And they lived happily ever after
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@interviewswithroma
And they lived happily ever after
bro there’s literally a couch right there
My favorite headcanon is that Alain Prost is like Villeroni's illegitimate son. Like, have you seen how many photos there were of the three of them during that time? And then in 1982, the divorce happens.
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version one:
font used: rubik vinyl (on canva)
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version two:
font used: architype stedelijk (on canva)
blank version:
please like and credit if you use, reblogs are appreciated! thank you! 💕
"Did you just smell me?"
"Difficult to avoid."
The calm family dawn
Rosberg family x OlderDaughter!Reader.
Genre: comfort, fluff.
A/N: It's raining here so I'm writing this literally shaking. This is my favourite distraction at the moment. Enjoy it.
Warnings: strong storm? Nothing but love for everyone.
Request? No.
English's not my first languaje. Be patient to me and please correct me if I have mistakes!
Masterlist
──★ ˙🎤 ̟ !!
The thunder crashed down with an oppressive, suffocating roar. It wasn’t a storm like any other—winds as strong as a tornado and raindrops so heavy they could easily turn into buckets of ice, destroying everything in their path through the streets. Even less so in a city with such gentle, calm weather as Monaco.
From the window of your bedroom, every catastrophic sound outside could be heard too clearly. And every new lightning strike, every moment the sky lit up in a different way—as if it were opening to let strange creatures pass—had you trembling in your bed, covered only by a pink sheet because it was summer and still hot. Even so, you were shaking. Loud noises, so close and so terrifying, always shattered your peace and frightened every bone in your body.
The worst came with that one bolt of lightning—a flash of light followed by the most horrendous sound you had ever witnessed in your life, one that felt endless, when it struck right in front of your house, on the neighbor’s lightning rod. The entire house shook. And with it, you almost fainted.
You didn’t take your eyes off that cursed lightning rod until your door opened. Your little sister, Alaïa, appeared holding her pillow, her stuffed toy, and her blanket, walking quickly toward you. Behind her, the older of the two younger ones, Naïla, also carried a pillow and a slightly bigger teddy bear—the one the three of you usually leaned on when you were scared or sad.
You didn’t even ask. Together, you placed the bear on the bed, and the three of you lay on top of it, hugging each other while sharing the same fear: the fierce summer storms.
The youngest managed to fall asleep, while Naïla and you whispered to each other, carefully trying to ignore the lightning and the noises outside.
In a moment, your parents appeared in the same way your sisters had—some pillows and a lot of love for the three of you. You thanked the heavens for the privilege of having a big queen-sized bed. All five of you fit in without trouble: your mother on the side of the youngest, making sure she could sleep without nightmares or greater fears; and your father on the other side, next to you—the oldest—and the middle one, telling you once again his countless stories from his youth, from when you came into his life, in the middle of the 2009 season. That, along with the warmth of the moment and the love of the entire Rosberg family, was enough to lull you back to sleep.
-
To be added to my sponsorship (taglist), just comment! Much love for u.
A really happy valentine's day
Ayrton Senna x Wife!Reader
Genre: Nostalgic, fluff.
A/N: Really hope you like it. Happy Valentine's Day to everyone!
Warnings: Just an older man loving his pretty wife. AU when Beco survive 'cause I can't live without him.
Request? No.
English's not my first languaje. Be patient to me and please correct me if I have mistakes!
Masterlist.
──★ ˙🎤 ̟ !!
The soft breeze brushed wildly against your face, tossing your hair around—the hair you had spent so much time and care fixing for this special day. That earned a small pout from you, which made Ayrton smile as he sat in the driver’s seat, steering the car toward a destination that, for you, was still unknown.
“We’re too old for these things now,” you said slowly after feeling his heavy hand rest on your thigh. “Old, wrinkled, and grumpy… in your case.”
Ayrton glanced at you with mock annoyance before squeezing the skin of your leg.
“Over thirty years putting up with each other—blessed be the patience God gave me,” he replied, just to keep that beautiful habit of teasing you alive. “It’s a special day, darling. Let me spoil you. Last year we couldn’t have time just for you and me because of the baby.”
Oh, how could you forget? Priscila, his precious first granddaughter, had been born on February 14th the year before, bringing even more family love and shared joy into your lives.
But this year, your wonderful husband decided that the morning would be just for the two of you—a romantic outing before celebrating the baby’s first birthday.
“That girl has your cheeks,” you murmured with a smile.
“I need my beautiful wife to focus on me on Valentine’s Day,” he joked with fake jealousy, parking the car in front of a lovely, popular pastry shop. He stepped out with his still-long legs and, like a true gentleman, opened your door and offered his hand intertwined with yours to help you out. “Careful with your back, don’t go breaking something, old lady.”
You gave his thick curls a light tap because of his terrible joke as you both walked inside.
“I paid all the staff so they wouldn’t ask us for photos or autographs, darling. I didn’t want it to be lonely, but we needed peace,” he said casually when you noticed the detail: no one really turned to look at him when you entered.
Being a former renowned actress and him a living legend of motorsport, it was genuinely strange—but peaceful and relieving—not to have crowds all over you.
You settled at a table decorated in baby pink and pastel purple tones. Right away, a waitress with a sweet smile took your usual order. Ayrton ordered for both of you. A sweet coffee, with only a quarter cup of milk, two tablespoons of sugar mixed with caramel syrup to enhance the flavors, along with a slice of red velvet to share. He only wanted a simple coffee.
The atmosphere was perfect; a soft aroma filled the space. A mix of lavender and warm jasmine created a mild, pleasant climate for everyone in the café. As for the music from the speakers, a gentle instrumental melody played. What sweetened your ears was the simplicity of a violin combined with a piano. At times, a bandoneon joined in like a chorus and orchestra.
Your husband suddenly cleared his throat to get your attention and caressed your hand in rhythm with the music.
“Darling, I want to…” he coughed softly before continuing. “I want to take this moment to thank you. I need to be honest with you, just as I have been for exactly 32 years. I need you to know how grateful I am to have a woman as brave, beautiful, patient, and talented as you in my life. Without you, I don’t know what would have become of me. I would probably be lost—or worse, I might not even be sitting here today. Since the first day I saw you, there hasn’t been a single day I haven’t thought of you, a day I haven’t loved you. I have three happiest days in my life. The first was when you finally accepted a date with me. The second, when I saw you in the hospital in San Marino, by my side, helping me fight death. The third… when you told me you were pregnant, that we were going to be parents… and the fourth, when we got married, my love. When before God I affirmed my love for you at that altar, in front of our families, our children.”
Tears were already threatening to fall from your beautiful, aged eyes. You wouldn’t have been able to hold them back as long as the passion in his gaze didn’t stop locking onto yours. He had always had that power over you. His passion, his beauty, his words. Everything about him was your downfall, your weakest point. The only thing, besides your daughter, that could make you commit irrational madness was him—entirely.
“But today, darling, I want to add a fifth date,” he said, continuing with a sigh as he gathered his courage. “My dear wife, would you like to renew your vows with this old grump after thirty-two years of happiness?”
From his pocket didn’t come out a common million-dollar ring. No. Ayrton went further than that. He had searched for the lost ring of your parents—the one that had been stolen and lost years after their deaths. Ayrton Senna, your husband, found your greatest childhood dream. And he placed it in your hands along with the request to renew your vows.
“Oh, holy God, Beco,” you said through inevitable tears at this point. Your small, wrinkled hands trembled all the way to his, holding them together with the gold and diamond ring. “You’re an angel… my angel. Of course I’ll renew my vows with you. One thousand times I would. For all eternity.”
He smiled in relief, removing for just a moment the wedding band engraved with his name and placing your parents’ ring on your finger, then putting the wedding ring back in its place.
“I moved heaven and earth, searched for contacts, even traveled to your parents’ old house, and checked every corner of that damn mansion,” he explained between sighs, remembering the effort that had been so worth it. “Just to ask you this and see you happier. I’ve been planning the vow renewal for two years. Unfortunately, that meant I had to find that ring.”
You both laughed, and the waitress, bringing your orders and an extra napkin for your tears, placed everything on the table along with a note—also, of course, courtesy of the best husband in the world.
“Was this really necessary?” you asked, showing him the note as he burst into laughter.
To the sexiest woman in the world, my wife. If you reject my vow renewal, I will not be the one sleeping on the couch for the first time in 32 years. You’ve been warned.
“You had to ruin the moment like that,” you complained, pretending to be offended. Ayrton couldn’t stop laughing.
“One day it’ll happen!” he exclaimed, laughing even harder. “I knew you wouldn’t reject me. Please, have you seen me, beautiful? I’m your great husband, world champion, I survived blows that could’ve taken me away from you just to see your beautiful face again so many times. Incredible man who gave you twins in a single night. How could you reject a catch like this?”
You shook your head, knowing that everything he said—and everything he left out of that joking answer—was completely true. Your wonderful husband spent two years searching for your most desired treasure just to ask you to stay with him and renew your love before God and the law.
The date ended with both of you paying and heading to the car, which was now a fully customized McLaren Senna to your taste, with pink details and lots of red sparkles. Elegant and powerful. Hand in hand, Ayrton drove through the streets of São Paulo with the biggest smile of his life—because everything he had ever longed for was sitting right beside him.
-
To be added to my sponsorship (taglist), just comment! Much love for u.
Interviews Masterlist
Welcome to my masterlist! I don't have much to say, so keep reading.
And tap here for my rules to request!
Current Drivers I write for:
Lewis Hamilton
Zero interviews yet.
Charles Leclerc
Zero interviews yet.
Fernando Alonso
Zero interviews yet.
Lance Stroll
Zero interviews yet.
Nico Hulkenberg
Zero interviews yet.
Gabriel Bortoleto
Zero interviews yet.
Franco Colapinto
Zero interviews yet.
Carlos Sainz
Zero interviews yet.
Alex Albon (just platonic)
Zero interviews yet.
Oscar Piastri
Zero interviews yet.
Arvid Lindblad
Zero interviews yet.
Liam Lawson (just platonic)
Zero interviews yet.
Isack Hadjar
Zero interviews yet.
Max Verstappen
Zero interviews yet.
Oliver Bearman
Zero interviews yet.
Esteban Ocon
Zero interviews yet
Kimi Antonelli
Zero interviews yet.
George Russel (just platonic)
Zero interviews yet.
———
Retired drivers/reserve drivers I write for:
Giancarlo Fisichella
The Warmth of the Room
Jenson Button
No interviews yet.
Mark Webber
No interviews yet.
Sebastian Vettel
No interviews yet.
Nico Rosberg
The calm family dawn
Mika Hakkinen
No interviews yet.
Daniel Ricciardo
No interviews yet.
Ayrton Senna
A really happy Valentine's Day
Alain Prost
No interviews yet.
Niki Lauda
No interviews yet.
James Hunt
No interviews yet.
Platonic Gilles Villeneuve and Didier Pironi (my heart hurts).
Indy Car and Formula 2:
Pepe Martí
No interviews yet.
Pato O'Ward
No interviews yet.
Nolan Siegel
No interviews yet.
Request rules! And about me!
First of all I want to introduce myself. Hello, my name is Roma. I'm a 19 y/o girl who currently has too many free time and thought it would be funny to start here.
I really like to reading and writing! It's my favourite hobby, and I dream of becoming professional writer someday.
I'm argentine! My first languaje is spanish, and I learn more about English every day. So I just ask for your patience if I made any mistake. I'm trying my best.
Now, with everything clear, let's start.
I you want to make a request, please follow these rules:
I only write for the drivers present in the masterlist (link here). Who's not there, then I'm not even mencion them.
I can write for male!Reader or GN!Reader. But if you don’t ask for it, I’ll default to fem!Reader.
I can write normal smut.
Nothing involving child readers, no smut with minor readers or drivers, no disgusting philias or kinks. Just no.
I really like AUs, so I have no problem with that.
I think that's all! Fell free to ask 🦉
The Warmth of the Room
Giancarlo Fisichella x fem!Reader
Genre: fluff, angst.
A/N: enjoy my first interview for you all <3. Love Fisico and here's nothing written for him so here I am. Hope you like it.
Warnings: none.
Requested? No.
English's not my first languaje. Be patient to me and please correct me if I have mistakes!
──★ ˙🎤 ̟ !!
The warmth of the room embraced you tenderly, shielding you for long minutes from the lacerating whispers that stubbornly tormented your mind. For a moment, all was peace, all was calm; from the pure current of air drifting in from the Italian countryside to the lull of the roses blooming in the garden behind you.
The interruption of that serenity arrived with him, your safe place. Giancarlo descended the stairs without a shirt, yawning from his recent awakening. He saw you, with those beautiful swollen eyes, and smiled with the ease of one who held all he needed for happiness within reach. Without a word, he sat beside you, enveloping you—like the entire atmosphere itself—in nothing but sweetness and love. His mere presence, though tumultuous at first, once again meant harmonious repose.
“Buongiorno, amore mio,” he murmured, his voice hoarse yet tender. “What is that precious little head of yours thinking?”
You let out a soft, affectionate laugh before meeting his gaze and replying. “Just thinking about work, you know. Tomorrow we return to routine.”
He groaned in dismay at the reminder; that month free of duties and responsibilities was soon to end. Then, a thought lit up his mind.
“Perhaps you should extend your vacation… and come with me to the next race, eh?,” he murmured, now slicing through the calm with a tacit action.
Your body tensed. You sighed, your mind nearly collapsing under the pressure.
“I can’t, darling,” you answered, trembling as you searched for a believable excuse. “I’d rather save my vacation days for our wedding.”
But Fisico was not known for giving up easily. He pouted and pressed on.
“But my love, it’s only one or two more days,” he pleaded, his eyes tender and imploring.
With his insistence, the rigidity of your being slowly returned. Those terrifying, hostile voices grew louder with each passing second, striking against the invisible barrier the room’s calm had built around you. The warmth of his arms and the tenderness of his gaze were not enough to erase the painful scars left by the insults and piercing looks of those who adored your future husband, wounds driven vehemently into your heart.
Giancarlo remained there, still speaking words you heard but did not truly listen to; unaware, with the innocence of one who believes love alone is enough to shield himself.
“Amore mio, what’s wrong? Is there something you’re not telling me?” he whispered, noticing your sudden silence. For an instant, the roses in the garden turned to shadows, and the pure countryside air grew suffocating.
“You don’t know what you’re asking of me,” you murmured, broken by the fragile line that tethered your mind to sanity. “You don’t know… how they treat me there.”
The silence that followed was an abyss. Giancarlo looked at you, bewildered by his ignorance of the hidden wound. But then, as if clarity reached him, his eyes softened. He held you tightly once more, and in his hoarse voice returned the sweetness: “Tell me everything, cara mia. And I will mend it.”
With lingering reluctance, you began to speak. You recited insults, mimicked glances, and replayed gestures that, race after race, you had kept to yourself, locked within your own inner torment. Little by little, the tension dissolved, your burden lightened, the pure air regained its peace, and the roses returned to being as beautiful as they had been at the start.
And so, the tension melted away like crystal beneath the sun. The room recovered its warmth, the roses leaned once more toward you, and the entire world was reduced to that embrace which, at last, meant harmony.
──★ ˙🎤 ̟ !!
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