F1 Drabble - Blog Posts

BEST FRIENDS TO LOVERS ! LANDO NORRIS X READER BLURB

best friend ! lando who holds you tight after you came crying to him because your boyfriend cheated on you

best friend ! lando who spends every free second of his time with you, always making sure you’re distracted enough to not think about what your ex did to you

best friend ! lando who always takes you to his races, happy to see you smiling and giggling next to his mother in the McLaren hospitality

best friend ! lando who comes running to you first after a race as you kiss his cheek, congratulating him on his performance, relaxing into his embrace

best friend ! lando who loves seeing how well you get along with the other drivers and their girlfriends

best friend ! lando who gets constantly teased by oscar about the way he looks at you, how he admires you, and how he’s scared to ask you out

best friend ! lando who secretly blushes every time he stumbles over an edit or a tweet about the two of you, the fans already speculating about wether it’s really just a ‚friendship‘ or something more

best friend ! lando who sees you getting ready in your apartment for yet another first date, an unimpressed and disapproving look on his face

best friend ! lando who waits for your call, knowing he’d have to pick you up after that date. they never go well

best friend ! lando who finally cracks when you’re sitting in his car crying because no guy seems to treat you right

best friend ! lando who wipes away your tears with his hand, his fingers gently caressing your cheek

best friend ! lando who tilts your head to make you look at him, leaning in to finally kiss you

best friend ! lando who smiles into the kiss as you do the same, butterflies erupting in your tummy

best friend ! lando who has that warm, fuzzy feeling inside his body as he glances at you in his passenger seat as you doze off, driving you back home with a steady grin on his face, his cheeks painted in a warm pink

best friend ! lando who is absolutely in love with you.

i want him so bad lolz ༉‧₊˚. [ masterlist / previous post / requests open ]

Hi there

Since Silverstone is approaching what do we think of a omega Prince george handing the p1 trophy to alpha alex and both of them being like you're mine 😂

Okay so here you go! First time writing these two in forever.

Alex was on top of the world. Winning at Silverstone had been his dream for so long and it had finally happened.

The fact he got to do it in front of his mate was even better.

He stands on the podium, basking in the warmth of the sun as he waits for the trophies to be handed out. Because this was the British grand prix, the prince of England would be giving the trophies out.

Prince Russell, also known as Alex's mate.

They had met during Silverstone last year while George had been given a tour of Williams. They had surprisingly hit it off and Alex had courted George for a little while before the prince had decided to share his heat with him.

From then on they had become mates. So far they were keeping it low key, knowing that the news of them being mated would cause uproar in their respective worlds, but it was getting harder and harder to hide their feelings for each other.

Like right now, George was approaching Alex with his eyes shining with love and pride. He couldn't really hide it even if he tried.

Alex doesn't want him too.

George hands him the trophy, their fingers brushing for a moment and this possessive light enters his eyes. “Mine.” He murmurs, too low for anyone to hear.

Alex rumbles low in his chest at his words and he leans in to murmur in his ear. “Mine, forever.”

George cannot stop the smile appearing on his face and he almost doesn't leave the podium when directed. Alex also cannot hide his lovestruck grin.

It's later on that they realise they weren't so subtle. When most of the British press run articles showing the photos of the podium and it's clear to see the two men adore each other.

But when Alex looks at the photos he doesn't feel dread. He feels relief. Maybe they could stop hiding now?

He would have to discuss it with George first, but time would tell if they could be free to tell the world the truth.

They deserved to be happy. Even if it meant causing uproar in their lives. George's smile lives in Alex's head and he wants to keep it forever. Damn the consequences.

He picks up his phone, calling George's number.

“Hey George, we need to talk.”

This one is so sad and soft. It's perfect💖💖💓💓

The World Can Wait

Carlos Sainz x Reader

Summary: no matter whether he’s wearing Ferrari red or Williams blue, standing on the top step of podiums or fighting for points, you’ll love Carlos through it all

The podium is eerily quiet now. The lights are dimmed, the bright flashes of cameras long gone, and the chaotic hum of celebration has faded into nothing. The night wraps itself around the circuit like a heavy blanket, but Carlos is still there. Sitting cross-legged on the podium, the silver P2 trophy rests beside him, untouched.

You find him like this after weaving through the empty paddock, the distant sounds of dismantling garages growing fainter as you near him. At first, you’re hesitant. You stop at the base of the podium steps, watching him from the shadows.

His head is tilted back, eyes fixed on the sky, though you doubt he’s really looking at anything. The set of his shoulders is tight, his elbows resting on his knees. He doesn’t notice you.

“Carlos,” you say softly, almost unsure if you should disturb him.

He doesn’t startle. Instead, his gaze drops, and he looks at you. There’s something hollow in his expression, a weariness that no trophy can mask. He doesn’t say anything, just gestures faintly with his hand for you to come up.

You climb the steps slowly, the sound of your shoes against the metal breaking the heavy silence. When you reach him, you hesitate again, standing just a few feet away.

“Are you okay?” You ask, careful, your voice low.

He exhales sharply, almost a laugh but not quite. “Am I okay?” He repeats, shaking his head. He leans forward, running both hands through his hair. “I don’t know, cariño. I don’t think I know how to answer that.”

You lower yourself down beside him, close enough that your knees brush. The chill of the night air seeps into your skin, but you ignore it, your eyes fixed on him. “Talk to me,” you urge gently. “What’s going on in your head?”

He doesn’t respond right away. For a while, the only sound is the distant murmur of the city beyond the circuit. Then he sighs, deep and heavy, as if it’s been trapped inside him all night.

“I’m just ... taking it all in,” he says finally, his voice quiet, almost broken. “I don’t know if I’ll ever stand up here again.”

The weight of his words sinks into your chest. You reach out, your hand brushing against his arm. “Carlos, don’t say that. You don’t know that.”

“But I don’t know that I will, either,” he counters, turning to look at you. His dark eyes are glassy under the dim lights, his jaw tight. “It’s Williams next year. Williams. You know what everyone is saying. You know what they expect.”

“Forget what they expect,” you insist. “This isn’t the end for you. It’s just-”

“-a step back?” He interrupts, his tone bitter. He shakes his head again, lips pressing into a hard line. “That’s what they all say, isn’t it? That it’s a ‘rebuilding year,’ a ‘fresh start.’” His voice drops, softer now but no less anguished. “But what if it’s not? What if this really is the end? What if I’ve peaked, and it’s all downhill from here?”

Your heart twists at the vulnerability in his voice. You don’t know how long he’s been holding this in, how long he’s been carrying this fear. “Carlos-”

“Do you know what I thought, standing on that podium tonight?” He cuts you off, his voice thick. He doesn’t wait for you to answer. “I thought, ‘This is it. This is the last time.’ I smiled, I waved, but inside I was just ... empty.”

His voice breaks on the last word, and he swallows hard, looking away from you. But you can see it — his hands trembling slightly, his chest rising and falling unevenly.

You don’t think. You just move. You reach for him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him into you. He doesn’t resist. His head drops against your chest, and that’s when it happens. The tears come fast, silent at first, then with a shuddering breath that rips through him.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, your hand threading through his hair. “Let it out, baby. I’ve got you.”

He clings to you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, his arms wrapping around your waist. His tears soak through your shirt, but you don’t care. You press your cheek to the top of his head, rocking him gently. “Even if you never stand on another podium,” you whisper, your voice steady, “it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t make you any less. It doesn’t make me love you any less.”

He stiffens slightly at your words, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are red, his face streaked with tears. “You say that now,” he says, his voice cracking. “But what if I can’t give you the life you deserve? What if I can’t be-”

“Stop,” you cut him off firmly, your hands cradling his face. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare say you’re not enough for me. Carlos, you are everything. Do you hear me? Everything.”

His eyes search yours desperately, as if looking for something to hold onto. “Promise me,” he whispers. “Promise me you’ll still feel that way, even if ... even if everything goes wrong.”

“I promise,” you say without hesitation, your voice trembling with the weight of it. “On my life. I promise.”

He closes his eyes, a fresh tear slipping down his cheek. You wipe it away with your thumb, your fingers lingering against his skin. Then, slowly, you lean in, your lips brushing against his in a soft, lingering kiss.

When you pull back, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing still uneven but steadier now. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible.

“Yes, you do,” you counter, your hands slipping down to rest on his shoulders. “And if you can’t believe that right now, then believe this: I’m not going anywhere. Not now, not ever.”

He doesn’t respond with words this time. Instead, he pulls you back into his arms, holding you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to the world. And maybe, for now, that’s exactly what you are.

The night stretches on, the podium still and silent around you. But neither of you moves. The world can wait.