#‧˚��🪴 ଓ :: 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸𝘀 ‧₊˚⤾

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗬 𝗪𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗠𝗘𝗥𝗦 - part three lando norris x  fem! streamer! reader (fluff) series summary . . . After unexpectedly making a new friend during a stream, Lando finds himself addicted to playing video games with this girl who he can't get out of his head. His addiction gets worse when he somehow finds himself yearning for her company, eager to spend time with her in any shape or form, whether it's online or maybe possibly in person.

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devilsdare03 posted a tiktok

> replies . . .

user the guy is hooked, good luck devi 👍

user this confirms the suspicions. devi, you are the hottest woman on earth if you got lando norris all smiley like that

user the way he was in the middle of a convo with max and totally forgot the world around him once he saw her and sat up ⤷ user someone tell him her favorite type of flowers fr

mclaren is that our lando?? 😲 ⤷ devi.03 yep, it is

user the smile omg my heart ⤷ user girl just the smile?!! look at the little wave! he’s so cute i cant!

user the way he looks at her tho awwww

user ok but like, lando better ask her out, she went out of her way to go see him ⤷ user better not mess this up, lando norris ⤷ user on god 

user honestly im so glad they finally met, i've been waiting for this moment since december

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

How to approach you, how to approach you, Lando pondered watching you standing at the little bar in the mclaren hospitality, waiting for your drink. "Suck it up." he mumbled, brushing his hand through his hair one last time before walking up to you. He was lucky enough that you wore the merch and the watch he got you, he would’ve thought you were an influencer if you hadn’t run your hand through your hair which showed the richard mille that identified you as you.

Lando awkwardly cleared his throat before asking the bartender for a drink. You looked up from your phone upon hearing the new but familiar voice. The brit in papaya tried to act cool, leaning on the counter and looking out of the glass wall onto the paddock. You smirked, leaning on your forearms as well. Taking a sip from your drink once it was set in front of you, you lightly nudged Lando.

He hummed, turning his head to face you. You shrugged your right sleeve up to reveal the watch. “I think I broke it.” Your words drew a frown from Lando, making him hold your wrist gently to inspect the watch. 

“You haven’t had it for two months.” He scolded trying to find where the fault would’ve been. You held in a smile, watching him put his ear down to listen to the ticks. 

“I’m telling you, man. Every third tick is slower.” Lando furrowed his eyebrows, staying there to see the apparent faulty watch. It was only when he realized you quoted the line from the movie cars did he nudge you with a huff. 

“You scared me. I thought you broke it.” He scolded, taking his monster drink and popping it open with a grumble. 

“I’d never even put a scratch on it.” you assured, nudging his shoulder with a laugh. “This is the first time I’ve worn it anyways, I wanted it to be a special occasion” You sighed happily, admiring the watch. Lando glanced at you while taking a sip from the drink.

“You think this is a special occasion?” he asked quietly, looking the other way as if he saw something when he was just trying to hide his smile. 

“Oh yeah, for sure.” you nodded, giggling. “I finally get to meet Max Verstappen.” the brunette turned to you with a deadpan while you tried to hold in your smile. You both knew you were joking. Lando would’ve thought you were playing a trick on him if you weren’t wearing his ln4 world merch and McLaren cap.

“So,” you pushed off the counter, “P4 for tomorrow's race, you think you can get a podium? A win maybe?” Lando tried to hold in a smile as he followed you, walking with you from the hospitality to the garage. 

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"I'm not letting you stay in a hotel?"

"What? Where should I stay? The curb?" You held your hands up confused. 

"You can't even afford the meal plan!" Lando scolded as he pushed you from behind in the parking lot.

The awkwardness a person would get from meeting someone for the first time didn't last long between you and Lando. It lasted only 30 seconds before you nearly gave the brit a heart attack by telling him you broke the watch. You randomly read it somewhere, it doesn't always work but it sure did this time because Lando was the same silly and funny guy who always butts in asking for a partner or a teammate in a game when he doesn't need one.

"I can just eat out??" You tried to argue not seeing where he was going with the conversation.

"That's wasting even more money!" He scolded, turning you right and letting you hop down the sidewalk into the rows upon rows of cars. 

"What am I supposed to do then?!" you threw your hands up just as Lando stopped to search for the car keys, with you still frozen, hands up in the air.

"Are you summoning god or something?" Oscar mumbled as he walked by. 

"I wish, I think he's going to throw me on the side of a highway or something." you replied, sighing. 

"Dev's staying in my room so I'm sleeping at yours." Lando told Oscar as he pulled the car door open. The aussie paused in his tracks, turning back and looking at you.

"You're dev?" Oscar more like stated before walking away, mumbling something about his girlfriend Lily. When the other papaya driver was out of earshot, you took the opportunity to roughly punch Lando's shoulder. 

"Ow! What was that for?" 

"You're giving out who I am?! What if someone hears? My face would be all over and I'm not gonna be able to set foot in campus!" You scolded him.

"What am I supposed to call you?!" he whisper shouted back. 

"My name, duh." ". . ." "I've spent 5 hours with you, how do you not know my name?"

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"De- Y/N." Lando corrected himself. After a long night of secretly eating room service pizza in his room and getting up early for the race, you and Lando decided to spend the morning in the paddock. You stopped chewing on the grapes you somehow got your hands on and looked up at him. Lando looked right and left before pulling a box of biscuits from his shirt.

Your eyebrows rose in surprise as you took the box happily, opening it as the boy took the seat beside you. The best thing about this certain hospitality is that there were no current fangirls sneaking around or trying to take pictures. So you and Lando were safe, fighting over cookies with no one noticing or paying any mind.

"I'm the one who got them!"

 "I'm the guest!" you argued back, trying to reach forward and take it back. 

"Yeah, but I'm the driver and I have a big race today so I need it!" 

"You need healthy food! Not carbohydrates—" un-thankfully for you, Oscar came up from the side and took the cookie while both of you were distracted.

He chewed peacefully while you and Lando had a face of utter despair. "It's my home race." he justified, taking another bite. "Also," he pointed the tiny piece of the cookie left at you. "I heard some people are looking for you." Your eyes widened in confusion. 

"Am I getting deported?" Now both of the McLaren boys were looking at you in confusion.

devs03 and landonorris posted on their stories

credits to proofreading to the lovely @classiclitfreak <3

[bubblegumiss]

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗔𝗟𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗧𝗘 𝗔𝗖𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗧 @dreamauri @xuramory

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[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗠𝗬 𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗘 𝗜𝗦 𝗕𝗥𝗨𝗧𝗨𝗦 max vertsappen  x  dutch! fem! driver! reader ( angst ) fic summary . . . when admiration and worship morphs into an obsession that borders on rivalry and hate, even as it remains tangled with traces of reluctant respect. From studying his every move as a young fan, Yn transforms into his fiercest competitor, driven by the need not just to beat her childhood idol, Max Verstappen, but to utterly dethrone him. (5.7K words)

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You pull off your helmet with a fury that blurs your vision, the weight of the day’s mistakes turning everything to red. You’d been so close—so damn close to taking the lead from him, only for Max to pull that brake test, sending both of you into the barriers. Without a second thought, you dropkick your helmet across the gravel, your scream piercing the air.

He’s already out of his car, stalking toward you with that smug, barely-contained anger in his eyes. The type of anger that’s wrapped up in confidence and control, the kind that shows he doesn’t care, not really.

“Are you out of your mind?” he barks, his voice clipped, only the faintest bit breathless. “What the hell was that?”

“You! You were what the hell that was!” you shout back, stepping forward until a marshal wedges between you, holding you both back with outstretched arms. “You pulled that damn stunt! You think you’re untouchable, Verstappen, but you’re not!” Your words echo across the track, catching the attention of everyone nearby.

Max’s lips curl into a mocking smirk. “Untouchable? Coming from the one who can’t seem to finish a race without nearly taking someone out?” His laugh is bitter, biting, and it grates on every nerve you have left.

“When did you turn into such a coward?” you hiss, every word as sharp as the tension in the air. “Or did the idea of losing to me start to get under your skin?”

Max’s face twitches, just for a second, but he covers it up with a shrug, like your words meant nothing. “Get real, Yn. You’re reckless. This sport has no place for someone like you if you’re going to risk both our necks out there.”

But as the marshals pull you apart, each of you going in opposite directions, the heat simmering in your chest turns from anger to something almost painful, a question that’s been lying dormant for too long: When did I start hating him so much?

In the quietness of the shower back in your drivers room, the memories come rushing back.

There was a time when you couldn’t even imagine hating Max. A time that you looked up to Max. You can see it now, your younger self glued to the screen, watching every race, every move he made on the track. Back then, he was a hero, a force you admired, your inspiration as you fought your way through karting, Formula 4, Formula 3.

It was one of those post-race interviews, back in the early days, when a reporter called you “Mini Max.” They’d smiled at you, waiting for your reaction, and you’d laughed, your cheeks flushed as you spoke about how much you looked up to him. It felt like an honor, a small victory, to be compared to him.

But somewhere along the way, admiration soured into frustration. Somewhere along the way, you started to hate him—hate that he seemed so invincible, that he could still overshadow you, that no matter what you did, he was always a step ahead.

Now, the thought of finishing behind him feels like a betrayal to the younger version of you, the girl who once dreamed of standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her hero. No, now it’s no longer enough to be near him. You need to beat him. You need him to feel what it’s like to lose.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

While he was enjoying the off-season, probably relaxing on some distant beach enjoying his winder break, you were here—training, pushing yourself past every limit until your muscles ached, until you couldn’t remember anything but the fire burning inside you. You wanted to be better. You had to be.

You’d already stolen one of his records: youngest F1 driver. But it wasn’t enough. You wanted more. You wanted his wins, his titles, his legacy. Every drop of sweat, every missed social event, every sleepless night—all of it was for one thing: to dethrone Max Verstappen.

“You’re pushing too hard,” your performance coach warned one day, watching you with concern as you struggled to complete yet another lap on the simulator, your hands trembling with exhaustion.

“I’m not stopping until I’m faster than him,” you gritted out, voice strained, but you didn’t let up. You couldn’t. Because every time you closed your eyes, you saw him there, his smirk, his arrogant confidence, and it made you push harder, faster, ignoring every ache and pain.

Pre-season testing felt like a curse. The moment you hit the track, frustration settled in like an unwanted passenger, sitting heavy in your chest as you struggled with the car’s every turn. You needed something perfect, something that could carry you past him, but instead, the car felt like it was working against you, resisting every command.

“Is this really the best we can do?” you snapped at your engineer after another failed lap. Your tone was sharp, the bite in your voice making him flinch.

“It’s early, Yn,” he replied cautiously, not quite meeting your eyes. “We still have time to make adjustments.”

Time? You wanted to laugh, but it felt too bitter. There was no time—not when you could feel Max somewhere on the track, clocking in faster times in his rocketship, his team perfecting every detail while you were stuck here, in a car that felt like it was holding you back.

“It needs to be better,” you said quietly, your voice barely more than a whisper, but every ounce of frustration bled through. “I need it to be better if I’m going to beat him.”

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

As the season began, you avoided Max like he was some kind of curse, the plague even. Every time you saw him across the paddock, your jaw clenched, and you turned away. Every glance he threw your way felt like a challenge, and every interview brought questions you hated answering, questions about him, about your rivalry, about your chances against him.

The roar of the crowd was still pounding in your ears as you climbed out of the car, adrenaline coursing through you as every nerve thrummed with frustration. The race had been brutal—more than it should have been. You’d fought for every inch, every corner, only to have Max come up behind you on that last lap, reckless as always, clipping the side of your car and puncturing a hole right near the rear wing.

You tore off your gloves, tossing them to the side before stepping closer to examine the damage. The deep gouge was blatant against the pristine paint, a mark of just how close he’d come to forcing you out completely. Your fingers traced the edges of the hole, the anger simmering hotter with each second as you replayed the moment he veered in your direction, testing you in a move so blatant you couldn’t ignore it if you tried.

A nearby camera crew caught the scene, the lens aimed in your direction as you ripped off your helmet, pushing damp strands of hair from your face. You barely registered the red light on the camera, too consumed by the frustration boiling over.

“He really had to pull that move, didn’t he?” you muttered, voice dripping with bitterness as you wiped sweat from your brow. “Typical Max. God, he’s such a… such a bitch.”

The words came out low, rough, but it was enough for the camera to catch them, the red light blinking like it was in on the joke, laughing with you, or at you, whichever it was. You let out a huff, half-expecting him, Max,  to have heard it somehow, already imagining his response—a smirk, a raised brow, maybe some cocky comment about how close he’d gotten to overtaking.

As you ran a hand over your face, trying to shake off the rage, you felt someone approaching from behind. You didn’t need to turn to know it was him. Max’s presence was unmistakable, like a storm looming over you, too close, too intense.

“What?” you snapped, finally spinning around to face him. He was already out of his helmet, his blue eyes fixed on you with that unreadable look that made your blood boil all over again.

“What? No ‘thank you’ for keeping it interesting?” he replied, his tone light but his gaze sharper, more calculating.

“Oh, sure,” you retorted, a bitter laugh slipping out. “Thank you for trying to send me into the wall with that last move. Real sportsmanship, Max.”

He tilted his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You don’t seem to mind getting a little aggressive when it suits you. Didn’t think you’d be this sensitive about it.”

“Sensitive?” You stepped closer, eyes narrowed. “That was reckless, even for you. I’m not surprised you’d think putting both of us at risk is somehow a good idea.”

Max’s smirk faded, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “If you can’t handle the pressure, maybe—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, words coming out like steel. “Don’t you dare imply that I can’t handle it. I was still ahead of you, even with that stunt. Maybe you should stop hiding behind dirty tactics and see how long you can actually stay in front without them.”

The air was thick with tension, and you barely noticed the media crew and team members pretending to busy themselves nearby, clearly trying to avoid interrupting whatever this was turning into.

Max let out a slow breath, his expression softening just enough that it threw you off for a second. “Believe what you want, Yn. Just remember who crossed the line first.”

His words were like a taunt, but they left a hollow ache in their wake as he turned, walking away without another glance back. You clenched your fists, feeling the heat of the camera still on you, catching everything.

Fine. Let them see, let them know you weren’t about to let him get away with this. If Max Verstappen wanted a rivalry, then that’s exactly what he was going to get.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The roar of the engines echoed around the track, every corner a battle between you and Max. Your car was an extension of you, a machine honed and perfected for moments like this, pushing you to the very edge as you fought for P1 in the sprint race. Max was right there—just inches away, as relentless as ever. Every overtake, every daring cut into the corner, was met with resistance from him, as if he refused to let you have even an inch of track.

“He’s defending like mad,” one of the commentators said, awe in his voice. “You have to wonder if they’re aware of how much this fight feels like Caesar and Brutus. Max as Caesar, of course, with Yn gunning for him like Brutus.”

Your focus sharpened even further, the comparison strangely invigorating, pushing you to take every move with more aggression. If they wanted a Brutus, they’d get one.

When the race ended, you crossed the line right behind Max, fuming and breathless but satisfied with the chase. It was in the media pen afterward, your mind still replaying every maneuver, that an interviewer brought up the commentary.

“Did you catch what they were calling you out there?” the interviewer asked with a sly grin, clearly relishing in the drama.

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head. “No, what?”

“They called you ‘Brutus.’”

You blinked in surprise, a mix of confusion and amusement flitting across your face before you brushed it off with a shrug. “It’s fitting, isn’t it? Brutus was victorious in the end.” You tried offering, looking at the bright side and giving a small smile, letting the interviewer chuckle as you shrugged off the implication. You knew there was a bite to your words, an edge that hinted at more than a friendly rivalry.

Meanwhile, in Max’s own interview, when they informed him of the new nickname, he barely batted an eye. “Yeah?” he said, cocking an eyebrow. Then he gave a small, careless nod. “It’s fitting, ’cause she’s a brute.” There was a half-smirk on his face, and the way he said it was practically a challenge. You could practically hear his voice, even though you were nowhere near him.

The next day, you stepped onto the track with a new kind of energy, a thrill of anticipation in your veins. As you took your position on the grid, a chant from the crowd filtered into your helmet. You could hear it even over the sound of engines revving, the murmur and shout of the crowd growing stronger: “Brutus! Brutus! Brutus!”

The name had taken hold, and there was something about it that set your blood on fire. You embraced it, straightening in your seat as though you were some kind of warrior, sent with purpose to take down Max. It felt like you weren’t just racing for yourself anymore; you were embodying something larger, a symbol of the one who dared to challenge the reigning power.

You glanced to the side where Max’s car sat in P1, his familiar helmet tilted as he prepped, no doubt hearing the same chant. If he looked your way, you didn’t see it, too wrapped up in the energy that was now backing you. You were Brutus, and you were ready to show everyone, including Max, just how fierce you could be.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Each race felt like peeling back another layer, another page in a book you couldn’t stop reading, even as it tore at you. Max had become everything that drove you—every late-night practice, every reckless risk taken, every corner claimed just an inch sharper. You’d built your entire career studying him, dissecting his strengths, cataloging his weaknesses, carving out a strategy with every heartbeat set to match his.

But that irony twisted in your gut like a knife. It was almost poetic, really: you’d spent years learning him, watching him, emulating him until you’d become something terrifyingly similar. It was as if you’d built yourself in his image, shaped your own ambition around his fire, around the relentless hunger he brought to every race. But the thought was bitter, cold. Every time someone compared you, every time they pointed out how alike you were, it felt like a betrayal.

A betrayal to the younger you, to the version of yourself who’d watched him with awe, who’d traced his lines on paper with stars doodled around his name. The one who had once seen him as a symbol of everything good and pure about racing.

Now, he was nothing more than a hurdle you couldn’t ignore, one you refused to let stand in your way.

But no matter how much it hurt, no matter how much you resented him for being the goal you chased, you couldn’t stop. You wouldn’t. Not until every accolade, every win, every record was ripped from his hands. Not until you stood there, victorious, knowing it was your name on everyone’s lips. Even if it meant becoming the very thing you hated.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The music pulsed, pounding through your chest as you leaned over the bar, nursing your drink with an intensity that bordered on dangerous. Tonight had been supposed to be an escape—a distraction from the simmering frustration that came with finishing just behind Max. Again. You could still feel the clench of your hands around the wheel, the image of him just a few seconds ahead as you crossed the finish line etched behind your eyelids. You wanted to forget it all. Lose yourself to the numbing, pounding bass and the warm haze of alcohol.

But that small sense of victory shattered the moment you caught sight of him across the club. Max. His eyes were on you, his presence impossible to ignore as he stood near the VIP section, laughing with friends, drink in hand. You groaned, tipping your drink back in a quick gulp. Of all the places...

You tried to ignore him, focusing on the dance floor, the bodies swaying around you, anything but the fact that he was watching your every move. But the alcohol mixed with the adrenaline still buzzing from the race, and that tiny, vengeful part of you wanted to prove something—to remind yourself you didn’t need to dwell on Max Verstappen.

But then you felt it: a warm, familiar touch wrapping around your waist. An arm pulling you back gently, firmly, into a chest that you knew too well.

"You know," he murmured, voice low, his breath warm against your ear. "You’re just like me."

The words sent a shiver down your spine, and you hated the way your heart reacted, a mix of anger and something else you didn’t want to name. You tried to wriggle free, stumbling slightly as the room spun around you. “Get off, Max. Go celebrate somewhere else.”

But he didn’t let go, his grip steady, holding you against him. “Come on, Yn,” he whispered, his voice dropping an octave. "Let me take care of you. I'll take care of you."

His words wrapped around you like a taunt, like an invitation. You wanted to resist, to pull away and leave him there, but your head was foggy, your limbs heavy from the drinks, from the heat of his breath. You could barely manage a scowl as he pulled you closer, his hand steady against your waist.

“I don’t need your help,” you muttered, your words slurred but defiant.

“I know,” he murmured, his voice a warm murmur in your ear. “But I’m still here.”

Your mind swirled, the beat of the music fading to a low hum as you let yourself sink into his warmth, barely remembering how you’d stumbled out of the club, your legs unsteady as he led you down the hall to his suite.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The next morning, you woke with a start, your head pounding as the light filtered through the hotel curtains. You groaned, burying your head in the pillow. You weren’t home—this wasn’t your bed. Slowly, memories of last night seeped in, fractured and surreal. The club. The warmth of Max’s arm around your waist. The soft rasp of his voice in your ear.

And then it hit you. The sex, the moaning, the positions, the kissing, biting, fighting, fucking. All of it.

You sat up, rubbing your eyes, only to feel a warm hand on your wrist, pulling you back into the bed. “Leaving already?” Max’s voice was thick with sleep, his blue eyes meeting yours with a soft, unreadable look.

You tried to pull away, the instinct to run screaming through your hazy mind, but he caught your chin gently, tilting your face toward him. “Stay,” he whispered, brushing his lips against yours, soft and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world.

Your mind raced, half of you screaming to push him away, but the warmth of his mouth, the way his hand cupped your face—it was both maddening and disarming. Just for a moment, you let yourself lean into him, your guard down, all your reasons to hate him slipping through your fingers like sand.

The aftermath of the kiss felt like whiplash. Your initial hesitation morphed into pure, seething anger, and you shoved Max’s arm off, pulling yourself away. The alcohol may have clouded your thoughts last night, but clarity came barreling through now, sharp and laced with regret. You needed to get out—fast.

Throwing off the covers, you stormed to the other side of the room, grabbing your clothes off the floor with an urgency that matched your pounding heartbeat. As you shoved your legs into your jeans, Max stirred behind you, still sprawled half-asleep, reaching out as if to pull you back down beside him.

“Yn,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. “Why the rush? It’s not like you’ve got anywhere better—”

“Don’t,” you snapped, jamming your arms into your jacket. Your voice was clipped, your hands shaking as you fumbled with the zipper. “Just… don’t. I don’t know what I was thinking last night. This—” you motioned between you two, fingers trembling with irritation “—this was a mistake.”

Max sat up, that grin fading as he registered your expression. “Wait—hey, just hold on,” he muttered, pushing the blankets off and scrambling to find his boxers. You didn’t wait, storming toward the door, but his voice pulled you up short.

“So you’re really just going to walk out? Pretend this didn’t happen?” He was struggling into his pants, one leg half in as he hobbled after you.

You turned to him, words cutting through the morning air like a knife. “Yes, Max. I’m walking out because that’s exactly what this was—a mistake I’m leaving behind. We’re nothing alike, no matter what you want to think.”

He swayed, one hand against the wall as he finally managed to get his pants on, his eyes narrowing. “Are you sure that’s what this is? Or are you just scared to admit that you don’t hate me as much as you say you do?”

You paused, heart catching in your throat, looking at him for what felt like a minute before laughing bitterly, hoping your pause wasn’t too long for him to notice. Your heart ached. “You’re delusional. The only reason I was here was because I was too drunk to know better.”

Max took a step closer, eyes glinting with a challenge. “Then why don’t you tell me to stay away? Tell me to stop following you. I will, right now, if that’s what you really want.”

You faltered, your gaze flicking to the door, the pull between you both undeniable and frustrating. You could feel his stare digging into you, asking you to turn back, to stop pretending that he didn’t know you better than you wanted him to.

But instead, you gripped the doorknob and turned it, your knuckles going white. You didn’t say anything. Why didn’t you?

And before you let him say anything, you stepped through, slamming the door behind you.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You were sitting on the couch, eyes glued to the screen as another race played out before you. It wasn’t your own; it was one of Max’s races from a few seasons back. Your thumb hovered over the rewind button, your attention focused solely on catching every turn, every move he made. You leaned forward, squinting as you watched his lines, his techniques—any crack in his armor that might finally give you the edge you needed.

Behind you, your mother and father’s voices clashed in the kitchen.

“If you’d bothered to pick up the dry cleaning like I asked—” “Oh, don’t start. Just because you’re married again doesn’t mean you get to dictate my life, Liza.”

You tuned them out. Their back-and-forth was almost as predictable as Max’s lines around a slow corner; it was white noise now, nothing that could break your concentration.

Just as you spotted something—maybe a half-second hesitation in his approach to the apex—your father walked into the room, arms crossed, a smirk on his face as he eyed you and then the screen. He leaned against the doorframe, clearly amused.

“Still glued to that Verstappen kid, huh?” he teased, shaking his head. “I swear, it’s borderline obsession at this point.” He held something up, something that made your heart skip a beat—a familiar little notebook, worn and creased, with your childish doodles on the cover.

You looked at it, your chest tightening. The old notebook you’d kept as a kid, filled with every scrap of information about Max you could find—techniques, race strategies, his overtakes, his lines…everything.

He walked over, dropping the notebook onto your lap with a chuckle. “Remember this? You used to practically idolize him. Stars, doodles, the works,” he said, a slight hint of nostalgia in his tone. “You’d scribble notes while watching his races, your little hero.”

You swallowed, flipping open the notebook slowly. There it was: your handwriting, a little messy but full of enthusiasm, each page packed with observations about Max’s races. “Quick on the throttle here,” “Stellar defense move,” “Perfect line through Turn 4.” Some sections even had little stars around his name, doodles you’d drawn in the margins. Little hearts you hadn’t even noticed you’d drawn. Back then, he’d been like a god to you, the driver you’d wanted to be like, even surpass one day. The admiration on those pages was almost embarrassing now, a reminder of how innocent and naive you’d once been.

“Maybe I used to admire him,” you muttered, closing the notebook with a slight flush. You looked back at the screen, at the Max on the track, now an opponent, someone you wanted nothing more than to beat. “But that was before I knew what he was really like.”

Your dad laughed, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “Sure, sure, whatever you say. Just keep your obsession in check, alright? Wouldn’t want Max to get a restraining order.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t shake the feeling of those old memories lingering. The stars, the admiration—they were still in the notebook, a record of a time when you’d looked up to Max, and in a way, it reminded you of why you’d wanted to race in the first place. But now, you had something more to prove, and none of those doodles and stars could make you forget that.

The notebook lay open in your lap, one page showing a neatly drawn corner with “Max’s line” scribbled beside it. You had been meticulous, even back then, mapping his every turn, his every strategy like they were holy instructions, some sacred blueprint of how to be the best.

“Honestly, Liza, I’m not the one who left the thermostat set to Arctic!” Your dad’s voice cut through the hum.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know I had to run every single thing by you,” your mom snapped back. The sharp clink of a pan hitting the stovetop made you wince, your focus wobbling before you found it again.

You sat down heavily in your sim rig, the notebook clutched in your lap. Flipping through its pages, you skimmed over the small stars and scribbled praises, memories spilling out like ghosts as you stared down at all those words you’d once used to describe Max: quick, flawless, untouchable. A tiny part of you wanted to laugh at yourself; the other part ached, the way you did when you realized something beautiful had soured beyond repair.

You loaded up the AI program, Max’s settings set to the hardest mode. The muffled argument from the kitchen filtered through the walls. Your parents were at it again—voices low but tense, each word prickling at the air, growing louder with each moment.

“And what about last weekend? Who took Kendra to her recital while you were out playing golf with your buddies?” your mom accused, her tone biting.

“Oh, please, because I didn’t already spend hours making sure her car was fixed?”

You shifted your focus to the screen, finally blocking them out as you took off into the first lap. The AI Max was fast—just as aggressive as he was in real life, lunging to take the inside line at every turn, leaving barely an inch between his virtual tires and yours. You held on, matching his speed with ease, remembering every note, every trick you’d taught yourself just to keep up with him. Lap one down. You’d beat him.

“Oh, come on, Frank! If I had a dollar for every time you pulled that excuse,” your mom continued, voice muffled but unmistakable.

“Then go ahead, keep tallying, Liza. I’ve got a list a mile long if we’re counting grudges!” he fired back.

You reset the sim, sending the AI Max to challenge you again. The screen flashed, and you were off, Max’s virtual car zipping ahead as you pushed your own car to keep pace. The tension built lap by lap, each turn taking you closer to a victory over him—even if it was only a pixelated version. A feeling of triumph stirred in your chest as you overtook the AI at the final corner, winning another lap, then another.

Another loud clang from the kitchen pierced the air, followed by your mom’s frustrated,

 “Can we at least agree to stop shouting for once, Liz?”

“Sure, sure, until you find another reason to bite my head off,” 

But by now, it didn’t matter how loud they got; you couldn’t shake the realization sinking in as you felt the weight of the notebook in your lap. You’d beaten him here, again and again. 

Your gaze had dropped back to the pages in your lap, flipping through more of those pages, each one carrying fragments of that old adoration. Back when he was more than an opponent, back when he was someone you idolized, maybe even more than that. You felt your eyes burn as a tear slipped free, catching on your cheek.

You clenched the notebook tightly, fighting to shove down the wave of anger and resentment. When had it shifted? When had this fierce obsession turned into something ugly, something that kept you up at night, wanting nothing more than to knock him off that pedestal and destroy him?

The ache twisted deeper as you whispered, almost to yourself, 

“Why did you have to ruin it, Max?”

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The Abu Dhabi sunset cast an intense glare over the grid, heat rising from the track in waves as the entire circuit buzzed with anticipation. This was it—the final race, the decider. The season had been a brutal, relentless tug of war, and every inch you’d gained had been hard-won, paid for with countless hours and sacrificed peace. Yet all that melted into a charged, quiet tension as you stood on the grid, looking straight into the piercing gaze of Max Verstappen.

He looked calm. Unshaken. A flicker of something unnameable crossed his face as he watched you, that damn smirk just barely tugging at his mouth. It was the same cocky expression that haunted your memories, the one that lit the spark of anger you’d fanned all year. You looked back, hard, steady—fighting the urge to let your lips twist into something bitter. All you wanted, all you needed, was to cross that line first. To watch him falter, just once. You could almost feel the weight of the wish pressing into your chest, every quiet, secret prayer you’d ever made for him to fail. You wanted it so badly that it felt wrong—like holding fire too close to your heart.

Just let him crash, you thought. Just once. You closed your eyes briefly, wishing with all the intensity you’d buried over the years. It was twisted, immoral maybe, but you was past caring. This was yours to win.

The lights went out, and with a roar of engines, you launched forward, you world shrinking to the roar of your own car and the blur of track under your tires. Corner after corner, you battled, inches apart, daring each other to break first. Max was relentless, always in your mirrors, always pushing you to your limits. They danced around each other with a precision that spoke of rivalry, yes, but something more, too—years of watching each other, of studying each other’s moves like rival chess masters waiting for the inevitable mistake.

But it was Max who finally cracked.

A few laps from the end, as you watched him from your mirrors, you saw it happen in real time. He’d miscalculated, his car swinging out too wide, the split-second error sending him straight into the barrier. The force of it made you gasp, the sound of his car hitting the wall ripping through your chest, catching you off guard. Your hand tightened on the wheel, breath coming fast as the seconds dragged on.

“Is he . . . is he okay?” you asked, your voice shaky as you came through the radio. “Max? Is he okay?”

There was a pause, and then your engineer’s voice cut in, calm and steady. “He’s fine, Yn. Focus. Just bring it home.”

Those words, simple as they were, snapped you back into the race. The track blurred around you as you pushed, pushing yourself as hard as your car would allow. When you crossed the finish line, your screams rang out over the radio, your  engineer’s laughter joining you as the reality of it finally sunk in.

“Yn, you did it! You’re the champion!” he shouted, laughter bubbling over the line. “You are the world champion!”

“World champion!” You screamed, slamming your hands on the steering wheel in pure and overflowing euphoria. “Oh my God! We did it!”

You let out another whoop, a wild, unrestrained sound you didn’t recognize. Pulling into parc fermé, you climbed out, eyes bright as you leapt onto you car, your fists thrown in the air as cheers erupted around you. It felt surreal, everything you’d been fighting for finally, finally in your hands. Your team rushed toward you, their faces alight with joy as they lifted you up, your arms outstretched as you soaked in the moment, your heart swelling.

But as you turned to face the crowd, the energy draining just enough for clarity to creep in, your gaze locked on him. Max stood just outside the circle of people, his helmet still in hand, his expression unreadable. You almost froze, the swell of triumph slipping, replaced by something else. You forced yourself to look away, turning back to you team and pulling them in closer, their arms slung around your shoulders as they lifted you onto their shoulders, chanting your name. Their support grounded you, lifting you from the gnawing doubt you hadn’t expected.

As they set you down, your heart hammered, still buzzing from the race. But in that instant, you felt it—a pang of something like regret as you looked at him again, standing alone, just watching you.

Max took a small step forward, a soft, almost hopeful look in his eyes. “Congratulations,— Yn! Congrats—” he called out, his voice barely rising above the roar of the celebration around them.

But you didn’t move toward him. Your team pulled you back into their cheers, and you let yourself be swept up, allowing the thrill of victory to drown out everything else. As your team lifted you onto their shoulders. And as the cameras flashed, the crowd cheered, and your name echoed around the circuit, you held onto the knowledge that you’d won, even if a small, nagging voice reminded you that you’d left something behind in the process.

the Dutch national anthem now plays for you.

this is the longest one shot I've written so far, someone hold me

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗬 𝗪𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗠𝗘𝗥𝗦 - part six lando norris x  fem! streamer! reader (fluff) series summary . . . After unexpectedly making a new friend during a stream, Lando finds himself addicted to playing video games with this girl who he can't get out of his head. His addiction gets worse when he somehow finds himself yearning for her company, eager to spend time with her in any shape or form, whether it's online or maybe possibly in person.

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★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The checkered flag had barely waved before you were sprinting down the pit lane, your heart racing in sync with the pounding cheers around you. Lando’s grin was unmistakable, flashing under the bright sun as he hopped out of his car, helmet still clutched in his hand, curls plastered to his forehead. He looked around, hugging the other drivers and jumping into the arms of his papaya team. And when his eyes met yours once he was back on his feet, it was like the whole world narrowed to just the two of you.

You broke into a run, nearly stumbling over the crowded pit as you made your way toward him. “Lando!” you called out, your voice somehow cutting through the roar of the crowd. His face lit up as you finally reached him, the mechanics around you helping push you to the edge of the fence. Breathless and grinning, he was barely able to believe he’d actually done it.

“I knew you could do it!” you practically yelled, arms outstretched for a hug. But before you could pull him into your arms, his hand cupped your cheek, and then, oh—he was kissing you. Right there, for the whole world to see.

You melted into him, your hands instinctively finding their way around his back, holding onto him like you never wanted to let go. The kiss was soft but exhilarating, like an electric current running straight to your heart. He smiled against your lips, pulling back just enough to look at you, his gaze tender and warm.

“Guess that’s better than a trophy, huh?” he teased softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek. You were reluctant to let him pull away, watching him hug his team principal. After getting all the congratulations, the pats, and everything he needed he came back to you, smiling widely with his shiny bright eyes.

You laughed, a little breathless, feeling warmth flood your face. Lando looked like he was about to say something else when a sudden shout from the sidelines reminded you where you were.

"Podium, podium." He said, holding your hand, trying to pull you over the fence.

"Lando, I don't think—" You squealed, feeling the men around you lift you up and set you down on the other side of the fence. If the Brit's face could get any brighter, it just did. Taking your hand, he quickly pulled you away to the cars for the podium before an FiA official could stop him.

He slid into the back seat, letting Andrea sit in the passenger so he could sit with you, patting the spot beside him, still holding onto your hand as if afraid to let you go. You hopped in, excitement buzzing between you, the roar of the crowd still going strong behind.

But then, his words hit you like a cold splash of water. “You know,” he started, a mischievous glint in his eye, “you just did a face reveal.”

Your hand flew to your mouth as you froze, wide-eyed, heart stopping. “What?!”

He nodded, clearly holding back laughter at your horror. “Yep, everyone’s probably already dissecting every frame of it.”

Looking around frantically, you could see the rows of cameras aimed at lando from the far side, capturing every moment with you in frame with him. You smacked his arm, eyes wide. “Oh my god, why didn’t you tell me?!”

His laugh was bright, so unapologetic it made your heart flip even as you threw your head back in despair. “You were already going for it! What was I supposed to do, stop you?”

“Well, maybe give me a warning!” you scold, though the hint of laughter in your own voice betrayed you. There was no undoing it now. And the way Lando looked at you, so proud, so absolutely thrilled to have you beside him, made you realize that maybe—just maybe—you didn’t really care that much.

Back in his hotel room, you watched Lando still on that high from winning. He was talking a mile a minute as he fumbled around, shedding his sweat-drenched papaya kit and pulling on a more comfortable shirt. His room was scattered with the usual chaos of post-race excitement: caps, shiny medal, half-empty bottles of water, and now the outfit he'd wear to the party later that night, which he tossed to the side with a careless grin.

“There’s still tons of—” he said, breaking off mid-sentence as he bent to pull on a sock and immediately lost his balance. You couldn’t help but burst out laughing as he tripped over himself and landed with a soft thud on the carpet. The sight was a behold. Pantless Lando Norris tripping over his feet. “Tons of time before partying,” he continued, unphased, still on the floor as he gazed at you, love-struck, from below. “We should get dinner.”

Your laughter softened, watching him as he clambered back to his feet, cheeks flushed and eyes shining. His gaze was soft, unguarded, every bit the love-struck fool. You reached out, helping him up, his hand lingering in yours.

“Yeah, of course, we can go wherever you want,” you said, grinning as he wrapped you up in his arms, pulling you close in one of those hugs that seemed to wrap around your whole heart. "just put some pants on."

He buried his face against your neck, letting out a deep, contented noise that rumbled against your skin. “Gosh, I feel complete having you here,” he murmured, his voice muffled but so, so genuine. “In my arms. I’m so glad you came.”

Your heart swelled, and you clung to him tighter, letting out a soft laugh as you nuzzled your face into his shoulder, not wanting the moment to end. His joy, his excitement—everything about him was intoxicating, filling you up until you felt like you could burst with it all.

“You deserve all of this, Lando,” you whispered, voice quiet, almost shy. But it felt right, being close to him like this, feeling his heart beat against yours as the world outside his hotel room blurred into insignificance. "Iust put some pants on."

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗢𝗠 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦𝗜𝗘𝗦, 𝗢𝗣𝟴𝟭 oscar piastri x reader (fluff) how the guys react to you giving them random kisses and affection

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Oscar Piastri is happily surprised by your spontaneous kisses as ever the polite cat he is. His face lights up with joy, and he responds with a longer, more passionate kiss. He always finds himself satisfied hum as he pulls you closer losing himself into you and admiring you as if it was his first time all over again.

Your kiss took Oscar by surprise, but his reaction was pure delight. His eyes sparkled as he leaned in, returning your kiss with even more fervour. He hummed contentedly, prolonging the kiss as his hands gently cupped your face. When he finally pulled back, he was still smiling. "That was a nice surprise," he said softly, leaning in for one more lingering kiss.

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗬 𝗪𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗠𝗘𝗥𝗦 - part five lando norris x  fem! streamer! reader (fluff) series summary . . . After unexpectedly making a new friend during a stream, Lando finds himself addicted to playing video games with this girl who he can't get out of his head. His addiction gets worse when he somehow finds himself yearning for her company, eager to spend time with her in any shape or form, whether it's online or maybe possibly in person.

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Lando looked around cautiously, pulling his luggage along the smooth airport floors to the exit. He pursed his lips with a sigh. Plucking his phone from his hoodie pocket, He pulled the cap on his head further down to avoid being recognised. But you knew it was him right away, jogging over. 

When Lando saw you you could swear his smile was so wide it lit up the whole airport. 

“So good to see you again.” You sigh, greeting him with a little hug. 

“You’ve grown taller.” Lando joked as he hugged you back, sighing internally in relief that he got to hold you again. He’s been spending a lot of his free time ( and his not-so-free time ) on Stardew Valley in hopes of interacting and spending more time with you. But nothing compared to actually being here with you.

The two of you looked at each other with a smile for a few seconds before his eyes caught the watch on your wrist. 

“Oh wow, pretty.” He hummed playfully, lifting your wrist to his ear so he could listen to the ticks of your Richard Mille— which was just an excuse so he could hold your hand.

“Alright, let's go.” Lando nodded, keeping your hand held in his own, the back of your hand pressed to his chest like it was some valuable treasure he feared others might try to steal from him.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“We’re not going to get caught.” You assured Lando as you walked through the huge halls. The Brit was wearing inconspicuous clothes, trying to blend in with university students. You’d had one last lecture for the day and decided to drag Lando along because you didn’t want to leave him alone. This wasn’t Melbourne, “you don't know the place or people around here” was your excuse. Sure, Lando is a grown man and would do fine on his own for an hour and a half but you just wanted to drag him along.

Settling down in a row closer to the back, Lando finds himself getting bored pretty easily. He never graduated secondary school, you can’t expect him to understand the ecology of coral reefs. Leaning his cheek on his fist, watching you scribble notes and diagrams along with formulas with long equations and letters.

He was lucky that fifteen minutes into the lecture he discovered your gorgeous laptop waiting for him in your bag, using the mouse pad so his clicks aren't loud when he plays Fortnite. And when the two students snickering behind him snickered and laughed, he gave them a good glare that probably shut them up. A normal person wouldn’t expect an F1, Lando Norris nonetheless, to randomly be sitting in front of you in your lecture playing Fortnite and then glare at you when you laugh at them. 

When the lecture ended and people started getting up to leave, Lando lowered the laptop screen watching you go over your notes one last time, jotting questions on a stick before stuffing your belongings away and getting up. And just as the two of you were climbing the stairs to leave the room, “Ms. Ln, if I could talk with you for a second.”

Clenching your jaw, you give Lando a look telling him to stay right where he stood while you jog down the steps to your professor. Lando holds the strap of his bag as he watches you talk with your teacher before being handed a nice thick stack of papers. “Oh and Lando,” The man in his early forties called for your friend, rummaging through his book bag.

You found yourself blushing embarrassed at being discovered, not expecting your teacher of all people to recognize Lando. You watched as Lando jogged down the stairs when asked to sign the McLaren hat your professor had pulled out. “Is Yn a good student?” Lando joked with a smile as he drew his name with a Sharpie. “One of the best.” Your professor chuckled, returning your wave as you walked out with Lando.

“I’m pretty sure some kids recognized me so we better kick off.” He said quietly in your ear. With a nod, you checked your watch which gave a smile as it told you the time.

On the bus, you hugged your bag to your chest as you sat beside Lando. “Still can’t believe you don’t have a car.” You chuckled looking up at him with a smirk. 

“What? You’ve never been on public transport?” you tease back.  Lando scoffed. “I rode the train with Carlos once when we were going to the Drive To Survive premier.” He justified folding his arms with a huff. You rolled your eyes playfully. “I don’t mind busing. Doesn’t bother me. Besides, I can’t drive anyway.” You breathe out, leaning back and closing his eyes.

Lando knew you couldn’t afford a car when you called a cap to pick you up at the airport. You're out here on your own and studying in a foreign country, it’s common to not be able to rent or own cars. But never had Lando assumed that you couldn’t drive. He never expected it. And it just felt wrong. The Brit lets you lean your head on his shoulder, watching you scroll through your phone until you fall asleep.

He didn’t move a muscle, keeping a hand around your shoulders to hold your steady during stops or speed bumps. Or maybe he just wanted to hold you close to him. When it was time to get off, Lando was glad you had the trip active on Google Maps so you didn’t find yourself waking up in another city. He held your hand as he walked your still-sleepy figure off the bus and up to your apartment building. He was glad he was holding you again, even if it was just your hand. It made him happy that you didn’t let go.

“My roommate is only here on the weekends so we’re free.” You unlocked the door with your free hand and kicked your shoes off once you entered, the Brit copying your movements. You stretched your hands and body before crouching down to greet the cat that rubbed himself on your ankle. 

Lando chuckled as he plopped on the couch watching you open the fridge and pulling out Red Bull. “Default flavour, Norris?” You ask, tossing him the blue and silver can. Lando caught the drink easily and pulled the tab open with a ‘fzzzz’. Sitting on the couch beside him, you sipped your drink while looking disappointed at the mess of an attempt to build a shelf you had bought a few days prior.

“Sorry for the mess, I would've cleaned up if you told me you were coming sooner. Or should’ve just got it from Ikea where they give instructions.” You sigh, kicking the nails and wood away in hopes of gathering the mess in one spot so it could be forgotten in a corner. Lando waved it off. “You should see my apartment. ” He assured, “I can help you with it later.” He offered and you smiled with a sigh. “I’d love that.” You nodded looking at him. Lando returned your smile.

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“It’s not that hard.” Lando scolded as he slowed beside you, reaching over and fixing the belt around your chest. “Right pedal to go, left to stop.” he reminded. You watched him as he went off in his kart, stopping a few meters away to see if you were following. 

The perks of having Wednesday mornings off are that everyone is at their jobs and the kids are at school, leaving Lando the opportunity to drag you to a karting track in attempt to teach you how to drive. And he was successful, other than the fact that you were sticking to slower speeds than Lando would've liked. 

In the end, you’d stayed three and a half hours instead of the original one and a half. It leaves you feeling dizzy whenever you walk as if you were still driving. 

The walk from the track to was filled with laughter as you held your hands up. Lando wrapped his arm around your waist to keep you from stumbling, pulling you along. The laughing didn’t stop. You snuggled into each other in a cafe booth, sharing a menu.

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[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗦𝗛𝗛𝗛 lando norris x girlfriend! reader (fluff+smut) “. . . you're finally able to attend one of your boyfriend's races and he super exited things get interesting”

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"Lando." "Give me like . . . 5 more hours." The boy was sleeping, curled up on some blankets that he put together. One of the members of his team was trying to wake him up, because you were here. The team had put so much effort into flying you to Monaco, and now, Lando was being too lazy to see his surprise.

You were sitting beside him, but like an idiot, he didn't notice at all. "Alright, I'm out." You yawned, standing up and walking passing by in front of Lando and out the garage.

Lando was still half asleep, he thought he must've been dreaming. Sitting up and looking at your disappearing figure. "Am I- Is she?" He couldn't get a word out, not being able to differentiate between reality and dreams.

The team was laughing at him, gesturing and telling him to go catch you before you leave ( which you would not ). He quickly ran out, stumbling over his feet while looking for you. You, who knew he'd be searching for you like a maniac waited at the entrance where he wouldn't see you.

"Where did she-" "Tag. You're it, mother fucker." You tapped his shoulder quickly before running off. "No fair!" You could hear Lando shout as he tried to catch up to you. The first thing that came to mind was to go into the media pin. What you did not plan was hiding behind max, the blond looking confused as you and lando ran circles around him.

"Max don't just- Y/N! Come here! Max help me." Max chuckled taking a sip of his can, shrugging at the interviewer with a smile. "Max please!" "Max no-" you were to late, once the redbull driver put his hand up to stop you, you were immediately lifted up from your thighs by Lando, who quickly around away with you.

"My girlfriend!" He cheered again and again bouncing you up and down ad he ran through the paddock exited, showing you off to everyone. "The love of my life!" He laughed with the widest smile on his face.

You tried to turn around so you look down at him. You were a laughing mess, you've never seen him this happy. "Lando. Put me down." You said in between laughs as he continued to run around and spin you. "But you'll run away." He argued pouting. "I'll give you a kiss." You bribed with a smirk which made him quickly lower you and hug you by your waist.

His bashful smile spread across his face as he waited for you to kiss him. And you did leaning up and pecking his nose. "Heyyy." He whined trying to kiss you properly. "I never said where, I just told you I'd give a kiss." Lando pouted. "Oh my God, I'm dating a puppy."

You chuckled before you were pushed from behind into a kiss. Lando quickly savored it, cupping the back of your head so you wouldn't pull away. And once you did, you looked back to see Daniel Riccardo and Max Verstappen, standing there, looking around like they didn't do anything.

"Oh! Oh my God. Is that you Y/N? Long time no see." Daniel looked at you, pretending this was his first time seeing you, even though he was standing 2 feet away from you. "How are you, how's uni?"

"Going good." You nodded looking at max who still pretend like he was innocent, looking around nodding at random things. "She's looking at me and I know I'm going to pushed in the pool."

"Yes, she will." You chuckled taking Lando's hand, pulling him along. "So, see you all on Friday?" You nodded ready to leave with the ball of sunshine next to you. "You're not going to spend the day with us?" Max asked gesturing to the redbull garage.

"Yeah marketing has a few games for us to play, you don't wanna join." Daniel added. You've known this group for sometime. After growing up alongside Max on the track and being best friends with Daniel, you met Lando who eased into your life and made a cozy spot for himself.

"I'm sorry guys, but me and Lan have things to catch up on." You looked at your boyfriend smiling. "Back at the hote-" "Ew, aren't you two like 5?" Danny shook his head disapprovingly. "We don't don't need to know." Max scrunched his nose in disgust looking away.

"Max I can hear you and that Porsche driver from across the city." You told him in a matter of fact-ly. "Me and Mijn liefje are not loud." He nudged your shoulder chuckling. You and your ball of sunshine eventually made it out of there, running alongside each other to Lando's apartment hand in hand laughing together.

Running into his apartment, you two started undressing as soon as you shut the door, stumbling over your clothes as you made your way to the bedroom. Lando sat on the bed first catching you as soon as you straddled his lap falling on his back as you two began making out.

Laughs and giggles could be heard between you as hands explored each other's bodies. "Did they grow bigger? I feel like they did." He asked gripping your boobs gently. "Says you Mr. Abs, when did you get these?" You giggled pulling away as you look down at his bare stomach, tracing his muscles.

"Do you like them?" He asked holding your waist and pulling you further closer to him. "The look good on you." You nodded leaning down and kissing his jaw and neck. "Makes you look like a young Greek God." You hummed pulling away.

Intertwining your fingers together, you pinned his hands above his head, aligning yourself with him. The boy could only admire you. "Why are you smiling like that?" You chuckled raising an eyebrow. "What I can't smile at my girlfriend any more?" You giggled, leaning down and kissing him softly.

Lando swallowed the moans that came from your mouth, raising his hips out of impatience. He wanted more from you, all of you. "Slow down. We're not in a rush." You mumbled in between kisses, moans slipping from your lips as you finally settled down all the way. "Yeah but, I want you." He whispered back looking into your eyes.

You only chuckled, kissing him gently before sitting up and brushing your hair behind your back, you settled your hands on the boy's chest leaning forward slightly as you started moving. "Oh fuck, baby." Lando moaned holding your hips to guide you ( more like to touch you ). "You're so tight." He grumbled closing his eyes so he could only concentrate on you.

Much to his dismay, his phone started ringing. Leaning back a little, you peak through the door frame. The phone was in the pile of clothes you created earlier, desperately trying to get your attention. "Noo." Lando whined, hugging your waist and puling you back closer, his mouth found your skin where he took the opportunity to kiss and nibble, leaving marks behind.

You could feel him desperately try to thrust up into you, to get some friction. He moaned your name as you gently played with his curls leaning your head on his shoulder. Although Lando was on the average side, he fit you perfectly, and you wouldn't want no other.

"My love." He stuttered catching your lips. You smiled into the kiss, cupping his name as his hug tightened on you. Moving back a little, you laid you on your back with him on top, quickly wrapping your legs around his abdomen so he can continue with his thrusts.

Moans slipped from your lips as soon as he did. "How did I get so lucky?" He mumbled into your neck making you giggle. Lando's hand was trailing all over your body, exploring and admiring your being when he was interrupted once more. That stupid phone ringing again.

"I'll go get it." You mumbled attempting to break free from his hold. "Lando let go." The boy only held on, whining like a lost puppy. You chuckled kissing his head before breaking free and getting the phone. It was Carlos, which surprized. "Hola." You greeted walking back to bed to the impatient McLaren driver. "Y/N? What are you doing here?" . . . Well you were doing his best friend, but you could leave that part out.

"Doing? Me? Nothing important." You joked which made Lando look at you offended. You chuckled silently as you sat on your boyfriend's lap, holding his shoulders. "Well we might as well invite you too, is Lando there?" Carlos asked. You looked down at your boyfriend who was laying on his back looking at you disapprovingly. "No." You replied giggling down at the boy who only rolled his eyes.

"What's that idiot doing?" Carlos chuckled, as you covered said person with your free hand. Lando looked at you confused. He answered his own question as a moan escaped his lungs. "What was that?" Carlos cut you off hearing the noise. "Lando stubbed his toe. You want to talk to him?" "Yes please."

The brunette was shaking his head aggressively as you handed him the phone, you removed your hand from his mouth as you leaning back, moving again. Your boyfriend could only grip onto your thighs as he arranged plans with his friend. You were a pro at staying silent, unlike the stuttering boy beneath you.

His breaths were getting shorter and faster and he was more out of it with Carlos, holding one of your hands desperately. You knew he was close and you let him have it. "H-hey, I'll call you back." Lando cut off, ending the call quickly.

You could feel him begging for release, grunts and groans escaping his mouth. All he could do was take what you gave him. You could only laugh when his hips stuttered. "You- I- no idea." Failing to put a sentence together, you kissed him gently snuggling into him. "I love you." He finally said. "I love you." You returned kissing his cheek.

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝟱 𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗦𝗘𝗦, 𝗠𝗩𝟭 max verstappen x fem! reader (fluff) “. . . using his five senses, these are his favourite things about you.”

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Sight

his blue eyes appreciate anything and everything you give him.

He already thinks of you as eye candy or an angel right from a rococo painting.

But what it does for him is seeing you do something you enjoy.

If you’re playing video games or playing with his cats.

He sometimes takes videos or photos secretly so he can watch later or just to open and randomly appreciate you when he’s travelling and misses you.

“They’re so pretty,” You giggled as you watched the dolphin swim around in its tank. Max was glad he was already filming your excitement because one of the mammals noticed you and was playing with you. Sliding right and left, Max knew he was going to set the video as his lock screen later if he doesn't record for over three minutes like he always does.

Touch

One of Max's favorite things ever is hugging you or holding you in any way.

It helps keep him grounded other than the fact that you’re warm and he loves having contact with you.

You’re one of the first people he hugs after a race, an anchor helping him return to the world.

You’re the first thing he reaches for when he wakes up in the morning or before going to sleep at night.

It’s also the reason it’s difficult for him to travel without you because you’re his safe person and his source of comfort.

“All we are missing now is-” You paused, lifting your eyes from the shopping list to the hand, trying to uncross your legs. You didn’t question it, sitting properly so the blond can gently hold your thigh as he wished. Max was driving with you in the passenger seat so he couldn’t really turn and see why you paused. “Schat, I can’t read your handwriting- but we need cat food.” Max nodded in agreement, his thumb gently caressing your thigh as he made a left turn.

Smell

One of Max’’s favourite things is when you put on lotion

It has a certain sweet stubble scent that’s quite calming

he considers it your signature scent. only yours.

he also likes it when he randomly smells you on his things, like his shirts or jackts, msybe his controller or his car. it makes him all giddy

He always tells you ‘that smells nice’ and other times he just holds your hand to take a whiff

“Did you put sunscreen on?” You ask as you make sure you packed everything you need. “I don’t need it.” He doesn’t even get to finish his sentence because you already squeezed a bit and started gently rubbing it on his face. Max rolls his eyes for a second before scrunching his nose. “The sun screen covers your lotion.” He complains disappointed, making you playfully shake your head.

Hearing

max adores hearing you calling him pet names,

whether it's something like love, sweetheart, maxie, baby, darling, sweets,

or something sweet in french; amore, mon core, mon cher,

It gets worse if you speak dutch. Liefje, honing, schat, schatje.

It makes his heart go ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum and his thoughts get all tangled up and mushy

"Maxie, Shatje," You call from somewhere far in the apartment, making the blond turn around instantly, his big blue eyes searching for you and your voice. He hopped out of his chair and abandoned his sim in favour of finding you. “Amour?” “Yea?” “Liefje, can you zip up this dress for me.” Oh you got him right in his excited heart.

Taste

Max is not a huge coffee or juice drinker. All he ever drinks or needs are in his protein shakes or his red bull fridge.

But if you’re making a smoothie or experimenting with coffee and offer him a sip for his opinion or to show him how good it turned out,

he takes it as an honor,

especially if he’s drinking it out of your hand.

“Woo!” is the first thing he hears from the kitchen a few seconds after the loud noise of the blender stops. He peeks his head out of the bathroom still wet from his shower when he hears your excited hops/sprinting to his direction. “Maxie!” You hold up the glass with the pinkish smoothie he can assume is strawberries and something else. “Try?” You offer, and Max doesn't hesitate to lean forward, taking a sip, his eyes lighting up at the taste of bananas and a hint of mandarin. “That’s too good, I’m keeping this,” He teases, gently taking the glass from your hands, continuing to drink the smoothie while you follow the half-naked dutch in protest.

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗪𝗜𝗥𝗘𝗗 𝗜𝗡? - part two max verstappen x reader (fluff) “. . . when he wants to be normal, he can count on you, stranger.”

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“Come on, you can’t say he has so much potential!” Max miserably tried to hold in his laughs as you continued your rant about how much better Max would look if he put a little more effort or thought in how he dressed. 

“I’m honestly starting to think he’s allergic to wearing anything . . . not Red Bull related. Like even in his streams! In his home!” 

Sitting in front of his laptop with a makeshift setup in the hotel room in Japan, Max found himself unwinding from the earlier media day when he gladly accepted to join you for a game of Fifa. It wasn’t until someone brought up Lewis’ outfit from this morning did you start your little ted talk. 

“La, please concentrate on the game, we’re losing!” he couldn’t stop laughing either so your team was toast either way. 

“No, because I bet he's wearing his Red Bull shirt right now wherever he is.”

The reason why Max was no longer able to hold it together was because he was indeed in a Red Bull shirt. He might actually take you up on being allergic to anything not associated with Red Bull.

“I’ll gladly design a few outfits for him, I swear!” 

“La-” Max put his face in his hands, shoulders shaking from laughter as his screen showed the opposing team scoring a goal. The dutch would usually feel frustrated if he were to be losing a Fifa game in any other situation, but not this one with you.

He's ready to lose and lose again, even give up his title as one of the world's top twenty Fifa players if he gets to spend time with you like this, laughing and joking; forgetting the world around, so it's just you and him.

Just two people . . . being people.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Since I have no one to show, you're stuck with me.” 

It’s kind of been a routine now, having a private call after a game or upon finding spare time. You two have gotten close. You even considered “amilian” to be a close friend, per say. A close friend who you regularly vent to about work or just randomly ask riddles or dad jokes to bother.

You enjoyed his company. He was a fun person to be around. He made you feel . . . yellow in a type of way too. You never felt left out or unheard. He always had time for you, it's like you were maybe gravitating to being more than close friends . . . it's not like you can do anything about it though.

Surely people make close friends online all the time. 

You stay up on your couch, scrolling through the settings of your laptop to show and rant despite having to get up in the morning. Max crossed his legs on his chair folding his arms and watching the screen as you messed around on your shared screen.

“La, it’s late.” He’s been trying to tell you for the past 10 minutes. It’s 6:30 in Japan, 7 hours ahead of the time in Paris, where you were. 

Not that he’s keeping track of the time where you were, it’s just that you shared the same time zone as Monaco, and he only had the GMT+2 clock displayed on his home screen because he needed to keep track of his cats . . .  not too make sure you got enough sleep or anything of that sort.

“It's only 11:30,” you shushed, pulling up pinterest. Max hung his head, trying to hold in his smile. “I could put together a whole outfit that would suit him right here and now,”

“La,” Max giggled watching you actually start to search and put things together. “I’ll make a deal with you, if you go to sleep, I'll try to get Max Verstappen in baggy jeans,” 

“WHAT?!” the blond flinched at the loud noise, looking around his hotel room to make sure no one heard anything -- despite him being alone. 

“You know I work in F1 right?” Max followed up, trying to hold in his smile at your silence. “La, you forgot?!” 

“I’m sorry!” you pleaded, holding your hands in a begging motion despite him not seeing anything.

Max put his hand on his chest and pretended to be offended when he was smiling really wide to the point his cheeks hurt. “My best friend doesn't know what I do for a living,” he gushed in fake hurt. 

Your mind blanked at the title. Best friend? 

“You do know what my job is, right, La?”

“. . .” You looked away embarrassed, you’ve known the guy for how long and don’t even know what his profession is. 

Max couldn’t stop his giggles. “Go to bed, La. I’ll get Max in baggy jeans for you.”

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Hey um, million?” 

“I thought I told you to go to bed?” Max chuckled, crouched in front of his suitcase, digging through it in hopes to find a pair of baggy jeans or a white shirt that he probably doesn't own. 

“I am in bed technically . . .” The blond looked over to his laptop on his desk, the call still going. “You work in F1,” Max felt his heart jump in anxiety for a second, there's no way you figured him out. 

“Yeah?”

 “Well um . . . my boss chose me to go see how things were going with McLaren at the Monaco gp,” 

The dutch perked up at your announcement. “Really? That's great!” 

“Y-Yeah, it is,” you stuttered, agreeing. you crossed your arms, looking at the email congratulating you on your phone screen. “I mean, I'm glad, this is an experience of a lifetime. I get to drag along a few interns with me as well.” Max frowned, your tone did not match with the news you were announcing.

“What's wrong?” He got up, sitting on the desk chair, looking at your profile picture, the concern was clear in voice, as if you could feel him sitting beside you on your bed and gently rubbing your back to comfort you. 

“Well, I don't have anyone to go with - the interns don't count . . . and I don't know anyone in Monaco or the attendees-- except you technically . . . I haven’t been on my own for that long before,” you sighed.

Max furrowed his eyebrows, trying to decipher what you were asking of him.

“Is it-” you cut yourself of with a sigh. “Can I hang out with you sometime? During the weekend?” Max stayed silent, feeling his heart pounding to the point he was scared the organ would explode out of his chest. 

“I mean,” Max cleared his throat to hide the crack in his voice that arose from the anxiety he was drowning in. “I’m not traveling with the team every weekend, so I'm not sure if I'm going to be in Monaco . . . I’ll have to ask my boss.” he replied quietly and slowly, trying to comfort you still. “There’s still a few weeks before Monaco, so . . . I don’t know for sure.” He whispered, scratching the back of his head.

He was digging himself a grave. Asking Horner if he’s going to be in Monaco when he is the driver and already lives in Monaco? It’s too late now to be honest about who he is, he dug this hole himself and now he’s stuck in it.

It’s not like he can be like ‘oh, yeah of course you can hang out with me. Oh, I’m Max Verstappen by the way, the guy who’s driving the best car and winning all the races, so I can get you VIP tickets and a hot lap too if you want.’

“I’ll try my best to be there,” the blond whispered. You could almost feel him brushing your hair comfortingly. “We can get ice cream or go sightseeing. I know this really good cafe you’ll like . . .” Max will just have to keep digging his hole.

proof reading credits to the lovely and amazing @classiclitfreak <3

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[dreamauri]

i love your seb fics sm 😭😭 pls write more!

♪ — 𝗦𝗟𝗢𝗪 𝗗𝗢𝗪𝗡 rbr! sebastian vettel x fem! rally driver! reader ( fluff ) fic summary . . . when the redbull media team gather their golden f1 and rally drivers for a promo video, only chaos will follow the couple when they try to drive a hot lap around the historical nordschleife.

( master list | more of sebastian vettel ) ( requests | taglist )

“I’m driving.” You called dibs, darting to the driver’s side, only for you and Seb to collide at the door, both fighting for it. “I wanna drive,” he argued, a mischievous glint in his eye as he tickled your side, right where you couldn’t hold back a laugh. It was unfair, and he knew it. You squealed, reflexively jumping back just enough for him to dive into the seat and reach for the seatbelt.

“That was cheating!” you grumbled, grabbing onto his arm and trying to tug him out before he could buckle up. But he was already settled, flashing you a bright, unbothered grin as he clicked the seatbelt securely.

“Guess the driver’s seat was calling me more than you,” he teased, reaching over to ruffle your hair before you swatted him away, reluctantly slumping into the passenger seat.

“Just don’t kill us, okay?” you said, pressing your back into the seat, the Nordschleife track stretching ahead of you in a foreboding line of twists, turns, and blind corners.

Seb shot you a look. “Me? Never.” He winked, hands sliding over the steering wheel, a smooth kind of confidence radiating from him. “You know, you’ll be safe with me,” he added with a grin that made your stomach twist.

“Mhmm,” you muttered, voice heavy with doubt as you fumbled for your seatbelt, the straps feeling somehow flimsier than usual. You knew the Nordschleife's reputation—a dangerous beast of a track with over seventy corners. And as a rally driver yourself, you were no stranger to risks. But something about sitting in the passenger seat, entirely at someone else's mercy, made your skin prickle.

He turned to you with that playful smirk, obviously enjoying your apprehension. “Want me to hold your hand?”

You stared at him. “Sebastian, keep your hands on the steering wheel,” you warned, voice edged with a little panic, even as he laughed, giving the wheel a reassuring pat.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, glancing over at you with an exaggeratedly serious expression.

“Yes, yes, I trust you, now just go!” You smacked his shoulder, only for your hand to stay there, gripping his sleeve as if it was somehow keeping you safe. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Seb grinned, a spark of mischief in his eyes as he took off, his foot pressing down on the accelerator. You felt the engine roar to life, the sheer power of the car echoing through your bones as he navigated the first few corners with that natural ease only he seemed to possess. You couldn’t help but squeeze the edge of your seat, your fingers finding the dashboard and clinging to it for dear life.

“Yn, you’re holding onto that dashboard like it’s your last lifeline,” Seb chuckled, his eyes focused ahead, but you could see the amusement dancing at the corners of his mouth.

“Oh, you think this is funny?” you huffed, pressing your foot down on a very non-existent brake pedal, your nerves doing somersaults as Seb took another sharp turn with way too much finesse. “There’s a difference between watching you on TV and actually being here, Seb! If I was driving, this would be easy.”

Seb let out a mock gasp, pretending to be hurt. “Are you doubting my skills?”

“No,” you muttered, though the reassurance was mostly for yourself. “Just saying that passenger seat syndrome is real, alright?”

His laugh echoed through the car as he took another corner, this one sharper than the last, and you felt your body press against the side of the seat, fingers digging into the fabric. He reached over as if to pat your leg in reassurance, but you smacked his hand back toward the wheel.

“Hands! On! The wheel!” you shouted, barely containing your nervous energy.

He was full-on laughing now, a sound that should’ve been comforting, but only made your heart pound louder. “You’re cute when you’re nervous, you know that?”

“Sebastian!” you half-shouted, half-groaned, closing your eyes as he sped through yet another tricky section of the track, the car dipping into a turn so tight you could feel the weight shift under you. Each time he maneuvered through a turn, your stomach did flips, and each time he pressed down on the accelerator, you clutched his sleeve a little tighter, whispering an unintelligible jumble of prayers and swear words.

He seemed to be enjoying every second, driving with the calm of a man used to pushing the limits, as if he hadn’t just driven you to the edge of your patience. And yet, in his hands, every turn felt smooth, calculated, like he could do this with his eyes closed.

“Almost done, love,” he said, throwing you a quick grin. “Unless you want to go another round?”

You rolled your eyes, panting as the finish line came into view. “If you don’t stop this car, I’m breaking up with you.”

“Oh, we’ll see about that,” he teased, finally easing up on the gas as he brought the car to a gradual stop, the adrenaline rush leaving you buzzing even as the tires rolled to a halt. The second you were safe and still, you practically ripped your seatbelt off, pushing the door open and leaping out as if the car was still on fire.

You staggered a few steps, hands on your knees as you caught your breath. The film crew stood nearby, chuckling to themselves, and you glared at them.

“Don’t you ever put me through that again!” you shouted, chest still heaving as you straightened, trying to reclaim any ounce of dignity you might have had before this hot lap.

Seb climbed out after you, a grin wide as a Cheshire cat’s, strolling over as if he hadn’t just hurtled you through one of the most challenging tracks in the world at breakneck speed. He stopped beside you, leaning in close. “Now you know how I feel when I’m your navigator in rallies.”

You shot him a look, biting back a laugh. “Not. The. Same.”

“Oh, totally the same,” he insisted, feigning hurt. “I mean, rally cars, trees inches away, dirt roads, blind turns, and somehow you expect me to sit there and just… chill?”

You snorted, crossing your arms, still recovering. “You’re not in control. That’s why you freak out. But as soon as I’m driving, it’s like I can breathe.”

He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into a half-hug. “Well, next time, you can show me how to do it.”

“Oh, don’t you worry.” You flashed a grin up at him, already planning the many ways you’d remind him of this little ordeal.

Sebastian laughed, pulling you closer until your heads touched, both of you catching your breath, the adrenaline still lingering. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and it softened everything, the nerves, the thrill, the ridiculousness of the whole situation.

“So, you wanna go for another lap?” he asked, eyes twinkling with mischief.

You pulled back, hands up in protest. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

He smirked. “Then let’s go find lunch. I’d hate to see you faint on me.”

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗪𝗜𝗥𝗘𝗗 𝗜𝗡? - part one max verstappen x reader (fluff) “. . . when he wants to be normal, he can count on you, stranger.”

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One of the things Max Verstappen despises about being Max Verstappen is being Max Verstappen. Three time world champion, youngest race winner, mad max, f1 dominator, all the fame and media and people following him around. It's very hard to get a moment of peace or be treated normally. When people hear his name they either put on big smiles or ugly frowns. He hates the special treatment.

He misses when he could have a conversation without people recording or judging him. Without people whispering about him, or fake being his friend for whatever fame. When people would just spend time with him for the sake of spending time, or having a conversation for the sake of friendly socialization and conversation. Luckily though for the Dutch, in this day and age, Max could just enter a spare email in Discord and make a second lowkey account.

The pfp was a random photo of Max, a meme. Lowkey enough, Max decided after staring at the profile long enough before opening DiscoBoard. After scrolling and searching, he was dawned upon with a relatively small server with only 280 people online, surrounding sim racing. After he followed instructions on the welcome page like verifying he's not a robot and picking roles, he got his first ping. 

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Max met you in August of 2022. The way you talked and messed around with him got him constantly checking his phone for notifications over the next months. The way you befriended him and were relaxed around him once the two of you got to know each other, it kept him sane. And although Max didn't really reveal a lot about himself except that his work required a lot of traveling and effort, you trusted him enough to share about your own life up in France, ranting about your weird encounters as an employee at Cisco.

The blonde’s favorite part about getting home was plopping in his gaming chair and switching his Discord accounts. Pulling his headphones on and navigating through the server, he joined the active voice chat. It was as if he was switching lives, turning off Max Verstappen to be an irrelevant 26 year old.

“A millioooon.” you sang like you always did, a nickname you’d given him since amilian sounded like a million. 

“Laaaaa.” Max sang back with a chuckle before greeting the other acquaintances present on the call. 

“How was your weekend?” You hummed. 

“Same as always. Maybe a bit shittier this time.” He sighed, seeing you were on Gran Turismo from your shared screen. 

“I’d love to beat up someone for you.” You always offer when he’s down. The blonde would laugh and shake his head even though you can’t see. You never cease to bring him a smile with your tone and jokes and hearty aura, despite being kilometers up north. "We're waiting for Josh to take a few rounds around spa, you wanna join?" 

"Oh, yes please." friendly racing with no consequences, points or championship? just friends messing around and enjoying themselves? Yes please.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"You see the new verstappen photos that just dropped, Mr. Max Verstappen nerd?" Max looked up from his phone, eyebrows furrowed as he looked at your dm chat where the two of you decided to move the call once everyone else put down the steering wheel for the night.

"This one is from Bahrain I think . . . you know, I'm starting to take a liking to him." Max rolled his eyes playfully at your words. "To be honest, I was kind of disappointed this weekend." Max rubbed his eyes, looking up at your profile picture. 

"Why what happened?" He asked even though he probably knew all too well the events of the Australian grand prix.

"Max DNFed on the third or fifth lap." You sighed. 

"Oh yeah?" Max hummed, pursing his lips, not wanting to recall the memories. "What's so bad about that? I thought you were a die hard Charles fan?" he asked. 

"Excuse you, I'm a die hard Fernando fan." You joked in a sassy tone which pulled a chuckle from him.

"What is it about Max DNFing that is bothering you then?" Max himself asked, putting his phone down to concentrate on your voice. 

"I just don't—" you sighed deeply. On your end of the call you rolled back in your chair, getting up and flopping on your bed with your phone in hand.

When you did answer his question, all Max heard was mumbles because your voice was muffled by your pillow. "Can't hear you, La. Aren't you happy about the Carlando podium? You were so happy about it last year." 

"I am happy, I am. But Max . . . well Max . . . i don't know." you grumbled frustrated. "He's such a good driver, and deserves a lot— he works really really hard."

Max never thought he'd hear you talking about him like that. He'd usually hear other people on the server dissing him and cursing him. And although you were always mostly neutral with the drivers, the way you spoke about Max tonight melted his heart. It also felt very wrong.

While you turned and laid on your back, staring up at the ceiling of your room, venting your feelings about a driver who you thought didn't know you existed, said driver folded his arms on his desk and leaned forward, resting his chin on his arms listening to you vent about how much you were amazed and proud even though you don't know him personally or him not being your favorite driver.

Max glanced up at his monitor as you sighed to gather your thoughts. "Sometimes when i look at him, he reminds me of myself. I never really got to go past karting, but for some reason I see a little bit of y/n in him." 

"—Y/n?" He sat up hearing the name. 

"I—" You face palmed upon the realization.

 "Is that your name?" Max asked. You nodded briefly with a sigh but he couldn't see.

"Unfortunately." You sighed. "Weird name, I know—" 

"I like it." He reassured. "It's not like Amilian is any better." he tried to lighten the mood, working slightly. 

"A million." you giggled making him chuckle back. 

"A million, " he repeated quieter, a small smile on his face as he leaned his chin back down on his arm.

Such a foolish thing to do, taking a liking to a woman you've never met.

Voice notes . . . ( my brain is like a zoo rn, starting projects and not being able to track anything while working on everything at the same time ) Word count - ( 1, 165 ) credits for proofreading -> @classiclitfreak (check out their blog!!)

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝟱 𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗦𝗘𝗦, 𝐒𝐕𝟓 rbr! sebastian vettel x fem! reader (fluff) “. . . using his five senses, these are his favourite things about you.”

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 Sight

Sebastian is convinced you're beautiful and he's lucky to have you.

Your smile and eyes are priceless compared to all the art works in the world combined. And therefor, it's only fitting for you to wear the most exquisite of brands and jewels.

he loves seeing you in things he buys. clothes, dresses, sunglasses heels

it makes him feel satisfied that he could make you shine despite you already being brighter than the sun and prettier than Saturn and the moon.

Sebastian loves to spoil you just as much as he loves admiring you

So when you wear a dress he buys you, he can't help ut forget the world around him and admire the Greek goddess he's been blessed with

"That's a pretty anklet." Sebastian hummed as he sat on the couch beside you, nuzzling his nose in the back of your neck as he gently brushed your hair into a ponytail because it was flying everywhere from the windy beach. You giggled feeling ticklish as his fingers traced down your legs to the jewellery he had bought you a few days ago.

"My boyfriend got me it. This bikini too." You giggle as you share a soft peck before standing up and down a little twirl. Sebastian couldn't supress his smile as he held you waist and puled you closer, kissing the belly button piercing.

Touch

 it gives sebastian peace of mind knowing that he's your safe spot

being the person who can keep you safe eases his mind.

he loves it when you hug him or hold his hand. that you come to him for solace.

he'll hold you close when you crawl into his chest and will cuddle you after a long day of work.

Sebastian loves to run hands through your hair and leave small soft kisses all over your head and hands, rubbing your back as he holds you close in his embrace

"Well hello." Sebastian smiled, lifting his arm to see you from where you were hugging him from behind. You wrapped your arm around his waist with a smile, getting on your tippy toes for a kiss the German didn't hesitate to give.

"Are you going to be stuck to me the while night, Meine Liebe?" [my love] He asks feeling you nuzzle your nose in his back. "Do you not want me to?" You ask and Sebastian shakes his head, gently holding one of your hands and stroking your fingers as you melted into his figure.

Smell

Your perfume always lingers on Sebastian since you cling to him so much, a comforting reminder of your presence and affection.

It's a subtle mix of sugar and blueberries, a scent that clings to his clothes and bedsheets, making him feel close to you even when you're not around or he's away.

Every time he catches catch a whiff of it, he's reminded of your comforting aura and hugs and the way you whisper sweet nothings in his ear as you play with his hair when it's your turn to big spoon.

This scent becomes a part of his everyday life, making mundane moments feel special. Especially if other drivers or co-workers smell feminine perfume on him and ask. he goes on a whole rant about you.

Sitting at your vanity, you smile as you spritz a bit of perfume on your wrist. He walks by, catching the scent, and grins like an exited puppy. "Can I have some?" he asks as if he's not going to tangle his body with yours in a few minutes. "Seb." You laugh as he couches down so you can put some on his neck. Instead, he got a kiss to his cheek, which made him feel all fluffy, leaning his head on your shoulder as if he was melting into you.

Hearing

Sebastian's curses in German are a familiar sound in your home. He loves cursing, so doing it in German has become the norm. it's gonna be sooner or later that you catch on and join in too.

Swearing is way of expressing frustration, but it often makes him laugh because he never expects it from you and that he actually loves that you're speaking german (even if it's bad words.

"Scheiße." [fuck] Seb found himself smiling, looking at you as you struggled with the pickle jar. "What was that, mein liebe?" he giggled, leaning his forearm on the kitchen island. "Was zum Teufel ist los mit dir? Why won't you just open?" [what the fuck is wrong with you] You huffed shoving the glass in Sebastian's chest chest. "Here since it's so funny, you take it."

Seb could'n't hold his laughs in as he unscrewed the lid of the jar easily. Loud curse words ensued as you watched him do what you've been struggling with "Fuck you." you smacked his chest, taking the pickle jar and plucking one of the pickled cucumbers before screwing the lid back on.

"No no noo." Seb whined , hugging you from behind with a pout. "Go back to the German. Please?" The blond stuck out his bottom lip in plead with his blue puppy eyes. "Nein." [no] you huffed angrily munching on your veggie.

Taste

Every kiss Sebastian shares with you is a sensory haven, but nothing beats the taste of champagne on your lips after a celebration

When you get a taste of the podium champagne bottle, Sebastian makes sure to pull you closer to taste the alcohol once more, only it's from your tongue this time

The flavour mingles with his senses, creating a delicious blend of saliva and expensive bubbles that's intoxicating

He can always tell when you've had a glass, the taste lingering long after the kiss ends sends his heart in whirlwind and tongue yearning for more

These moments remind you of victories celebrated and moments cherished together

After a long-awaited victory, Sebastian pulled you into a kiss, the taste of champagne lingering on his lips. "You taste like celebration," He whispered, smiling against your ips. "That's because every moment with you is worth celebrating," You hum, kissing him again, the taste of champagne and love blending perfectly.

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗗𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗠 𝗕𝗢𝗬 carlos sainz jr. x singer! reader (fluff) “. . . there's no reason to hide after word gets out that carlos is dating a musician.”

( general master list | more of carlos sainz ) ( requests )

y.ln

liked by carlossainz55 kakiara and 35.6k others y.ln had a wonderful night at vancouver, thank you for having me ❤️

user you were amazing out there y/n!

user i miss her already, can't wait to see her again soon ↳ user luckyy i wanna go😭

user carlos thinking he can hide in the comments ↳ user we see you carlos 👀 ↳ user sh! you'll scare him off!

user y/n singing dream boy means everything to me ↳ user means more knowing carlos was in the crowd listening ↳ user mans got good taste

user not y/n fans discovering f1 bc of carlos ↳ user we can't gatekeep him anymore😔 ↳ user WE CAN'T GATEKEEP THE WHOLE GRID ANYMORE, THET'RE COMING FOR LANDO AND CHARLES NEXT ↳ user 😭

C² Challenge | Quickfire Games with Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz!

carlossainz55 posted a story, carlossainz55 deleted a story, carlossainz55 posted a story to close friends

youruser posted a story

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voice notes 🔊 . . . ( fighting my adhd med's forced non creativity with smaus, WHY DID THIS TAKE ME SO LONG (i need dopamine, does anyone have some spare for me plz?)

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗦𝗛𝗘 𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗬𝗦 𝗕𝗔𝗦𝗦 lando norris x fem! reader (fluff) fic summary . . . Lando’s taken drumming lessons before, but he wouldn't say he’s good enough to play in a band which he somehow got dragged into during celebrations after Monaco. But he wasn’t regretting it. No, no. For in turn, he got dragged into your life thus leading to him helping you with your next music album and getting credit for it.

( main master list | more of lando norris ) ( tag list | requests )

Lando didn’t expect Monaco race day to be anything more than the usual blur of fast cars and faster nights, but here he was, wedged between his friends at a tiny table in the corner of a small club, watching the chaos unfold around him. The music thumped through his chest, and the air smelled like sweat, alcohol, and something faintly floral—someone’s perfume, maybe.

His drink was half-empty when she—you burst through the crowd like a storm, your eyes wide and frantic, sweat dripping down her temple. You were the kind of person whose energy filled a room, even though you were clearly seconds away from a meltdown. Lando’s first thought was that you were beautiful, but his second thought quickly followed—you look like you’re going to explode.

"Hey!" You shouted to a group of standing women, trying to be heard over the music. Your voice was desperate, scanning the room like you were searching for a lifeline. "Does anyone here play drums? I need a drummer—like, right now."

Lando would’ve stayed quiet, would’ve kept his head down and let the night continue to slip by, but his friends—those traitors—had other plans.

"Lando plays!" Max’s voice cut through the air, far too loud, far too quick. Lando snapped his head toward him, eyes wide, silently screaming what the hell, mate?!

The girl—you—Yn, as you introduced yourself between hurried breaths—zeroed in on him, relief washing over her face. "You do?" You asked, as if he’d already said yes, like he was her last hope.

Before he could even form a response, your hand was around his wrist, warm and a little slick with sweat. "Come on," You urged, tugging him toward the exit. "Please, just follow my lead."

Lando’s body moved, though his brain lagged behind. He wasn’t ready for this—not at all—but one look at you, with your flushed cheeks, wild hair, and eyes full of determination, and he knew he was done for.

“I don’t know how to read notes,” Lando shouted through the crowd as you dragged him out of the music and to the smaller jazz club across the street.

“You don’t need notes, it’s just a basic beat.” You assured, glancing back at the group of friends who laughed as they followed to watch what would become of the night.

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As the music started, Lando found his rhythm. It was simple enough—just keep the beat, follow her cues—but as soon as the words started the flow out of your mouth, he was gone. 

“You ought to know that. I think we're one and the same. I don't think we could help it. No, I don't think we could help it.” Your voice was raw and soft, like it was carrying all the desperation and adrenaline you’d been running on, strumming your bass. It wrapped around him, tugging him into the song, and suddenly, he wasn’t just keeping time—he was playing for her—you. He was playing for you.

His heart pounded in time with the drums, syncing with the rise and fall of your voice. There was something magnetic about your presence, like you were pouring everything you had into the music, and Lando couldn’t help but be pulled along. The way you moved, how your eyes would flick toward him every now and then, how you fingers danced across the strings of your bass—it was mesmerizing.

“If I told you, you know how to. Go and break my heart in two. 'Cause I would anyways. We'd end up like always.”

By the time the song ended, his chest felt tight, and his hands trembled slightly as he set the drumsticks down. You gave him a quick, breathless smile as the small crowd cheered, the obvious immature cheers of his friends coming from the back the sound of applause felt distant, drowned out by the racing in his head.

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Backstage, You found him in a quiet corner, your breath still coming in short bursts. Lando thought you were glowing, a mix of relief and lingering panic painted the expression on your face. You hands brushing through her damp hair as you caught her breath.

"Thank you," You said, your voice a little quieter now, but still tinged with the adrenaline from earlier. You smiled—small, genuine, a little shy, and Lando felt his heart do something weird, something it had no business doing after one performance.

"You were amazing," he blurted, feeling his cheeks heat up the second the words left his mouth. "I mean, you really . . . wow."

You let out a breathy laugh, brushing your fingers over your guitar strap. "I couldn’t have done it without you. You were great, really. Maybe I’ll need a drummer more often."

Lando couldn’t stop staring at her, the way your skin still glistened with sweat, how your chest rose and fell as you caught your breath, and the soft, appreciative smile you gave him. His friends would never let him live it down, but he didn’t care.

"Anytime," he said, feeling a sudden rush of boldness. "You, uh . . . you ever need a spare drummer, I’m your guy. I mean, I’m usually busy—and I’m not the best drummer in town, but I can always make time."

Your eyes glimmered with amusement as you look up at him, lips quirking in a knowing smile. “As far as I know I’m not going there anytime soon,” she said lightly, eyes dancing with a certain spark—softness, gentleness, something he couldn’t put a finger on. "I heard you’re in Canada next week," You shrug.

Lando blinked, surprised. "You . . . you know who I am?"

You shrugged again, still smiling as you slung her guitar over your shoulder. "It’s Monaco," she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I watched the race from my window. Your engine’s too loud, I couldn't practice."

Before Lando could say anything else, you flashed him one last grin and waved, slipping away. He stood there with his heart pounding and his mind racing, already missing the sound of your voice.

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twitter

Yn Ln posted a story // DMs: Lando + Yn

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The music store was overwhelming—rows of guitars and basses, all gleaming under the soft lights. You moved between them with purpose, fingers skimming over the strings like you were testing each one for its soul. Lando followed a step behind, watching you, completely transfixed.

“You sure you don’t want this one?” he asked, pointing to a papaya-colored bass with a grin.

You rolled her eyes but smiled at him, shaking her head. “Not a chance.”

Lando pouted, pretending not to feel a little disappointed, though he had no idea why. He watched her pick out a sleek, bright green bass, the kind that suited the band perfectly.

As they left the store, You glanced at him, her eyes soft but playful. “You know, I’ll probably need your help tuning this. You’re the drummer, after all—backbone of the music and all that. I need one right now.”

Lando’s breath hitched. He quickly covered it with a laugh, putting his hands in his pockets. “Guess that makes me indispensable, huh?”

Your smile lingered, gaze holding his for a moment longer than necessary. “Guess so.”

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Lando slumped back into his chair beside Max Fewtrell in his streaming room, feeling the fatigue of the past few weeks finally catch up to him. Between races and trying to stay close with you, his brain hadn’t really had a chance to turn off. Not that he minded, especially when your voice kept looping in his head, your melodies like a constant hum under his skin. Max, completely focused on the game in front of him, was cussing into his mic, the volume of the room matching the frenetic energy on the screen.

Lando wasn’t paying attention, though. Instead, he was tapping out a rhythm on his leg, his mind drifting. Before he even realized it, he was humming. Soft at first, but then the tune started taking shape, the melody sneaking out between his lips.

It was the one You had been working on earlier in the week—a soft, soulful tune you had played on your bass, one he begged you to record and send him. He could still see you, brows furrowed in concentration, fingers moving with precision, creating something that was slowly becoming more than just notes. 

And with your melody playing in his head, he was too lost to ice the words spilling from his mouth. “She plays bass, she plays bass. Nothing matters cause we’re both in space.”

“Dude,” Max called suddenly, yanking Lando out of his daydream.

Lando blinked, realizing he’d started singing along with the melody, lyrics slipping out almost on instinct. Max had paused his game, his character frozen mid-battle, and was staring at Lando with wide eyes. 

“That sounded… familiar.” Max leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Where have I heard that before?”

Lando’s heart stuttered in his chest. He hadn’t meant to sing it—hadn’t meant to let the melody or the lyrics out at all. Panic flashed across his face, and before Max could say anything else, Lando slapped his hand over his mouth, eyes wide with mock horror, trying to hold in his laugh.

“I said nothing!” he mumbled through his fingers, his voice muffled.

Max burst out laughing. “Mate, what are you hiding? Is that one of Yn’s songs? Is that why you’ve been so distracted lately? You’ve been writing lyrics now?”

Lando removed his hand and shot Max a look, trying to play it off, but the heat rising to his cheeks betrayed him. “Shut up,” he tried to hold in his laugh. “It’s . . . nothing. I wasn’t supposed to—never mind.”

“Oh, this is brilliant,” Max said, leaning in, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Lando Norris, the lyricist. Writing love songs.”

Lando groaned, slouching further into the couch. He was never going to hear the end of this.

The next day, a message popped up on Lando’s phone. It was from you. “Heard your singing skills from last night. Someone sent me the clip. I liked the lyrics. there's a lyricist position open if you're looking😉”

He grinned, feeling a rush of excitement and pride. He hadn’t expected that.

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The British Grand Prix was buzzing with energy, the fan zone packed with people eager to see their favourite drivers up close. Lando stood in the middle of it all, microphone in hand, grinning at the fans who had gathered to ask him questions. He loved these moments—connecting with the people who supported him, feeling their excitement radiate through the crowd.

A question came from someone near the front, catching his attention. “We heard you singing a song on stream with Max! Are you writing lyrics now?”

Lando froze, the microphone lowering slightly as his brain scrambled for an answer. He had forgotten that little slip-up had made its way online. He could already see Max and other drivers grinning like a Cheshire cat somewhere-- Oscar was already smiling widely, loving the fact that he had outed him in the most casual way possible.

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Uh, yeah, I guess I kinda let that slip, huh? I wasn’t supposed to sing that, but . . . well, yeah. I guess—you could say I’ve been helping out with some lyrics, yeah. Not the whole song, though. I’m more like . . . just Yn’s muse.”

There was a ripple of excitement through the crowd, people whispering to each other, some of them pulling out their phones to record. Lando laughed, embarrassed but amused by the whole thing.

“Look, it’s Yn’s song,” he continued, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I’m just helping with a few words here and there. She’s the real talent.”

Just as he was about to hand the mic back, he noticed a commotion toward the edge of the crowd. A group of girls were shouting something, their hands waving in the air, pointing at someone in the group.

Lando squinted, trying to see what they were pointing at. And then he saw you—Yn, standing quietly in the middle of your friends, covering your face embarrassed by your friends, your bass slung over your shoulder.

He laughed, lifting the mic again. “Hi, Yn!” he waved, smiling widely. “I got both my mom and Yn here today,” he commented, chuckling.

The crowd turned, heads swivelling to spot you. Your cheeks turned pink as you tried to hide like you hadn’t been caught in the middle of a fan zone. You lifted your hand in a small wave, face half-hidden behind your bass.

Lando’s grin only widened. “Guess we’re working tonight, then?”

Yn’s smile softened, and she gave a small nod, making the crowd cheer. He shook his head, laughing to himself as he looked at you, feeling that familiar warmth bloom in his chest. He wasn’t supposed to leak her song, wasn’t supposed to share the process. But now, looking at her across the sea of people, he knew he was part of something outside of just racing.

He was part of something with her. Whatever it was.

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Lando couldn’t resist secretly posting a TikTok story while you were distracted, showing your new bass sitting beside you. He zoomed in on the design she had painted on it—the same design as his helmet with siggly, doodly-like drawings in black paint.

Later that night, you posted a story of your own—Lando lying on his side, fingers brushing through your hair as you play the bass beside him. The two of you were talking, and laughing, but the audio was muted. Clearly, you weren’t risking any more lyric leaks.

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TikTok

> replies

user he had the song playing from his car 😭

user "do you hear that? i wrote that" yes lando, yes we know ⤷ user I'm sorry but he has all the bragging rights in the world wow

user he's so adorable what?? 🥴🥴

user when will it be my turn? when can I too have a lando norris?

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twitter

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landonorris

liked by youruser maxfewtrell and 350.6k others landonorris asdfghjkl

maxfewtrell so its official? you're not going to be mad at me for saying her name on stream again ⤷ landonorris I will

youruser thats not even a real sentence ⤷ landonorris you're not a real sentence ⤷ youruser I literally am ⤷ landonorris yeah, you are ⤷ user is he flirting? ⤷ user I'm afraid so

user AWW they're so cute

user NOT LANDO SHOWING US THE CREDIT ⤷ user yeah, like, sweetheart, we all saw it ⤷ user we all freaked out too bc look at you, lando norris writing music

user what if lando wrote the lyrics for XNDA comeback?? ⤷ user why are you like this? i cannot stop thinking about it ⤷ user I need this now. what have you done to me.

maxfewtrell no photo credits? ⤷ landonorris no ⤷ youruser 📸, be nice

charlesleclerc congrats mate ⤷ youruser omg sharl 👀 i need a pianist, pleaseeeee ⤷ landonorris what about me?? ⤷ youruser you're my drummer ofc ⤷ landonorris I'll be your pianist too, just tell me which keys to press ⤷ landonorris I'll be your whole band ⤷ user OMG LANDO 😭 ⤷ user HOW CAN A GUY BE SO IN LOVE?????!! ⤷ charlesleclerc i get notifications each time you reply, I don't want to see lando being clingy ⤷ youruser desole

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗨𝗦𝗘𝗥 𝗜𝗦 𝗧𝗬𝗣𝗜𝗡𝗚 . . . 𝗺𝗮𝘅 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗻 max verstappen x fem! reader (fluff, crack) fic summary . . . random texts between you and your boyfriend

( main master list | more of max verstappen ) ( tag list | requests )

[dreamauri]

platonic! f1 grid x gen z! driver! reader who just got into f1 but they win a pole position on their debut race and everyones freaking out bcs she won a pole position and maybe the crowd is super pissed even tho she rly deserved it and theyre all mocking / booing her angst to comfort ⁉️

♪ — 𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗘 𝗨𝗣 f1 grid [platonic] x gen z! fem! driver! reader (comfort) “. . . you score high on your debut but fans don't like winners”

( masterlist ) ( requests | taglist )

"Let's groove tonight! Share the spice of life. Baby slice it right. We're gonna groove tonightttttttttttt." You sang happily through the radio as you completed your cool down lap. After learning the way of the car in FP1 and FP2 and studying the track through FP3, you were able to make it to Q3 where you claimed Pole Position.

"And that is, f3 and f2 champion, L/N on pole for her debut race." You heard through the stadium speakers, headbanging and dancing slightly in your seat to the music playing in your head. "Let this groove, light up your fuse, it's alright, alright, alright, oh wowe! Let this groove set in your shoes, so stand up, alright, aaaaaaalright."

You got out of the car, dancing with yourself out of excitement. As you gently took your helmet and balaclava off, a hoard of loud distasteful noises came into contact with your ears once you took off the ear buds. Your excitement died down as you looked at the stadium and the crowds confused.

In the the corner of your eyes you saw Max Verstappen shake his finger and head no. "Who are they- ?" Your question was cut off with the answer. "Fuck you, Y/N." The crowed said infusion making you feel your heart drop between feet. Your face fell from one of happiness, confidence, and excitement to one of fear.

"Don't let them get to your head." Lewis Hamilton wrapped an arm around your shoulder pulling you away from the masses. This was nowhere near what you expected. They sang insults strung to your name and you could only plug your ears, the name your parents gave you felt tainted and stained.

Despite being pulled away, you looked back watching the source of hate with an expression of hurt. "Hey!" You averted your head to the four time world champion. "That was amazing driving over there." Sebastian Vettel ( your hero ) patted your back comfortingly. "Ignore them, your performance is too good for them and they're scared from you." You could only nod.

You sat in a chair outside your garage, watching as your team worked on the car for tomorrow. "Hey kid." Charles crouched down beside you, giving you his famous kind and warm smile. "You doing alright?" "Mhm." You nodded in reply returning his smile. Although still suffering from shock, Lewis and Seb had comforted you and shouted insults back for you ( finding you too innocent and small to swear ).

"I'm ready to go to war." Carlos came up from behind you, his hands on his hips with a frustrated look on his face. "You can't take all of them on, mate." Charles shook his head, sighing. "Watch me. Lets go, Y/N." Carlos rolled up his sleeves, dragging you along.

"Not without me." Max caught up to the trio. He was on his way to offer you a talk over a can of red bull, but the Ferrari boys beat you to him. "Cheers." He clinked his can with yours when he was finally able to give it to you.

The four of you were standing in front of the stadium of haters from the track. Carlos took your free hand 'teaching' you how to flip them off. Charles only watched interested, drinking from his water bottle alongside the red bull driver. "You think PR is going to have a hard time cleaning this mess up." Max looked at you, who was slowly gaining your confidence back with each insult you should in return.

"They're going to have a field day, mate." Charles sighed, watching you and Carlos dance together. Although this was your first time spending time with this certain collection of drivers, this was already your favourite group, one where you could feel comfortable being yourself.

Sitting in between Kimi Raikkonen and Fernando Alonso in the post qualifying press conference, you felt a little tense being one of the only women in the room and the only one with all the attention. "What do you think about the fans' reaction about Y/N getting pole."

"I think it's stupid." Kimi replied bluntly, shrugging. "I think they're scared." Fernando affirmed chuckling. "They are, they wouldn't be booing her otherwise." Kimi agreed nodding. "Y/N has a lot of potential as a driver. They know what she's capable of, and that's- that's very scary." Ferando completed laughing.

You were sitting in between the two men, a blush and a happy smile covering your face as you looked at down at your fiddling fingers. "Y/N are you looking forward to starting the race tomorrow from P1?"

"Who- Me? Uhhh . . . to be honestly, I want to put up a fight against someone, you know. I've always dreamt about winning a battle for P1." You nodded, your pink happy face grinning widely.

Maybe you should've held back a little because you were feeling pressured by all the drivers behind you. Sitting in your car at the starting grid, you felt like a goat that is going to be chased by wolves. "Relax kid, you'll be ok." Looking up from inside your car, you saw Lando who had stopped by to wish you luck.

"I'll be seeing you on the Podium, Y/N. Have a safe race." Pierre cheered as he passed by, giving you a wide smile and a wave. To say you were feeling giddy was fair, you sang songs with your team members while you waited for the race prep. "It's fun to stay at the-" "Y - M - C - A." You heard someone singing with you, your turned around in your car looking at the source of noise.

"Young man young man, are you listening to- oh sorry, Y/N." Yuki apologized once he realized you stopped singing and were looking at him. You could only laugh continuing to sing with him.

And when the time came, you were smiling as you watched the masses boo you. Throwing them the middle finger in return, the eternity of the grid copying you.

"It's lights out, and away we go!"

voice notes 🔊 . . . ( i got writing to this right away, i really liked this idea. thank you for sharing and requesting, i hope it meets your expectations )