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paucubarsisimp · 2 months ago

Note

Can I request a multiple F1 grid: Trying to build the Lego F1 cars together? I just bought one and it was both fun and frustrating to build. Thank you so much if you do fill my request and of course I understand if you don’t. Have a lovely day!

lego cars

pairings: all current grid drivers x reader

summary: building f1 legos with your f1 driver boyfriend

warnings: swearing

୨ৎ lando norris

the floor was a mess of orange, black, and grey lego pieces, but your boyfriend looked entirely unbothered, sitting cross-legged in the middle of it like a kid on christmas morning.

“are we actually going to finish this tonight?” you asked, squinting at the thick instruction booklet in your lap.

lando didn’t even look up. “of course we are. we’re professionals.”

you snorted. “you drive a real mclaren, babe. that doesn’t make you a lego engineer.”

he finally looked over, a lopsided grin on his face. “speak for yourself. i’ve got the hand-eye coordination of a god.”

you held up two nearly identical orange pieces. “then explain which one of these is step 274 and which is step 275.”

lando stared at them, squinting dramatically. “…they’re the same.”

“they’re not,” you said, already laughing.

and so it went. for every five steps you made progress, lando somehow distracted you for three. whether it was joking around, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek, or making car noises as he pushed the half-built model across the table — he made it fun.

“this is kind of romantic,” he said suddenly, looking at the nearly complete mclaren between you.

you raised an eyebrow. “covered in plastic bricks, sitting on the floor, slowly losing our minds — that’s your definition of romance?”

he shrugged, inching closer. “yeah. it’s like… we’re building something together. literally and figuratively.”

you laughed, but your heart swelled a little at that. “that was either really cute or really cheesy.”

“both,” he admitted, nudging your knee with his.

when the final piece clicked into place, you both just sat there, admiring the tiny f1 car you’d brought to life together.

lando reached over and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, tugging you against him. “we make a good team.”

“you mean i follow instructions and you provide chaos?”

“exactly.” he kissed the side of your head. “perfect balance.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ oscar piastri

the floor was a battlefield of tiny lego pieces in shades of orange, black, and grey. oscar sat cross-legged across from you, his brow furrowed in concentration as he stared down at the instruction booklet.

“are you sure you’re following the instructions properly?” you asked, glancing over at him. “this is starting to look more like a spaceship than an f1 car.”

oscar didn’t look up. “it’s fine. i’ve got it under control.”

you raised an eyebrow, skeptically eyeing the growing pile of mismatched pieces around him. “you say that, but i’m starting to question your lego expertise.”

he finally looked up, smirking. “i’m an f1 driver. i can build anything. it’s all about precision and… patience.”

you bit back a laugh. “precision, huh? so you’re saying you’re totally sure that piece you just put on is supposed to be there?”

oscar glanced down at the piece in his hand, eyes widening slightly. “okay, maybe it’s not exactly in the right place, but it’s close.”

you shook your head, trying to hide your smile. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

he grinned, clearly pleased with the compliment. “that’s the plan. get by on charm and looks.”

as you worked together, it became clear that while oscar might not be a lego master, he sure was good at making you laugh. every so often, he’d dramatically announce that a piece absolutely belonged in a spot it clearly didn’t, or he’d break into random comments about how the car’s “aerodynamics” weren’t up to his standards.

“this doesn’t look like a proper racing car,” he muttered, holding up a half-finished section. “i think we need to take this back to the pits for some adjustments.”

you grinned. “if only you could bring a lego car to the team garage for a quick pit stop.”

he winked. “hey, it’s the next best thing. no tire changes, but plenty of potential.”

finally, after some back-and-forth and more than a few wrong pieces, the lego mclaren started to resemble something recognizable. oscar stepped back, crossing his arms with a proud smile.

“we did it,” he said, his voice soft but pleased.

you looked down at the completed model and grinned. “well, you did it, actually. i just followed your instructions.”

“exactly,” he said, nudging your shoulder with his. “teamwork.”

“you mean your work and me just looking pretty while pretending to know what i’m doing?”

oscar chuckled and leaned over, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek. “something like that. but seriously, i’m glad we did this.”

you smiled, resting your head on his shoulder as you both admired your work. “me too. i think it looks even better because we built it together.”

he nodded, wrapping his arm around you. “definitely. and now, we’ve got the most unique mclaren f1 car in the world.”

you both sat there for a while, in the quiet satisfaction of a task completed — and maybe, just maybe, a few more moments of laughter and memories added to your time together.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ george russell

the living room looked like a miniature pit lane disaster. grey and black lego pieces covered the floor, coffee table, and parts of george’s lap. he sat, back straight as ever, holding what looked like a front wing and staring at it like it had just insulted his entire career.

“this is… incorrect,” he muttered.

you looked over from the other side of the table. “you said that about the last four pieces.”

“and i was right all four times,” he replied with a faintly dramatic sigh, “but this one’s actually wrong.”

you leaned in. “george, the instructions are literally step-by-step. just follow them.”

he gave you a flat look. “i am following them. but the piece was misprinted.”

you blinked. “you think mercedes messed up a lego set.”

“not mercedes. lego,” he corrected, deadly serious. “mercedes would never.”

you bit back a laugh. “you sound like you’re defending the honor of the factory.”

he smirked a little, then looked down at the tiny W15 replica in progress. “well… they did build this one. just, you know, full size.”

“and not out of plastic.”

“small detail.”

you shifted closer, watching him click the front wing in, still with that careful, surgeon-level precision. “i like seeing you like this,” you said softly. “focused, but not… stressed.”

he looked over at you, some of the usual pressure in his shoulders melting a bit. “it’s nice. building something without a stopwatch.”

after a few minutes of quiet building, broken only by occasional lego clicks and your cat batting a tire piece under the couch, george finally leaned back to admire the half-built car.

“she’s beautiful,” he said, proud. “and more cooperative than the real one some days.”

you raised an eyebrow. “are you giving a press quote to a toy?”

he shrugged. “i speak from experience.”

you nudged him with your foot. “can’t wait for you to give a whole post-race debrief to this thing.”

“if it finishes ahead of me, i might have to.”

you both laughed, and george reached over to take your hand, twining your fingers with his without looking away from the tiny car.

“thanks for doing this,” he said. “i know it’s silly.”

“not silly,” you said quietly. “you spend all day breaking down the most complex machine in the world. it’s nice to see you build something just because you want to.”

he smiled, then gently tapped the half-built car. “it’s a good one. but it’s missing something.”

“what’s that?”

“driver figure,” he said, holding up the little lego helmet. “every car needs one.”

you laughed. “well, you better get him in before he misses quali.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ kimi antonelli

“mate, i swear to god, this is missing a piece.”

kimi antonelli sat cross-legged on your rug, a confused frown on his face as he poked through a sea of grey lego bricks. the nearly-complete mercedes w15 sat between you, missing exactly one sidepod.

you glanced up from your half of the build. “kimi, it’s not missing. it’s under your leg.”

he froze, looked down, and muttered, “ma che cazzo…”

you tried not to laugh as he pulled the piece free, shaking his head at himself. “this is why i drive the car and not build it.”

“oh please, even george finished his set last week,” you teased. “he timed it. wrote it down. probably logged it in a spreadsheet.”

kimi rolled his eyes, smirking. “yeah, well, george also irons his socks. i’m not competing with that.”

you both laughed, but kimi’s focus returned to the tiny car in front of him. he clicked the sidepod into place with careful hands, jaw tight in concentration. despite the casual “mate”s and the chill exterior, you could tell he wanted this perfect.

“you always this serious about lego?”

“only when it’s my car,” he muttered. “first season in f1, first time with mercedes… feels kinda unreal.”

you tilted your head, voice softening. “does it feel like pressure?”

he didn’t answer right away, just ran a thumb along the smooth line of the lego chassis.

“a bit,” he admitted finally. “but… it also feels right. like i’m where i’m supposed to be.”

“you are,” you said, nudging his arm. “you’ve earned every bit of it.”

he gave you a small smile, then leaned back on one hand, holding the tiny lego driver helmet in the other. “hope the real car treats me better than this damn brick one. this thing’s falling apart every time i touch it.”

“just like the rear grip in turn 11?”

he gave you a mock glare. “vaffanculo.”

you laughed, and he laughed with you, head tipping back slightly. there was something bright in his eyes—equal parts excitement and nerves.

“george said he’s gonna come over and check it when we’re done,” you said after a beat.

kimi groaned. “he’s gonna critique it like it’s an aero debrief. 'why did you use the wrong diffuser panel, mate?'”

you grinned. “better get it right then.”

he clicked the final piece into place with a satisfying snap, exhaled deeply, then held up the finished car with both hands like it was sacred.

“look at that,” he said, pride sneaking into his voice. “first mercedes built.”

“first of many.”

“damn right,” he murmured. then, with a smirk, “mate, we’re gonna need a bigger shelf.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ max verstappen

“this is stupid.”

max said it flatly, staring down at the unopened box of the red bull lego f1 car on the table.

you raised an eyebrow. “you picked it out.”

“yeah, well. it looked cool. didn’t realize it had a thousand pieces.”

you smirked. “scared of a few tiny bricks?”

“no,” he said, already slicing open the box with a kitchen knife like it had insulted him. “i just don’t like losing. even to plastic.”

you bit back a laugh. “who are you losing to, max? it’s just you and me.”

he gave you a look. “and i will beat you, obviously.”

“this isn’t a race.”

“everything is a race.”

you sighed, but there was no real annoyance behind it. max was already deep into organizing the pieces into small piles—color-coded, of course. he wasn’t about to admit he cared, but he was treating this with the same quiet focus he brought to race sims.

half an hour in, you looked over at his side of the build. it was surprisingly perfect—sharp edges, clean lines, everything matched the instruction booklet exactly.

“you’re weirdly good at this,” you said.

he shrugged. “spatial awareness.”

“is that what we’re calling lego talent now?”

he gave a smug little smile. “don’t be jealous.”

you rolled your eyes. “you literally threatened to throw yours out the window ten minutes ago.”

“because the rear wing wouldn’t line up,” he muttered, holding up a tiny piece with disdain. “this thing is so unrealistic.”

“you drive a car that hits 300 kph in a straight line and you're mad about a lego wing?”

he grunted, snapping it into place anyway. “it’s the principle.”

eventually, you both fell into a rhythm. soft music played in the background, and the only sound was the satisfying clicks of bricks and the occasional muttered dutch swearing when max misplaced a piece.

“fuck” he hissed under his breath, digging through a pile. “it was here, i saw it—”

you held up the missing piece. “you mean this one?”

he stared. “…you stole it.”

“i found it.”

he narrowed his eyes. “i want a rematch when this is done.”

“max, this wasn’t a competition.”

“you say that,” he replied, snapping the piece into place. “but i’m winning.”

you looked over at his perfectly assembled lego rb20 and sighed.

“okay. maybe you are.”

he grinned, leaned back, and crossed his arms like a smug cat. “next time, we build monaco.”

you raised a brow. “the whole track?”

“yeah,” he said. “then i lap you.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ yuki tsunoda

“why the fuck are there so many pieces?!”

you looked up to see yuki holding a clear bag of lego parts like it had personally offended him. his eyebrows were scrunched, mouth open in disbelief, hair slightly disheveled—classic signs of a yuki meltdown brewing.

“because you picked the detailed version,” you said, trying not to laugh.

he groaned dramatically and flopped back onto the couch. “i thought it was gonna be like, 100 pieces. max.”

“you drive a formula one car and this is what breaks you?”

he pointed at the half-built lego version of his old alpha tauri car, now rebranded and reboxed under a new team name. “this thing is too tiny. my fingers are not made for this shit.”

you reached over and gently fixed a piece he’d put on backwards. “you literally have hands made for this. they’re small.”

“rude,” he muttered, popping a sour candy into his mouth. “also true.”

you smiled and went back to your part of the build. yuki followed, a little grumbly but determined, muttering in both english and japanese as he tried to line up the next wing section.

“this piece doesn’t fit—kuso!—okay, never mind, i fixed it.”

“look at you,” you teased. “problem solver.”

he gave you a side-eye. “i’m gonna throw this car out the window if one more piece falls apart.”

you leaned in close, inspecting the tiny front wing he’d just attached. “actually, this is really good. like, suspiciously good.”

he beamed. “i know, right?”

you blinked. “did you just… accept a compliment without deflecting it?”

“i’m evolving.”

he sat up straighter, brushing brick dust off his sweatpants. “honestly, it’s kinda nice. building something that doesn’t involve brake temps and tire wear.”

you looked over, surprised by the sudden shift in tone. “yeah?”

he shrugged. “everything’s serious all the time. it’s nice to just do something dumb with you.”

your smile softened. “we should make it a thing. post-race lego nights.”

“only if you promise to open the bags next time. i almost sliced my finger on that stupid little plastic edge.”

“deal.”

he held up the half-built car triumphantly. “look! it’s a car. kind of.”

“good enough for an f1 rookie,” you teased.

“oi,” he said, lightly kicking your leg. “i’m a veteran now.”

you giggled, and he reached over, placing the tiny lego helmet on the driver figure with way more care than he’d shown to the rest of the car.

“there,” he said. “now he won’t crash.”

“unlike you in austria 2022.”

“shut up!”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ charles leclerc

the coffee table was covered in little red lego bricks, most of them scattered far beyond where they were supposed to be. somewhere among the chaos sat charles, cross-legged, sleeves pushed up, brows drawn together like this was his actual ferrari on race day.

“you look stressed,” you teased, holding out a curved red piece. “you okay there, captain monaco?”

he sighed dramatically. “this is harder than qualifying in the rain.”

you grinned. “you chose this, you know.”

“yes, but i didn’t think ferrari lego would betray me too.”

you laughed, watching as he studied the instructions like it was a secret strategy briefing. he was painfully serious about it — biting his lip, double-checking every step, occasionally whispering under his breath in french.

“you do realize it’s just a toy, right?” you asked, leaning your chin into your palm as you watched him.

he glanced up, smiling sheepishly. “it’s not just a toy. it’s a ferrari.”

“ah. sacred ground.”

he chuckled, reaching for a piece but brushing your hand instead. he paused, letting his fingers rest lightly over yours for a second. “merci for helping, by the way.”

you shrugged. “i’m here for moral support. and to make sure you don’t accidentally build a mclaren by mistake.”

charles gasped, hand to heart. “that’s… that’s cruel.”

“just keeping you humble.”

as the model slowly took shape, you started to enjoy the rhythm of it — the quiet little jokes, the hum of soft music in the background, charles occasionally singing under his breath in french when he thought you weren’t listening.

at one point, he sat back and held up the half-built ferrari, inspecting it like an art piece. “it’s not perfect, but… it has character.”

“so, just like your real car?”

he smirked. “exactly.”

once the final piece clicked into place, he leaned back beside you on the floor, both of you just admiring the miniature sf-24 in front of you. the iconic red, the delicate little wings, the prancing horse.

“we should put it somewhere,” you said quietly.

“on my sim rig.”

“really?”

he turned to you, eyes soft. “of course. you helped build it. it’s important.”

you rested your head against his shoulder. “maybe next time we build something less… intense.”

he smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “like what?”

“lego monaco. or, i don’t know… a tiny lego you.”

charles chuckled. “you’d still make fun of it.”

“absolutely.”al

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ lewis hamilton

lewis hummed quietly as he picked through the lego pieces, the ferrari logo staring back at him from the instruction manual. the new team, new car, new journey—but still the same lewis, calm and collected, moving through the pieces with ease.

“you’d think after all these months i’d be used to seeing my name in red,” he said, his voice soft. “but it’s still… weird.”

you looked over at him, glancing between the almost-finished lego sf-23 and his focused expression. “weird in a good way?”

he paused, then smiled, that familiar, relaxed smile that had always made him seem like he knew something no one else did. “yeah. definitely. it’s a change, but… a good one.”

you handed him a small piece. “you’ve been in a lot of teams, but this one’s special.”

“it is,” he agreed, clicking the piece into place. “ferrari’s got history. it’s a different kind of challenge, you know? charles and i, we’ve got a good energy together, but there's pressure to live up to everything this team represents.”

you nodded. “but you’ve already built so much in your career. now, it’s just about making something new.”

he gave a short laugh. “i hope that’s how it feels when this lego car’s done. fresh start.”

you watched him attach the rear wing, his fingers surprisingly gentle as he fitted the pieces together. “i think it’s already looking good.”

“well,” he said, eyes glinting playfully, “if it’s anything like my actual car, it’s gonna be fast.”

you smirked. “you mean like the perfectly tuned car you’ve already built over there?” you teased, motioning to the tiny, almost perfect lego ferrari.

“hey,” he said with mock offense. “i told you it was gonna be smooth.”

“that’s the thing with you, lewis,” you grinned, “everything’s smooth.”

he glanced over at you with a warm smile, his eyes softening. “i like to keep things balanced. at least here, we don’t have to worry about track limits or tire wear.”

you chuckled. “yeah, but look at how much you’re stressing over these bricks.”

“mate,” he said, his tone warm but teasing, “this is serious business.”

just as he said it, roscoe trotted over, sniffing around the legos with interest before promptly sitting on a pile of tires.

“oh, no,” lewis sighed, reaching down to gently move the dog. “roscoe, not the tires!”

you laughed. “he just wants to help.”

“help my ass,” lewis muttered, chuckling. “he’s got his own ideas of how to build a car.”

“maybe you should let him try next time.”

“only if he can actually get a car across the finish line,” lewis said, shaking his head as roscoe finally wandered off to nap. he looked at you again, his expression softening. “thanks for doing this. it’s nice to just… relax for a bit.”

you smiled. “it’s fun building this with you.”

he leaned back slightly, stretching out. “yeah. this is what i needed.”

you both leaned in to finish the last few pieces, the ferrari lego car coming together bit by bit.

“looks like we’re ready for the race,” you said as the last wheel snapped into place.

“we?” lewis raised an eyebrow. “i’m the one who’s going to take this one across the finish line.”

you gave him a sly grin. “in this case, i’m the engineer.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ alex albon

alex sat cross-legged on the floor, a slight frown tugging at his mouth as he studied the lego pieces in front of him. his arms were slightly crossed, his posture just the right amount of focus—like he was working on a race car, but also maybe half-watching a documentary on the side.

“i swear, the instructions are getting longer,” he muttered, leafing through the booklet. “first it was ‘snap this piece in,’ now it’s like, ‘align with symmetry,’ and i’m just—what?”

you peeked over from your side of the table, where your own lego car was slowly taking shape. “getting overwhelmed by legos, alex?”

he gave you a deadpan look. “no. it’s just… a lot of tiny pieces. i feel like i need a magnifying glass to find the one i need.”

you smiled and handed him a small pile of sorted pieces. “here. these are for the front wing.”

he looked at you with a raised brow. “are you seriously trying to make me faster than i am right now?”

“just building the car the way it’s meant to be,” you teased, settling back down.

alex grinned, clearly not offended. “ah, i see. you’re the one setting the lap times.”

you both fell into a comfortable silence, the only sound being the soft clicks of plastic as you built. occasionally, alex would let out a sigh or mutter something like “this is ridiculous,” but he was enjoying it. it was the kind of peaceful activity he didn't always have the luxury to enjoy, with racing schedules and endless debriefs.

finally, a piece wouldn’t fit into place. alex’s frustration broke the silence.

“nope, this thing’s just wrong,” he said, holding the piece up. “it’s not even close to lining up. does this look right to you?”

you looked at it, then shrugged. “looks like a sidepod to me.”

“a sidepod?” he repeated, holding it at arm's length. “mate, this looks like it belongs in the trash.”

you snickered, but then the two of you actually took a moment to study the instructions more carefully, only to realize it was the wrong piece altogether. alex huffed, clearly trying not to laugh.

“see?” he said, still holding it up. “this is why i’m better at driving the damn car than assembling it.”

“yeah,” you said with a smile. “you’re better at handling high speeds than handling legos.”

he stuck out his tongue at you, and you both giggled, your hands working together to fix the tiny mistake. after a few more minutes, the lego car was taking shape.

“hey,” alex said, his voice slightly more serious now, “this actually looks pretty good.”

you looked over at him, admiring the completed piece. “yeah. we make a good team.”

alex leaned back, stretching his legs out and looking at the car with satisfaction. “i think we just built the best f1 car ever.”

“only because it’s the one you made.”

he flashed you a cheeky grin. “fair. but i’ve got the race car driving skills to back it up.”

you nudged him with your foot, laughing. “keep telling yourself that, albon.”

he leaned forward again, fixing the tiny helmet in the driver's seat. “maybe next time, we’ll race our cars. legitimately.”

you raised an eyebrow. “only if you’re ready to lose.”

he smirked, giving the car one last look. “oh, i’m ready.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ carlos sainz

lego pieces were everywhere—on the floor, the couch, even somehow in carlos’s hoodie pocket. he stared down at the instruction booklet, jaw clenched.

“¿pero qué coño es esto?” he muttered, turning a piece over for the third time.

you laughed from your spot on the rug. “that’s literally the front wing, carlos. we’ve built, like, four of them by now.”

“sí, but this one looks backwards,” he grumbled, snapping it in the wrong way again.

you scooted closer, gently taking it from him. “nope. trust the manual. or me, preferably.”

he huffed but gave in, watching you click the piece into place with maddening ease. “you’re scarily good at this.”

“just say it. i’m the better engineer.”

he glanced at the half-finished lego williams car between you. “i’ll admit it when i’m not being humiliated by a plastic toy.”

you snorted. “this is your car now, by the way. you should probably get used to it.”

he paused, then gave a small, crooked smile. “yeah… it’s weird seeing it like this. not red anymore. it’s a whole new world.”

you softened. “and you’re building it. piece by piece.”

he reached for your hand without thinking, fingers brushing yours as he looked down at the little blue machine. “and you're here with me. that helps.”

you smirked. “even if i bully you about legos?”

he rolled his eyes playfully. “cariño, you’ve been talking shit for an hour. qué pesada.”

“and yet… you’re still here.”

he chuckled, leaning in to kiss your temple. “i must be un poco loco.”

from the corner, your cat knocked over a bag of bricks with a loud clatter.

“joder,” carlos muttered, already crawling after them. “your cat’s trying to destroy my career.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ esteban ocon

esteban sat on the floor, surrounded by a sea of black and white lego pieces. he was intensely focused, his brow furrowed as he carefully put together the first bits of the haas f1 car. the faint sound of a podcast played in the background, but esteban barely seemed to notice. in fact, you were starting to wonder if he could hear anything over his laser focus on the legos.

"hey," you said, nudging him with your foot. "you alright there, esteban? you look like you're about to go into qualifying mode."

he looked up at you, blinking like he'd just snapped out of a trance. "what? oh, yeah, just—wait, where's the piece for the front wing?"

you picked it up from beside him and handed it over. "here. you're getting a bit too into this, don’t you think?"

he smirked, giving a quick shrug. "it’s a race, no? besides, i’m here to show you how it’s done."

you raised an eyebrow. "oh really? last time i checked, you were the one struggling to find the right pieces."

“don’t act like you’re not intimidated by my lego skills,” he teased, snapping the front wing into place with ridiculous precision. “i’m about to make this thing look like a real car.”

you laughed, watching as he clicked another piece into place. "sure, but we both know your real talent is behind the wheel."

"and on the lego track, apparently," he said, his grin widening. "but yeah, ollie and i—it's gonna be a killer season with haas. we’ve got chemistry already. the car feels good, and i’ve been helping him get settled. we’re both pushing each other."

you couldn’t help but smile at how invested he was in not just the car, but also the team dynamic. "you two gonna be unstoppable this season?"

"absolutely." esteban's eyes sparkled with that signature intensity. "and when we’re not fighting for positions on the track, we’ll be fighting for the best lego car at the end of the night."

he gestured to the near-complete haas car in front of him. you tilted your head, inspecting his work. "not bad, ocon. this looks pretty good."

"not bad?" he repeated, arching an eyebrow. "this is perfect. i’m practically a lego engineer."

you chuckled, adjusting a small piece that was slightly off-center. "i hate to break it to you, but your sidepod’s a little crooked."

"what?!" esteban turned, eyes wide. he immediately started fidgeting with the sidepod, mumbling in frustration. "this can’t be happening. it’s not my fault, the instructions are all wrong!"

you raised a hand, feigning innocence. "hey, if you need help, i'm here."

he sighed dramatically, but then grinned. "fine, fine. maybe you know a thing or two."

as you both worked, the car slowly began to look like a proper haas—sleek, powerful, and ready to tackle whatever challenge came its way. esteban placed the tiny driver figure in the seat and leaned back, admiring the finished product.

"not bad for a couple of rookies," he said with a smirk.

"rookies?" you teased, nudging him. "last time i checked, you're a veteran."

"don’t remind me," he muttered, but there was a playful glint in his eyes. "i’ll take the veteran status when it’s time to win, not when i’m dealing with legos."

you both sat back, taking in your creation.

"so," you asked, "who’s gonna take pole position in the lego world?"

esteban raised a brow, clearly enjoying the playful challenge. "obviously, me."

you grinned. "we’ll see about that. next time, we do a real race."

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ ollie bearman

ollie was leaning over his nearly finished lego haas car, squinting at the tiny details. he’d been quietly focusing, but his attention seemed to shift as he spotted something. with a grin, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small plush bear—one that was probably about as big as the driver figure in the car.

"hold on," ollie said, eyes glinting with mischief. "i’ve got the perfect touch to make this car legendary."

you raised an eyebrow as ollie carefully placed the tiny bear in the driver’s seat of the lego car, next to the little plastic figure. “seriously? you’re putting a bear in your f1 car?”

“yep,” ollie said proudly, smoothing down the bear’s little paws as he adjusted it. “this is my secret weapon. a lucky bear.”

you couldn’t help but laugh. “so, you think your haas is gonna be faster because of a bear?”

ollie leaned back, admiring his work. “exactly. you’d be surprised how much extra speed a bear brings to the table.”

“uh-huh,” you said, chuckling. “and how do you know this?”

he gave you a wink. “let’s just say the bear’s been with me through some wild races. and, well, we’re a package deal now.”

you stared at the bear sitting there in the lego car, grinning. “you’re actually serious about this?”

ollie nodded with mock seriousness. “mate, you’ve got to believe in the power of the bear. it’s the most powerful underdog move I’ve got.”

"alright, well," you said, leaning back and crossing your arms, "i guess that makes your car the bear necessities of the lego world."

ollie cracked up at the pun, clearly proud of your pun game. "i see what you did there. clever."

he took a step back to admire the car, as though it was the most normal thing in the world to have a plush bear in a race car. "now that’s what i’m talking about. this car is gonna win the lego world championship."

you raised an eyebrow. "we'll see if your bear can handle the speed."

ollie gave the little bear a quick pat on the head, then turned to you with a playful grin. “don’t underestimate it. next time, we’re racing. and when my haas wins, you’ll have to acknowledge the bear’s power.”

“fine, fine,” you laughed. “but don’t say i didn’t warn you when my car blows past yours.”

ollie gave you a mock salute, already too invested in his plush-powered vehicle. “we’ll see, mate. just remember, you’ve got no chance when the bear’s behind the wheel.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ lance stroll

lance was crouched on the floor, his hands moving with surprising precision as he snapped pieces together on his lego aston martin car. the intense focus in his eyes was almost the same as when he was in the car during a race—every move calculated, every piece placed with care. it was clear that this was going to be the perfect lego build.

"you know," he said, not looking up from his work, "this might actually be harder than driving a real f1 car."

you raised an eyebrow, smirking. “you’ve got to be kidding. you’re building legos, not doing a race.”

lance glanced up, his expression serious, but you could see the glint of mischief in his eyes. “hey, it’s all about precision, okay? every piece has to be in the right place, or it’s like losing a few tenths on track. just doesn’t work.”

you chuckled, watching him intently as he worked. “you’re really taking this seriously, huh?”

he gave you a playful, almost smug grin. “someone’s gotta bring the winning attitude to the table. i’m just making sure this thing’s perfect. no shortcuts.”

“no shortcuts?” you teased, leaning over to inspect his work. “you sure about that? i think you’ve missed a piece back there.”

lance immediately straightened up, frowning as he checked the spot you pointed to. "what? no way…" he muttered under his breath, and sure enough, a piece was slightly out of place. he let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. "great, can’t even build a lego car without messing it up. might as well be qualifying for a race right now, huh?"

you grinned. "it’s all part of the process, babe"

he flashed you a look as he fixed the mistake. “process or not, this thing’s gonna be perfect. mark my words."

“perfect, huh?” you said, rolling your eyes. “we’ll see when we race these lego cars. i’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“oh, i don’t doubt it,” lance said, giving you a knowing smile as he clicked another piece into place. “but trust me, my aston martin’s gonna blow yours away.”

you crossed your arms, feigning seriousness. “i’m not so sure about that. mine’s got better aerodynamics.”

“pfft,” lance scoffed, not missing a beat. “aerodynamics? babe, this is a lego car, not an actual f1 car. it’s all about the driver’s focus.”

you laughed. “oh, i see. it’s all about the driver now, huh?”

“of course,” he said with a grin, clearly enjoying himself. “i can’t be having my lego car losing to yours, can i?”

you leaned back, arms folded. “we’ll see about that when it’s time for the race.”

lance finished up the final details on his lego car, smoothing out a few edges. he gave it a quick once-over and nodded in satisfaction.

“there,” he said proudly, sitting back to admire his work. “done. now that’s what i call a winning build.”

you took a quick glance at your own lego car, still in progress. “you sure about that?”

“positive,” lance said, leaning over to check yours out. “looks good, but i’m confident mine’s faster.”

you raised an eyebrow, your competitive side kicking in. “you want to put that to the test?”

“oh, i thought you’d never ask,” he replied with a smirk. “bring it on. my aston martin is ready for the track.”

you both leaned in, preparing for the “race,” with lance already planning his victory speech. the playful tension was thick in the air as you positioned the cars on either end of the table.

“ready to lose?” lance asked, his tone light, but with that familiar competitive spark.

“we’ll see who’s really the one losing, stroll,” you shot back, and with that, the lego race was on.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ fernando alonso

fernando sat on the floor, a serious look on his face as he examined the lego pieces laid out in front of him. his brow furrowed slightly as he picked up the pieces, inspecting each one with the kind of focus you'd expect from a veteran driver gearing up for a race. there was no casual attitude here—he was all in.

“this is more complicated than i thought,” fernando muttered to himself, snapping a piece into place.

you leaned over, watching as he worked, clearly in his element. “i thought you were used to high pressure situations.”

“this is different,” fernando replied without looking up. “f1 cars don’t have tiny pieces like these to put together.”

you grinned, a bit amused by how seriously he was taking it. “it’s just legos, fernando. relax a little.”

he looked up at you, his gaze cool but playful. “you think i can relax when there’s a lego car in front of me? it needs precision, just like an f1 car. one wrong move and it could all fall apart.”

“yeah, and i’m sure a little bit of pressure will make you build the best lego car ever,” you teased.

he smirked, snapping a piece into place with the speed and precision you’d expect from someone who’s mastered the art of fast decisions. “that’s the plan.”

as fernando continued to build, you noticed how quickly he was getting into the zone. it was almost like he was back in the cockpit of a car, moving seamlessly from one step to the next. you couldn’t help but watch in awe.

“impressive,” you said after a few moments of silence. “you’ve got this down.”

“i’ve done this before,” fernando said, his voice smooth and confident. “except it wasn’t lego. but the idea is the same—each piece counts.”

you raised an eyebrow, half-joking. “are you sure you’re not overthinking this? it’s just legos.”

“there’s no such thing as ‘just legos’ when you’re trying to create perfection,” he said, clearly not backing down from his approach. “every detail matters.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at how serious he was about the whole thing. “you’re really taking this as seriously as a race.”

he met your gaze, eyes glinting. “why shouldn’t I? if you’re going to do something, do it right. if not, what’s the point?”

you gave him a playful side-eye. “so no shortcuts, huh?”

“no shortcuts,” he confirmed, a grin spreading across his face as he placed the final piece on his car. he straightened up and surveyed his work, nodding to himself. “done.”

you leaned in to take a look at his completed lego car. it was sleek and solid, just like you expected. “not bad, fernando. looks like your focus paid off.”

“of course,” he said, leaning back and stretching. “this is what happens when you treat legos with the same respect as a race car.”

you smiled. “alright, alright. but can your lego car actually race?”

fernando raised an eyebrow. “it’s built for speed. trust me, this is going to beat whatever you’ve got.”

you grinned, shaking your head. “we’ll see about that. i’m not going easy on you.”

he chuckled, his competitive edge still sharp. “i wouldn’t expect anything less.”

as you both prepared for the final “race” between your cars, fernando gave you one last look, his eyes sharp and full of that familiar fire. “ready to lose?”

“we’ll see,” you said with a smile, lining up your cars for what was about to be an epic lego showdown.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ liam lawson

liam sat on the floor, a lego instruction manual spread out in front of him and pieces scattered everywhere. his brows furrowed in concentration as he snapped together small parts, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. the vibe was pretty relaxed—after all, he was a guy who knew how to handle intense moments, whether it was on track or with legos.

“this doesn’t seem right,” liam muttered, inspecting a piece of his lego car with suspicion.

you leaned over, glancing at his progress. “you’re sure you’re following the instructions? seems like it’s a bit… off.”

he glanced up, his face breaking into a grin. “instructions? pfft, i’m just free-styling here. it’s all about the feel.”

“free-styling, huh?” you laughed. “well, that explains why the car’s looking a little… creative.”

liam raised an eyebrow. “hey, no one said a lego f1 car had to look perfect. i’m building with personality.”

you smirked and leaned back. “personality? i think you’ve got a bit too much personality going on there.”

he chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “alright, alright. maybe i missed a piece. but hey, i’ve got this. vcarb is all about resilience, right?”

“vcarb, huh?” you teased. “starting to sound like you're trying to work some team spirit into this lego build.”

liam shrugged, snapping another piece into place. “well, you know, after joining up with isack, i figured i could at least carry the spirit of the team wherever i go. even if it’s just legos.”

you raised an eyebrow. “you’ve only been with vcarb for a minute. are you sure you’re ready to bring the team spirit into a lego race?”

“hey, i’ve had enough experience with chaos and speed to know how to pull it all together,” liam said, grinning. “besides, i’m building a car that’s meant to win.”

you looked over at the lego car he was putting together. it was definitely taking shape, even if it was a little… unique in its approach. “that’s what you keep telling me. but can it actually race?”

liam’s eyes sparkled with confidence. “you’d better believe it. when it’s time to race, this thing’s going straight to the front. just like vcarb.”

you couldn’t help but laugh. “you’re a bit too confident about your lego skills.”

“nah,” liam said, snapping the final piece into place. “this is pure genius. i’m a natural at this.”

he sat back to admire his work, a look of satisfaction on his face as he surveyed the completed car. it looked like it could survive a crash, but you weren’t entirely sure it was the fastest lego car in the world.

“there we go,” he said with a grin. “that’s what i’m talking about. vcarb speed.”

you leaned over, inspecting his finished product. “well, it definitely has… character.”

“exactly,” liam said, flashing a cheeky smile. “you can’t have a fast car without a bit of flair.”

“flair, huh?” you raised an eyebrow. “we’ll see if that helps you win.”

“oh, it’ll help,” he said confidently. “just wait until we race these things. i’m gonna show you how vcarb handles speed.”

you smiled. “we’ll see about that. just don’t be too disappointed when my car blows past yours.”

liam shot you a playful look. “we’ll see, but i have a feeling your car’s not gonna stand a chance against this.”

“don’t get too cocky, liam,” you said with a grin. “the race is still on.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ isack hadjar

isack sat across from you, focused on the spread of lego pieces in front of him. the young driver’s eyes were intense, as though he was analyzing the parts the way he would a racing setup, trying to figure out how everything fit together for the fastest result. he was definitely the type who liked to get things just right.

“you know, this is harder than it looks,” he muttered, squinting at the instructions as he carefully clicked a piece into place.

you raised an eyebrow, leaning over to check his progress. “you’re really treating this like an actual race, huh?”

isack glanced at you and shrugged, his face calm but his eyes sharp with focus. “when you’re in vcarb, everything’s about precision. even building a lego car.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle. “i’m sure liam’s not treating his lego car with the same intensity. he’s probably got a plush bear in his.”

“liam’s got his own style,” isack said with a small smirk. “but for me, it’s about getting it right.”

you watched him carefully place each piece, his methodical approach almost like watching a pit crew during a race, making sure every part was aligned perfectly. “it’s like you’re building a f1 car in miniature.”

he glanced up at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “if only it was that easy. but hey, a lego car can still teach you a lot about patience.”

you leaned back in your chair, smirking. “patience, huh? i thought you were more about speed.”

“you can’t have speed without precision,” he replied, his voice calm but firm as he clicked another piece into place. “rushing doesn’t work in racing. and it doesn’t work with legos either.”

you shook your head with a grin. “you’re seriously going full-on race mode with this.”

isack shot you a playful look. “i’m always in race mode.”

you raised an eyebrow. “we’ll see how that works out when we race these cars. you’ve got all that precision, but does it actually make your car faster?”

“don’t doubt it,” he said confidently, pausing for a second to glance at his almost-finished lego car. “this thing’s going to be fast.”

you leaned in closer, inspecting the lego car carefully. it was sleek, clean, and well-constructed—definitely built with care. "looks like it might actually give mine a run for its money."

isack didn’t even look up, his hands still working quickly but steadily. “it’s not about just looking good. it’s about performance.”

"so, you're telling me your lego car is going to perform?" you teased, giving him a sideways glance.

“exactly,” he said with a soft grin. “a well-built car will always outperform one that’s just thrown together.”

you laughed, appreciating the effort he was putting into this. “alright, you’re on. but don’t be too shocked when my car beats yours.”

isack shot you a confident look. “we’ll see about that. when it comes to racing, vcarb doesn’t lose.”

he clicked the last piece into place and sat back, admiring the finished product with satisfaction. “there we go. now that’s what i call a masterpiece.”

you took a moment to check out the finished lego car. it was clearly designed for speed. "not bad, Hadjar. you might just have a future in lego racing."

he gave you a small nod, his competitive edge still sharp. “it’s all about balance. precision, patience, and speed.”

“right,” you said with a grin, “just don’t get too cocky when i beat you in the race.”

“oh, trust me,” he said, his voice calm and confident. “i won’t.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ pierre gasly

pierre sat cross-legged on the floor, the lego pieces scattered in front of him, a look of quiet focus on his face. the competitive energy was there, but it wasn’t the high-octane, race-ready kind—it was more of a calm, methodical kind of determination. he clicked a piece into place, leaned back, and surveyed his work.

“you know, i’m pretty sure my lego car is already ahead of yours,” pierre said, glancing over at you with that playful, confident grin of his.

you shot him a look, trying to suppress a smile. “is that so? i think you might be getting ahead of yourself there.”

pierre raised an eyebrow, still working on his car but never losing that casual, self-assured vibe. “it’s all about precision. i don’t build things just to watch them fall apart.”

he snapped another piece into place, his fingers moving quickly and efficiently. “unlike some people,” he added, giving you a teasing glance.

“excuse me? i’m just taking my time. rushing doesn’t always work out, you know?” you said, shooting him a grin. “maybe you should slow down a bit.”

pierre chuckled. “rushing? no. i’m just working with a bit of confidence here. there’s a difference.”

“uh-huh, confidence,” you teased, leaning closer to see what he was doing. “is that what you call it? it looks like you’re just really into this whole thing.”

he flashed you a quick, sly smile. “well, if you want your lego car to look like it was built by someone who actually knows what they’re doing, you’ve come to the right person.”

you rolled your eyes, laughing. “i think you’re taking this a bit too seriously, but fine. i’ll let you think you’ve got the advantage. for now.”

pierre paused for a moment to look over at your progress, smirking. “not bad, not bad. but if you want to beat me, you’ll need to step it up.”

“you really think you’re going to win this thing?” you challenged, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow.

“of course,” pierre said, leaning back and looking at his near-finished car. “just like on the track, i’m always going for the win.”

his fingers moved deftly as he put the final pieces together, clicking them in place with ease. “done,” he said with a satisfied grin, looking at you. “what do you think?”

you inspected his lego car, which looked sleek and well-constructed—just like he said, it had that careful precision. “i’ll give it to you, it looks pretty good. but don’t get too cocky, i’m not done yet.”

pierre leaned back, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked at you with a half-smile. “you’ve got a bit of catching up to do, but i’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“i’ll show you,” you said, putting your focus back on your own lego car. “you might have finished first, but this is far from over.”

pierre chuckled, clearly enjoying the playful banter. “we’ll see who wins when it’s race time.”

you both lined up your cars, a playful tension in the air. pierre gave you one last teasing look before the race began. "prepare to lose."

you smirked. "we’ll see about that, gasly."

and just like that, the lego race was on.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ jack doohan

jack sat on the floor, a lego instruction manual in one hand and a pile of pieces scattered in front of him. his focus was intense, but there was a hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he worked, clearly enjoying the challenge more than he was letting on.

“this thing’s gonna be perfect,” jack said, snapping another piece into place with a satisfying click. “i’ve got it all figured out.”

you glanced over at his progress and raised an eyebrow. “is that so? it looks a little… lopsided to me.”

he shot you a playful glare, but didn’t miss a beat as he continued assembling the lego car. “it’s called ‘character,’” he said, his voice light and teasing. “you wouldn’t understand.”

“‘character,’ huh?” you laughed. “or is it just that you’re rushing to finish first?”

jack smirked, not looking up from his work. “hey, there’s no rushing when you know what you’re doing. it’s all about precision. just wait, this thing’s gonna be a masterpiece.”

you watched him carefully add another piece to his lego car. “sure, sure. but don’t be too surprised when my car beats yours.”

“oh, i’m not worried,” jack said, still grinning. “you might have a head start, but i’ve got the advantage. i’ve got the doohan touch, you know?”

you raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced. “the ‘doohan touch,’ huh? is that what you’re calling it?”

“yep,” he said confidently, placing the final piece into place. “it’s all about balance and precision, mate. just like a race car.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at how seriously he was taking it. “well, i guess we’ll see how well that ‘doohan touch’ works in a lego race.”

jack leaned back, admiring his finished lego car. “pretty proud of that one. you’ll see, it’s got speed written all over it.”

you shook your head, teasing him. “speed, huh? let’s just see if it can actually stay together long enough to race.”

jack shot you a playful wink. “don’t worry, mate. i’m confident in my work.”

you took a glance at your own car, still a work in progress. “alright, alright. we’ll see who comes out on top when it’s race time.”

“oh, we will,” jack said, leaning back with a grin that told you he was ready to win. “prepare to lose, though.”

you couldn’t help but laugh. “we’ll see about that, jack. we’ll see.”

you both lined up your lego cars, ready for the ultimate showdown. jack gave you one last cheeky grin before you both prepared for the race. the tension was light, fun, and full of that competitive spark.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ nico hülkenberg

nico hülkenberg sat across from you, his expression focused but relaxed. he had a pile of lego pieces in front of him and an instruction manual open. there was no rush in his movements, just a steady, methodical pace, each piece carefully chosen and snapped into place with precision.

“you know, it’s all about patience,” nico said, glancing over at you as he placed another piece on his lego car. “you can’t rush something like this. you’ve got to get it right.”

you leaned back and crossed your arms, watching him with a raised eyebrow. “i’m pretty sure you’re taking this way too seriously, nico.”

he smiled slightly, the corners of his mouth turning up just enough to show he wasn’t offended by the teasing. “not too seriously. just enough to build a car that actually looks good.”

you glanced down at your own lego car, which was… well, definitely not looking as neat as his. “you’re not worried about the competition, then?”

nico chuckled, a low, smooth sound. “i don’t really get worried. just confident in my skills.”

“confident, huh?” you shot him a sly grin. “we’ll see how that works out when it’s race time.”

“oh, i’m not concerned,” he said with that same calm smile, moving his hands skillfully as he added another piece to his car. “i’ve done this before. racing’s all about consistency, right? well, legos aren’t so different.”

you were about to retort, but then you paused. nico had a point—he was approaching the lego build with the same level of focus and consistency that he brought to racing.

“fair enough,” you said after a moment, feeling a little impressed despite yourself. “you really do bring your race mentality into everything, don’t you?”

“it’s a mindset,” he replied with a shrug, his eyes never leaving the pieces in front of him. “whether it’s racing or building legos, it’s about paying attention to the small details and getting the right outcome.”

you leaned in to inspect his progress. the lego car looked sleek and clean, every piece perfectly placed. “not bad, hülkenberg. i’ll give you that.”

“thanks,” he said, looking up at you with a hint of pride. “but i’m just getting started. wait until you see the final result.”

you couldn’t help but laugh. “i’m not sure your lego car will be able to beat mine.”

nico raised an eyebrow, his smile widening just a little. “oh? you’re sure about that?”

“absolutely,” you said, fully confident despite the perfection of his build. “i’m just getting warmed up.”

nico shook his head, still smiling. “well, we’ll see about that. i’m all about the details, but you can’t forget about speed.”

you looked at your lego car again, already planning your next move. “you’re right about that. but don’t get too cocky.”

“don’t worry,” nico said smoothly, clicking the last piece into place with a final, satisfying snap. “i’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

you looked at his completed lego car—sleek, precise, and definitely built for success. “alright, well, let’s see how that car performs when the race starts.”

nico leaned back, arms crossed, his usual calm but confident demeanor in full force. “i think you’ll be surprised.”

you both lined up your lego cars, the playful rivalry clear in the air. nico’s calm confidence was palpable, and you couldn’t wait to see how it would translate when the race began.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ gabriel bortoleto

gabriel sat across from you, legs crossed, and a pile of lego pieces neatly spread in front of him. his eyes were focused on the instructions in his hands, each movement deliberate as he began to piece the car together. there was a quiet concentration about him, a level of calmness that made it clear this wasn’t his first time doing something like this.

“you know,” gabriel said without looking up, “i’m pretty sure this car is going to be the cleanest build out of all of us.”

you gave him a sideways glance, smirking. “that so? you’re already talking like it’s a done deal.”

he finally looked up, offering a small smile. “it’s not about talking, it’s about getting things done the right way.”

you leaned back and crossed your arms, intrigued. “and how’s that going for you?”

gabriel’s fingers moved swiftly as he snapped another piece into place. “it’s going well,” he replied calmly. “just focusing on one step at a time. no rush.”

you chuckled. “looks like you’re taking this way more seriously than i thought.”

he shrugged lightly. “i don’t do things half-heartedly. if i’m gonna build a lego car, it’s going to be good.”

you took a look at his progress. the car was coming together quickly, each piece fitting perfectly. it was starting to look sleek, just like his racing style—clean and efficient.

“not bad, bortoleto,” you admitted, giving him a nod of approval. “but don’t get too cocky. my car’s going to be faster.”

gabriel raised an eyebrow, a hint of a playful smirk appearing. “faster, huh? we’ll see about that.”

“yep,” you said, leaning forward and studying your own lego car. “just wait until mine’s done.”

gabriel clicked another piece into place, his hands moving quickly and with purpose. “i’m not in a hurry. i’m just building it the right way.”

you tilted your head, genuinely curious. “what makes you so confident?”

he paused for a moment, looking over at you with a slight smile. “i know how to focus on the details. when it’s time to race, it’s the little things that matter.”

you laughed softly. “alright, alright. i see what you mean. but let’s see how that focus works when it comes to beating me.”

gabriel’s expression shifted slightly, a flicker of determination crossing his face. “i don’t underestimate anyone, but i’m confident in how this is going to turn out.”

you watched him for a moment, noticing how calm and controlled he was as he continued working. there was no stress in his movements—just the quiet confidence of someone who knew what they were doing. “well, we’ll see who wins when it’s race time,” you said with a grin.

gabriel finished another section of his car, stepping back to admire it. “it’s all about the details. the perfect combination of speed and precision.”

you laughed. “guess i’ll just have to be faster than you at the finish line.”

gabriel looked at you, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips. “we’ll see about that.”

the two of you lined up your cars, the playful tension between you now palpable. gabriel’s calm confidence stood in stark contrast to your competitive energy, and you both knew the race was about to be more than just a lego challenge.

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, lmk if you want to be added!

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ice-man-goes-bwoah · 1 month ago

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So I just saw that you want an ask about plus size reader and f1 driver👀 I'm a Lando Norris fan so can I please ask about him? Maybe plus size reader is his physical therapist and looks after him and makes him happy and he in return is so down bad that if anyone says or does sth disrespectful he is so defensive he always has her back and he shows that he loves her every single minute ❤️ I really hope you have many plus size reader asks cause as a midsize girl myself I really don't see many fics to represent us

All the ways you look at me||Lando Norris x mid size reader

Summary —Y/N lands the job as Lando Norris’s physical therapist, neither of them expects much beyond rehab sessions and recovery plans. But as shared glances turn into inside jokes and late-night conversations, a quiet friendship begins to blossom—one that tiptoes into something deeper to bad they are scared to take the fall into something more than friendship.

Word count—8k

Thank you @fuckoffbard for reading this for me!

A/n—depending on how well this does I’ll do a part two

"Come on. You can do this. It’s your first day meeting everyone; you’ve had plenty of first days, so this should be easy,” Y/n said to herself. She sat in the parking lot of the McLaren Technology Centre, where she was to meet her new team. Taking a deep breath, she let it out and opened her eyes. “Okay, I’m ready.” She opened the door to her car, stepped out, grabbed her iced coffee, badge, and bag, and walked to the building.

The scenery was beautiful. The McLaren Technology Center was secluded from the rest of civilization in a big field hidden behind trees. There were two buildings: the factory itself and the headquarters. That's where she was going.

Walking up the pathway, she admired the bean-shaped building with the little pond that was next to it. It was definitely something she could get used to seeing on a daily basis. Once she was up to the door, she took out her badge and put it up to the scanner to open the door. As the door opened, she was welcomed by the nice, cool air and the beautiful interior of the building.

The lobby was filled with F1 cars and cars that McLaren had produced over the years. To the right of her was the staircase and the elevator that led to the second floor, and in front of her were the trophy cases that held all the trophies that the team had won over the years. The building was truly beautiful with its simple and futuristic design.

“Can I help you?” A voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

She cleared her throat and held out her hand. “Yes, hi, I’m Y/n, I’m the new physical therapist. I’m here for the team meeting. I'm supposed to meet everyone.”

The owner of the voice shook her hand and spoke softly but friendly, “Hello y/n, I’m Sarah, I’m part of the social media team. I’m heading that way so I can help you get there.” Sarah said, shaking Y/n's hand.

“Oh, that would be lovely, thank you,” Y/n replied with a smile.

Sarah led Y/N through a maze of corridors and open workspaces, the hum of quiet conversations and the occasional keyboard tapping following them as they walked.

“This place is like a spaceship,” Y/n murmured as she looked around.

Sarah laughed. “Right? Wait until you see the simulator room. Total sci-fi vibes.”

They stopped outside a wide conference room with frosted glass panels through the translucent windows. She could see shadows shifting and hear a few muffled voices from inside.

“You’ll be great.” Sarah said, giving her a small nudge, “Come on.”

Y/N took one last calming breath and stepped inside.

The room was already half full—engineers, mechanics, PR staff. A few people turned to glance at her as she entered, their expressions curious but friendly. At the far end of the table, there were two guys, one was balancing his chair on its two back legs while trying and failing to balance his pencil on his nose. The other one had an unimpressed look on his face while trying not to smile or laugh at the other’s antics.

Y/N immediately knew who they were—Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri. Even without the uniforms and team gear, their energy gave them away.

She took a moment to observe them from where she stood, unnoticed for now. Lando had that easy, magnetic kind of charm—the type that could dissolve tension with a grin and a well-timed joke. He moved with confidence, expressive hands, and animated eyes, clearly the kind of person who filled a room without even trying.

Next to him, Oscar was a striking contrast. He was quieter, his posture more composed, his words more measured. While Lando spoke with his whole body, Oscar listened with stillness. His eyes were sharp and observing, like he was always a few steps ahead in his head, even when he didn’t say much.

They worked like a natural counterbalance. Lando brought the lightness, Oscar the grounding. It was a rhythm—one teased, the other gave dry comebacks; one stirred things up, and the other reined them in without needing to say much. And somehow, it worked.

“They’re like opposites, but at the same time, they work so well together.” Y/N thought, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Suddenly, she felt a little less nervous. Because despite their differences, there was something oddly comforting about the way they fit together. Like maybe this place wasn’t going to be so intimidating after all.

Especially if Lando kept looking at her the way he just did.

His head tilted slightly like he was trying to place her. His eyes flicked from her face to the badge clipped to her shirt and back up again. Then he smiled—lazy, crooked, and so bright it made her stomach flip.

“You must be the new Physio,” he said, “I was starting to think they were making you up.”

Y/n blinked slightly, off guard by the friendliest tone of his voice.

“Nope, very real. I even brought an iced coffee and everything.” She joked, holding up her iced coffee and giving it a little shake.

A few people chuckled, the tension easing, and Lando's smile widened.

“Then we’re going to get along just fine.”

Zak Brown stood and clapped his hands for attention.

“Everyone, this is Y/N. She’s officially joining us this season as part of the performance and health team—working closely with you, Lando.”

“Lucky me,” Lando muttered with a grin.

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully.

“We’ll see how lucky you feel after your first deep tissue session.”

More laughter followed, and a few people around the table gave her nods of approval or polite greetings. Someone even muttered, “Bold move on day one,” with a grin.

As the meeting began and the briefing started, Lando leaned slightly toward her seat, voice low so only she could hear.

“Seriously, though. Welcome. We’re glad to have you.”

She turned her head just enough to meet his eyes.

“Thanks. I’m glad to be here.”

But her heart was racing. Because while she came here expecting professionalism and a great work performance, she hadn’t expected him.

Over the course of the few months that Y/N joined McLaren, she really had made her mark on the team. She and Sarah are quickly becoming friends, the two of you often meeting up for coffee dates and other things that friends do.

Y/N’s office doubled as her Physio room, in the corner was her desk with her laptop and a couple of other personal items that made the space truly hers. On the other side of the room was a table where the mats, foam roller, and other supplies sat, and in the center was the padded table.

Y/n was reviewing Landos' training notes Landos's trainer sent to her tablet when the door creaked open.

“Morning,” came that familiar voice—soft, a little smug, a little sleepy.

She glanced up. “You’re late.”

Lando strolled in like he wasn’t, tossing his water bottle on the bench. “You’re early.”

Y/N raised a brow unimpressed “Try that again but imagine that I haven’t heard it from every cocky athlete I’ve worked with.”

He grinned, “touché”

She nodded towards the mat, “Shoes off, warm-up stretches, let’s go.”

He obeyed, stretching his arms overhead and settling onto the mat with an exaggerated groan. “You’re scarier than my last physio.”

“That’s because your last physio didn’t have to deal with you constantly flirting with him.”

“True. He didn’t look this good, either.” Lando remarked, admiring Y/N’s curves.

God, he would give anything just to hold her—to let his hands rest on her hips, fingers curling around the softness he admired far more than he probably should. She was all curves and comfort and warmth, and it was unfair how often his mind drifted to her when he was supposed to be focused.

He swore she was made for him. It just made sense. His hands were big—meant to anchor, to hold, to fit—and when he looked at her, he couldn’t help but imagine how perfectly she’d settle against him.

His thoughts flicked back to three months ago when they’d trained together outside under the sun. She’d worn those leggings—the ones that clung just right, hugging the shape of her legs, her thighs, her hips. He remembered watching her move, muscles working under soft curves, grace and power woven together. He hadn’t meant to stare. But he did.

And the worst part?

He still remembered how she’d smiled at him afterward. She didn’t even realize the way she knocked the air out of his lungs.

Y/n didn’t even blink when she turned to face him. “Flirting won’t save you from the foam rollers.”

“Damn.” He gave her a mock-wounded look. “You are immune.”

Truthfully, she wasn’t. Not even close. But she had a job to do.

Y/N crouched beside him, guiding his leg into position. “How’s the left quad feeling?”

He shifted slightly. “Tight. Not awful, though.”

“Alright. Let me know if anything feels off.”

Her hands moved to his thigh, fingers firm but practiced as she applied pressure, feeling for tension. He stilled a little under her touch, his gaze flickering down to her.

“Are you always this focused?” he asked quietly.

Her brows lifted. “Are you always this chatty during treatment?”

“Only when I’m trying not to think about your hands being on my leg.”

That earned him a warning look, though the corner of her mouth twitched. “Behave.”

He smiled—but it was softer this time. Not smug. Not cocky. Just…warm.

For a moment, silence settled between them, the only sound the quiet hum of the AC and the shuffle of movement. She moved around him to adjust his arm, her fingers brushing his skin.

He looked up at her. “You’re good at this.”

She paused. “Thanks. It means a lot. Especially from someone who can’t sit still for longer than a minute.”

He chuckled. “I sit still for you.”

That stopped her. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and something in his expression made her chest tighten. It wasn’t teasing. It was sincere.

Dangerous, that kind of sincerity.

Y/N cleared her throat and stepped back slightly. “Alright. Upon the table. Let’s check that shoulder mobility.”

Lando obeyed with a faint smirk. “Yes, boss.”

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks felt warm.

And he noticed. Of course, he noticed. He’d always noticed.

Truth is, Lando loved the way her face flushed, and then she bit her bottom lip trying not to give him the satisfaction that he made her feel this way, she was never successful.

And he found it adorable.

Y/N stepped around the table to check the alignment of Lando’s shoulders, her fingertips pressing lightly along his upper back. “Drop your right shoulder just a bit,” she murmured.

He obeyed, head tilted slightly toward her. “You know, you’re very serious when you’re in work mode.”

“That’s because I am working,” she replied, eyes flicking up toward him.

“Yeah, but like—intensely serious. Like mission control, seriously. I bet you’d threaten to take someone’s kneecaps if they did a stretch wrong.”

She snorted. “I’ve never threatened kneecaps. Hamstrings, though? Fair game.”

Lando grinned at that, leaning back slightly on his elbows, watching her as she made a few notes on her tablet. “You must be fun at parties.”

“I’m a riot,” she said dryly, glancing up. “But only if someone needs help foam rolling their Iliotibial band.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

“It was.”

He laughed, and for a moment it felt easy—normal. The line between physio and friend blurred slightly in the warmth of their shared amusement.

Y/N set the tablet down and nodded toward the floor again. “Back to the mat. Let’s work on hip mobility.”

He groaned but complied, flopping onto his back dramatically. “You just like bossing me around.”

“It’s not that I like it,” she said, kneeling beside him, “It’s that you’d be hopeless without me.”

He blinked up at her with mock offense. “Hopeless? Excuse me—I am an elite athlete.”

“Who forgot how to do a proper glute bridge three weeks ago?”

“That was one time.”

“Twice.”

Lando gave her an exaggerated glare, then pointed at her. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Oh?” she teased, adjusting his knee with a light touch. “Is that why you’re being so dramatic this morning?”

“No, that’s just who I am.” He gave her a soft grin. “But seriously—I do like working with you. You’re not like the others.”

Y/N paused, hands still on his leg. “Is that a compliment or a red flag?”

“A compliment,” he said, softer this time. “Most people treat me like a brand. You treat me like… I don’t know. A human.”

For a beat, their eyes met again. It wasn’t flirtatious-not-not-not-not-not-not—not really. Just honest.

“I guess I figure you already have enough people telling you what you want to hear,” she said quietly.

His smile widened a little, less cocky now. “You’d tell me if I sucked at something, huh?”

“Absolutely. No hesitation.”

“See?” He gestured vaguely. “Hopeless without you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at her lips. She pressed gently on his hip, making him flinch.

“Hey! Abuse!”

“Mobility,” she corrected.

“You enjoy this way too much.”

“Only when you whine.”

He grinned up at her again, and for a second, something warm settled between them. It was subtle. Easy. The beginning of something unspoken.

Once the session was over, Lando dropped onto the bench near the corner of Y/N’s office, sweat dampening the edges of his curls as he reached for his water bottle. Y/N tossed him a clean towel from a nearby shelf.

“Here,” she said, settling onto the floor across from him with her bottle. “Try not to collapse dramatically on my floor next time. I might not be so kind.”

He caught the towel with a grin. “You love it. Gives you an excuse to roll your eyes at me.”

She took a long sip of her water. “You give me plenty of those without nearly fainting mid-stretch.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Okay, that was one time.”

“Twice, actually, and you faked it. Both times,” she replied with a smirk.

“I did not.”

“Yes, you did.”

He pointed at her, mock offended. “You and Oscar are going to start a club at this rate.”

“‘The Times Lando Was Wrong’ club? I think there’s already a group chat.”

Lando laughed, head tipping back slightly. “God, you do fit in here.”

She blinked at him, surprised by the softness in his voice.

“I mean it,” he added, more quietly now. “The team likes you. It’s been…lighter since you showed up.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed slightly. “Lighter?”

“Yeah. You bring this kind of energy—like, calm but still sharp, you know? It’s a good balance.”

She wasn’t used to compliments like that, especially not ones that sounded so genuine.

“Well,” she said after a beat, “someone’s got to balance your chaos.”

He smiled at that. “You calling me chaotic?”

“I’m calling you exhausting.”

He laughed again, eyes crinkling. “You’re mean.”

“Only to the ones I like.”

He looked at her for a moment—looked. And for once, he didn’t shoot back a flirty line or a joke. Just smiled.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said simply.

Her breath caught. But then she smiled too, soft and a little surprised.

“Me too.”

They sat in the quiet for a few seconds longer, sipping water, the faint hum of the building in the background. Outside the window, the sun was high, casting soft shadows on the floor.

“I’ll probably regret saying this,” Lando said after a moment, “but you can drag me through those stretches again next time if you want.”

“Oh, I will,” she promised.

“God help me,” he muttered, shaking his head—but he was still smiling.

A few days later, Y/N and Sarah sat at an outdoor café nestled on a quiet street in Woking, the warm spring air wrapping around them like a soft sweater. The table was cluttered with two half-drunk iced coffees, a slice of cake they were sharing, and the occasional gust of wind that kept threatening to blow Sarah’s napkin off the table.

“I swear,” Sarah said between bites, “if we keep meeting here, the barista is going to start calling us regulars.”

Y/N grinned, pulling her cardigan tighter around her. “We already are. The barista knows our order.I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

“God, you’re right. That’s dangerous.” Sarah paused to sip her coffee, then gave Y/N a look over the rim of her cup. “Speaking of danger…”

Y/N raised a brow. “What is it?”

“Look who’s here.”

Y/N turned her head—and sure enough, Lando was walking across the street, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, curls a little messy, sunglasses perched on his head. He hadn’t spotted them yet, distracted by something on his phone.

Sarah leaned closer, conspiratorial. “He looks relaxed. Like really relaxed. Must be your influence.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her cheeks warmed. “Stop.”

“I’m serious! I’ve worked with him for years, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this chill during a season. You’re good for him. He listens to you.”

Y/N snorted. “That’s because I threaten him with foam rollers and ice baths.”

Sarah laughed. “Maybe, but it works. You’re a good team, you know?”

Before Y/N could respond, Lando looked up and spotted them.

A wide grin immediately spread across his face, and he jogged the last few steps over to their table.

“Well, well, well,” he greeted, dropping into the empty chair beside Y/N without asking. “Didn’t expect to see you two here. Or should I say, the office dream team?”

Sarah raised her brows. “Crashing girl time? Bold move.”

He shot her a cheeky grin. “What can I say? I live on the edge.”

Y/N nudged his leg with her foot under the table. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Canceling all plans immediately,” he said, propping his elbow on the table and resting his chin in his hand. “Unless you’re kicking me out.”

Y/N bit back a smile, and Sarah just gave her a look—the kind that said this is exactly what I meant.

They chatted for a while, laughter threading easily through the conversation. Lando didn’t even seem to notice how comfortable he looked, slouched in his chair, legs stretched out, occasionally stealing bites of their cake. It felt natural. Uncomplicated.

And when Y/N caught Sarah looking at her with a knowing smirk, she just shook her head with a laugh and looked away.

Late nights had become something of a routine for them now. It started with playful iMessage games—8 Ball, Cup Pong, Darts. A way to unwind after long days. Eventually, the games were followed by texts, then voice notes, then full-blown calls that stretched into the early hours of the morning.

Y/N had learned a lot about Lando during those calls. How he hated olives but loved olive oil. He always watched one episode too many when he promised he’d go to bed early. How silence didn’t scare him, and how his laughter sometimes sounded like relief.

They’d grown close.

So close when the new season began, and she started to notice him pulling away—she noticed.

He was Lando, still cheeky and warm and kind. But now there was a weight behind his smile. A slump in his shoulders when he thought no one was looking. Most of all, there was tension in how quiet he got when scrolling through his phone, the way his jaw would tighten, thumb hovering over a screen that never seemed to offer good news.

The race hadn’t gone as well as they’d hoped. The car was temperamental, the strategy of. The media had been brutal. And Lando… Lando was taking it personally.

It was past midnight when Y/N’s phone buzzed.

Lando: You up?

Y/N: Always. Need to talk or need to be distracted?

It took a minute before the typing bubbles appeared.

Lando: a bit of both. I'm just… tired. Of people. Of messing up. Of feeling like I’m not enough.

Y/N’s heart sank. Without thinking, she called him.

He picked up after the first ring.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Talk to me.”

There was a pause on the other end, then a shaky breath. “I know I shouldn’t let it get to me. The comments. The press. The expectations. But it’s like… I can’t shut it out this time. Everyone’s already written me off.”

“Lando…” she murmured, shifting on her bed. “You are not what those people say you are. You’ve done more in the past few years than most people ever get close to. You work your ass off. You care. You’re allowed to be disappointed—but not to forget who you are.”

He didn’t speak for a second.

“I just don’t want to let anyone down,” he said finally, voice quiet. “Especially not you.”

She blinked at the ceiling, her heart squeezing. “Hey. You couldn’t let me down even if you tried. I’m here. Always. Whether you’re on pole or P18. That doesn’t change.”

He let out a breath—this time, steadier. “I hate how you always know what to say.”

“That’s because you’re not very mysterious,” she teased gently. “Plus, I’m a genius.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Debatable.”

“Shut up. Let me hype you up.”

Lando grew quiet again, but this time it felt like peace instead of pressure.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he said after a beat. “For always answering. For always being… you.”

“Always,” she whispered. “Now get some sleep. I’ll beat your ass at 8 Ball tomorrow.”

He chuckled. “Dream on.”

But she heard the smile in his voice, and that was enough.

The paddock buzzed with media, team personnel, and the hum of anticipation. Cameras flashed, journalists circled like hawks, and mechanics moved with quiet urgency. But Y/N had learned to find her pockets of calm. She had her coffee, her notes, and her well-practiced ability to look like she was busier than she was.

She spotted Lando from across the garage.

Cap low, hoodie pulled over his race suit, jaw set.

But when his eyes found hers, something shifted. His shoulders relaxed just slightly, and his mouth twitched up at one corner.

He made his way over, slipping through the chaos like it didn’t faze him, though she knew better.

“Hey,” he said softly, voice only for her.

“Hey,” she replied, equally quiet.

“You beat me at 8 Ball,” he muttered.

She grinned. “Told you I would. Should’ve let me hype you up before the game, too.”

He laughed under his breath. It wasn’t loud, but it was real. And that felt like a win.

“You sleep okay?” she asked, watching his face.

He nodded, nudging her lightly with his elbow. “I did. You helped.”

“Good,” she said. “Now don’t let any of those trolls live rent-free in your head today. You’re here for you. For the team. And maybe a little bit for the drama.”

That pulled a wider smile from him. “You’re better at pep talks than my old sports psych.”

“Probably better looking too,” she teased, sipping her coffee.

He didn’t deny it.

They stood there a beat longer, just existing in each other’s calm before the noise swallowed them whole again.

Will called him over, and Lando straightened up.

“Time to go to work.” He said, turning away.

But before he went, Y/N called for him to come back.

He glanced back at her. “What is it?” He asked.

Y/n bit her bottom lip in the nervous way Lando loved, but he would never admit that, and walked up to him. She placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a light peck on the cheek.

“For good luck,” she said, flushed.

Lando smiled, and he smiled hard. So hard that it hurt, and he carried that smile out onto the grid.

The roar of the crowd was still echoing in the paddock. Orange flags waved from the grandstands, mechanics were cheering, champagne sprayed somewhere nearby—and Lando stood on top of the world.

He’d done it.

His first win of the season.

It didn’t hit him all at once. It came in waves—the checkered flag, his race engineer yelling in his ears, the blur of the final lap flashing back in his mind. But now, standing next to his car with confetti still drifting down like slow-motion snow, it hit.

And he smiled.

No, he beamed.

Because the first thing he saw when he turned around was her.

Y/N had pushed through the crowd just enough to stand on the edge of the garage, a breathless grin on her face and pride in her eyes.

He didn’t think. He didn’t hesitate.

He jogged straight to her, still in his suit and helmet, sitting on the first-place table stand, and before she could even say a word, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the ground like she was weightless.

She let out a startled laugh, clinging to his shoulders. “Lando!”

“I did it!” he yelled, spinning her once before setting her back down, still holding her like he wasn’t ready to let go.

“I know! I watched it happen!” she said through a laugh, breath catching at how happy he looked.

He leaned his forehead against hers for a second, grinning like an idiot. “It was a kiss. I’m telling you. You kissed me and boom—podium. Easy math.”

She flushed. “I didn’t say it was that kind of good luck.”

“Too late,” he whispered. “I’m never racing without one again.”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling too widely to deny how much she cared. “You were brilliant out there.”

He pulled back enough to look at her properly. “You believed in me when I didn’t. I’ll never forget that.”

Her heart stuttered at the sincerity. But before she could answer, cameras started clicking furiously again, someone called his name, and he gave her one last squeeze.

“I gotta go do media stuff—but don’t leave, alright?”

“I won’t.”

He took a step back, still smiling like he’d just been handed the world—and honestly, he kind of had.

And Y/N? She just watched him walk off, her heart full and racing, a little dazed by how much that boy meant to her now.

The party had faded hours ago. The team had cheered, the champagne had flowed, and Lando had done more interviews than he could count. His face hurt from smiling, his voice was half gone, and his suit still smelled faintly of victory and engine oil.

But now… now it was quiet.

Lando stepped out on the rooftop lounge of the hotel wearing a t-shirt and some joggers. The night air was cool against his skin, the concrete still warm from the day’s sun. He wasn’t even sure why he came out here—just needed space, maybe. Air that wasn’t full of flashing lights and praise.

And there she was.

Sitting on one of the lounges, looking up at the stars, sipping from a bottle of water, like she’d been waiting. Or maybe just knew he’d show up eventually.

Y/N looked up and smiled, soft and familiar. “Hey, champ.”

He walked over and dropped down beside her, shoulder brushing hers. “You’re still awake?”

“Could ask you the same thing.” She handed him her spare bottle.

He took it, twisted the cap, and drank without question. “Can’t sleep. Still buzzing.”

“Kind of hard to crash after your first win of the season.”

He chuckled. “You make it sound cooler than I do.”

“It is cool. You were incredible, Lando. No one could’ve taken that win from you today.”

He leaned back on his palms, glancing up at the stars above. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

They sat in silence for a moment, their legs stretched out in front of them, ankles nearly touching. Somewhere down the road, a car whooshed by. People were humming in the streets down below.

“You ever wonder,” he said quietly, “if it’s ever going to be enough? Like… you do everything right, you win, you prove people wrong—but then there’s always more. More noise. More pressure.”

She looked over at him, eyes steady. “Yeah. I wonder about that a lot. Especially when I see you carry the weight of it like it’s your job, too.”

Lando didn’t respond right away. He just stared ahead, letting her words settle.

“But you don’t have to carry it alone, you know,” she added gently. “Not when I’m around.”

His gaze shifted to her, something raw and open in his eyes. “You mean that?”

“Of course I do.”

Another quiet stretch passed, filled with everything they weren’t saying out loud. And then—

“You’re kind of my favorite person right now,” he said, barely more than a whisper.

Y/N’s breath caught.

“Just right now?” she teased.

Lando smiled slowly, turning to face her fully. “Alright—maybe longer.”

She looked at him then, really looked at him, heart thudding a little too loudly in her chest. “Yeah,” she said. “Me too.”

And they sat there, side by side, under the stars—two friends teetering on the edge of something more. Not ready to fall just yet, but both were wondering what would happen if they did.

They weren’t together. But they weren’t just friends anymore, either.

Sometimes Y/N would catch herself mid-laugh, watching the way his eyes crinkled when he was genuinely happy, and her stomach would twist. Not in a bad way—just that damn it kind of way. The kind that made her fingers itch to reach for him. To hold his face. To kiss him like she’d imagined one too many times in the dark.

And Lando? He was no better.

There were nights he’d finish a race and instinctively check his phone—not for the media, not even for his team—but for her. Just a little “Proud of you” text with the star emoji she always used. That’s all it took. That one sentence could undo him. He kept screenshots. He reread old messages when he couldn’t sleep. And there were moments, more than he could admit, where he caught himself imagining what it would be like to wake up to her in his bed. Not even for anything explicit—just her, warm and sleepy, stealing the covers and smiling at him through the sunrise.

They hadn’t crossed that line. Not yet.

But the tension simmered beneath the surface, unspoken but always there. It was in the way her hand lingered on his back just a second too long. The way his gaze dropped to her lips when she was mid-sentence. The way they always seemed to lean just a little too close when they laughed, like gravity was slowly pulling them together.

And when they hugged now—because they did, often—it wasn’t the quick, polite kind anymore.

It was slow. Intentional. Bodies pressed close. Hands-on waists, fingers at the nape of a neck. Heads tucked into shoulders. His heart was thundering.

Y/N wasn’t sure who would break first.

But sometimes, when he looked at her like she was the only thing tethering him to earth, she thought maybe it would be both of them.

But where it truly got complicated… was in the physio room.

There was only so much distance you could keep when your job involved touch.

Y/N was a professional. She’d worked with dozens of athletes. But none of them made her heartbeat do stupid things when she slid her hands down a tight quad or helped them through a stretch. None of them made her pause before every session and breathe, just to stay grounded.

Lando was different.

At first, it was subtle—his breath hitching when her fingers pressed into the muscle at the back of his shoulder, his eyes fluttering closed for a second longer than necessary. The way he’d hum quietly, almost to himself, whenever her hands found the spots that needed working out.

But lately, the air between them had changed.

His eyes lingered when she bent down to adjust his posture. Her fingers hesitated, not out of uncertainty, but want. His body relaxed under her touch in a way that felt like trust. Like surrender.

And sometimes… their touches lingered.

Like that morning when he came in early, hoodie tugged over his curls, voice still raspy with sleep.

She had him lying flat on the padded table, one leg bent, her hand gliding over his thigh to feel the tension. Her other hand braced his knee, her eyes locked on his body as she worked through the tightness.

“You okay?” she asked softly, fingers pausing at the sensitive spot.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Feels good.”

Too good. Too intimate.

She glanced up, and he was already looking at her—eyes soft, lips parted, breath shallow.

It would’ve been so easy. Just a little lean forward. Just one second of bravery.

But then he blinked, and the moment passed. Barely.

Another time, he sat shirtless on the edge of the table, and she stood behind him, helping him stretch out his shoulders. Her hands slid up his back, over the planes of muscle and the little freckles she was trying not to memorize. He leaned back slightly into her touch, head tilting until it nearly rested against her shoulder.

He didn’t move. Neither did she.

The air was thick with something unspoken. His hand dropped, fingers brushing against her leg.

It should’ve meant nothing. But it did.

Their sessions grew longer. Not because he needed more treatment, but because neither of them wanted to leave.

Because physio had become the one place where they could be close without questions. Without pressure. Just them. Quiet. Tense. Comfortable. Dangerous.

They weren’t together. But they weren’t just friends either.

And more and more, when Y/N found herself thinking about him—about his laugh, about his hands, about the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention—it wasn’t professional.

Not even close.

And Lando? He couldn’t even pretend anymore.

He thought about her when he fell asleep. Dreamed about her touch. Missed her even when they’d just seen each other. He lived for her voice. Her calm. Her presence. Her hands.

He was falling.

They both were.

And one day soon, one of them would break.

Lando had finished P2. A hard-fought, tooth-and-nail race that left his adrenaline spiking and his heart pounding. The kind of race where the sweat felt earned and every muscle in his body ached in the best way.

And when he climbed out of the car and saw Y/N waiting just outside the garage with that quiet smile—smile-the one she saved just for him, it was better than any champagne on the podium.

“You were unreal,” she beamed, reaching for his water bottle, like always.

He leaned in without thinking, resting his forehead against hers for a beat. He was still in his helmet, visor up, and he could feel her breath against his chin.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” he murmured.

She flushed. He loved it when she flushed.

But before they could say anything else, someone behind them cracked a joke—too loud, too thoughtless.

“…Guess Lando needs extra weight in the garage to balance the car out, huh?”

A pause.

Someone snorted. A second of awkward laughter from a couple of junior engineers nearby. They didn’t mean it maliciously. Just idiots being idiots. The kind who thought fat jokes were still funny.

Y/N didn’t even flinch. She’d learned not to. Instead, she looked away, jaw tight, the smile slipping off her face.

But Lando?

Lando snapped.

He turned so fast that his helmet nearly swung into someone.

“What the hell did you just say?” he barked.

The laughter died instantly.

The guy, the one who’d said it, froze. “I was just—just joking—”

“No. You weren’t. You were being a disrespectful prick,” Lando said, voice sharp, unwavering. “She does more for this team than you ever will. She’s the reason I’m standing here right now with a trophy in reach, and if I ever hear you talk about her like that again, I swear to God—”

“Lando,” Y/N said quietly, her hand brushing his arm. But he wasn’t done.

“I don’t care who you think you are. You want to stay on this team, you treat her with respect. She’s family.”

The word family landed heavily.

Everyone was silent.

The guy mumbled something that might’ve been an apology and disappeared fast. The others avoided eye contact, scattering like roaches.

Lando turned back to her, face still flushed with anger, chest heaving.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

His eyes softened immediately. “Don’t. Don’t you ever apologize for other people being assholes.”

She looked at him, her throat tight. “I’m used to it.”

“Well, I’m not. And I won’t be.” He reached out and took her hand, just for a second. But it felt like a lifetime. “You mean too much to me.”

That part slipped out.

Neither of them moved. Not even when Will called for Lando to get to the media.

“I’ll find you after,” he said, voice quiet again. “Don’t disappear, yeah?”

She nodded, heart thudding.

And when he finally walked off, she stood there for a moment longer, hand still tingling from his touch, replaying his words.

You mean too much to me.

Maybe this wasn’t just friendship anymore.

Maybe it never had been.

The gym was quiet—unusually so. Just the soft hum of machines, the occasional thud of a dropped weight, and the low murmur of a playlist that neither of them was paying attention to.

Y/N sat on the mat, stretching out Lando’s leg, focused on his hamstring. Or at least pretending to be.

Lando was lying on his back, shirt clinging to him with sweat, one arm slung lazily over his eyes. But she could feel the way his body had gone still under her hands. Not relaxed. Not tense. Just waiting.

Waiting for something to break.

Her fingers moved gently, working the muscle. Slow, practiced, familiar. And yet it felt anything but.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said finally, voice soft and scratchy from the heat.

Y/N glanced up, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Just focusing.”

“Right,” he muttered. “Because stretching me out is so mentally taxing.”

She gave his leg a push, just enough to make him grunt. “Don’t tempt me to bend it the wrong way.”

That pulled a laugh from him, but even that sounded off.

A beat passed. Another. The air buzzed with something unsaid.

“I meant it, you know,” Lando said suddenly, lowering his arm so he could look at her. “What I said last week. About you.”

She froze, fingers stilling just above his knee.

“Lando…”

“No one’s ever stood up for you like that?” he asked, sitting up slowly. “That’s what you told me.”

She didn’t look at him, but she didn’t move away either. “People don’t usually think I need it.”

“Well, I do,” he said. “I see how you carry it all. The weight. The pressure. The way you make space for everyone else. I just—I wanted you to know someone’s got your back too.”

Their eyes locked, and everything in the room went still.

Her heart pounded in her ears. “You didn’t have to. But you did.”

“I’ll always choose to.”

That hung in the air.

And then she was moving, standing, grabbing a towel, pretending to need a break—but Lando followed and stopped her just short of the water cooler.

He stepped into her space, one hand coming up to brush a loose curl behind her ear. His fingers lingered, soft and warm against her skin.

Her breath hitched.

His eyes dropped to her lips.

“Y/N…” he said, almost like a warning. Almost like a prayer.

She leaned in just slightly, barely a fraction.

But a door slammed in the hallway, laughter echoing down from a nearby group, and they both stepped back at the same time, like the spell had been broken.

She swallowed. “We should… finish the cooldown.”

He nodded, jaw tight, eyes still locked on hers. “Yeah. Okay.”

But as they returned to the mats, neither of them could focus. Her hands still trembled faintly every time they brushed his skin, and he didn’t stop watching her like he’d never seen her before.

And maybe… just maybe… that was the beginning of the end of pretending.

Race weekends didn’t leave much room for downtime, but somehow, Lando always found time to text her.

Lando: u up?

Y/N: classic

Lando: It’s not what it looks like

Y/N: uh huh

Lando: Okay, it’s a little what it looks like

Y/N: insomnia or overthinking?

Lando: both. You?

Y/N: same. Plus hotel pillows suck and Sarah snores.

Lando: Want to come upstairs?

She stared at the message for longer than she’d admit.

Then:

Y/N: I’ll bring the gummy worms.

Y/N smiled to herself as she climbed out of bed, scribbling a quick note for Sarah to let her know where she was going.

Ten minutes later, she was standing outside Lando’s hotel room, knocking gently. The door opened almost instantly.

Lando stood there in sweats and a hoodie, his curls a tousled mess, eyes soft in that way they only ever got when he was tired—or when she was near.

“You weren’t kidding,” he said, eyeing the bag in her hand.

“I never joke about sugar,” she replied, stepping in.

“Just don’t tell Jon, he’ll flip if he finds out.”

“Don’t worry, your secret's safe with me.” Y/n joked poking Lando lightly on his chest.

He closed the door behind her, the air between them thick with the things they weren’t saying. The things they almost said yesterday.

They sat side by side on the edge of the bed, legs brushing, the bag of gummy worms between them.

For a while, it was easy. Familiar. Joking about the media circus, roasting each other over their old Spotify-wrapped playlists, comparing race notes with mock-serious expressions. The kind of rhythm that came with trust.

But somewhere between her laughing too hard at one of his impressions and him watching her like she hung the damn moon, the silence started to hum again.

“About yesterday,” Lando said softly.

Y/N looked over at him. He wasn’t smiling now. Just studying her like she was something he wanted to memorize.

“You don’t have to explain,” she said, voice quiet.

“I want to,” he replied. “It’s not just what they said. It’s that they thought they could say it. That they thought no one would care.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her throat suddenly tight.

Lando shifted closer. Not enough to touch, but enough that she felt the heat of him. “I care.”

She met his eyes, searching. “I know. I just… I didn’t expect it. You’re kind to me, Lando. And I don’t know what to do with that sometimes.”

He reached out, hesitating only a second before taking her hand in his. His thumb brushed gently over her knuckles.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he said. “I just want you to feel safe with me.”

Their hands lingered like that—twined and quiet and warm.

Then she laughed under her breath, the sound a little breathless. “You know this is dangerously close to being a rom-com moment.”

“Is it?” he asked, smirking. “We already share gummy worms and trauma. What’s next, joint taxes?”

She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t let go of his hand.

And neither of them kissed the other.

But God, it was close.

Closer than it had ever been.

And it was getting harder to pretend they didn’t want more.

The dining area was quiet, tucked into that early hour when most of the paddock was still asleep or off on their morning routines. Y/N sat at a corner table with her usual coffee, toast, and a notebook open beside her.

Lando showed up like he always did lately. No grand entrance, just that familiar presence sliding into the seat across from her, hoodie up, sleepy eyes.

“Did you even sleep?” she asked, glancing at the mess of his curls.

“Some,” he said, voice rough with morning. “You?”

“Eventually.” Her mouth quirked. “The sugar crash helped.”

His eyes softened at the memory of gummy worms and everything that nearly happened after. But he didn’t say anything about it—not directly.

Instead, he reached for a slice of toast from her plate, and she didn’t stop him. Their legs brushed under the table. Neither moved.

They talked about the day ahead, strategy notes, and the weather. All the surface-level things that kept them steady. But the air between them was still humming, still warm with the weight of almost.

She caught him watching her once, thumb brushing absently over the edge of his coffee cup. When she looked up, he didn’t look away.

“You okay?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just… glad you’re here.”

Before she could respond, someone slid into the booth beside her.

Sarah.

Y/N blinked. “You’re up early.”

Sarah grinned, setting down her plate. “Early bird gets the paddock pass upgrade.”

She looked between the two of them, and her brows lifted just slightly.

“What?” Y/N asked, trying to sound casual.

“Nothing,” Sarah said innocently. “Just… the tension in this booth could cook my eggs for me.”

Lando choked on his coffee. Y/N elbowed her.

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying,” Sarah continued, eyes dancing. “You two are acting like you didn’t almost kiss last night.”

“Sarah!”

“I knew it,” she crowed, pointing her fork at Y/N. “The way you were texting him before bed? Girl. Come on.”

Lando’s ears had gone pink. Y/N looked like she wanted to melt into the booth.

But still, neither of them denied it.

Sarah grinned, looking way too smug for someone holding a half-eaten croissant. “Well, let me know when you two do something about it. I want front-row seats. Or at least to plan the wedding playlist.”

Lando finally laughed, rubbing a hand over his face. “She’s relentless.”

Y/N gave him a sidelong glance, fighting her smile. “She’s not wrong, though.”

His eyes met hers, something quiet and serious beneath the teasing.

“No,” he said softly. “She’s not.”

The room was quiet, tucked away from the buzz of the paddock. Just padded floors, low lights, and the occasional thrum of the bass from the nearby garage.

Lando lay on the mat, one arm slung over his eyes, his race suit pulled halfway down to his waist. Y/N knelt beside him, helping him stretch through his usual pre-qualifying routine.

It should’ve been routine by now—she knew the shape of his body like muscle memory. But something about today felt different. Like they’d both woken up with the echo of what could’ve happened the night before still lingering in their skin.

“Tell me when it’s too much,” she murmured, guiding his leg into a deep hamstring stretch.

He let out a breath through his nose, shifting slightly under her touch. “You’re good.”

But his voice was rough, and she could feel the tension—not just in his body, but in the way his fingers flexed slightly every time her hands brushed his thighs, her forearm skimmed his ribs.

He didn’t pull away.

And neither did she.

When she leaned in to adjust his shoulder, her breath hit the side of his neck. He shivered.

“Cold?” she asked, low and teasing.

“No,” he said, and when he looked up at her, his eyes didn’t blink. “Not even a little.”

Y/N’s breath caught. She was straddling one leg, hovering over him, face barely inches away.

It would be so easy.

His hand came up like he might tuck her hair behind her ear or maybe just touch her cheek—he stopped himself.

Barely.

A beat passed. And another.

Then the door creaked open.

“Lando?” Will’s voice broke the spell. “Time to suit up.”

Lando blinked first. Cleared his throat. “Yeah. Be right there.”

Y/N rolled off him, trying not to look rattled. Lando stood, tugging his suit back on, eyes flicking to her once more as he paused by the door.

“You coming?” he asked softly.

She nodded, grabbing her clipboard, trying to calm the heat in her chest. “Always.”

He smiled—small, knowing, charged—and disappeared down the hall.

She exhaled hard, gripping the edge of the table.

They were right on the edge of something dangerous and wonderful.

And neither of them had quite decided if they were brave enough to fall.

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