loricciardo

[loricciardo]

CHAPTER SIX | KARMA GOES BOTH WAYS

tags. original female character, heavy misogyny, toxic masculinity, verbal & physical aggression, toxic father-son dynamics, emotional distress, unresolved grief, psychological manipulation (if you squint), max can’t even say natalie’s name, i dont know how to write race scenes without making them boring.

a/n. i rewrote this chapter multiple times and i dont even know if i even like it. but it’s okay </3 poor max, all he wants is his father’s praise without having to doing anything to earn it

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Karma had a funny sense of humor, Max decided, as the car rolled into his grid slot at the front of the 19 man (+1 woman) pack.

The sun blazed down on the tarmac, heat shimmering off the formula cars as they lined up for the start. Max adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, glancing into the tiny rearview mirror. Not for the Ferraris or the Mercedes this time, but for the glint of scarlet just behind him; Natalie’s helmet.

It was impossible to miss, he decided. That garish, shimmering red with metallic overlays and tiny lightning bolts streaked across the sides as if she was trying to brand herself as electric. But what caught Max’s attention most (and what always did) were the seven small silver stars arched neatly across the crown. One for each of her father’s championships. A legacy engraved into lacquer. He’d heard Natalie say it was a tribute, something personal, but to Max, it looked painfully tacky. Too obnoxious, too showy, clinging to the past. Riding the tail end of someone else’s greatness. Natalie wore that helmet like a crown she hadn’t ever earned, and that infuriated Max.

Max had slowly eased off the gas just enough during the formation lap to let her sit uncomfortably close to his car. A small, petty part of him enjoyed it. Made her work for the gap. Let her stew.

The lights began Formula One’s familiar dance.

First light flicked on. Max exhaled slowly through his nose, letting the adrenaline settle into something cold and precise.

Second. Third. Fourth.

Fifth.

With a flick of his fingers over the button and a reflexive tighten of his grip on the wheel, Max launched.

It was clean. Perfect, even, if the Dutch man had to say so himself. The RB19 responded as if it was hardwired to his nerves, like the grip of the tires had fused into his body itself. There was no oversteer, no stutter, and he was able to accelerate way ahead of everyone else. Red Bull had truly created a monster of a car.

Max had controlled momentum that reminded everyone why he sat on pole. Why Max Verstappen was the reigning World Champion. Everyone else slowly faded in the dust.. until they didn’t.

A sudden whoosh of yellow light flashed in the corner of Max’s vision as he flew out of the second turn. His focus snapped to the trackside panels that were blinking amber. He realized something had gone wrong behind him.

His right foot stayed planted on the accelerator, but instinct sharpened his senses. His eyes darted to his mirrors, though all he could see was the shimmer of distant carbon fiber catching the Bahrain sun. No clear incident in sight.

The radio crackled in his ear a second later, static breaking just long enough for GP’s voice to come through. There was hesitation in the tone. Definitely not panicked, but heavy, like he was holding something back.

“Yellow flags, Max, possible Virtual Safety Car incoming.”

“What happened?” Max didn’t take his eyes off the apex as he slowly rounded the next corner, but his stomach coiled with something that wasn’t quite curiosity, but danced along with amusement.

“It was.. Alonso and Schumacher. Contact at Turn One.”

There was a beat of static. Max didn’t need to hear the rest of what GP was about to say. He already knew. The pit of his stomach dropped, sharp and cold, and a rough, heartfelt laugh scraped its way up his throat before he could stop it. It came out dry, bitter, and breathless as Max caught the lack of air in his lungs. Of course it was her again. Of course it was this. The one thing he didn’t want to deal with, the one distraction he couldn’t outrun. His hands tightened on the wheel, jaw clenched hard enough to ache. Of fucking course!

“She’s pitting currently. Looks like Alonso needs a new front wing. I believe.. Schumacher’s got a puncture.”

Max’s eyes narrowed behind the visor. “Again, if I wanted updates on her, I’d ask.”

“Copy.”

He barely had time to ride the wave of vindication before GP’s voice came back, quieter this time.

“This is important, Max. Schumacher’s retiring. Damage to her rear suspension. You’re the only Red Bull on track.”

And there it was. Barely a corner into the race, and Natalie Schumacher was already out. The only trace of satisfaction left was the tiniest pull at the corner of his mouth, hidden beneath the matte shell of his helmet. He kept his hands steady on the wheel, eyes forward, voice silent on the radio. He didn’t need details and he didn’t need to gloat. Because the result spoke loud enough: she couldn’t even make it to the checkered flag. Again. And for Max, that was the difference. The chasm that separated a two time world champion from that F2 rookie with nothing but her name.

“So Max, your first win of the season. How does it feel?”

The camera was too close for comfort and Max could already feel sweat drying at his temple as he nodded. Unsurprisingly, his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah,” he mused with his voice even, “it feels good. Starting from pole, you expect to finish up front. The car was strong, strategy was clean, and the team did a great job today.”

Cheers rippled through the crowd just behind the press barrier, but Max barely reacted for he had done this what felt like the thousandth time of his career already.

“And speaking of the team…” the reporter continued, almost too casually. “Can you comment on Red Bull’s decision to retire Natalie Schumacher’s car? From the outside it looked like a minor issue. A small tire puncture, rear suspension damage. What do you make of it?”

Max’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t break eye contact with the camera.

“I think my teammate said everything that needed to be said out on track,” Max answered bluntly. “I support the team’s decision, and I trust that they know what’s best.”

Per usual, the reporter wasn’t done. “This morning, Natalie told us she hoped her performance this year might inspire more young girls to get interested in motorsports. Do you think she can still be that role model… after today?”

It was a stupid question. Obvious headline bait, plain and simple. But Max’s patience had already worn thin. He could feel his victory slipping from the narrative. How dare they? Why wouldn’t they ask him about something that actually mattered?

“Well let’s just say,” the brunette man nodded coolly, “she would be more inspiring talking about the makeup she wears over racing.”

The reporter blinked, taken aback, but Max had already turned.

In the Red Bull garage, just a few moments after stepping down from the podium with champagne still drying on his race suit and the scent of burnt rubber clinging to his skin, Max expected applause. Maybe a few back slaps, a grin from Christian, some acknowledgment of the win. Instead, the moment he stepped beneath the bright fluorescent lights of the pit lane awning, he was hit with a brick of tension that was so heavy it beat through the adrenaline still shaking in his veins. Engineers barely looked up from their monitors while the mechanics exchanged stiff glances. And Christian Horner was already striding toward the driver with that particular frown Max recognized all too well. Sheer disappointment, almost disgust.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Christian all but shouted. He marched towards the driver and crossed his arms.

Max tossed one of his gloves onto the bench and unzipped his suit halfway. “Mm.. what do you mean?”

“Don’t act so bloody stupid,” Christian snapped. “You couldn’t let it go for one day? One race?”

Max shrugged, wadding up his balaclava. “If she can’t take a little media pressure, maybe she’s not cut out for all this.”

Christian stared at him, disgusted, for a beat longer, then shook his head and turned back to the pitwall, muttering under his breath.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway, stomping and unhesitating. Max didn’t look up at first but the rhythm was familiar now, embedded in the back of his mind like the hum of the RB engine. Her silhouette stretched along the floor before she even appeared, cast by the overhead lights in jagged, flickering lines. The curve of her ponytail, the purposeful swing of her stride. Max knew it was his teammate before she even crossed the threshold.

“Well done, Verstappen! You really know how to soak up the spotlight.” Natalie’s tone was low as she strolled into the garage with a tennis ball bouncing in one hand.

She didn’t look at him, or rather, she couldn’t. Natalie was way too angry with the man right now to even set her eyes on him. She just plopped into the chair across from the telemetry screens and pulled her knees up, curling into herself in that completely impractical way Max found bizarrely vexing.

There’s no way that’s comfortable, he thought. What’s wrong with sitting with both feet on the floor?

“At least I finished the race,” he scoffed and itched his scalp. “Unlike someone who tapped out before Lap Two. Not very Intimidator of you.”

“Sorry? I didn’t ‘tap out’. I came in because the team called me in.” Natalie looked bewildered at Max.

“Maybe the car just had enough,” he muttered. “Didn’t want to embarrass itself trying to drag the stupid idiot that sat in the cockpit around for fifty eight laps.”

She stood suddenly, faster than Max expected. By the time Max turned, she was right there. Not tall but close enough that he had to tilt his chin to keep looking down at her. Her voice dropped to a quiet, dangerous place.

“Fuck. You. And I mean it.”

Max smirked, leaning in ever so slightly. “Very original. Practice that one in the mirror too, Princess?”

Natalie’s palms smacked Max’s chest with a sharp, unexpected force that knocked him back a step. Enough to jolt the breath from his lungs and wipe the shit eating grin clean off his face. He hadn’t seen that coming at all. One second she was glaring, the next she was lunging, frustration spilling from her fingers as if it had been waiting to be unleashed since lights out.

Honestly, the shove wasn’t enough to hurt but it carried the weight of every insult he’d thrown her way, every sneer and sideways comment, and it landed with a startling thunk. Max blinked, stunned for half a heartbeat, before his eyes snapped up to meet hers. Natalie was already standing square again, arms glued at her sides, and a crooked, almost smug grin pulled at the edge of her mouth.

“Did you just.. push me?”

“Sure did.”

Max stepped forward instinctively. In his mind, closing the space between them might somehow give him back control of the altercation spiraling between them. The air crackled, their earlier argument still simmering just beneath the surface. But before he could say a word, a third voice cut through, gentle yet undoubtedly excited.

“Hey Tallie! What’s going—?” It was Mick Schumacher.

Max watched the tension in Natalie’s shoulders drop the second her brother’s hand landed on her arm. Mick didn’t say much. Just smiled, calm and solid, like always.

“You ready to go?” Mick asked his sister, glancing only briefly at Max.

Natalie didn’t answer right away. She stood there a second longer, something unreadable flickering across her face, before she nodded. She moved quickly, packing up her gear without a glance back at Max.

Max stood in place, jaw tight, one hand with a glove still on.

Mick paused just before the blonde siblings turned to leave. “Oh! Also, Mama called,” the blonde man informed, more tender now. “She wanted me to tell you she’s proud of you.”

Natalie’s face didn’t change but she stilled at the words. And then, in a quiet voice she sourly got out: “But.. I didn’t even finish.”

“I just knew you were going to say that! She didn’t care,” Mick chuckled, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “She admires the effort.”

They were proud of her? She hadn’t even made it through a full lap!

Max stood at the back of the garage, arms crossed, watching as Natalie disappeared down the hallway with Mick. She was laughing again. It was half hearted, sure, but nevertheless. And for what? A DNF and sympathy? He didn’t understand it. Couldn’t.

His jaw clenched as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, the screen lighting up with the same message he’d been ignoring since the cooldown room.

Pa: You only won by eleven seconds? Really? Get a bigger gap next time. See you in Jeddah.

Max didn’t even bother replying. He knew better by now to. The man shoved his phone back into his race suit, fingers digging into the fabric just a little more aggressively than necessary.

“Gina wants to call and hear all about it when we’re back at the hotel, okay?” Mick’s voice carried back toward the other garage. “And how about some ice cream to celebrate your first race in the books?”

“You are actually five years old, bru!”

“Uh, whatever do you mean?” Mick cleared his throat. “You hear that, everyone?! My little sister just had her first ever Formula One race! Did she finish? No! But she—OW!”

Max watched through the gap between the garages as Natalie smacked Mick’s arm with a glare. Mick grinned at her anyway, and she cracked a small smile in return. The kind of moment Max would’ve rolled his eyes at if the fire burning in his chest wasn’t so ruthlessly hot. He waited until they rounded the corner and were gone.

Then, without thinking, he grabbed the fuzzy tennis ball Natalie left behind earlier, still sitting on the counter, hurled it at the nearest wall.

The snap echoed through the garage. An engineer glanced up quickly from the monitor across the room but didn’t say anything. Max didn’t care who saw.

He let out a harsh breath that sounded more like a snarl, running a hand through his hair as he stared at the spot where the ball had bounced and rolled off into a corner.

The air in the garage was cooler now that the cars were off and the grandstands had mostly packed up, but it did nothing to settle the heat boiling under his skin. His win today had been clean. Dominant, even. Pole to flag. A fucking hat trick for God’s sake! And yet, all anyone seemed to care about was her.

He’d seen it in the press room. How the questions about his race had immediately pivoted to hers. He’d seen it in the eyes of the younger mechanics. Ones who had spent more time helping her get adjusted than reviewing his telemetry. Even Christian, despite the earlier reprimand, had seemed more concerned about Natalie’s reaction than proud of Max’s result for the team.

And the worst part?

There were cracks in Natalie today. Flaws in that perfectly constructed persona. The quiet, controlled tone she always used with the press? It had slipped. The tight grip on her PR smile? Gone. He’d seen the frustration, the wild flash in her eyes when she shoved him, the sharpness in her voice. For the first time, she looked human.

Natalie Schumacher looked vulnerable.

And Max planned to keep pulling at every thread until the whole thing unraveled. Until everyone saw what he already knew. That Natalie Schumacher didn’t belong in the same car as him. And she never would.

He looked back at the scuffed wall where the tennis ball had smacked and finally let his lips curl upwards. It wasn’t anything close to sweet.

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[loricciardo]

CHAPTER FIVE | JUST A GIRL

tags. original female character, max’s POV sorta, misogyny, objectification, max is a dick (as usual), christian horner, mentions of grid girls, cussing, media scrutiny, max is a dick. let me know if there’s more to be added!

a/n. this chapter is iffy to me. next week’s is really juicy, and honestly might be my favorite so far!! the first race!!! also wanted to note that natalie’s abbreviation on the time screen is NSC - not SCH because of mick/michael, who was MSC. and ‘bru’ is short for bro in german. :)

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The Bahrain sun hung oppressively above the paddock yet again, high and merciless, melting into the asphalt beneath their feet. Even inside the garages with the huge industrial fans blasting and engineers moving like shadows through the heat, the air remained thick and still. Sweat clung to Max Verstappen’s back the moment he stepped outside, his fireproofs sticking uncomfortably against his skin. It was qualifying day, and the entire track was beaming with focus.

Then came.. laughter? It was bright and bubbly, threading through the air like a switchblade. And undoubtedly high pitched, which could mean only one clear thing.

Max’s eyes snapped toward the noise, and sure enough, there she was: Natalie Schumacher. Half hidden behind one of the taller telemetry cabinets, chatting with one of the engineers, a Red Bull cap with her number embroidered on and her fire suit hanging loose around her waist. She looked relaxed. Far too relaxed for someone’s first ever official Formula 1 race as a driver for such a prestigious team.

Honestly? It had surprised Max.

He’d seen the timing sheets, and she was quick. Quicker than she had any right to be in that second Red Bull seat. When the screens in the garage lit up with her lap time, he’d let a curse slip under his breath, one sharp enough to earn a pointed look from Christian Horner.

And that only made it worse! Because Christian was the one who’d once told him, not too long ago behind closed doors, that if Red Bull could run only one driver, it would be Max. Always Max. Now, that same team principal stood proudly at the helm while Natalie Schumacher, the media’s wet dream and this so-called ‘rookie prodigy’ came within tenths of his time. She just grinned from her side of the garage just like someone who knew exactly what kind of shit she was stirring, then went off to praise the team in her interviews like a picture perfect pilot.

And Max would be damned. He didn’t buy it one bit.

Now, she was laughing again! At what? He didn’t care to know, but it cut through the whir of equipment and movement like it was meant to bother him. She didn’t belong here. Not in that car. Not in his garage. And today, he was going to prove it.

The man was halfway through stuffing his gloves into his pockets, the snug Nomex material catching slightly on the edge of the hole when her voice rang out behind him.

“Hey, Max! Good luck out there.”

How dare she speak to him like they were equals? How dare she insinuate that he needs luck?

His shoulders stiffened for a beat before he turned to face Natalie fully. She stood a few feet away and her Red Bull water bottle was in one hand, making Max deliberately hold back a scoff. The corners of her lips were curved up just enough to pass for friendly.

Max didn’t return the expression. “I don’t need it.” The words landed flat, heavy with obvious disdain.

Natalie’s smile slightly faltered. Not enough for the average person to notice, but he saw it. The subtle twitch of muscle at her jaw, the tightening around her eyes. She let out a breath that was almost a laugh, dry and unimpressed.

“Okay,” she pursed her lips, head tilting slightly. “Sue me for trying to be nice.” Her tone was laced with irritation now, something rawer underneath the surface. She tutted and turned her back to him, muttering something low in German as she walked away. He didn’t quite catch it but the edge in her voice said enough.

Her long blonde hair swung behind her as she moved, a loose, defiant wave against the pristine backdrop of the garage. Max shook his head once and went back to pulling on his gloves. He wasn’t going to let her get in his head. Not today.

But little did he know she already had.

The prep went by in a blur after that. Max stood in his corner, arms crossed over his chest as GP ran through final notes. Sector deltas, track evolution, wind direction, blahblah. Max caught every other word, just enough to nod at the right times.

Across the garage, in his peripheral vision, Natalie sat calmly beside her own race engineer, Hugh, her fireproofs now zipped up to her neck. Her helmet rested in her lap, bright red and gleaming under the fluorescent lights. Tiny lightning bolts shimmered along the sides, sharp and almost cartoonish, curling just below where her ears would be. Of course she’d have a flashy helmet.

Max rolled his eyes behind the brim of his cap, adjusting it slightly. He fully watched her only for a second. Her fingers drumming on the chin of her helmet as she nodded along to whatever strategy was being explained to her. She didn’t look nervous and she didn’t even look fazed. That bothered him a lot, especially since the team had been tense since her announcement. After two seasons of relative stability with Checo, the arrival of a rookie, even one with a Schumacher surname, rattled the team. She didn’t come through the Red Bull junior academy either, so she was still a bit of a newer face to all the guys.

All 20 drivers were called to the cars soon after. The mechanics had already rolled the machines into place with tires wrapped in blankets. Max moved first, slipping behind the wheel with practiced ease. He clicked the belt straps into place, every motion automatic and familiar. The cockpit swallowed him up, and suddenly the garage noise dulled to a manageable hum. He exhaled once through his nose and settled inside his car.

Next door, Natalie climbed into her seat, pulling her helmet on and buckling up just as smoothly. A crew member leaned in, making a small adjustment to her radio connector, and she nodded in response, adjusting her gloves. Through the narrow gap in the divider wall, Max could just make out the edge of her bright red helmet again. What a copier!

“Alright,” Christian muffled through the comms, “Natalie, you’re heading out first. Max, you’ll follow approximately sixty seconds later.”

Max watched as she pulled out of the garage, smoothly joining the line at pit exit, as if she’d done it just as much as he had. He waited, engine humming low, watching the clock.

By the end of Q2, Max was where he needed to be. Within reach of provisional pole. Estaban Ocon had triggered a red flag early on, but that was expected from Ocon, in Max’s opinion. What wasn’t expected was Natalie.

“NSC” right beneath “VER” on the leaderboard. They’d both made it into the third session.

“Alright, Max,” GP cleared over the radio. “You’re about a tenth off provisional pole. Schumacher’s two thousandths behind you.”

Max scoffed, tightening his grip on the wheel. “If I cared where she was, I’d ask.”

“Copy.” GP’s voice dropped, and the line clicked off.

Max’s final flying lap wasn’t flawless, but it was clean enough to secure pole position, as planned. As he climbed out of the car, cameras flashed, and the crowd roared. His name was on top. Just where it belonged.

He barely had time to absorb it before he heard the second driver pull into parc fermé. Then eventually the third car behind it. Max turned, expecting to see a Ferrari or maybe Norris’ McLaren in P2. They had been doing better this year, he noted.

But it was her! Natalie Schumacher, wiggling out of the buckle, stepping out of the car with a grin and waving to the fans like she was Princess Diana. Charles Leclerc reached her first, congratulating her with a brief handshake before crossing over to Max.

“Congrats, mate,” Charles smacked Max’s shoulder with a brief smile. “Looks like you got a huge storm behind you.”

Max didn’t answer. He pulled off his helmet and headed toward the staging area. Natalie followed, a step behind, pace matching his.

“So… this is how it’s going to be?” Her voice was quiet but deliberate. And the smile she wore didn’t reach her eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Max replied, eyes forward.

The media interviews started. Charles answered first, good natured and PR practiced.

“Well, we would’ve love to start P1, obviously,” the Ferrari driver chuckled. “But it’s a great spot to begin the season.”

Then it was Natalie’s turn.

“Natalie! P2 on your first qualifying session with Red Bull, just roughly 100 milliseconds off pole. What a debut!”

She smiled for the cameras. “Yeah, it all came together today. The team’s done a fantastic job getting me comfortable in the car. I’m really, really grateful.”

The questions started circling closer. “You’re starting right behind Max. How does that feel?”

Natalie didn’t hesitate, nodding with the interviewer’s words. “It’s no different than starting behind anyone else. So I’m ready for tomorrow.”

Her words were perfectly balanced. Nonchalant, diplomatic, and just slightly enough to dodge anything inflammatory. No praise, no critique. Max watched her walk away from the mic to a roar of applause. The fans were eating it up and it made him sick to his stomach.

Max stepped forward, adjusting the cap pulled down over his sweat damp curls.

“Max Verstappen,” the reporter beamed. “First pole sitter of the season. How are you feeling?”

“Yeah, it feels good. We knew we had pace here, but the job’s not finished yet.”

“Looking ahead to Turn 1, what do you expect from the pack behind you?”

He offered a short chuckle. “Honestly? I expected Leclerc or maybe Norris to be right behind.”

There was a pause before the reporter asked, “So you don’t expect Schumacher to keep her place?”

Max stared into the camera lens. “No comment. Let’s just see how the team does tomorrow, thanks.” He turned away before they could press further. The applause dulled in his ears, but he could feel her watching him from the sidelines.

Their eyes locked for the briefest moment. Her hazel eyes dark and unreadable beneath the brim of her Red Bull cap. She didn’t flinch or look away. The smirk she offered was small, defiant.

Max was the one to look away first.

“What the hell is his problem?” Natalie’s voice filled the car before Mick even made it to second gear.

“Good morning to you too,” he replied dryly, eyes flicking to her before returning to the road. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy you decided to ride with me today. But do you talk this much with George and Alex? Because I’m starting to think I did them a favor.”

“Mick,” she scoffed, lightly smacking his arm. “you’re so dramatic!”

“I’m serious,” Mick chuckled with a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe there’s no explanation. Sometimes people are just arseholes.”

Natalie slumped back in the seat and crossed her arms. Her Red Bull jacket was too warm, and the sun was already pressing in through the windshield. “I haven’t done anything to that man. I’ve tried to be professional. I’ve tried to be nice.”

“And it’s been killing you,” Mick summed up.

She rolled her eyes, but smiled despite herself. Mick always had a way of diffusing her temper before it could boil over. Maybe that’s why she’d opted to ride with him this morning instead of jumping in with George and Alex, who also didn’t particularly care for Max. In fact, they egged her on. With Mick, she could breathe with a level head. Even if it meant swallowing his brutal honesty along with it.

The paddock was already super busy when Mick’s car pulled in. Security waved them through the gate as a knot of reporters stood waiting near the garage lot, cameras slung low but ready. He parked without comment and shut off the engine.

Mick turned toward her. “Ready-o?”

“Nope.” Natalie hesitated.

“Well.. at least you’re honest.” He grinned and pushed his door open. They walked side by side toward the paddock entrance, helmet bags in hand, trying to keep their heads down as questions began flying from every direction.

“Natalie! Mick! Just one question!”

“Natalie, is it true Max refused to debrief with you yesterday?”

“Natalie, any truth to the rumors you only got the seat because of your last name?”

Inside the gate, the rowdiness dulled slightly. Natalie exhaled slowly, tension leaking from her shoulders.

“We made it,” she muttered and exhaled breathlessly.

“Ah, ah, ah. You spoke too soon,” Mick clicked his tongue, catching sight of a familiar voice jogging toward them.

“Oh,” Natalie sighed under her breath. “Of course…”

“Hey, you two!” Ted beamed, breathless and far too eager. “Do you have a moment for Sky?”

Natalie exchanged a look with Mick, who just shrugged. “Sure, Ted. What’s up?”

“Well first off. How does it feel being here together? It’s been a couple years since you’ve raced in the same series, hasn’t it?”

Mick answered first, per usual. “I’m just excited to see what Nat can do. She’s been in my corner for years, even when I was struggling. It’s my turn to be a proper big brother now.”

Natalie smiled at him, her throat tightening at the sincerity in Mick’s voice.

“And Natalie. Your family’s been linked to Ferrari and Mercedes for decades. Was there hesitation when signing with Red Bull?”

The warmth from Mick’s sweet reply slowly drained. God, why must she always be asked the hard questions? Natalie kept her voice measured. “Of course we had conversations, but at the end of the day, Red Bull offered me the seat. It didn’t make any sense to turn down the best car on the grid.”

Ted nodded too eagerly and kept going. “I see. But in terms of viewership, you’ve done amazing things already. The numbers show an increase in male fans, and, well, there’s definitely been talks about you.”

Natalie raised an eyebrow and chuckled uneasily.

“Some people online are calling you the ‘Grid Girl of F1,’” Ted continued, smiling like he was relaying a compliment. “Like how they used to have those beautiful models on the track before a race. Do you like that nickname?”

Her smile froze and her stomach twisted in knots. “Grid.. Girl?” Natalie echoed.

“I mean, it’s cheeky, right? You’re the first woman to race fulltime in F1 and—”

“And this is what people are saying about me?” she interrupted. “That I’m a grid girl?”

Mick shifted beside her, blue eyes narrowing at his sister. He knew shit was about to hit the fan but before he was able to stop her, Ted continued.

“I’m just reporting what’s being said on social—”

“Did you ask Max how he feels being called attractive?” Her tone stayed level, but her gaze burned. “Did you ask Charles what it’s like to be considered ‘eye candy’? Or George, since he actually models for IWC?”

Ted’s mouth opened but nothing came out.

“No? Just me? Ha, funny,” she shook her head. “I’m just here to do my job. And as I’ve said before, that is to race. I don’t want to hear any kind of shit like that again. Especially from you, Ted.” Natalie spun around on her heel and stomped away, down the paddock.

“Uh… Sorry, Ted,” Mick stammered slowly, clearly choosing his words with care. “She has a race to win.”

Before the reporter could blurt out a response, Mick was already backing away, quickening his stride to catch up with his sister, who was already halfway down the paved road and showing no signs of slowing.

“You really went for it Nat,” Mick mumbled once he fell into stride beside her, breath puffing out with a low whistle.

Natalie didn’t look at her brother. “Was I wrong?”

“No, no, not at all,” Mick answered quickly and glanced over at her. “But you.. definitely didn’t leave room for interpretation.”

She gave a humorless laugh. “Good.”

There was a long pause as they walked, the Red Bull and Haas hospitality areas looming ahead. Crew members and paid influencers moved briskly around them, but Mick kept his sole attention on her.

“You know they’re going to spin that, right?” the older boy added gently. “I just.. I don’t know if you should’ve handled it like that...”

Natalie sighed, slowing down just enough to dig her phone out of her pocket. “Then that’s on them,” she remarked. “I’m not going to smile and nod when someone calls me a glorified object. I plan to be completely honest to everyone.”

Mick didn’t argue with her. Not because he agreed with how Natalie handled it, but because he knew it wouldn’t matter. There was no convincing Natalie to back down once her mind was made up. She was like their father that way, stubborn to the core. And far too proud. Never ever apologized just to keep the peace. Michael had always said defeat wasn’t just about losing a race, it was about compromising yourself. And Natalie? She couldn’t stomach it either. Whether she was right or wrong, once she locked into her principles, that was it. She was unshakable. And Mick, despite every brotherly instinct to protect his sister from the backlash he knew would inevitably come, understood that trying to stop her now would be a fruitless endeavor.

“‘Grid Girl,’” Mick echoed, tone sour. “What a load of shit.”

The siblings stopped just outside the Red Bull garage, a mechanic giving her a quick nod as he passed with a tire trolley.

Natalie turned to face her brother. “Mick, do you remember what Pa used to say? About people underestimating you?”

Mick tilted his head, puzzled. “I do… He said it was better when they did.”

Natalie nodded once, eyes sharpening. “Good. Because I think most of them still do.”

Mick was quiet for a moment. Then, with a small smile, he reached into the sleeve of his Haas pullover and pulled out a black hair tie. “You just have to show them they’re all wrong.”

Natalie reached up, tightening her ponytail with the band he’d given her. “That’s the plan, bru.”

“Well, well. The Princess finally decided to grace us with her presence,” Max tutted without lifting his eyes from his ever so interesting thighs as Natalie arrived at the Red Bull garage.

Natalie didn’t bother slowing her brisk stride. “Christian told me nine. And it’s nine o’clock.” She tossed the words over her shoulder and kept walking toward the back rooms, where her race suit was already laid out.

“If you’re not fifteen minutes early, Schumacher, you’re late,” Max called after her. She raised her hand in a lazy wave, her middle finger pointed behind her. Hypocrite.

By the time she reemerged, suited up and hair tied tight, Max was already standing with Christian at the strategy table. She crossed the garage with calm purpose, pretending not to notice the side eyes from a few crew members as she joined them.

Christian looked up, barely hiding his exhaustion. “Alright. You two know the drill. We’ve got a real shot at a 1-2 today if we stay clean off the line, nail the stops, and don’t do anything stupid.”

Max huffed a quiet laugh, tapping his fingers against the table like he couldn’t be bothered to hold it in.

Christian’s brows twitched. “Is there something funny?”

“No, nothing,” Max waved his head, eyes still locked on the computer screen. “Just admiring your optimism.”

Natalie’s gaze narrowed. “You got something you want to say, Verstappen?”

“Ah, it’s nothing new,” Max replied flatly, not even sparing the woman a glance.

Christian sighed, clearly weighing his patience against the likelihood of throwing his fist into the nearest wall. “I swear to God, you two need to cut the pettiness out—”

“Hey. You won’t hear a peep from me,” Natalie cut in, offering the most neutral smile she could muster.

Max nodded once. “When it comes to actual racing.. you know you don’t have to worry about me, Christian.”

Natalie leaned forward, palms braced on the edge of the table. “It would be a real shame if your front wing went missing, huh?”

“Alright, both of you. Stop,” Christian snapped, before Max could respond. “This is not helpful. This is not clever. This isn’t cute. This is why I have a migraine.”

Natalie raised both hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying. I’m focused on the team. Not my ego.”

Max finally looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Just a sidelong glance that said more than words ever could. “We’ll see, Schumacher.”

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[loricciardo]

hi! i’m only on chapter 3 of your natalie and max’s story, but i was wondering if we get any susie wolff cameos? i’d imagine they’d work closely and i just love susie so much hehe

HIYA ANON! that could be possible… i do really like susie and her work at the academy so it might not be in the next couple chapters (i obviously write a few ahead of time) but if theres a place i believe i could fit her in… i dont see why not :)

[loricciardo]

CHAPTER FOUR | THE RED INTIMIDATOR

tags. original female character, mild misogyny, public scrutiny, references to michael schumacher’s accident and condition, performance anxiety.

a/n. double update!!! this will be the last double update for awhile i fear. i just wanted to get the intro chapters over so next week we can start natalie and max’s beef.

taglist. want to join or be removed from my taglist? send me an ask or comment below!

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“Up, Schumi!” George Russell’s voice rumbled down the hallway, far too cheerful for six in the morning. And before Natalie could even groan in response, her door creaked open and something cotton but heavy smacked her in right the face.

“Rise and shine rookie,” George cooed sweetly from the doorway. “Suit up.”

Natalie yanked the crumpled Red Bull polo off her head with a scowl, squinting at him through one eye. “Are you serious?”

George shrugged, already backing out of the room with a his toothbrush hanging from his mouth. “Fifteen minutes, lady. Albon’s making breakie. If you’re not downstairs by then, I’m eating yours.”

“I’ll suffocate you with this shirt.”

“Ahh… cheerful. See you soon, Nat.” George winked and disappeared down the hall.

Natalie flopped back into the pillows with a groan, the shirt bunched in her fist, already regretting not staying at Mick’s. But Mick didn’t come with George’s British charm or Alex’s dramatics.. And unfortunately, she kind of needed both on her first day.

On second thought..? The door burst open again.

Alex stood in the doorway, shirtless, black tendrils a mess, and holding a saucepan in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other like it was some kind of ceremonial drum and drumstick. He leaned against the doorframe, already grinning, tapping the spoon against the pan rhythmically.

“Hear ye, hear ye,” Alex announced, “The sun hath risen, and thou hast precisely ten seconds to get vertical before I drag thee from thine bed burrito style in yon duvet!”

Natalie groaned, grabbed the nearest pillow that lay beside her waist, and hurled it toward Alex’s face. He ducked, barely missing the cushion.

“The fair maiden has denied my decree. I am forced to take drastic measures,” Alex eventually got out, albeit with his giggles tainting his Shakespearean.

“Try it and I’ll shove that saucepan somewhere very creative Albon.”

Alex gave a dramatic bow. “She’s up! I hath fulfilled my noble duties,” he then dashed out the room, taking the saucepan and spoon with him.

“Mick never treats me this way,” she yelled, dragging the covers off and squinting at the ceiling.

“Well Mick goes to bed at nine like my nanna,” Alex yelled down the hallway. “You’d have died of boredom!”

Fifteen minutes later, she eventually emerged freshly showered, blonde hair still damp, dressed in the fresh navy blue of her Red Bull polo. George handed her a foil wrapped egg sandwich and a bottle of water wordlessly.

“Ah, Thank you,” Natalie acknowledged through a yawn, collapsing onto the couch.

“Y’know, I’ve kept mine warm by sitting on it,” Alex announced proudly, holding up his sandwich.

“You’re disgusting,” Natalie muttered.

“I prefer creative, actually.”

“I don’t care.”

The car ride to the track was familiar in the way that old routines became comforting. Sort of like when you’re streets away from home after being on the road for a very long time. The quiet roads hummed beneath the tires, sunlight crept through tinted windows, and the occasional stretch of silence that didn’t feel awkward. She had always ridden with Mick whenever Formula 2’s schedule allowed her.

Surprisingly, the car was quiet. Well, except for George’s phone, which was not. A TikTok looped at full volume in the backseat, some girl ranting about red flags in dating while autotuned music played over her voice.

“George William Russell,” Natalie hissed, “I swear to God—”

“What?! I’m learning!” he defended. “This is research, Natalie.”

“Research for what? Figuring out how Carmen hasn’t dumped you yet?” Alex deadpanned from the driver’s seat, flicking the turn signal on.

They pulled into the lot and sat there for a moment, the three of them exchanging glances. The place was already a fucking zoo. Flashes popping, cameras swinging toward every new face, reporters shouting questions over the hum of the crowd. Phones were raised like a sea of glowing rectangles.

George glanced sideways at Natalie, a half smile tugging at his lips. “So… You want to lead the charge, or should I send Alex out first to take the heat?”

Alex didn’t miss a beat. “I volunteer as tribute,” he chimed with a smirk, swinging his door open before anyone could answer.

They climbed out of the car together. Natalie found herself wedged between George and Alex, arms crossed tightly over her chest as she adjusted the sunglasses resting on her nose. The moment their feet hit the pavement, the press descended like a pack. Questions flew from all directions, flashes erupted, and microphones thrust forward as if drawn by some invisible magnet.

Natalie steeled herself, already bracing for the onslaught.

“Natalie! How does it feel stepping into Checo’s seat?”

“George, any thoughts on the new car?”

“Alex! Predictions for Williams this year?”

“Natalie, what do you make of Max skipping media day?”

Natalie’s mouth parted, ready to answer the flood of questions, but before a single word left her, the atmosphere shifted. A low murmur rippled through the crowd, spreading like wildfire as cameras and microphones suddenly pivoted. Reporters craned their necks, and the flashbulbs multiplied, all turning toward the source of the disturbance behind them.

She didn’t need to glance back to know who it was.

There Verstappen was, walking past the trio with that nonchalant, effortless stride. His shoulders hung loose, carrying the calm confidence of someone that owned the room, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as if he was privately amused by the chaos his presence ignited. The dark lenses of his sunglasses masked his eyes, but his.. cocky aura was unmistakable, commanding every camera and microphone to follow him instead.

Not a single reporter dared speak to Natalie anymore and she was suddenly invisible in the wake of his arrival.

Natalie swallowed hard, her breath catching for a moment before she forced herself forward. The press had moved on, but the weight of being overlooked settled heavily on her chest as she kept walking.

“Who are we stuck with for the press conference again?” Natalie cleared her throat.

George made a face. “Alonso and Hülk.”

“Oh, yippee,” she muttered. “Didn’t know it was senior citizen day.”

“We should place bets on how long it takes Fernando to mention ‘back in my day,’” Alex added.

“I’m putting five on the first three questions,” Natalie chuckled, nudging the door open with her hip.

George immediately reached for the door to open it for her. “First three? Blimey! I say the first one!”

The lights in the press conference room were too hot. Natalie could already feel the back of her neck starting to itch from the heat of it, but she sat straight, legs crossed neatly at the ankle like Heather had reminded her backstage. There were four of them seated at the front table. Fernando Alonso to her left, Nico Hülkenberg to his, then Alex and George on the far end. It didn’t escape her that someone had purposefully placed her in the center.

“So, Fernando,” one of the journalists started, “how does it feel being up there with the future of Formula 1?”

“Hey, I’m here too,” Nico cut in dryly before Fernando could answer. His deadpan tone earned a decent ripple of laughter from the room.

Fernando just smirked and leaned into the mic. “Yeah… it’s certainly interesting,” he mused, drawing out the words, eyes flicking sideways at George. “Backstage, they were all talking at once and I… I could hardly understand half of what they were saying.”

Laughter broke out louder among the crowd that time. Natalie glanced to her right and caught Alex covering his mouth, shoulders shaking quietly.

They were, undeniably, a pair; George and Alex. Always had been. If you saw one, the other was usually just a few steps behind. Natalie had never figured out which one adopted her first, but somehow they’d both become her best friends on the grid.

Another hand went up. “Alex, does it feel strange to be heading into another season with so many newer faces around you, like Schumacher and Piastri? Or your new teammate, Sargeant?”

Alex shrugged with a grin. “Not strange, exactly. I think it’s good. Keeps us all honest. Plus, I still get to say I’m the mature one at this table.”

“Right. Mature. Sure,” George rolled his eyes.

“And Natalie,” the same reporter continued, shifting attention her way, “you’ve got a big spotlight this season. Does it feel like extra pressure, or does it motivate you?”

Natalie smiled, careful not to let it show how often she’d practiced the answer in her hotel bathroom mirror. “I think pressure’s always part of the job,” she nodded. “It’s there, but that’s what makes it worth doing. And I’ve got people around me who keep me grounded.” She angled her head slightly toward George and Alex. “And I guess they’re pretty alright.”

“‘Alright’? She’s been spending too much time with Horner,” Alex muttered, making her snort.

A hand went up near the back. “Natalie, you’ve known some of these drivers for years now. Can you tell us how that relationship’s changed, now that you’re racing in F1?”

Natalie leaned into the mic again slightly, thinking. “Well… like I said, I’ve known George since we were both teenagers. He crashed into me,” George laughs quietly at Natalie, “He came to my tent hoping to apologize and I didn't want to talk to him. But, my brother said it was too early in my career to start making enemies. So, I accepted and we moved on. Over the season, we really just started hanging out. And then that one,” I pointed at Alex, “was a package deal.”

The laughter this time came with flashes of camera shutters, and Natalie sat back a little, glad the heat in her face could be blamed on the lights as the reporter closed the conference out.

Alonso clapped her on the back as they stepped off the stage. “Good first one,” he said with a grin. “That’s the hardest part.”

Hülkenberg gave a nod. “You’ll get used to it. Eventually.”

Natalie smiled and thanked them both before stepping down with George and Alex at her side.

"Oh shit,” Natalie heard Alex whisper. The temperature in the room dropped quickly as she raised her head to look.

Max leaned against the wall, completing the group of Pierre Gasly, Charles Leclerc and Lando Norris. Only adding to the conversation occasionally, their group was called to the stage and he walked right past the trio.

“Wow... that was a colder shoulder than I expected.” George looked at Natalis.

“I’m telling you guys, he has it out for me! I don't know what I did to piss him off so badly.”

The three of them began walking, their steps falling in synchronization.

“He's always pissed off.” George stated, “you're just a new obstacle to get through to him.”

Natalie kept walking, but not before she leaned toward the two and asked, “It’s whatever. But real talk, who are we stuck doing the next presser with?”

Alex shrugged. “Fernando and Hülk were the main ones for today. I think you’re clear till FP2. Want to grab something before we head to the garage?”

“I heard the Red Bull hospitality suite has those chocolate croissants again,” George added.

Natalie gave them both a look. “Are you serious right now?”

“They’re so delicious Natalie!”

The girl sighed, then smiled. “Fine... But you’re both splitting it with me. And after practice.”

As they stepped through the paddock gate, the security guards nodded them through, and the moment they emerged on the other side, the wall of noise hit. Fans and press crowded against the barrier, voices calling out names, phones shakily recording the trio.

“Natalie! George! Alex! Can we get a photo?”

“Natalie! What do you think of Red Bull’s chances this season?”

“Are you hoping to match your dad’s legacy?”

That one always, always, always stuck. The words never failed to land with a thud somewhere beneath her ribs, sharp and ruthless. Natalie never knew how to answer that without sounding either arrogant or broken. Because the truth was: she didn’t want to match Michael Schumacher’s legacy.

She just wanted him to see hers.

She imagined what he’d say, if he’d been able to stand beside her today. Not just as her father, but as the man who had once dominated the very sport she now participated in. Maybe he’d tease her about her little mistakes, or complain about how different the hybrid era felt. Maybe he’d just hug her with those huge arms and say “I’m proud of you, Nat.”

Maybe he would have said it the moment she first drove a F1 car. Instead, all she was left to remember him was his last name.

Natalie’s mind drifted, just for a moment. Back to the cold, still air of the Alps. The sharp crunch of skis on snow. That terrible silence that followed the accident. Her world instantly being uprooted in the most unexpected, unfair way ever. He had pushed it too far, been so unafraid of consequences for too long.

“Natalie,” a voice tugged her gently back to now.

She blinked and Alex was squinting at her, pulling his sunglasses up to look her in the eye. “I’m gonna stop by the Williams garage for a bit before FP2,” he informed, nodding toward the other side of the paddock. “Catch up with a few of the guys. You good?”

She nodded quickly, clearing her throat. “Yeah. Go. I’ll see you after.”

George was already pulling ahead, checking his phone as he walked toward Mercedes. He turned back for half a second to say, “Try not to get caught in too many fan photos. You’re Red Bull now! You’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

Natalie gave him a dry look and flipped him off casually, earning a snort from Alex.

“Tell Toto I said hi,” she shouted as George disappeared into the sea of black uniforms.

Natalie ended the second practice session in third.

Max had been second. But the gap between them was half a tenth, maybe less. That wasn’t what stuck with her. What stuck was the way the car had felt. It was sharp but stable, reactive in all the right ways. Her hands had still been shaking when she unclipped the wheel and climbed out.

Her race engineer, Hugh, had come over the radio just before she reached the garage, voice clear and even despite the static: “P3, Natalie. Good job today. Really good job.”

She nodded to herself as she rolled to a stop, unstrapped, and hopped down onto the pavement. The heat was brutal even in the shade of the canopy, but she barely noticed. Someone handed her a bottle of water as she peeled off her gloves, and she took a sip before being guided toward the media pen.

A new reporter waved her over this time, someone she didn’t recognize. Mid thirties, maybe. He held a mic in one hand and a phone in the other, already smiling before she’d even stopped in front of him.

“Natalie, solid work out there today,” he acknowledged as the mic was clipped to her collar. “P5 in FP1, and P3 in FP2. Feeling confident?”

“I’d say so,” she answered with her voice steady. “The car felt really sharp today. Balance was good, long runs were strong, and the team did a great job adjusting the setup from this morning.”

“Looks like it’s going to be a close fight for pole,” the reporter added. “You, Max, and Charles were within half a second.”

“Yeah,” she raised her brows. “It’s great for the sport, isn’t it? And even better for us as a team, having both cars up there. Let’s hope we can translate it into qualifying.”

The reporter glanced down at his notes, then up again with a slightly mischievous grin. “Now, I have to ask. There’s been some chatter from the grandstands. You’ve probably heard what Max’s nickname for you is, but the fans.. well, they’ve got their own.”

“Oh? I’m almost afraid to ask,” she blinked slowly, awkwardly laughing.

“They’re calling you ‘The Red Intimidator’, but Intimidator for short. Bit of a nod to your father, I think.”

Natalie looked down for a second, adjusting the strap of her fireproof top where it bit into her collarbone. When she looked back up, the smile she gave was small but nevertheless real. “That’s… very kind,” she admitted. “He was the Red Baron. I guess it’s a nice full circle thing, yeah?”

“It’s got a ring to it. The Intimidator of Red Bull,” he assessed, clearly pleased with himself.

“Only if I can back it up,” Natalie replied. “It’s a long season. But if I keep doing my job, and the car stays solid… who knows?”

A voice cut through the low hum of the media zone. Suddenly. there was a high pitched voice, probably a kid, from somewhere behind the barrier.

“Natalie! You’re gonna win tomorrow!”

She turned instinctively, squinting through the crowd until she spotted a young girl with a hat too big for her head, waving with all her might.

“Give me one sec?” she told the reporter, already walking over. Natalie crouched just enough to take the cap and scrawl her name across the brim with a marker someone from the gaggle of people handed her.

The kid was beaming, eyes wide like he couldn’t believe she was real. “Good luck tomorrow, Intimidator!”

Natalie laughed under her breath. “Thanks, kiddo. I’ll need it.”

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[loricciardo]

CHAPTER THREE | THE MAN

tags. original female character, christian horner, misogyny (dismissiveness and demeaning comments) from max and the press, hostile and condescending language (e.g. name-calling, undermining), press harassment, public humiliation. reminder i don’t believe max would say these things, but for the sake of the story, he does.

a/n. this chapter is honestly.. kind of messy. i’m sorry!!! i want to really establish max’s.. dislike for natalie before we have actually get into the ‘23 season. also i promise max will show up again soon.

want to join or be removed from my taglist? send me an ask or comment below!

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“Hello and welcome back to the 2022 Dutch Grand Prix!” Crofty’s voice rang out bright and loud over the roar of the crowd, his energetic voice buzzing through every speaker across the track. “We’re here in Zandvoort, where the big story this weekend isn’t just the sea of orange or Max Verstappen’s pole position at his home race. It’s the fact that Red Bull is down one main driver! Sergio Perez is not racing today after announcing via Instagram on Thursday that his doctor confirmed a sinus infection.”

“In his place? None other than Natalie Schumacher. Yes, you heard that right, folks. Another Schumacher on the grid this weekend. And this is the younger sister of Haas driver Mick Schumacher. She is the Red Bull reserve who shocked everyone yesterday when she qualified fifth after less than twenty four hours in the car.”

There was a brief scuffle of shuffling papers, a slightly a muffled laugh. “Both Schumacher siblings made it into Q3 yesterday, with Mick starting from eighth, which means we just might get a proper wheel to wheel showdown between the siblings. I mean, can you imagine it? We’ll go down to Ted Kravitz who’s down by the garages to see what’s happening trackside on this wild, very Dutch morning. Ted?”

“Yes, Crofty, thank you!” Ted’s voice came through under the low hum of engines and Dutch house music rattling the fences. “The atmosphere here in Zandvoort can only be described as magical. I’ve been walking the paddock all morning, trying to catch a glimpse of Natalie Schumacher. Though it seems Red Bull is keeping her well hidden until the national anthem.”

He paused, shifting on his feet, his eyes scanning the crowd. “Oh! Hold on! There’s Christian Horner just stepping out of the garage. Let’s see if I can grab him. Christian! A quick word?”

“Morning, Ted,” Horner smiled tightly. He was clearly trying not to grimace while his sunglasses were perched just a little too perfectly on his nose. “Good to see you.”

“You too. Quick question, any thoughts on Natalie’s qualifying yesterday? And what’s the target for today?”

“Well, we’ve got Max on pole, so of course that’s where our priorities are,” Horner replied, measured but evidently still a little bit surprised. “But yes, Natalie made quite the impression. She was quick, composed, and mature beyond her experience in the car. We’ll be focusing on keeping her in the points, letting her settle in, and of course maximizing the team result. She’s done half her job. Now we just have to let her finish it.”

“Thanks, Christian. Best of luck.”

Ted’s voice returned to the feed, bright faced again. “Well, Crofty, you heard it. Even Christian Horner wasn’t expecting that sort of debut in qualifying. And from the looks of it, Red Bull may have more than just a reserve driver on their hands.”

Back in the commentary box, Crofty picked up again. “Indeed, Ted. Let’s remember that Natalie Schumacher’s junior formula record is nothing to brush off at. She has a very aggressive style, very reminiscent of her father’s early days. And with the machinery she’s got in her power today, we may be in for a real show.”

Martin Brundle’s voice came in next, smoother, lower. “I’ve watched her closely coming through F2 and karting even before that. You always had that sense she wasn’t just piggybacking off her father, but she earned her place. It’s the way she races. Totally elbows out and fearless.”

Crofty chuckled. “And if there’s one track where elbows out can work, it’s here in Zandvoort.“

“It’s lights out and away we go!” Crofty’s voice exploded over the broadcast, laced with that same brand of chaos that always arrived in the first three seconds of a Grand Prix. “Max Verstappen gets away brilliantly as does his teammate for the day, Schumacher! She’s managed to seal off Russell behind and is hanging onto the gearbox of Lewis Hamilton as they go into Turn 1. Can she get him..? SHE DOES! Late braking executed beautifully and now Verstappen leads from Leclerc, Sainz, and Schumacher. Wow! It feels wonderful to say that name again!”

“We’re just hitting lap six of seventy two now,” Crofty continued, the sound of downshifting and screaming engines bleeding through the broadcast, “and already, a DRS train has begun forming behind Schumacher. Sorry, I should clarify, Mick Schumacher, in P10, is the beginning of that train. His sister is still up in P4, and I can confidently say she’s holding her own as the Dutch crowd roars for their championship leader.”

The camera panned briefly to Max in the lead, but then snapped right back to the Ferrari-Red Bull sandwich forming behind. Natalie was there, pushing, defending, adjusting her lines with a veteran’s touch.

“Carlos Sainz’s Ferrari is only seven seconds up the road, while Leclerc continues trying to close that gap to Verstappen. But right now, the young Schumacher is playing the long game.”

“Alright, lap eighteen, and the Red Bull pit crew is out in formation now. And… yes, they’re waiting for Schumacher! Wow!” Crofty practically shouted. “They must be pulling her in to try the undercut on Ferrari. What do you think, Karun?”

Karun Chandhok chimed in, adjusting his microphone. “Yeah, Crofty, for as much as Christian Horner said he didn’t think Schumacher was going to qualify that high, they seem to be putting an awful lot of thought into her strategy today. You love to see it. She’s been on the Mediums since lights out, so I imagine they’re trying to get their one of two pitstops in. Let’s see how clean this pit stop is.”

“2.3 seconds and she’s away! Mediums, interesting choice… and now, in comes Verstappen!”

The Dutch crowd responded with another wave of noise.

“He’s going on the Mediums as well! And comes out just behind Hamilton and Russell in third.”

“Karun, what do you make of this? Both Red Bulls pit within a lap of each other, and both are now on matching tyre strategies. The Mercedes currently lead from the two Red Bulls and the two Ferraris.”

Karun hummed, thoughtful. “I think Red Bull’s playing both sides of the chessboard. They’ve got Max, obviously, to protect the win, but they’re not exactly using Natalie as a placeholder. If they were, they’d have kept her out longer or stacked the stops. But they’re running her on her own merit.”

On screen, Natalie Schumacher tucked back into the fray in P5, slotting in behind Sainz with barely a flicker of tire smoke. The timing graphic lit up with purple sectors.

“Yeah, Crofty, Natalie Schumacher’s radio has been… well, quiet,” Ted’s voice crackled through the broadcast. “Not a word since lap 32, and even then, it was only a short ‘Understood.’ Meanwhile, Verstappen, who’s currently running P2, has made his frustrations about the Mediums very clear. He’s asked twice now to extend the stint and go aggressive with softs to close.”

In the commentary box, Crofty picked it up with a spark. “And that’s thrown a wrench in the works, hasn’t it? Because Ferrari’s scrambling to get Charles Leclerc back in this conversation, Mercedes are still lurking with Hamilton and Russell, and now, get this, Natalie Schumacher is suddenly… in it. Really in it. A podium? Without a doubt. But a win? Don’t count her out just yet.”

“Lap 47,” Martin Brundle chimed in, steady as ever. “And the Red Bull pit crew is out again. Who’s it for? Wait it’s for Schumacher! Verstappen stays out! Horner’s rolling the dice on strategy and bringing the reserve in first. They’re putting her on the softs.“

Crofty’s voice jumped in. “Russell’s just rounding the final corner, he’s coming fast, Schumacher’s out of the pit lane now. It’s close! And George Russell just sneaks ahead! But Schumacher’s right there! She’s within DRS already, Ted!”

“Can she get him into Turn 11?” Brundle asked. “Russell’s defending but oh! Wait, there it is! That’s the move! A clean switchback through Turn 12. The classic Schumacher cutback! She baited him, Crofty! She baited the poor lad!”

“She’s done it!” Crofty nearly shouted. “Natalie Schumacher reclaims second place, and with DRS she’s gone! Pulling a full half-second before they even hit the next straight!”

“Crofty…” Karun Chandhok’s voice dropped slightly.

“Yes, Karun?”

“I was nervous to say this before, but.. after that move? It feels like I’m watching Michael back on the track. That wasn’t just brave. That was calculated. Smart. Ice cold under pressure. She baited Russell like a veteran and made it look flawless.”

“And now Red Bull is reacting, Max Verstappen is coming in!” Crofty confirmed. “Which means, lap 50, ladies and gentlemen, we have a Schumacher leading a Grand Prix again. Natalie Schumacher leads the Dutch Grand Prix! I repeat, we have a Schumacher in the lead at Zandvoort! Verstappen rejoins fifteen seconds behind her!”

“Let’s go down to Ted. Ted, how’s the pit wall reacting?”

“I.. Crofty, it’s something,” Ted gasped breathlessly. “I was near the Red Bull garage when she made the move on Russell. I saw mouths open. I saw Christian Horner, throw his hands up and shout ‘That’s our girl!’ The entire pit wall stood. You don’t see that often. They’re watching her with the same stunned awe we are.”

“But still no radio chatter?” Brundle asked.

“Nope,” Ted replied. “She’s laser focused. It’s eerie. But undoubtedly impressive.”

Back in the booth, Crofty took over again. “With twelve laps to go, Schumacher still holds an eight-second lead. Verstappen’s pushing, but she’s lapping nearly a tenth quicker. She looks planted in that Red Bull. Could this really be it? Could she win on her debut?”

But suddenly, it came crashing down.

“OH NO! OH NO! SCHUMACHER’S REAR LEFT IS GONE! SCHUMACHER HAS A PUNCTURE!”

The screen jumped to Natalie’s car, still flying, suddenly jolted sideways through Turn 7. Thick clouds of smoke and a blur of rubber flailing itself apart. Carbon clattered into gravel as she yanked the car to safety, steering into the runoff with an eerie steadiness that only made it worse.

“Where did that come from?” Brundle gasped. “No contact! Nothing on track! No warning!”

“She’s out!” Crofty shouted. “Natalie Schumacher’s race has just gone up in smoke! She’s out of the Dutch Grand Prix! Her first race, her first possible win, gone just like that. What a heartbreaking end to a phenomenal drive.”

The camera cut to Natalie, climbing from the cockpit, her helmet still on but her posture defeated. She stood by the car, staring at the blown rear tyre, shaking her head. Wishing she could will it back together.

The grandstands that were quiet for nearly half an hour erupted. Orange flares ignited like wildfire, horns blaring, the roar of the crowd crashing over the circuit in waves. Natalie watched, lips pressed tight behind her helmet, as Verstappen flew past her crippled Red Bull and back into the lead.

She scoffed. It was short, bitter, barely audible over the noise, but it was all she had left.

Ted Kravitz was the first to find his voice again. “She’s… she’s walking away now. She hasn’t taken the helmet off yet. Head down. And Crofty, Christian’s on the pit wall. He looks gutted. Everyone does. That was their win to lose. And they lost it to something no one at Red Bull saw coming.”

Crofty’s voice was softer now. “Max Verstappen wins his home Grand Prix again! The Dutch fans rise to their feet. Again, the orange smoke is released and although I am not a huge fan, it certainly makes for fantastic pictures. But all I can think about and l'm sure many viewers are feeling the same, what would have happened if Schumacher's tyre hadn't blown? Could she have been standing on the top in her debut? But I am confident that this is not the end of her sitting in the cockpit of a Formula 1 car. And let me be the first to say, I am thrilled to see what her future holds.”

The flashes started before the SUV door even shuts.

Christian Horner squints against them, forcing a smile as his polished shoes hit the concrete outside Red Bull HQ. He waves, polite and with a tight smile, but his stomach has already begun to coil. He learned to trust this kind of tension. It wasn’t nerves, it was somewhere deeper.

They all were waiting for today.

The questions first had started the moment Checo Perez had posted that half hearted Instagram graphic about his “unexpected but necessary retirement” after the 2022 season. Everyone knew it wasn’t his idea. And no one believed it was just because of “ongoing health issues.”

Why is Checo retiring?

Is it because of Max?

Who’s taking his seat?

Christian had tried to stay ahead of the storm. They’d pushed out leaks, spun speculation. But the name that kept rising that was as inevitable as gravity, was Natalie Schumacher.

To the press, she was a golden headline: a Schumacher returning to the top team in the sport. But not to Ferrari, of course, the fact that a Schumacher wasn’t headed there stirred plenty of drama behind the scenes. To the engineers, she was a data darling. Swiftly precise, obsessive with her stats, and ruthlessly consistent. And to Christian, she had been his only choice for that seat. Natalie’s Dutch Grand Prix drive was the final nail in the coffin. Nobody had expected it. Not even Max. And especially not the Red Bull team.

He still remembered the tension in Max’s drivers room. He had won the race, yes, but the sharp slam of his helmet against the locker wall had hit harder than the win itself.

Christian should have seen it coming. The signs were there, if only he had paid closer attention. History has a way of repeating itself, sometimes in the most unexpected ways.

Michael Schumacher had been fierce, relentless, and terrifyingly precise on the track. Jos Verstappen, though never quite reaching those heights, had been just as fiercely competitive. And like everyone else, Jos had always resented losing to Michael.

Now, their children were about to share a garage.

And the Red Bull Press Team had done everything they could to keep the two separate. Different days in the simulator. Different gym blocks. Track walks scheduled on opposite ends of the hour. Natalie and Max had barely crossed paths since the Dutch Grand Prix. It was an effort orchestrated not just to get people excited, but for the team’s sanity.

The marketing department leaned into the nostalgia: old footage from karting days, throwback photos of two kids standing near each other, all awkward limbs and stiff smiles while Michael Schumacher and Jos Verstappen talked racing in the background. It was tidy, packaged history. Practically a movie worthy plot. But what it wasn’t? Was the truth.

Heather, head of PR, intercepted him just as he slipped inside.

“Christian, it’s so bad,” she whispered, clipboard tucked under her arm. “Max is refusing to come.”

“What do you mean ‘refusing’?” His voice was sharp.

Heather winced. “His exact words were: ‘If that f-ing Formula 2 driver with no future at this team is coming, then count me out. I don’t want to be photographed anywhere near her.’”

Christian blinked once. “That’s.. it?”

“I honestly was braced for worse,” Heather muttered, already pulling out her phone.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. These fucking kids. “Send Max a message. Tell him to get his ass out here. I’m so done with the prima donna act.”

“But…”

“And can someone please tell me what all that screaming is about!?” Christian snapped, nodding toward the floor below. The crowd had erupted outside again. There was screaming, people yelling questions, you name it.

“I think Natalie just got here,” Heather informed, with the smallest smile. “Twitter is losing it.”

“Well,” Christian sighed, watching the cheers climb in volume, “at least one of my drivers can arrive on time.”

Heather beelined off toward Natalie who was being bombarded outside while Christian pulled out his phone.

Christian: You need to get your ass here now, Max. Quit the childish shit.

Max: Sorry. No can do.

Christian: You can’t miss the car unveiling. We need you here.

Max: As the reigning world champion, I think I can miss this one thing. Plus, you’ve got the new Princess. I’m sure she can handle it.

Christian stared at the screen, the sharp white-blue glow reflected in his eyes.

Christian: Don’t forget who made you world champion. You didn’t do this all on your own.

Max read it and left Christian on seen. Of fucking course!

“Unbelievable,” Christian muttered.

Downstairs, Natalie smoothed a hand down her navy polo, the new team colors strange against her skin. She wore them proudly anyway. The faintest outline of the Red Bull crest sat over her heart, and beside it was her surname. SCHUMACHER embroidered in clean, sharp white.

The cameras around her clicked relentlessly. Shutters opened and closed like rapid fire breathing. She kept her chin lifted, shoulders back.

Natalie had dreamed about this moment since she was a little girl. But in the dream, it felt warmer. Brighter. And less… manufactured.

Her father would’ve said, “Focus on the drive, Nat. Everything else is just noise.”

He would’ve said it in that steady, fatherly tone. One hand on her helmet, the other tugging her suit straight on her small frame. Michael Schumacher hated the entire media circus. He did it when he had to, but he would never chased a headline. When it got too loud, he slipped out the side door. Sometimes, she’d find him on the edge of the tarmac in his sunglasses, puffing on his cigar like the world couldn’t touch him.

Michael never needed the cameras to validate him. And when Natalie was younger, clumsy in her karting suit and falling over her own nerves, he’d said something she never forgot: “Nothing you do on track is ever a waste. Especially the mistakes. Especially the close calls. That’s how you get better.” He smiled when he said it. He always smiled when it came to his daughter.

A voice cut through the white flash of bulbs and the murmurs of her name.

“Natalie! Natalie! Do you think your brother’s results with Haas helped you get this seat?”

“Do you think Red Bull’s using your last name for PR?”

“How are things with Max?”

Natalie didn’t flinch, or she tried not to anyway. She stared forward and gave the tightest smile she could manage without giving anything away. She yearned so much to be back in the car.

Someone in navy nudged her shoulder quickly. Natalie turned to see a shorter, older woman with a headset two sizes too big and a clipboard that had a stack of papers.

“You okay?” the lady asked under her breath, shielding Natalie slightly with her arm as another round of flashes went off behind them.

“I’m just fine,” Natalie replied sarcastically, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Where do you want me?”

“Makeup first,” Heather said, gesturing with a flick of her wrist. “Then media briefing, then photos with the car. Christian wants a few shots in the suit. Helmet under the arm. Power pose, blah blah, all that jazz.”

Natalie nodded. “And Max?”

Natalie already knew, and she didn’t really know why she asked about him. She’d seen the headlines this morning.

SCHUMACHER TO RED BULL: VERSTAPPEN’S NEW NIGHTMARE?

FROM RESERVE TO RIVAL: CAN NATALIE DETHRONE THE LION?

FORMULA 1 ROYALITY TO JOIN THE REIGNING WORLD CHAMPIONS, RED BULL

Natalie read the comments too, even when she promised herself she wouldn’t. Only there because of her name. Daddy’s girl. Placeholder. Pretty, but mid.

They didn’t see the hours logged at the factory, or the simulator sessions run until her eyes were strained and her head ached from the screen. All they had seen was her limp away from the Dutch Grand Prix with her helmet in her hands, shoulders straight even as her heart cracked open.

Funnily enough, Max had seen all of it. And he still didn’t give a flying fuck. What happened to the sweet, shy boy she had met as a kid?

Heather was speaking into her mic again. “Still no sign of him,” she muttered to someone on the other end. “Copy that. Yes. I’ll stall if I can.”

Natalie exhaled through her nose. “Let me guess. He’s ‘not feeling well’.”

“Try ‘doesn’t want to be photographed next to an F2 driver with no future.’” Heather grimaced. “His words. Not mine.”

Natalie laughed humorlessly. “Huh… How welcoming of him.”

Christian Horner adjusted his collar as he stepped under the stage lights. It was the end of Day 3 testing in Bahrain, and despite the dry heat cooling slightly with dusk, sweat beaded at the back of his neck. He should’ve felt good. Max had led the timesheets on Day 1. Then P2 on Day 2.

But today? Today had been none other than Natalie Schumacher’s day.

She had the fastest lap of the entire weekend. The car looked glued to the track. Clean, sleek. Confident in the most sensational way possible. It was that one session of pre-season that sent the press into a frenzy, especially when it came from a “rookie” in Red Bull fireproofs.

Christian blinked against the camera flashes as Natalie stepped onto the platform beside him, smiling graciously for the crowd. She looked gorgeous, and she definitely photographed well. That’s not the only reason why he signed her though, Christian thought. Natalie waved once, and the crowd stirred with that strange hazy mix of curiosity and awe.

The murmurs were already starting. Not just whispers about her time. But about who wasn’t standing next to her.

There was no Max, again. And there hadn’t been all day.

Christian forced a smile as the moderators opened the floor to questions. The first few were easy enough. Choices on tire compounds, details about the new changes to the car, feedback from the car. Natalie answered with the kind of calm professionalism that made PR’s Heather beam proudly behind her clipboard.

But Christian spotted a hand rise and he just knew that shit was about to hit the fan. It was a very particular gossip feeding journalist. He only cared about everything but the actual racing, and nobody really liked the journalist. But his way of making the drivers uncomfortable gave him clicks and popularity, therefore Sky Sports would send him to represent the media team.

“This one is for Natalie,” the reporter said smoothly. “You and Max Verstappen. Childhood friends, as the press are to be believed from Red Bull. If that’s true, how has it been working with him again?”

Natalie shifted slightly in her seat. The smile stayed, but it grew more rigid at the corners. Where the hell did they get childhood friends? They had talked maybe once or twice. The team was really pulling anything out their ass, good Lord! Why couldn’t she had been signed to any other team?

“You always dream of working with drivers you grew up with,” she gave a non-answer, choosing her words carefully. “I’ve had great teammates in the past, and Max is… very fast. I think there’s a lot to learn from being in the same team as such a talent.”

That kind of answer Natalie knew made Heather proud, but it seemed like the reporter wasn’t done.

“Right,” he vigorously nodded, not satisfied. “But I have to ask… Did you expect to be three tenths faster than any of Max’s times this weekend?”

Christian couldn’t help it as he face palmed beside her. Natalie only tilted her head slightly to the right. “Eh.. no, I didn’t necessarily expect it,” she mused, “but I think it speaks to the prep I’ve done over the last year. I’ve worked hard. That’s all I can control.”

“Well, I spoke with Max this morning actually. He called your pace a fluke. Something about… beginner’s luck. Oh, and he’s coined a new nickname for you; ‘Princess.’ Any comment on that?”

Natalie blinked. Then smiled, very, very slowly. It was a tight, sharp, turn of her lips with absolutely no warmth behind it.

“Is there a question in that sentence?” Her eyebrow arched just slightly.

The journalist smirked. “Just curious where the nickname came from. Doesn’t seem like you’re one for ball gowns and crowns.”

Natalie raised a hand, combing it through the blonde waves that fell past her shoulders. “Mmm.. I don’t know,” she shrugged lightly. “We all know Max likes to say stupid things when he’s nervous. Maybe ask him when he finally is manly enough to show up.”

Then a sharp chorus of oohs broke out across the room. Some were shocked, some impressed, a few snorting into their press notepads. Then laughter followed, scattered and awkward, rippling like a dropped pebble in a still pond. Immediately phones shot up to capture the moment. Cameras clicked harder. A reporter near the front mouthed damn under their breath.

Christian stood quickly and cleared his throat. “Okay…! That’s all the time we have. Thanks for coming.”

Natalie rose before the man could even gesture. Her race boots hit the vinyl flooring like punctuation as she strode off the stage.

But backstage she let herself finally go.

Thudunk! Her hand hit the wall with a flat, echoing sound. Natalie didn’t speak at first. Just stood there, frozen in place, her blonde hair clinging to the edges of her bright, flushed cheeks, her back to Christian. Her racing boots were planted like anchors on the hardwood floor.

“That fucking Arschloch,” she hissed. “He’s the one who hides all week, then calls me names like I’m some… grid whore. Not to mention in front of press? I’m not doing this, Christian. I’m not.”

Christian nodded slowly. “I’ll.. talk to him, Natalie.”

“Look, he doesn’t have to like me,” Natalie snapped. “But this? These public jabs? Undermining me after the work I’ve put in? I won’t have it.”

Christian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know, I know. We’ll sort it, I promise.”

“I couldn’t give less of a shit if he hates me,” Natalie furrowed her eyebrows and spun to face the older man fully. “He’s feeding the exact fucking people who already think women don’t have a place in motorsport. The ones who wait for me to mess up so they can say ‘told you so.’ And that’s where I draw the line.”

Natalie stepped closer to Christian, chin high, eyes burning. “Imagine some young girl watching him say that bullshit. Seeing him treat me like a joke. Like I’m just some placeholder until you find someone real. That’s what he’s telling her. That she doesn’t belong here either. I won’t let him make me smaller to make himself feel bigger. Not now. Not ever. I’ve been nothing but polite to that man.”

Christian hummed in acknowledgment, watching the fire in her eyes. Natalie looked so much like her father in that moment it knocked the wind out of him.

History knew Michael never played nice with the press. Never smiled if he didn’t mean it. He handled his critics by outrunning them. In that moment Christian realized Natalie would do the same.

“Yes, I know. You.. you did handle yourself well,” he said quietly. “I mean it Natalie.”

Natalie exhaled through her nose, gathering herself. “Well, We’ll see how long I can keep handling it. If Max wants a fight on track, that’s fine. But this petty nonsense has got to stop.”

And with that, she turned and walked out of the press room, the Red Bull logo catching the stage light as it flickered against her back.

Princess or not, Natalie Schumacher wasn’t here to play nice. And Max Verstappen had just made the mistake of underestimating her to the public, and they had one week before the first lights out.

The pair already had a flaming rivalry that would definitely define the 2023 Formula 1 season.

taglist @anamiad00msday @norstappenvibes @maxswhore33 @ragioniera @anedpev @dannydancer1 @beyond-the-ashes @flowersofdeath @camilahpg03 @iisa-bellla @haileyweinstein @butterflygxril @c3lest328 @toxicthotsyndrome68 @d-aydr3aming-in-stars @itsjustmyopinionf1 @quelinameowl @lagrandeoursee @havaneselover08 @luckyladycreator2 @linneaadele @softmhm @gabriellepearce96 @cryinghotmess @manuztb @embonbon @lelevs @athanasia-day @darkkingchild @wallowinmemories @scentedrosa @at-a-rax-ia @mynameisangeloflife @yuzon3 @satorinnie @simple-soul-searcher @alavbe @f1enthusiast69 @guaaafiiburg @thefandomswhre @quuinyoung

[loricciardo]

girl i cannot wait to see where you go with ysv!! i love me an enemies to lovers moment and i love me some max so this is perfect!! super excited for the next part! 🩵

THABK U SOOO MUCH!!! so glad to hear youre enjoying it anon 🫶🫶🫶 double update on tuesday because max isnt in the next two chapters and i dont want to make you all wait another week for the fic to finally kick off.

its HARD trying to build character relationships realistically okay 💔

[loricciardo]

LANDO NORRIS MASTERLIST.

pinned rules main masterlist

OPEN WIDE. smau, real life.

[loricciardo]

OPEN WIDE, lando norris.

pinned rules navigation

pairing. lando norris x dentist!reader

summary. in which lando norris gets two teeth pulled and accidentally let a little (big) secret out.

tags. female reader, fluffy, slight cussing, SMAU, usage of y/n, unaddressed hate comments, dentistry??, mentions of teeth pulling, if theres any more let me know in the comments plz!

author's note. second SMAU everrrr!!!! or smau ish. i do incorporate writing as well :P sooo excited for lando and his win in austria so here you go lando girlies

request are open, not proofread, looking for beta readers!

https://youtube.com/formula1

itshammertime Sir. Lewis Hamilton is the G.O.A.T! Don’t care what anyone says. Excited to see him in red

ln4luvr “my girlfriend” OH WE HEARD THAT LANDOOOO 👀 WHO IS SHEEEE

cringeyzach lando had TWO TEETH pulled and still placed P3?? can’t even get out of bed when i have a sore throat 💔😟😟 What the helly

sandrajohnson1968 Lando dearie you slipped up there! 😂 But well done 👏 that was a great race with a sore mouth 🥰

melaniecandy these oldheads here crying over lewis and every gen z is stalking dentists in monaco 😭

thomassmith123 I remember watching Hamilton win his first race. Now look at him. What a career. The next lad at Mercedes has huge shoes to fill

You don’t usually call after races. It’s an unspoken thing between each other. Lando has practically a thousand people to answer to and you knew how tiring it was for him to worry about you on top of everyone else that wanted a piece of him. Especially after his home race. However.. after the shit he just pulled? You decided to give him a little rile up and phoned his number.

“So… Word on the street was that you had two teeth pulled by your.. what was it? Your ‘girlfri-by-my-dentist’?” your voice was flat but nevertheless amused, and Lando groaned the second he heard your words.

“Christ, I just knew you were gonna call me,” Lando muttered, muffled through what you assumed was his sleeve. “I didn’t mean to,” he defends, dragging out his words, his voice getting louder as he spoke. “It just slipped out. I was still loopy from the anesthesia!”

“Oh? I’ll tell the FIA that a driver was impaired,”you fire back. “and that’ll slip out too.”

Lando paused and you could hear shuffling over the phone before a door quietly shutting was heard. “Well, technically, I was right. You are my dentist. You also happen to be—”

“Aye! Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Norris.” You leaned back into the couch cushions, one leg tucked under. “I’ve already had three texts from my receptionist and one from my mum. My mum, Lando.”

He laughed at that, “Did you tell her I’m flossing more now?”

You rolled your eyes, but the sound of Lando’s laugh burned somewhere warm in your chest. You’d never tell him outright, as you liked keeping some things just yours, but you adored his laugh. Especially when it got like this. Almost like he was crying from it, wheezing between words. You loved that part the most because it meant he was happy. And how could you be mad at that?

“God I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

A pause stretched between you. On the other end, you could still hear the muffled cheering from the stands, the occasional burst of static from his comms as someone called Oscar’s name in the background. It seemed like the world was still moving a thousand miles an hour on his side of the call, and yet, he took the time to answer you.

“You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re flustered,” you muttered, quieter this time.

“Don’t I know it,” he cheesed, and you could tell he was smiling from ear to ear. Lando was relieved to have let it out, honestly. It wasn’t just worry or awkwardness anymore; there was something almost… freeing about having you out there now, a part of him in front of everyone. He’d been holding onto it for too long and suddenly didn’t have to hide it anymore.

Just then, you could hear a voice called out his name faintly in the background. You assumed it was his PR agent or someone on the team, and of course that meant your time on the phone was cut short. Lando’s smile faltered for a moment, his eyes flicking toward the noise like he was caught between worlds. His body stiffened just a bit, the easy comfort of your call slipping away. “Ahh… I’ve got to go,” he sighed reluctantly.

You could hear the faint rustle of his race suit as Lando shifted to stand, probably mentally prepping to go back to the media pen.

You smile softly, already reaching for the screen to end the call. “Alright, love you. Text me when you’re done.”

liked by charles_leclerc, lando, lilymhe and 10,382 others

yn took care of him during and after the operation 🦷💤 hes a very dramatic patient btw

tagged lando

view all 5,286 comments...

lando didn’t even get a sticker :(

↳ yn waah wahh cry me a driver

↳ hater Oh that’s not… Why is she literally mean to him

↳ hater2 i dont like her at all thats so weird imo

mclaren A true team effort. Dentist of the Day goes to yn 🦷💪

landofan lowkey jealous she gets to hold his hand during the pain 😭😭

fan WOMEN IN STEMMMMMMM

fan where is her clinic??? asking for a friend

lewishamilton Keep smiling you two ❤️

↳ yn thank you sooo much lewis 🫶

hater Lmao why do people even care about this? Focus on the racing not his personal life 💀

hater whyyy is she even posting this? people don’t need to know everything

↳ fan Lando literally mentioned it before she did bro

liked by lando, maxverstappen1, redbullracing, and 46,297 others

yn dunking 20 seconds on max at his home race. i fear lando is unstoppable now. anyway thank you mclaren for the opportunity!

tagged lando, mclaren

view all 15,346 comments. . .

maxverstappen1 I’ll get him next time 😂💪 enjoy the stroopwafels while you can

↳ yn AHAHA thanks max !!!! you wish ;))

↳ hater She is so fucking mean and corny ew

lando i literally told you not to post this but thanks doc… guess ill keep trying to impress you

↳ yn YOU BETTER MY CHAMP

↳ lando champ????? 😕😕

danielricciardo 20 seconds? You sure you didn’t pull Max’s teeth too?

fan shes FUNNY and SMART?? no wonder lando’s smiling like that 24/7

f1 Drama in Zandvoort! Another iconic weekend for papaya 💥🙌🧡

hater This is giving “I’m not like other girls” 🙄

maxfan33 Imagine dating a driver and using your platform to take shots at Max. Weird asf

↳ yn ive known max for years now! its all banter i PROMISE

↳ fan NOT HER CLOCKING THE MAX ACC LMFAOO

fan Max will be fine. Yn is just being cheeky lol

Lando’s standing in front of the bathroom sink, still towel drying his hair, curls damp and messy from the shower. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of grey joggers and socks that absolutely do not match. One white, one navy with a tiny Nike logo on the ankle. He hasn’t even looked in the mirror properly, just sort of spacing out, far too exhausted from the race to do much else.

You’re sitting cross legged on the bed, perched against the headboard with one of the hotel pillows hugged loosely to your chest, scrolling through your phone. The glow of the screen lights up your face as your thumb flicks through the Instagram comments, laughter slipping out every few seconds.

“Someone just wrote, ‘you better hope and pray Max never needs a root canal’. Like I’d get my fingers all up in his mouth in the first place,” you joke, snorting quietly.

Lando glances over his shoulder, giving you a half hearted glare. “I told you people would be mad.”

“That’s the fun part,” you reply, eyes still glued to your screen. “Someone else said I insulted the entire nation of the Netherlands. The entire nation!”

He turns around, leaning against the doorframe with his towel now draped over his shoulders like a cape. “Well, yeah. You basically walked on their soil and said ‘fuck you’.”

“And technically it was you who said it with your car,” you defend, grinning. “What did you say? ‘Simply lovely’? I’m not the villain.”

He turns, arms crossed loosely across his chest, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. “Babe,” Lando sighs, somewhere between fond and mildly exasperated. “You didn’t need to poke the beehive as well.”

You slide off the bed and walk over to Lando, wrapping your arms lightly around his waist. “Okay. I’ll be better. Your PR will be so proud of me.”

He narrows his eyes. “You’re lying.”

“I am,” you admit, standing on your toes.

Lando groans, dramatic and low, dropping his head onto your shoulder. His forehead rests just beneath your collarbone, his damp curls brushing against your neck, still smelling like the stupidly expensive body wash he insists on using even during race weekends.

You reach up, fingers threading gently through his hair, smoothing it back from his face without thinking. He leans into your touch like instinct, like he’s not even fully aware he’s doing it. His body relaxes a fraction. His shoulders soften, breath steady against your chest.

You tilt your head and press a kiss just below his jawline, where his skin is still warm and a little damp from the shower, where a faint stubble is beginning to come in. He smells like soap and skin and something that’s just him, familiar in a way that sneaks under your ribs.

You whisper against his head, into his ears. “Now go brush your teeth, stinky.”

[loricciardo]

I assure you: somebody, somewhere, is on the exact same wavelength as you are.

[loricciardo]

feeling inspired rn!!! i have a cute idea for a dentist!reader. pick a driver for a SMAU :)

also reminder that my requests are OPEN!!!

[loricciardo]

CHAPTER TWO | TOO SWEET

tags. original female character, jos verstappen, depictions of physical and verbal abuse in reference to max & jos, mild references to childhood loneliness and emotional isolation, mentions of of pressure and high expectations in youth sports, neglectful parenting.

taglist. want to join or be removed from my taglist? send me an ask or comment below!

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The next day, Max won the race. And Natalie tried not to be too disappointed about it.

Third place was still good, even if it wasn’t like the result she had yesterday. Natalie had gotten a decent start, stayed clean into the first corner, and fought like hell to keep up, but Max was just… faster. He flew out of corners like he was superman, and the kart was an extension to him. He didn’t fight the tires, they just listened to him.

Natalie’s didn’t. Hers slid and squealed and snapped through every tight chicane, almost sending her kart flying sideways.

Still, she smiled as she pulled off her helmet. Michael ruffled her sweaty hair as soon as she stepped into organization’s tent.

“You drove well,” he smiled simply.

And that was enough for her, even if she hadn’t necessarily won. Even if Mick had beaten her, too, finishing second and already grinning, acting like he already won the entire karting championship.

Her papa never ever measured her by which trophy she held. He looked at how she fought, how she learned, how she tried. He said that made someone a real driver.

But still… Natalie glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see the scary man smiling and hugging Max after his win. But.. he wasn’t. He still looked furious.

She didn’t know why, and truthfully, she didn’t want to. Maybe she was still too shy from yesterday’s hotdog. Or maybe it was just the way that scary man, who she learned was Max’s father, hovered nearby, arms crossed, barking in Dutch at no one in particular. Max stood silently beside his kart, eyes on the ground, while the man paced and shouted like he was running the military.

Natalie’s brows pulled together. She didn’t get it at all. When she won yesterday, her papa picked her up off the ground. Told her he was proud. Ruffled her hair and lovingly kissed the top of her head.

Wasn’t that what winning was supposed to feel like? Wasn’t winning supposed to be celebrated?

Natalie was pulled out of her thoughts when her papa gently touched her back, nodding toward the podium marshal. “Come on Nat,” he winked. “You still earned a podium.”

At the podium, Max stood stiffly with his trophy while Mick gleefully sprayed pretend champagne at anyone within range. Then came the slow shuffle back toward the motorhomes, shoes scuffing against the gravel, the lively thrill already fading into dusk.

Natalie hung in the back on purpose.

She looked ahead and saw the scary man walking in front of Max, holding Max’s trophy like it was his. Max followed in silence, hands empty, head down. She felt her stomach twist again. She thought about saying something. But what exactly would she say? She didn’t even know if Max remembered her name.

So she just walked quietly alongside Mick, who was still chattering about his overtake on lap nine. But her eyes kept drifting, just slightly, to the small boy walking alone behind his father.

It was later, when most of the motorhomes were winding down for the evening, that she found herself outside again. Her socks half-damp from the grass, arms folded tightly over her oversized hoodie she had stolen from her papa.

Max was crouched near the edge of the lot again, fiddling with a stick and drawing shapes in the dirt.

She hesitated, but her papa always said to go where her gut told her on the track. Maybe it worked off the track, too. Therefore, she stepped closer.

Max didn’t flinch when he saw her this time. He just looked up from the dirt, squinting slightly.

“Hi,” she said, and Max curtly nodded once. “Sorry you didn’t get to keep your trophy,” she added with a grimace.

Max looked at the ground again. “He always keeps them.”

Natalie didn’t know what to say to that, so she sat down beside him again, legs folded under her, letting the silence stretch between them. That was, until she got a million dollar idea.

“Come with me,” Natalie smiled, brushing the damp grass off her shorts as she stood up. She glanced at Max, who looked hesitant. He wasn’t quite sure she had honestly been talking to him, but there was the faintest flicker of trust crossed his face when she waved him forward.

Max stood slowly and followed Natalie, his steps careful and quiet. They walked side by side through the maze of motorhomes and trailers, past tangled cables and scattered karting gear, until they reached Natalie’s own little home on wheels. The faded red trim on the trailer caught the ray of the dimly lit street lamp, and a hand painted Ferrari sticker, peeling at the edges, clung to the door.

A battered wooden bench rested beside the trailer, its legs sinking unevenly into the dirt. Natalie pointed to it. “You.. can sit. I will go get something.”

Max, without a word, eased himself onto the bench, folding his hands nervously in his lap. He itched his buzzed blonde hair, fingers lingering at the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. His shoulders were tense, hunched slightly. His blue eyes kept glancing toward the Verstappen motorhome every few seconds, like he was waiting for someone to call him back, or worse, catch him here.

Inside the trailer, the air was cool and smelled faintly of motor oil and worn leather. Her father was resting, headphones on, a karting manual open but forgotten on the table. She moved as quietly as she could, careful not to disturb him. Michael’s soft breathing was the only sound as she rummaged in a drawer until her fingers found the worn rubber band around a deck of playing cards, edges dog eared and bent from travel.

She clutched the deck and slipped back outside, trying not to trip on the steps. Max was still sitting where she left him, hands clasped tight in his lap.

She dropped down opposite him on the bench and spread the cards between them.

“Do you know how to play Go Fish?” she asked carefully, enunciating the words as best she could.

Max tilted his head. “Fish? Like… swimming?” He made a flicking motion with his hand, his mouth quirking into a shy grin.

Natalie chuckled. “No, no. Not water fish. Cards fish,” she pulled two matching cards from the deck and held them up.

“You look for the same,” she said simply.

“Ah,” Max nodded slowly. “Same cards.”

She dealt them each seven cards, the worn deck shuffling unevenly in her hands.

“You ask,” Natalie mused, tapping her chin thoughtfully, “’Do you have… five?’” Holding up the five of hearts.

Max looked at his cards, then at her. “Do you have… five?” His words came out slow, but clear.

“Yes! Very good!” She smiled wide, passing him the card.

Max’s grin grew a little, small but real, and he slipped the card into his hand.

They played like that for a while. Slowly, awkwardly, laughing at their mistakes. Natalie mixed English and German, Max added quiet bits of Dutch. They stumbled over numbers and words, but remarkably, the game unfolded smoothly, each card a small bridge between two worlds. Dutch, Natalie noticed, wasn’t so far from German after all! Some of the words sounded familiar. Echoes from home just spoken in a different rhythm. She understood just enough to keep up, and Max understood just enough to grin when she teased him for losing.

“Do you have… seven?” Max asked after a few turns, holding up his cards like a shield.

“No seven,” Natalie groaned. “Go fish, boy.”

He drew a card and his face lit up. “Lucky!”

“Very lucky,” Natalie giggled back, holding her hand out for him to shake. “Good game.”

Max stared at her hand for a long moment, then shook it with a quiet grin. “Good game,” he said again.

For the first time since arriving at the track, Natalie felt something that didn’t come from her father’s proud smile or Mick’s playful teasing. Max was different from those two. She hugged her knees tighter, watching the boy shuffle the cards slowly, his blue eyes fixed on the worn deck. She was used to being supported, having people in her corner. But it was rare to sit with someone her age who didn’t already know her, who wasn’t her brother or one of his friends. Someone who didn’t treat her like a Schumacher, just… Natalie.

After a pause, she spoke softly, “Your papa… he is… mad with you?”

Max’s hands stilled on the cards. He glanced up, startled by the question, then quickly looked away, eyes narrowing. “Why do you ask?”

Natalie bit her lip, hesitating. “I see him. At the track. He shouts at you.” Natalie looked down at her scuffed shoes.

Max sighed, leaning back against the bench and dropping the cards on his lap. “Yeah..,” he admitted quietly. “He shouts a lot.”

Natalie’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But my papa never yells at me like that. He says I am strong, no matter what. He tells me he is proud.”

Max looked at her, surprise flickering in his eyes. “Your papa… he doesn’t get mad?”

“No,” she replied quickly. “Even when I make mistakes, he smiles. He says I am learning. That I will be better next time.”

Max’s lips pressed together, and for a moment he stared at the ground. “That’s… nice.”

Natalie nodded slowly, her green eyes thoughtful. “Why does your papa yell then? Does he not love you?”

Max shrugged, picking at a splinter in the wood. “He loves me. But… he thinks love is making me better by pushing me harder. If I don’t win… he’s angry. Says I need to be perfect.”

Natalie looked down. “My papa says I don’t have to be perfect to be loved. That being myself is enough.”

Max gave a small, bitter laugh. “It… I… Sometimes, I think he cares more about winning than about me.”

Natalie reached out tentatively, placing her hand lightly on his arm. “That… doesn’t sound like love. To me, at least.”

Max looked at her, surprised. Silence stretched between them.

Then he asked quietly, “Your papa… you are sure he is proud of you?”

Natalie shrugged, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Yes. Always. Even when I’m not the fastest or the best. He says I make him proud just by trying.”

Max frowned, looking almost jealous. “That sounds like a really good papa.”

Before she could say more, a sharp voice cut through the quiet.

“Max!”

They both jumped, startled like dogs caught sneaking food off the dinner table. Jos Verstappen stood just a few feet away, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, shoulders tense beneath the weight of barely contained fury. His stance was sharp. Rooted, unmovable, like a warning sign in human form. The late night light cut across his face, casting half of it in shadow and making the glare in his eyes burn even colder.

Max’s smile disappeared. He stood up quickly, knocking over the cards from his lap.

Jos stormed over, speaking quickly in Dutch, his tone harsh and commanding.

Natalie caught only a few words. And Schumacher was one among them. She felt her heart tighten, the sound of her last name spat like an insult. The rest of the sentence blurred past her, sharp consonants and vowels tumbling too fast for her to understand, but the intention was clear. Jos’ voice was like gravel; low, cold, hurtful.

She wasn’t used to that kind of anger. Not ever directed at her, especially from a parent of a teammate.

Her papa never raised his voice like that. He didn’t get in her face or bark orders like she was something that needed fixing. So she stood there frozen, unsure what she’d done to make this scary man look at her like that.

Natalie didn’t speak. She couldn’t. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Just the sound of Max shifting nervously beside her, his shoulders curling inward, trying to shrink himself small enough to disappear.

Jos switched to English, his voice cutting through the quiet like a snapped branch.

“You,” he spat, jabbing a finger in Natalie’s direction. “Don’t you ever talk to my son again.”

Natalie blinked, startled. “What?” she asked, the word slipping out before she could stop it.

Jos didn’t look confused, but rather he looked furious. Cold and sure of himself in that terrifying, know it all, grown-up way that made Natalie feel suddenly very small.

“You heard me,” Jos deadpanned. “I don’t want you near him.”

Max had gone still beside the bench, shoulders tensed, eyes flicking between his father and Natalie like he didn’t know what to do. But only that he couldn’t do anything.

Natalie stood up slowly, the bench creaking behind her, and instinctively took a step back from Jos. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, fingers curling into the fabric of her sleeves.

“I’m so sorry sir,” she spoke quietly, voice small but steady. “We were just playing.”

Jos scoffed like the idea was laughable. “You think this is a game?” he snapped. “You race against my son. You don’t get to be ‘just playing’ with him.”

Natalie blinked again, confused. “But.. why does that matter?”

Jos leaned in closer, and even though she held her ground, every part of her wanted to run. “Because your name is a problem,” he frowned. “Your father is soft. He tells the press how proud he is of you when you lose. You really think that teaches anything? You’re a pathetic girl in this sport, paraded around like she’s earned it. When it’s just your name doing all the heavy lifting.” His voice was sharper now, slicing through the young girl like ice. “And I will not have Max around that.”

The words landed like stones in her chest. She didn’t understand all of what Jos had meant, but the cruelty in his voice was clear.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Max shift his weight like he might speak, but he didn’t. He didn’t even lift his head.

“You’re not to speak to him again,” Jos informed, straightening. “Not at the track. And especially not afterwards. Nowhere.” His gaze swept to Max. “You. Let’s go.”

Max didn’t move right away. Then, without a word, he turned with his shoulders still hunched. He followed after his father, eyes fixed on the gravel.

He did not give Natalie a goodbye. No backward glance. Absolutely fucking nothing.

Natalie stood in the silence they left behind, the sound of the wind gently rattling through the trees and tents. The cards that had been in Max’s lap were now scattered across the grass, some of them face down in the dirt, others turned upward like they were still waiting for the next move. One fluttered a few inches farther with the breeze, then settled near her feet, its edges bent.

Natalie’s hands were clenched at her sides, jaw tight, but she didn’t understand why. She’d done nothing wrong, in fact, she was only but kind to Max. And honestly, the only one who was kind to Max.

The other kids at the karting track whispered behind his back sneered when Max passed by, calling him weird, quiet, even scary. They kept their distance, wary of the boy who rarely spoke and whose sharp blue eyes seemed to look right through them. But Natalie saw something different. She saw someone who needed a friend. Someone who deserved better. Yet now, standing alone as they walked away, she wondered if her kindness was worth what had just happened.

She didn’t know what to call what Max’s father had said. But she knew, deep down, that it wasn’t love.

And for the first time, something bitter and unfamiliar bloomed in her chest. Not because she had been yelled at by Jos, but for the little boy who hadn’t even looked back.

taglist @anamiad00msday @norstappenvibes @maxswhore33 @ragioniera @anedpev @dannydancer1 @beyond-the-ashes @flowersofdeath @camilahpg03 @iisa-bellla @haileyweinstein @butterflygxril @c3lest328 @toxicthotsyndrome68 @d-aydr3aming-in-stars @itsjustmyopinionf1 @quelinameowl @lagrandeoursee @havaneselover08 @luckyladycreator2 @linneaadele @softmhm @gabriellepearce96 @cryinghotmess @manuztb @embonbon @lelevs @athanasia-day @darkkingchild @wallowinmemories

[loricciardo]

CHAPTER ONE | SO THIS IS HOW IT STARTS?

tags. original female character, jos verstappen, depictions of physical and verbal abuse in reference to max & jos, mild references to childhood loneliness and emotional isolation, mentions of of pressure and high expectations in youth sports, neglectful parenting.

taglist. want to join or be removed from my taglist? send me an ask or comment below!

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The first time Natalie Schumacher met Max Verstappen, she was seven years old.

They were in Wackersdorf for the weekend. It was another karting event, another lineup of engines echoing across the tarmac and the familiar scent of petrol clinging to everything. Natalie already had grease under her nails and a smear of oil on her cheek from helping Mick zip up his suit too fast.

In the beginning, her mama had been hesitant about letting her race. Not because she didn’t believe Natalie could do it but she’d seen too much of what the sport could take. The injuries, the pressure, the loneliness that sometimes came with living life on a pedestal. “One Schumacher on the track is enough,” she’d said once, half joking. But Natalie wanted it too badly. She wanted to follow in her papa’s footsteps, to chase what her big brother Mick chased. It wasn’t expected of her but it called to her. And eventually, her mama stopped protesting. Not because the fear went away, but because she saw how Natalie lit up every time she got behind the wheel.

But what mattered the most, arguably, was that their father was here. Not just in the “he brought us and paid our entry fees” way, but really here. Michael Schumacher had been away a lot that year, just like every year, swallowed up by Ferrari duties and sponsor meetings. Luckily, it was his last year as a driver. And this weekend, he had cleared everything just to watch them race.

Natalie knew that because she’d asked him twice.

Now, sitting criss-crossed on a folding chair next to their kart, she picked at the velcro strap on her glove while Mick paced the tent with quiet nerves. He always got like that before the race started. His mind would buzz in circles. Natalie liked to think it was because he wanted to win, but deep down, she suspected it was because he didn’t want to disappoint their dad.

“Meinst du ich sollte in Turn 5 später bremsen?” Mick asked suddenly. (Do you think I should brake later in Turn 5?)

Natalie shrugged. “Sie haben dort das letzte Mal abgeschlossen.” (You locked up there last time.)

“Ich habe fast abgeschlossen.” (I almost locked up.)

She raised a brow. “Okay… Du wärst fast ins Schleudern gekommen.” (Okay… You almost spun into the gravel.)

That earned a look from Michael, who was crouched by Natalie’s rear tires, double checking the pressure gauge like it hadn’t already been done by five other track mechanics. “You two, be nice,” he scolded in English, without turning around. “You’re both here to learn. No one’s perfect.”

Natalie held back rolling her eyes at him. Papa always said that. No one’s perfect. Even though, to her, he was.

Mick frowned but nodded slowly. Natalie leaned back in her chair and watched the other kids trickle into the circuit. Some in karts, some dragging helmets behind them like they were too heavy to carry. Regardless, all the boys looked older, taller. More serious.

She didn’t feel out of place, despite being the only girl. At least, not in the way people expected her to. Natalie didn’t flinch when boys stared too long or made snide comments under their breath. She was used to it by now. The double takes, the raised eyebrows, the occasional series organizer asking her if she was in the wrong tent. None of it mattered once the kart turned on. Out there, she wasn’t someone’s sister or someone’s daughter or that girl who thinks she can race. She was just a racing driver. And that was all she needed to be.

Michael stood up, brushing his hands off on a rag, and turned to look at them both. “Remember,” he smiled gently, “you don’t have to win. Just drive your best. That’s enough for me.”

Natalie tried not to smile too hard. She hated when Mick called her soft. He always did it in that annoying older brother way that meant he did care, but didn’t quite know how to say it. Mick always got weird when their papa said things like that. Like he didn’t know how to hold onto praise taking it to heart. Natalie understood that a little.

Natalie Schumacher did not expect to win that race.

She knew she was fast but this track was always brutal to her used tires. Papa always insisted that he put them on her and Mick’s karts. He said it was to teach them how to adapt. To feel the loss of grip, to wrestle with unpredictability. “You have to learn how to win with worse equipment,” he told them, tightening a lug nut with calloused hands. “I didn’t grow up with the best parts. I would fish them out the bin. If you can drive well on these, you’ll fly on brand new ones.”

And of course, the name Max Verstappen had was being whispered all weekend. Her papa had warned her about him, too. “He’s aggressive,” he’d told her, kneeling beside Natalie’s kart that morning. “Clever as well. You’ll have to be smarter, not just quicker.”

And the Max boy was quick. He took different lines than she did. They were wider, riskier ones. He would break late, causing her to almost fly off track. In practice, he had flown past her twice. It had made Natalie’s jaw clench, made her papa sigh, and made her stomach twist in that sickening way it always did when she felt like she was falling short.

But that wasn’t the case for today.

Today, she drove that kart with fire in her veins and dirt under her tiny fingernails. She fought for her spot every turn, and when the chequered flag dropped, she crossed the line first. Barely, in front of the Max boy, but she did.

Again: Natalie Schumacher had just won her first karting race.

She couldn’t stop smiling as she slowly climbed onto the taller podium, her blonde hair a mess beneath her winners cap, her race suit dusted with mud. The cheers of the small crowd were loud, and the sun caught the edge of the little gold trophy in her hands, making it glint like something bigger than it was.

But something felt off.

Max, the boy who was supposed to be standing beside her, wasn’t there.

His name was still printed neatly on the silver trophy that lay on the second place pedestal, waiting for his little boots to fill the space. But he never came. The officials called for him once, maybe twice, before giving up and continuing with the ceremony. Natalie frowned, scanning the crowd, trying to spot that unmistakable bright orange and white helmet or the sharp blue eyes beneath the weight of his little scowl.

Natalie didn’t see Max near the tents. Instead, her eyes caught movement far behind the motorhomes barely visible beyond the chain link fence.

Ah! There he was!

Max stood stiff and still, his face bright red, head cast toward the ground. A tall man hovered over him, speaking rapidly in some foreign language. The language wasn’t German. Not French either. Natalie’s young self couldn’t place it, but the meaning didn’t need translating. The scary man’s hand was clenched tight around Max’s shoulder, shaking the boy once, sharply, before releasing. Max didn’t flinch, but even from this distance, Natalie could feel something sour twist in her chest.

The scary man wasn’t just angry. He looked furious. She wanted to march over there and tell the scary man how hard Max fought her for first. And honestly, the thought made Natalie wish she had gotten second. She didn’t understand the words, but she didn’t need to.

Natalie had never seen a parent look at their child that way before. Her papa never raised his voice like that. Even when she messed up, or rather, especially when she messed up. His voice stayed calm, steady. We’ll work on it, he’d say. You’re getting there.

Before she could watch any longer, a sudden POP! beside her made her flinch.

“Hah!” a young boy’s voice chirped, high and teasing.

Small but mighty, there was Charles Leclerc, triumphant in third place, grinned as he sprayed her with cheap pretend champagne, half of which missed and splattered onto her race boots. Natalie squealed, laughing despite herself, raising the little bottle in defense and catching him in the chest.

And just like that, Max and the scary man disappeared. Natalie Schumacher felt like a real race car driver.

Natalie sat on the steps of the Schumacher motorhome, her tiny race suit rolled down to her waist, the arms tied in a loose knot around her hips. Her hair was still messy from the fake champagne, and her cheeks were warm from the evening German sun. Across from her, their papa crouched low over the little fire pit he’d built out of bricks and gravel, carefully turning the sausages he’d set on a metal grate.

“Paaaaa! Don’t poke them so much,” Mick spoke from behind him, nose wrinkled. “They’ll split.”

“They won’t split,” Michael replied, amused as he looked at his son. “They’re fine. Do you want yours burnt, or not burnt?”

“… Not burnt.”

Michael grinned. “Then stop giving advice and let the sausage master work.”

The fire hissed, and the smell of charring meat mixed with the nearby scent of gasoline and fresh cut grass. Someone else at the campground was cooking too. It was something buttery and smoky, yum. And with the sun slowly setting, it was finally starting to cool off. Natalie was realizing that this was her favorite smell in the whole world: grease, petrol, and campfire.

She was still holding her little gold trophy in one hand. She hadn’t put it down yet, not really out of pride. Well, yes, she was proud, but, because the weight of it in her hand reminded her that it had actually happened.

Natalie leaned her head against the edge of the doorframe, eyes scanning lazily across the lot. Until a sharp slam cut through the quiet.

Her gaze snapped to the source of the noise. It was Max. And that scary man from before.

They stood a few motorhomes down, under the weak yellow glow of a lamp post. It was the second time that weekend she’d seen that man yell at him like that.

It was happening again. Worse, maybe. The man was louder this time, more animated. His hands sliced through the air like he was trying to cut something that wouldn’t go away. Max stood perfectly still, staring up at him with this blank sort of expression. He’d learned a long time ago that it was better not to respond. His face was red from holding his tears all in.

She didn’t know what the scary man was saying, but it was clearly bad. He looked very mean. He was the kind of grown up that made your stomach knot just from being in the same space.

The man turned to walk away, then spun back around suddenly and shouted again, louder this time. Max flinched, just barely, but didn’t move otherwise.

When the man finally stormed off for good, Max stayed behind. He just sat right there in the grass beside his motorhome, legs pulled up, elbows resting on his knees. His hands moved automatically, picking at the dirt and stray blades of grass. It was something to do, something to focus on instead of whatever had just happened.

Natalie’s cautious, curious eyes stayed on him longer than she meant to.

“Dinner’s ready,” Papa smiled gently beside her, handing her a bun with a sausage tucked neatly inside, wrapped in kitchen roll.

“Danke,” she murmured, taking it with both hands. But instead of taking a bite, she stared down at it.

Then she glanced sideways at Max again. Still sitting there, still quiet, still alone. She shifted on her feet. Thought for a second. Then looked up at her papa.

“Papa?” she asked, softly. “Do you.. think I could give one to him?”

Michael looked up again, this time following her gaze. He saw little Max Verstappen, alone in the grass, and his expression changed slightly. His brow creased, just a little. He took a breath, slow and steady.

Michael, of couse, had raced against Jos Verstappen. He remembered him well. Not for his skill, which was average at his prime, but for his temper. The way Jos shoved mechanics in the garage. The way he barked orders at engineers like they were below him. He remembered the way Jos had spoken to people when he thought no one important was listening.

And everyone had heard the numerous stories. Everyone knew that Jos was hard on his son. Way too hard. Hell, he even boasted about it! Michael had never seen it up close, but he had heard things. Seen the way the little boy flinched when Jos raised his voice behind the fences of junior events.

Michael looked back at his daughter, her little face scrunched with concern, thumb nervously brushing the edge of the paper napkin.

“Nat… I think it’d be a very nice thing to do,” he spoke finally, his voice quiet. “But you can’t take it personally if he doesn’t say thank you.”

Natalie slowly nodded, trying to understand why Michael would mention such things.

“You have to remember, he’s not used to kindness, Kleine,” Michael added, almost more to himself than to her. “Not from people who don’t want something from him.” (Kleine = little one)

She looked up at him, confused. “But.. Papa, I don’t.. want anything from him?”

Michael smiled softly. “I know you don’t,” He nodded, slowly. “You can go ahead,” his voice quiet. “But don’t stay too long, okay?”

“I won’t, Pa,” she promised.

Natalie spun around and walked across the gravel with no hesitation, sausage bun in both hands, toward the boy no one seemed to look at twice. Her eyes moved from the food to Max, then back again.

The boy didn’t look up right away. He was crouched low, elbows resting on his knees, eyes fixed on the dirt. His fingers were smudged with mud, busy pulling up little weeds just for something to do.

But when her racing boots crunched softly against the grass, Max tensed. His head snapped up, and cold blue eyes met hers. Wide, suspicious, a little red around the edges. Natalie froze; she hadn’t expected his stare to feel like that. She felt her face go warm, suddenly too aware of how quiet it was between them. But she held up the hotdog anyway.

“Um… hi,” she slowly smiled.

Max didn’t answer. Just blinked at her, not moving an inch.

They hadn’t spoken before. Not even once. She didn’t know if he spoke English. Or German, or anything she knew. But she figured she had to try something.

“I… I brought you food,” she added awkwardly, holding it out a little further.

Max glanced at the hotdog, then back at her. His shoulders stayed hunched. His small face didn’t soften.

“Why..?” he asked confused, voice quiet.

Natalie shifted her weight, unsure what to say. She didn’t have the guts to explain all of it. That she’d seen the way his father yelled, how it reminded her of stories Papa never told but the adults sometimes did. That she didn’t think anyone should have to eat dinner alone, especially not after working so hard to win a race.

So instead, she shrugged. “Because you didn’t get one,” she settled on. “And it’s good. And I thought you might’ve wanted one.”

Max looked at her like she’d just said something in a completely foreign language. His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment she thought he might stand up and walk away.

But then, slowly, carefully, Max reached out and took the hotdog from Natalie’s hands. Their fingers brushed for a second, and he flinched, just barely, but didn’t let go.

Natalie smiled, relieved. “See? Not poisoned.”He didn’t smile back, but he didn’t scowl either. Which felt like progress.

Natalie sat down beside him in the grass, close enough to be friendly but not enough to crowd him. Her knees brushed against a dandelion, and she plucked it absentmindedly as he stared down at the food like he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“You can eat,” Natalie raised a brow, glancing sideways at him. “I told you it wasn’t poisonous.”

She watched with quiet curiosity as Max slowly unwrapped the hotdog in his lap. His tiny fingers moved carefully, like he was afraid of tearing the paper wrong, or maybe just buying time. Then, without saying a word, he tore the hotdog in half. He glanced sideways at her, a little shy, then held one half out in her direction.

She didn’t move at first, too surprised to. “Huh? You can have it,” Natalie said softly. “It was for you.”

Max shrugged, still holding it out. He didn’t explain, and Natalie didn’t push him. Eventually, she took it from his hand, their fingers brushing again for the briefest second. It wasn’t a big piece, but her stomach was grateful anyway. She hadn’t even realized how hungry she still was.

With a smirk, she took an overly dramatic bite, exaggerating the chew and letting out a satisfied “Mmm” that made Max’s lips twitch. Then he giggled. Just a little, barely more than a breath. Natalie tried not to make a big deal out of it, but it made her grin widen.

She watched from the corner of her eye as he finally brought his half to his mouth and took a small, cautious bite, like he was waiting to make sure it wouldn’t disappear before he could finish it.

“Natalie,” she spoke after a moment, pointing to herself. “I’m Natalie.”

Max tilted his head, swallowed his bite, and echoed, “Nah-lee?”

“Close enough,” she smiled.

He paused, then pointed to himself. “Max.”

“I know,” she shook her head, and then laughed softly. “You’re very fast.”

Max blinked, surprised by the compliment. His face shifted a little. It was less guarded, and more curious.

“You too,” he acknowledged, the words slow and thick with what she realized was a Dutch accent. “Very fast.”

Natalie nodded, chewing the last bit of her food. She liked the way he said it. His voice sounded better now, separated from the fright of his father.

They didn’t talk much after that. There wasn’t really a need to. They sat there in the grass, the firelight from the camps scattered around the grounds casting flickers of gold across Max’s face as he ate quietly beside her.

When they finished, Natalie stood, brushing crumbs from her knees. Max looked up at her unsure.

She reached out and took the crumpled kitchen roll from his lap, combining it with hers in one hand. Max blinked at her, clearly surprised, but didn’t argue. Just folded his hands awkwardly in his lap.

“Uhm… Bye,” Natalie offered him a little wave and a small smile.

Max hesitated, then returned it with the same tiny wave. “Bye.”

And just like that, Natalie turned and walked back toward her motorhome, toward the warm hum of her father’s voice and the quiet comfort of knowing she was loved. Never realizing that for Max, that hotdog and that five minutes of peace might be the kindest thing anyone had done for him in months.

taglist @anamiad00msday @norstappenvibes @maxswhore33 @ragioniera @anedpev @dannydancer1 @beyond-the-ashes @flowersofdeath @camilahpg03 @iisa-bellla @haileyweinstein @butterflygxril @c3lest328 @toxicthotsyndrome68 @d-aydr3aming-in-stars @itsjustmyopinionf1 @quelinameowl @lagrandeoursee @havaneselover08 @luckyladycreator2 @linneaadele @softmhm @gabriellepearce96 @cryinghotmess @manuztb @embonbon @lelevs @athanasia-day @darkkingchild @wallowinmemories

[loricciardo]

YOU'RE SO VAIN, a Max Verstappen story.

pairing. Max Verstappen x original female character.

taglist. want to join my taglist for this story? comment or shoot me an ask.

: ̗̀➛ 01. so this is how it starts?

: ̗̀➛ 02. too sweet.

: ̗̀➛ 03. the man.

: ̗̀➛ 04. the red intimidator.

: ̗̀➛ 05. just a girl.

: ̗̀➛ 06.karma goes both ways.

synopsis. Natalie Schumacher is fast, fearless, and absolutely sick of being told she’s lucky. Being the daughter of a legend, she’s been branded “Formula 1 royalty” since she first entered this world as a small newborn.

Enter: Max Emilian Verstappen. Two-time world champion. A God on the track and a mess of contradictions off it--infuriating, electrifying, and raw in a way she just can't shake. At once, his rootlessness upends her routine. And, unfortunately, he is very loud about the fact that he thinks she doesn’t belong.

Max can’t stand Natalie. Not because she’s slow.. she isn’t. And it’s not because she’s soft. If anything, she races like a live wire. No, Max Verstappen hates Natalie Schumacher because she walks around with everything he never had: friends who love her before the podiums, a brother who’d throw punches in her defense, a family whose shadow feels like a blanket of protection, not pressure. She’s surrounded by warmth. But Max? He grew up in an icy cold tundra.

What do you do with feelings you didn’t plan for? What happens when the person you were raised to beat is the one who finally sees you for who you are?

status. on-going, i will try to update every tuesday, however i am writing this as i post, so updates may be slow as i want to properly depict the story i have in my head.

tags. female original character, misogyny and toxic masculinity (F1-typical), a lot of cussing, depictions of mental health issues (post-traumatic stress disorder, depression, bipolar, anxiety), depictions of childhood trauma, slow burn, NSFW themes (eventual smut? who knows..), references to past abuse and assault (physical, mental, sexual in reference to children and adults), abusive relationship in a romantic setting, mentions of michael schumacher’s accident, Max and Natalie are dicks!

Chapters will be marked accordingly. Please read before proceeding and exercise appropriate reader discretion.

DISCLAIMER. This is a work of fanfiction. I obviously do not own FORMULA 1 or any other forms of intellectual property. I do, however, own the original characters of this novel (Natalie Schumacher), as well as the plot lines and the writing itself. Some aspects are semi-based on true events following the 2023 season, but this is overwhelmingly a work of pure fanfiction and is far detached from reality. Additionally, there will be comments made for the sake of this fanfiction that I don’t believe the drivers would ever make. Do not let this story reflect your image on them. Please do not copy, redistribute, plagiarize, or translate this work under any circumstances.

• • • PLEASE DON'T BE A SILENT READER! I love seeing feedback and reactions. It really motivates me as a writer! I hope you enjoy 'You're So Vain.' Thank you for taking the time to read.

[loricciardo]

MAX VERSTAPPEN MASTERLIST.

pinned rules main masterlist

YOU'RE SO VAIN. series, various.

[loricciardo]

would anyone want to be tagged? comment or like this post!!

[loricciardo]

CHARLES LECLERC MASTERLIST.

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TAG YOU LATER. SMAU, fluff.

[loricciardo]

NAVIGATION.

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FERRARI:

charles leclerc masterlist

lewis hamilton masterlist

RED BULL:

max verstappen masterlist

yuki tsunoda masterlist

McLAREN:

lando norris masterlist

oscar piastri masterlist

MERCEDES:

george russell masterlist

kimi antonelli masterlist

WILLIAMS:

alex albon masterlist

carlos sainz masterlist

MORE TO BE ADDED PER REQUESTS.