Hi Can I Pls Request A Sebastian Vettel X Reader Where He And Reader Were Teamates Back In The Day Now

Down Under || LN4 Masterlist

Summary

landonorris x piastri!reader

19 years old and fresh into your first year of uni, you meet your brother‘s teammate at your home grand prix in Melbourne. You connect instantly through your mutual banter. A little bit of flirting never hurt anyone, right? Especially not with the good looking, famous, older guy you definitely shouldn’t be getting too close to…

Chapters

01. Snapshots & Surprises

02. Rain, Champagne and a papaya Jacket

03. A leap into the Unknown

04. A night in Shanghai

05. A little bit of Trouble

06. Racing Hearts

07. The Look that lingers

08. No Intentions

09. Between Races and Goodbyes

10.

Yes, it's her. - Lewis Hamilton.

Summary: Y/N and Lewis Hamilton have always been spotted together, hand in hand, leaving people to speculate about their relationship. While they found the rumors amusing, Lewis wanted to make it official. It was just a simple request to date—no big deal—so why was he so nervous? With his usual charm and a lot of cheesy jokes, he takes a leap, hoping she’ll say yes.

The evening had started like any other. The two of you had ordered takeout and were sprawled on the couch, lazily scrolling through Netflix to find something neither of you would actually pay attention to.

“Rom-com?” Lewis asked, scrolling past 10 Things I Hate About You.

“Too predictable.”

“Action?” He paused on a Marvel movie.

“Too loud.”

“Horror?”

You shot him a look, and he smirked. “Too scary for you, babe?”

“I’m not scared. I just don’t feel like spending the night listening to you scream.”

He laughed, tossing the remote onto the coffee table. “Fine. No movie. Let’s just sit here and bask in each other’s presence.”

“Oh, how romantic,” you teased, pulling your legs up onto the couch.

Lewis shifted beside you, his knee bouncing ever so slightly. You noticed but said nothing. It wasn’t unusual for him to fidget—he was always full of energy—but tonight felt different.

“You okay?” you finally asked, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Yeah, of course,” he said quickly, his voice just a tad too high-pitched to be convincing.

“Lewis…”

He turned to you with a grin that was a little too wide. “What? Can’t a man enjoy some quality time with his favorite person?”

“Are you sure you’re not hiding something? You’re acting weird.”

“Me? Weird? Never.” He reached for his wine glass, taking a sip that lasted just a little too long.

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you nervous about something? Did you crash another car?”

He nearly choked on his wine. “What? No! Why would you even say that?”

“Because the last time you acted like this, you accidentally ran over my potted plant with your electric scooter.”

He groaned, covering his face. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

He chuckled, but the nervous energy didn’t leave him. Instead, he leaned back, pulling you closer until your head was resting on his chest. His fingers played with the ends of your hair, and you could feel his heart beating faster than usual.

“You know,” he started, his tone lighter now, “the paparazzi think we’re already dating.”

You smiled, recalling the many headlines you’d seen: ‘Lewis Hamilton and Mystery Woman: Romance or Friendship?’ or ‘Spotted Again: Are They or Aren’t They?’

“They’re pretty creative,” you said. “Remember the one where they said we were secretly engaged?”

“Oh, and the one about us having a secret baby?”

You both burst out laughing, the tension in his body easing slightly.

“I mean, it’s kind of funny,” he said. “They’re all desperate to figure it out.”

“Well, let them keep guessing. It’s more fun this way.”

“Yeah… but what if we didn’t make them guess anymore?”

You froze for a moment, lifting your head to look at him. “What do you mean?”

He cleared his throat, suddenly looking everywhere except at you. “I mean… what if we, you know, made it official?”

You stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate. “Lewis, are you asking me out right now?”

His cheeks flushed, and he laughed nervously. “Okay, this is not going how I planned.”

“You had a plan?”

“Kind of. But then I got nervous, and now I’m rambling, and I don’t know why because this should be easy, right? It’s just… I like you. Like, really like you. And I know we’ve never called it anything, but I want to. I want to call you mine, officially. So… will you?”

For a moment, you just blinked at him, trying to process his words. Then, a grin spread across your face. “You’re such a dork.”

“Is that a yes?”

You rolled your eyes, leaning forward to kiss him softly. “Of course, it’s a yes.”

The relief on his face was palpable, and he let out a dramatic sigh. “Thank God. I was about to start sweating.”

“You were already sweating,” you teased.

“Okay, rude.” He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But you said yes, so I’ll let it slide.”

Later that night, after the excitement had settled and you were both curled up on the couch again, Lewis grabbed his phone.

“What are you doing?” you asked, peeking over his shoulder.

“Posting something,” he said, his tone casual.

You groaned. “Lewis…”

“Relax, it’s nothing big.”

He showed you the screen. It was a photo he’d taken of you earlier that evening, laughing mid-bite of your dinner, entirely candid. The caption read: “Yes. It’s her.”

You covered your face with a pillow. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he said, grinning as he hit post.

You couldn’t argue with that.

YOU SHOULD'VE SEEN YOUR FACE | Sebastian Vettel

Sebastian Vettel x Pregnant Wife!Reader

SUMMARY: Seb's wife is pregnant, but she hasn't told him yet since she doesn't seem ready. However, after he almost crashed pretty badly during a Free Practice session, she can't help but tell him in not the best way possible ↳ REQUESTED BY ANON: Okay but can you imagine Sebs wife being pregnant but she has not told him yet. He does some dangerous and bold move on a drive and she gets mad and scared and just some fluff when he finds out :)

WORD COUNT: 1804

WARNINGS: Curse words, mentions of anxiety, overthinking about Formula 1 crashes (?), pregnancy, Ferrari Seb in general (if you know, you know)

TAGLIST: @hc-dutch @raavadakedavra @coffeedestroyingperson @evey-kuznetskova @bowielovesyou @chaoswithus @isotopemylove @iceman-kazansky @gwginnyweasley @formula1-motogpfan @herdetectivetheorist @myescapefromthislife @regalbanshee [in case you wanna be tagged just tell me so i can add you!]

VEE'S NOTES: Hi guys! Finally back to posting fics! This year I don't only want to write more, but also establish some kind of writing routine because I've been dealing with anxiety over Christmas for some personal problems family related and found out that I missed distressing with writing. Also, thank you so much for all the support you've been showing me lately! Appreciate it a lot since I wasn't feeling very comfortable with my writing. Let me know your thoughts on this one <3 ↳ MAKE YOUR REQUESTS | LET'S TALK! | JANUARY UPDATE CALENDAR

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

Despite being quite far from the pit lane, you could hear nothing but the deafening roar of the engines, the clatter of tools on Kimi's car, and the curses of the race engineers at the constant stunts Seb had decided to pull during the free practice session.  

Your husband's red car seemed not just to race but to fly around the track. FP2 had started barely twenty minutes ago, but Seb had already come within inches of crashing into the walls far too many times after going off track more often than you could count.  

You couldn't deny that you had loved watching Seb race ever since you met and you learned he was a driver in one of the most dangerous sports in the world. Today, however, luck was not on your side, and anxiety was consuming you. The nausea, uncontrollable on its own, felt even worse than usual. Not to mention, you felt on the verge of a panic attack.  

"Are you okay?"  

You turned at the sound of Riccardo Adami’s voice, Seb’s race engineer. The Italian removed one side of his headset and covered the microphone to ensure the driver wouldn’t hear anything.  

"Yes, yes, of course," you replied hastily, forcing a smile and suppressing the urge to gag as you felt it rising in your throat. "I’m just a bit more nervous than usual today, that’s all."  

"Seb knows what he’s doing. Don’t worry about that."  

You nodded, but as soon as Adami turned his attention back to his screen, you rolled your eyes and did the same.  

"You know, sometimes he thinks that he’s a cat and has seven lives," you muttered under your breath. "Someone should remind him he’s in an actual Formula 1 car, not in a simulator."  

"Don’t worry, I’ll remind him in the post-session briefing," the engineer joked, flashing a smile before immersing himself back into Vettel's driving.  

You didn’t pay him much attention. Once again, you were entirely engrossed in both your husband’s onboard camera and the telemetry, even though you didn’t understand much aside from the fact that he was setting purple sectors, which was undoubtedly a good sign.  

You didn’t know much about the inner workings of the cars, but after so many years with Seb, you knew that the faster his times were, the higher the risks became.  

You were also acutely aware that your husband was pushing himself too hard in those moments.  

You began to tremble slightly, fidgeting with your hands in an attempt to calm your anxiety, but it didn’t work. Instinctively, and trying not to draw much attention, you placed your hands on your belly and prayed that your child wouldn’t give you any scares like his father was giving you.  

"Sector two in purple as well, Seb!"  

Even though the garage erupted into cheers and applause, you remained motionless. Instead, you couldn’t take your eyes off the screen, which now showed your husband’s car in full view.  

Your panic peaked the moment Seb lost control of the rear of his car and went off the track. You swore that if it hadn’t been for the sudden braking, he would have ended up in the barriers with a wrecked car and himself heading to the medical center because the crash would have likely exceeded the G-force limits.  

When Seb didn’t respond immediately, your heart stopped.  

"I’m fine, I’m fine..." Seb finally said in a disappointed tone. "But I can’t say the same for the car. I think it’s more damaged than it looks."  

"Can you bring it back, Sebastian?" Riccardo asked in a tone that was a mix of irritation and disappointment.  

"Yeah, no problem. Coming back. Sorry, guys."  

Just as no one on the team said anything to you, you, who had forced yourself to sit down because your legs were trembling too much and you felt dizzy, also remained silent until your husband returned and got out of the car.  

Seb removed his helmet, revealing an expression that was hard to decipher. You stood up carefully and approached him, trying to keep your composure. Without giving him a chance to say anything, you grabbed his hand and led him toward his driver room, ignoring Britta's protests to talk after interviews were done.  

"It could have been worse, right?" 

Sebastian closed the door behind him and turned to face you. You stood there with your arms crossed, visibly upset. Your glare alone was enough to tell Seb he was seconds away from one of your infamous scoldings.  

The problem? He had no idea why. You had never acted so strangely over something as common as a collision during a race weekend.  

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” you exploded, your voice filled with frustration. “Fuck, Seb, can you explain what that was all about?!”  

“What do you mean, what was that? I was... racing, like I always do, babe,” he replied cautiously, still clueless about what he'd done wrong.  

You, however, didn’t know what was bothering you more: your husband’s calm demeanor or the sight of a few Ferrari team members peeking through the window to catch the drama unfolding between the two of you.  

“You were so close to slamming into a wall, Sebastian, that’s what happened!” you shot back, yanking the curtains shut and flipping off the nosy onlookers. “Are you out of your mind or what?!”  

“Come on, love, I had it under control. What you saw on the onboard might’ve looked bad, but I swear it wasn’t as dangerous as it seemed.”  

“Not as bad as it seemed? Are you seriously telling me that?” you retorted, your voice trembling with anger. “Do you think driving is just like playing a video game now? Do you have any idea what it would’ve meant if you hadn’t reacted in time? Do you know what it would’ve meant for me and for—”  

You stopped yourself mid-sentence, refusing to continue.  

You knew your emotions were running wild because of your pregnancy hormones, but you forced yourself to calm down. Getting so worked up would only lead to a pointless argument with Seb and wasn’t good for you or the baby.  

“For who, Y/N?” Seb asked, stepping closer and gently taking your hands in his.  

“For... me! Who else?” you replied quickly. 

Sebastian didn’t know how to respond. He’d never seen you so distressed about his racing, and while he tried to stay calm, inside he was battling a storm of worry and confusion.  

“This stress isn’t good for me or for the situation you and, well... you’ve gotten me into,” you said, your voice cracking.  

“Y/N, babe, I swear I have no idea what you’re talking about. Fuck, I’m pretty worried about you right now with all this shit, but if you don’t tell me what’s going on—”  

“Damn it, Seb! I’m pregnant!”  

You looked down, tears streaming down your face. You clenched your fists tightly, furious at yourself for revealing such big news in such an emotional, unplanned way.  

Sebastian, meanwhile, stood frozen, his eyes wide in shock at the unexpected news. Slowly, everything started to make sense: your morning sickness, falling asleep all the time, constantly complaining about being tired, and the flimsy excuses you gave for not drinking wine, something you normally loved.  

He cursed himself for not realizing it sooner and for believing your weak justifications about bad leftovers being the cause of everything.  

“You’re... pregnant?” His voice was barely audible, almost afraid to say the words out loud because they didn’t feel real.  

You wiped your tears and sniffled, doing your best to meet your husband’s gaze without feeling ashamed.  

“Yes...” you said timidly. “I wanted to tell you in a special way... you know, by giving you a baby onesie in a box with the positive pregnancy test inside, but...” You shook your head and finally looked him in the eyes. “I thought you were going to die out there today and leave your child and me alone. The thought of losing you, now of all times, just...”  

“You’re really pregnant? We’re going to have a baby?”  

You nodded, and Seb couldn’t hold back his tears. He pulled you into a tight embrace and began kissing you tenderly. You melted into his arms, feeling an immense weight lifted from your shoulders.  

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” you admitted. “I swear I wanted it to be special, but seeing you out there today, thinking something could happen to you...” Your voice broke again. “I was terrified, Seb, like never before watching you race.”  

“I’m so sorry, love. I really am,” he said sincerely, cupping your cheeks gently and kissing you over and over. “If I’d known, I would’ve been more careful. God, love, this is incredible... This is the best news I’ve ever received.”  

“You’re not mad that I didn’t tell you sooner? You should’ve seen your face earlier...”  

“Mad? That you didn’t tell me sooner?” You shrugged, your insecurity showing despite your years together. Seb tilted his head, understanding this was one of your rare but extreme moments of doubt. “I’m just... in shock. I can’t believe we’re going to be parents...”  

Sebastian hesitantly touched your stomach, and you burst into fresh tears at the tenderness of his gesture.  

“Now you have to promise me something, Seb,” you said, playing with his hair as he knelt before you, leaving kisses on your belly.  

“Anything for you and our little one.”  

“You need to be more careful from now on. Stop thinking so much with your adrenaline and testosterone, and start using your brain more,” you said, trying not to sound too harsh. “I know Formula 1 and racing is your whole life, but I don’t want you risking it when we’re bringing a new one into the world. I’m eight weeks along, and we still have 32 to go assuming everything follows the perfect pregnancy script.”  

Seb stood and gazed at you, trying to convey the calm you both could only find in each other.  

“Love, I promise,” he whispered softly. “For you, for the baby... I love winning, but today, and even more so when our child is born, I’ll have won the second most important race of my life.”  

You frowned, confused.  

“If that’s the second, what’s the most important race of your life then?”  

He chuckled and scooped you into his arms, kissing you again as he laid you both on the couch behind you.  

“The race I ran for so many years to win your heart,” he murmured between slow, deliberate kisses that said more than words ever could. “After all those years trying to get you to go out with me in high school, and now we’re eight months away from having a baby... what else could it be, mama?”  

heyy can we get a dad george mom reader fic where reader gave birth a couple months ago and she’s a bit insecure about her postpartum body. george has always been super sweet and reassuring and genuinely thinks she is the most beautiful being on earth but she’s kind of in her head about it and he comforts her and they have sweet loving intimate time🤭

Thank you for this, anon!! This was a great follow up to this blurb and a great excuse to also blend it into a mother's day blurb :)

Warnings: Talk of body changes from pregnancy, insecurities, negative self talk, etc. (also please note: every body is a bikini body!!!!!!)

The bouquet of tulips sat in the light of the morning sun streaking in through the open living room windows. Forty-eight pink and purple and white tulips filled the crystal vase, nestled amongst baby's breath and crisp green leaves in a stunning arrangement done by professional hands, a small card tucked amongst the blooms with a hand-written message from your husband. You sat on the couch in your pyjamas to admire them, reaching out with a gentle hand to brush your fingertips over the petals and you leaned down to smell the fresh floral scent. 

Resting beside the vase on the coffee table was a modest black velvet box with a purple ribbon and you tentatively picked it up. From the other side of the coffee table, George was standing with your two-month-old son in his arms and swaying him slightly, patting his back to help him burp after his morning feed. He was watching you with this handsome smile on his face, eager for you to open your first ever mother’s day gift. 

You stole a nervous glance at him before slipping off the ribbon and then opening the top of the box to reveal what was inside. A dainty bracelet was resting in the bed of silk inside, its chain in your favourite jewelry metal and housing a single charm: a capital L, for the name of your son. You gently traced it with your fingers and a breath of awe. 

“Do you like it?” George asked, hopeful, “I know you told me not to go all out with the gifts but I just could not get you something meaningful…something pretty for the beautiful mother of my child.”

“It’s perfect, love, thank you,” you smiled softly at him, holding out an arm to encourage him closer. He stepped around the coffee table and kept a secure hold on your son in his arms as he leaned down to kiss you.

“It’s so nice out today, I was thinking we could go to the harbour and have a day out on the water.” George suggested as he stood up. 

You pondered it a moment as you closed the jewelry box and set it on the table in front of you. Having given birth in early March, you had healed from the delivery but the immense changes your body had gone through to carry your son were still lingering—one of which in particular was the excess skin across your abdomen and the stretch marks across your hips and thighs. You tried to tell yourself it was all normal and it was proof that your body had gone through the miracle of growing life and there was nothing to be ashamed of, but it no longer felt like your body. It wasn’t what you had looked like before. 

Not to mention that your husband’s career was amongst the sport filled with influencers and models and athletes alike. All the other Formula 1 drivers’ girlfriends and wives were model-thin and far too perfect for their own good; meaning you were starting to dread the concept of returning to the paddock amongst the perfection when you were feeling far less than perfection. Even the concept of going out on the water felt like dread in the pit of your stomach. 

“I dunno,” you answered George casually, “I’d prefer to stay in.” 

George’s eyebrows furrowed slightly at your passiveness, “Really? We haven’t really done much since Lawrence was born and I think it would be nice. I want to take you out…get the little one to dip his toes in the sea for the first time.”

It was incredibly tempting—not to mention George knew how much you normally liked to visit the harbour and be out on the water—but the idea of getting into a bathing suit sounded terrifying. But how could you lie to your sweet husband? You didn’t want him to fret over you or be worried…and you knew he was just being nice. 

So you ended up in your ensuite bathroom in your favourite bikini, feeling like absolute shit. The skin of your stomach was saggy and wrinkled from pregnancy and your thighs were scattered with stretchmarks and your breasts were swollen from breastfeeding and barely fitting in your top. It all felt so embarrassing. Your hormones were still fluctuating from the birth and the breastfeeding and as you stared at yourself in the mirror, the reflection staring back at you felt like the end of the world. 

The gentle knock on the door startled you. George called softly, “Love, I put that bucket hat ton Laurie—the one that Lando got him?—and he looks so stinking cute.”

“Okay,” you barely replied, voice a little shaky. 

There was a pause, then a gentle, “You alright?”

You tried to take a breath to level your emotions out but then you couldn’t hold it in anymore, “No.”

“Okay, I’m coming in, alright?”

You hid your face in your hands with a sudden sob as he came into the ensuite and right away he was rubbing his thumb over your waist and pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“Oh, my love, what’s wrong?”

“I’m so ugly,” you confessed through your tears, dropping your hands to throw one in the direction of your reflection. 

George’s concerned expression fell into almost genuine hurt at your words and he cupped your cheek to pull your attention to him, “Hey, do not say that. You are not ugly. You never have been and you never will be.”

“It’s not me though,” you protested, looking back at the mirror, seeing how your cheeks were carved with tears and how he, too, looked through the reflection with sadness in his eyes. You continued, speaking to your face in the mirror, “This isn’t my body. I don’t know who that is!”

“Sweetheart,” George sighed, trailing his hands down your sides, over your exposed skin beneath the fabric of your bikini, “it is you. It’s a new and wonderful version of you. You’re a mother now, you carried our son and you gave him life and you brought him into this world with your body. That’s no easy feat.”

“I don’t want to look like this!” you sobbed, “I don’t want people to see me like this!”

“Why?” George asked desperately, reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ear.

“Because it’s embarrassing. I’ll embarrass you!”

George spoke your name firmly, taking your face in both of his hands to bring your eyes to his. His voice was firm, filled with love, but unmistakably serious, “You don’t ever embarrass me and especially not from how you look. I am so lucky to have you by my side…so proud…and I love to show you off to anyone who looks our way. You are my wife, darling. The mother of my son. I am…I am completely and utterly beholden to you.”

“But this isn’t what you signed up for,” you protested hormonally. 

“Yes, it is!” George laughed lightly in disbelief, “Yes, it is. You don’t think I knew how your body would change when you got pregnant? And I was begging to get you pregnant, don’t you remember? I loved to see your body change and still now, looking at you…God, love, you are the most gorgeous thing to me.”

Still in tears, you curled into him and his arms went right around you without a second thought. One hand on the small of your back and the other tangled in the back of your hair to keep you close, he held you. 

“I know it’s hard for you,” he whispered, fingers scratching through the roots of your hair, “I can’t imagine how strange it all feels, not recognizing yourself in the mirror, and I’m sorry you feel so rubbish. But I wouldn’t ever lie to you; I am in love with you, your soul, and your body. I promise. I have vowed to you exactly that.”

You nodded, clinging onto the back of his shirt with tight fists as you stood together in your bathroom, you in only a bikini. His hands gave your hips a squeeze to get you to step back so he could look into your eyes again.

George wiped your cheeks free of tears with his thumbs, “If you would be miserable going out on the water today, we don’t have to. I promise no one will say anything, though. But if you’d rather go get a burger in a hoodie and jeans then we can do that too. This is your day.”

You sniffled, debating his option, staring at the two of you in the bathroom mirror and how tenderly he held you, like you were so precious to him. He kissed your cheek, not rushing you. 

“I want to go out on the water,” you spoke timidly, trying to make up your mind, “But maybe I’ll keep my shawl on.”

“Whatever you want, my love.” George kissed your cheek again. He then whispered against your ear, hands slipping down to grab your ass, “If it helps, I think you look so fucking sexy right now in this bikini.”

You let out a small snort of amusement.

“I mean it,” he said, “and I kind of want to make use of the kid’s naptime to show you that I mean it.”

“George.”

“What?” he laughed and gave your bum a two-handed squeeze. 

You swatted his chest playfully but he retaliated with another kiss to your cheek, pulling a soft giggle from your lips as his hands roamed all over your body. You smiled into the mirror as he touched you all over, all the places he loved, and he peppered kisses down your jaw and neck. Your worried mind wouldn’t be cured by a few words in one morning but his presence and his love was reassuring and you knew he’d do anything you wanted to in order to help you feel as beautiful as he always saw you.

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White Horse - Masterlist:

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Interlude: Daylight

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Notifications and Nervous Glances (L.N)

Lando Norris can't help but smile when fans tease him for continuously checking his phone for a certain someone to message.

The midday sun hung lazily over Monaco, casting golden stripes of light through the open balcony doors of Lando’s apartment. The sea beyond glittered like a jewel, but Lando was inside, hoodie half-zipped, hair fluffed in every direction from running his hands through it too many times. He was mid-Twitch stream, headset on, fingers flying over his controller.

“Alright, alright, I swear this is the last race,” he laughed, eyes flicking toward the live chat as messages scrolled faster than he could read. “If I win this, you all have to stop saying I'm washed, deal?”

“Yeah right, mate!” came Max Fewtrell’s voice through the headset. “If anything, you’re gonna rage quit before we even hit the third lap.”

Lando grinned. “Not this time.”

But just as the race loaded, a soft chime rang out—his phone, buzzing on the desk to his right. His hand twitched toward it instinctively before pulling back.

He kept his eyes on the screen. Focus. Except now he wasn’t focused at all.

The chat noticed.

"👀 not you checking your phone AGAIN" "who you waiting for, loverboy?" "she texted yet???" "just CALL HER YOU COWARD" "lando’s in his 'will she text me' era"

He blinked, trying not to smile. Tried and failed.

“You guys are so annoying,” he muttered, adjusting his mic. “Can’t a guy check the time?”

“Time?” Max said dryly. “Mate, your phone’s been lighting up like a Christmas tree and you haven’t stopped sneaking glances since we started.”

Lando flushed. “It’s not—okay, shut up.”

The chat went wild again.

"GUILTY!" "he's so whipped and it's not even official" "bet it’s that girl from the paddock 👀"

And okay, maybe they weren’t wrong.

You’d met during the chaos of the last race weekend—some mutual friends, a few too many drinks, and the kind of conversation that left him grinning long after it ended. You weren’t a celebrity. Weren’t chasing fame. Just... smart, grounded, and funny in a way that disarmed him.

You’d left the next day for a work trip, but you’d been texting every day since. Nothing flirty, not exactly. But something was there. At least, he hoped so.

The last message had come a few hours ago—“Landing soon. Might be off the grid for a bit, but I’ll message you when I can! :)”—and he’d been low-key checking his phone ever since.

Just in case.

As the race ended (he came second, to Max’s eternal smugness), Lando leaned back in his chair, pretending not to care as he casually picked up his phone.

Nothing.

He dropped it again, face slightly warm.

“You know,” Max said, his tone teasing but not unkind, “you could just text her first. Say hi. Ask if she landed okay. You’re allowed to show interest, mate. It's not a crime.”

“I know,” Lando mumbled.

But still, he didn’t.

The chat rallied again, this time with emojis and messages of encouragement and chaos in equal measure.

"we believe in you 🫶" "text her or we riot" "lando, you’re literally a Formula 1 driver and you're scared to double text???"

“Alright, that’s it,” Lando said, throwing his hands up. “This stream is bullying now.”

He was laughing though, eyes crinkled in that way his fans loved, cheeks dusted pink.

“I’ll text her,” he added under his breath, like it was a secret he couldn’t help but share.

And he did. Right there, in front of thousands of people.

“Hey, just checking in—hope your flight went okay :)”

He hit send, then instantly tossed his phone onto the sofa like it had burned him.

“I’m done for today,” he declared, stretching with a groan. “That’s enough emotional damage.”

“Emotional damage?” Max repeated. “You texted a girl ‘hi.’ Are you twelve?”

“I hate you.”

The stream ended not long after, fans flooding Twitter and Tumblr with screencaps and memes: Lando’s face mid-phone-check, the exact moment he blushed, the chat going absolutely feral.

But Lando barely noticed.

Because twenty minutes later, while he was lazily scrolling through delivery apps and wondering if gelato for dinner was socially acceptable, his phone buzzed again.

“Just saw your message—landed safely :) stuck in traffic now but excited to finally be home. Also, I missed talking to you. ❤️”

Lando stared at the screen, lips parting in a slow, dumb smile.

Then, with a quiet laugh, he typed back:

“Welcome home. Wanna come over later?”

And this time, he didn’t throw the phone away. He held onto it, just in case the reply came quickly.

It did.

𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 | 𝙻𝙽𝟺

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: lando norris x fem!reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: the one where netflix interviews you about your relationship with lando

𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰: you are in love - taylor swift

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: none!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The room hums with quiet anticipation as the Netflix production team makes their final adjustments. The bright white walls and minimalist décor give the space an almost clinical feel, but the warmth of the overhead lights makes it slightly more inviting. A few feet away, the interviewer shuffles through her notes, her well-rehearsed smile never faltering.

You sit in the plush white chair, Lando’s hoodie draped over your frame like a protective shield. You hadn’t meant to wear it—well, maybe you had. It had been an early morning, and in the rush to get ready, you grabbed the first thing that felt comfortable. Now, as the cameras adjust focus, you wonder if people will notice, if fans will recognize it from the countless Twitch streams and Instagram stories. They probably will.

The cameraman counts down from three with his fingers.

“And… rolling.”

The interviewer’s smile widens. “Alright, let’s get started.” She flips open her folder, her pen poised between her fingers. “You’ve been around the paddock for quite some time now. Fans have seen glimpses of you, but you’ve managed to stay relatively low-key despite being in a relationship with one of the most talked-about drivers on the grid. How has that been for you?”

You shift slightly in your seat, keeping your hands clasped together in your lap. “I don’t really think about it too much,” you admit. “I mean, I know people are curious, and I understand why, but I’m not here for the attention. I’m here for Lando.”

The interviewer tilts her head slightly. “That’s interesting because, whether you like it or not, you have become a figure in the F1 world. From being spotted in the McLaren garage to celebrating podiums with Lando, the cameras have taken notice.”

You let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I’ve noticed that too.”

She flips to the next page of her notes. “Let’s go back to the beginning. When did this all start? How did you and Lando first meet?”

A soft smile tugs at your lips. “We’ve known each other since we were kids. It wasn’t like some dramatic love-at-first-sight thing. We were just… friends for a long time. It was always easy between us, you know?”

“Friends to lovers?”

“Yeah.” You nod, the memory of it still so vivid in your mind. “It just sort of happened over time. I don’t think there was ever a moment where we sat down and said, ‘Okay, we’re in love now.’ It was just us, and at some point, we realized we couldn’t imagine life any other way.”

The interviewer smiles. “That’s really sweet.” She glances at her notes again. “Now, Lando is obviously a very public figure. His fanbase is huge and passionate, and with that comes a lot of attention—not all of it positive. How do you handle being in that world?”

You take a slow breath, choosing your words carefully. “It can be overwhelming sometimes,” you admit. “I try not to let it get to me, but there are days when it’s harder than others. Some people are really supportive, but others…” You pause, debating how honest you want to be. “Let’s just say not everyone is kind.”

There’s a flicker of understanding in her eyes. “Does that ever affect your relationship?”

You shake your head. “No. At the end of the day, I know Lando, and he knows me. That’s all that really matters. It’s easy to get caught up in the noise, but when we’re together, none of that exists.”

The interviewer leans forward slightly. “So, let’s talk about race day. You’ve been in the paddock for some of Lando’s biggest moments, including his first podium and some really close battles. What’s that like for you?”

You let out a small laugh, already feeling your heart rate pick up at the thought of those high-stakes races. “Stressful,” you say with a grin. “Really stressful. I trust him completely, but watching him go wheel-to-wheel at 300 km/h? Yeah, that’s terrifying.”

“I imagine it’s quite an emotional rollercoaster.”

“Oh, absolutely.” You nod. “There are days when he’s on top of the world, and there are days when it’s devastating. And you feel all of it with him.”

The interviewer watches you carefully. “And how do you support him through those tough days?”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the fabric of his hoodie. “I just remind him that one race doesn’t define him. He’s so hard on himself sometimes, and it’s easy for him to forget how incredible he is. So, I try to be the voice that tells him it’s okay to have bad days.”

She smiles. “That’s beautiful.” There’s a brief pause as she flips to the next question. “Now, fans have picked up on how he looks at you, how protective he is. There was even that one moment on Twitch where chat thought it was adorable how he made sure you were okay. Do you ever notice those things?”

Your cheeks warm slightly. “I mean, yeah, I notice,” you say with a soft laugh. “But that’s just him. He’s always been like that, even before we were together. It’s just who he is.”

The interviewer grins. “Well, fans love it. And speaking of fans, you’ve gained quite a few of your own. Do you ever think about that?”

You blink in surprise. “Not really.”

“Well, you should. People adore you.”

That makes you smile. “That’s nice to hear.”

She sets her notes aside. “Alright, last question—where do you see this going? The future?”

Your gaze flickers toward the door, where you know Lando is probably waiting just outside. Then, you smile, your answer coming easily.

“Wherever he goes, I’ll be right there with him.”

The cameraman signals that the recording is over. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The interviewer offers you a warm smile before thanking you for your time, and as soon as you step out of the interview room, Lando is there, leaning casually against the wall.

“How’d it go?” he asks, pushing off and slipping an arm around your waist.

“Not too bad.” You glance up at him. “They asked a lot about you, obviously.”

He smirks. “Well, of course. I am pretty great.”

You roll your eyes, but before you can retort, he tugs you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Thanks for doing it,” he murmurs. “I know it’s not your thing.”

You lean into him. “It’s worth it for you.”

And as the cameras pack up behind you, fading into the background, you realize that no matter how many interviews come your way, no matter how bright the spotlight gets, this—being here with him—is what matters most.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

masterlist

♪ — 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗜𝗙 max verstappen x girlfriend! reader ( fluff ) fic summary , how max realises he's fallen in love with you (0.3K)

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

Max doesn’t fall in love the way other people do.

It’s not fireworks or crashing waves, not some symphony swelling in his chest. Love, for Max, arrives like a pit stop done in perfect time—clean, precise, unnoticed until the race is already won.

He’s watching you from the sliding glass door of his sister’s backyard, arms crossed, brow furrowed, pretending he’s not absolutely transfixed.

You’re sitting on the grass, knees tucked under you, laughing as one of his nephews dumps a bucket of toy cars into your lap. The other’s clinging to your arm, babbling about Red Bull liveries and pretending to zoom around your legs.

You’re not overwhelmed. You’re glowing.

“Max! Watch!” one of them yells.

You launch a Hot Wheels car like it’s qualifying day in Monaco, complete with your own little “vroom” sound effect.

Max smiles before he realises he’s smiling.

God, you’re good with them. Kind in that patient, quiet way. Gentle with little hands and louder voices. You let them braid your hair with sticky fingers and don’t flinch when they tackle you into the grass. You laugh like nothing else matters.

And Max—poor, smitten Max—feels something shift.

Not a crash, not a slam of realisation. Just a soft hum behind his ribs. A gentle “oh” in his chest.

He’s in love with you.

Fully. Completely. Stupidly.

It hits him in the smallest moment. You brush a lock of hair behind your ear, smile up at one of the boys, and say, “Just like your uncle Max, huh?” with pride in your voice like it’s your name on the trophy.

He thinks he might cry.

(He doesn’t, because he’s Max Verstappen, reigning world champion and all that, but still.)

You look up, like you can feel his stare, and grin. “They want to race you. Three laps around the trampoline. Fair warning, I’ve been training them.”

Max snorts, stepping outside. “You’re setting them up for disappointment.”

“They’re seven.”

“They need to learn.”

You shake your head and mouth softie as he joins the chaos.

But later, when they’re asleep and the sun’s gone down and your head is on his shoulder, Max kisses your temple and whispers it into your hair like a secret—

“I’m in love with you.”

And you, half-asleep and soft around the edges, smile like you already knew.

Because of course you did.

Admin looking for love! - c.sainz

Day 17 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist

summary: Why did Alex Albon feel the need to post you on his story as a ‘lonely woman looking for love’? And why did Carlos Sainz dm you after it? 

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alexalbon

liked by carlossainz, williamsracing, reallyy/n, and 2,398,234 others

alexalbon: Are you a Monaco man looking for love? Look no further! Presenting Y/n Y/l/n, a lonely woman looking for love! She's a williams marketing manager (and also my assistant sometimes!), she drives a motorbike, and she's super mean but sometimes really nice! (Real enquiries only, don't be a creep please :) @/really/n

user63: I know Y/n is LIVID rn.

reallyy/n: alex albon, I will kill you with my bare hands don't pull this shit with me right now.

lilymhe: DOG HOUSE -> alexablon: COME ON I'M TRYING TO HELP HER -> reallyy/n: Alex start running. -> alexalbon: you're literally in england right now -> reallyy/n: boarding my plane to monaco. -> alexalbon: FUCK.

oscarpiastri: when do we get you back to the psych ward @/alexalbon ? -> landonorris: Don't make fun of your elders, at least let him leave instagram with a little bit of dignity.

georgerussell: Mate, take it down already she's going to hurt you -> alexalbon: I don't know how, she usually does my social media :(

zhouguanyo: awful choice, I posted her once and she took away all internet devices and made me think about what I'd done for 4 hours (aka staring at a wall for 4 hours). -> alexalbon: YIKES Y/N I'M SORRY PLZ

user46: she's so pretty

user97: QUEEN Y/N

user56: thank you alex for these CRUMBS of y/n please make her get on the podium if williams stops fucking around

user267: SHE'S GORGEOUS WTF liked by carlos sainz

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f1gossip

liked by pierregasly, and 567,038 others

f1gossip: Williams CMO (chief marketing officer) Y/n Y/l/n was auctioned off today by none other than Alex Albon. In an instagram post he said: Are you a Monaco man looking for love? Look no further! Presenting Y/n Y/l/n, a lonely woman looking for love! She's a williams marketing manager, she drives a motorbike, and she's super mean but sometimes really nice! (Real enquiries only, don't be a creep please :)

user47: why is she so gorgeous she looks like a fucking WAG liked by carlossainz

user88: Is that not alex's WAG? ->user67: no she just works for williams and they're close.

user99: HOW IS SHE SO PRETTY WHAT

user75: she's such a queen

user33: If i had a face like that I'd be a model! -> user22: RIGHT? LIKE SHE'S SOOOO GORG

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You knocked on Alex's door with as much force as you could. Why the fuck would he post that? It was all over the internet- you were all over the internet. Every F1 gossip page was shipping you with some random driver, or some random f1-adjacent celebrity. You were livid, and rightfully so. He had no reason to do anything like this, to pull a stunt like that. Honestly, you could just kill him-

"Hello?" Alex grimaced as he stared at you. He knew all hell was about to break loose.

"Alexander Phillipe Albon Ansusinha," you spoke calmly, too calmly. His stomach turned. "Give me your phone."

he handed it over, no question, no hassle.

You quickly deleted the post, deleted instagram, then turned his phone off completely. From inside your bag, you handed him a nokia flip phone. "It already has everyones numbers on it. Don't fucking try to buy a new one, or else I'll freeze all of your cards. Understand?"

He nodded, accepting his fate. "Understand."

"Don't ever pull some shit like that again, alright?" you scolded.

He nodded, his head down. "I got some responses..." he mumbled after a few seconds of silence.

"Alex-!" you were completely prepared to fully scream at him, but suddenly the door behind you swung open and revealed Carlos Sainz. He looked dumbfounded by the two of you and went red. "I'm sending you for 4 weeks worth of mandatory PR training," you turned back to Alex. "I'm so sick of your shit. Between this and Franco's inability to keep it in his pants, I'll be backlogged till Christmas. Just stop causing trouble, ok?"

He smiled sheepishly. "Ok."

You turned back to Carlos. "Sorry about the noise."

He shook his head. "No, that's alright."

"Did you need something?" Alex asked.

Carlos shook his head, his eyes trained on you.

You. He'd seen you around the paddock for years. He'd watched you from afar, unaware of his growing feelings for you until they sucker-punched him in the face about 4 months ago when he was visiting the williams HQ to finish up the contract signing, and there you were in that gorgeous black dress. He couldn't even talk to you. It was embarrassing.

"Alright, well, goodbye Alex, bye Carlos," you smiled at the both of them (the smile Alex got was a bit more disingenuous than the one you gave Carlos) and off you went.

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He knew he had to do something before someone else swooped in. He knocked on Alex's door, more nervous than he thought he'd be.

"Hey Carlos-" Alex smiled.

"Is Y/n single?"

Alex smirked. "She is, yeah."

"May I have her number?"

"Yes Carlos," Alex has the smuggest smirk he'd ever seen. "Yes you may."

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It had been quite the day. You'd been catching up with friends when Carlos fucking Sainz texted you, and then you were on your way to a date with him.

What a fucking day.

You finished up you makeup just as the doorbell rang, and you smiled when you opened it. There he was, standing there with a big bunch of flowers and a goofy smile.

"Hi," you smiled. "Come in."

"Hi," he smiled back. "I got these for you."

He handed over the flowers and you grinned at him. "Thank you, that was very thoughtful."

"Pretty girls deserve pretty flowers," he shrugged.

You felt the butterflies in your stomach go crazy, and you absented yourself to put the flowers in water.

"So, what do you like to do?" He asked, coming up behind you.

"I like films, I like to ride my bike, I like reading, I like motorsport, I like a lot of things. You?"

"Well, I love motorsports, obviously, and I love golf as well," he smirked at the way you grimaced. "Not a golf fan?"

"It's just a little bit boring for me," you admitted. "I do play tennis and padel though. And I played volleyball back when I was in college."

"Well, I guess I'll just have to make you like golf," he smirked.

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reallyy/n

liked by pierregasly, carlossainz, alexalbon and 798,374 others

reallyy/n: alex albon-> part time f1 driver, full time matchmaker apparently. happy 6 months @/carlossainz (still hate golf btw)

limited comments.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

fic-tober masterlist

taglist: @anotherapollokid @theseerbetweenus @simbaaas-stuff @5sospenguinqueen @yootvi

Always You, Always Him

Lando Norris x reader

Summary: Lando Norris talks about how enamored he is with you all the time. He constantly searches for you, holds your hand when he wins, and gives you his first hug. Even a video compilation of his mentions was released by his fans.

warnings: none

"And an incredible victory for McLaren's Lando Norris at the Monaco Grand Prix!"

The commentators' voices boom through the speakers, but Lando's already pulling off his helmet, eyes scanning the crowd. You know exactly what - or rather who- he's looking for.

Even through the chaos of the celebration, he spots you by the barrier. That bright smile of his lights up his entire face as he jogs over, still in his race suit, completely ignoring the cameras and officials trying to direct him toward the podium.

"There you are!" He wraps you in a tight hug, lifting you slightly off your feet. The cameras are rolling, but he couldn't care less. "Did you see that last sector? I was thinking about what you said about being patient through Rascasse..."

"Lando, podium ceremony..." One of the team officials approaches cautiously.

"Just a minute," he waves them off, his arm still firmly around your waist. He's practically bouncing with excitement, telling you about every corner of his final lap.

"Lando, we really need to—"

"I said a minute!" There's that stubborn tone you know so well. He turns back to you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "You're coming up on the podium with me, right?"

Another official appears. "Lando, we're holding up the ceremony..."

"Then they can wait," he shrugs, pulling you closer. "I just won Monaco, I think I've earned five minutes with my girlfriend." His thumb traces circles on your hand, that post-race adrenaline making him even more tactile than usual.

Zak Brown finally walks over himself, trying not to laugh. "Come on, lover boy. The champagne's getting warm."

"Fine, fine," Lando sighs dramatically, but doesn't let go of your hand. Instead, he starts walking toward the podium, pulling you along. When the officials try to direct you elsewhere, he actually pouts. "No, she's staying with me. She's good luck – I literally just proved that, didn't I?"

"Lando," you laugh, "you need to do the ceremony properly."

"Then come back down and wait right there," he points to a spot by the stairs. "Where I can see you, Promise?"

"Promise."

He still keeps glancing at you throughout the entire ceremony, waving and pointing during the anthem like an excited kid showing off to his parents at a school play. The moment the photos are done, he's bounding down those steps three at a time, champagne bottle still in hand, making a beeline straight back to you.

The photographers go wild as he pulls you into another hug, champagne spraying everywhere. You can already picture the headlines: "Norris Celebrates Monaco Win with Mystery Girl," or "Lando's Lucky Charm? Norris's Girlfriend Steals the Show."

It's like this at every race. Before he even gets in the car, he'll find you in the paddock for a good luck kiss, lingering just a little longer than necessary while the cameras flash. And the moment he's out of the car, win or lose, he'seline straight to you. There are countless photos of you two plastered all over the internet: Lando holding your hand in the airport, Lando with his arm around your waist at team dinners, Lando stealing kisses in the garage between practice sessions. Your affection is constantly on display, and honestly, you've stopped trying to hide it. It's just... You two.

One of your favorites is a candid shot from Silverstone last year. It's raining, and you're huddled under an umbrella, Lando's face buried in your hair, his arms wrapped tightly around you. You can practically feel the warmth and comfort radiating from the picture. It's moments like those, captured by chance, that really tell your story.

"Lando, brilliant drive today. Talk us through that crucial overtake on lap 43..."

Lando's practically bouncing in his seat at the press conference, that post-race glow still radiating from him. "Yeah, so that move was actually something my girlfriend and I discussed last night. She noticed in the practice footage that there was this tiny window if you positioned just right, and—" He beams proudly. "She's got such an eye for these things, you know?"

"Um, right... Moving on to tire management—"

"Oh! Speaking of tires," Lando interrupts eagerly, "she actually made this amazing spreadsheet tracking tire degradation patterns. She's proper clever, my girlfriend. Did you know she—"

"Lando," the journalist tries again, "about the safety car period..."

"That was pretty tense, yeah. I was on the radio with my engineer, but all I could think about was this thing she told me about staying centered, right? You do meditation and—" He pauses, grinning at you in the back. "Sorry, she's pulling faces at me from the back. Isn't she cute when she's trying to get me to focus?"

Another journalist raises her hand. "Can we discuss the championship implications of today's victory?"

"Absolutely!" Lando nods seriously, then immediately breaks into another smile. "Actually, funny story – this morning at breakfast, she was saying... wait, where are you going?" He calls out to the departing journalists. "I haven't told you about how she helped me perfect my racing line!"

Max Verstappen, sitting next to him, just shakes his head with a knowing smirk. "Mate, they're going to rename these to 'Lando's Girlfriend Updates' instead of press conferences."

"Well, they should," Lando says with complete sincerity. "She's way more interesting than racing."

Later, during the post-race press conference, a journalist asks about his aggressive strategy during the middle stint. But Lando, being Lando, somehow manages to turn it into a story about how you'd helped him perfect his racing line through the swimming pool complex during simulator practice.

Your phone buzzes with a text from his race engineer: "Another 'my girlfriend' mention - that's 7 this weekend. New record? 😂"

The F1 Twitter account has already posted the clip, and the comments are flooding in: "Lando mentioning his gf challenge: IMPOSSIBLE DIFFICULTY" "Find someone who talks about you the way Lando talks about her 😭" "Petition to give her a mic during races since he clearly can't go 5 mins without consulting her 😂"

But that's just Lando. Whether he's at the track, doing interviews, or just hanging out at home playing sim racing, he's always reaching for your hand, always finding ways to be close. His enthusiasm isn't just about racing anymore - it's about sharing every moment, every victory, every challenge with you.

"You know they're making compilation videos of you talking about me in interviews, right?" you tell him later that evening.

He's sprawled on the hotel room couch, head in your lap, still buzzing from the win. "Only volume three? They're slacking," he grins, then gets that soft, sincere look that makes your heart skip. "Can't help it though, can I? Best thing that's ever happened to me, you are."

The funny thing is, nobody knows the half of it, from all the jokes about how he can't stop talking about you, memes, and compilation videos.

They don't see the quiet moments - the good luck texts before every practice session, the way he absentmindedly plays with your fingers during strategy meetings, how he still gets that awestruck look sometimes when he thinks you're not watching.

In a world of apex predators and millisecond margins, Lando Norris, McLaren's rising star, has somehow made your love story as much a part of his racing narrative as podiums and pole positions. And honestly? You wouldn't have it any other way.