noora-milk - Tumblr blog

noora-milk · 1 year

Text

Prompt: “Have you ever felt that you lost something you can't get back?”

Author’s Note: That interview, it was something. So here’s another one for you!

Lewis winced as another wave of headaches and nausea hit him. To be honest, he hadn’t feel good going into this weekend. Perhaps it was the weather. Or perhaps his body was already looking forward to the summer break.

He sipped the tea from his flask before picking up the microphone. Form the corner of his eye, he could see the Mercedes PR motioned to the reporters to get on with the questions.

Lewis tried to answer most of the questions as truthful yet as professional as he could. He was just ready to go back to his hotel and take a nap.

Then, a journalist dropped the bomb that he had to ask him to repeat the question, “Have you ever felt that you lost something you can't get back?”

Lewis’ mind went straight away to you but he refocused to the scene infront of him and started off, “Well, I don't want to say too much because it's personal.”

The he diverted the topic to the ones that the PR team would agree to, but at the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but to think of you. He couldn’t remember what he responded for the rest of the media duties but as long as the PR team didn’t motion anything to him, then it’s fine.

After they wrapped up the media duties, Lewis stayed back for a few hours to go over some data with Bono before going back to the hotel. However, as the darkness of the suite greeted him, he sighed softly in exasperation.

The sight of you curling under the thick comforter after you had been intimate used to be something that he saw. Or the sight of Roscoe curling next to you despite Lewis’ insistence that they shouldn’t let Roscoe slept on the bed.

Now, all Lewis saw was the unkempt bed that he left this afternoon. The opened luggage next to the wardrobe, and the purple item caught his eyes. Lewis knew what it was; he could pretend that he didn’t know how it got there but he’d be lying because he did grab it at the very last minute before he left his house.

When he opened the messaging app on his phone, the reality hit him as he read the last message that was sent to you that you never replied.

To: Darling Y/N

There are some things that still here. I’ll put them in a bag and you can come pick them later.

He didn’t have the heart to change your contact name, even after 6 months. Lewis knew he was the one to blame. He still remembered that night when you looked at him with red eyes and betrayal in your brown orbs.

Against his better judgment, or perhaps he was delirious from the cold but he hit the call button on your contact. Lewis’ fingers scrambled to stop the call when he realized what he has done but he stopped the motions when your honey voice almost echoed in the silent room.

“Hello?” You asked timidly and Lewis could cry from listening to your voice. “Lewis?”

“Oh hey, sorry,” Lewis said, clearing his throat when it got too itching. “I accidentally dialed.”

“Oh,” you voice dropped an octave. Lewis wanted to smack himself when he could sense the disappointment in your voice but he didn’t know how to go about this.

“It’s fine, alright. Good luck this weekend, goodby—”

Lewis’ heart soared when he realized you still followed the sports even after the break up.

“What’s the recipe for the lemon drink that you always make me when I have the cold?” He blurted out.

There was a pause on your end for so long that he thought you had dropped the call.

“I saw it,” you mumbled.

“Pardon?”

“You doesn’t sound too good during the press-con,” you replied. “And I thought you might have a flu.”

Lewis sat on the bed, not knowing what to respond, but all he knew that this might be his last chance ever, “You watch it?”

“How could I not? After that season last year, then the car in Bahrain,” you whispered. “Sorry, I’ll stop here. Focus on the season and even if the championship doesn’t come this season, it will come soon.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. Championship, the thing that he broke up with you for. That he needed to focus and you, tried to reason with him, saying that you would not come to the track if he didn’t want to but to please let you next to him off track. You, knowing the eight was important to him, and he stupidly said that, left the house like you were never there.

“I am stupid,” Lewis said. “I don’t deserve you, not after that stupid night in January, but fuck me if you haven’t been in my mind since then.”

“You don’t get to say that,” you whispered angrily.

“I know,” he replied bitterly.

“You push me away that night when I only want to be next to you. You break my heart, crush it into pieces that I am barely functioning,” you cried.

Lewis had tears in his eyes know hearing the hurt in your voice. All he wanted to do right know was to board a plane to you.

“It hurts, so bad,” and the damn broke. He gripped the phone on his hand as you were sobbing.

“I’m sorry,” Lewis could only apologize.

“What do you want? Are you that selfish just to call me to get the lemon water recipe when you could have called your mom or google it?” You called out.

“Lewis,” you said his name again when he didn’t respond.

“I don’t want to,” Lewis licked his chapped lips before continuing, “Do this over the phone, you deserve better than this.”

Your heart skipped, but you refused to be swayed by Lewis’ words knowing how much you believed him when he was courting you and how much it left you bled earlier this year.

“Do what, Lewis?”

“Begging for your forgiveness,” Lewis dropped the bomb. “I don’t deserve you, but if you will take me back, or even considering for another chance at us, I want to see you after this race weekend.”

“Stop,” you replied, not wanting to get your hopes high, but before you could refuse, Lewis cut you off.

“Wait, don’t give me the decision now,” Lewis stopped you. Part of him was afraid of what you might say, but another part of him wanted you to think for yourself and be selfish, so even if it would hurt him, he would try to move on. After all, he was the one who broke you heart first.

“It will still be the same,” you retorted harshly, despite your heart wanted the opposite.

“After the race weekend, I’ll see you if you still want it,” Lewis, all but pleaded with you.

You wanted to end conversation here, but hearing Lewis’ voice after a few months, it healed but at the same time, hurt you.

“How would I know that you wouldn’t do it again?” You asked him. “That you wouldn’t walk out of my life as if I matter so little to you?”

Lewis ran his finger through his braid, the itch in his throat got worse. He coughed a little before he answered.

“I regret it the moment I walked out of the door. Every single day. Then I see your pictures and I thought perhaps you are coping fine—”

“Fine? Fuck you! Imagine coming home seeing your boyfriend with his stuff packed and said that he needed you gone because he wanted to focus on his career. I never, would never, make you choose between Formula 1 and myself. I know it’s your first love,” you cried out again.

“And I will regret it till the day I die. Fuck, I’m just hurting you, even when we are not physically together,” Lewis sniffled, blinking away the tears.

You didn’t reply to him. Lewis was scared.

“Go to bed, Lewis. You need to rest,” you finally said. So that was it, Lewis thought bitterly.

“Alright. Thanks for picking up the call, and listening,” Lewis paused. “I’m sorry again.”

You ended the call without reply and honest to God, Lewis cried so hard. At least he could blame his cold when he showed up to the paddock tomorrow looking miserable.

Then, his phone pinged. A message was in.

From: Darling Y/N

3 slices of lemon, 1 spoon of honey and mix it with hot water. Good luck. If you still feel the same after this weekend, let’s meet by the hill.

Lewis could cry again, but from happiness. By the hill where he asked you to be his girlfriend. Now, if fate was kind, he would leave the spot with you next to him again.

828 notes · View notes

noora-milk · 1 year

Text

New Addition

Pairing: Lando x Reader

Rating: PG

Requested: Yes/No

Words: 1.2K

Warnings: None, just fluff

Mini Lando Series Masterlist / Mini Lando

A/N: Ya'll get to meet the new addition to the Mini Lando Series

Synopsis: Caleb Maxemillian Norris, is born and Aiden doesn't know how to feel about it, Lando is grateful for his life to be this way

"He's ugly." Lando turns quickly so you don't see him laughing at his now eldest son. "Aiden." You sigh, exhausted from giving birth 5 days ago.

Aiden looks up at you, those infamous Norris eyes boring into your face. "But, he is." Aiden whines looking back down at the baby lying in your arms. "Lando." Your husband straightens up hearing his name, the laughter gone.

"Aiden…..that's not nice to call your brother ugly." Lando chastises. Aiden makes a noise, dropping his head at his father's words. "But…daddy." Lando cuts him a glare that has Aiden go silent.

"Do you want to know his name?" You ask, seeing how your 3-year-old was ramping up a tantrum. "Yes, mummy," Aiden whispers, stepping closer to you. "His name is Caleb. Caleb, this is your big brother Aiden." Aiden stares at the baby, still thinking how ugly he looks.

"Daddy?" Lando kneels down, rubbing his hand through those curls he got from him. "Yeah, buddy?" Aiden climbs off the couch, staring down at his feet. "Can I go play now?" Lando sighs, hating that this wasn't going better.

"Yeah, go play. I'll join you once I get mummy and the baby settled." Lando promises, watching Aiden rush down the hall to his room, leaving the door open like he should.

"Lando." You whimper, your emotions are still high, and you want to cry seeing your baby like that. "Oh, oh no, she. It's okay." He moves quickly, wrapping his arms around you and Caleb. "He hates him." You whisper, finger tracing Caleb's little brow.

"You heard what the doctor said; it's normal for toddlers to react this way. He's not used to the baby; it's changed." Lando comforts you, kissing your temple. "I know, I'm being stupid." You lean into Lando's hold.

"You're not being stupid, love. You're a mother who loves her children, and it hurts you to see that Aiden doesn't like this new addition to the family. Give him some time." Kissing you again, he leans down, giving Caleb a phantom kiss on his forehead.

Caleb's face scrunches up at the feeling. Standing slowly, Lando is right there, helping you to the bedroom. He heads toward Aiden's room when he gets you settled, ensuring you have everything. He stops at the door, Aiden playing with his building blocks in silence.

"Hey, can I join?" Lando asks, stepping into the room and sitting down behind Aiden. His son leans back instantly, resting himself on his chest.

Lando feels his throat tighten, unable to stop thinking about the first time they brought Aiden home. "Is the new baby staying here?" Chuckling, Lando's fingers comb through Aiden's wild curls. "Yes, buddy, he's your brother. He's going to live here with us." Aiden huffs, going back to the building with his blocks.

"Daddy?" Fingers stop as Lando lies down on his side, facing his son. "Aiden?" Lando asks back, smiling as his son looks at him. "Can I go live with Uncle Los?" Taken aback, Lando sits up. "What? Aiden, why do you want to go live with Uncle Los?" Aiden stops playing with his blocks.

"The new baby, you don't need me anymore," Lando swore at that moment, his heart shattered. Lando was told that some toddlers feel like being replaced when a new child comes into the picture, but he never once thought that Aiden would be like that.

"Aiden." Lando takes a deep breath, grabs his little hands, and pulls him into his lap, holding him close. "You're not going anywhere, do you hear me? Mummy and I still love you, but now we love Caleb too. That doesn't mean you just leave, baby. You are still my mini-me, my baby, my firstborn. You will always have a place in my heart." Lando rocks back and forth as Aiden cuddles into his daddy's arms.

"Daddy?" Aiden's tiny voice was muffled by Lando's shirt. "I want to give something to the baby." Lando lets Aiden go as the boy rushes into his closet. Standing, Aiden runs past Lando's legs, darting to the bedroom.

Sitting up, you see the door pushed open, but nobody until a head full of curls appears before you. "For the baby." Grabbing it, you stop seeing what Aiden was giving you. It was his favorite bunny stuffie.

Lando had bought it when Aiden was born; it was a bunny holding a more petite bunny. Aiden refuses to sleep without it, as it smells like his daddy. "Aiden, bubs, this is Wubby. Are you sure?" Lando comes in behind, lifting Aiden so he can sit on the bed.

"What is it?" Your husband asks, climbing on the bed, pulling Aiden into his hold. "He wants to give Wubby to Caleb." You explain seeing Lando's shocked face; you know that he didn't put him up to this.

"Aiden, you love Wubby. You keep him." Sitting up slowly, still sore from everything. "Wubby helps me sleep; it'll help the baby," Aiden explains, staring at Wubby, not wanting to part with his bunny, but he was big brother now. Besides, Uncle Carlos said his job now was to protect his new brother.

"Aiden, that's so sweet of you. Come here." You hold your arms out, Aiden crawling off Lando and into your arms. Smiling as Aiden moves around, he settles into your side. "Mummy, I love you." Aiden mumbles. As your heart grows, you try hard not to cry at your little boy. "Mummy loves you too, baby." You choke out, holding him closer.

Lando smiles as he watches the two of you fall asleep. Caleb grows fussy, with Lando reaching into the bassinet and picking him up. Walking down the hall, Lando hums softly, staring at the little boy and how much he looks like you.

"You are so loved; Aiden is quiet and shy, like me. But if you're anything like your mother, I know you'll be the one to look after everyone. Aiden loves Wubby, so we're gonna let him keep it. God……I don't know how to explain it to you. I love you and your brother." Lando takes a deep breath trying to control the tears gripping his throat.

"You're my air; I don't know what I would do if anything ever happened to you two. Just promise me this; don't grow up so fast. Always rely on me, I promise; even when I'm mad, I'm right there by your side." Lando whispers, staring down at Caleb.

"You two….are my greatest achievements in life; nothing will ever stop me from being proud." Lando presses his head against Caleb's, who scrunches his face before grabbing Lando's finger and sucking on it. "Just like your mother." Chuckling, he heads back down the hall, stopping as he stares at the 2 of the 3 greatest loves of his life.

"I don't know what I did to deserve this life, but…I never want it to end." Smiling to himself, Lando lays Caleb down, ensuring he is safe. He joins you and Aiden in bed.

You whine when you feel your body move, but a soft whisper of 'it's me' calms you down, Lando's cologne wrapping around you. "I love you; thank you for giving me this life." Smiling softly, you drift off to sleep, Lando holding you and Aiden close.

3K notes · View notes

noora-milk · 1 year

Note

Hey! Can you write an imagine of Lando being really drunk and doesn’t realize he’s talking to reader (who’s his wife) and tells her to go away cause he’s married and it’s just really cute?

A/N: I'm a sucker for this trope, love it

He was shitfaced, not tipsy, buzzed, drunk, he was utterly no memories, puking all morning shit faced.

It's funny right now, but you still worry about his liver and just how sick he'll be in the morning. When the guys knocked on your door, you figured Lando was drunk and needed a ride, not be carried in.

Having the 2 Ferrari drivers, a 2 time world champion, and 7 time world champion in your livingroom was not what you expected for the night.

"He's....yeah." Carlos rubs the back of his neck as they lay him on the couch, the bed probably not safe right now. "Thank you." You sigh placing a small trash bin next to him, with water and advil.

"You're welcome." Lewis smiles, patting your shoulder as you move, pushing his sweaty curls from his eyes. "Oh, Lando." His cheeks blotchy, and skin pale.

"Whm ae youv?" He grumbles, the guys and you chuckling at his jumbled speech. "It's me baby, Y/n." You reassure him, but he slaps your hand away, no real force behind it.

"I..don knom youv, no my wif." He hiccups, thinking through his words, you giggle again. "Lando, I am your wife. You're drunk, the guys brought you home." He shakes his head fast, sitting up Lewis and Charles reaching out incase he tries to stand.

"Where's my wif?" He slurs rubbing his face hard, trying to focus on you, but you're just fuzzy to him. "Not, my......not her." He groans, going to stand, but you gently lay him back down.

"Sleep Lando." You sigh, the guys still there weary of him trying to get up and leave. "No, I want my wif, not her. She's pwetty." He hiccups up, laying down and cuddling the pillow.

"I've never seen him this drunk." You whisper covering him up with a blanket, watching as he passes out, drool forming at the corner of his mouth. "He kept asking for you, and now he says you're not you. He's fucked." Carlos laughs patting his friend on the head.

"I'll make sure he's safe." They nod, piling out of the door. You make sure he's safe, and go to leave but a hand stops you.

"Lando?" You whisper, thinking he needs something. "When my wife comes to get me, tell her I didn't touch you. She's pretty, and I love her. Fuck, she's....my world." He sniffles, you feel your heart clench.

Your unsure to laugh or cry seeing he's crying, due to be him being so drunk. "I promise Lando. She trusts you more than you know." You assure him. "I don't deserve it, she's so much better than me. Ugh, I love her." He sniffles, wiping his eyes before placing his head on the pillow and passing out.

"I should've taken a video, damn." You grumble hating that you missed this golden opportunity

2K notes · View notes

noora-milk · 1 year

Text

a hundred and one bulldogs lh44

roscoe hamilton hates the word ‘later’. especially today. especially when he really wants a walk. he’s sick and tired of the word later due to the constant push back of the walk he was promised FOUR HOURS AGO. just the thought of the word later makes feel pain.

lewis sits at his desk, busily typing away at the computer that rested on the table, roscoe laying lazily on his bed, head resting on his paws bored out of his mind, watching the dogs that walk past him, wishing he was on a walk like them.

he studies the different girl dogs that walk past, trying to find a pretty thing to look at. he sees a fluffy pomeranian whose head is held high as she trots around. roscoe shakes his head ‘too cocky’ he thinks before turning back out to face the window spotting a tall saluki bouncing around with her owner whom also seems to bounce from foot to foot, headphones on her head ‘too loud’.

he continues looking at the people and pets that pass his sulking self, feeling even worse as the minutes pass, that is until he sees her. a bulldog who looks practically perfect and who is not too cocky of themselves yet manages to hold themselves highly.

never has roscoe manage to feel this many butterflies float around his belly and the fact that he has to suffer through this without meeting the dog that stole his heart makes him feel as if he has reached rock bottom. but then he sees her owner, just as beautiful as it’s pet and just as perfect for lewis as her pup is for him. double win. roscoe wasn’t an idiot, he knew that the hamilton house would never be complete without someone that lewis could kiss and love (that was actually human as well!) and it didn’t help that lewis was getting older, meaning that his hopes for settling down was getting sooner and sooner. this woman was the one, roscoe could feel it in his heart.

he looks at the clock ‘4:45′ it reads, ‘gosh darn it’.

15 minutes till what was originally meant to just be a walk that he had been dreaming about since he woke up but would now be possibly the start of a new beginning. never has he been so grateful for the word ‘later’…

having enough of constantly watching the ticking of the clock, roscoe rises from his bed and towards the clock that had been left to be put up and gently paws at the hands, moving it slowly so it reads ‘5:30′ instead.

he trots back a bit, to admire his paws work and then begins to bark, trying to grab the attention of lewis. lewis turns around, looking at his pup, who’s frowning and whining, head down and body facing the clock.

“5:30 already? well c’mon boy, i did promise you a walk after all.” he gets up, stretching his legs and going towards the coat rack that held his coat and roscoe’s harness and leash, which lewis slides on him quickly, causing him to barely have time to put on his own coat due to roscoe dashing outside, happy to finally be able to walk and meet the dog that has made him so infatuated.

they cross the street entering the park, a flock of pigeons blocking the pathway ahead causing roscoe to run forward slightly, causing them to fly away. they then walk across the bridge past the pomeranian roscoe saw earlier and its owner, who’s too busy taking pictures of the scenery then focusing on her dog.

roscoe looks everywhere, scared that he missed them or maybe missed them and yet there they are, there she is. it’s as if fate had finally aligned with the stars, he had somehow managed to pull this off perfectly, well at least the timing, the rest of his plan had yet to happen.

‘she looks so beautiful’ roscoe thinks, unable to get her beauty out of his head, when he’s suddenly remembers the key part of his plan; lewis. without lewis, they’ll be stuck with just the two of them and whilst that’s nice, it’ll get boring one day. roscoe looks up at his owner, whom is seemingly in his own world, occasionally looking down at roscoe and then looking back up at the world. they sit down at the bench, lewis taking off his cap and placing it on the bench, causing roscoe to jump up and grab it.

“roscoe you silly pup, give it back.” lewis laughs, grabbing the attention of y/n and y/d/n’s attention, watching lewis and roscoe fool around, causing the latter to silently cheer at the fact that his plan was working!

that is until they get up to leave of course.

“c’mon roscoe let’s go now.”

no way. he wasn’t giving up so easily, especially not when destiny was so close, so he starts sprinting, rushing to catch up with them and it works. lewis bumps into y/n, causing them to grab onto each other to help stop themselves from falling over.

“oh!” “oh!” they both say, gasping in shock of the event, making them unaware of roscoe circling their legs with his leash.

y/d/n spots what distress he’s putting their owners in and tugs on y/n’s coat to try and help the situation and yet manages to make the situation worse, tugging so hard that it sends them going into the pond, y/n on top of lewis.

“oh” lewis groans out.

“oh, my pants and oh my blazer! good heavens!”

y/n stands up, beyond angry at the predicament she’s managed to find herself in and goes to grab y/d/n wanting to just get where she wanted to go originally, home.

lewis stands up quickly after she does and pleads “i’m so sorry, i really am. i promise i will help you, i swear this is really out of character for him.”

roscoe turns to look at y/d/n, wanting to apologise for what he’s done and yet y/d/n turns away from him in disgust.

y/n scoffs and replies “haven’t you done enough? just go away!”, she then walks back and adds on a “please?”

lewis stands there shocked and then does the first thing he can think of, pulling out a handkerchief he had lying around in his pocket and handing it to y/n “take mine!”

y/n looks at the wet handkerchief in his hand and can’t help but laugh, a sound that would forever remember, laughing until her knees become weak and tears build up in her eyes. lewis at first looks confused until he does a double-take of his handkerchief, also lightening up and joining y/n in her fits of giggles, both of them forgetting about how cold and wet they had gotten after the unfortunate incident at the park and only being able to see the tears in their eyes from their laughter and the stranger that sat across from them.

they pause after a long moment of laughter before looking into each other’s eyes, faces wearing a look of adoration and love.

what a peculiar day at the park.

who knew that two dogs, one just trying to enjoy a nice walk in the park and the other one desperate for a walk, would be the cause of a new beginning. a beginning to a love that would last centuries and would be sought out by the people that walked past them in the street and watched their love-stricken souls hold each other, two pups trailing behind them also looking at each other as if they were the only people dogs in the world.

a love admired by all.

167 notes · View notes

noora-milk · 1 year

Note

hello! may i request a kiss with carlos because they’re running out of time (maybe after a crash and he’s being rushed off to the medical center and you just want to let him know it’ll all be okay) with a happy ending 🥹

a/n: thanks for the req anon, really enjoyed writing this one. ofc a bit of a heavy read so beware with the tw !

tw: car accident/crash, mentions of injury, death, panic attacks

“where is she?” the words are hard to say as pain flares through his chest. his vision is blurry, spots of black appearing as he tries his best to push himself up with his arm.

the attempt is weak and he bites the inside of his cheek to swallow down the pained cry he wants to let out. despite it, all he can think about is you, so he forces himself up anyways, ignoring the pleas of the paramedics to take it easy.

he doesn’t know what’s going on, what happened within the last minutes that got him into the situation. all he knows is that every single part of his body hurts and he has never been this scared in his entire life.

i think he’s bleeding internally. we need to take him now. the voices are hushed but he hears them anyways and panic begins to settle in, what happened?

“no, no, no,” he says, feeling his chest grow tighter. through his blurry vision he sees his father who is talking to one of the people next to him who helps him back on his back. he hisses at the shift, sees the sky move as he begins to get wheeled on the stretcher. “i need to see her- please. i need her here.” he doesn’t realise he’s crying, not until he tastes the saltiness in his mouth. he takes a few broken breaths, gasping as he tries his best to calm himself down.

everything hurts,

he can hear the sound of the sirens grow louder, drowning out the paramedics instructions to deepen his breaths. everything is somehow too much and the black spots are appearing once again, sharp edged and bigger than last time.

he hears his name being called out, hears yells from afar but they’re a blur, echoing in a far universe that he feels himself slowly slipping away from.

the gentle touch on his cheeks is what brings him back to orbit. his eyes go wide, and your gaze instantly meet his. your thumbs gently go over his cheeks, wiping away at his tears.

“I’m here, i’m here,” you’re breathless, face red with puffed up eyes. despite the shakiness of your voice he finds steadiness in it as you continue to reassure him. his hand goes to hold your wrist, his thumb going over your skin. take a deep breath carlos. you murmur, slowly guiding his breathing with your own.

it doesn’t stop hurting but he does it anyways, squeezes at your wrist as a ‘thank you’.

we really need to go. the paramedic says again and he sees you nod, his grip on your wrist tightens, eyes slightly widening again. he doesn’t want to go, doesn’t know what will happen when you leave him.

“hey, i will see you in a bit.” you say, reassuring carlos’ father in the process that it’s okay. the ambulance was full and they needed the space to take care of carlos.

“no, i don’t want to leave you” he speaks up, voice pained. he continues to hold on, ignoring the rush from the paramedics. he wants to stay here longer, scared if this was the last moment with you it would be cut short.

you wipe at his cheek again, ground him as you come closer. he sees you clearly now, can feel the tickle of your hair as you lean down to kiss his forehead.

“i love you carlos, i promise i will see you later.” you whisper, pressing your lips to his. he savors the moment, lets himself remember the shape of your lips. he wants the moment to last longer but he feels you begin to pull away slowly, snaking his grip out of your wrist with your hand.

he lets out a breath when he leans back, watches you take a step back as the paramedics lift him onto the ambulance.

he’s scared, terrified even, but he can still feel the ghost of your lips on his and the promise you had given him seconds ago. for the years you have been together not once have you broken a promise.

and hours later when he wakes up after his surgery to find you curled up and asleep on the hospital room’s couch, he knows he wants to promise you forever.

864 notes · View notes

noora-milk · 1 year

Text

sluttiest thing man can do is wear his race suit on his waist.

3K notes · View notes

noora-milk · 1 year

Note

Helloo, do you write for Max? I really love your writing. Your stories feel so intimate and warm. If you do write for max, can you write domesticmax. Like him and the reader are expecting and he admits that he is afraid of not being a good father. The baby arrives and he turns to be an amazing dad to his baby boy. Showing him off to other drivers and being look at my son he's amazing (can you tell that i just listened to dear theodosia)🥹 Thank you!

—blonde hair, lemonade tea dad!max verstappen x mom!female reader (established relationship) love, mackie... what up party people! so so sorry to tell you that max is in fact a girl dad in this fic. i came back to read carefully but it was too late. I am sorry. please forgive me. also let me know if you can spot the dear theodosia references because there is a couple warnings for: pregnancy and labor and birth and such. language and angst but only if you really really squint. christian horner. 4.4k words.

June 18th, 2023

It was poetic, almost. Disgustingly so, considering you were searching for anything but poetry in that chilly bathroom late Sunday afternoon. Max isn’t even around. He’s in Montreal, getting ready to race and blissfully unaware of your current reality–of his current reality.

You were just trying to clean the apartment, had been digging through the depths of the hall closet when the box–along with the first aid kit you were attempting to reach–fell down onto your head. After cussing out the plastic tote and feeling the lines of your face to be sure they hadn’t been injured, you started to clean up the mess. The Clearblue box and all its royal blues and bright pinks glare at you.

You took it for fun, planned on sending a picture of it to Max to give him a little scare before revealing the negative result. It was so far in the back of your mind, in fact, that after you left it on the bathroom counter, you resumed your cleaning. It wasn’t until hours later, when the idea of the joke didn’t feel so funny anymore, that you tossed the plastic test into the bin.

As it clattered to the bottom of the now empty metal trash can, you realized that–just to be safe–you should check the results.

It was then that the walls of the apartment sunk into the ground with your stomach, when the little life-defining stick defined your life. In the commercials for pregnancy tests, every woman always gets the result she was hoping for. You weren’t even hoping, and still, it managed to give you the wrong one.

A thick blue plus sign stares back at you through the tiny indicator window and your life will literally never be the same as it was thirty seconds earlier. No matter what you do, no matter how it goes, you will always be pregnant at this moment. Forever and ever, you are pregnant on Father’s Day 2023, and you will live with that knowledge until you don’t live any longer.

Your first thought is Max–well. Your third thought is Max. Your first thought is does plus mean it’s negative, and your second thought it what the fuck. Max is your third thought, and he’s the only one that really matters, you suppose.

You should call him. No, no. You can’t tell him that you're pregnant a few hours before he gets into a race car. He’ll kill himself out there and your baby will grow up without a father. Your baby. You have the sudden urge to throw up every meal you’ve eaten in the last week all at once. To heave and heave until there is nothing left in your system and then heave a little bit more.

June 20th, 2023

He comes home to you on Tuesday night. You’ve got eleven pregnancy tests sitting on the tank of the toilet in the master bath and a knot in your chest the size of North America. You’re waiting for him, sweaty armpits and thumping heartbeat as you pace from one end of the bedroom to the other, Find My Friends open on your phone and sat face up on the dresser.

He calls out your name before he’s even shut the door behind him and you don’t know where you find the voice to call back to him, “in the bedroom.”

“You okay?” He asks, perhaps your voice is nowhere near as secretive as you’d originally thought.

“No,” you say. “Can you come here?”

He’s never been particularly heavy footed, but today the sound of his socked feet creaking down the long hall echoes throughout the entire apartment with every squeal of the floorboards below him. He knocks on the unlatched door with a single knuckle before pushing it open. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m pregnant,” you blurt. There’s nothing sweet about the delivery, but then again, there was nothing sweet about pulling a plastic stick out of the trash either. There’s nothing sweet about any of this.

He stares at you blankly. “Okay.”

And, as if there was any other option, you feel the need to clarify the obvious for him. “It’s yours.”

“I… yeah,” he nods. You know he’s swallowing a no fucking shit, Sherlock, and you’re grateful for it. “How… when did you find out?”

“Sunday.” You croak, sit on the end of the bed because you don’t know that you can stand here facing him like this for a moment longer. “I wanted to tell you in person, I guess.”

You can literally see his thoughts processing, his mind catching up to his reality. The silence of brainwork is deafening and you almost wish he would get upset. At least then, you’d have a clue as to his own introspection. “Fuck,” he mutters.

“Yeah,” you nod. “Fuck.”

It’s almost like he forgot you were even there, the way he repeats himself with so much more intention. “Fuck, are you okay?”

You offer up a strained laugh, your eyes fixed on a single cat hair at the corner of the area rug, sitting on your sweaty palms. “Are you?”

“I mean,” you see him run a hand through his hair in your peripheral. The image of four year old him flickers through your mind, all blonde and blushed and sweet. You wonder if yours will look like him. “You’re the one who’s…”

“Pregnant,” you affirm, because it’s the only word you’ve been able to think about for three days now.

He nods, looks like he might throw up. The thought of it gurgles your insides. “Pregnant,” he whispers, almost entirely to himself. “You’re the one who’s pregnant.”

July 15th, 2023

It’s been three days since you last shit and today is your first ultrasound. You read on Google over breakfast that it is the size of a blueberry and you wonder if by the end of this you’ll ever be able to look at a fruit salad the same again. You and Max struggle to refer to the baby as anything but it, the blueberry-sized monster that has begun to wreak havoc on your body.

You can’t feed the cats without dry-heaving, and Max handles it when he’s around but when he’s not… it isn’t like you can not feed them. You had to invest in a robotic litter box that self-cleans so you can avoid handling the kitty litter that is apparently one of many things that have become incredibly toxic to you in the past several weeks.

Max drives to the appointment, and you’re starting to think he’s become a slower driver. You’re nauseous that he’s already changing. “Do you think we’ll hear its heartbeat?” You ponder aloud, twisting the cap of the Ginger Ale bottle in the cupholder.

“I dunno,” he says, eyes fixed on the winding road. “Does it have one yet?”

“I dunno,” you shrug, muttering against the plastic lip of the bottle.

There’s a goosebump inducing silence that falls over the two of you when, almost an hour after your conversation about the heartbeat, the lub-dubs are filling the room around you. Nice and strong, your tech had commented with a beaming smile on her face. “Holy shit,” Max breathes.

“Maxie,” you squeaked out, reaching for his hand without looking away from the pattern on the bottom of the screen, the pattern of our baby’s heart. You feel suddenly like a child yourself, your hand enveloped in his. He kisses your temple hastily and everything is so fucking real.

August 20th, 2023

Max spends summer break with his hands in your hair, acting as a makeshift hair tie while you’re hunched over the toilet bowl. You’re almost a third of the way there, you try to remind yourself at every opportunity, but particularly on the days where the only thing you can keep down is a large cherry slushie from the petrol station at the end of your block.

The two of you leave for Zandvoort a week early, make a stop in Maaseik with the intent of making exactly one thing known. Sophie is going to be a grandmother again, and Vic is going to be an aunt.

“Soph,” you started, Max’s mom making her way across the back patio deck, a bowl of something unidentifiable in her hand. You’re lounging beside Max, who just gave you the go-ahead nudge when Sophie appeared, and Victoria is sat on the wooden floor, a fork clinking against a ceramic plate of fruit on the coffee table. Tom chases the boys around the back grass and continues to warn them of dog poop piles. Life feels exactly like it should. “What do you think about coming to Monaco in March?” You ask. “Vic, you too.”

“March?” Sofie laughs. “Why so far?”

“We thought you might like to meet the baby,” Max says, and even though you aren’t looking at him, you can hear the smile in his voice.

“The baby?” She questions, visibly confused.

Victoria’s head shoots in your direction, wide eyes finding yours, squealing around a mouthful of fruit. “No!” You smile hard, biting down onto your bottom lip as you nod. “Oh my God!” She yelps, stumbling around the table to her feet, lunging on you with a giggly bear hug.

“Oh my God, are you pregnant?” Sophie finally asks. You nod along with Max’s verbal confirmation, watch a suddenly teary-eyed Sophie envelop her baby in her arms.

Her tears bring your own, when you and Max trade places, when Sophie has your cheeks cupped in her hands. She says your name so softly, whispers her kind words so they stay only for the two of you. “You are made for motherhood,” she tells you. “You already glow, darling.”

August 27th, 2023

He tells his father sometime that weekend when you aren’t around. It’s how you asked him to do it, had no interest in sharing that moment with Jos. The two of you have maintained a cordial relationship all these years, but if it was up to just you, Jos could find out when you show up with a six-month-old on your hip next year. He is important to Max, but he is no father to you.

Max tells you that it goes well, that Jos told him to give you a hug and a kiss and his best wishes. You smile and kiss him and wish he could understand how much better he deserved, how much better he has earned.

September 12, 2023

Max has been referring to the baby exclusively as Poopy for two weeks now. You’d told him one morning that your bump was quote-en-quote, fucking huge, and he’d replied that it just looked like you needed to have a shit.

“Are you calling our baby poop?” You’d quipped, running your hand along your bare stomach in the full-length mirror.

“No,” he replied around his toothbrush. “Poop-y, because it’s cute.”

He’s objectively right, your bump isn’t nearly as large as it feels. All of your clothes–even your shape hugging jeans–still fit and not even the sixteen-year-old triple zeroes on TikTok have commented about you gaining weight.

In fact, you’ve kept it all under wraps pretty well, considering you’ve been at almost half the races this season. Max has become stupidly protective of you; he complains when you’re at home and there is nobody to feed the cats for you, and when you do show up, he doesn’t let you out of sight.

He’s lucky that he’s always been touchy, or he would’ve given it away, the way his hand slots comfortably over your stomach every chance he gets. There’s nothing to feel, you would know, but he’s always there

On the way to your doctor’s appointment that afternoon, his hand is in its new favorite spot. He definitely drives slower now, there isn’t a question about it. You’ll find out the sex at today’s ultrasound, start speaking names into the world and hopefully something will stick before you’re signing Poopy Verstappen’s birth certificate.

October 20th, 2023

Max read online that her ears are fully developed now, and that it’s more than important to talk to her as much as possible. He talks and talks to his baby girl for hours on end, sometimes to the point that you feel like you’re interrupting something between the two of them.

Tonight, in a hotel room in Austin, Texas, you’re reading a gossip magazine. It’s the only thing you’ve been able to focus on for weeks now; any writing that requires your brain to think critically is a no-go. Max is propped up on a pillow halfway down the bed, talking to her about a whole lot of nothing.

You haven’t been able to agree on a name yet. Your heart is set on Elle, on long blonde braids tied with green ribbons and his baby blues and sparkly pink jelly sandals. Max makes an argument for Nora, with pink cheeks and your nose and a belly laugh that people couldn’t help but smile at. Neither of you wants to budge, so Poopy continues her reign.

He’s silent for some time, and if it weren’t for the aimless path his finger traces over your stomach, you’d think that he’d fallen asleep. “You know, Poops,” he starts again, and you smile softly. “You scare the hell out of me.” You don’t comment, but a hand finds his hair, your fingers running mindlessly through the blonde locks. “Your Mum is going to be perfect, but you’re getting the short end of the stick with me.” Another pause. You wonder if you should speak.

You don’t. He isn’t talking to his girlfriend right now.

“I don’t know how to be a dad, Poopy, but I know how much I love you.”

The tears burn in your eyes and blur the pages of the magazine. You want to tell him he’s a fool, that nobody will be a better dad than him. You want to scream–Max, Max, Max! Your Max. Her Max. You want to tell him that even though none of this was in the plan, there is not another person, not another soul in any other million universes and alternate lives that you would rather stray from the plan with. No one else could make a hard veer left into uncharted territory feel like a scenic drive around your family’s hometown.

“I’m going to try harder than I’ve ever tried, though,” he continues. “And, just do you know, I have a pretty good record when it comes to the things I want, isn’t that right, Mummy?” He shifts his head on the pillow to look at you. You’re met with his smile, almost certainly expecting you to have not been paying attention, to meet him with an equally please smile and a curious hum.

Instead, he’s faced with your red, teary eyes and your pursed smile. “Yeah,” you croak through a laugh. “Your daddy’s a winner, Poopy. The fucking best.”

Max’s hand moves from your stomach to reach up to your cheek. He wipes the single tear that breaks through the damn, eyes laced horribly with concern, thumb softly circling the skin in the wake of the salty tear. You frown, silently affirm your convictions to him with a quick I love you.

I love you, he mouths back. So much.

You nod in agreement.

Someday, you’re going to be able to tell your daughter without bursting into sobs that Dad doesn’t understand his worry is proof enough he’s the best father. For now, you’ll just have to settle for the hope that your thoughts can transfer to her the way her hunger transfers to you.

October 21st, 2023

GP and Christian find out you’re pregnant in the hours between FP3 and Qualifying. It’s getting harder and harder to hide your bump, even with the incoming autumn weather. A sweatshirt that you’d bought just to conceal your stomach and Max’s RedBull team jacket and you’re still paranoid that everyone around you can tell.

You’re mid conversation with the three of them in hospitality while eating lunch. You’re picking at your plate because Christian is eating a pasta salad of some kind. You can smell the cherry tomatoes and it makes you green.

You keep repeating the same thing to yourself, a silent mantra while you completely ignore their conversation. You will not be sick. You will not be sick. You will not be sick. Max can tell something is bothering you, his hand finding the space between your body and the back of the chair, rubbing comforting paths along your spine. His leg bounces anxiously under the table. It’s truly a miracle you’ve kept it a fucking secret for this long.

It’s not the nausea that gives you away, surprisingly. Nor is it the baby bump hidden by layers of fabric. What gives the pregnancy away is the baby herself.

Max moves to collect the plates from the table and you thank whatever God might be watching over you that the cherry tomatoes are leaving your nose’s smell radius. It’s when he’s on his way back, weaving his way through the tables and chairs with ease, a glass of a familiar carbonated beverage in his hand, that you feel it–her–that you feel her.

Max’s presence still gives you butterflies, but this. This is something different. This is a kick or a punch or a headbutt, this is your little girl getting comfortable, this is you feeling her getting comfortable. Max is sitting into the seat next to you with a sigh, setting the glass on the tabletop in front of you and you’re not even thinking about where you are—much less who your company is—when you grab his wrist and move his hand to your stomach. It’s just you and him and her.

“What?” He asks, visibly worried at the grip you have on him.

“Feel,” you say, push his hand flat against the fabric. She moves again. “Do you feel that?”

He nods, “yeah.”

“That’s her,” you smile, eyes fixed on him, on his reaction.

“That’s her?” He laughs, eyes darting between yours and his hand. “Shit.”

When the moment is broken, when she’s comfortable and ready to go back to sleeping or whatever she does in her infinite free time, the two of you are met with GP and Christian’s matching expressions. It’s a sight to behold, the two men and their raised brows and wide eyes and confused smile as they lean forward in their seats.

“Uh, are you…?” Christian asks you quietly.

You nod, “it’s a secret,” and both of them nod.

Christian reaches across the table for you, gives your arm a weighted squeeze. “Congratulations, both of you,” he says, barely above a whisper. GP follows suit, in his own GP way.

“Scary world where there are two of either of you,” he quips. “You guys will handle it, though.”

When they excuse themselves, they both give Max’s shoulder a heavy smack and a squeeze, their own shared, silent congratulations.

“Well,” you say when it’s just the two of you left at the table, drawing shapes in the condensation on the glass of ginger ale. “I guess now we don’t have to find a way to tell them.”

November 17th, 2023

You’re MIA for Mexico and Brazil, and show up to the paddock in Vegas on Friday with Max, a form-fitted midi-dress and sandals for the desert heat. There’s no room for interpretation or guesses or assumptions, no gray area where they can feel entitled to commenting on your weight. It’s black and white, from the bump to the waddle to the placement of your hand when you walk.

The World Champion is going to be a dad, hear the little lion roar.

December 13th, 2023

Things are starting to feel very, very real. Like, you’re two and a half months from having a baby in your arms and she still doesn’t have a name, real. Nesting is in full force, and it feels like every single corner of the apartment is filled with baby toys and furniture and outfits and books.

Max has been working in the nursery since the two of you got home from Abu Dhabi. He won’t let you anywhere near it, and makes you wear a mask when you even walk down the hall past the freshly painted bedroom. Each night you think he couldn’t become more protective over you, and each morning you’re surprised to find that somehow, he is.

The paint is finally dry, the room fully aired out, and your guest room is no longer a guest room. The bikes and the extra rack of clothes and the spare sleeping space have all been replaced by a rocking chair and throw blankets and an insanely expensive crib, with the world’s tiniest socks and sweet little mittens because when you finally meet her she'll be helpless against even her own finger nails.

Pictures fill the shelves and the walls and the table next to the rocking chair, of you and of Max and of you and Max. Of your friends and your family and all the people who will love your baby girl almost as much as the two of you do.

It’s a bedroom fit for only the world’s finest.

“You have the world’s best daddy,” you say, standing in the middle of the nursery with Max’s arm around your shoulder, your hand carefully cradling your stomach. “He outdid himself, Poops. Wait until you see this.”

He presses his lips against your temple. “We have to find her a name.”

“We have names,” you say, admiring the mobile hung over the crib, the different farm animals swaying in the breeze pouring in from the open window.

Max laughs. You hope she has his laugh. You hope she has his everything, even his unrelenting competitiveness and his roll of the dice temperament and his sweet, sweet lisp. “We have to agree on one of the names.”

February 27th, 2024

Max Verstappen to Miss Pre-Season Testing. The headline is everywhere, Max’s phone blowing up with texts and calls and emails since Red Bull made the announcement some days prior. Some days, you say, because you’ve been in the hospital for almost three now and they’re beginning to blend together.

Testing is the last thing on either of your minds, literally couldn’t be further from the forefront at this moment.

“I think,” you whisper through gritted teeth, cut off by your own contraction. You squeeze his hand like your life depends on it, like he’d challenged you to break every last metacarpal. The hand that survives mutilation is brushing sweat stucken hair from your forehead. He learned to stop attempting to talk you through them hours ago.

This is a whole new level of exhaustion, a different kind of pain. The look in your eyes will haunt his nightmares, he thinks.

“I think we should name her Nora,” you finally find the space to speak.

He laughs, but it’s not the laugh you hope she has. It’s nervous, anxious, scared fucking shitless. “We don’t need to worry about that right now,” he tells you.

“She doesn’t have a name, Max,” you say, voice laced with exhaustion and frustration and desperation. “She needs a name and Nora is a name.”

“Nora isn’t her name,” he insists, and you know he's right. She isn’t Nora. She isn’t Elle, either. She sure as fuck isn’t Poopy, that dumb fucking nickname. He’s never nicknaming anything, ever again.

“Eleanor. Her name is Eleanor,” you grit, squeezing his hand and groaning through another contraction.

Max nods. “Eleanor,” he smiles. Eleanor. “She has your eyes and my nose and beautiful blonde hair and she’s perfect in all of the ways.”

February 28th, 2024. Sometime after 3:17 am.

Max is wrong about half of it. She has your nose and his soft blue eyes. Her hair is soft and barely more than fuzz and is white as white can be. She has ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes and a smile that at least two people would kill to keep on her itty bitty lips.

She looks so small in his arms, like a real-life baby doll, like a sight that you could never tire of seeing.

“Now, you’re not so scary,” he whispers to her, and everything about him is quiet: his voice, his breathing, his lips kissing her head and his smile to you. “I bet you can’t even fight. You’re just a little thing, Poopy.”

“Uh-uh,” you hum. “No more Poopy.”

He laughs, dead silent. It’s impressive, almost. “Don’t listen to her, Poops.” There is something so incredibly human about this moment, about seeing your person speak to the person you created together. She is you and she is him and you don’t know why this wasn’t always the plan. “Mum is as crazy as she is beautiful.”

September 1st, 2024

“It’s a shame,” Daniel speaks to Max, bouncing Eleanor on his hip, giddy smile on both of their faces. “Everytime I see her she looks more like you and less like her mother.”

“Ay, Daniel!” Charles laughs, squeezing Eleanor’s foot. She follows the voices with her big blue eyes. “Be nice, mate,” now that he has her attention, he speaks only in a baby-voice. “Yes,” he says, “tell Uncle Daniel to be nice to Papa.”

There have been a lot of moments in the past six months that have left you in awe of your partner, but none strike you quite the way that watching him introduce your daughter to the grid does. He’s so in his element, his two world’s colliding as he gets to show off his girl.

His girl, who, like Daniel teases, looks more and more like him every day. Pride is not what you feel watching them together, your guy and your world. It isn’t a strong enough word for what you’re faced with. You would die for her, you would kill for her. There is a certain solace in knowing he might be the only person in the world who feels exactly the same way.

“This is our daughter,” he begins every introduction, even though he could just as easily say my daughter. No, he could never, not when he falls more in love with you everytime he looks at her, not when he picks up on every minuscule thing she does that reminds him of you.

Never could it be his daughter. Not when you’ve created the best thing to ever come of him, when even here, in Monza and the sea of red and prancing horses and tifosi pride he knows that nobody on planet Earth has the supporters that he does.

2K notes · View notes

noora-milk · 1 year

Note

Hiii 🥰

Can I please request one with sunshine but shy reader that is a driver and all the boys sees her as a little sister and the older one like a daughter

Maybe an interview or any scenarios that you want

Thank you ❤️‍🩹

Fangirl Moment

pairings: 2022 grid x driver!reader / shawn mendes x driver!reader

warnings: seb treating Y/N like a daughter, the drivers teasing her for her fangirl freakout, shawn being as sweet as ever.

authors note: I LOVED this request so much that when i started writing i had two ideas that i needed to write down! seb shouting that he's the father of the grid and don't ask me why, i can't explain it, and the other drivers treating her like a little sister aaaaaa have my heart 🥹 and the other story is here! i hope you like it as much as i enjoyed writing it.

word count: 1.4K

Y/N rubbed her eyes and groaned as she checked her phone. She had slept through her alarm and was now running late for her interview. She quickly got dressed and headed to the paddock, hoping she wouldn't get into too much trouble.

As she walked into the media center, she could feel the eyes of her fellow drivers on her. She blushed and tried to hide behind her hair, feeling like a little kid who had done something wrong.

"Hey, sleepyhead, did you forget you had an interview this morning?" Daniel teased, his grin widening as she walked by.

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn't help but smile. She knew the guys meant well, but sometimes it felt like they didn't take her seriously as a driver.

Sebastian, who had always been a bit of a father figure to her, walked over and put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry, kiddo, we've got your back. Just remember to speak from the heart, and you'll do great."

Y/N nodded, grateful for his words of encouragement. She took a deep breath and walked into the interview room, trying to push her nerves aside.

The interviewer greeted her with a smile and started with the usual questions about her racing career. Y/N answered as best she could, but she couldn't help feeling like she was stumbling over her words.

Then, the interviewer asked her about her relationship with the other drivers. Y/N's heart sank. She knew what was coming next.

"So, Y/N, the other drivers have referred to you as their little sister. How does that make you feel?"

Y/N could feel her cheeks turning red as she fidgeted in her seat. "Um, well, it's nice to be part of such a close-knit community, but sometimes it feels like they don't take me seriously as a driver."

The interviewer nodded sympathetically. "Do you feel like you have to prove yourself more because of that?"

Y/N nodded. "Yeah, definitely. But I try not to let it get to me. At the end of the day, I know what I'm capable of."

The rest of the interview went by in a blur, and before she knew it, Y/N was back in the paddock. She was greeted by a chorus of cheers and high-fives from the other drivers.

"Great job, sis!" Charles said, clapping her on the back.

"Way to go, Y/N!" Mick added, grinning.

Y/N couldn't help but smile, feeling like she had overcome a major hurdle. She was proud of herself for speaking her truth and proving that she was more than just a little sister.

And as she walked away, she heard Sebastian's voice behind her. "Good job, sunshine. You did great in there."

Y/N turned around and smiled at him. "Thanks, Seb. You were right, speaking from the heart really helped."

Sebastian gave her a warm smile. "I knew you had it in you. You're a great driver, and don't let anyone make you feel otherwise."

Y/N felt a surge of gratitude towards Sebastian. He had always been there for her, supporting her and giving her advice when she needed it most. "Thanks, Seb. I really appreciate your support."

Sebastian patted her on the back. "Anytime, kiddo. You're like a daughter to me, you know that."

Y/N's heart swelled with warmth at his words. She had always looked up to Sebastian, and it meant a lot to her to be considered like a daughter to him. "I'm lucky to have you as a mentor, Seb."

Sebastian chuckled. “The feeling's mutual, sunshine.”

As she made her way to the interview area, she noticed a commotion near the stage. A group of fans had gathered around someone, screaming and taking pictures. Y/N squinted, trying to see who it was, and then her heart skipped a beat. It was Shawn Mendes.

"Oh my god," she whispered feeling a surge of excitement. "Oh my god, is that Shawn Mendes?" she whispered to herself, trying to play it cool.

As she tried to make her way through the crowd to get closer to Shawn, she heard the other drivers calling out to her.

"Hey, Y/N, did you bring your Shawn Mendes poster for him to sign?" Lando teased, grinning from ear to ear.

Max chimed in. "I heard he's a big fan of yours too, Y/N. Maybe you should ask him for an autograph."

Y/N felt her face turning red as she tried to hide her embarrassment. She had been a fan of Shawn Mendes since her teenage years, and she couldn't believe she was about to meet him in person.

She finally managed to make her way to the front of the crowd and caught Shawn's eye. He smiled at her and waved, holding up a hat with her racing number on it.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat as she saw the hat. She couldn't believe that Shawn was wearing something with her number on it. She felt a surge of emotions, a mix of excitement and disbelief.

She managed to make her way through the crowd and stood in front of Shawn. "Hi, Shawn," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

"Hey, Y/N," Shawn replied, grinning. "It's great to finally meet you in person."

Y/N could feel her heart racing as she tried to think of something to say. "I can't believe you're a fan of mine," she managed to say, feeling a little star-struck.

Shawn chuckled. "Of course I am. I've been following your career for a while now. You're an amazing driver."

Y/N felt a surge of pride at his words. She had always looked up to Shawn as a musician, and to hear him say that he was a fan of hers was surreal.

"Would you mind signing something for me?" she asked, feeling a little shy.

"Of course, what do you want me to sign?" Shawn asked, taking out a marker from his pocket.

Y/N handed him her racing helmet. "Could you sign this for me? It's my lucky helmet."

Shawn nodded and signed the helmet with a message of encouragement. Y/N couldn't believe it. She had always dreamed of meeting Shawn Mendes, and now here he was, signing her helmet.

As she walked away from the crowd, Y/N couldn't help but smile.

The other drivers continued to tease Y/N about meeting Shawn Mendes for the rest of the day. Lando and Max kept making jokes about her being a fangirl and asking for autographs. Even Sebastian couldn't resist making a quip or two, although he was always quick to reassure her that meeting Shawn was a big deal and she had nothing to be embarrassed about.

"Hey, Y/N, you going to hang that picture of you and Shawn Mendes on your bedroom wall?" Daniel joked, earning a chuckle from Lando.

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn't help but grin at their banter. "Very funny, guys. You wish you had a picture with Shawn like I do."

Lando crossed his arms. "Oh, please. We have better things to do than fangirl over celebrities."

George raised an eyebrow. "Speak for yourself, Lando. I heard you have a secret crush on Selena Gomez."

Lando's face turned red as he sputtered out a denial. "What? No, I don't! Who told you that?"

Y/N couldn't help but laugh at the exchange. "Looks like I'm not the only one with a celebrity crush around here."

Despite the teasing, Y/N couldn't stop thinking about the encounter. She couldn't believe that Shawn Mendes was a fan of hers and had been wearing a hat with her racing number on it. It was surreal.

Later that day, as she was getting ready for the quali, she saw that Shawn had posted a picture of them together on his social media. He had even tagged her in the post and written a sweet message about how much he admired her as a driver.

Y/N couldn't contain her excitement as she saw Shawn's post. She let out a loud scream in the motorhome, causing some of the other drivers to come rushing over, thinking that she had been attacked or injured.

"What happened? Are you okay?" Lewis asked, concern etched on his face.

Y/N turned to them with a huge grin. "No, I'm fine. Look!" She held up her phone, showing them Shawn's post.

The other drivers crowded around her, looking at the post with interest. Lando let out a whistle. "Wow, Y/N, you're really making a name for yourself. Maybe you'll get a shoutout from Taylor Swift next!"

Max chuckled. "Or maybe Drake will invite you to his next concert."

Y/N rolled her eyes, but couldn't help feeling a little giddy. She had always dreamed of meeting her favorite celebrities, and now that dream was starting to become a reality. She knew that she had worked hard to get where she was, but it still felt surreal to see her name being recognized by people she admired.

1K notes · View notes

noora-milk · 1 year

Text

36K notes · View notes

noora-milk · 1 year

Text

us and our cats !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which he is streaming and being a simp simultaneously.

for when it's just you both and your cats. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

real life // lando norris x fem!reader

warnings - language.

author's note - this one made me want to be in a relationship SO bad :/// i really hope you like it, thank u so much for reading, i love you <3

≡;- ꒰ °real life ꒱

"hello everyone!" lando exclaimed as he started the stream, adjusting his equipment. "hello! hi!"

he watched as more and more people joined the stream, feeling excited because this would be his first stream in a few weeks and he clearly missed doing this.

"sorry, i'm just having a bit of a technical issue here," he apologized, leaning down and messing with the wires. "i think one of the cats messed with the wiring or something. they're always fucking up one thing or the other."

lando looked up at the screen, his eyes taking in all the comments, trying his hardest to read the most of them. "show cats? you want me to show you the cats?"

he looked back towards his room, eyes sweeping across as he tried to figure if at least one was in the room and when it became that he was alone, he huffed, shaking his head slightly. "i think they're with y/n, always favour her over me."

his tone turned slightly offended, as if the prospect of the cats, fish and casserole, loving his girlfriend more was simply out of this world. he paused for a second, before leaning forward to grab something off the desks and holding it up for the stream to see.

"that reminds me," he started, placing the headphones on top of his head carefully and smoothing out the crocheted piece in the middle of the band with a proud look, "look at what my girlfriend made me."

it was a simple thing, really. just two crocheted leaves tied in the middle of his headphones, green providing a stark contrast against the black and it almost looked like he was wearing a crown or something. all in all, it was just simply adorable.

now, it may have been simple but to lando, it was everything. he had almost burst out in tears when y/n first showed him her creation, a proud yet nervous look on her face that faded away as soon as he saw what she was showing him. he'd hugged her, kissed her, told her that he loved it more than anything else he owned and sent more than 50 selfies of him wearing those damn headphones to every single person he knew. simply because his girlfriend made that for him and he'd be damned if he didn't show it off.

"how fucking adorable is this, huh?" he chuckled, proudly looking in the camera as the two leaves sat upon his head. he'd been doing this as soon as he'd gotten them, always wearing them whenever there was an online meeting or when he was facetiming someone — he'd wear them any chance he could get. "god, i love her."

the comments were full of love, adoration and support for the couple, fans screaming about how much in love lando was and the said person couldn't help but agree.

yes, he was so in love.

"thank you, guys," lando blushed slightly, chuckling as he read through the comments. "you're all really sweet — no, i cannot fight. thank you for asking, though."

"who's trying to fight you?"

lando jumped slightly in his seat, turning back around to find y/n standing by the door, raising an eyebrow at him.

"just one of your fans," lando laughed, beckoning her towards him as he turned back around. "nope, not just one. plural, they're multiplying."

"well, can you?" y/n teased him, walking towards him as lando rolled his eyes, fond smile on his lips.

"for you, of course, i can," he turned to face her and shot her a wink, a cocky smirk on his face that had her shaking her head and laughing. "come on! don't laugh at me."

"sorry, baby," y/n leaned down and kissed his cheek, lingering for a few seconds before pulling back and straightening up. "i'll leave you to stream, now."

"what? no, stay," lando looked up at her, his eyes pleading for her to stay. "please, it'll be fun and the viewers love you."

"lando — "

"y/n, please?"

y/n sighed and lando couldn't help but grin, knowing that he had won her over. with a smooth move, he had grabbed her waist and was quick to pull her down to sit on his lap.

"woah, okay," y/n chuckled nervously, her hands holding onto lando's as he worked on whatever he had to. "this is nice."

"i know, right?" lando glanced at her before kissing her temple, his smile never leaving his face. "this is fun."

"i bet it is," y/n chuckled, squinting her eyes to read the comments flooding in. "'you're both my parents,' thank you angel. oh, another one that says 'y/n is so mother' that means so much to me, you're all too kind."

"i am so confused right now," lando mumbled, laughing slightly when more comments came in, mostly about y/n and their relationship.

"it's okay," y/n tilted her head to look at him, shifting slightly on his lap which made him tighten his hand around her waist. "i should start doing this with you most often."

"if you sit like this, you're more than welcome to join me everyday," lando whispered to her, a cheeky smirk on his face that melted into giggles when y/n hit his arm lightly, feeling flustered because hundreds of thousands of people could hear them at the moment and that thought was — well, it was scary. "sorry not sorry for speaking my mind."

"oh my god," y/n muttered to herself, grabbing onto the desk in front of her as lando leaned forward all of a sudden, his hands adjusting the computer screen before he settled back, a soft 'sorry' leaving him as he made sure she was comfortable. "i should get my own chair. it's hard."

"it sure is," lando retorted almost immediately, snickering as the innuendo registered in his girlfriend's brain, her mouth agape as she stared at him. "what? c'mon! the opportunity was right there. this one's kinda on you."

"i swear, it's like i'm back in high school," y/n mumbled, standing up and leaving to get another chair, her voice echoing in the hallway as she called for their babies — their cats.

"love you, darling!" lando called out, the grin never leaving his face. once again, the chat went wild with the interaction between the couple, red hearts flooding in and uppercase letters making lando blush slightly. "sorry guys, she distracted me. back on the stream — 'do you have any plans for tonight?' yes, we do! we're going to this art gallery that y/n had wanted to check out for a while and after that we'll be having dinner, so, there's that. i'm excited, it's always fun to visit galleries with y/n because she knows stuff, like the real stuff about art, paintings and sculptures and all and it's so cool because it's like having your own little personal guide — except this one calls you a dumbfuck way too often."

lando had a lovesick smile on his face as he spoke, laughing in between sentences. it was always like this, someone — anyone would ask a question and he'd somehow manage to link it to y/n and then there was no hope for any further continuation of that conversation because if there was one thing lando could talk about endlessly, it was y/n.

sometimes it would be about what she had baked for him, what she painted in her free time, or this video of casserole slapping fish she had sent him and other times, it would be about y/n being upset about something and him asking for advice or when she had crocheted him those two leaves and it was all he could talk about for weeks.

"'how long have you been together?' we celebrated our two year anniversary a few weeks ago!" lando answered happily, smile never flattering at the thought of their celebration. "we started dating in october, though she wasn't my girlfriend until late december, so yeah.

"'how many cats do you have?' we have two cats, fish and casserole," lando replied, rolling his eyes fondly at the thought of their little demons. "they're little pieces of shit, i swear. they're always out to get me like — i always knew they liked y/n more than me but you should see them when i'm around like — it's like they're calling me 'cunt' over and over in their kitty language and it's so — "

a soft meow interrupted him, a confused on his face as he looked behind him to see where it came from. a few seconds passed before he heard it again, this time it was clear that it came from under the desk. with a hesitant push against the desk, he pushed his chair back and leaned down to see under it and saw two eyes blinking back at him, almost twinkling in the dark.

"fuck."

with a careful grip, he carefully pulled casserole from under the desk, holding her against his chest and he turned towards the stream, a nervous look on her.

"y/n's gonna kill me for calling her precious baby a little piece of shit with her present in the room."

"you called my baby a what?!"

3K notes · View notes