#Teammates and Tension💌

[eveninggstar]

teammates and tensions ⊹ ࣪ ˖

Rivalry Rekindled-rewrite

max verstappen x RedBullDriver!reader

06.05.24-(rewrite 17.07.24)

୨ৎ back a page ୨ৎ back two pages ୨ৎ back three pages

୨ৎ From the age of 9, you and Max Verstappen have been locked in fierce competition on the racing track. Growing up, you intimately learned each other’s techniques, paving the way for what could have been a formidable partnership. However, despite your shared prowess, there’s one glaring issue - an unyielding disdain for each other. As you navigate the world of motorsport, your rivalry intensifies, fuelling both your desire for victory and your deep-seated animosity towards one another.

warnings in masterlist

Next chapter

The sun blazes down on the karting track, the summer heat of 2006 creating shimmering waves off the tarmac. It's a big day for the young racers, all eager to prove their mettle. Among them is you, the only girl in the pack, your determined eyes hidden behind your helmet as you grip the steering wheel.

You started in 9th position, but you're not about to let that deter you. With every lap, you skilfully manoeuvre your way past your competitors, your kart whizzing by in a blur of colour and speed. Your mind is focused, every muscle in your body taut with concentration. You're gaining on the leader, who has held the top position from the start.

The boy in front is driving precisely and aggressively, maintaining his lead with practiced ease. He seems almost untouchable, his kart weaving through the course. But you've been watching him, studying his moves, and you see your chance.

On the penultimate lap, you make your move. As you approach a tight corner, you accelerate, your kart surging forward. You take the inside line, your kart brushing dangerously close to the leader's. For a moment, you're side by side, wheels almost touching. Then, with a burst of speed, you overtake him, leaving him momentarily stunned.

The crowd erupts in cheers as you cross the finish line in first place, your heart pounding with exhilaration. You remove your helmet, your face flushed with triumph, your eyes scanning the spectators for your dad. But before you can find him, you turn to see the boy stepping out of his kart, his expression a mixture of frustration and awe.

Gathering your courage, you approach him, your smile bright. "Hey, that was a great race," you say, extending your hand. "What's your name?"

Before he can respond, a tall figure appears behind him, his presence imposing. "Max," says Jos Verstappen, his voice firm as he places a hand on his son's shoulder. He gives you a cursory glance before steering Max away. The young boy looks back at you, a mixture of curiosity and something else in his eyes.

You watch them go, feeling a pang of disappointment. Your moment of connection with a fellow racer has been abruptly cut short. Turning away, you spot your dad near the pits, his arms crossed, his expression stern.

You approach him, your steps slowing as you see the look on his face. "Dad, did you see? I won!" you say, jumping up and down with the first-place trophy, hoping to see some glimmer of pride in his eyes.

He nods, but his face remains impassive. "You only won by a few seconds," he says, his tone cool. "You need to focus more. And stop being so friendly with the competition. This isn't about making friends. It's about winning."

Your heart sinks, the thrill of victory dimming in the shadow of his words. You bite your lip and nod, the joy of the race slipping away. You glance back once more at Max, now standing with his father seemingly getting the same reprimand you're receiving, and feel a flicker of connection with someone who understands you.

A year has passed, and you find yourself once again on the karting circuit, facing Max in race after race. During one particularly intense competition, you finish second to his first. Determined to congratulate him, you approach him in the paddock.

"Nice job out there, Max," you say, hoping for at least a nod of acknowledgment.

Max looks at you briefly, his expression unreadable, before turning away without a word. His silence stings, but you grit your teeth and tell yourself it's just part of racing.

Another year, another season of karting. You've gotten used to Max's aloof demeanour, but it doesn't make it any easier. After a close race where you managed to clinch third place behind Max's second, you find yourself next to him in the waiting area.

"Hey, Max," you try again, "that was a tight race, huh?"

Max doesn't even look at you this time. He simply walks away, leaving you standing there, feeling invisible. The frustration begins to build, but you channel it into your racing, determined to prove yourself on the track.

By 2009, the tension between you and Max has reached a boiling point. During a particularly heated race, you and Max battle fiercely for the lead. You manage to edge him out, taking first place. As you exit your kart, you catch Max's glare from across the paddock.

"You got lucky," he mutters as he walks past you.

You feel your face flush with anger. "It wasn't luck, Max. It was skill," you retort, but he's already turned his back on you, dismissing your victory as a fluke.

The karting circuit is abuzz with excitement, the races becoming more competitive each year. You and Max have developed a well-known rivalry. After yet another intense race where you finish just behind him, you decide to confront him directly.

"Max, why do you always ignore me?" you demand, frustration boiling over. "What’s your problem?"

Max smirks, his eyes cold. "Maybe I just don't think you're worth my time," he says, his words cutting deeper than any physical blow.

The 2011 season is gruelling, and your rivalry with Max has only intensified. After a race where you both crash out due to aggressive driving, you find yourself next to him once more, adrenaline still pumping.

"Maybe if you weren't so reckless, we wouldn't have crashed," you snap, unable to hold back your anger.

Max scoffs, his disdain palpable. "Maybe if you were a better driver, you wouldn't need to blame others for your mistakes," he retorts before walking away.

As you watch him go, your hands clench into fists. Any hope of friendship or mutual respect has long since evaporated, replaced by a burning desire to beat him at his own game. Max Verstappen has solidified his place not just as a rival, but as the embodiment of everything you strive to overcome.

The Bahrain night sky glows under the floodlights, casting a dramatic backdrop for the opening race of the 2023 Formula 1 season. The tension in the air is almost tangible as you grip the steering wheel of your Red Bull RB19, your eyes locked on the car ahead of you—Max Verstappen, your teammate and long-time rival. P2 is your current position, but your sights are set on P1.

"You're in P2, but you have the pace to overtake Max," your race engineer's voice crackles over the team radio. "You've got the green light to go for it."

Your heart pounds with adrenaline as you push your car to its limits, each lap bringing you closer to Max. The rivalry that began in karting has only intensified over the years, now culminating in the highest echelon of motorsport. Every manoeuvre, every turn, every fraction of a second matters.

With ten laps to go, you see your opportunity. Max goes slightly wide on Turn 10, creating a narrow window. You dive to the inside, your car edging ahead. For a moment, your wheels are side by side, but your determination prevails, and you take the lead.

"Nice move! You're P1," your engineer's voice fills your helmet, but the thrill of victory is short-lived. You know Max won't let this stand.

Max is relentless, his car looming in your mirrors, his aggression unmistakable. The final laps are a blur of speed, your entire focus on keeping him behind you. The finish line draws closer, the tension mounting with every turn.

As you enter the last lap, Max makes his move. He darts to the inside on the main straight, attempting a dangerous overtake. You defend your position, but it's too late. Max's car makes contact with yours, the impact sending you spinning towards the barriers.

Time slows as you collide with the barriers, the force of the crash rattling your entire body. You see Max's car careening into the opposite barriers, both of your races ending in a cloud of debris and shattered carbon fibre.

Your car comes to a halt, the world outside a chaotic blur. You hear the crackling of the radio, your engineer's voice filled with concern. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," you manage to reply, your body aching and breathing heavy. "What about Max?"

"He's out of the car. Medics are on the way."

Relief mixes with anger and frustration. The crash was reckless, unnecessary. You unbuckle and climb out of the car, the lights and noise of the circuit overwhelming. Marshals and the medical team rush to your side, but your eyes are fixed on Max, who’s already out of his car, looking livid.

After the medics check you over, you approach Max, your temper flaring. "What the hell was that?" you shout, ignoring the pain.

Max glares at you, his face flushed with anger. "Me? You closed the door on me! What did you expect?"

"You were too aggressive! That was a stupid move, and you know it," you retort, stepping closer.

The team intervenes, trying to keep you both apart, but the damage is done. The frustration and years of rivalry boil over in a heated exchange of accusations and blame.

"Maybe if you learned to race properly, this wouldn't have happened," Max snaps, his eyes blazing.

"Race properly? Coming from you? That's rich," you fire back, your voice trembling with fury.

The team members looked on in dismay, torn between loyalty to their drivers and the desire to maintain peace within the team. Both drivers’ eyes burning against the other. Team principal Christian Horner stepped forward, his expression grave as he addressed the warring drivers.

“Enough,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “We’re a team, and we need to act like one. This blame game isn’t getting us anywhere.” He looked at the pair. “You’re both brilliant drivers, and we are glad to have you on the team. But this is getting old.”

As you stormed off in opposite directions, your relationship strained to the breaking point, leaving your teammates to pick up the pieces and salvage what they could of their championship hopes.

After the first race of the season, Christian realised that the rift between you and Max needed to be solved. You and Max were summoned to the office, each unaware of the other's presence. Christian had emphasized that this meeting was crucial and could not be missed. As you both approached the office, neither of you spotted the other, freezing at the sight of each other. Quickly breaking out of the initial shock, you gently pushed past Max to open the door.

“Excuse me!” He exclaimed, holding his arms out.

“Excuse me!” You childishly mocked, making your voice scratchy and reminiscent of a witch's. You smirked to yourself as you dropped carelessly into the seat on the left side of Christian’s desk. Looking up at him, you saw him rubbing his brow bone in annoyance.

“Enough is enough,” he declared, his voice firm after Max sat down. “The constant bickering and clashes between you two are threatening the harmony of the team. We can’t afford to let personal animosities interfere with our performance on the track.” He glanced between the two of you. “You’re both twenty-five for god's sake!”

You attempted to speak, realizing your twenty-fifth birthday was approaching in a few months, but Christian interrupted, “Not now, y/n.” You looked down, pushing your lips out awkwardly. “You don’t need to be so pedantic all the time.” Max took the initiative to remain silent.

“If you two can’t find a way to resolve your differences and work together as teammates, then I’m afraid we will have no choice but to consider other options.” Max was looking around the room, while you were picking at your nails. “Do you have any idea how many people dream of being in your positions? You’re acting like children.” His voice grew louder, and his face redder.

The sobering thought of being easily replaced in a championship-winning team weighed heavily.

Christian leaned forward, his gaze piercing. “I have come to the conclusion that for the two of you to get along better, you need to spend more time together.” This sparked outrage between the two of you. “Calm down!” Christian raised his hands. “It’s only during races. As for hotel situations, you two will be sharing a room.”

“What?”

“So, we get no privacy?”

Christian rolled his eyes. He could sense the tension was still high, even see it. Rolling his eyes, he finalized his statement, “All of the plans will be made for next season. So, enjoy the free time until then. Maybe get to know each other more.” You and Max rolled your eyes in sync, crossing your arms. Christian looked at the pair of you, incredulously.

“I’ll see the pair of you soon.” He waved his hands, silently motioning you out of his office. Walking to the door with you, he paused as the pair of you were about to exit his office. “Just be happy we didn’t choose the other option.”

“What’s that?” You turned, standing between the two men.

“Dating for a PR stunt, regardless of what you had to say.” He closed the door in your face.

Please don’t steal my work, much love ᡣ𐭩

Taglist:@luvsforme @glitterquadricorn @santiiagopopegarcia

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 eveninggstar

[rosemariiaa]

~Echoes Of You~

pairing- Paige x Azzi

a/n: cute little song fic because we all missed those, and yes i have delivered fluff 💌

song: Pink in the Night - my love Mitski

theme- fluff

Enjoy!!!

Paige can’t sleep again.

She lies in her bed, staring at the ceiling as the pink glow of her nightlight washes over the room. It’s late, probably too late to still be awake, but she’s not in the mood to close her eyes. Not when her mind’s too full of her. She bites her lip, annoyed with herself, the way her thoughts keep circling back to Azzi. It’s been happening more often lately, and she hates it.

“I glow pink in the night in my room,”

Paige thinks, frustrated. It’s stupid how much she’s let this feeling grow—like she’s been blossoming alone over someone she shouldn’t even be thinking about. They’re teammates, just friends. Paige had drawn the line a long time ago, but somehow, Azzi had crossed it without even knowing.

“And I hear my heart breaking tonight.”

She shifts on her bed, trying to ignore the pounding in her chest. The silence in the room makes it worse. Her heart beats so loud, she swears she can hear it cracking. “Do you hear it too?” Of course, Azzi can’t hear it. She’s probably fast asleep in her own room, not knowing that Paige is losing sleep over her. God, this is so stupid.

Paige gets up, hoping to clear her head. She pads down the hallway, not bothering to turn on the lights. When she reaches the living room, she freezes.

Azzi is already there.

Sitting on the couch with her knees pulled up, Azzi’s face is illuminated by the soft glow of the TV screen, but the sound is muted. It’s almost eerie, seeing her there like this, alone and silent. Paige’s breath catches in her throat. She should turn back. She should leave.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, she stands awkwardly in the doorway, unsure of what to say or do. Azzi notices her after a moment, turning her head slightly. “Couldn’t sleep either?” she asks softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Paige shrugs, her body tense. “Yeah. Something like that.”

The silence stretches between them, heavy with everything unsaid. Paige moves to sit on the other side of the couch, careful to keep her distance. But it doesn’t matter. Azzi’s presence is enough to make her chest tighten. It’s stupid, but she wants to reach out, to close the gap, to say something that would break this unbearable tension. She doesn’t.

Instead, she just watches Azzi, stealing glances when she thinks she won’t notice.

“I could stare at your back all day.”

The thought hits Paige out of nowhere, and she has to bite her tongue to keep from saying it out loud. Azzi’s back is turned slightly, her posture relaxed in a way that makes Paige feel anything but calm. There’s something about the way Azzi carries herself that drives her crazy—not in an obvious, in-your-face way, but in the subtle things. The way her curls fall over her shoulders, the way her lips twitch when she’s deep in thought. Paige feels like an idiot for noticing these things.

Azzi shifts, turning to face her fully now, and Paige’s eyes snap away like she’s been caught. “You okay?” Azzi’s voice is soft, but there’s something in her tone that makes Paige’s stomach churn. It’s like she knows. Or maybe Paige is just paranoid.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Paige lies. She’s not fine. She hasn’t been fine in weeks, but she’s not about to admit that, especially not to Azzi.

They sit in silence for what feels like forever, the unspoken words hanging in the air between them. Paige’s mind keeps replaying the same memories over and over again. That one night, 2 years ago at Azzi’s grandparents lake. The way Azzi had looked at her, how close they’d been. They’d kissed, but it hadn’t been enough. It hadn’t felt right.

“I know I’ve kissed you before, but I didn’t do it right.”

She wonders if Azzi remembers it too, or if it was just another fleeting moment for her. Paige curses herself for not doing more, for not saying what she really wanted to say back then. She swallows hard, the words lodged in her throat.

“Paige…” Azzi’s voice pulls her back to the present, and there’s something different in it now—something hesitant. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

Paige freezes. Her mind blanks for a second, panic setting in. Has she been that obvious? She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Azzi’s eyes are on her, waiting for an answer, and Paige feels like she’s suffocating under the weight of it all.

“I… I don’t know,” Paige finally manages to say, but it’s a weak excuse, and she knows it.

Azzi shifts closer, her gaze never leaving Paige’s face. “That’s not true,” she whispers. “You know exactly why.”

“And I hear my heart breaking tonight.”

Paige’s heart is pounding now, louder than ever. She wants to deny it, to brush it off, but the look in Azzi’s eyes stops her cold. There’s no more hiding. No more pretending.

Without thinking, Paige reaches out, her hand brushing Azzi’s cheek. The touch is hesitant, unsure, but when Azzi leans into it, Paige feels a surge of emotion she can’t control. “I’m sorry,” Paige whispers, her voice breaking. “I didn’t do it right before. Can I… can I try again?”

Azzi’s breath hitches, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she nods, her eyes softening. Paige leans in slowly, her heart racing, but this time, when their lips meet, it feels right. It feels like everything she’s been wanting to say but couldn’t. The kiss is soft, slow, filled with all the things they never said.

When they finally pull apart, Azzi rests her forehead against Paige’s. “We’ll get it right this time,” Azzi whispers.

“Try again, and again, and again.”

They don’t need to say anything else. The silence between them feels different now—lighter, filled with possibility. Paige knows they’ll keep trying, keep figuring it out together. And this time, they won’t be alone.

[sainz100]

I saw your post about daniel and max photos side by side at the parade but they kinda facing opposite side. And they were together but on the video it showed that daniel didn't even talk to max even though max constantly looked at daniel. Why am i senses some breakups here T.T (i really miss them i guess)

Hello!! I miss them too, I just love Daniel and Max's energy together so much & truly Spa weekend was such a delight 🥺❤️🚁✨ (and my hopes they can be teammates again are still going strong!! 🏎️💙❤️)

same, part of the reason that side-by-side moment was so moving to me was it does feel like there is some distance? At least compared to a weekend like Spa!! It was almost poetic the way the media team was separating them in that shot 💙...🎥...❤️ I can only imagine how stressful the changes at RB have been internally. Lots of folks leaving, the car is a mess, plus the uncertainty of 2025 and all the speculation about the RB seat and Daniel's spot next year. It must be a lot to navigate

but I always tell myself I have no way to know everything for sure!! there are so many moving parts in the world of F1 and so much history between Max and Daniel (especially as a newer fan, I'm missing so much context!! So others can say this better than me!!)

but I trust even though there is a lot of tension at RB and Vcarb and with balancing PR and the media, Daniel and Max know their relationship best 💙❤️ and I was peeking at insta and saw lots of delightful little moments of them chatting together at the parade!!

part of why I love the Drivers Parade is seeing everyone mixing and mingling and yapping together hehe 💞 other drivers stopped by at chatted, but I treasured seeing Max and Daniel hanging out side-by-side for so much of it 🥺 I just want them both to be happy fr!!

thank you for the ask and sorry I took so long!! 💌❤️ I'm overly sentimental and love to ramble too much 🗣️❤️✨ ahhh them!!!

[eveninggstar]

teammates and tensions ⊹ ࣪ ˖

Miami Magic

max verstappen x RedBullDriver!reader

21.06.24

୨ৎ back a page ୨ৎ back two pages ୨ৎ back three pages

୨ৎ From the age of 9, you and Max Verstappen have been locked in fierce competition on the racing track. Growing up, you intimately learned each other’s techniques, paving the way for what could have been a formidable partnership. However, despite your shared prowess, there’s one glaring issue - an unyielding disdain for each other. As you navigate the world of motorsport, your rivalry intensifies, fuelling both your desire for victory and your deep-seated animosity towards one another.

warnings in masterlist

!fem receiving oral (my first time writing srry if its bad)

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The Miami race had been nothing short of exhilarating. The humid Florida air, the buzzing crowd, and the pressure of the race all contributed to a spectacle that would be remembered for a long time. After a string of frustrating races, both you and Max had managed to secure a podium finish, with you taking P3 and Max finishing P2. The joy of finally getting a good result was palpable, and the team was ecstatic. To top it all off, Lando had taken the win.

As the sun began to set, the paddock was alive with celebrations. The champagne had flowed freely on the podium, and the drivers were ready to continue the party into the night. Miami, known for its vibrant nightlife, was the perfect setting for the team to let loose and celebrate the successful race.

The group had reserved a VIP section at one of Miami’s most exclusive nightclubs. The music was loud, the lights were flashing, and the atmosphere was electric. You arrived with the team, feeling a sense of accomplishment and relief. For the first time in a long while, you could genuinely enjoy the moment.

Lando was the star of the night, basking in the glory of his victory. The drivers gathered around him, cheering and raising their glasses in his honor. You and Max stood nearby, laughing and sharing in the excitement. The tension that had been brewing between the two of you seemed to dissolve in the euphoria of the moment.

As the night progressed, the drinks flowed freely. You found yourself loosening up, the stress of the season melting away with each sip. Max was right there with you, his arm casually draped over your shoulders. It was a gesture that felt surprisingly natural, and you found yourself leaning into him, giggling at his jokes and enjoying the closeness.

The club was packed with people, the dance floor a swirling mass of bodies moving to the beat of the music. You and Max found a spot at the bar, ordering another round of drinks. He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear as he spoke.

“Can you believe we finally did it?” Max said, his voice barely audible over the music, his voice accompanied with the obvious slur.

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the alcohol. “Yeaaaaaah!” You dragged out, practically yelling in Max's face.

He laughed, a sound that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. “And Lando, of all people. Who would have thought?”

You nodded, taking a sip of your drink. “He deserved it.”

Max’s arm tightened around your shoulders, pulling you a little closer. “Yeah, but we’re a good team.” The first time he said anything involving him and you as a collective.

The closeness was intoxicating. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, his arm a comforting weight across your shoulders. You found yourself giggling into his shoulder, the alcohol and the joy of the night making you feel light and carefree.

The night continued in a blur of laughter and music. You and Max were inseparable, whispering into each other’s ears and laughing like old friends. The rest of the team was too busy celebrating to notice the way Max’s hand lingered on your waist, or the way you leaned into him, your head resting against his shoulder.

At some point, Lando found his way over to you two, his face flushed with excitement and alcohol. “Hey, you two! Having a good time?” he shouted, grinning from ear to ear. His eyes flickered in shock at the unusual closeness between the two of you

You and Max exchanged a glance, both of you smiling broadly. “The best,” you replied, raising your glass in a toast. “To Lando, the man of the hour!”

Lando laughed, clinking his glass against yours. “Thanks!”

The three of you shared a moment of camaraderie before Lando was pulled away by another group of well-wishers. You turned back to Max, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you. The music, the lights, the laughter—it was all perfect.

As the night wore on, the club became a haze of lights and music. You lost track of how many drinks you’d had, but it didn’t matter. The important thing was that you were here, celebrating with the team, with Max by your side.

At some point, you found yourself on the dance floor with Max, the two of you moving to the rhythm of the music. His hands were on your hips, guiding you, and you could feel his breath on your neck as he whispered something you couldn’t quite make out. You laughed, the sound getting lost in the music, and turned to face him.

His eyes met yours, and for a moment, everything else faded away. The noise, the lights, the people—they all disappeared, leaving just the two of you. You could see the same realization in his eyes, a connection that went beyond words.

Without thinking, you leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a tentative kiss. It was soft, almost hesitant, but it sent a jolt of electricity through you. Max responded immediately, his arms tightening around you as he deepened the kiss.

The world came rushing back, but it felt different now. More intense, more real. The kiss broke, but the connection between you didn’t. Max’s forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing hard.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, his voice low and filled with promise.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. The night was far from over, and you couldn’t wait to see where it would lead.

You left the club together, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the heat inside. The team’s hotel was just a short walk away, and the two of you made your way there in comfortable silence. The city lights glittered around you, adding to the surreal feeling of the night.

At the hotel, you took the elevator up to your floor. The tension between you was palpable, a current of electricity that had been building all night. As soon as the doors closed, Max pulled you into his arms, kissing you deeply. You responded eagerly, your hands tangling in his hair as you pressed closer.

The elevator dinged, signalling your arrival. You broke apart, both of you breathing heavily, and stumbled out into the hallway. Max led you to his room, fumbling with the key card in his haste. Finally, the door opened, and you slipped inside, the anticipation almost too much to bear.

As soon as the door closed behind you, Max was on you again, his lips capturing yours in a heated kiss. You melted into him, your body responding to his touch as if it had been waiting for this moment forever. His hands roamed your body, exploring, caressing, driving you wild.

You pulled back just long enough to catch your breath, your eyes meeting his. The desire in his gaze was mirrored in your own, and it took your breath away. Max’s nose trailed your jaw, causing you to let out a small giggle.

“Please,” he whispered into your ear, a smirk evident in his tone. To call his voice a whisper would be an exaggeration; he was so quiet that if he had been anywhere other than right by your jaw, you wouldn’t have heard him. His voice caused a trail of goosebumps to appear all over your body. You were practically a puddle at his feet.

You softly directed him to look at you, meeting his eyes. “Go ahead.” A dazzling smile painted your lips. He wasted no time sinking his hand into your hair and crushing his lips onto yours. His free hand rubbed in circular motions across your back, then down to your waist, then gripped repeatedly at your ass. Your moans were muffled by his tongue-thankfully.

Max was everywhere, but nowhere you truly wanted him. To hold your pride, you couldn’t beg for him to touch you more. You were only left to hold onto him and take it. His mouth travelled to nip at your neck, leaving you to moan in response.

He sank to his knees, pushing up his shirt sleeves and undoing the third button. His hair was pointing in all different directions due to your earlier motions. He looked up at you, cheeks flushed and chest erratically breathing. He brought his hands up to grip your thighs, tightening and releasing repeatedly. He stayed silent, yours and his breath filling the silence.

“What’s wrong? Want a map?” you joked, tilting your head to the side, still unable to hold back a slight jab.

“Just making sure you’re alright,” he kissed the inside of your mid-thigh. His face morphed into a smirk at the realization on yours.

You nodded, still unsure why. It was Max. Max Verstappen. Your teammate, that you hated with every fibre of your body. You shouldn’t be doing this. And you definitely shouldn’t enjoy the feeling of his kisses running up your thigh.

He was doing it on purpose, making you wait. He knew exactly what he was doing, so swallowing your pride you—

“Oh my god!” He interrupted your train of thought with his tongue between your folds, circling your clit with intention. His shoulders shook as he laughed at your reaction. In retaliation, you gripped his hair with the thought of shutting him up, but instead earned a moan from him—at least he stopped laughing.

Your body was slipping downwards, resulting in Max smoothing his hands up your legs and gripping your ass. The mixed pleasure of the pressure he had on your ass matched with the sucking of your clit in his mouth made you feel as if you were floating.

The butterflies in your stomach were multiplying.

One of his hands slithered its way to join his tongue. As two of his fingers sunk into you, your whimpers turned into a high-pitched moan. You looked down to see Max’s piercing blue eyes watching your every move.

The pace of his tongue and fingers increased, and in return, your grip on his hair tightened. The butterflies were becoming more of a knot within your stomach as Max continued. You kept repeating his name, whether it be loud or quiet, neither of you cared.

The knot was tighter. Your hips were moving to meet Max’s movements, just wanting to come. Luckily, your wishes were close.

You didn’t even get the words out as you screamed in pleasure. Your body felt numb as you could feel your walls involuntarily tighten around Max’s fingers.

The last thing you remembered was panting erratically and the empty feeling left as Max removed his fingers and tongue from you. And then him softly speaking in your ear, but not the words, as he coaxed you towards his bed. You could recognize the feeling of your dress being slipped off of you, then replaced with an oversized shirt that smelled like the best thing you’ve ever encountered. Thankfully, the feeling of your bra had been removed, then retreating footsteps.

Please don’t steal my work, much love ᡣ𐭩

Taglist:@luvsforme @glitterquadricorn @santiiagopopegarcia

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 eveninggstar

[eveninggstar]

did i just finish writing the non smut part of the next chapter of teammates and tensions?

yes.

did i lay it all out, put it together seamlessly (i hope)?

yes.

did i add in add the graphics and titles or whatever?

yes.

did my wifi decide to go down so now i have no idea if it saved as a draft because i made changes as i was going through it before posting?

YES😭😭😭

i’ve tried posting and saving to drafts ;(

[eveninggstar]

when’s the next chapter of tensions and teammates coming out? i just started it today and couldn’t help but finish it in one sitting. it was so amazing and well written!!! 🥰✨🫶

omg ty :))))) i’m glad you’re enjoy it but the next chapter will come out (hopefully) in the next two or three days

so either

today, tomorrow, or the day after

it a really good chapter set in miami with lando’s win btw and i’ve written the end part of it that contains something👀 no spoilers tho

much love😚😚😚

[eveninggstar]

ngl now that i’ve gone into act two of teammates and tensions (i’ve not written the next chapter don’t get too excited) im thinking of rewriting it bc i want there to be more tension as it’s literally in the name and i feel like as if it lacks rapidly and that the character i made is incredibly to dimensional so i maaaaaay rewrite it.

this came from me writing a carlos smut i had half written since imola and i saw that god send of a moustache on his face so i might make it better

okay i will so re read it if you want ig when it’s done

[eveninggstar]

i wrote the next chapter of teammates and tensions btw but it’s 12:57 am and i cba to get the graffics on it so wait until idk 12 pm 🤷‍♀️

[eveninggstar]

planning on making a taglist!!

comment either under this post with the series or whoever is in my master list (or just say all) and i’ll put you in the taglist :)

[eveninggstar]

i really wanna write for hearts on the circuit but i’m going to finish teammates and tensions first so i don’t stress and get burnt out🙄😩

n e wayz been listening to this song on repeat

[eveninggstar]

middle one is my bias rn ngl but i can’t choose

[eveninggstar]

teammates and tensions ⊹ ࣪ ˖

Bittersweet Betrayal

max verstappen x redbulldriver!reader

08.07.24

୨ৎ back a page ୨ৎ back two pages ୨ৎ back three pages

୨ৎ From the age of 9, you and Max Verstappen have been locked in fierce competition on the racing track. Growing up, you intimately learned each other’s techniques, paving the way for what could have been a formidable partnership. However, despite your shared prowess, there’s one glaring issue - an unyielding disdain for each other. As you navigate the world of motorsport, your rivalry intensifies, fuelling both your desire for victory and your deep-seated animosity towards one another.

warnings in masterlist

Previous chapter Next chapter

The anticipation for the final race of the season was palpable. The paddock was buzzing with excitement and tension as this race would determine the World Drivers Championship. Max was in the lead, but you were right behind him, a close second. Every free practice, sprint, and qualifying session had seen you at the top, P1. The stakes were high, and all you needed was this win to be awarded the title.

In the garage, the atmosphere was intense, but you and Max found a moment to relax and enjoy each other’s company. You were sat on a bench, scrolling through your phones and sharing funny pictures.

“Look at this one,” Max said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He handed you his phone, displaying a meme that made you burst out laughing.

“Oh my god,” your mouth dropped open, still chuckling. “Wait, look at this.” You showed him a photo on your phone, and Max’s laughter echoed yours.

For a few minutes, it felt easy. The tension and rivalry between you faded away, replaced by the camaraderie you both cherished. However, as the conversation shifted back to the race, reality began to sink in.

“We’ve got this,” your engineer’s voice crackled over the radio during the final practice session. “You’ve been P1 in every session. Just keep it up, and the championship is yours.”

“I’ve got it,” you replied with determination. “I can win this.”

Meanwhile, Max was having a different conversation. Christian Horner and his engineer were discussing strategies.

“We need to ensure Max wins this race,” Christian said firmly. “He’s leading the championship, and we can’t take any risks.”

Max nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation but feeling a pang of guilt. He knew you were just as deserving of the title, but if you had agreed to it then it shouldn’t be so bad.

As the race day arrived, the tension was at an all-time high. The grandstands were packed with fans, and the energy was electric. You lined up on the grid, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement. Max was beside you, giving you a reassuring nod.

The lights went out, and the race began. You quickly took the lead, setting a blistering pace. Lap after lap, you maintained your position, extending your lead over Max and the other drivers. The car felt perfect, and you were in the zone.

“Keep it up, you’re doing great,” your engineer encouraged over the radio. “We have this in the bag.”

“Copy that,” you replied, focused on the track ahead.

Meanwhile, only meters away, Christian and Max’s engineer were strategizing.

“We need to find a way to bypass her,” Christian said. “Max has to win.”

Max’s engineer relayed the instructions, trying to find ways to close the gap. But you were rapid, executing every corner flawlessly. As the race progressed, you built a 20-second lead over Max.

With only a few laps remaining, you started to feel the pressure. Your mind raced with thoughts of winning the championship. But then, on the second-to-last lap, you heard a message that made your heart sink.

“Let Max catch up and let him pass,” your engineer instructed.

“What?” you exclaimed, your voice cracking. “I can win this. I’m 20 seconds ahead!”

“Team orders,” your engineer replied. “Let Max pass.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you struggled to keep your composure. “Please, I can win this. Don’t make me do this.”

The silence on the radio was deafening. You knew you had no choice but to obey. Reluctantly, you slowed down, allowing Max to close the gap. He passed you on the final lap, taking the lead.

Crossing the finish line in second place felt like a punch to the gut, a punch saying you might as well just DNF’ed. You pulled into the pits, ripped off your helmet, and marched away, tears threatening to stream down your face. You couldn’t bear to look at Max or anyone else celebrating his win.

During the Dutch national anthem, you stood on the podium, the damn finally breaking. You tried to hold it together, but the overwhelming disappointment was too much. Max, unaware of the behind-the-scenes decisions, thought you knew about the team’s strategy and didn’t see anything wrong with what had happened.

After the podium ceremony, the team gathered for a photo to celebrate winning the Constructors’ Championship and Max’s World Drivers’ Championship title. But you were nowhere to be seen. Instead, you were in your driver’s room, sobbing uncontrollably.

The interviews followed, and Max faced a relentless reporter who pressured him into criticizing your performance.

“Do you think your teammate did a bad job today?” the reporter asked, pushing for a controversial response.

Max, already on edge, snapped. “Yes, I agree,” he said angrily. “She could have done better.” He rolled his eyes and was about to say the complete opposite.

Unbeknownst to Max, you were walking by at that very moment. His words hit you like a dagger to the heart. You turned away, tears welling up again, and headed back to your room.

By the time Max returned to the hotel, you were already gone. You had packed your things and left for home. Max felt a pang of sadness but brushed it off, thinking you had some celebrations reserved for you at home.

On the plane back to Monaco, Max replayed clips from the race on his phone. He watched the podium celebration and saw the sadness in your eyes. He heard your begging over the team radio, and the guilt hit him hard. He even saw multiple edits, including his celebrations, that now seemed incredibly boastful and selfish, compared to the breaks of your voice and your melancholy face.

When the plane landed, a celebration was planned in Monaco, but Max didn’t feel like celebrating. Instead, he headed to your apartment, hoping to talk things through.

He knocked on your door, and you answered, your eyes red and puffy from crying. “What do you want, Max?” you asked, your voice filled with bitterness.

“We need to talk,” he said softly. “I didn’t realize—”

You cut him off. “Realize what? That you won the championship because I had to let you pass? That I had to give up my dream for you?” Your voice was shaking with anger and hurt. “I want you to know i might never get that close to winning again. After today i’ll be surprised that my contact isn’t suspended.”

Max tried to respond, but you continued, “We don’t have to share a hotel room anymore. You don’t have to see me outside of work. Just leave me alone.” With that, you slammed the door in his face.

Max stood there, staring at the closed door, overwhelmed with regret. The hurt expression he had seen on your face, the bitterness in your voice, and the sharp words you had thrown at him all reignited the initial animosity he had felt towards you. Despite the camaraderie you had once shared and the mutual respect, a surge of resentment now filled him. He realized, amidst the regret, a foreign feeling rising within him. He wanted to fight against you, to wrest the championship away from you, to take the win for himself. He wanted everything to be in his favour.

Please don’t steal my work, much love ᡣ𐭩

Taglist:@luvsforme @glitterquadricorn @santiiagopopegarcia

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 eveninggstar

[eveninggstar]

teammates and tensions ⊹ ࣪ ˖

Sofa Salutary

max verstappen x redbulldriver!reader

02.07.24

୨ৎ back a page ୨ৎ back two pages ୨ৎ back three pages

୨ৎ From the age of 9, you and Max Verstappen have been locked in fierce competition on the racing track. Growing up, you intimately learned each other’s techniques, paving the way for what could have been a formidable partnership. However, despite your shared prowess, there’s one glaring issue - an unyielding disdain for each other. As you navigate the world of motorsport, your rivalry intensifies, fuelling both your desire for victory and your deep-seated animosity towards one another.

warnings in masterlist

Previous chapter Next chapter

After the Miami race and the celebrations, you return home to Monaco, hoping to escape the chaotic whirlwind of the past few days. But as you settle back into your daily routine, everything seems to remind you of Max.

On your morning walk, you spot a Bengal cat lounging in a sunlit window. It immediately brings to mind Max’s affection for his own cats, and you can almost hear his voice telling you stories about them. You shake your head, trying to dispel the thought, but it lingers, frustratingly persistent.

At the grocery store, you see a display of Dutch tulips and think of Max’s Dutch heritage. You move to a different aisle, but when you reach for a carton of milk, you recall Max teasing you about the absurd number of varieties available in Monaco compared to his home in the Netherlands and the grief he gave you for preferring oat milk to regular. Every small thing, every mundane detail of your day seems to have some connection to him.

Even at home, trying to relax with a book, you find yourself distracted. You remember the time Max recommended a novel to you, and now, every story you pick up feels inadequate compared to his suggestion. You close the book with a sigh, tossing it aside.

Why couldn’t you just forget about him? It was one night, one mistake, and now it felt like Max was haunting your every step.

The tension from Miami follows you to the next race weekend. The paddock buzzes with its usual energy, but there’s an added layer of awkwardness hanging over you and Max. You avoid eye contact, keeping conversations strictly professional and brief- not even arguing or sending death glares to the other. The team notices the strain, and it affects everyone’s morale.

During the race, the tension seeps into your performance. You miss cues from your engineer, make small mistakes on track, and your frustration builds with each passing lap. Max, usually sharp and focused, seems off his game as well. The entire weekend is a disaster, culminating in a disappointing finish for both of you.

Back at the hotel gives you a big slap in the face as you were still on the arrangement of sharing this season. You dread the thought of spending any more time in close quarters with Max, but there’s no other option.

You drop your bags in your room and head to the common area, collapsing onto the sofa. A few moments later, Max emerges from his room, looking equally drained. He sits on the opposite end of the sofa, the distance between you feeling both comforting and suffocating.

The silence stretches on, heavy and awkward, filled with the occasional sniff or cough. You glance at Max, noticing the way his fingers drum nervously on his knee. His cheeks are slightly flushed, and you catch yourself finding it cute, which only annoys you more.

“We need to talk about what happened,” Max says finally, breaking the silence.

You nod, trying to find the right words. “Yeah, we do. Miami was… unexpected.”

Max looks down, avoiding your gaze. “It was a mistake, right? We got caught up in the moment.”

“Definitely,” you agree, though part of you isn’t entirely convinced. “We need to figure out how to move past it. It’s affecting our work.”

Max nods, still not meeting your eyes. “Agreed. We can’t let this ruin our careers.”

Another silence falls, and you can feel the tension mounting again. You look at Max, his face now a deeper shade of red. It’s awkward, but there’s something almost endearing about his discomfort.

“I remember when we were kids,” you say suddenly, hoping to lighten the mood. “Racing you to wherever. Like when we had a podium together, you always beat me to it.”

Max finally looks up, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Only because you let me. You were always faster.”

You laugh, the tension easing slightly. “Maybe. But you were always more competitive.”

The conversation shifts to reminiscing about your shared childhood. The karting races, the pranks you pulled on each other, the countless hours spent at the karting track. The more you talk, the more you realize how much you’ve shared over the years.

“Remember that time you convinced me to eat that horrible candy, saying it was the best thing ever?” Max chuckles.

You grin, shaking your head. “You mean the sour ones? I thought you were going to cry!”

Max laughs, and the sound is warm and familiar. “I almost did. You were so convincing.”

As the evening wears on, you both find yourselves relaxing, the awkwardness giving way to a comfortable camaraderie. You talk about your current lives, your racing careers, and the ups and downs you’ve faced.

“We have a lot in common, you know,” Max says thoughtfully. “More than I realized.”

You nod in agreement. “Yeah, we do. And despite everything, I think we’re both pretty funny.”

Max smiles, the tension completely gone now. “We are. Maybe we should focus on that. Being friends, I mean. Supporting each other.”

“Agreed,” you say, feeling a sense of relief. “Let’s put Miami and the entire past behind us and just… be friends.”

Max extends his hand, and you shake it, sealing the agreement. The atmosphere between you feels lighter, more manageable. You spend the rest of the evening chatting and laughing, rediscovering the bond you once never wanted.

As the night draws to a close, you both head to your separate bedrooms. Before you close your door, you turn to Max.

“Thanks for tonight, Max. I think we really needed this.”

He nods, his expression sincere. “We did. Good night.”

“Good night,” you reply, feeling a sense of peace as you close the door.

Please don’t steal my work, much love ᡣ𐭩

Taglist:@luvsforme @glitterquadricorn @santiiagopopegarcia

Taglist Form

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 eveninggstar

[eveninggstar]

teammates and tensions ⊹ ࣪ ˖

Poor Position

max verstappen x RedBullDriver!reader

17.06.24

୨ৎ back a page ୨ৎ back two pages ୨ৎ back three pages

୨ৎ From the age of 9, you and Max Verstappen have been locked in fierce competition on the racing track. Growing up, you intimately learned each other’s techniques, paving the way for what could have been a formidable partnership. However, despite your shared prowess, there’s one glaring issue - an unyielding disdain for each other. As you navigate the world of motorsport, your rivalry intensifies, fuelling both your desire for victory and your deep-seated animosity towards one another.

warnings in masterlist

Previous chapter Next chapter

The latest qualifying session had been a disaster. You had struggled with car issues and finished a disappointing P8, while Max managed P5. The atmosphere in the paddock was thick with tension, and it was only a matter of time before the simmering frustration boiled over.

The day of the race started off on a tense note. You and Max were forced into the same media engagements, a cruel twist of fate that neither of you welcomed. The interviews were filled with the usual platitudes, but the underlying irritation was hard to mask.

As you headed back to the garage, you could feel the weight of the day pressing down on you. The team was doing their best to stay optimistic, but the undercurrent of disappointment was palpable.

In the garage, final preparations were underway. Mechanics buzzed around the cars, making last-minute adjustments. You suited up, trying to focus on the race ahead, but the frustration from qualifying still gnawed at you.

Max was already in his car, his jaw set in a hard line. You caught his eye for a brief moment, but neither of you said anything. The silence was louder than words, filled with unspoken accusations and mutual frustration.

The race itself was a nightmare. From the moment the lights went out, it seemed like nothing was going right. You were caught in traffic, battling for position with mid-field drivers while Max struggled to make any headway from P5. Every lap was a grueling fight, and it quickly became clear that today was not going to be a good day for either of you.

About halfway through the race, the tension reached a boiling point. You had just managed to pass Max, a maneuver that had been harder than it should have been due to a slight miscalculation on his part. As you pulled ahead, your engineer’s voice crackled in your ear.

“Good job, keep pushing.”

You barely had time to register the message before Max retaliated, aggressively cutting into your line at the next corner. You had to slam on the brakes to avoid a collision, and the car behind you took advantage, slipping past both of you.

“Damn it, Max!” you shouted even though he wouldn't hear you, but it was too late. The damage was done. You lost another position, and Max wasn’t faring much better. The team’s strategy was unravelling before your eyes.

Back in the garage, the mood was somber. The race had ended in a double points finish, but it felt hollow. You and Max had both finished outside the top five, a far cry from the podium finishes the team had hoped for.

As soon as you climbed out of the car, you ripped off your helmet, frustration boiling over. Max was already there, his own helmet under his arm, looking equally furious.

“What the hell was that?” you demanded, marching over to him. Then shoving your helmet towards his direction in an attempt to wind him.

“What are you talking about?” Max shot back, brows furrowed as he took a step back. “You cut me off!”

“You nearly crashed into me! We’re supposed to be teammates, remember?”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Max sneered. “If you were driving any better, we wouldn’t have been in that position to begin with.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but Christian appeared, stepping between you two. “Enough,” he said sharply. “Both of you, to the debriefing room. Now.” You and Max gave each other a death stare as you walked towards the debrief room.

The debrief was a tense affair. The engineers went over the race data, pointing out the mistakes and missed opportunities. You sat there, arms crossed, glaring at the screen. Max was on the other side of the room, equally sullen.

“Max, your aggression cost us today,” one of the engineers pointed out.

“And you,” he turned to you, “need to be more decisive. That hesitation at Turn 12...”

You clenched your jaw, barely listening. The anger and frustration from the race were still fresh, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all going to come to a head soon.

After the debrief, you found yourself back in the garage, staring at your car. The day had been a disaster, and you were exhausted, both physically and mentally. Max was nearby, talking quietly with his race engineer, constantly looking at you then back to the engineer. You heard your name a few times from the Dutchman, causing the irritation to bubble up again.

“Oi,” you said, approaching him. “If you have something to say about me, say it to my face, yeah?” You crossed your arms and put the majority of your weight on one leg.

Max looked at you, his expression unreadable. “Maybe if you weren’t so slow, I wouldn’t have to.”

The comment stung, but you refused to let it show. “Watch yourself.” You pushed all of your weight into him as you walked off, hopefully knocking his balance.

After regaining his footing, he looked at your retreating figure. HIs chest filled with the familiar burn he often had when it came to you.

The drive back home was equally tense. The undercurrent of frustration was impossible to ignore. You and Max sat in silence, the words from earlier still hanging in the air. Miraculously, he had caught up to you before you could drive off.

The argument with Max played on a loop in your head, the anger simmering just below the surface. At every thought of something to say, you instead bit your tongue with being too tired for another argument.

The next few races were a blur of similar frustrations. Qualifying sessions marred by mistakes, races where you and Max seemed to be tripping over each other at every turn. The team was starting to feel the strain, the once-harmonious atmosphere now thick with tension.

You and Max barely spoke outside of the necessary interactions. When you did, it was curt and to the point, the underlying hostility clear. The media had picked up on it too, the stories of a brewing rivalry within the team making headlines.

One particularly bad race day ended with you and Max finishing outside the points. The garage was silent as the team tried to process what had happened. You could feel the frustration building, the anger threatening to spill over.

As you walked past Max’s car, you couldn’t resist a parting shot. “Nice driving, Verstappen. Maybe next time, try not to crash into everyone.”

He looked up, eyes blazing. “At least I’m not the one holding everyone up.”

Before you could retort, Christian appeared again, his expression thunderous. “Enough! Both of you, to my office. Now.”

The meeting was brutal. Christian laid into both of you, his anger palpable. He didn’t mince words, making it clear that this behavior was unacceptable and that it was costing the team dearly.

“You two need to get your act together,” he finished, his voice low and dangerous. “I don’t care how you do it, but this stops now. Understand?” He looked at the pair of you, both having a slightly guilty look on your faces. "You two are incredibly skilled drivers." He sighed, rubbing his eyes. "But I have other drivers who wouldn't mind taking your places. Last warning."

You and Max nodded, both of you too exhausted to argue. The drive back to the hotel was silent, the weight of Christian’s words hanging over you.

That night, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The events of the past few races played on a loop in your head, the frustration and anger building with each replay. You knew things couldn’t go on like this, but you had no idea how to fix it. Max just constantly knew ways to get on your nerves. Even thinking of him caused your irritation to brew up, even when he was in his own bed - most likely sleeping on the opposite side of the wall.

Please don’t steal my work, much love ᡣ𐭩

Taglist:@luvsforme @glitterquadricorn @santiiagopopegarcia

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 eveninggstar

[eveninggstar]

teammates and tensions ⊹ ࣪ ˖

Pitlane Pique-rewrite

max verstappen x RedBullDriver!reader

23.05.24-(rewrite 17.07.24)

୨ৎ back a page ୨ৎ back two pages ୨ৎ back three pages

୨ৎ From the age of 9, you and Max Verstappen have been locked in fierce competition on the racing track. Growing up, you intimately learned each other’s techniques, paving the way for what could have been a formidable partnership. However, despite your shared prowess, there’s one glaring issue - an unyielding disdain for each other. As you navigate the world of motorsport, your rivalry intensifies, fuelling both your desire for victory and your deep-seated animosity towards one another.

warnings in masterlist

Previous chapter Next chapter

The sun is setting over Jeddah, casting a warm glow over the city as you step off the plane, already buzzing with anticipation for the next race. The incident in Bahrain still lingers in your mind, a mixture of frustration and determination fueling your thoughts. You push it aside as you make your way to the hotel, eager to unwind after the long flight.

After checking in, you head to your room, your luggage feeling heavier with each step. You swipe the key card and push the door open, sighing in relief as the cool air from the air conditioning hits you. Without a second thought, you drop your bags and head straight for the bathroom, craving a hot shower to wash away the travel fatigue.

You strip down and step into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over your body, relaxing your muscles and clearing your mind. For a few blissful moments, you forget about everything – the rivalry, the pressure, the constant scrutiny.

Wrapping yourself in a towel, you step out of the bathroom, feeling refreshed and ready to relax. But as you walk into the main room, you freeze. Max Verstappen is there, shirtless and wearing old basketball shorts, casually scrolling through his phone on the other bed. He looks up, equally surprised to see you.

For a moment, you just stare at each other, the awkwardness and surprise rendering you both speechless. Your eyes travel over his toned torso, the familiarity of his presence stirring a confusing mix of emotions. You catch him doing the same, his gaze lingering on you a bit longer than necessary.

“What are you doing here?” you finally snap, clutching your towel tighter around you.

Max raises an eyebrow, his own annoyance evident despite the lingering heat in his gaze. “I could ask you the same thing. This is my room too, remember?”

You blink, the realization hitting you hard. You had completely forgotten that the team had booked you to share a room to foster team spirit or some other nonsense.

“Great,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “Just what I needed.”

Max stands up, crossing his arms over his chest, the muscles in his shoulders flexing slightly. “Look, I don’t like this any more than you do, but we’re stuck with it. Just stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours.”

You narrow your eyes at him, the anger from Bahrain bubbling back to the surface. “Stay out of your way? You’re the one who crashed into me last race!”

Max’s eyes flash with irritation. “I told you, you closed the door on me. If you had given me more space, we wouldn’t have crashed.”

“You were too aggressive! That was a stupid move, and you know it,” you retort, stepping closer to him without realizing it.

Max steps forward as well, closing the distance between you, his eyes locked on yours. “I was going for the win. Something you clearly don’t understand.”

Your breath catches, both from the anger and the sudden proximity. “I understand perfectly. You’re just too arrogant to admit you were wrong.”

His gaze drops to your lips for a split second before meeting your eyes again. “Arrogant? Look who's talking.”

The tension between you is palpable, a mixture of anger and something else you don’t want to acknowledge. You take a step back, breaking the heated stare.

“This isn’t over, Max,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “On the track, or here.”

Max watches you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “No, it isn’t.”

With that, you turn and head back to the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. Your heart is pounding, a mixture of frustration and something more complicated swirling in your chest.

The cool air from the air conditioning in the hotel room provided a welcome relief from the day's heat in Bahrain. Max and you sat on opposite ends of the room, each lounging on your respective beds. The TV was tuned to a documentary about racing, a choice Max had made without consulting you.

You shifted on the bed, glancing over at Max who seemed entirely engrossed in the documentary. The film explored various aspects of racing techniques, historical moments, and interviews with legendary drivers.

Halfway through, you couldn't help but interject during a segment about driving tactics. "You know, there's a whole section on not driving like a total idiot," you remarked, teasingly nudging Max's competitive streak.

Max smirked, his eyes not leaving the screen to meet yours. "And there's another section on how to win," he shot back, not missing a beat.

You chuckled, knowing full well the documentary was highlighting the very elements both of you were known for - his aggressive driving style and your strategic finesse.

As the documentary continued, you found yourself occasionally making snarky comments about the drivers featured or the historical races showcased. Max would respond with an eye roll or a scoff, but the atmosphere remained light-hearted, a temporary truce in your ongoing competitive relationship.

After a particularly intense segment about a legendary overtaking maneuver, Max leaned back on his bed, arms folded behind his head. "You could learn a thing or two from that move," he teased, smirking.

You rolled your eyes, playfully throwing a pillow in his direction. "Oh please, Max. You make it sound like I'm not holding my own out there."

He shrugged, his smirk widening. "Just saying, it wouldn't hurt to take some notes."

Please don’t steal my work, much love ᡣ𐭩

Taglist:@luvsforme @glitterquadricorn @santiiagopopegarcia

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 eveninggstar

[eveninggstar]

teammates and tensions ⊹ ࣪ ˖

max verstappen x RedBullDriver!reader

06.05.24

୨ৎ back two pages ୨ৎ back a page

‘Imagine me, imagine me now’

From the age of 9, you and Max Verstappen have been locked in fierce competition on the racing track. Growing up, you intimately learned each other’s techniques, paving the way for what could have been a formidable partnership. However, despite your shared prowess, there’s one glaring issue - an unyielding disdain for each other. As you navigate the world of motorsport, your rivalry intensifies, fueling both your desire for victory and your deep-seated animosity towards one another.

Warnings: Language, eventual smut, depiction of competitive sports (and some incorrect terminology), emotional conflict

-slow updates

act i

Rekindled Rivalry. 06.05.24 - (rewrite 17.07.24)

Pitlane Pique. 23.05.24 - (rewrite 17.07.24)

Poor Position 17.06.24

Miami Magic 21.06.24

Sofa Salutary 02.07.24

Bittersweet Betrayal. 08.07.24

act ii

chapter ?

Please don’t steal my work, much love ᡣ𐭩

Taglist:@luvsforme @glitterquadricorn @santiiagopopegarcia

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 eveninggstar