#williams f1

[verstappensrealwife]

… Girlfriend? - Carlos Sainz jr x bimbo!reader

[carlos sainz masterlist  / f1 masterlist] ʚɞ in which... carlos just assumes they're dating ʚɞ fluff ⋆⭒˚.⋆ 700 words ʚɞ warnings: short because I have severe writers block

-୨♡୧-

You were always a little different, and that difference was reflected in your style. It wasn’t just fashion—it was an expression of your personality, a riot of color. Neon pink, light pink, rose, magenta—if it was even a shade of pink, you made it yours. It wasn’t something you’d planned. It just happened, and when your friend-with-benefits, Carlos Sainz, saw you, he couldn’t help but shower you in the same colors. Not because you asked for them—he just did. In exchange, you’d be his constant companion at races, perched on his arm like a trophy wife, in a way.

The two of you had been playing this game for a while. Both of you harbored feelings, but neither one of you wanted to admit it. Carlos had assumed, from the very beginning, that this was more than just a friends-with-benefits thing, that you were already his girlfriend. That was how he’d approached it.

“Well, since you’re my girlfriend, I thought you’d come to a race in March…” he said one day, his eyes searching yours.

“Girlfriend?” You blinked, a bit taken aback.

“Yes?” He stammered, suddenly unsure of everything. “Aren’t you… my girlfriend?”

You laughed lightly, casual, but there was an underlying confusion. “Well, you never actually asked, so… no.”

He froze for a moment, caught in the awkwardness of the situation. Was he supposed to formally ask you out? That felt so old-fashioned. He didn’t know how to handle it, and it showed—he just stared at you blankly, uncertain. Meanwhile, you were blissfully unaware of the discomfort you’d caused, and your mind quickly shifted focus.

“Anyways, I can’t come to your race,” you continued, waving a dismissive hand, “I’ve got coursework to do.”

•

But Carlos wasn’t deterred. No, he had a plan, a big one. February 14th—Valentine’s Day—was the day he had chosen. He had spent hours perfecting every detail: candles, rose petals, the works. It was supposed to be perfect, his moment to make everything official. He invited you over at 6 PM, but of course, you arrived fashionably early, at 5:56.

You knocked on the door, a soft sound that echoed in the stillness. Carlos opened it, and for a moment, he couldn’t even breathe. There you were—dazzling in a tiny slip dress that clung to your figure in all the right ways, red-bottom heels that made your legs look endless, and nails perfectly manicured with a Valentine’s theme. He wasn’t sure if his heart stopped or sped up, but either way, he was stunned.

He ushered you inside, his hands a little unsteady as he pulled you into his arms, expecting the usual kiss. But instead, he gently led you to his bedroom, where the real surprise waited. As you stepped inside, your eyes widened. The room was lit by the soft glow of candles flickering on the windowsill and bedside tables, casting shadows that danced on the walls. Rose petals were scattered across the floor, leading up to the bed, where they rested in a delicate arrangement.

You turned to him, already beginning to speak. “This is really pretty—” But before you could finish, his voice cut in, softer and more vulnerable than you had ever heard it.

“Please… be my girlfriend,” he asked, his voice almost a whisper, like he was afraid of your answer.

You blinked at him, momentarily stunned. Then, a smirk played at the corner of your lips. “Well, duh,” you said, the words slipping out easily. “I thought we already established that when you called me your girlfriend the last time. I just assumed that was your way of asking.” You stepped forward and kissed him, the tension breaking. “Y’know, you’re kinda stupid sometimes,” you teased, running your fingers through his hair.

Carlos was completely dumbfounded, standing there in silence, still trying to process everything. For a brief moment, he couldn’t quite figure out how to respond, but in that silence, you both knew—this moment, this silly, awkward moment, had made everything official. -_-

[katelovesit]

but loving him was (red) blue

[twinklarentruther]

when you’re hating on my favs this is who you’re hating on btw

[celyoon280]

✨The best brown eyes✨

[skuzzinfish]

“¡Hola cabrón!”

@ln4norris on X (formerly Twitter)

I think he’s fluent

[heyisthatcarlossainz]

I could get used to this…

[jullythevamp]

williams have realized something that all the teams have not for some reason: making your drivers say out loud that they had gay sex makes people like them more. literally the first kpop bg rule

[raikkoberg]

If you like Carlos Sainz, you have great taste.

If you don't like Carlos Sainz, maybe try again.

[heyisthatcarlossainz]

UMMM—

[cemeterygrace]

james vowles i know what you are.

[aaron04jpg]

elms_official: “idec sport racing has announced that logan sargeant has decided to withdraw and will not be part of the No. 18 Oreca 07 lineup for the 2025 #ELMS season.

We fully respect the decision of the American driver and wish him the best of luck in his next adventure. See you soon, Logan!”

via elms_official Instagram

[bigbandithewada]

East London adopted family au( I was trying to finish the coloring for this yesterday watching the 75 live, I got to draw them in their suit at some point ahhhhhhhhhh the race suits so cute

[vitalverstappen]

every time you breathe his air...

...just know i was already there

[pucksandpower]

I’m a Feminist

Franco Colapinto x team principal!Reader

Summary: everyone knows that Franco has a thing for older women, okay … so when his team principal turns out to be a (stupidly attractive) older woman, he can’t be held responsible for his actions

Franco sprawls in the chair, arms crossed over his chest like he’s holding court instead of facing an emergency meeting. His grin is wide, cocky even, and wholly unapologetic. Across the desk, you pinch the bridge of your nose, willing patience to come like some kind of divine miracle.

“Explain,” you say, voice flat, your tone giving nothing away. You refuse to let him see how utterly exhausted you already are by this conversation.

“I sneezed,” Franco says with a shrug, “and liked all your pictures. Really, it was — how do you say — an accident.”

You stare. No, you glare. "And commented damn mommy on all of them?”

Franco falters — barely. There’s a half-second where his grin wavers, his bravado cracks, but then it’s gone, replaced by another shrug. “I-I have the flu?”

Your exhale is sharp, just shy of a growl. “Franco.”

“What?” He leans forward now, feigning innocence. “Is it so bad? You look muy guapa in your photos. Should I not celebrate my team principal’s beauty? This feels sexist, no?”

“Sexist?” Your eyebrows climb so high they might leave your face.

“I’m a feminist,” he announces, as if that explains everything.

“Do feminists call their bosses ‘mommy’ in the comments?”

“Only the hot ones,” he shoots back without missing a beat, then quickly adds, “Joking! I’m joking.”

You slam your palms down on the desk, the sound sharp enough to make him flinch, but the smile doesn’t leave his face. If anything, it widens. “Do you even understand how unprofessional this is? I have sponsors asking me if I’ve been hacked! The CEO of Dorilton Capital called me himself this morning!”

Franco’s face lights up like you’ve just paid him a compliment. “Darren! He likes me. He said I was charming.”

“He said you were a walking HR violation!”

His grin falters again, but there’s something annoyingly endearing about how quickly it returns. “Well, at least he talked about me.”

You sink back into your chair and drag a hand through your hair. God, you’re tired. “Do you even know how this looks? You went through every single photo I’ve ever posted. Franco, that’s-”

“Dedicated?”

“Obsessive,” you snap. “Creepy. Insane.”

“Romantic,” he offers, leaning back again like he’s just solved a puzzle.

“You are twenty-one years old!”

“And you’re …” He trails off, letting the sentence dangle in the air like bait.

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

He smirks. “I was going to say timeless.”

“Franco, enough.” Your voice is sharp enough to cut through his bravado, and for the first time, he looks a little serious. “Do you have any idea what kind of position you’ve put me in? If this gets out-”

“It won’t.”

“It already has! You didn’t think people would notice when every post I’ve made since 2016 suddenly has your username in the likes and comments?”

Franco shrugs. “I’m a fan.”

“A fan?” You throw your hands up. “What are you even a fan of? My press conferences? My sponsor meetings? My ability to yell at you when you ruin your tires on lap seventeen?”

His grin returns, this time with a little more sheepishness. “How sexy you look doing that last one, mostly.”

Your head falls into your hands, and for a moment, there’s silence. You think — foolishly — that maybe he’s finally run out of things to say.

But no.

“You never answered my DM,” he says, voice lighter, teasing.

Your head snaps up. “Excuse me?”

“Last week,” he says, tilting his head like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “I sent you a DM. Very respectful. Very sweet.”

“I don’t even check my DMs!”

“Well, now I’m offended.” He places a hand over his heart like he’s genuinely wounded.

“I’m going to lose my job,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Franco says, waving you off. “You’re too good to lose your job. Everyone knows that.”

You stare at him, incredulous. “You’re the one who’s dramatic! I can’t believe I’m sitting here having this conversation right now.”

“I can’t believe you’re not flattered,” he counters, leaning forward again. “I thought women liked grand gestures.”

“Grand gestures?” You bark out a laugh, humorless and sharp. “Franco, this isn’t a romantic comedy. You don’t win me over by cyberstalking me!”

“Cyberstalking?” His mouth falls open, mock-offended. “That’s harsh, no? I think of it more like … research.”

“Research?”

“Sí. I’m just a very dedicated employee.”

“Dedicated?” Your laugh this time is louder, more incredulous. “I swear to God-”

“Would it help if I apologized?” He interrupts, holding his hands up like he’s surrendering.

“Yes,” you say immediately.

He doesn’t. Instead, he tilts his head, watching you in that unnervingly focused way he sometimes has, the one that makes you feel like he’s cataloging every detail of your expression. “You wouldn’t believe me, though. Even if I apologized, you’d think I was lying.”

“Because you would be lying.”

“Touché.” He grins again, but this time it’s softer, less of a weapon and more of a shield. “Okay, so maybe I’m not sorry. But I didn’t mean to cause problems for you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you mutter.

“I mean it,” he says, and for the first time, there’s something like sincerity in his voice. “I thought it was funny. I didn’t think-”

“That’s the problem, Franco. You didn’t think.”

There’s a beat of silence. For a second, you think you’ve finally gotten through to him. His expression shifts, the grin fading into something that almost looks like remorse.

Then he says, “But if I had thought about it, you’d still be mad, so really, why bother?”

“Franco!”

He laughs, bright and unrepentant. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop. I promise. No more liking your pictures, no more comments, no more DMs. Contenta?”

You eye him warily. “You swear?”

“On my life.”

“Franco.”

“On my seat,” he amends, holding a hand to his chest.

You sigh, long and heavy, but you nod. “Fine. Just — keep your head down for a while, okay? Don’t give anyone else a reason to call me about this.”

He stands, smoothing his shirt with exaggerated care. “Anything for you … mommy.”

“And don’t call me ‘mommy,’” you snap as he heads for the door.

He pauses, hand on the handle, and glances back over his shoulder, smirk firmly in place. “Not even in private?”

“Franco!”

He’s laughing as he leaves, the sound echoing in the hallway long after the door closes behind him. You sink back into your chair, exhausted, and wonder — not for the first time —if this job is going to kill you.

And if it does, you think grimly, it’ll probably be Franco Colapinto’s fault.

[celyoon280]

CARLOS SAINZ, THE MAN YOU ARE