Carlos Sainz - Blog Posts
gosh im so happy with all the williams carlos content we are having these days if I'm feeling new I DON'T IMAGINE HOW FRESH HE MUST FEEL
✦ PRETTY LIST
★ learning english and french ★ Requests: Open ! (f1 : carlos sainz, franco x lando, seb vettel)
──── ୨ৎ ────
Formula 1
— Sebastian Vettel (SV5)
★ Better Driver
— Charles Leclerc (CL16)
★ Death and Kisses
★ Love in sickness and wins
— Carlos Sainz (CS55)
★ Destino
More ! ═══ Star Wars
NO HAY SUFICIENTE GENTE HABLANDO SOBRE LAS NUEVAS REGLAS DE LA DICTADURA FIA LITERALMENTE NO VAN A PODER HABLAR DE NADA Y SI LO HACEN LOS VAN A SANCIONAR ECONOMICAMNETE Y TAMBIEN SACARLES PUNTOS ☠️. DONDE ESTA LA CENTRAL DE LA FIA HAY QUE HACER UN PIQUETE
I HATE THE NEW RULES WTF IS THIS, FIA YOU'RE THE WORST I HATE U
fuck new regulations
I love journaling so much my fav moment of the day. but I definitely need f1 stickers ☠️ I WANT PHOTOS OF CARLOS AND SEB 🤍😩
IM SO ANGRY THAT IN THE POOLS FOR WHO SHOULD I WRITE CARLOS NEVER WINS 😡 I DON'T LIKE DEMOCRACY
gosh I really want to write something for seb or carlos BUT I DONR HAVE ANY IDEAS HELP ME requests are open!!
CS55— destino
⊹ You can translate it here
⊹ Tags: short, love at first sight, destiny
⊹ I'm thinking about writing a series about this but im not sure
No era secreto que la vida de Carlos había sido un torbellino de sentimientos y hechos que todos parecían tener más claro que él y quizás eso era lo que le molestaba de lo que estaba sufriendo.
Desde que le dieron la noticia de Ferrari, se encontraba en una constante confusión. Y probablemente esa también era la razón por la que se había olvidado del cumpleaños de su hermana.
No tenía mucho tiempo de sobra. Y en realidad, debía comprar el regalo de camino a la casa de su hermana. Según lo que le había comentado su padre—luego de haberlo retado—su hermana había estado muy interesada en un libro de cocina.
Guiado por el gps llegó a una librería en una calle bien concurrida, bajó de su auto casi corriendo y entró por la puerta de cristal y madera haciendo sonar de esa manera a la campanilla que colgaba del techo. Caminó a pasos agigantados hasta llegar al mostrador, donde una chica sonriente lo recibió.
—¿En qué puedo ayudarle?
Carlos ni siquiera tuvo que tomarse un segundo para contestar con el nombre del libro y de la autora, cuyo apellido apenas podía pronunciar. Y en cuanto la señorita fue al depósito a buscarlo, el pelinegro respiró profundamente. Relajado lo suficiente como para apoyarse en el mostrador y mirar a los detalles del local. No había gran cosa, estanterías, libros, carteles y entre todos ellos una cabellera enrulada. Fueron segundos enteros en los que no pudo apartar la vista. Frunció el entrecejo, buscando algo que cortara su curiosidad. Pero lo que encontró, en cambio, cortó su respiración.
Ojos marrones, pestañas largas y un brillo que solo ella podía tener. Sin su permiso, su mano derecha empezó a temblar, el oxígeno cada vez era más difícil de conseguir y su cabeza estaba más clara que nunca a pesar de estar viviendo una tormenta. Por primera vez en un tiempo estaba seguro, que incluso si no la conocía, moriría para que lo mirara un segundo.
—Disculpe señor, ¿no va a contestar?—perplejo por lo que su cuerpo estaba manifestando fue sorprendido por la voz de la empleada que lo veía que con las cejas levantadas y una sonrisa, tardó un segundo en darse cuenta de que su celular estaba sonando. Mientras buscaba su celular en su bolsillo le pidió a la chica que por favor envolviera el libro para regalo. Y sin poder evitarlo volvió su mirada a la chica de los rulos.
—Carlos, ¿dónde estás?—La voz de su padre se escuchó por el teléfono.
—En camino, papá.
—Ya están todos aquí, haz rápido.
La chica terminó de envolver el libro y Carlos extendió el dinero, despidiéndose con un movimiento de mano.
—Ya estoy por llegar, papá—se estaba poniendo nervioso y cuando llegó a estar lo suficientemente cerca de la puerta destino una última mirada hacia la chica con la diferencia que esta vez los ojos le devolvieron la dirección, mirándolo con cierto destello de asombro. Su corazón se detuvo y retomó sus movimientos ferozmente mientras escuchaba a su padre nombrándolo múltiples veces. En ese instante, se consumieron el uno al otro.
—¡Carlos!
Como si su corazón estuviera por estallar salió rápidamente de la tienda conteniendo su deseo de mirar atrás.
—Ya terminé, en un momento estaré ahí papá.
Carlos se aferró al volante con fuerza, le costaba tragar y estaba manejando en automático. Se preguntaba si ella también había sentido la conexión, si le había afectado tanto a ella como a él.
I wsnt to write something for carlos
⊹ pretty pretty list
🫕 Searching Mutuals !
argentina + español 🇦🇷
learning english and french
Requests: Open! ( f1: carlos sainz, lando norris x franco colapinto, seb vettel )
tap more to mastelist
──── ୨ৎ ────
Formula 1
— Charles Leclerc
⊹ Death and Kisses
⊹ Love in sickness and wins
— Carlos Sainz
⊹ Destino
— Sebastian Vettel
⊹ Better driver
Star Wars
— Anakin Skywalker
⊹ Reader Doesn't Eat Properly
⊹ Someone Tried to Rape Reader
⊹ Someone Tried to Rape Reader Part. 2
⊹ Shy Reader
⊹ Home
— Kylo Ren/Ben Solo
⊹ Writing Challenge (01 AU)
More Amor
Summary: you are going out with Carlos, you can speak his language, but you don't tell him. You were hiding your abilities due to an insecurity about your ability.
Song: Friends · Chase Atlantic
Taglist: @random-bouts-of-randomness
Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! Also please follow for more! 🫶
Word count: 3.5k
MASTERLIST - F1
The roar of the engines was a constant lullaby in the Formula 1 paddock, a song that vibrated through your very bones. You loved it here, the controlled chaos, the palpable energy, the feeling of being part of something larger than yourself.
Your focus, however, was often drawn to a specific corner of the Ferrari garage – where Carlos Sainz, with his disarming smile and effortless charm, held court.
You and Carlos were friends for a long time. You found him incredibly easy to talk to, his enthusiasm infectious. You liked Carlos, perhaps more than you should.
But there was also a barrier, subtle but ever-present, that you yourself had erected. It was a secret you carried, one that gnawed at you with each passing day: you spoke fluent Spanish, his native tongue.
You hadn't always been this secretive. Back in school, Spanish had been your favorite subject, a fascination with the language and culture that had blossomed into fluency. There was a time when you'd have proudly displayed your linguistic prowess, but a few harsh critiques in a university language class, comments that chipped away at your confidence, had left you hesitant.
Now, you kept your Spanish a closely guarded secret, especially in the presence of Carlos. The thought of him, a native speaker, judging your accent or vocabulary was enough to send shivers of anxiety down your spine.
This particular afternoon, you were tucked away in the hospitality area, a small respite from the frenetic pace of the paddock. Charles Leclerc, Carlos’s teammate and another friend, was perched opposite you, nursing a bottle of water.
He was in a lighter mood after a good practice session and was keen for a diversion.
“So,” he said, his French accent thick, “teach me some more Spanish. The last phrase you taught me was very… useful.” He grinned mischievously, a glint in his eye.
You laughed, remembering the rather informal phrase you had taught him the previous day. “Okay, okay,” you said, pulling out your notebook. “Let’s try something a little less… provocative.”
You flipped to a fresh page. “How about ‘Es un placer conocerte’ – ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you’?”
You broke it down for him, pronunciation and all, your voice a soft murmur that was just audible above the ambient noise. He repeated the phrase several times, his brow furrowed in concentration until he finally managed something that was, while not perfect, definitely understandable.
“Magnifique!” you exclaimed, giving him an approving nod. He grinned, pleased with his progress, and began repeating the phrase to himself, practicing the rhythm and inflection.
Just as he did, a familiar voice spoke behind you. “Que estan haciendo ustedes?”
You froze, a chilling feeling spreading from the base of your neck. It was Carlos, standing in the doorway, a curious smile playing on his lips.
The Spanish he’d spoken was casual, his words rolling off his tongue as naturally as breathing. What are you guys doing?
A wave of panic washed over you. It was close, too close. He had heard you speaking Spanish, even if it was with Charles. Your secret, the one you had painstakingly guarded, was on the verge of unraveling.
Charles, completely oblivious to the tension thrumming in the air, turned to face Carlos, his face beaming. “‘Es un placer conocerte,’” he announced proudly, his accent thick but understandable.
You cringed internally. Oh no, Charles, no.
Carlos raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting from Charles to you, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Ah, I see. You're teaching Charles Spanish?"
You forced a smile, trying to appear casual. "Kind of," you said, your voice a little too high-pitched for your liking. "Just a few simple phrases for fun." You did not want to admit you'd been teaching him the basics.
Carlos crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe as he observed you and Charles. “Well, that’s good,” he said, his Spanish accent taking over his English slightly. “It’s always good to learn new languages.” He was still looking at you, a playful glint in his eyes that made your heart pound.
You nodded, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah, absolutely.” You picked up your notebook and began flipping through it, pretending to be engrossed with your notes as if you didn’t already know every word you'd already written.
"What else have you taught him?" Carlos asked, stepping further into the room.
You tensed, your heart thumping wildly. “Oh, just basic stuff,” you said, your voice tight. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, and you wanted nothing more than to disappear. “You know, ‘hello,’ ‘goodbye,’ that sort of thing.” You hoped he didn’t see through your act.
Charles, bless his oblivious soul, was happily repeating the phrase he had learnt until it was as close to perfect as it could be. Carlos watched him, but his eyes were still on you.
He knew you were lying. He’d spoken to you in the past in Spanish and you had responded without so much as blinking. Why were you being like this?
“You sure?” he asked, a smirk dancing on his lips. He could see the panic in your eyes and the way your hands were clutching your notebook like a lifeline.
He looked at Charles again, and then back to you. “You speak a little Spanish?”
"No, I don't," you said quickly, a little too quickly. Your voice was far too high pitched. You hoped he didn't hear the fear that was leaking in your tone.
Carlos seemed to hesitate, his eyes scrutinizing yours for a moment longer. A subtle shift in his expression told you he knew you were lying, but he said nothing.
"Okay," he said finally, his tone still amused. "If you say so." He patted Charles on the shoulder. “Enjoy your lesson, Charles,” he said before turning and heading out of the room.
You breathed out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. It had been too close. You watched him leave, your heart still beating fast. You were acutely aware that you needed to be more careful.
One more slip up like that and your secret wouldn’t be a secret anymore. You knew you should tell him, but your fear of not being good enough held you back.
Later that evening, while you were trying to text, a message popped up on your phone. It was from Carlos.
“Hey, you okay? You seemed a little… agitated earlier.”
You stared at the message, your mind swirling. He had noticed. Of course, he had. He was observant, perceptive. You hesitated before typing a response.
“Yeah, all good. Just a bit tired.”
He replied almost instantly. “Tired? Or hiding something? Maybe a secret language?”
You felt a jolt run through you. He was teasing you, playfully pushing at the edges of your lie. You took a deep breath and decided to deflect.
“Nah, just a very complicated article on tire degradation. Don’t let me keep you, you probably have more important things to do!”
A few seconds later, Carlos responded; “I always have time for you. By the way, you should try speaking more Spanish. It suits you.” He included a winking emoji in the text, leaving you completely frozen.
How did he know? You hadn’t said a single word in Spanish to him, apart from earlier when it was directed at Charles. He was definitely onto you.
Your heart started pounding in your chest. You didn’t know what to do. You finally replied with a simple “Night, Carlos” message and put your phone down.
You knew that sooner or later, you would have to face the truth. You liked Carlos, and you didn’t want to keep secrets from him. But the thought of that vulnerability, the risk of judgment, still held you captive.
You hoped one day you’d find enough courage to reveal your secret, to let Carlos in completely. But for now, you would keep your language locked behind a wall of fear, hoping that the wall would come tumbling down one day.
But for now, you had to keep up with the charade, and try not to let him see you were lying about knowing his native language.
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The leather armchair cradles you like a familiar friend. Sunlight, filtered through the lace curtains, dances across the spines of Carlos’s bookshelves, creating a warm, inviting atmosphere.
You’re in his living room, a space that feels as comfortable as your own, except for the subtle undercurrent of nervous energy that always seems to hum beneath your skin when you’re here.
Carlos, with his easy laugh and eyes that crinkle at the corners when he smiles, is the source of that familiar flutter in your chest.
He's gone to the market, a quick errand for the missing ingredient – ricotta cheese, if your shoddy Spanish comprehension served you correctly – needed for his legendary fluffy pancakes.
He'd called them “panqueques esponjosos” and the way his tongue rolled over the words had made your heart do a little tap dance.
You trace the rim of your teacup with your finger, the quiet ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway the only sound. You pull your phone from your pocket, a small smile playing on your lips.
A message from Sofia, a friend from Spain pops up. You haven't seen her since the end of your vacation and you miss her friendly banter. You hadn’t told her that you knew Carlos at first. She was thrilled when you had finally spoken about him and also excited the day you finally felt comfortable enough to speak Spanish to her.
You dial her number.
"Hola, mi amiga!" Sofia's voice crackles through the speaker, warm and vibrant as always.
"Hola, Sofia! Como estas?" you reply, feeling the familiar comfort of the language wash over you. The words flow easily, a melody you've secretly nurtured for months.
You and Sofia slip into a comfortable rhythm, gossiping about mutual friends, discussing the latest drama in her life, and laughing about inside jokes from class. You tell her about how you’ve been spending a lot of time with Carlos recently, describing the comfortable silence that settles between you, the way he always offers you the first cup of tea, and the lingering glances that sometimes catch you off guard.
She’s always encouraged you to take the leap with Carlos, but you've always been too afraid of ruining the comfortable friendship you had.
"¿Y qué tal, el chico que te gusta? ¿Como va con Carlos?" Sofia asks, her voice teasing. And how about the boy you like? How is it going with Carlos?
"He's...he's good," you stumble, a flush rising to your cheeks even though Sofia can't see you. "He's making pancakes later." You hope it doesn’t sound as silly as it feels.
You are so aware of your own internal dialogue.
"Ooh, panqueques! Sounds romantic," Sofia giggles. “Maybe he will be speaking Spanish to you soon” she winks, she is completely aware that he doesn’t know you can speak Spanish.
You have not told her about the pet name he has given you.
"Don't be silly," you say, though a small part of you desperately wishes she were right. "He calls me a few names, it's kinda silly,"
Sofia chuckles, “he likes names?"
"Yeah, Cariño." you say quietly. It’s a term of endearment that sits in your chest like a warm coal, always threatening to ignite a fire. you feel your cheeks burn a deeper shade of pink.
"Ay, ay, ay! Cariño! That means 'darling'! He definitely likes you," Sofia says, her voice filled with excitement.
You laugh, trying to downplay the significance. "It's just a word, Sofia." Even as you say the words you know it isn’t true.
You adore the way he says it, the way his voice softens slightly when he addresses you as ‘cariño’. It feels intimate, a secret language woven into your friendship.
"No, amiga, it's not just a word. It's a feeling," Sofia counters, her voice knowing.
You are about to reply when you hear a thud. A bag, probably groceries, hits the floor with a soft, muffled sound. You turn, your heart leaping into your throat, to see Carlos standing in the doorway, his eyes wide with surprise.
His face, usually so open and inviting, is frozen in a state of shock. A second later he looks hurt.
His gaze is focused on you and he's holding the bag of groceries precariously in his hand as if he's forgotten that it is there. There's a strange mix of bewilderment and something else – hurt, maybe? – flickering in his eyes.
He stares at you, mouth slightly ajar, and no words are coming from him, which is so unlike Carlos to be lost for words.
You freeze, phone clutched in your hand, heart hammering against your ribs. The blood rushes to your ears and you suddenly feel as though you’re unable to breathe, feeling as though he’s looking at you differently.
The Spanish words, the comfortable rhythm of your conversation with Sofia, the comfortable feeling you had all but a moment ago evaporates into the air.
“Carlos…” you whisper, your voice sounding small and weak. You feel your cheeks burn and you can only imagine how red your face is.
He sets the other abag on the floor with a soft thud, the sound echoing in the suddenly charged silence. “You…you speak Spanish?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.
The playful light in his eyes was gone, the crinkles that always appeared when he smiled did not appear this time.
You nod slowly, feeling a wave of shame wash over you. You feel sick at the thought of how he must feel, you should have told him. You should have shown him the real you sooner. “I do,” you managed to say.
You sat perched on the edge of Carlos's ridiculously plush sofa. Your heart was still thrumming a little too fast, admittedly by the man himself. Carlos.
He was pacing in front of you now. He ran a hand through his already tousled dark hair, the movement highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw.
“I still can’t believe you spoke it,” he said, his voice a low rumble.
You fidgeted, picking at a loose thread on the throw pillow next to you. “It’s not that big of a deal,” you mumbled, your gaze fixed on the intricate pattern.
The idea of speaking it, of letting it flow freely in front of anyone, especially him, had always filled you with a surprising amount of anxiety.
“Not a big deal?” He stopped pacing, planting his hands on his hips, his gaze finally locking with yours, a faint amusement dancing in his brown eyes.
“You mean the fact that you’ve been listening to me struggle through English for years, when you could have corrected me all this time, is ‘not a big deal’?”
A blush crept up your neck. You avoided his eyes again, feigning interest in the small water stain on the coffee table. “I… I wasn't correcting you on purpose.”
He chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. It melted the nervous knot in your stomach a little. He dropped down beside you on the sofa, the cushions giving way with a soft sigh.
He turned, his whole attention now focused on you. “So, why didn’t you? Why did you keep that amazing Spanish tucked away?”
You took a deep breath, the words tasting like lead in your mouth. “I guess… I wasn't confident enough,” you finally admitted, the admission feeling like a weight lifting off your chest, however slightly. “I wasn't sure about my accent. Or if I even sounded… right.”
His eyebrows furrowed slightly, and his hand reached out to gently touch your arm, his fingers sending a jolt of warmth through your skin.
He’d always had a way of making even the simplest touch feel charged. “Mi amor, you are always right. Never doubt that. And your accent… it’s beautiful,”.
You finally looked up at him, your eyes searching his for any hint of sarcasm, but finding only genuine sincerity. The term of endearment was a fresh shock, and it sent little shivers down your spine. “You really think so?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.
He nodded, his thumb now tracing lazy circles on your skin. “Absolutely. It’s unique, and it's yours. It's part of what makes you, you." He leaned closer, his eyes boring into yours. "And I want to hear more of it.”
The air crackled, charged by the intensity of his gaze. You were acutely aware of the proximity between you, of the warmth emanating from his body, and the way his gaze lingered on your lips.
He'd managed to convince you to stay, the casual invitation coming after a day spent working with his team at the track. Your initial plan was always to return to your hotel, to maintain the comfortable distance that you had been living in.
But then you saw him, his hopeful expression and the puppy-dog pleading in his eyes and you found your resolve melting away. You told yourself it was the pull of shared language, the thrill of having someone that understood you; but deep down, you knew it was something far more profound and far more dangerous.
“Please,” he whispered, his voice a low, husky plea. “Speak more amor? Just a little bit.” His brown eyes, usually full of mischievousness, were now pools of earnest emotion.
You swallowed hard, feeling the heat creeping up your face again. “What… what do you want me to say?” you asked, the Spanish words a little hesitant at first.
A wide grin stretched across his face. “Anything. Tell me about your day. Tell me you think I’m the best driver on the grid,” he teased, his eyes sparkling with humor.
You laughed, the sound light and airy in the quiet space. "You're arrogant, tonto," you said, the Spanish rolling off your tongue with more ease than you expected.
His grin widened. “But you like me, arrogant and best driver?” he challenged.
"Perhaps," you replied, playfully avoiding his question. "It was a long day. I spent most of the morning working from home. Then, I had lunch with..." You trailed off, momentarily forgetting the English word for the person you had lunch with during the day.
"Your coach?" Carlos suggested, his gaze unwavering.
"Yes! My coach. We discussed the race strategy and went over some notes," you continued, the Spanish flowing much more easily now.
You felt a strange sense of liberation, of finally letting go of the fear that had been holding you back.
He listened intently, his head tilted slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. Every now and then, he would let out a small chuckle or offer a prompting question.
“And now?” he asked softly, interrupting you mid-sentence. “What are you going to do now?”
You glanced around his living room, its sleek lines and modern features a stark contrast to the cozy comfort of your small apartment.
"Now? I suppose... well, I guess I'm going to stay here." You held his gaze, each beat of your heart pounding in your chest.
He reached out, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb softly stroking your skin. "You're perfect," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. "You being here... it makes everything feel perfect."
You shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold. “Carlos…” you began, your voice trembling slightly.
He leaned in, his gaze locked on your lips making the moment feel charged with unspoken promises. “Just… say it, amor,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
You closed the distance between you and pressed your lips against his. The kiss was everything you expected and far, far more. It was a melting pot of the connection you’d so desperately tried to suppress.
It was a declaration in a language both shared and unspoken. When you finally pulled away, you were breathless, your heart pounding against your ribs.
He looked at you, his eyes filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache. “Tell me in Spanish,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.
You took a shaky breath, finally letting the words flow freely, without reservation or fear. “Te quiero, Carlos,” you whispered, the words finally escaping your lips. I love you.
His response was immediate. His lips crashed against yours in another kiss, this one deeper, more passionate, and full of a raw, unfiltered emotion.
You pulled him closer, your arms wrapping around his neck, losing yourself in the moment, in him, in the magic of finally being understood, finally being heard, finally being loved in the most perfect language possible.
The fear, the insecurity you had carried for so long, seemed to dissolve, replaced by a dizzying rush of hope. You had found a home in his arms, in his eyes, and in the shared language that had brought you together.
And in that moment, in his arms, with the city twinkling outside the window, you knew, with absolute certainty, that you were exactly where you were meant to be. . . .
Admin looking for love! - c.sainz
Day 17 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist
summary: Why did Alex Albon feel the need to post you on his story as a ‘lonely woman looking for love’? And why did Carlos Sainz dm you after it?
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alexalbon
liked by carlossainz, williamsracing, reallyy/n, and 2,398,234 others
alexalbon: Are you a Monaco man looking for love? Look no further! Presenting Y/n Y/l/n, a lonely woman looking for love! She's a williams marketing manager (and also my assistant sometimes!), she drives a motorbike, and she's super mean but sometimes really nice! (Real enquiries only, don't be a creep please :) @/really/n
user63: I know Y/n is LIVID rn.
reallyy/n: alex albon, I will kill you with my bare hands don't pull this shit with me right now.
lilymhe: DOG HOUSE -> alexablon: COME ON I'M TRYING TO HELP HER -> reallyy/n: Alex start running. -> alexalbon: you're literally in england right now -> reallyy/n: boarding my plane to monaco. -> alexalbon: FUCK.
oscarpiastri: when do we get you back to the psych ward @/alexalbon ? -> landonorris: Don't make fun of your elders, at least let him leave instagram with a little bit of dignity.
georgerussell: Mate, take it down already she's going to hurt you -> alexalbon: I don't know how, she usually does my social media :(
zhouguanyo: awful choice, I posted her once and she took away all internet devices and made me think about what I'd done for 4 hours (aka staring at a wall for 4 hours). -> alexalbon: YIKES Y/N I'M SORRY PLZ
user46: she's so pretty
user97: QUEEN Y/N
user56: thank you alex for these CRUMBS of y/n please make her get on the podium if williams stops fucking around
user267: SHE'S GORGEOUS WTF liked by carlos sainz
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f1gossip
liked by pierregasly, and 567,038 others
f1gossip: Williams CMO (chief marketing officer) Y/n Y/l/n was auctioned off today by none other than Alex Albon. In an instagram post he said: Are you a Monaco man looking for love? Look no further! Presenting Y/n Y/l/n, a lonely woman looking for love! She's a williams marketing manager, she drives a motorbike, and she's super mean but sometimes really nice! (Real enquiries only, don't be a creep please :)
user47: why is she so gorgeous she looks like a fucking WAG liked by carlossainz
user88: Is that not alex's WAG? ->user67: no she just works for williams and they're close.
user99: HOW IS SHE SO PRETTY WHAT
user75: she's such a queen
user33: If i had a face like that I'd be a model! -> user22: RIGHT? LIKE SHE'S SOOOO GORG
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You knocked on Alex's door with as much force as you could. Why the fuck would he post that? It was all over the internet- you were all over the internet. Every F1 gossip page was shipping you with some random driver, or some random f1-adjacent celebrity. You were livid, and rightfully so. He had no reason to do anything like this, to pull a stunt like that. Honestly, you could just kill him-
"Hello?" Alex grimaced as he stared at you. He knew all hell was about to break loose.
"Alexander Phillipe Albon Ansusinha," you spoke calmly, too calmly. His stomach turned. "Give me your phone."
he handed it over, no question, no hassle.
You quickly deleted the post, deleted instagram, then turned his phone off completely. From inside your bag, you handed him a nokia flip phone. "It already has everyones numbers on it. Don't fucking try to buy a new one, or else I'll freeze all of your cards. Understand?"
He nodded, accepting his fate. "Understand."
"Don't ever pull some shit like that again, alright?" you scolded.
He nodded, his head down. "I got some responses..." he mumbled after a few seconds of silence.
"Alex-!" you were completely prepared to fully scream at him, but suddenly the door behind you swung open and revealed Carlos Sainz. He looked dumbfounded by the two of you and went red. "I'm sending you for 4 weeks worth of mandatory PR training," you turned back to Alex. "I'm so sick of your shit. Between this and Franco's inability to keep it in his pants, I'll be backlogged till Christmas. Just stop causing trouble, ok?"
He smiled sheepishly. "Ok."
You turned back to Carlos. "Sorry about the noise."
He shook his head. "No, that's alright."
"Did you need something?" Alex asked.
Carlos shook his head, his eyes trained on you.
You. He'd seen you around the paddock for years. He'd watched you from afar, unaware of his growing feelings for you until they sucker-punched him in the face about 4 months ago when he was visiting the williams HQ to finish up the contract signing, and there you were in that gorgeous black dress. He couldn't even talk to you. It was embarrassing.
"Alright, well, goodbye Alex, bye Carlos," you smiled at the both of them (the smile Alex got was a bit more disingenuous than the one you gave Carlos) and off you went.
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He knew he had to do something before someone else swooped in. He knocked on Alex's door, more nervous than he thought he'd be.
"Hey Carlos-" Alex smiled.
"Is Y/n single?"
Alex smirked. "She is, yeah."
"May I have her number?"
"Yes Carlos," Alex has the smuggest smirk he'd ever seen. "Yes you may."
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It had been quite the day. You'd been catching up with friends when Carlos fucking Sainz texted you, and then you were on your way to a date with him.
What a fucking day.
You finished up you makeup just as the doorbell rang, and you smiled when you opened it. There he was, standing there with a big bunch of flowers and a goofy smile.
"Hi," you smiled. "Come in."
"Hi," he smiled back. "I got these for you."
He handed over the flowers and you grinned at him. "Thank you, that was very thoughtful."
"Pretty girls deserve pretty flowers," he shrugged.
You felt the butterflies in your stomach go crazy, and you absented yourself to put the flowers in water.
"So, what do you like to do?" He asked, coming up behind you.
"I like films, I like to ride my bike, I like reading, I like motorsport, I like a lot of things. You?"
"Well, I love motorsports, obviously, and I love golf as well," he smirked at the way you grimaced. "Not a golf fan?"
"It's just a little bit boring for me," you admitted. "I do play tennis and padel though. And I played volleyball back when I was in college."
"Well, I guess I'll just have to make you like golf," he smirked.
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reallyy/n
liked by pierregasly, carlossainz, alexalbon and 798,374 others
reallyy/n: alex albon-> part time f1 driver, full time matchmaker apparently. happy 6 months @/carlossainz (still hate golf btw)
limited comments.
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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)
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taglist: @anotherapollokid @theseerbetweenus @simbaaas-stuff @5sospenguinqueen @yootvi
hihiiii carlos + 43 maybe? 😊
43. giving them a piggy-back ride
pairing: carlos sainz x friend!reader
DISCLAIMER: YOU ARE NOT A FAN OF HIKING.
It’s solid as a fact. Unmovable. Unchangeable. You simply cannot find the appeal of waking up in the crack ass of dawn to go on an uneven trail, only to reach the top, and then have to do it again. So, yeah, not a fan.
Carlos Sainz, however—childhood friend, sportsman, Formula One driver, annoying pain in the ass—is a fan of hiking.
And this wouldn’t normally be a problem. Carlos is an avid enjoyer of many things you don’t particularly have a fondness for, but it’s never been an issue. The problem here is that Carlos… he knows you too well. Because while you may not love hiking, he’s well-aware you do love taking pictures of pretty things.
Every time the two of you go out—regardless of whether it’s the city, the beach, the streets—he’s always stopping besides you, patiently waiting as you pull out your phone to snap a quick picture of whatever had caught your attention. Clouds, sunsets, birds on wires, pretty signs— you name it. Your phone’s storage is crying out for help.
And the truth is, you are weak. Because the pictures Carlos showed you of the view from the top were breathtaking. Truly, you caved way too easily.
(Beautiful sights and Carlos leaning close to you with those dumb, pretty, stupid doe eyes of his? It’s not like you’re made of ice.)
And while the sights awaiting you ahead were somewhat motivating, the climb certainly wasn’t.
“I hate you.”
Carlos chuckles. “No, you don’t.”
“No, I do. I really hate you.” You huff, feeling cold sweat between your shoulder blades. “Actually— no, I hate myself.”
Carlos rolls his eyes. “Stop being such a baby. You’ll get over it.”
“I’m dragging you to one of my dissertations next week— see if you love it as much.”
“Looking forward to it.”
“Ass.”
Carlos laughs, stepping over large roots that poke outside of the earth. He’s fast— why is he so fast?
“Watch your step.”
He gets a few paces ahead quickly, as if he’s doing it on purpose. Always so goddamn competitive. Your lips part to shoot something, but whatever you were gonna say dies on your tongue. You don’t mean to do it— it just happens. And before you can help it, your eyes are on Carlos’ ass.
Damn.
“Enjoying the view yet?”
Heat rushes to your cheeks. Your head snaps up. “Huh?”
“The view,” Carlos repeats, stopping as he turns to face you. You think you see the corner of a smirk on his lips. There’s mischief in his eyes that’s gone in a blink. “You can start to see the city from here.”
“Ah,” you manage, clearing your throat. “The city. Yeah.”
Carlos chuckles, shaking his head at you. “Come on,” he throws his head to the upcoming trail. “Only a little more to go.”
“Only a little,” you repeat under your breath. Your jaw twitches. “I’m Carlos Sainz, I’m so sporty and fit and I don’t even sweat,” you mutter in a high-pitched voice.
“What was that?” he calls from up ahead.
“I said you— SHIT!” you yelp, sneaker snagging on an overgrown root, sending you tumbling onto the dirt. You think you swallow a handful of twigs on your way down.
Great. Fantastic, actually.
“I told you to watch your step,” Carlos says helpfully.
“Okay, I’ve had about enough of you and your little—” You try to stand up, but pain shoots up your ankle. You promptly stay on the ground.
Carlos laughs, watching you slump onto the dirt. “Come on, bonita. You agreed we’d get to the end of the trail.”
You shake your head, rolling down your sock a little to get a better look. You grimace. “No, Carlos—fuck, I think I sprained my ankle.”
Carlos stares at you with a disbelieving look, mirth evident in his half smile. But then, the longer you stay on the ground, the faster his smile drops, and concern festers in its place.
“Ah, really?” He mutters a curse you don’t really catch. You hear him rush towards you before halting besides you. He kneels down, gesturing with his hand to bring your leg closer to him. “Okay, let me see.”
He presses the pads of his fingers onto your ankle, feeling around when his brows furrow. Whatever one-sided mischief he’d been enjoying earlier seems to be long gone. He gently presses against a sore spot, making you wince.
Carlos exhales. “Yeah, it’s definitely sprained. Come on.”
You watch as he turns his back to you, still crouching. You huff. “Carlos, I’m not getting on your back on a trail like this.”
“You are, because I don’t want you putting any more pressure on your ankle.”
You fold your arms over your chest. “Right, then you trip and we both end up injured? I don’t think so.”
He exhales loudly. “Preciosa,” he says, a warning in his tone.
You hate the warmth you feel in your gut whenever he calls you that. Bonita, preciosa, guapa. Even if it’s some dumb joke from when you were younger. Feeling flustered when your gorgeous friend calls you pretty as a nickname? Who’s gonna sue you, huh?
You shake your head. “I’m all sweaty and gross. You’re gonna drop me.”
His face twists as he looks at you over his shoulder. For a moment, he actually looks offended. “What? I am not gonna drop you.” You open your mouth to protest, but Carlos beats you to it, his jaw twitching. “Can you stop being stubborn for two minutes and just get on my back?”
“Fine. Moody.” You limp a little as you climb onto Carlos’ back. You breathe deeply as you place your legs around his buff torso, your arms around his neck.
“Hold on tight, okay? I don’t want you falling off,” he says quietly. You nod, even though he can’t see it. Carlos’ big hands curl around your thighs, and you have to swallow a squeak. You hold on to him a little tighter.
Carlos braces himself as he starts stepping down the trail. Your brows knit together. “Are we not reaching the top?”
“No.” There’s a finality to his voice, a sternness he so rarely uses with you. “We should get that ankle checked out as soon as possible. Make sure it’s nothing too serious,” Carlos says, tone indecipherable.
Your hand squeezes his shoulder, and Carlos tenses beneath you. “But—” You press your lips together. “It’s not that bad, I promise.”
He huffs, shaking his head. “You’re not even walking.”
“Yeah, ‘cause you decided to pick me up and throw me on top of you,” you retort, and you can feel heat crawling up Carlos’ neck.
His voice feels hoarser when he protests, “That’s not what I—”
“We came all this way already,” you interrupt. “I didn’t just break my leg to just see trees.”
“You didn’t break your leg,” Carlos says, rolling his eyes. You can hear a small smile forming on his lips.
“Exactly! Now, if you think you can carry me to through the last stretch…” you trail off. You’re tilting your head against his shoulder, feeling a breath that rumbles beneath his skin. Your hands around him tighten slightly. “I think I wanna see what the view looks like,” you murmur, a quiet admission.
Carlos stops his descend, as if weighing his options. You feel him swallow sharply.
You smile against his back, teasing. “Unless, of course, you think you can’t carry me all the way up and then down. Which, I mean, Carlos Sainz Jr, sportsman extraordinaire— Mr. I am amazing and competitive at every sport I—” You yelp as Carlos turns around sharply, making his way back up the trail.
“You told me you didn’t watch that interview,” he grumbles.
You grin. “I lied.”
You laugh into his shoulder as he mutters a string of words under his breath, fixing your arms around his neck. He adjusts his grip on your thighs, pushing you higher on his back.
“Joder. Las cosas que hago por ti.”
You bite down another laugh. You don’t know what gives you the confidence— maybe it’s the ridiculousness of the situation, the fact that Carlos’ thumb is unconsciously drawing small patterns on your leg, or the strange physical closeness. You’re still stifling your laugh when you lean into his ear and whisper, “You’re too easy.”
Carlos scoffs a laugh, a deep, rumbling sound beneath his skin. He turns his face near imperceptibly. Beautiful brown eyes glance at you with unbearable fondness. “Only for you.” He looks away just as quickly, and you pray to whatever god is up there that he can’t tell just how much those three words got to you.
“Let’s go get you that picture.”
a/n: yeah i’m sorry my biggest pet peeve in carlos fics is when spanish isn’t used appropriately (ESPECIALLY in terms of nicknames) so this is vindication :)
translations: bonita — pretty / preciosa — beautiful / guapa — gorgeous / joder. las cosas que hago por ti — fuck. the things i do for you.
Baby Jr Series Masterlist
A Carlos Sainz x MediaEmployee!Reader Story
Status: Ongoing
Series Summary: The teasing, fleeting touches became much more on the night Carlos won, the sexual tension between you two reached a breaking point. Perhaps it was that night, or the many nights that followed, but you were pregnant with his child, putting you in a difficult situation.
Series warnings: 18+ includes smut (check chapter warnings) allusions to smut, accidental pregnancy (it’s literally the whole plot of the story), workplace romance.
current total wc: 22.1k
Thank you to @tonysbed & @chilling-seavey for proofreading 🫶🏻
#babyjr fic talks -> writing process, answering asks about the story, and pretty much anything related to this fic series.
Taglist is OPEN (reply or send me a message to be added)
1. Friendly Banter (2.9k words)
2. Intimate Indulgence (4k words)
3. Salacious Daydreaming (3.1k words)
4. Meticulous Avoidance (2.8k words)
5. Corked Confession (2.2k words)
6. Truth Unveiled (2.8k words)
7. Careful Consideration (4.3k words)
8. TBA
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prancing bulls — CS55
pairing: carlos sainz x fem!verstappen!reader
warnings: fluff, swearing, carlos and max being petty af, not proofread
synopsis: max had always been supportive of yours and carlos’ relationship, except when it comes to who you’re repping in the paddock [2.5k]
MASTERLIST
Since you first showed up in the paddock in one of Carlos' tops, Max had instantly been on your case.
"Y/n you're literally my sister you should wear my merch." You knew that you couldn't deny max had a good point. Ever since day one you were the one there for him, when your dad was ever disappointed in a race result you were always for him and he couldn't have thanked you enough for that.
A part of him even thinks he wouldn't be in the position he was in today without you, that he would've chucked is years before even thinking about getting into f1
You were a notorious defender of max, on Twitter, in person, you defended him without hesitation.
Another thing in the paddock you were notorious for was the famous 33 branding always splayed across your back, fitting in with the MV1 cap you wore on your head.
That was until Carlos came along, soon swapping out your 33 numbered tops for ones adorning 55 and your RBR caps for ones of iconic red team.
Max was nothing short of perfect when it came to your relationship with Carlos, he knew the Spaniard was a good man and would treat any girl rights, especially the one of one of his closest friends sister.
Although, his only complaint would be the serious lack of blue you now wore to the track.
At first you didn't think it was that serious, just Max and Carlos playing around with taking off whatever cap the other put on to replace it with their own and dropping off the discarded one by each others respected garages but apparently it had gone deeper than that.
Max was feeling like he had lost his life time supporter, that even when he was losing he still had you to show him off as your brother whenever the opportunity arose. Even when you sat in the Red Bull garage during free practice, qualifying and even sometimes the race you still bore the number 55 across your back.
And deep down you knew where your brother was coming from, he hadn't ever had a supporter in life who stuck by his even when he lost, except you.
Although you didn't expect the tension to bubble over as soon as it did, and especially not where it did either.
The teams were out celebrating the first race of the new season, ferrari taking 1-2 on the podium and both max and Checo unfortunately with a DNF. All the drivers were out together, a cheers to another year together.
Carlos had been complimenting you like always, the way you had done your hair, your makeup the dress everything and when you thought he had finally ran out of things to say he had brought out the last thing he possibly could. "You look so good with my number around your neck." For your birthday that year he had gotten you a simplistic silver chain with a '55' charm hanging lowly on it.
At his words your fingers couldn't help but find the charm, holding it between your fingers. "And with my number on your back at the race." You quickly hushed him, knowing Max was around somewhere and with the not so ideal start to his championship defending season he was definitely looking to let off some steam, which he had a tendency to be a argumentative when doing. "He needs to get over it, corazón."
"He will, he's just feels like he's lost me as a supporter." When you gave Carlos the look he knew not to push further, instead changing the topic to something completely different and you had never been more thankful for meeting him, letting his arm fall around your shoulders, as you talked about whatever, your laughs behind heard throughout the bar.
About two thirds of the grid were already here, keeping to groups of two or three as you and Carlos spoke between yourselves for a couple more minutes, being joined by Charles and Charlotte who were clearly in a celebrating mood too, other drivers with their girlfriends joining shortly after too.
The bar was finally beginning to clear, you on drinks duty this round you decided to go now, getting the orders of everyone at the table and denying Carlos' help before getting to the bar. The wait for the drinks seemed longer as a generic song played in the background, and finally when the bartender came over another hand went out to grab it. "Need a hand?"
Smiling when you heard the familiar voice you nodded, of course you knew he wasn't going to be the happiest of people tonight but still you wouldn't pass up the time to hang out with your brother. "So, i didn't see you in the garage today."
Barely a second in and you already wanted to leave the conversation, your past comment coming back to bite you. "Max." Your voice held a warning, clearly not wanting to talk to him about it again. If you knew anything about max, and you more than knew him, he was a stubborn person, he didn't drop subjects if he thought he could get more on it, and this was another example of that.
"I'm just saying, your spending a lot of time over there, that's all." You could just tell that if he hadn't been holding the drinks in his hands he'd be throwing his hands up, although his expressive eyebrows did just the job.
Carlos could see the tense interaction from across the club, and he knew the others could too if they chose to look over. He debated on wether he should go over and intervene in the conversation or wether he should leave the siblings to be siblings. "He's my boyfriend Max, what did you expect?" You felt your voice getting louder, looking round to see a couple of the bar goers looking at you but had to shake it off.
Max resisted the urge to roll his eyes, a typical brother response and he knew it. "Just expected my sister to come support her brother once in a while."
In retrospect you both had valid points in the argument, which only made it more frustrating.
Just as you felt you were going to scream at him, a short temper was apparently one of the traits the Verstappens shared, you felt a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Hey mate, tough race. You coming to sit with us?" You were thankful for Carlos, the spaniard there to diffuse the tension like he almost did, but the slight glare your brother was giving him was more than enough to let you know it was doing the opposite.
You looked to Carlos, noticing the teasing smile on his lips. He was enjoying this, and you wanted to scold him you really did, in-fact you wanted to scold both of them for being such idiots. "Look Max, i get it, you think you've lost me but you haven't i'm still your number one supporter i just have another car to cheer on now."
"So what you're a 'tifosi' now?" Max knew he was being petty, everyone knew that, but in fairness everyone was. Carlos was being petty buying you '55' necklace and wanting you to wear it in front of max he only did to push his buttons.
You knew this wasn't going to go anywhere, the amount of stubborn in the three people here enough to fill a further six. Sighing, you closed your eyes in frustration. Finally opening them up to find Max's piercing into yours. "It's just a numbe-"
Before you could finish the man beside you interrupted, moving his arm from around your shoulder to move closer to Max. "He has a point, it's just a number. So then why do you care so much?"
You knew Carlos had a pretty face, and in this argument its a shame thats all he was.
It was now your turn to glare at Carlos, ready to slap both of them. Looking back you did look quite dumb, thinking he had come own to try and calm down the situation and yet here he was winding Max up himself. "I'm her brother."
"And she's my girlfriend." Carlos answered without missing a beat, catching Max off guard slightly.
The trio stood in a short silence for a while, the bartender awkwardly giving you the last drink he needed to make, coming back to Carlos and Max looking like they wanted to kill each other with you in the middle of. You gave him an apologetic smile, an angry look on your face as you turned to the two bickering men. "If you two continue like this i'm just wearing mercedes merch."
Taking the tray of drinks as you spoke you walked back to the table, the drivers and girlfriends who couldn't help themselves but look over at the interaction trying to not laugh at their petty behaviour.
Sadly their bickering did not end there, and whoever's stupid idea it was to seat Max opposite Carlos you were ready to kill. Carlos made his actions abundantly clear, letting hin arm fall over your shoulder, playing with the silver 55 around your neck whilst you talk with someone.
And Max was never one to back down from the argument, continuing on with his 'i'm the brother' argument until even he had grown tired of saying it.
Soon enough the night was coming to and end, you caught up quickly with one of the drivers before he had the chance to leave, whispering something in his ear and he turned round to see both Max and Carlos scowling him and he nodded his head, agreeing with her.
You returned back to your trio, taking the drink out of Carlos' hand and finishing it before he could protest, any attempt to get home faster. "What was that about?" Max questioned you, and for the first time that night he and Carlos seemed to be agreeing on something.
"What was what about?" You played dumb, both of them seeing straight through the facade as you fiddled with the bracelets on your wrist.
"What did you talk to Lewis about?" Max probed further, his nosey self always needing to know things
"And why were you that close to him?"
As a Verstappen you liked to believe that you were true to your words.
The petty comments between Carlos and Max still hadn't stopped, not that you thought they would, throughout the week.
And so you were thankful you had called in for plan b, he had dropped off one of his caps, pairing it with his numbered team top and before you knew it you were walking into Friday practice one with the white of the mercedes shirt and number 44 splayed across your back.
Ted, of course, was first to notice. The presenter donned his now iconic headset, equipped with his microphone. He caught you just as you entered the track, the sight of you in certain teams merch not an uncommon one but never this team.
"And here we have the lovely Y/n Verstappen, looking as beautiful as always may i add," Ted greeted you, a smile on his face as the camera got a look of your attire. "Although i can't say we see you in this always."
Jokingly, you posed for the reporter, a laugh escaping your lips when he told you to do a twirl. "I'm trying a new style, do you approve?"
"As much as we do, does your brother approve is the question we should be asking." He leaned in as he asked the question, working over time for the dramatic effect he knew fans would be eating up.
You saw Carlos further back in the paddock, walking with his pr officer and you wanted to catch him just before the first practice. "Think we should just keep this between ourselves, Ted."
"Keep what between ourselves, Miss Verstappen?" He smiled at you, and you appreciated that he followed on with your joke. No matter how many times you'd seen him come for things max had said or done, off camera he was one of the nicest people you had met.
Smiling back at him, you nodded your head. "This is why you're my favourite."
The goodbye between you two was short, Ted wishing both Max and Carlos a good race and you made sure to carry on his message to them.
If there was one thing you appreciated about Ted is that he never made an effort to bring up your relationship with Carlos, of course he knew as did most in the paddock, but he never made you comment or "choose" between Max and him whenever an accident happened like others did.
Lando was the first to spot you from his own garage, jogging to catch up with you, the smile on his face unmistakable as he took in your appearance. "You a Lewis girl for today?"
You slowed down your strides for him to fully catch up with you, nodding your head as you laughed at his questions. "I've always been a Lewis girl," Lando raised his eyebrows at your answer. "Just don't tell Max that...or Carlos."
The young brit nodded, the two of you talking until you reach the familiar red garage, Lando quick to say goodbye knowing how tight he was cutting it to his pre-practice meeting.
You found Carlos' driver room with the help of a few engineers, some unable to hide their confused look at your entire Mercedes attire whilst the others laughed with each other.
Carlos was going over his usual pre-drive rituals, completely in his own world as he didn't hear you coming in, causing him to jump slightly when you placed your hands on his shoulder, forcing him to turn round.
His eyes instantly found the hat sitting proudly on your head, his initial reaction being to let out a chuckle at your new look. "So, what'd you think?" You gave him a twirl, as if you were wearing a floor length skirt, instead only in a pair of flared jeans.
"That you look as good as always, and if this was an attempt to annoy me you failed." He placed a quick kiss on your pouting lips, completely unfazed from the lack of his number, or merch, on you.
"Was more to annoy Max than you," On cue, you felt your phone buzzing in your pocket, Max's name the first thing you saw on your screen as he'd phoned you multiple times already.
Although this time you finally picked up, a small smirk on your lips as he groaned a 'took you long enough'. "You called?"
"Yeah multiple fucking times," You could feel Max's eye roll on the other side of the phone, his annoyance somehow travelling through the device. "I never actually thought that you'd follow through."
He laughed through his words, a disbelieving tone to the words that you could make out. "I told you i would." You smiled as if he could see you through the phone.
"Keep arguing and you'll see me in a #16 top next race."
That man loves his country more than the Spanish economy loves its people
seeing people say "oh of course carlos brings ferrari here too with the red and yellow in his helmet" HE'S SPANISH ??? HAVE YOU SEEN THE FLAG ??? DO YOU KNOW HOW PATRIOTIC THAT MAN IS ??? LEAVE HIM TF ALONE
Why do you watch Formula 1?
I watch for the cars, duh.
CARLOS SAINZ
Soft Launches and Soft Tyres
Part 1: The Princess of the Grid
A particular kind of silence falls in a garage before a race. It’s not quiet with radios crackling and the hum of tire warmers and mechanics shouting about torque and telemetry. But it’s a kind of silence in my head, like the calm just before I let the car swallow me whole.
I live for that silence. That, and the smell of burnt rubber. I’ve never fit into any neat little box anyway—not the way people expect, especially not when I got into F1 at 19. People expected me to be the new kid, quiet and compliant. And, well… okay, they were half right.
I was quiet. Still am, mostly. I don’t talk back, I let the track speak for me. That was something Seb used to say. “You don’t need to be loud to be heard, Moni.” He was my mentor before he became everyone’s eco-uncle and left us… left me. I still miss his hugs. And Daniel, god, Daniel was like my older brother, but funnier and worse at keeping secrets. He once said I had “golden retriever energy disguised in a kitten’s body.” Which is both cute and slightly concerning, but very him.
Anyway, it’s been five years now. I’m 24, and things have changed. There’s a new wave of younger drivers, some shinier, and I’m not the “baby” anymore. But I guess I still get called the “Princess of the Grid.” Mostly by Lando. Once, Carlos said it during a press conference, and Lando won’t let him live it down.
My mother raised me, just the two of us. She worked nights at a hospital and still managed to drive me to karting sessions on weekends. It wasn’t glamorous. We didn’t have the money that most kids in motorsport had. But I had her. She never yelled, never cried in front of me. Just kept going. Quiet strength. Maybe that’s where I get it from.
My dad left when I was six. I don’t remember much about him, and the stuff I remember feels more like watching someone else’s home video. He wasn’t cruel, just... unfinished. He didn’t know how to stay, and he missed a lot of things: my first race win, my Super Licence, and my debut in Formula One. Sometimes, people ask me if we’re in touch, and I say, “No, but I’m sure he knows where to find me.” I mean, it’s not like I’m hiding.
I signed my first F1 contract at nineteen with AlphaTauri, back when it was still AlphaTauri. It was a blur—media, pressure, more cameras in a week than I’d seen in my whole life. I kept my head down. Scored points when I could. Learned how to breathe in that car-shaped pressure cooker. I was never the loud headline, but I stayed consistent. That's what mattered. The paddock doesn’t always reward consistency, but it remembers it.
I still drive for VCARB even now, and I like it here. We’re not the underdog or the top dog. We’re the kind of team that sharpens you and makes you better.
-------------------------
Part 2: The Calm Before the Media Storm
Media day always smells like too much cologne and burnt coffee.
It’s a mix of waiting around in branded teamwear and pretending not to hear the questions asked in the next booth. My PR manager, Livia, clips a mic to my collar with practiced ease, gentleness usually reserved for bomb diffusers or hairstylists.
“You good?” she asks, smoothing the VCARB jacket over my shoulder.
“Define good,” I say, giving her a slight grin. She rolls her eyes.
“Smile. Be nice. Don’t swear.”
“Always nice. Almost never swear.”
“Almost being the keyword.”
She pats my arm and walks off, already on the phone.
The first few interviews are standard fare. Strategy questions, performance reviews, tyre talk — everything I’ve answered a hundred times, just repackaged in different accents and camera angles.
Interviewer: “Monica, do you think the team’s Q3 performance in Jeddah was a turning point?”
Me: “It was a data point. A good one. But one race doesn’t define a season.”
Interviewer: “You’ve been praised for your tyre management this season—”
Me: “I just don’t fight physics. That’s all.”
They laugh. One asks if I meditate. Another wants to know what I eat before a race.
“Toast,” I say. “Always toast.”
There’s a short break after the fourth interview. I peel off the mic and flop onto a couch in the VCARB media room. Isack’s already there, drinking a Red Bull while on his phone watching one of the videos the admin made us make on Instagram.
“You’re trending,” he says, not looking up.
I groan as I close my eyes to take the smallest nap a human is possible. “Again?”
He turns the screen toward me. A photo from last week, me again, blurry, exiting a hotel lobby at midnight. Someone had zoomed in on my hand touching someone else’s arm.
“Your mysterious shadow boyfriend strikes again,” he grins. “This time, people think it’s someone from the grid.”
“Great,” I mutter. “I love when my life makes headlines. You keep laughing, Isack, but one day, you won't even be able to pee in peace without getting on headlines."
He ignores me and keeps scrolling. “Also, apparently your ‘energy’ matched Pedro Pascal’s according to this fan edit.”
I blink. “What does that mean?”
“I have no idea. But I support it,” he says with a grin, and gets off the couch when his PR manager calls him for an interview.
I watch him walk away before my phone vibrates.
Groupchat: Who made this groupchat?
Carlos: MONICA.
Lando: Ma’am, why are YOU trending and not for overtaking someone???
Alex: Girl, you okay? Did you break the internet??
lewis: Princess, did I miss something, or did you go on a date with Pedro Pascal??
Charles: WHO IS THE MAN? Alex won't tell me anything.
Carlos: Becca won't either.
Max: I will find out. I know people.
Carlos: Moni. Seriously. Who is it?
Me: Stop spanning the group chat
Lando: We are not doing such thing, answer.
Oscar: We want to know?
Max: Does Daniel know? I bet he does.
Me:……
Charles: Young lady, come back here.
---
Sebastian (privately): 1 massage - unread
I stare at Seb’s message for a second too long. Then I press the side button and lock the phone without replying. The last interview of the day is with a lifestyle network—the ones who care more about what moisturizer I use than my racing line through Sector 3.
The questions start light.
“What’s always in your travel bag?” “How do you relax between races?” “If you weren’t an F1 driver, what would you be?”
I answer them all. (Sunscreen. Sleep. Veterinarian.)
And then
“So, Monica… the internet wants to know: Are you dating someone?”
There’s a beat of silence. Not awkward. Just quiet.
“I—uh.” I blink. “I don’t usually talk about my personal—”
“We know! That’s why everyone’s curious. There have been some pictures lately—late dinners, hotel lobbies. People are saying—”
I don’t hear the rest. My throat tightens. I nod slowly, a polite smile barely glued on. Livia appears out of nowhere, like a PR magician.
“I’m so sorry,” she cuts in. “We’re running late for a strategy debrief. Tight schedule today.”
The interviewer tried to hide their disappointment, but Livia was already guiding me out of the chair with a hand on my elbow and that fixed “this is fine” smile that PR people must practice in the mirror. Once we’re out of sight, she mutters, “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I lie. In the hallway, I check my phone again. Seb’s message is still sitting there. Still unread.
-----------
Part 3: When the Internet Breaks
[Clip: ‘The Last of Us’ Season 2 – Press Junket | Interview With Pedro Pascal]
Pedro Pascal is seated comfortably and exudes his characteristic warmth and charm.
Interviewer: "Pedro, 'The Last of Us' season 2 episode 2….what an episode it was, it delves deep into love and loss themes. Has portraying Joel influenced your perspective on personal relationships?"
Pedro: "Absolutely. Joel's journey is one of profound connection and vulnerability. It's made me reflect on the importance of having someone who grounds you and brings light into your life amidst chaos, just like Ellie did for him in a daughter-father way."
Interviewer: "That sounds personal. Are you currently experiencing such a connection in your own life, maybe with a lover?"
Pedro: "Well, let's just say I've been fortunate to find someone who brings that kind of light and grounding into my world."
The interviewer raises an eyebrow, intrigued.
Interviewer: "Care to share more?"
Pedro Laughing, shaking his head, "I think I'll leave it at that for now. I don't want trouble."
Within hours, the internet was ablaze with speculation. Social media platforms were flooded with clips of the interview, and fans dissected every word and expression.
Twitter/X – Trending Topics:
PEDRO PASCAL GF???
"Someone who brings light" [1.3M posts]
Monica VCARB edit (soft launch??)
MONICA IS DATING PEDRO
PRINCESS OF THE GRID x INTERNET’S DADDY 😭
Comments under various posts range from excitement to disbelief:
“Imagine going home to the Princess of the Grid and she makes you toast while talking about tyre deg 😭” “She was quiet but had the rizz of a thousand suns.” “Oh my god. THE fanfic is real.”
Private Chat – Daniel Ricciardo & Monica Daniel: So. The internet’s on fire. Pedro and you?
Monica: He didn’t mean to I think He was just talking. That’s how he is. He gets soft and starts talking, and the words fall out
Daniel: That’s adorable. I’m vomiting a little, but it’s adorable. So it’s real? Like, real real?
Monica: Yeah. It’s been a few months now. Met him at an awards thing. He was nice. Didn’t treat me like a headline. Didn’t ask about fame at dinner. Just asked about my favorite books. Stuff no one’s asked in years.
Daniel: You deserve that. You so deserve that. But you’re freaking out, huh.
Monica : I feel like I’m standing on a trapdoor. Like the minute I smile too wide or hold his hand in daylight it’ll open and everyone will pile on. I worked so hard to be taken seriously. Being the first woman in F1 was hell at first. You remember. People said awful stuff. Called me Seb’s “pet project,” remember that? Or the “baby with daddy issues.”
Daniel: Yeah. I remember. I also remember you outqualifying half the grid with a migraine and two hours of sleep. You’ve got scars. Doesn’t mean you hide forever.
Monica: He’s older. People will tear it apart. Say I’m looking for a dad. Say I’m broken. And with mine leaving, I never really figured out how to not let that stuff crawl under my skin. I know it’s stupid. But I’m scared. Of the headlines. Of the comments. Of being too happy and getting punished for it.
Daniel: That’s not stupid. That’s human. But you don’t have to carry it alone. Talk to Seb, Mon. He’s worried. We both are. You’ve got us. You always have us.
Monica: I haven’t opened his text.
Daniel: Mon, you know you have to talk to him at some point
I sat curled up in the corner of the hotel bed, hoodie sleeves pulled over my hands. The room was too cold, not physically, but in that way hotel rooms are when you don’t feel like you belong in them. My phone sat in my lap like it weighed five kilos. Seb’s name had been at the top of my messages for three days. Unread. Unopened. But never ignored. I stared at the notification, thumb hovering over it like the screen might bite back. Then, finally, I tapped.
Sebastian Vettel [3 days ago]: Hey, little one. I saw the headlines. I just wanted to say, I hope it’s true. Not the rumors. The happiness. You’ve always deserved to be loved out loud, not in secret. And you don’t owe anyone an explanation for that. If people try to turn your joy into ammunition, that’s on them, not you. Call me if you want. I’m here. Always. 💛
It hit me in layers. I could hear his voice in my head as I read. His calm, that steady warmth he always had, even when the whole world was watching him. I didn’t cry. Not really. But something loosened in my chest — something I didn’t realize I’d been holding onto so tightly. Like someone had cracked open a window in my ribs and let the stale air out. I stared at the message momentarily before hitting his number and hearing the ringing sound.
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Part 4: Eyes on the Paddock
Practice day always feels like the calm before the circus. Except this morning, the circus was already rolling in. By 9 a.m., the paddock was alive, TV crews in place, PR managers buzzing like caffeinated bees, fans pressed against the barriers, phones ready. Security tried to keep a clear path, but the chaos was controlled at best. Sky Sports F1’s Rachel Brookes adjusted her earpiece and stood near the entrance gate, mic in hand, eyes trained on the team hospitality areas. She nodded to the cameraman. “Alright, we're rolling in three, two, one…”
“Good morning from the paddock,” she began, the signature warmth in her voice. “It’s Friday, it’s practice day, and we’re already seeing a few drivers arriving.”
From behind her, someone in the crowd screamed as Charles Leclerc strolled past in Ferrari red, smiling at Leo with Alexandra by his side. Moments later, George Russell appeared with Carmen beside him, both dressed like they had walked out of a campaign shoot.
Rachel turned slightly to the camera. “A few of the grid’s familiar faces are arriving with their partners today, a little off-track love before the focus shifts to race pace.”
Then the air shifted. It wasn’t loud at first. Just… aware. Phones lifted. People stood on their toes. There was a wave of murmurs, the kind that travels fast, faster than even a car down the straight. And then there she was. Monica, the grid princess, walked through the gates like she’d done a thousand times. Cool. Grounded. Calm with her usual sweet smile. Except this time, she wasn’t alone. Pedro Pascal walked beside her, their hands linked, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.
Rachel blinked, then leaned toward the camera with a slightly incredulous smile. “And… Monica Cruz is walking in this morning with none other than Pedro Pascal. That… is quite the entrance.”
Click. Flash. Shutter sounds like popcorn. Monica didn’t stop walking. She didn’t pose or break stride. But she looked up briefly, smiled toward the crowd, and gave a small wave with her free hand. Pedro leaned close to her ear, clearly saying something only she could hear. She laughed, genuinely, softly, like no cameras were watching. Rachel, still recovering, added, “Well, that’ll be the shot of the weekend before the engines even start.”
-----
Author note: I had this idea and just had to get it down, even if it’s rough or awkward. I know it’s not perfect, and I apologize if the writing feels unpolished, but I hope the story's heart came through and that you enjoyed the concept. I’d love to keep writing and improving, especially regarding details and dialogue. Next time, I want to include more of Monica interacting with the grid and the other drivers. I hope this first part of the story feels like a good start.
Speeding Bonds: A Sainz Siblings Story
This is my first F1 fanfiction, and I'm excited to share it with you all! It's a bit short, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Your feedback means a lot to me, so if you like what you read, let me know! If there's interest, I'll definitely add more to the story. Thanks for taking the time to check it out!
Character: Name: Ji-min Sainz Age: 23
Background: Ji-min was adopted from South Korea into the Sainz family when she was just a baby. Growing up in Spain, she was immersed in Spanish culture but always felt a connection to her Korean roots. She has a warm relationship with her adoptive family.
Ji-min discovered her passion for music at a young age and pursued it fervently. She auditioned for a talent agency in Barcelona and was selected to be a part of a five-member girl group called "Eclipse." Despite her busy schedule as a K-pop idol.
Meanwhile, her older Carlos Sainz Jr. was making a name for himself in the world of Formula 1 racing. Their paths rarely crossed due to their different careers and lifestyles, but Ji-min secretly followed Carlos's races, feeling proud of his achievements yet also envious of the attention and recognition he received.
As Ji-min's popularity as a K-pop idol soared, she kept her family background a secret, fearing that it might overshadow her own accomplishments and potentially cause unwanted attention. However, deep down, she yearned to connect with her brother.
The story:
SMS
Ji-min: Hey Carlos, it's Ji-min. Hope you're doing awesome today! 🌟
Carlos: Ji-min! What's up, little sis? 😄 Everything good on your end?
Ji-min: Yeah, all good here! Hey, I was actually wondering... would it be cool if I came to one of your races? I've been dying to see you in action, big bro! 🏎️💨
Carlos: Of course it's cool, Ji-min! I'd love to have you there cheering me on. But... are you okay with everyone knowing we're family? I mean, it's kind of a big deal to go public with this stuff.
Ji-min: Totally cool with it, Carli! I've been wanting to shout it from the rooftops for ages. 😄 Plus, I'm super proud of you, big bro! Let's show the world what the Sains siblings are made of!
Carlos: Haha, you're the best, Ji-min! Thanks for always having my back. 😊 Alright then, I'll hook you up with a pass for the race. Get ready for the full VIP treatment!
Ji-min: Woo-hoo! VIP treatment, here I come! 🌟 Thanks a million, Carli. You're the best big bro a girl could ask for!
Carlos: Anytime, Ji-min! Can't wait to see you at the race, little sis. Get ready for some serious fun!
Ji-min: Counting down the days big bro! Vamos!
The day of the race:
At the Australian Grand Prix 2024
Ji-min made her way through the bustling crowds, the sun beating down on her as she walked. She was dressed in a simple sundress, a soft pastel blue that fluttered gently in the warm breeze. The fabric flowed loosely around her figure, offering comfort and ease as she navigated through the throngs of people.
A pair of oversized sunglasses shielded her eyes from the bright sunlight, partially concealing her face and adding a touch of mystery to her appearance. She pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail, strands of dark hair framing her delicate features.
Despite the casual attire, Ji-min moved with a graceful confidence, her steps light and purposeful as she weaved her way through the crowd. She kept her head down slightly, avoiding direct eye contact to minimize attention as she made her way towards the VIP area.
Occasionally, she caught snippets of excited chatter from nearby fans discussing the upcoming race and the drivers competing in it. Ji-min couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement coursing through her veins as she neared the entrance, her heart pounding with anticipation.
As she reached the designated entrance for VIP guests, Ji-min took a deep breath, her excitement bubbling beneath the surface. With a confident smile, she presented her pass to the security personnel and stepped inside, ready to witness her big brother's momentous victory firsthand.
Her eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of her brother. She was so absorbed in her search that she didn't notice the people around her, her gaze moving to her phone screen as she typed out a message to Carlos.
"Hey Carli, just arrived. Where are you? "
Lost in her phone, Ji-min didn't notice the figure approaching until it was too late. With a sudden jolt, she collided with someone, nearly dropping her phone in the process.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, looking up to see who she had bumped into.
Standing before her was none other than Lando Norris, one of the drivers competing in the race. Ji-min's eyes widened in surprise, recognizing him instantly from his racing gear and signature smile.
Lando grinned apologetically, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. "No worries! "
Ji-min nodded, feeling a blush creeping up her cheeks. Sorry for not paying attention."
Lando chuckled, waving off her apology. "Not a problem at all." giving her a friendly nod before continuing on his way.
As Ji-min watched him disappear into the crowd, she couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement coursing through her veins. Little did she know, her encounter with Lando was just the beginning of an unforgettable day at the races.
----
Ji-min's heart raced as she finally spotted her brother amidst the hustle and bustle of the Ferrari garage. Carlos stood surrounded by his team, his familiar smile lighting up his face as he greeted them with enthusiasm.
"Carli!" Ji-min exclaimed, weaving her way through the crowd until she reached him. "There you are! I've been looking all over for you."
Carlos turned towards her, his eyes lighting up with delight as he caught sight of his little sister. "Ji-min! I'm so glad you made it!" he exclaimed, pulling her into a tight embrace.
Wrapped in her brother's arms, Ji-min felt a rush of warmth and contentment wash over her. It had been too long since they last saw each other, and she cherished every moment they spent together.
"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Ji-min replied, pulling back to look at Carlos with a beaming smile.
They spent the next few minutes catching up, exchanging stories and sharing laughs as they soaked in the atmosphere of the race day. Ji-min couldn't help but feel a surge of pride as she watched her brother interact with his team, his passion for racing shining through in every word and gesture.
----