#reqs closed

“Since I was little,” Y/N shrugged. “My dad spoke it at home sometimes.”

And that was how the paddock found out: Rookie Y/N spoke German.

A week later in Saudi Arabia, she greeted a local journalist with perfect Arabic. Fluent. Natural. Not “Google Translate” Arabic — actual native-level fluency.

The interviewer froze mid-intro. Charles, standing nearby, nearly dropped his drink.

“Did you just—? Was that—?!” “Egyptian dialect, yeah.”

“You’re Egyptian??” “No, just learned from my dad. He’s got a language-learning thing. I kinda… inherited it, I guess.”

The grid stared at her like she’d just revealed she could fly.

From then on, it became a thing.

Every race weekend, the paddock played a new game:

“What Language Will Y/N Speak This Time?”

📍Monaco: French interview? Smooth as butter.

“Charles, did she just correct your French grammar?” “...Yes. And I think she was right.”

📍Italy: Italian press conference? She switches to flawless Italian halfway through a joke.

“Come mai siete tutti così lenti oggi?” “Wait—did she just call us slow???”

📍Japan: Fans chant her name — she waves and responds in Japanese, thanking them for their support. Tsunoda looks personally offended.

“You’re stealing my thunder.” “Your thunder’s safe, Yuki. I can’t curse as fast as you.”

Even the engineers couldn’t keep up.

Her race engineer once radioed her mid-session:

“Y/N, traffic ahead, two cars slowing—” “Roger. 了解しました。”

Pause.

“Did you just—was that Japanese???” “...Maybe.”

The entire garage burst out laughing.

By mid-season, her linguistic chaos had become legendary.

Fans started compiling clips:

“Y/N Speaking 12 Languages in 5 Minutes 💅” “F1’s Real Life C-3PO” “Every time the grid looks confused by Y/N’s brain functioning at 4,000 IQ”

There were memes. There were compilations. There were edits of her switching languages mid-sentence with dramatic orchestral music.

Even the other drivers couldn’t resist testing her.

One media day, the grid had to do that “Guess the Word” challenge — the one where a random word in another language pops up on screen.

Word: “Schmetterling.” Lando: “Uh… cheese?” George: “Angry furniture?” Y/N: “Butterfly.” Lando: “How—HOW do you know that?!” Y/N: “It’s German.” George: “And you just… know that???” Y/N: “Yeah?”

They tried again.

Word: “παγωτό.” Lando: “Looks like a math problem.” Oscar: “Honestly same.” Y/N: “Ice cream.” George: “You’re making that up.” Y/N: in Greek “I promise I’m not.”

Everyone groaned.

“She’s a walking United Nations.” “No, she’s Duolingo’s final evolution.”

It didn’t stop there.

During the Estonian GP (well, F2-era flashback), she’d been taught a few phrases by Paul Aron — and apparently never forgot them.

When the grid went to Estonia for a charity event, she greeted the local crowd in Estonian.

Paul, watching from the stands, texted her later:

“Did you seriously remember every phrase?” “Of course. I don’t forget languages, I collect them.”

Back in the F1 paddock, the chaos reached new heights during an FIA media event when reporters from six different countries took turns interviewing her.

She answered each one in their native language. Effortlessly.

The drivers watched on the monitor, slowly descending into madness.

“She’s like a linguistic weapon,” Lando whispered. “No, she’s like Google Translate but accurate,” said Oscar. “She’s like if Duolingo had a human child,” Charles added dramatically.

Later that day, the grid cornered her in hospitality.

“Okay, Y/N, how many languages actually?” “Eight fluently, maybe twelve if I practice.” “How???” “I just… pick them up. My dad’s got this thing where he can hear a word once and remember it. I think I got a bit of that.”

Max blinked. “So you’re saying you’re genetically gifted?”

“More like genetically annoying,” she shrugged.

Lando sighed. “I’ve been trying to learn Spanish for three years and I can barely order food.” Carlos patted him sympathetically. “That’s because you keep ordering in Italian, hermano.”

Press conference, two weeks later:

A German reporter asks a question. Y/N answers — in German. A French reporter asks a follow-up. She switches seamlessly. A Chinese journalist pipes up — and she responds in Mandarin, leaving the entire room staring.

Then someone jokingly asks in Spanish.

“¿Puedes entendernos también?” Y/N: “Por supuesto.”

The grid collectively loses it.

Charles literally bangs his head on the table. Lando clutches his chest. Yuki just throws his mic down. “No. Nope. I’m done. I can’t compete.”

After the chaos dies down, Y/N posts on her socials:

“It’s not my fault languages are fun. You should try them sometime 😉”

To which Lando replies:

“Teach me to say ‘I give up’ in every language you know.”

Y/N quote-tweets him with:

“Sure. Step one: learn to stop talking.”

At this point, fans have decided her nickname is “The Multilingual Menace.”

Someone even edited the F1 intro with her waving, subtitles flashing through eight languages, each one translating “Let’s race.”

Her team leans into the chaos too — releasing a promo video titled:

“When You Don’t Need a Translator Because You Have Y/N.”

By the end of the season, even the FIA gave up trying to caption her interviews properly. Instead, they just added:

[speaks another language effortlessly]

And honestly, it was accurate.

End.

ꨄ︎"You think you're better than me? Hm!" He says fucking his hips in you more violently. "Ngh.. no! You reply back, legs numb from how far they were getting pushed back.

ꨄ︎"Oh yea?" he's grunting loudly, he's got is face in the crook of your neck, sucking on the sweet spot you didn't know you had. "Then why the fuck did you embarrassed me out there!"

ꨄ︎Thanos told you to pick 'O', telling everyone that their side was gonna win. It ended as a tie, he was so embarrassed. 'See... You should have fucking listened to me, you know everything, right?

ꨄ︎He lets go of one of your legs pushing his way into you deeper and you whimper at the new way he's fucking into you. "Shit! Don't stop- feel's so'good." You're a moaning mess and he's laughing at the way you're so fucked out.

ꨄ︎"Look at you! Fucking slut-" He flips you on your side, grabbing your leg to pull it up. Now he's fucking you sideways "S-shit.. You like this? Oh, I bet you do" You try to find something to grab on but to no avail there's nothing to grab on.

ꨄ︎"So desperate.. I think I like you more like this, instead of you running that pretty fucking mouth of yours-" You bend your legs, looking for comfort in them but you can't feel neither one of them and start to tear up from the pain and pleasure.

ꨄ︎He throws you back onto your back, letting go of both your legs and puts his hand on your hip moving faster, "Fuck.." he's start breathing heavily before he moves his hands towards your stomach pressing down on it trying to find himself in you.

ꨄ︎"Can you feel that? Feel me?" He laughes viciously "I bet you fucking can." You move to grab onto his hands, struck my the pain on your stomach "It hurts- s-stop it!" He looks up to your face and sees the tears in the corner of your eyes. He likes you like this. He he could have sworn he got more hard than he already were. He pushes down onto your stomach a little more "Hghh! Stop!" You're full on crying now "I'm sorry- just stop that! Please!" Although he likes to see you cry he knew he had to stop before you actually got hurt, He can't afford that.

ꨄ︎"Fuck.. im gonna cum inside you-" he says lowly "And you better take all of it-" he pulls his hands from your stomach back onto your hips. "You think you can?"

ꨄ︎"Mhm!" Your eyes are screwed shut and you're nodding your head. His head makes his way back to the crook of your neck biting it before cumming inside you.

ꨄ︎"F-fuck you're amazing." He says pulling out "You never fail to amaze me with your tight cunt!' you cringe at the way he's talking and throw your arm over your face. "Ugh.. stop talking like that- and just leave already." He gets up and stares down at you "Right, I'm sure they've missed me. Get up and get cleaned." He says find some way to wipe his dick and tuck it back into his pants

ꨄ︎"Yea, ok" you reply as he leaves, he makes his way out the bathroom and back into the main room, going over where his friends were "Yo Thanos, where'cha go bro?" Nam-gyu ask "None of your fucking business so don't worry about it." he says as he throws himself on the bed laying down on his stomach and Nam-gyu eyes watches the person who just came through the same door Thanos did. "Sly bitch-" he mumbles looking up at Thanos.