, the buzz of activity momentarily muted. And that’s when you heard him. His voice, softer now, no longer performing for the cameras.

“Good to see you back,” Max said, his tone carrying a weight that hadn’t been there during the interview. His blue eyes met yours, unguarded and searching, the barrier he’d constructed between you cracking just enough to let the truth slip through. It wasn’t loud, it wasn’t dramatic—it was simply him.

You blinked, caught off guard by the quiet sincerity in his words. For a brief moment, you didn’t know how to respond, your heart betraying your attempt to remain unaffected. But then, just as quickly as the moment came, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd of mechanics and drivers like he always did.

You stood there for a moment longer, the echo of his words lingering in the space around you. “Good to see you back.” It wasn’t an apology. It wasn’t an explanation. But it was something—a fragment of the truth he couldn’t admit outright. And as the paddock buzzed back to life, you realized that he had left you with more questions than answers.

After hours of catching up with colleagues, swapping stories with managers, and fielding countless “welcome back” smiles from drivers, you felt the weight of the day settle over you. The energy of the paddock was as intoxicating as ever, but now, it left you drained, longing for a quiet moment to yourself. Deciding you’d had enough for the night, you packed up your things and made your way out.

The paddock had changed under the cover of darkness. The once-bustling pathways were now quieter, bathed in the soft, golden glow of overhead lights. The hum of activity had dulled to a faint background noise—mechanics packing up for the night, the occasional sound of an engine being tinkered with, the low murmur of voices carrying on the cool evening breeze. The air smelled faintly of rubber and oil, a scent so distinctly tied to this world that it felt almost nostalgic.

As you walked, the click of your shoes against the concrete echoed softly in the stillness. You let your mind wander, replaying moments from the day—the laughter with Lissie, the surprise on familiar faces, and, of course, the interview. His interview. The memory of his quiet “Good to see you back” lingered in your thoughts, stirring emotions you weren’t ready to unpack.

The paddock gates loomed ahead, signaling the end of your night here, but you didn’t rush. Instead, you took your time, letting the calm of the night paddock wash over you. This was a place that had once felt like home and a battlefield all at once. Now, walking through it in the quiet moments, it felt like both again.

“Y/n!” The voice cut through the quiet of the night paddock, freezing you mid-step. You knew that voice instantly. It was one you hadn’t heard off-camera in over six months, yet it still held the same unmistakable weight. Max.

For a moment, you considered ignoring it, considered walking away without looking back. But something—some stubborn, lingering part of you—made you stop. Your feet faltered as your heart thudded in your chest, a mix of emotions crashing into you all at once. You turned slowly, the strap of your bag slipping slightly on your shoulder as you did.

There he was. Max. Jogging towards you, his expression more open than you’d ever seen it. His blue eyes were fixed on you, and even in the dim light of the paddock, you could see the hint of urgency in them. It wasn’t the composed, collected driver that the world saw. This was different.

You stood there, waiting as he closed the distance between you, your breath catching in your throat. You didn’t know what to expect—an apology, a confrontation, or something else entirely. But as the man who had once been so infuriatingly composed now hurried towards you.

“What do you want, Max?” you asked, your voice calm but edged with a slight exasperation as you crossed your arms. You slightly rolled your eyes, watching as he tried to catch his breath. His hair was a little messier than usual, his cap tilted slightly askew, but he didn’t seem to notice. He looked unsure, almost uncharacteristically so, and for a moment, you almost felt bad for him. Almost.

“Uh, well,” he began, pausing to rub the back of his neck—a gesture that immediately gave away his uncertainty. He was nervous, that much was clear, and seeing him like that was both disarming and unsettling. “I just... what made you come back?” he finally asked, his voice quieter than usual, almost as if he was afraid of your answer.

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. A dozen answers ran through your mind, each one more complicated than the last. The truth—that you had come back, in part, because of unfinished business with him—wasn’t something you were willing to admit. Not to him, and not even to yourself, if you were honest.

So, instead, you shrugged, keeping your tone light and detached. “Money,” you replied simply, the hint of a smirk playing on your lips. “They offered me a big amount for interviewing you.”

Max stared at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. You couldn’t tell if he believed you or if he was trying to figure out the truth behind your words. Either way, the flicker of something—disappointment, maybe?—crossed his face before he masked it with a faint nod.

“Of course,” he said, his voice neutral, but there was an edge to it that you couldn’t quite place. He glanced away for a brief second, as though gathering his thoughts, before looking back at you.

“And I also wanted to know how you’re doing,” you said, your voice softening as the words slipped out. It wasn’t rehearsed, and it wasn’t meant to sound vulnerable, but it did anyway. For a second, you almost regretted saying it, the quiet weight of your own admission catching you off guard.

Max’s gaze shifted, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity you weren’t sure how to interpret. His expression wavered, the practiced coolness giving way to something more genuine—something raw. He didn’t speak right away, as though your question had disarmed him, pulled him out of the routine he lived so comfortably in.

“I…” he started, pausing as his hand instinctively brushed the back of his neck. He hesitated, the confident driver who always knew exactly what to say suddenly at a loss for words. “I’m fine,” he finally said, his tone quieter than before, almost uncertain. “I mean, I’m… okay.”

The silence between you stretched, heavy and unyielding. You both stood there, the quiet of the night paddock wrapping around you like a cocoon, amplifying every unspoken word. Maybe you didn’t want to accept it—that he was fine without you. Maybe that’s what made the silence so unbearable.

But then, he broke it.

“Fuck no, I’m not okay,” Max said suddenly, his voice raw and unfiltered, cutting through the stillness like a blade. His words hung in the air, sharp and unexpected, and you felt your breath catch in your chest. He wasn’t looking at you now, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder, as if the admission was too much to deliver while meeting your eyes.

“I miss you,” he added, his voice quieter this time, but no less intense. The vulnerability in his tone was something you’d never heard from him before, and it hit you like a wave, crashing over the walls you’d built to protect yourself.

“I still hear your voice,” Max said, his voice raw and unsteady, the vulnerability cutting through the silence like a knife. He exhaled sharply, as though the words had taken more out of him than he’d expected. “In the car, at home… everywhere.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes momentarily dropping to the ground before flicking back to yours. “I think I was going insane for the past six months.”

The confession caught you completely off guard, your chest tightening at the intensity of his words. You weren’t sure what to say—or even if you wanted to say anything at all. There was no trace of the self-assured, composed driver standing in front of you now. This was Max, stripped down to something raw and real, baring the parts of himself he had always hidden so carefully.

He took a step closer, the light from the paddock glinting off his features as his blue eyes searched yours, desperate for some kind of response. “I didn’t know what to do,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I thought… I thought pushing you away was the right thing. For me, for my career, for everything. But I was wrong.”

What did he expect you to say? This was too much—too much information, too much emotion, all at once. You stared at him, the weight of his words pressing against the walls you’d built around yourself. “What do you want me to say or do, Max? I don’t understand,” you said, your voice steady but tinged with frustration.

He shifted his weight, looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself. “I thought…” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair before exhaling sharply. “I thought maybe you would give me a second chance?”

The words hung in the air, heavy with hope and uncertainty. It felt almost laughable, absurd even, that he would ask this of you now, after everything. But as you looked at him—this man who had always seemed so untouchable, now standing before you with an open vulnerability—you couldn’t bring yourself to say no. Not outright.

You raised an eyebrow, a hint of disbelief flashing across your face. “I thought you don’t do relationships,” you said, your tone measured but carrying a pointed edge.

Max winced slightly at your words, the reminder of his past declaration hitting him like a sharp jab. “I didn’t,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “I thought I couldn’t. But I… I was wrong.”

He looked at you then, his blue eyes filled with something you hadn’t seen in him before—regret, yes, but also sincerity. And for the first time, you realized that the man who had once pushed you away wasn’t the same man standing in front of you now.

You sighed, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on your chest. The words hung on the tip of your tongue, hesitant, uncertain, but impossible to ignore. “Maybe we should try it again,” you said quietly, the admission leaving your lips before you could second-guess it.

Max’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of hope flashing across his face, quickly tempered by a hint of caution. He straightened slightly, his usual confidence replaced by something softer, more tentative. “You mean that?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper, as if he didn’t quite trust what he was hearing.

You glanced away for a moment, your gaze landing on the dimly lit path behind him. “I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice carrying the weight of everything that had happened between you. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy. I’m not even sure it’ll work.” Your eyes flicked back to his, meeting his steady, searching gaze. “But... maybe it’s worth a shot.”

Max exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly as relief washed over his features. It wasn’t the triumphant grin of a man who always got what he wanted. It was something quieter, more genuine—gratitude, maybe, or the quiet realization of a second chance he never thought he’d get.

“I won’t mess it up this time,” he said, his tone firm but with an edge of vulnerability that made his words feel more like a promise than a declaration. “I swear, Y/n. I’ll do it right.”

You didn’t respond right away, the silence stretching between you as you searched his face, looking for any sign of doubt or hesitation. But there was none. For the first time, you saw a man who wasn’t just saying the right thing—he truly meant it.

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