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holysainz · 9 months

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hidden truths - mick schumacher

pairing: mick schumacher x messi!reader

warnings: none

summary: you use summer vacation as an escape from the weight of your last name … mick happens to have the same idea

You meet him on the shores of Ibiza. He’s just another sun-soaked stranger as far as you’re concerned. With golden hair tousled by the ocean wind and eyes reflecting the azure blue of the sea, he is magnetic. But you’re just two beach-goers, simply Mick and Y/N, each escaping the intensity of your own lives for a slice of paradise.

You’re both incognito, tucked away behind faux names and tinted aviator sunglasses, your public identities folded away and locked away in your suitcases. He’s Mick, a charismatic car mechanic, and you’re Y/N, a football coach from Rosario. Nearly truth, except for the bits you both conveniently leave out.

Mick’s charm is undeniable. It’s clear that he’s comfortable around people … around you. It’s the easy jokes he cracks about the Spanish heat and the impromptu sandcastle-building competition he starts under the heat of the midday sun that endear him to you. There’s a spark, a connection. But just as a sun sets on Ibiza, the end of summer break looms in the horizon.

You decide to see it through, to ride this wave until the end.

—

One afternoon, as the sun dips low in the sky and bathes the beach in shades of gold, you’re locked in a lively debate about football. Your knowledge, the passion, it’s all too familiar.

“I swear, Y/N, you talk like you’ve been on the field with Messi himself,” he laughs, sipping on his sangria.

There’s a pause, a flicker in your eyes, as you reply. “Well, you talk about cars like you were born in one.”

You share a knowing look. The masks are cracking but not quite broken. Not yet. There’s fun to be had and more summer to enjoy.

—

The last week of your vacations approaches. A parting is imminent but Mick presents an offer, “I’m … going to a race next week. Formula 1, in Zandvoort. As a mechanic, of course,” he adds with a wink. “Would you like to come along?”

Your heart jumps. Attending a Grand Prix? The thought is electric. “I’d love to,” you say, despite the beating in your chest.

So you’re whisked off to the Netherlands, to the world of racing and roaring engines. In the paddock, Mick introduces you as a friend. There’s an energy here, a tangible excitement. It mirrors what you felt watching your father in Camp Nou and Parc des Princes and now DRV PNK stadium. It’s intoxicating. You understand why Mick loves it.

And then it happens.

“Lewis,” he greets a man passing by with a quick nod and beaming smile. You recognize him, even though your previous encounters were during award show red carpets and VIP parties you could barely remember the next morning. Lewis stops dead in his tracks as he spots you. “Y/N?” he questions, reaching for a hug. “What are you doing here? I would’ve gotten you a pass if I knew you wanted to come.”

Your eyes widen as Mick watches the exchange. “You know each other” he asks, the words thick with confusion.

Lewis laughs, “Of course, she’s Leo’s daughter.”

The shock in Mick’s eyes doesn’t fade away.

“You know … Leo Messi,” Lewis is quick to clarify.

The silence hangs heavy. Mick looks at you, betrayal written across his face but there’s understanding too. “And you’re Mick Schumacher, Michael’s son. God, I feel so stupid,” the realization dawns.

For a moment, nothing. Then, Mick smiles. “Guess we’re pretty bad at keeping secrets, huh?”

“Or pretty good,” you retort. “Depending on how you look at it.”

You both laugh, the sound echoing through the Mercedes garage. When you're together, you’re not Mick Schumacher and Y/N Messi but just Mick and Y/N again. You’re more than the gargantuan shadows of your last names.

The end of summer isn’t a goodbye, it’s a beginning. The beginning of something new, something real. Even under the intense scrutiny of the world, you hold onto each other, two hearts beating as one.

And that, in the end, is the true victory.

—

taglist: @musingsbyshreya

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holysainz · 9 months

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heating up - carlos sainz jr

pairing: carlos sainz jr x girlfriend!reader

warnings: none

summary: you convince your boyfriend to take on the hot pepper challenge … chili vs chili

You glance across the room at Carlos. Your boyfriend is sprawled across the couch, engrossed in a Spanish reality show. He’s so absorbed that he doesn’t notice the devilish smirk playing on your lips.

“Hey, Chili” you call, borrowing his nickname. It’s ironic given his pitiful tolerance for spicy food, a fact you’re planning to exploit.

“Yeah?” He replies, still glued to the screen.

You flash a grin, holding up your iPhone, “How about a hot pepper challenge?”

He turns, a horrified expression on his face. “You mean … on camera?”

You nod, savoring his almost cartoonish horror.

“Oh no. No, no, no,” he protests, shaking his head.

“But your fans will love it!” You argue. “Picture this: ‘Chili tamed by chili.’”

“Terrible pun,” Carlos grimaces but you know that he can’t deny you anything and see the resignation slowly start to spread across his face.

“Oh, come on! It’ll be fun!” You promise, flashing your most persuasive smile.

After a moment of consideration, he sighs. “Fine but if I end up in hospital, I’m blaming you.”

And that’s how you both find yourselves in your kitchen, surrounded by an array of intimidatingly red peppers of all shapes and sizes. You flip your phone camera on and your fans are immediately alerted to a new live stream.

“Hello everyone! As you can see,” you gesture to Carlos, who is eyeing the chili assortment with a mix of fear and determination, “I’ve managed to convince our very own Chili to join us in a hot pepper challenge.”

Carlos waves to the camera, forcing a smile. “I’m pretty sure she’s trying to kill me.”

Your fans are thrilled, flooding the comment section with laughing emojis and anticipatory messages. You decide to up the stakes.

“The loser has to do the dishes for the rest of the year,” you declare, raising an eyebrow at Carlos.

“Deal,” he agrees, much to your surprise.

You start off easy with some mildly spiced jalapeño poppers. Carlos manages it with just a few beads of sweat dotting his forehead. Then, you turn up the heat. Literally.

A red-hot habanero pepper is next. You both bite in. Carlos’ face goes from confident to confused to horrified in the span of seconds. Tears prick his eyes as he reaches for the milk … but you’re quick.

“Nope. No milk until the end,” you tease.

He glares at you but it’s short-lived as he doubles over coughing. You’re laughing so hard you can barely keep the camera steady.

The challenge continues, each round spicier than the last. Your fans are going wild, making their bets, offering their condolences to Carlos. Some suggest calling an ambulance preemptively.

Carlos, despite being a tormented, sweaty mess, hasn’t backed down. You’ve got to give him credit — his determination is astounding.

Finally, you reach the grand finale: the infamous Carolina Reaper. By now, Carlos looks like he might pass out but he stubbornly insists on going ahead.

“I’m not losing to a vegetable,” he states defiantly, glaring at the wrinkly red pepper as if his stare alone could send it up in flames.

The Reaper hits hard. You feel your own eyes watering but the sight of Carlos — eyes wide, face red, fanning his mouth frantically — is enough to keep you going.

“Okay, okay,” you relent, laughing between teary coughs and reaching for the milk. “I think that’s enough torture for today.”

Carlos doesn’t say a word, just snatches the glass and downs it.

Finally, he manages to croak, “I hate you.”

You’re still laughing. “Oh, come on. It wasn’t that bad.”

“I’m literally breathing fire,” he complains. “I think I might have been turned into a dragon.”

Your fans are cracking up, their comments buzzing with laughter and commiserations for Carlos.

Wrapping up the live stream, you turn to Carlos, whose mouth is now firmly wrapped around the spout of an entire carton of milk

“You okay there, dragon?” You ask, still giggling.

Carlos just glares, face half hidden by the carton, his expression only fueling your laughter. “You know, you’re lucky I love you,” he chokes out.

And despite your grinning and teasing, you know you’re even luckier to have him.

Your spicy challenge video goes viral, featuring in countless meme compilations. Your fans, ever the comedians, edit fire-breathing animations onto Carlos and photoshop his face into every relevant House of the Dragon scene they can get their hands on.

Carlos grumbles each time he sees the video but you notice the smile he tries to hide. He’s a good sport, and though he’ll never admit it, he enjoyed the chaos. Plus, he’s free from dishwashing duties until the end of the year so who’s the real winner here?

You smile, plotting your next challenge. After all, what’s the good of having an extremely memeable boyfriend if you can’t immortalize his best moments on video?

—

taglist: @musingsbyshreya

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holysainz · 9 months

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mended bonds - lewis hamilton

pairing: lewis hamilton x rosberg!reader

warnings: brief mention of minor accident

summary: in which brocedes are (secretely) future brother-in-laws

“Ready for the race?”

You look at Lewis Hamilton, your boyfriend, who’s dressed in his fireproofs, a gleaming helmet under his arm. His smile warms your heart but there’s a tension in his eyes, a wariness that’s been growing these past few months.

“Always ready to cheer for you,” you respond, your heart thrumming in your chest.

And it’s true. You, being Nico Rosberg’s sister, have always had a passion for racing. The roaring of the engines, the blistering speeds, the smell of hot rubber, all have been ingrained in you from childhood. But more than anything else, it’s the man standing in front of you that brings you to the paddock now.

“We can’t keep hiding this, you know,” Lewis speaks up suddenly, his warm brown eyes meeting yours.

A shiver courses through you. You have been together secretly for nearly four years now, carefully navigating the tension that exists between Lewis and Nico after their explosive fallout. You knew revealing your relationship would make things even more complex. Still, you sense the truth in Lewis’ words.

“Let’s get through today first,” you propose. This race is critical for him. He doesn’t need more pressure.

His lips press into a thin line but he nods, squeezing your hand gently before he leaves.

—

At the circuit, your heart races with each passing lap. Lewis is performing exceptionally. But then, it happens. Lewis and another car collide, spinning him off the track. Your heart plummets, the world becomes a blur. The spectators gasp, but it’s your brother’s face that you see first. It’s white with fear.

“Is he alright?” Nico asks, gripping your arm. His rivalry with Lewis is known but in this moment, you see their shared history, the times when they were friends and brothers rather than rivals.

“I … I don’t know,” you stutter. A pang of guilt strikes you. You need to tell him.

—

Later, in the hospital, when you finally see Lewis bruised but alive, relief washes over you. You grasp his hand tightly. He manages a weak smile. “Guess I’m out of commission for a while.”

His nonchalance doesn’t fool you. You lean over, pressing a soft kiss on his forehead. “I’m just glad you’re still here with me.”

And you know it’s time. No more secrets. You ask Nico to come to the hospital.

—

Nico looks confused when he enters but when he sees Lewis’ hand in yours, his eyes widen in shock.

“Nico … Lewis and I … we’re together. For a while now,” you blurt out.

Nico’s surprise fades into something you can’t decipher. He steps back, running a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because we didn’t want to complicate things further,” you reply, hoping he would understand.

“It’s already complicated!” Nico snaps. “Do you know what people will say? It’ll be a media circus!”

“We don’t care,” Lewis intervenes. “We’re not living our lives for the media or anyone else. It’s our decision.”

Nico glares at him but his anger melts into resignation. He sighs heavily, “You’re right … it’s not my place. I wish you’d trusted me enough to tell me sooner, though.”

“I was scared, Nico. I — we — didn’t want to lose you,” you admit.

He gives you a sad smile, “You won’t lose me, sis. And you,” he turns to Lewis, “You better take care of her.”

—

In the following days, you and Lewis brace yourselves for the media storm. It’s intense, just as Nico predicted, but together you weather it.

You and Lewis continue to support each other. And slowly, Nico and Lewis start rebuilding their strained friendship, understanding that the rivalry on the tracks should not destroy the bond off it.

Love, you learn, does not have to be a secret to be precious. It’s in the shared smiles, the quiet moments together, the support when times are tough. And now that it’s out in the open, you realize that your relationship with Lewis, far from being a point of contention, has become a bridge between two estranged friends.

And in that, you find your happiness. Not just in love but in the reconciliation it has brought and the bonds of brotherhood it has mended. Because at the end of the day, it’s not just the thrill of the race that matters but the people who ride alongside us in life and in love.

—

taglist: @musingsbyshreya

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holysainz · 9 months

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daddy issues - toto wolff

pairing: toto wolff x horner!reader

warnings: relatively vague and mild spice

summary: maybe asking for “daddy” to pass the salt while at dinner with both your father and boyfriend wasn’t the best idea

Dinner. The word rings in your ears as you fix the final adjustments to your dress. There's a palpable sense of tension in the air, thick enough to cut with a knife. The dinner is with none other than Christian Horner, your father, and your boyfriend, Toto Wolff. A high-stakes encounter as is only fitting for those at the helm of Formula 1.

The chauffeur pulls up at your childhood home, the butterflies residing in your stomach growing more frantic. You take a deep breath, straighten your dress and step out of the car, feeling the gravel crunch beneath your high-heeled shoes.

Your father greets you at the door, a jovial smile on his face that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s cordial as he guides you inside to the dining room where Toto is already seated. You take your place beside him while your father seats himself across the table.

The first few minutes pass with superficial chatter about weather and trivial matters. It’s an unspoken agreement to not bring up work and motorsports.

As the main course is served, you reach out for the salt shaker. “Please pass the salt, Daddy,” you say, momentarily forgetting your company.

Two hands reach out simultaneously, one from your left, the other from across the table. A silent beat hangs in the air, Christian’s hand freezing midway, his eyes flickering between your face and Toto’s smug grin.

“I believe she was talking to me, Christian,” Toto says smoothly, his hand closing over yours as he passes the salt shaker. The tension amplifies, the hum of an engine before a race, the calm before the storm.

Your father’s face turns several very unflattering shades of red, his grip tightening on his wine glass. “I see,” he says in barely more than a growl.

“What exactly do you see?” Toto asks, his voice laced with underlying challenge.

“I see that you’re taking advantage of my daughter. Just like you’ve taken advantage of every opportunity in your life!”

“Opportunities are not taken, they’re earned,” Toto retorts, gaze steely. You feel your heart beat loudly in your chest.

“You don’t earn someone’s daughter, Wolff!”

The words hang in the air, a declaration of war. A war between two fathers, two titans of the track.

“And yet here we are,” Toto’s voice is cool, his hand interlacing with yours under the table.

There’s a knock at the door, breaking the tension. “Excuse me,” your father says, standing up and leaving the room.

You look at Toto, noticing how his eyes sparkle with mischief. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you whisper.

He shrugs, a small smile dancing on his lips. “I like challenges. And I believe I’ve just been presented with one.”

“I can’t believe you,” you say, shaking your head, but there’s a smile on your face. It’s a game to Toto and that’s what makes it exciting. The thrill of competition, the high of winning. It’s what drew you to him in the first place.

Your father returns, his demeanor changed. There’s a strained smile on his face, one you’ve seen before. It’s a sign of defeat. A sign of surrender.

“I think it’s time for dessert,” he says, signaling the waitstaff to clear the table.

The rest of the dinner goes smoothly. Dessert is served and eaten in relative silence, the conversation restricted to shallow topics. Toto’s hand, however, doesn’t leave yours.

As you say your goodbyes, you turn to your father. “I love him, Dad,” you say, voice steady. “I need you to accept that.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I may not like it, but I can’t control who you love. Just … promise me you’ll be careful.”

You smile at him, a small reassurance. “I will. I promise.”

And with that, you leave the house, Toto’s arm securely wrapped around your waist. The night may not have been perfect but it was a start. It was the beginning of a new race, and just like every race Toto has ever been a part of, he’s determined to win. And so are you.

The ride home is a silent one, the car gliding smoothly over the asphalt. You rest your head on Toto’s shoulder, his fingers tracing circles on the back of your hand. His heart beats steadily under your ear, a calming rhythm amidst the chaos.

Once you reach your shared home, Toto guides you inside, his hand still never leaving yours. The house is quiet, the only sound being your mutual heartbeats and the soft rustling of clothes. Toto’s eyes are intense, filled with a heat that has nothing to do with the summer night outside.

He leans in to kiss you, his lips warm and inviting. “I must say,” he murmurs between kisses, “I quite enjoyed tonight’s dinner.”

You laugh, your fingers tangling in his hair. “Of course you did. You love drama.”

His eyes sparkle in the dim light, crinkling from a smirk that never fails to make a smile break out across your own face. “Only when it’s with you,” he replies before sweeping you off your feet.

Giggling, you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close. His laughter rings in your ears, a sweet sound that makes your heart flutter.

He takes you to the bedroom, laying you down gently on the bed. His hands are warm and confident, leaving trails of fire wherever they touch. His lips meet yours again, the kiss searing and passionate.

As he pulls away, your heart hammers in your chest, anticipation thrumming in your veins. You look at him, his eyes dark with desire, his breath mingling with yours. “Please,” you whisper, your hand reaching for him, “Daddy.”

The word seems to ignite something within him, his eyes flashing with a primal hunger. A satisfied smirk plays on his lips as he moves to kiss you again, his hands exploring your body with renewed vigor.

His reaction to your whispered plea sends a shiver down your spine. His eyes gleam with an intoxicating mix of triumph and desire. You watch him with a sense of wonderment, realizing this powerful man is entirely yours.

The taste of his lips becomes a craving, your fingers tracing a familiar path down his neck. He matches your pace, his experienced hands inciting a fire within you that only he can quench.

“Daddy,” you say again, your voice echoing in the quiet room. The word takes on a new meaning when it comes from your lips — not one of familial connection but of power, control, and raw unadulterated passion.

His hands on your body are firm yet gentle, commanding yet tender. “Are you sure?” he asks, his gaze filled with concern.

With a nod, you assure him of your trust. This man, who stands tall on the racetracks, is also the one who holds you with utmost care in the darkness of the night.

Together, you explore new heights of passion and pleasure, every sigh and gasp just adding to the bond you share. The rest of the world fades into oblivion as Toto stakes his claim. It’s an intimacy you wouldn’t trade for anything else.

When dawn breaks, he’s there with you — a steadfast presence reminding you of the promise that was made and fulfilled. And in the quiet whispers of the early morning, you realize that this is exactly where you want to be. Not because he is Toto Wolff, the team principal and CEO and billionaire businessman, but because he is simply your Daddy — your lover, your confidant, and your partner. And as the morning sun paints the sky with shades of gold, you wouldn’t want it any other way.

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holysainz · 9 months

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CARLOS SAINZ JR

heating up (you convince your boyfriend to take on the hot pepper challenge … chili vs chili)

CHARLES LECLERC

tinted red (when the love of your life is involved in a crash, keeping your romance a secret is the last thing on your mind)

LANDO NORRIS

silly season (fans get a glimpse into your relationship on a stream)

LEWIS HAMILTON

mending bonds (in which brocedes are secretely future brother-in-laws)

MAX VERSTAPPEN

his haven (the rest of the world may see him as mad max but you bring out another side of him)

TOTO WOLFF

daddy issues (maybe asking for “daddy” to pass the salt while at dinner with both your father and boyfriend wasn’t the best idea)

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 fluff #f1 drabble #f1 one shot #f1 x y/n #f1 fandom

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holysainz · 9 months

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his haven - max verstappen

pairing: max verstappen x reader

warnings: vague and brief mention of minor accident

summary: the rest of the world may see him as mad max but you bring out another side of him

A blur of scarlet and orange sweeps past you as you stand on the sidelines of the Autodromo Nazionale di Monza, the deafening roar of engines echoing in your ears. It’s a sight and sound you’ve grown accustomed to, the chaotic symphony of Formula 1. To your right, the Red Bull team huddles around monitors, eyes glued to their champion, Max Verstappen.

“Mad Max” they call him. On the track, he’s a beast … fierce, relentless, and terrifyingly fast. A blink and you’d miss him. But to you, he’s simply Max, the man you love.

“Over to Max’s girlfriend, how are you feeling right now?” a reporter shoves a microphone towards you.

“I’m confident,” you reply, eyes never leaving the blur that is Max on the track. “He’s at his best when under pressure.”

—

Away from the screech of tires and buzz of the crowd, Max is different. He’s soft-spoken, his eyes always twinkling with laughter, his smile warming your heart. And it’s this Max you come home to after the race.

“Hey, liefje,” he greets you, brushing a kiss on your temple. His racing gear has been replaced by comfortable jeans and a t-shirt, his hair damp from the shower.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” you ask, noticing the slight grimace as he moves.

“Just a little sore, nothing major,” he shrugs it off, but you’re not convinced.

“Lie down. I’ll get the ice pack," you command, to which he obeys with a chuckle. “Always so bossy.”

“And you love it,” you smirk back, pressing the cold pack to his shoulder gently.

“Only because it’s you,” he confesses, capturing your lips in a tender kiss.

—

A race accident brings out Mad Max. His car, a crumpled wreck, his team frantically shouting over the radio, spectators holding their breath. But in the chaotic frenzy, you remain calm.

“Are you okay, Max?” The radio crackles to life.

“I’m okay. I’m okay,” he replies, his voice strained.

Hours later, as he hobbles into your shared hotel room, the fiery anger that usually follows a mishap is absent. He meets your worried gaze, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Told you, I’m okay.”

“But you could’ve been—”

“I wasn’t and that’s what matters,” he interrupts, cradling your face in his hands.

—

It’s late when Max finally drifts off to sleep, exhaustion overtaking him. You stay awake, staring at his peaceful face, a stark contrast to the Mad Max everyone knows. Your fingers trace the curve of his face, lingering on a small scratch from the accident.

“I love you, you know,” you whisper, though you know he can’t hear you. “But could you try not to scare me like that again?”

A soft mumble is your only response, Max stirring slightly in his sleep. You smile, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

—

Mad Max returns to the track, a force to be reckoned with, taking the next race and the next race and the next race by storm. He stands atop the podium, trophy held high, a victorious smile on his face. You’re by his side, matching his grin with your own.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he whispers later, holding you close in the quiet of your shared room.

“I didn’t do anything, Max. That was all you,” you respond, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest.

“But that’s where you’re wrong. You see the man, not Mad Max. You make me want to be better, on and off the track. And that ...” he pulls you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “... that makes all the difference.”

And in that moment, it’s clear to you too. The Mad Max reputation may never leave him but neither will the tender, caring Max you’ve come to love more than life itself. You’re the calm amidst his storm, the quiet in his chaos. And that’s something no one else sees or ever will. You are his anchor, his haven, and he is your love, your Mad Max.

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holysainz · 9 months

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silly season - lando norris

pairing: lando norris x girlfriend!reader

warnings: innuendos

summary: fans get a glimpse into your relationship on a stream

You walk into Lando’s gaming room, a cup of hot chocolate topped with tiny marshmallows in hand. His back is to you, headphones clamped over his head, eyes focused on the screen. Lando is always in his element when he's streaming — it’s a joy to see. But today, you’ve been the one tasked with interrupting him. Not that you mind, of course.

“Got your hot chocolate, sweetheart,” you startle him, setting the cup down beside him on the desk. You look at the screen, recognizing the familiar game of F1 2023. “Who’s winning?”

“Verstappen. But it’s just a virtual race,” Lando chuckles without taking his eyes off the screen.

“Ah, so you admit you’re losing?” You tease, earning a playful glare. You laugh at his mock annoyance, then start to saunter out of the room.

Before you can make your exit, however, Lando grabs your wrist, pulling you back. “Wait, I need you.”

You spin around, your eyebrows raised in surprise. His words hang in the air, and for a moment, a suggestive smirk plays on your lips. “Really, Lando? On a live stream?”

His cheeks flush as he quickly shakes his head, his laughter joining yours. “Not like that, you minx! I need you to stay here and distract the competition with your terrible driving.”

“Ah, so that's how it is,” you retort, grinning at his playful sidestep. “I’m your secret weapon now, am I?”

With a chuckle, he grabs the spare controller, throwing it to you. “Only the best for Team Norris.”

“Well then, prepare to lose!”

What you don’t realize is that Lando’s stream is live, and all his fans are eagerly watching the banter unfold.

Lando chuckles, setting up the second controller. “Oh, we’ll see about that.”

The race starts and immediately, it’s a comedy of errors. You’re not very good at the game to say the least and you crash into a wall within the first thirty seconds.

“Hmm, you do know the point is to avoid the walls, right?” Lando teases, his fingers moving deftly over the buttons of his controller.

You shoot him a feigned glare, and he laughs, his attention fixed on the screen as he smoothly overtakes one of the opposing cars. “Maybe you should stick to delivering hot chocolate, love.”

“No way,” you say stubbornly. “I’m going to beat you at your own game, Norris.”

“Ah, spoken like a true underdog!” He laughs, and the sound of it makes you grin, even as your car crashes into another wall.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the screen, Lando’s fans are loving every moment. Their favorite F1 driver showing his fun side, coupled with your charming wit, is an unbeatable combination.

The chat box fills with amused comments:

‘OMG, she’s hilarious!’ ‘Lando, you’re losing your touch!’ ‘Can we have her on every stream?’

Laughing and teasing each other, you keep trying to maneuver your car with minimal success. You playfully jab at Lando’s concentration, saying, “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be good at this?”

“I am good!” he protests, “Just not when you’re trying to distract me.”

“Oh, am I a distraction, Norris?” you ask, raising your eyebrows suggestively. “Is it because I make your gear stick shift?” The playful innuendo makes Lando choke on his laugh.

“A very attractive distraction, yes,” he responds, and it’s your turn to blush.

The comments explode:

‘Did he just—‘ ‘They are too cute!’ ‘I can’t even.’

Eventually, Lando wins the game, but not without a few crashes of his own. As you watch the virtual champagne spraying over his character, you say, “Well, you won. But I’d like to see you do this in real life.”

Without missing a beat, Lando responds, “What, win a race or put up with you?”

“You better keep it clean on the track, Norris,” you retort, giving him a sly wink. “Because the way you’re driving here, you won’t be able to handle the curves!”

You gasp dramatically when he laughs at your comment. “Lando Norris! I’ll have you know I’m a delight to put up with.”

He laughs, pulling you into a hug. “Yes, you are. You’re my favorite distraction.”

With that, Lando ends the stream, laughing at the barrage of comments from his fans. You sit there with him, sharing in his laughter, completely oblivious to the fact that you were just part of an international live stream.

But you don’t care. All that matters to you in that moment is Lando’s laughter, the warmth of his arm around you, and the joy of sharing these simple, perfect moments with him. And if his fans loved it too, well, that was just an added bonus.

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holysainz · 9 months

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tinted red - charles leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x wolff!reader

warnings: mentions of a crash, light angst

summary: when the love of your life is involved in a crash, keeping your romance a secret is the last thing on your mind

You’re always in the shadows, hidden from the glare of the media. You have to be, given that your father is Toto Wolff, one of the biggest names in F1. It’s a life of constant scrutiny, every move dissected by the press. But there’s another reason you prefer the shadows, a secret hidden behind the tinted visors and roaring engines — Charles Leclerc.

“Y/N,” Charles whispers, his fingers tracing your cheek in the dim light of his Monaco apartment, “I wish we didn’t have to hide.”

“I know,” you reply, catching his hand and pressing a kiss to his palm. But the truth is, you’re scared. Scared that the media circus might get to him, scared about the stakes, the competition, the inevitable clash between the personal and the professional.

Two days later, the Monaco Grand Prix begins. The race is always a spectacle, but this year, it feels different. There’s a tension in the air, a heavy atmosphere that has your heart pounding.

You watch from the pit wall as Charles takes his position. As he pulls down his visor, he shoots a glance your way — a small, barely noticeable movement but enough for your heart to skip a beat.

And then they’re off.

For a while, everything seems normal. Charles takes the lead, his Ferrari cutting through the circuit like a scarlet arrow. You can hear his calm voice over the radio, a stark contrast to the frenzy on the track.

But then there’s a crash. A terrible, heart-stopping crash, and Charles’ car is in the middle of it.

“No...” you breathe out, your hands gripping the railing. You can hear the gasps around you, the frantic voices over the radio. But all you can focus on is the burning wreckage on the track, and the terrifying silence from Charles’ end.

“Charles, do you copy?” The voice of his race engineer echoes over the radio, tense and worried. But there’s no response.

“Charles,” you whisper, your voice choked. Panic swells in your chest, a terrifying, overwhelming sensation. You need to be there. You need to see him.

Ignoring the protests of your father and the rest of the team, you run towards the crash site. Your heart beats in your ears as you reach the medical car, praying that Charles is okay.

He’s pulled from the wreckage and you let out a sob of relief when you see him move. He’s alive, dazed, but alive.

When he sees you, his eyes widen. “Y/N?” he mumbles, looking genuinely confused. Then his eyes flicker to the cameras, to the team staff, to your father who has just arrived at the scene. “Y/N,” he says again, this time with a different tone. A tone of realization.

Before you can react, he pulls you into his arms, ignoring the cameras, the audience, everything but you. He’s shaky but his arms are tight around you. “I’m okay,” he assures you but it’s you who should be comforting him.

But the truth is out now. The world knows about you and Charles. It’s chaos — flashes from cameras, shouts from the media, gasps from the crowd. Your father’s furious face is the last thing you see before Charles’ team pulls you both away.

Once in the privacy of the medical center, Charles looks at you, guilt in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I didn’t mean for it to happen like this.”

Tears prick your eyes, not of anger, but of relief. “I don’t care,” you tell him, “I don’t care about the media, about the world. All I care about is you.”

Charles’ face softens, and he reaches out, brushing a tear from your cheek. “I love you, Y/N.”

You give him a teary smile. “I love you too, Charles.”

When you face your father, it’s with determination. You know there will be consequences, but as long as you have Charles, you can face anything.

“Y/N, what were you thinking?” Toto scolds but his anger is tempered with relief. “Do you understand the implications of this?”

“Yes, I do,” you reply, standing tall. “But, dad, I love him. And I can’t hide it anymore.”

Toto sighs, rubbing his temples. Then he looks at you, a glint of something — resignation, maybe even understanding — in his eyes. “Alright, Y/N. We’ll deal with this, as a family.”

In the end, things work out. There are a lot of talks, a lot of apologies, but through it all, you and Charles stand united. The media, as expected, goes into a frenzy. Yet, as the days pass, the chaos settles.

And one night, sitting together on the same Monaco balcony, under the same stars, you realize something. Despite the scrutiny, the chaos, and the stress, you wouldn’t trade this life for anything else. Because this life gave you Charles, and with him, you have everything.

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