#f1 x reader fluff

[f1hazexoxo]

the distance between us - LN1

when your relationship gets distant, Lando doesn't think you'd be the one to "leave" from it. ─────────────────── pairing: boyfriend!lando x fem!reader contains: swearing, angst, happy ending tho word count: 2.1k authors note: hii im back once again :) i decided to make my own headers from now on, not sure how i feel about it but lmk if you like it!! im gonna be back tomorrow with a request, enjoy reading x ─────────────────── The house you shared with Lando was quiet with only the faint sound of the TV playing, and to be honest you got used to it. Every day was the same: wake up, simulator, training, go to sleep, repeat. You didn't blame him, really, it was his job afterall right? But where do you fit in this routine?

Your relationship with Lando seemed too perfect at first. You supported him whenever you could, constantly going to his races and spending most of your weekends with him or his family. He always surprised you with dates, little gifts, or trips for the two of you to get away from all the chaos surrounding you.

You yourself don't even know where it went wrong. All of those little surprises? Gone. All of your little cute plans together? Also gone. At first you shrugged it off, of course he's a world champion, of course he has to train more and focus on his work, but aren't you atleast a little priority aswell?

As you got more and more lost in your thoughts, the front door opened, revealing an exhausted Lando. He dropped all of his stuff on the floor as he let out a big sigh, taking his shoes off. After a few minutes that felt like forever he finally looked at you, furrowing his eyebrows. You were all dressed up, your heels tossed on the floor, and all of your favorite jewelries shining on your skin, which meant one thing: You were going on a date. Atleast you were supposed to.

"Well hello" you finally spoke, breaking the silence. You watched as the realization slowly hit his eyes, his expression changing for a second then going back to neutral.

"Fuck, I'm sorry, I lost track of time-"

"And you didn't check your phone?" you interrupted him, your voice changing from neutral to annoyed.

You watched as he took his phone out and turned it on, the loud message notifications appearing repeatedly on his screen. You sent him a bunch of messages hours before, asking him where he was, and finally if he atleast cancelled the table he booked.

"You know what, nevermind" you said as you stood up, going into your shared bedroom. He was standing there confused, and you expected him to go after you, to apologize, but he didn't. He continued his night routine as usual, not even acknowledging the fact that he completely stood you up. You quickly washed your makeup off and did your skincare, getting into bed before him and turning to the side. At this point you still had a tiny bit of hope that he will apologize, he will tell you that he's sorry, but as he got into bed he just turned into the other side, quickly falling asleep from the tiring day he had. And that's when you realized that this isn't what you want.

This wasn't the first time that he forgot about a date, or you in general. All those times he insisted you to go to the paddock just for him to be gone for the whole day, all those times he promised he will take you out somewhere just to say that he is tired, even going as far as to cancel a trip with your family just to go out with his friends instead cause he "didn't see them in a while", leaving you to go alone. You were never mad when he went out with his friends, it was the opposite actually, but when you hadn't spent quality time in months you expected him to prioritize you and go with you instead.

As you heard his quiet breathing behind you, you couldn't help but let out a faint sob. This didn't feel like a relationship anymore, it basically felt like you two were just roommates. He got comfortable in the relationship and knew that you wouldn't leave him, atleast that's what he thought, but you were going to prove him wrong. You closed your eyes but you couldn't sleep, your thoughts running constantly, not knowing what to do next.

-

The morning sun shined through the curtains, lighting up the dark room and waking you up. You expected to feel an empty bed behind you but to your surprise Lando was still behind you, sleeping peacefully. And maybe it wasn't the right thing to do, but you felt like he needed a wake up call. You quietly got ready, packed some of your stuff and quickly grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, writing a note and leaving it on the counter.

Lando woke up to the thud of the front door, frowning at the bright light coming from the window. As he looked over he was even more confused about seeing your side of the bed empty, quickly getting up.

"Babe?" he called, but it was dead silent. There wasn't a sing of you anywhere, no matter how much he paced around the cold apartment. As he arrived in the kitchen he saw a small piece of paper on the counter, walking towards it and picking it up.

"Lando, I'm tired of feeling like a burden, and let's be honest, that's what I am to you now. This is not just about yesterday's date, it's about the fact that you haven't acknowledged my presence at all in the past few days and we hadn't spent quality time in months. This doesn't feel like a relationship to me, and this is certainly not what you want right now, so I'm going back to my parents house. I need some time away to think about things, please don't contact me until then, I'll be back when I'm ready to talk. Be safe"

"What the fuck" was the first thing that left his lips as he read the note. The first thing he did was pull out his phone to call you, how did you even expect him to not contact you in a situation like this? As he tapped your number on the screen it went straight to voicemail, same with the numerous texts he sent that never ended up being delivered. He ran a shaky hand through his hair and thought about picking up his car keys and just going after you, but he knew if he did that you would probably end things right there, and he didn't want that. So, he waited.

-

Two weeks passed by, and to you, it was quite comforting. You finally weren't left alone in an apartment for most of the day, and you could properly focus on your work without your thoughts wandering off somewhere else.

To Lando, it was hell. There wasn't a day he didn't think about you, and these two weeks were exactly what he needed to realize just how much you actually meant to him. All those nights he went back to the apartment, just to lay in the bed alone and think about all those times he left you disappointed. You were right, he did get comfortable. He was used to going back home to you no matter how many useless excuses he made, the cold hard truth finally slapping his face. It was race week in a few days, he couldn't get distracted. But he also couldn't bear the thought of you not being there. Even if he didn't pay much attention to you sometimes, the fact that you were there comforted him. But what's going to happen now?

You already had the tickets and passes to Hungary, and you thought of giving them to someone else, but you felt like you were ready to finally see him now, so you ended up going there afterall. You didn't want to distract him, but at the same time you still wanted to be there for him. So, you got ready, packed your suitcase and booked a room for a seperate hotel, going over all the possibilities of how to go there without you being noticed by anyone.

The most logical solution was only going for the race day, so although you arrived in Budapest on friday, you stayed in your hotel and watched the race from the TV. Surprisingly Lando got pole, but you didn't know that you were more happy about it than he was. Although he was supposed to celebrate, he couldn't help but scan his eyes around the paddock, looking for any sign of you being there. He even approached a random girl that looked like you from behind, just to end up apologizing when realizing it was someone else.

The race day arrived, the sun lighting up the racetrack across Budapest with Lando's car already positioned up from the front of the grid. You arrived in the paddock an hour before the race started, when you knew there are already preparations so you won't see him. You sat in the McLaren hospitality, with the engineers and team members greeting you, asking where you were yesterday. You made up a quick excuse, something about busy days, and quickly went upstairs to sit in the room to watch from the big screen.

As the race intensified it didn't shake Lando up at all, and he ended up winning the grand prix. You were really proud of him, and although you wanted to stay lowkey, some team members went up to you and encouraged you to watch the ceremony from the stands. You went downstairs, but what you didn't expect was the fact that all of them pushed you forward, so you were standing in the front row for the whole ceremony.

As Lando received the trophy and held it in the air, he looked down at his team members, then his heart skipped the beat. There were a bunch of engineers and team staff around, but he could notice you anywhere, no matter how big the crowd was. You smiled at him and clapped, not hiding the fact that you were extremely proud of him. His expression softened, and he stood still, not taking his eyes off you, the sweet moment interrupted by the loads of champagne poured down his face and neck.

As the celebrations and media duties went down he rushed across the paddock, looking for you. He ran to the garage, asking everyone where you were, afraid like he won't see you again. You were on your phone back in the hospitality scrolling on social media, when you heard the door open.

Lando stood there completely frozen, not knowing what to do. Should he hug you? Kiss you? Do you want to break up with him right now?

You were just staring at each other for a bit until he finally slowly approached you, pulling you in a tight hug, like you were going to disappear infront of him anytime soon. You hugged him back, not caring about the fact that he was still sticky from the champagne.

"I'm so fucking sorry Y/N" was the first sentence that left his lips, still not breaking free from the hug.

"I'm so so sorry. I took your love for granted and I'll never forgive myself for that" he continued, the words taking him way too much effort considering that he just ran across the entire paddock. "I love you more than anything else and these past few weeks were hell, I never want to lose you again, I'll do anything to make us work again"

As he said those words you pulled away from the hug, cupping his face between your cheeks, wiping down a single tear that fell from his eyes.

"Lando-"

"I promise I'll make up all those dates, and it will never happen again, I really want to make you happy. I always wanted to make you happy, I really hope you never doubted that, I just got way too carried away knowing you always forgave me for all the times I messed up. I know I don't deserve it but-"

"I forgive you Lando" you cut him off. Seeing him so worried, you couldn't help but feel bad for him, and you felt the sincerity in his words. "But if this happens again-"

"It won't" he didn't let you finish. "It really won't Y/N. I was so fucking scared you never want to see me again, I never want to feel like that ever again"

"You promise?"

"I promise."

And after three whole weeks, you finally kissed him. Winning a race didn't even come close to the feeling of your lips finally touching his, as he completely melted under your touch. You both knew he still had a lot of things to prove, but in this moment, this is all that mattered. ───────────────────

[lomlando]

doppelganger || op81

summary: You SWEAR you have met the cute boy in the cafe before, but he swears you have NOT

content/warnings: MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT! 18+ THEMES!! not necessarily smut, but sex is a major plot point! mild language, very small mention of alcohol,

word count: 1.5 k

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

a/n: this is barely proofread 😁 i miss watching these silly boys go around in circles can the break be over

You aimlessly take another sip out of your coffee, proofreading the email in front of you for the fourth time before willing to hit send. This is how a lot of your morning looked now, and you loved it. 

Your job had offered to move you into a fully remote position, which you gladly took. It was your dream to see the world, and now you could, all while still having a steady stream of income to support it. You had been living out of a suitcase for around 6 months now. You were just flying by the seam of your pants, willing the wind to take you where it pleased. 

You arrived in Australia 2 weeks ago, your 15th country. Your mornings so far had been spent in random coffee shops, bumming their free wifi that was infinitely stronger than the hotel’s you were staying at. Your afternoons had been spent at the beach or sightseeing. And your nights, well, they had been spent at, probably, one too many clubs. 

You hover your mouse over the paper airplane button and hit it, promptly closing your laptop after checking that it did, in fact, actually send. You let out a brief sigh of relief, letting your posture finally fall into a more natural position as you close your eyes for just a second. Opening them, they fall on the two other long, empty coffee cups sitting on the table, collecting condensation from the cold air conditioning. 

Your eyes dart over to your phone lying on the table. You reach out your hand and grab it for the first time since you set it down earlier in the morning. You scrolled through the few notifications that had accrued throughout the day before finally looking at the time. You were expecting to see 12 or 1-aka the time you wanted to stop working, instead you found a giant 3:00 staring back at you. You slightly groaned, another week of totaling over 40 hours of work. 

You set the phone back down where it had been and grabbed the three cups you had acquired. You made your way over to the trash cans that were on the other side of the cafe. You had been too engulfed in your work to realize that the once-empty cafe now had quite a few patrons. Your eyes scanned the place, just for a moment to take in the day for the first time. That’s when your eyes caught someone. You did a double-take, practically not believing them yourself. 

The same swoopy hair, the same downward turned eyes and smile. 

It was him. 

You hadn’t stopped thinking about him since last Tuesday. The man who had given you the best sex of your life. 

He was quiet in the club, barely moving his head to the sound of the bass. He was sitting with a friend at the bar when you walked up and sat beside him. You weren’t looking for anything but a good vodka cranberry at that moment, but when he turned and smiled at you and said Hey in that Aussie accent, the drink left your brain, and all that was left was him. 

You hadn’t planned to go home with anyone that night, but when he asked, well, how could you have said no? 

You were expecting him to be very vanilla, very calm, based on how he was at the club. 

Boy! Were you wrong!

He was rough, but gentle in all of the best ways. He listened to you, begged you to tell him what you wanted. And you know how people tell you it’s not about how big it is, but how well it is used? Luckily for you, this man had both down pat. 

Your breath just hitched thinking about it again. You could still see him hovering over you with that damn shoulder tattoo you kept staring at the whole night. 

You regretted not getting his number the next day. You had planned on asking him when he woke up, but a work emergency had come up, and so you had to rush back to your hotel. You tried all afternoon to find your way back to his apartment, but you could never seem to. You didn’t necessarily think it was a good idea to show back up at a random man’s apartment, but you had to at least try; he needed to be praised for his work at the very least, you thought.  

You had finally come to terms with the fact that you were never going to see him again. That you were going to spend your whole life trying to chase the high of that night. 

But here he was. In a random cafe. Sipping his coffee and scrolling on his phone. 

You walked back over to your table and grabbed your laptop and phone, gripping both firmly in your hands as you walked over to his table. You were not letting this chance go untaken this time. You were not leaving this cafe without this boy’s phone number. 

You set your stuff down on the table by his iced coffee and took the seat across from the man, still scrolling on his phone. 

“I never thought I would see you again.” You say with a smile, leaning in and placing your hands under your chin. 

The boy finally looked up, brow furrowed so much you could have made a swimming pool in the wrinkles between them. “Do I know you?”

You let out a dry laugh, leaning back into the chair. “Yes,” then dropping your voice to a whisper, “Last Tuesday night.” 

He furrowed his brows even more and picked up the coffee sitting on the table. “Last Tuesday?” 

You leaned up again, voice once again barely above a whisper, “We had sex.” 

He nearly spit out his drink, his pupils went big, cheeks blushed. “I think you have the wrong guy.” 

You shook your head; you had never been more certain of anything in your life. “Nope, you’re Brad. You’re an architect.”

The man across from you shook his head, placing down the coffee again, “Nope. My name is Oscar.”

You let out a sharp, dry laugh. “Okay, maybe I didn’t remember you’re name, but you are an architect, aren’t you?” You finished, playfully pointing at him. 

He shook his head again, “Definitely not. I’m a race car driver.” 

You let out a breath, now getting fed up with him pretending like he didn’t know you. It hadn’t even been a week. “Okay, well, I know you have a tattoo on your right shoulder.” 

The boy sharply inhaled before slightly shaking his head again, “I hate needles.” 

You threw your arms up in defeat. “I know I didn’t hallucinate the tattoo.” 

He pulled down his shirt collar to expose a very muscular, but very bare shoulder, “Not saying you did.” 

“So, the tattoo is on your left shoulder.” You say, pointing to it. You had never been good at distinguishing between your left and right. 

He did the same thing, though; he showed you his very tattoo-less left shoulder, too, adding in another head shake. “You have the wrong guy. I wasn’t even in Australia last Tuesday.”

He flipped his phone around to show you a photo of somewhere in Italy, and above it showed it was taken last Tuesday. 

Your cheeks instantly heated up. How was it possible that the man sitting across from you looked that much like the man you had slept with? This moment was now forever etched in your mind as a top 3 embarrassing moment, and it definitely wasn’t in second or third place.

You thought about telling him this was all a part of an elaborate prank that someone had set up. You thought about apologizing around 100 times. All your mouth could get out, though, was, “I think you might have a doppelganger.” 

That, at least, earned a laugh from him, “Thanks for letting me know.” 

You gave him a short, awkward nod and stood up to collect your things from the table.

“Hold on,” He said, holding out a hand to touch your hand, which was currently picking up your phone, “I have a question.” 

You slowly sat back down. You wanted to go into a hole and hide for the rest of your life after this moment. You didn’t want to hear the question, assuming it was going to be him asking for your full name for the court documents to get a restraining order against you. 

“Was the sex that good?” He asked, leaning back in the chair. 

You paused, nodding your head, “Yeah, It really was.” 

He nodded his head back, pushing his phone over to you. “I may not be Brad, but, I am free tonight if you want to give me your number.” 

You slowly picked up the phone and entered your number before pushing it back over with a smile. Maybe Oscar wasn’t Brad; maybe Oscar would be even better.

[cherspastries]

PRETTY THINGS,

WITTY WORDS!

GET IN LINE!

Lando Norris x Reader

SUMMARY 𐙚 Lando’s been waiting for the right moment to make a move. When he finds out you’ve broken up with your toxic boyfriend, he seizes the perfect opportunity!

WARNINGS 𐙚 Mentions of a toxic relationship

A/N 𐙚 First SMAU ever… I had to break out my graphic design skills for this one 🫣

DIRECTORY | MASTERLIST | REQUESTS: OPEN

lando

🎵 MF DOOM • Coffin Nails

liked by abercrombie, mclaren, lnfour, and 523K others

lando Don’t miss out on this

view all comments

user1 He’s sooo fine

user2 who’s missing out on what?! 😩

abercrombie on the merch! Buy it now!! 😤

user3 We all dread the day someone claims a piece of him

user4 It’s gonna be me ♪

→ user5 no way

yourusername Nobody missing out on shit 💀

lando I’d roast you but my mom said not to burn trash

→ yourusername CORNBALL!

ー→ user6 can you guys stop flirting

ーー→ yourusername Alright fun’s ruined

user6 never bought a shirt so fast

lnfour 🔥 make sure to wear your sweatshirt when watching the race 👀

user7 A hit as always

𐙚

𐙚

𐙚

yourusername

🎵 Doja Cat • Ain’t Shit

liked by lando, friend1, friend2, mclaren, and 12.3K others

yourusername This is your sign to break up with your toxic boyfriend #freedom

view all comments

user1 YESS

user2 ATE

lando You have access to McLaren passes and yet you picked FERRARI? 😤

yourusername I look better in red

→ lando I thought we were friends

user3 Men ain’t shit

user4 GOODBYE BUM

user5 Thank God

scuderiaferrari Our new biggest fan

yourusername OFC 💋

charles_leclerc Lovely meeting you

yourusername omfg.

→ user6 GIRL you won

→ lando 🧐

𐙚

lando

🎵 Frank Ocean • Pink + White

liked by yourusername, lnfour, mclaren, and 521K others

lando Merch drop 🔥

view all comments

user1 HE LOOKS… 😳

yourusername ok mog

lando 🤫🧏‍♂️

lnfour 🔥🔥🔥🔥

user2 is it hot in here? 🥵

yourusername No it’s just me

→ user3 Why are you always in his comments? It’s giving obsessed…

ー→ yourusername God forbid a girl have friends

user4 Y/N in their breakup era… Lando in his single era…

user5 Let’s not

→ user6 bffr they have so much chemistry, you’re just jealous

𐙚

𐙚

𐙚

Regardless of his forewarning, Lando’s sudden arrival at your house had taken you by surprise. He arrived with such haste, you had to giggle at the idea of the racer speeding across the city to get to you. The knock came roughly twenty minutes after your exchanged messages, and you knew without a shadow of a doubt that Lando was impatiently standing on the other side of that door.

You steadied your nerves before pulling the gold-plated handle down to open the grand wooden door. Lando’s eyes lit up upon the sight of you, and he quickly pulled you into his grasp. His muscular arms encircled your waist, tugging you taut to his chest as he spun you around in an elegant circle. With a rather loud smacking sound, he stole a kiss away from you.

“I’ve waited so long to do that,” He spoke with a cheesy, boyish grin. His curls framed his face, and his smile lit up his features perfectly. He was the definition of handsome. You giggled as you combed through his soft locks.

“Now you’ll never have to wait again.” You sealed your promise with yet another peck.

𐙚

lando

🎵 Billie Eilish • BIRDS OF A FEATHER

liked by yourusername, friend1, lnfour, and 212K others

lando This is your sign to date your best friend

tagged yourusername

view all comments

user1 I KNEW IT

user2 FINALLY

lnfour Favorite girl🔥

yourusername omg 😆🫣

lando Hey… Step back now

user3 AHHH CUTIES

oscarpiastri Congrats mate

friend1 Just know I was there first

lando Blah blah blah

→ friend1 🤨😤😠😡🤬

mclaren Time to ditch the Ferrari!

scuderiaferrari Hey wait a minute

yourusername I looove you 🤩

lando Thank God 🧡 Idk how I pulled you

→ yourusername By being a charming loser

[bonbonly]

𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: who is the infamous red bull driver (y/n) (l/n) dating? her teammate, some celebrity guest, or is it the man who just posted their pictures online? 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: david corenswet x female f1 driver!reader 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): fluff, suggestive? very sfw (wow what a first from me hehe) 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.5k 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: never in my life did i expect to be writing toothrotting fluff but here we are, this seems so cliche but this is meant to be self-indulgent hehe also shout out to @crumbssss for helping me with the idea! and also thank you to the anon who asked for this!

You're sweating, completely out of breath as you stood before Crofty, struggling to even string together a coherent sentence. He's asking the race winner Charles Leclerc about the thoughts of winning in Austria, the home of the Red Bull, but your thoughts of being composed were being side-lined by the annoying dutchman - your teammate, Max - whispering into your ear, a hand over his mouth as he leans towards you.

"Is it Charles?" He asked, and you frowned, having not heard him through the way the crowd was screaming Charles' name. Gesturing for him to repeat himself, Max rolled his eyes and leaned even closer, not bothering to care if the camera was currently zooming in on the interaction. "Are you secretly dating Charles?" You had to turn your head away from the camera to roll your eyes, taking in a deep breath. Aside from feeling like you just got hit by a train after a tiring race, you had to deal with this pestering voice besides you that seemed far more interested in your love life than your own parents. You mouthed the word 'no' and was about to whisper into Max's ear that if he didn't shut the hell up you were going to rip out his tongue but then the booming voice of Crofty calling to Max seemed to snap the both of you out of your interaction. Max smiled softly, his attention drawn towards the older man while you had glanced at Charles, offering him a whispered congratulations and a thumbs up that he merely chuckled at, nodding his head. He was tired, you were tired, it was only a matter of seconds before you could head to the cooldown room.

"And (Y/N)!" Crofty finally came to you, waddling over with his microphone, "You had quite the tough battle for third with Carlos Sainz in the final chicane, tell me what was going through your mind?" "Uh," you turned to face Max, watching the way he seemed to grin at the fact that you were still trying to catch your breath, "when will this race end, that's what I was thinking. No, I mean, I was… just trying to get as many points as we could for the constructor's-"

"And it must've been a daunting task considering you're our only female driver!" Crofty interrupted your respond which earned him a frown from the other drivers on the podium with you.

"I don't really think gender has to do with her performance," Charles quickly added, frowning at the absurdity of the question, "she performed well, she got the outcome the team needed and that was that."

Max smirked, running a hand over his mouth as if trying to wipe away the growing smile he had on his face. The dumbass couldn't be any more wrong and you had to clench your jaw, forcing a smile as you thanked Charles for his words. Turning back to Crofty, you shrugged, "like he said, my gender doesn't really have to be brought into this, I mean yes, perhaps I face much more strain at the end but I still think it's perfectly fine! I signed up for the challenge, I know what I'm doing, and that's mainly to help Red Bull in the constructor's championship."

"Wise words from the lady," Crofty nodded and that comment itself irked you but you kept smiling, waving to the crowd as they cheered for your third place.

"Thanks, lady," Max patted your back once inside the cooldown room, clearly taking the piss as you grumbled in your seat. Charles had tossed you a rag, letting you wipe the sweat off your brow. He took his place besides you, staring at the race highlights with a look of exhaustion on his face, 

"70 laps, not too bad."

"Imagine Singapore," you exclaimed, earning groans from the other two drivers. Max took his seat next to Charles, his smirk only widening as he leaned forward to glance at you,

"That first corner, you nearly took us both out!" he laughed, and you shook your head, thinking Max was a little too calm at what happened in the start of the race. You held your hands up in a placating gesture, trying to explain yourself,

"I was just trying to get to the front! You and Charles were at each other's necks so I thought I could squeeze through, and then the car locked up for a second and I panicked. God, but then when you were pitting, I had to deal with Carlos breathing down my neck! You're lucky I was feeling nice to your teammate," you punched Charles' arm softly, and he shook his head with a laugh,

"Oh God, I don't think we could handle another DNF," Charles scoffed, running a hand over his face. He paused, turning to face you, "Wait, maybe this is inappropriate for the moment, but… but did you see that post about you on Kym's instagram page?"

"The what?" You frowned, your eyes briefly flickering to the camera in the room before turning back to face the two, "What post?"

"(Y/N), most eligble bachelorette on the grid," Max wiggled his eyebrows. He laughed when you tossed the sweat-stained rag at him.

"No such thing," You snorted, "I'm taken."

"You are?" Charles and Max cried out in unison, only for them to both look at each other, "I thought you were dating her!"

"Why would I date her, she's my teammate, she's like my sister!" Max scoffed, running a hand through his hair. Charles shrugged, 

"Well, you two were always whispering after races and laughing so I assumed… wait but why did you think I was dating her?" Charles asked, only for you to snap your fingers, hopping out of your chair.

"Cameras, guys, cameras," you hissed through gritted teeth, adjusting the cap on your head, "Let's go, we got a podium to be standing on."

As podium celebrations began, Max and Charles were busy pouring you with the champagne, laughing at the way you seemed to try and duck away from their pursuit. You chugged the drink down, clinking the bottle against the others with a sigh. It was a good race finish, you got points that you needed for the team and yet your mind still buzzed with whatever Charles had mentioned in the cooldown room. What damned post was out there that considered you an eligible bachelorette and why the hell did that bother you so much? Oh right, because you had a golden retriever at home that had kept texting you until the second you entered the car about how much he was going to miss you. Right… your boyfriend, David.

Settled into the bed of your hotel room, you yawned as you scrolled through your phone. You needed to give this post a read, trying to gauge out what the hell had been written for Charles fucking Leclerc to be asking you about who you were dating. Then there it was, a photo dump of your recent sightings around the paddock, hugging celebrity guests, hanging out with the other drivers. It seemed innocent in your eyes, nothing too dramatic and yet when you opened the comments, it was flooded with ship names between you and Charles, you and Max - was that Carlos, too? 

"Carlos and (Y/N), enemies to lovers?" One of the comments read and you nearly threw your phone across the bed. You wanted to respond so badly about how Carlos and you were still good friends, just a few bad races didn't mean you were enemies - nor did it mean you were lovers, either! But you knew if you did that, your PR manager was going to give you absolute hell for not checking in with her before "ruining your image"; the very thought made you groan in frustration. You should've gone to bed an hour ago, still exhausted from the race, but your curiousity could not be sated and here you were at 2 o'clock in the morning, going down a massive TikTok rabbithole about who you must be dating. You were being linked to everyone! Why were you even being linked to Sebastian Vettel? That man was retired and has a wife and kids!

Your phone abruptly started to ring, the caller ID displaying a very familiar name that made you smile. Placing the phone on speaker, you yawned and sunk further under the covers,

"Hey, baby, what's up?"

"Congratulations on third place, (Y/N)!" David's voice screamed of pure joy and enthusiasm, you could practically hear the grin on his face, "I'm so proud of you! I couldn't watch the race, sadly, I've been stuck on a lot of press tours but I'll rewatch it when I have the time."

You cringed at the word 'rewatch' already knowing that the cameraman had captured the conversation in the cooldown room, no doubt stirring more drama online as everyone tried to guess who it was that you were dating. Forcing a chuckle, you yawned once more and told David that you were gonna get some sleep. He blew you a kiss from the other side of the phone, giggling about how much he was going to miss you until he could see you again. You chuckled at his child-like demeanor, giving him a kiss goodbye before hanging up on him. 

On the other side of the world, while you were resting and getting prepared for the next race, David had been going through press tours all over the world for the Superman movie that was coming out soon. He wasn't used to excessive traveling but in the back of his mind, he thought of you and all that you did for every race and hell, if that wasn't enough motivation for him to get through a day without complaining. He always thought about how hardworking you were, how you always knew what you had to do and being the only female driver on the current grid somehow made his love only grow tenfold for you. He considered himself a lucky bastard, and still couldn't understand how you managed to fall in love with little old him, a shy, bumbling theater kid who was just now getting his big break. 

He also knew the downsides for the relationship and most importantly was the fact that he had to keep you as his secret. He hated it more than anything else in the world, always wanting to proudly show you off that he was your boyfriend, that you were the best thing that could ever happen to him but he stuck with the dog photos for the past year, knowing your press manager would rip him apart for posting your face at all. It hurt at first but he got used to the feeling, and now that he was superman, his whole instagram had to be cleansed and curated accordingly so he felt relieved that he could share that struggle with you, even if it always held him back from showing the world how much he loved you. He was scrolling through his phone, glancing at all the photos taken of the race that occured the day before, his dimples flashing with his smile as he stared at all the photos of you. You had your trophy in your hand, this proud look on your face that made him wish he was there to scoop you up into his big arms and plant a big, sloppy kiss on the top of your head. He sighed, pocketing his device when the interviewer had come into the room, the start to a very tiring day for him.

The questions were always in and out, asking about his process, his interests, the filming process. Sometimes it felt repetitive and other times it got a good laugh out of him as he sat with his co-stars Rachel and Nicholas. Everything was going fine until one interviewer decided to change the path of the conversation:

"So, David, I was looking through your following list and you seem to be really into F1! Has this always been something you've been a fan of?" The woman asked and David laughed, a slight blush creeping up his check at the memory of you.

"Oh, uh.. no, not exactly," he shrugged, "got into it last year, it's been a recent development but I really like the sport and I've learned a lot, I'm looking forward to how the season will turn out!"

"Yeah, quite recently, Charles Leclerc won in Spa! And with him were the two Red Bull drivers um… Max and uh-" 

"(Y/N)," David answered, before feeling a bit ashamed at how fast he must've jumped the gun on that one. He played it off, smiling, "I was watching the race yesterday so yeah." which itself was a lie, he hadn't had time to watch the way you had managed to defend against Carlos Sainz like the beast that you were but who was gonna know outside of him and you? Pfft, he had this in the bag.

"Oh, yeah, (Y/N)," Nicholas nodded his head, adjusting himself in his seat, "I've seen her before, isn't she dating that Charles guy?"

"What?" Rachel and David both asked, except the former's reasoning behind her question was far different than David's. The poor guy was sweating at this point, now where the hell did Nicholas get that information from?

"Yeah…." Nicholas drawled out, his eyes narrowing at David, "I could've sworn she was dating Charles, she was very like… I don't know, they seem like really good friends but I've heard tons of rumors around them all the time. Both talented drivers." "Oh, well yesterday in the cooldown room," The interviewer smiled, "Charles had asked her that question, and she seemed to panic. There was some confusion going around because the drivers all thought she was dating the other, but she merely said she was taken, didn't elaborate on anything else." "Ahhhh," Nicholas raised an eyebrow, a wry smile playing on his lips, "So she's teasing us here. Hm, I wonder who she's dating. You follow F1 more than I do, what do you think David?" The blonde man turned to face the star of the movie. David's mouth dropped, as if he was thinking about how to approach this situation. Every bone in his body wanted to just straight out admit that you were the love of his life and the both of you have been dating for more than a year, but he knew that would be a whole 'nother can of worms that he didn't want to get into just yet. He smiled, shrugging his shoulders as he tapped his knee,

"No clue. I mean, it could be anyone," He awkwardly exclaimed and the interviewer nodded her head, almost as if she knew. 

"There have been links to her and Carlos Sainz in the past, both of them are always at odds on track but off track are very sweet with each other. I personally think they'd both look amazing together, he's got the brains and she's got the brawns," She grinned to which Nicholas seemed to agree. David's face contorted into a frown, his bottom lip jutted out into a pout. He couldn't stand this interview anymore and every time the interviewer kept mentioning cooldown room, he couldn't help but wonder what the hell even happened between you, Charles and Max. He trusted you, of course he did, but now he was getting a bit… posessive, to say the least, that his girl was being thrown around multiple guys on the internet, as if she wasn't his girlfriend.

"Gonna see this for myself," David had mumbled to himself later that night. He was on his phone, something he never really liked to do much because he was always about trying to spend time off social media - "chronically offline king" as Rachel called him, whatever the hell that meant - but now he was scouring through the internet about yesterday's race and then he landed on Kym's post. Okay, it wasn't as bad as he was fearing. You were just you! Smiling, laughing along with the other driver's, nothing insane. 

Poor guy then made the big mistake of opening the comment section. Oh, his blood boiled, not out of anger to you but at how stupid everyone could be, shipping you with other people. Did one comment just fucking say enemies to lovers? He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. It was time to set the record straight, there was no way he was letting random people on the internet dwell in whatever fantasies they made in their heads, he had to let the world know that you were his and no others. Biting his lip, he sat down at the edge of his hotel bed, glancing out the window to formulate a little plan in his head. You were his, and there was no way he was going to let some Charles or Carlos guy get the credit of dating you, he'd show the world and perhaps, you as well...

When you woke up the morning of the next race, you groaned as you saw the influx of texts from your PR manager. She was ranting about something that had come to light, how the internet was going wild. You nearly turned your phone off when the name "David" caught your attention. You sat up, rubbing your groggy eyes and with a yawn, opened up Instagram. Your inbox was flooded with DMs, so many people tagging you in comments that you didn't even know existed and so when you clicked on one, you were faced with photos of David and you together. For a moment, your heart stopped in your chest. Who the hell posted these? How did they get these photos? So you glanced up at the username and sighed in relief when it was just David's account.

Wait a damn minute, that's David's account?!?

You flipped through all 20 photographs, the way they started off very sweet and loving, kisses on your cheek and vice versa. Then, they started to slowly get a bit more intimate, private moments where you remembered exactly what David had been doing moments before he took those photos; tangled in bed sheets, the post-sex hair, the giggles and teeth marks on his biceps. You blushed, still in disbelief that he had posted any of this when you scrolled to look at his caption:

"Don't usually post much on my Instagram page anymore, but I figured this deserved an exception," David had written, "I just wanted to say thanks to the most gorgeous, talented woman I have ever had the fortune of meeting in my entire life. Thank you so much, baby, for giving me a chance and sticking by me for the past year and a half. You've supported me through everything, made me become a better man and watching you succeed in your own sport makes the proudest boyfriend ever, I'm so lucky to have you by my side. I can't wait for the many more years to come with you in my arms… Love, your boyfriend and #1 fan, David Corenswet."

"That was corny," Max had leaned into your ear to whisper during the driver's parade later that day. You shook your head, snickering as you thought about David's instagram post. All the other driver's had been relentlessly teasing you over it and Max, being himself, was of course the most insufferable out of the lot.

"Ask your girlfriend to post a photo dump about you then," You retorted and he waved you off with a scoff,

"I'd rather not have the world see what I look like after sex," to which you smacked his arm with a gasp,

"Shut up!" You giggled, "I didn't choose for that photo, David posted it on his own!"

And just before you were getting ready for the race to start, you decided to quickly text David like you always did before every race, knowing that he was at his press tour, waiting for the interviewer to come in.

"Next time, I'm hiding your phone," you texted.

"I just thought you looked very pretty, can't I admire my girlfriend when she's a million miles away from me and killing it out there?" he texted back almost immediately, as if he had been waiting for your text all this time. "You've lost your phone privileges for a long time thanks to your little stunt, you scared the hell out of my PR team!"

"So, does that mean I have to show my appreciation in person then?"

"Shut up, dork, don't you have an interview to get to?"

"Matter of fact, I do, unfortunately. I shall attend to you later, my beloved.""Love you, too," you wrote back with a giggle, before placing your helmet - that you might've added a superman logo on the back - over your head, and running off towards your car for the win.

[mrsfancyferrari]

Podium Prize

Summary: You flew to the Netherlands in secret to surprise your boyfriend not knowing he would get his first podium in F1....

Song: In Da Club · 50 Cent

Author’s note: Thank you to everyone who got me to 50000 likes! Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 5.1k

MASTERLIST - F1

The hum of the aircraft engines was a lullaby against your ear, but sleep was a distant country you couldn't reach. Every fiber of your being thrummed with a different kind of energy, a potent mix of excitement and trepidation.

You were flying to the Netherlands, and Isack had no idea. It was a secret mission, meticulously planned over weeks of stolen moments and coded messages with a sympathetic member of his support team.

Your heart, a frantic hummingbird, was convinced it would betray you at any moment.

You pulled out your phone, the screen lighting up his latest Instagram post. A shot from practice, helmet off, a determined glint in his eyes.

He looked tired, but focused, the weight of the upcoming Grand Prix evident even through a photograph.

You had messaged him earlier, a casual "Good luck this weekend, mon amour! Thinking of you always," carefully crafted to avoid any suspicion.

He’d replied with a simple heart emoji and a "Merci, ma chérie. Je t'appelle après la course." I'll call you after the race.

A call he wouldn’t be expecting to take in person, in the flesh, in his arms.

The decision to surprise him had been spurred by countless, quiet evenings spent staring at your phone, longing for his presence. The F1 season was relentless, a whirlwind of travel, media, and intense competition that left little room for anything else.

You missed his laugh, the way his hand found yours without thought, the easy comfort of his silence. He’d been consistent, fast, hungry for a major result.

You just had a feeling. A gut instinct that told you this was the moment to be there, even if only as a silent, unseen guardian angel.

Landing at Schiphol, the Dutch air was cool and crisp, a stark contrast to the stifling heat of your last shared holiday. You collected your small carry-on, careful not to draw attention, and navigated your way to the train that would take you towards Zandvoort.

The coastal town was quaint, already buzzing with the distant murmur of race fans, a sea of orange and team colours.

You’d booked a small, discreet hotel a short drive from the circuit, one that Isack’s team wouldn’t typically use. Anonymity was key.

The next day, you felt like a spy. You dressed casually, a large pair of sunglasses masking your eyes, a team cap pulled low. Your contact, a bubbly young woman named Sophie from Isack’s PR team, met you at a pre-arranged, out-of-the-way café. She was beaming, clearly thrilled to be part of the deception.

"Il n'a aucune idée, ma belle," Sophie whispered, pulling you into a quick hug. "Il est tellement concentré." He has no idea, my dear. He’s so focused.

"Parfait," you grinned, a nervous flutter in your stomach. "Je veux que ce soit une surprise totale." Perfect. I want it to be a total surprise.

Sophie had managed to secure you a pass for a general viewing area, tucked away but with a decent view of the main straight and the podium.

It wouldn't put you in the paddock, but it would let you feel the roar of the engines, the electric charge of the crowd.

Race day dawned with a clear, blue sky, promising perfect conditions. The air vibrated with anticipation. You ate a quick, tasteless breakfast, your stomach too knotted with nerves.

What if he had a bad race? What if he crashed? The thought was a cold knot in your chest.

But then, an image of his determined face flashed in your mind, and you pushed the anxieties away. He was a fighter.

You arrived at the circuit early, blending into the surging crowd. The scent of hot asphalt, exhaust fumes, and the sweet, sugary smell of Dutch stroopwafels filled the air.

You found your spot, a railing overlooking the final corner, close enough to hear the commentary over the loudspeakers, though it was mostly drowned out by the sheer, deafening volume of the cars themselves.

The pre-race buzz was intoxicating. The pitlane bustling, the grid forming, the national anthem echoing across the dunes. You saw Isack on the giant screen, standing stoically beside his car, his helmet already on.

He looked calm, collected, a picture of intense focus. Your heart swelled with pride and a fierce, unyielding love.

The lights went out. The roar was deafening, a primeval scream that shook the ground beneath your feet. The cars launched forward, a blur of colour and speed.

You leaned against the railing, your knuckles white, your eyes glued to the track where a tiny speck, designated by a number you knew by heart, was battling for position.

The race unfolded with breathtaking intensity. Isack was magnificent. He was aggressive but precise, making daring overtakes, defending fiercely.

He was holding his own, climbing positions. Lap after lap, your hopes soared. He was in the top five, then the top four.

The commentators, speaking in rapid Dutch, sounded increasingly excited, their voices rising with each pass.

You found yourself gasping, cheering, even letting out a silent scream when a rival tried an audacious move. Your eyes barely blinked, tracking his every move.

He was pushing the car to its absolute limits, dancing on the edge of disaster with exquisite control.

Then, with just a few laps to go, a car ahead of him had a mechanical issue, forcing it to retire. And just like that, Isack was in third position.

Your breath hitched. Third. A podium. Your hand flew to your mouth, stifling a cry.

Could he hold it? The final laps stretched into an eternity. Every corner was an agony, every straight a prayer.

The checkered flag waved.

He crossed the line.

Third.

The roar from the crowd was immense, a cascade of pure, unadulterated joy. But for you, it was a silence, a moment of profound, disbelieving awe.

Tears welled in your eyes, hot and fast, blurring your vision. He’d done it. His first F1 podium. And you were here.

You fumbled for your phone, hands shaking, sending a quick, breathless text to Sophie: "Il l'a fait!! Mon Dieu, il l'a fait!" He did it!! My God, he did it!

Her reply was instant: "Je sais! C'est le moment! Rendez-vous au point de rencontre." I know! This is the moment! Meet me at the rendezvous point.

Navigating the jubilant crowd was a challenge, but your adrenaline propelled you forward.

You met Sophie at a side entrance, your face still streaked with tears. She pulled you into a tight hug.

"Félicitations, ma belle! Et maintenant, au champion!" Sophie laughed, pulling you through a secure door, the sounds of the post-race celebrations growing louder. Congratulations, my dear! And now, to the champion!

You were led down a corridor, past buzzing media crews and excited team members. Your heart pounded against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat. This was it. The moment.

Sophie stopped outside a door, taking a deep breath. "Il est fou de joie. Prépare-toi." He’s ecstatic. Get ready. She gave you a conspiratorial wink, then knocked.

A moment later, the door swooshed open. Isack, his face flushed with elation, a champagne bottle still clutched in one hand, was standing there.

His racing suit was unzipped to his waist, his hair damp from sweat, his eyes still sparkling with the thrill of victory.

He was laughing, talking animatedly to someone inside the room, but then his gaze flickered to you.

His smile faltered. His eyes, usually so quick to recognize you, narrowed slightly in confusion.

He took a half-step back, as if he needed to verify what he was seeing.

"Q-Qu'est-ce que tu fais ici?" he stammered, his French laced with disbelief, the champagne bottle nearly slipping from his grasp. What are you doing here?

You couldn't speak, a lump in your throat. You just stood there, tears of joy still tracking paths down your cheeks, a tentative smile gracing your lips.

His eyes widened, the recognition finally dawning, chasing away the shock. "Mon amour?" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

He dropped the champagne bottle with a clatter, uncaring, and launched himself forward. You met him halfway, throwing your arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder.

The smell of him – sweat, exhaust fumes, champagne, and that uniquely Isack scent you adored – enveloped you.

His arms squeezed around your waist so tightly it nearly took your breath away. He lifted you off your feet, spinning you gently, his laugh a pure, joyous sound that vibrated through your entire body.

"Tu es là?" he murmured into your hair, still sounding utterly floored. You're here?

"Oui, je suis là," you choked out, your voice muffled. Yes, I’m here.

You pulled back just enough to look at his face, framed by soft dark curls. His eyes were bright, glistening with tears of his own. You reached up, cupping his jaw, and he leaned into your touch.

"Félicitations, mon champion," you whispered, your voice thick with unshed emotion. "C'est incroyable. Magnifique." Congratulations, my champion. It's incredible. Magnificent.

He didn't answer with words. Instead, his lips found yours. It was a kiss born of surprise and elation, of longing and relief, of shared triumph and overwhelming love.

His mouth was soft and firm, tasting faintly of champagne and pure happiness. He kissed you deeply, hungrily, as if trying to commit the moment to memory, as if he couldn't quite believe you were real.

You responded with equal fervour, pouring all your unspoken love and pride into the embrace.

Your fingers tangled in his damp hair, tugging gently, as his hands slid down your back, pressing you impossibly closer.

The world outside, the cheers, the flashing cameras, the celebratory chaos – it all faded into a distant hum. There was only Isack. Only you.

When he finally pulled back, gasping slightly, his forehead rested against yours. "Je n'arrive pas à y croire," he breathed, his eyes still closed. "Tu es là. Et un podium. C'est le meilleur jour de ma vie." I can't believe it. You're here. And a podium. This is the best day of my life.

You chuckled, a shaky, happy sound. "Je savais que tu pouvais le faire. Je suis tellement fière de toi." I knew you could do it. I'm so proud of you.

He opened his eyes, his gaze intense, full of a love that stole your breath. "Mais comment… Comment es-tu arrivée ici?" But how… How did you get here?

You grinned. "C'était un secret. Une surprise. Sophie m'a aidée." You gestured vaguely behind you, remembering his PR manager’s vital role. It was a secret. A surprise. Sophie helped me.

He turned slightly, pulling you with him into the room, where a few close team members and Sophie were watching with knowing smiles.

"Sophie! Tu étais dans le coup?" he exclaimed, a playful glint in his eye. Sophie! You were in on it?

Sophie just laughed, raising her hands in mock surrender. "Il était temps, Isack. Tu avais tellement besoin d'elle." It was time, Isack. You needed her so much.

He pulled you closer, wrapping an arm securely around your waist, his thumb stroking your hip. "Oui, c'est vrai," he murmured, his gaze sweeping over your face. "Tu m'as manqué tellement, mon amour." Yes, it's true. I missed you so much, my love.

"Tu m'as manqué aussi, plus que tout," you confessed, leaning into his warmth. I missed you too, more than anything.

He turned back to you fully, his eyes alight with a mixture of joy, exhaustion, and adoration. "Viens ici," he whispered, pulling you into another kiss, softer this time, a promise of quiet moments to come.

This one was slow, deep, savouring the taste of him, the feel of his lips, the sheer impossible reality of him being right here.

The team eventually started to disperse, offering quick congratulations to Isack and a few amused glances at your intertwined presence.

Sophie gave you a final wave and a thumbs-up as she left.

Finally, you were alone in the small driver’s room. Isack sank onto a plush couch, pulling you down with him, your head resting on his chest.

He sighed, a sound of profound contentment, and wrapped both arms around you.

"Je n'aurais jamais pu imaginer un jour comme celui-ci," he murmured, his voice rumbling against your ear. "Un podium… et toi ici pour le voir." I never could have imagined a day like this. A podium… and you here to see it.

You tilted your head back, looking up at him. "Moi non plus. Mais je suis si heureuse d'être là. Pour toi." Me neither. But I'm so happy to be here. For you.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips once more, lingering, savouring. "C'est le plus beau cadeau," he said, his voice thick with emotion. It's the most beautiful gift.

You traced the line of his jaw, feeling the slight stubble. "Je n'ai pas pu résister. L'idée de te voir et de t'embrasser… c'était trop fort." I couldn't resist. The idea of seeing you and kissing you… it was too strong.

He chuckled softly, pulling you tighter. "Je suis tellement content que tu n'aies pas résisté." I'm so glad you didn't resist. He kissed the top of your head, then rested his chin there.

"Maintenant, nous avons quelque chose à fêter. Ensemble." Now, we have something to celebrate. Together.

The world outside could clamour for his attention, for interviews, for celebrations. But for now, in this quiet room, with the scent of his victory still clinging to him, it was just the two of you.

His arms were your safe harbour, his presence the greatest prize.

You closed your eyes, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. The secret journey, the nervous anticipation, the tears of pride – it was all worth it. More than worth it.

Because standing there, on the precipice of his F1 dreams, Isack Hadjar had found his way to his first podium, and you, his unexpected surprise, were right there to share his victory, sealed with a kiss, in the language of your shared love. . . .

[two-white-butterflies]

ruin the friendship

Description: Carlos Sainz + his wrestler girlfriend, and how they found each other.

Pairing: carlos sainz x wwe-wrestler! reader (fc: aj lee)

SPAIN, 2016

Inhale. Exhale.

You tried to calm yourself down with breathing exercises, but breathing can only do so much in response to what you were feeling right now. It had been your first title match in Spain, and similarly, the company's first time ever hosting a match in this country.

The company's instruction had been simple.

Ten minutes, and you had already choreographed and practiced the entire match with Kaitlyn. Everything was memorized, every punch and kick flowed as naturally as the words to Hail Mary... but fuck. Women aren't allowed to have their cake and eat a crumb of it, eh?

"I'm sorry, but we need to cut your match down to five minutes," one of the administrators opens their mouth - only to be met with the piercing gaze of Kaitlyn (a beautiful blonde woman who's already the face of the women's division).

"But our match is only ten minutes," you pressed, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. "- Can't you cut the men's matches. We don't need to watch John Cena and Brock Lesnar fight for an hour straight," you pointed out the clear bias between the gender divisions.

To your surprise, the man looks at you with that stare. One that is supposed to make you feel like you know nothing about the professional wrestling, even though you've been a wrestler for two-whole years. "They're having a title match, we can't cut that," the man replies curtly.

"We're also having a title match," Kaitlyn points at her title.

"It's a woman's match, Kaitlyn, it's not as important." He scoffs. "- I'm not going to debate this, ladies, cut your match." He emphasized.

You were about to open your mouth and give the man a piece of your mind, but suddenly your theme plays...

Let's light it up. Light it up. Light it up, light it up.

You exchanged a knowing glance with Kaitlyn.

If they want a short match, they're going to get it.

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Carlos could feel the vibrations of the speakers from beneath him. Mallorca had always been a small coastal island - the island that had forever summer, even when other countries were plunged into a cold winter. He once assumed that Mallorca would stay as it is - unmarred by time and all sunny beaches. Overnight, the island turned into a mini Ibiza because of the wrestlers.

He walked through the small bar, his shoulders squeezed as he tried to make it through the aisle of bodies. A few Americans were having a drinking contest, and it was clear that none of them were suited for the strength of Spanish liquor.

He shakes his head with a slight smile.

Even Max ended up drunk after only a few shots.

He turns to look away from the Americans. He searches for a familiar face - a friend from school, a cousin, but he sees nobody. He only sees you.

You were sitting alone, scrolling on your phone.

He takes a step in your direction. "Aren't you supposed to be celebrating?" He asks with a slight curve of his lips.

He was there in the audience, watching you fight for a woman's title - it came as a shock to him that you defeated your opponent with a swift punch to the face. It was unorthodox, but it doesn't wash away the fact that you're a champion.

"Winning that way doesn't make me feel like the victory's mine," you sighed - trying to figure out why you were saying all of this to a random Spanish guy. A handsome guy at that. "I don't even know why I agreed to do it," you pouted.

That match was supposed to be the match.

And because of your anger, you ruined it.

The storm that brewed inside your head always wins against logic. Maybe it was your fate to destroy yourself - maybe it was your form of rebelling against the injustice that was prevailing in the company.

"But you're still the champion, that's all that matters." He comforts.

He gives you a charming smile.

"I'm Carlos Sainz by the way," he introduces himself.

Your eyes light up at the mention of his name. "Formula One?" You inquired, and he nods humbly.

"I'm ___," you introduced yourself.

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yournamewwe: thank you so much for having us mallorca 🇪🇸

liked by 8,291

>comments

carlossainzjr: ❤️ - yournamewwe: and thank you for celebrating with me haha - carlossainzjr: Thanks for the drinks 🤣

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MIAMI, 2017

You shortly became acquainted with Carlos after you visited Mallorca. The conversations you had with him were regular - your texts were spaced out between annoying timezones. Your message thread with each other had been filled with photos and texts towards December of last year - "Felix navidad" "Merry Christmas!!" - but now it was August.

August was silent.

And you waited for him to message you first.

"Remember that hot Spanish guy that you were talking to?" Nattie walks inside the women's locker room. Her hair was still wet from her previous shower. "Yep, what about him?" You inquired while handing her a blow dryer (she always forgets to bring hers).

"Apparently, he's dating a model," she says, showing you the article.

Oh, so that's why he stopped talking to me.

"That's nice for him. I can't believe he didn't tell me, though," you tried to act unbothered, even though your stomach was beginning to churn uncomfortably. You didn't want to seem like a bitch, but you'd be lying if you said that there wasn't a spark between the two of you.

The way that he held you through that small bar in Mallorca and brought you to the shoreline to show you the real beaches of his island. It had been something out of a fairytale. A man doesn't do that to a woman just because they're friends.

You liked him. He liked you - but apparently not that much.

"I always thought that you'd end up with him," Nattie admits. "Every time we go out, it's always Carlos this, Carlos that." She points out from her observations, and you shrink.

"We're just friends, Nattie." You lied again.

"- and one day I'll see a ring on your finger and it's going to belong to him." She teases you.

Suddenly, your phone beeps.

CARLITO SAINZ Hi im in Miami rn Do you want to watch the GP? I can give you a ticket.

Nattie tries to peek over your shoulders to read the message but you swiftly hide the screen away from her. "Are you going to say yes?" She asks. "How did you even see that?" You groaned.

"Are you going to say yes?" She asked again.

"I'm busy." You answered.

"With what? Watching Downton Abbey?" She scoffs.

"It's going to be awkward," you reasoned. If his girlfriend was going to be there, then you had to keep your distance. "If you're just friends, then it's not supposed to be," Nattie retorts. "- just admit that you were expecting it to be something more," she settles beside you.

This woman knows you better than you know yourself. Scary.

"Nattie, you saw the messages he used to send me. Can you really blame a girl for thinking?" You asked rhetorically. "- but you're right. He's still my friend, nonetheless, and I should be there for him. It's what I'd do for you," you agreed while opening your phone.

YOU Sure! I'd love to be there.

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BLIND ITEM - CARLOS SAINZ, CARA CORNER DATING

According to this blind item on July 29, Carlos Sainz allegedly went to Cara Corner's (Victoria's Secret Model) apartment during late hours. Both are currently endorsers of Tommy Hilfiger and are set to shoot a campaign somewhere around early September.

This comes after Cara Corner's breakup with her non-celebrity girlfriend. To me, it seems like Cara's exactly Carlos' type. Although there was another blind item with Carlos and a WWE wrestler.

Thoughts?

3 reacted "angry" 10 reacted "heart"

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Miami was one of your favorite cities; it was always filled with endless seas of people minding their own business. None of them cared about you or bothered to remember your name. It made you feel strangely welcomed.

In cities like Miami, you were free to be yourself.

"You came!" Carlos wrapped around the Torro Rosso garage. "I wouldn't miss this for the world." You greeted him with a small hug.

Gosh, he still smelt like French perfume. "Thank you so much for being here," he smiles - your eyes trailing behind him, expecting someone else to come along. His girlfriend.

"I heard about your girlfriend on TMZ. I can't believe you didn't tell me." You started the conversation, attempting to sound casual.

Carlos chuckles, running a hand through his raven locks. "That's because I don't have a girlfriend. TMZ is not a reliable news source." He was quick to defend himself, as if he's been asked the same question almost a hundred times.

"Oh," you mumbled, your tone a little happier than it was intended to be.

"She's just a friend, y'know. She swings the other way," he adds, his hands landing on the small of your waist. He was staring at you like you held the entire world in your eyes. "- and uh, would you like to go to dinner after the GP?" He inquires with hopeful eyes.

You wanted to jump in joy - but you kept your cool.

"Sure," you agreed.

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yournamewwe: hello miami gp! thank you so much for inviting me @carlossainzjr @torrorosso looking forward to the events that'll unfold today ❤️

liked by carlossainzjr and 10,283 others

>comments

carlossainzjr: 👸🏻

torrorosso: Always happy to have you here! ;)

sierradelta: OH MY GOD? I CAN'T BELIEVE CARLOS IS FRIENDS WITH MY FAV WWE DIVA!

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YOU he asked me out for dinner

NATTIE WHAT OMG OMG OMG so he doesn't have a gf?

YOU nopee tmz was cooking up nonsense as always

NATTIE u better get laid istg don't even come back here until u do 🤣

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Carlos felt like his eyes were going to pop out of his head.

He spent the entire week planning the perfect date for you - he even made a reservation six days in advance because he needed everything to be perfecto. Not a single fork was supposed to be out of order - because tonight was the night that he was finally going to confess his feelings!

And then he sees you with Charming Daniel Ricciardo laughing about a joke that isn't even that funny.

"Max just comes up to the poor lad and says: My dad did that to a mechanic once," Daniel recalls a story from a few months past. You and Max burst out laughing. "You poor thing," you glanced at the younger driver and Max just shrugs.

"I was drunk when I said that, you're embarrassing me in front of a very beautiful woman." Max compliments, and you blush.

Carlos clenches his jaw.

"You have to elbow the competition sometimes," Daniel teases.

"Alright, that's enough, guys, we have a dinner to get to." Carlos interrupts.

"Dinner? Can we tag along? I'm a wee bit hungry, unless of course both of you are going on a date." Daniel pleads.

If this were any other day, Carlos would've said yes, for Daniel was an amazing conversationalist, but not right now - not when he hasn't breathed since morning.

"Is it a date, Carlos?" Max questions, and Daniel gets the hint.

"Doesn't matter, Maxie cuz I just remembered that uhh...Kimi is having a party in his boatie." Daniel tilts his head, praying that the younger man would take the hint.

"Oh, right." Max frowns.

"Right," Daniel responds.

"Right," Max whispers.

"Riiighttt," Daniel adds.

"Right, guys we're leaving." Carlos breaks through the awkward atmosphere.

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"Is it really a date?" You asked, glancing at him through the menu.

"Uh sí - I'm sorry if it wasn't clear," he struggled to find his words.

"I mean, the night has already gone downhill," he blurted out.

"No, everything's perfect." You comforted.

"We're probably too old for the game of cat and mice, so I'll just make this very clear." He breathed. It is in the nature of his nationality to be straightforward when it comes to matters of love. If it is a love of passion, then let it be filled with passion - but what he feels for you is not mere passion but something consummate.

"I like you. I like talking to you. You're beautiful, elegant and hilarious. I sleep waiting for your response and I wake up staring at your messages. Can I have the honor of being your boyfriend?"

A/N: It's been a hot minute since I last posted about F1. I've been planning to write a wrester reader x carlos sainz for a while now simply because of how athletic carlos is. He seems like a guy who understands wrestling.

[kimi12onelli]

Poll: long or short fics?

Hello!! I was curious about this since you all really loved my spur of the moment fics where I base it off of a race or result. Those fics are around 3k or less, but seem to have the most love from you all, so my question is:

What length fics do you prefer more? (As an overall)

Short fics (3k words or less)

Medium fics (3k to 7k words)

Long fics (7k words or more)

Don’t care (will consume anything that is interesting)

Voting ended onMay 28

No matter the result I will still do longer fics whenever I have the ideas, and I will continue to do shorter fics when I feel strongly about something (such as first wins, wins in general, or yk anything that seems good to address in the form of a fic). I just want to know what you prefer, as it will minorly change how much I focus on things and how I divide my time.

Feel free to comment why you chose and I would love to take that into account, even as simple as “I want a short and sweet thing,” tells me a lot <3

I love you all! Thank you for your support!

[marcos-scorpion]

Heyy a Charles Leclercx fem!reader request where he comes home exhausted and the reader is making him a romantic dinner he comes in while she is cooking listening to some old music and he sways her around the kitchen and then they just slowly dance around the kitchen all evening food long forgotten deeply in love with eachother thank you and love your work

il predestinato - Charles Leclerc x Reader

hihi !! so i was aiming for this to be totally fluffy, but there’s a lil angst, mostly around how this season is going for Charles and Ferrari. I really like this tbh, and although i wrote it pretty quickly, i think it’s cute! tysm for the request my lovely,, hope you like it!! requests are still open

warnings- lil sad cos of Ferrari and how they treat Charles,, mostly fluffy

w/c- 1489

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Charles Leclerc was struggling this season. You couldn’t deny it, no matter how much you wished it wasn’t true. 

Ferrari disasterclass after Ferrari disasterclass were starting to weigh heavily on his mind. No matter how many positive interviews after less positive results he gave, how many toothy grins he shot your way after another day in the factory or on the sim, you could see how all of this was beginning to weigh on your boy. 

You knew he deserved more, every F1 fan knew he deserved more. You’d seen messages between him and Pierre, him and Max, hell even a few with Sebastian that showed that they knew he deserved more. You’d watched quietly as his brothers rallied around him, despite Arthur taking off in F2 and Lorenzo always having to dash off for meetings, his career being more demanding than people realised. You’d watched as Charles’ dreams crumbled under the pressure of the team, under the tyres of his once-beloved red car. 

He was meant to be ‘il predestinato’. The Predestined. One of the greats waiting to happen. He was meant to be fighting for that title, wheel to wheel with the Red Bull, the Mercedes, and, surprisingly, the Aston Martin. He was a front of the grid, top step of the podium driver, stuck with the team who had promised him the world, and left him to piece together the shards of the glory they had promised. 

You felt powerless in this all. A girl with a degree earned in student loans and scholarships, and no career to back it up, in a fast-paced world of the rich and important. Finding a place in Charles’ life had been difficult as it was, but you would do it all again to support him. Put your dreams of a Masters degree, and a doctorate, on hold. Sell your meagre little studio flat for the life so many dream of in Monaco. Leave family and friends behind for a world that would never quite be yours, no matter how many brands suddenly wanted to dress you for paddock appearances, no matter how much diamond jewellery Charles draped around your throat. What could a normal girl do to support someone like Charles, in a situation as delicate and important as this. 

Whatever you could. Anything you could. You celebrated his wins, commiserated and comforted after losses. Spent weekend after weekend in crowded garages, night after night holding him as his shoulders shook under the weight of everyone’s expectations, as tears ran in rivulets down his cheeks. 

Today was going to be a hard day for Charles. You had seen it in his eyes when he had left your shared apartment that morning. Another meeting with the Ferrari high-ups, another meeting where they blamed everything but themselves for the poor results ahead of the Azerbaijan Grand Prix this coming weekend. As soon as the lock clicked into place behind him, you decided you needed to do something today that could hopefully lift his mood. 

After spending most of the morning cleaning your home, washing his training gear and polishing the monitors on his sim, dusting trophies in the cabinets lining his office walls, a trip to the market began. The ingredients for Charles’ favourite food in your basket, you decided to stop and get a few more treats for him that would certainly anger his trainer. A bottle of his favourite expensive wine, pastries from the little stall he took you to the day you met, the chocolate his mum bought him after good results in kart races as a child. 

Hours later, after what felt like much longer leant over the stovetop in your kitchen, the rich smell of the sauce you were stirring filled the room, the soft sounds of Elvis crooning though the speaker settled safely on the windowsill. Charles wasn’t meant to be home until seven thirty, and it was currently just past five. Enough time to finish the sauce, lay out the good plates and light a few candles. Maybe change into something other than the pyjamas you had put on when you got back from the market. ‘Pyjamas’ being a pair of Charles’ boxers fresh out of the dryer and your faded university jumper. 

Tapping on your phone to increase the volume, you began to gently sway your hips to the intro to Suspicious Minds. So wrapped up in the music, you didn’t hear the front door click, or the bag hit the floor in the entryway. The footsteps making their way into the kitchen didn’t register, not until you felt an arm snake around your waist, palm pressed into the skin of your stomach and the waistline of the stolen underwear. 

You didn’t even flinch at the sensation on your skin, it was so familiar and comforting. Leaning back into his touch, you smiled lazily as your eyes met. 

“Hello, mon coeur.” He murmured, pressing his lips against your hair. 

Twisting in his arms, you let him fully wrap you in his embrace, feeling the tension melt away from the muscles in his back. It had been as bad a day as you’d expected, you could see the slight glisten in his eyes, the furrow in his brow. 

“Oh my darling,” you began “I take it the meeting didn’t go well?” You already knew the answer, but the tightening of his arms around your waist as he buried his face against your hair told you enough. 

You could feel his lips move against your scalp after a few moments, the words he wanted to say struggling to come out. He sighed, stepping back slightly, shifting his arms to press his hands onto your hips. “They’re blaming me. Saying I’m not working hard enough, not trying hard enough to adapt to the car. I’m going against all their plans, against how they’ve set everything out for me. As if it isn’t their bad strategy that’s fucking me over every race.” 

You suddenly felt insecure that your days-worth of work wasn’t going to help, or would even worsen his mood, that it was going against the plan designed by his team and his PT that was so clearly set out to help him be his best. 

“I-I wasn’t sure how you would be feeling, so I’ve tried to cook your favourite. But if you don’t want it, the pre-planned meal ingredients from your trainer are in the fridge. I can make that, o-or I got some pastries from that stall, the one from our first date? And some chocolate, the one your mum used to get.” You smoothed a thumb over the crease between his brows, “We can do whatever you want.”

His hands dropped from your sides, and his chin drooped towards his chest, and you began to panic more. “O-or I can call Pierre, or your brothers, and you can have a boys night, I’ll get out of your way. Whatever you need me to do.” 

His head is still down, and you’re so worried that you’ve made everything worse. But you weren’t expecting the look that you were met with when he raised his head. His eyes were shining more now, the glistening from earlier now lining his lashes with unshed tears. You weren’t expecting the sheer love that was emanating from his expression, his entire being. 

The smile he gave you could move planets, reignite the stars. Any insecurity and anxiety settled in your chest disappeared, replaced with a deep-rooted warmth. 

“Oh, my darling girl,” he sighed, “What good did I do in a past life to deserve you?” 

His arms snaked around your waist again, pulling you tight against him. He began softly swaying to the music still playing. 

“Sometimes, I think the universe made you for me. No one has ever done something so simple, yet so perfect. I think we were designed for each other mon coeur. Destiny did something right for once.” His voice was barely above a whisper. 

“You know, I used to think the nickname il predestinato was a curse. A label placed on me for such an unattainable dream. A ridiculous notion, and unexpected pressure. But I believe that I was your predestined. And you’re mine. And as long as I have you, all of those dreams are within reach again.”

The food was long forgotten, simmering away to itself, and the candles on the table would remain unlit, for tonight at least. Right now, nothing would feel better than dancing with the love of your life to the songs your parents loved too. 

And as the opening notes to Can’t Help Falling in Love With You began, and Charles reached around you to turn off the stove, twirling you to the song as he softly sang the words, you couldn’t help but agree with his sentiment.  

This love was written in the stars. Predestined. And maybe, that was all you two would ever need.