#slc asks

(ll now needs to be careful, one wrong slip and they'll rolling w it, pulling her to a preplanned venue 💀)

-🌷

PLS THEY WOULD CALL THEIR FAMILIES F A S T

max verstappen

max just positively blacks out. he's there, listening to you ramble a review about how to accessorize the bracelet you incidentally matched with your "husband's color's" ae his, and the bob of his throat and the distant look in his eyes made you finally, look back at him and laugh at his expression.

"is there something wrong, mon amour?" you cup his chin with a gentle caress, looking at him with a smile that makes max snap back into reality.

"not at all." he murmurs, his eyes intense on you, "i mean, i have broken ground on the property, but i was hoping to have more time to draw up designs and themes that matches your personality. ofcourse, i have to take into account my contractor's estimate; i'm not sure we'd be able to move in yet. i knew i should have went ahead several years ago, but i wasn't really sure about your preferences yet—" he rambles, talking about kids; how many you wanted, how you wanted different things years ago...

"woah." you utter, laughing softly. not in a mean way, not at all. "will your house fit all my shoes?" you ask teasingly.

"our house." he ammends, grinning, "and yes, it will liefje." max promises, pressing a tender kiss on your lips. you swoon further.

carlos sainz

"go on, hermosa." carlos coaches you, as you look back at him, as if assessing his reaction to what you had just addressed him. "continue, wife." he grinned, while yku laughed.

"so, my husband has no complaints." you reitarate, carlos parrotting you, "no complaints." he emphasizes, pressing his lips to your temple.

"we're only going to have two kids," you resume narrating– pressing on wether he would complain about your imposition. "one boy and one girl. then he gets snipped, right baby?" you looked at him, and he nods, "right." carlos was serious as he waits for you to tell the audience (and him) what you wanted.

"also, we will live in monaco full time, because i said so." you add and he continues to nod, "right." you pressed your lips to stop your laughter, half feeling bad that he was so agreeable and unable to stop yourself from feeling your heart swell.

he's such a good guy, you croon. and you tell him so, laughing as you press kisses on his face, "you get to decide on which side of the bed to sleep on, though... as long as it's on the right." you tease him, and he grins childishly, "yes, dear." he resigns himself easily, burrowing his face at the crook of your neck and pressing kisses on your skin, "whatever you say is right."

lando norris

lando raises his fingers, and you paused as he rummages through his bag— presenting you with a paper, a slew of numbers with his financials, "i make a lot of money, i do. we can have six kids, but full disclosure, if they all go into f1, we'll have a slight problem." he makes a gesture with his finger, and you fought off a laugh.

"but i want six kids, amour." you pretend to insist, widening your eyes, "what shall we do?"

lando's shoulders sag, and he pauses; in that way where one thinks of a probable solution, "don't worry. i got good years in me." he grasps your shoulders, and nods seriously.

"i believe you, handsome." you wink, pressing a sweet kiss on his lower lip and chin, "thankyou, baby." lando squints with a happy smile, "you're lying with six kids, i know you want three, maximum." he murmurs with a smile, and you giggle.

"i might." you argue eakly.

in hindsight, you shouldn't have been messing with another family who bleeds checkered.

ft; domestic!sainz, (unnamed) sainz triplets, husband carlos sainz, beautyqueen!leclerc verse

Your fingers dug into Carlos’ arm, your grip tightening with every aggressive overtake your sons pulled off.

It wasn't just racing; it was personal. As with every endeavor they've tried since gaining consciousness, carlos' jrs. never tried anything halfway.

They were always out for blood.

"I feel faint, Carlos." your breath hitched as one of them forced the other wide into the runoff, “—I am going to lose my mind.”

Carlos barely seems bothered by the criminal moves his sons were trying against eachother, seeming more concerned for your welfare as you pale.

"They know what they're doing, preciosa." His gently grasps your hands in his, and intertwines your fingers together, his was a calmness and pride that made you want to throttle him.

Your expression betrayed as much, which made him laugh softly, “They’re trying to kill each other.” eyes wide with disbelief. “And you’re fine with that?”

“They’re fine, my love.” Carlos corrected, nodding toward the track just as one of the boys executed a perfect switchback. “See? Clean move.” He presses a tender kiss on the back of your hand guiltlessly.

You turned to him, mouth opening and closing before you groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead. “We should’ve made them play soccer. Or tennis. Something normal.”

Carlos chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist. “They tried soccer. Remember what happened?”

You did. The match had ended in a brawl because none of them could handle losing.

“Tennis?” you tried weakly.

“The rackets became weapons.”

“Golf?”

“They got bored and started racing the golf carts.”

You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply as one of your sons crossed the finish line first, throwing his fist in the air.

Carlos squeezed your waist, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Cálmate querida. They're your blood and mine, this is their inheritance. They'll be okay, i will make sure." He vows, utters on your skin before tenderly pressing a kiss on your lips.

The other two followed him, already leaping out of their karts, helmets barely off before they were shoving at each other, gesturing wildly, no doubt arguing over some move from three laps ago.

They argued in a way only siblings could.

"Oh, Carlos..." you muttered, shaking your head. "You're going to spend a lot of time in FIA debriefs." You tip his chin towards his sons, who were being separated by their mechanics, and Carlos Sr. hobbling over to separate the three.

just as you've thought you had enough of the verstappen-leclerc inchidents growing up, here comes a leclerc-verstappen who keeps your blood pressure up

ft: domestic!verstappens, (unnamed) leclerc verstappen (7) husband max, beauty queen!leclerc verse

"Are you okay, schatje?" You felt Max's arms on your waist as you pour your focus on the little karts zooming by, "No. I might faint."

Max lets out a light chuckle, his breath warm against your ear. "You say that every time, baby."

You don’t respond, too busy gripping the barrier in front of you as your eyes follow the small kart weaving through the track with the precision only a Verstappen-Leclerc could manage. Your heart hammers in your chest as your son takes the inside line, overtaking another kart with a daring move that makes your breath catch.

“Mon dieu,” you murmur, barely registering the way Max’s hold on you tightens.

“You need to breathe,” he teases, but there’s pride in his voice too. His hands move to your shoulders, rubbing slow, reassuring circles. “He’s got this. He’s a natural.”

You finally tear your gaze from the track to look up at your husband, wide-eyed and exasperated. “That’s what scares me.”

Max grins. “You knew this was inevitable, liefje.”

“Inevitable?” you repeat, incredulous. You gesture wildly to the track, where your son is now locked in a wheel-to-wheel battle. “What if we made him try other sports? You liked soccer, right? Tennis? What about golf? Golf is safe.”

Max laughs, shaking his head. “Golf is boring, baby.”

“Boring is good.” you argue, turning back just in time to see your son pull off a clean overtake. Your breath catches again. “Boring means I don’t have to watch my child flirt with death at a hundred miles per hour.”

Max presses a kiss to your temple, utterly unbothered. “This is what he loves, schatje. Just like Charles, just like me.” His lilt was calm, appeasing, pressing tender kisses to the side of your face.

“He's just a sweet boy to me,” You ponder looking at him with such a helpless look, he was defenseless immediately. “I can't stop worrying.”

"I know baby. I'm sorry." Max amends, pressing his forehead to yours briefly, "I'll do everything i can to make sure he's well equipped with the skillset to come home to you."

You sigh, leaning your head on his shoulder as you focus on the race once more, “I should’ve known better than to marry a Verstappen.”

ft. teen little leclerc, bf(f)s ollie and kimi, leclerc breakdowns

[this is js smth random i thot abt hshddhch]

perhaps your brothers had too much to drink— or they'd easily fell under the influence of alcohol, as they'd been unable to maintain an appetite for reasons obvious to anyone who'd bore witness to their unwavering attention and love for you growing up.

now that you'd become a year older, they were starting to feel that you'd leave the nest (monaco) sooner or later. and they were panicked at the prospect you'd see the world outside of their carefully built bubble of protection.

they can't even bear to raise their voice at you— let alone endure the thought someone could treat you any less than a princess.

"i want to say," charles utters with a hiccup, blinking his eyes rapidly as his vision blurs with inebriation, "we, the brothers... auh... we agreed... that every year after this, that you don't have a boyfriend..." he hiccups, swaying as arthur trips on his feet and bumps into him, "we would give you a building!" he yells into the microphone, the crowd whistles, cheers him on, some laughing at their antics as the night wore on and the festivities made the brothers more melancholy.

you, however, shook your head in embarassment as they swayed and looked at you with sad eyes, standing up from their seats.

pierre whistles on his seat, also heavily drunk, seeming to share their sentiment— "i pledge to give her six figures every year. no boyfriends. they're yucky, princess!" he hollered, kika throwing her head back with a laugh as he whimpers under his breath, mumbling about nasty boys.

"i too, would give you apartments!" max shouts from behind the crowd, many echoing statements soon followed as laughter and generational wealth was casually thrown around to you as a promise...

"fine, i'll just get pregnant without having relationships then!" you muster up, hand on your hip as you yelled back at the tipsy, weepy crowd of high-performance athlete and their girlfriends who were incredibly protective of you.

"not fair!"

"HOW DO YOU KNOW HOW BABIES ARE MADE?"

"security??? polizia!?!"

"i have boyfriends! i have two!" you tip your head at ollie and kimi— who threw a thumbs up, while the other grins happily....

in hindsight, you shouldn't have messed around with the F1 goat

ft; domestic!hamiltons, (unnamed) hamilton jr., husband lewis hamilton, beautyqueen!leclerc verse.

The second you saw the karts collide, your breath lodged in your throat. It happened too fast—one of them misjudging the gap, tires locking, the sickening screech of metal scraping against metal. Your baby. Your baby, flipping into the gravel.

“Lewis,” you choked out, your body already moving before your mind could catch up. His arm shot out, holding you back, but his voice was steady. “Wait.”

“Wait?” You turned to him, eyes wild, barely aware of the way your hands trembled against his chest. “Lewis, let go—”

“They’re already going to them, love,” he murmured, voice low and even, yet there was a tense edge in his tone—one only you would notice. His eyes were locked on the track, assessing the situation as objectively as he could; much as his composure was forged over years of racing, seeing his very young son spin made him falter.

Yet his hand on your waist was grounding, firm; keeping you from completely unraveling.

You barely heard the rest of the race call. The moment the medics waved them over, you broke free, running across the tarmac before anyone could stop you. Your heart pounded in your ears, drowning out everything else as you reached the barriers, your entire body shaking.

And then—relief, so sharp it nearly knocked you over. He was moving. You saw him sit up, his little gloved hands gripping the edge of the kart, helmet bobbing slightly as the medics checked him over.

Lewis was behind you in an instant, pulling you back against his chest before you could crumble to your knees. “He’s okay,” he murmured, his voice softer now, gentle, soothing. “See? He’s talking to them.”

But your body wasn’t catching up with your mind. You could see that your son was okay, could hear his voice, but the fear still gripped you tight, not letting go.

Lewis turned you in his arms, pressing his forehead to yours, his hands running up and down your back in slow, steady strokes. “Breathe with me, love.”

A shuddering breath left you as you clutched at him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, your tears soaking into his chest. “I want a full body checkup,” you whispered, voice thick, as if saying it out loud would keep your son safe.

Lewis nodded, his embrace unwavering. “Of course. We’ll make sure of it.” His arms tightened just a little more, steadying you as you sagged against him, trying to compose yourself.

You knew keeping a strong face was important—your son looked at you both for confidence. If you faltered, he would, too.

Now you understood why your mother barely attended races… You had got to send her flowers.

“I don’t want him getting into F1,” you muttered, voice shaky but firm.

Lewis huffed a quiet laugh, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back. “You tell him no, and he won’t even think of saying yes.”

You sniffled, knowing that wasn’t entirely true. “Lewis—”

“Love,” he interrupted, voice warm with amusement. “You tell him which way to go, and he’ll hit the ground running.”

Despite yourself, a soft, broken laugh slipped from your lips, still trembling with leftover fear. “I hate this sport.”

His chest vibrated beneath you with a low chuckle. “You hate it, but you love it.”

You exhaled shakily, finally pulling back just enough to look at him. His thumb brushed your cheek, wiping away a tear with the same tenderness he had for years. “Is he looking? Does he need us—”

“He’s already laughing.” Lewis glanced toward your son, his expression softening. The boy stood there, rubbing the back of his helmet sheepishly, his lips pulling into an almost bashful smile—so much like his father. He was quick on his feet, just like Lewis. And despite the dramatic tumble, his speed had been controlled.

“I need to kiss my baby,” you murmured.

Lewis didn’t hesitate, his hands settling on your waist to help you as you clumsily straddled the barrier in your heels. Before you could take another shaky step, your son was already rushing toward you, arms outstretched—not just for comfort, but to steady you.

You barely had a moment to react before he reached you, small hands grasping yours, just as Lewis’ hand stayed firm on your back.

“Careful, Mum,” your son murmured, a hint of worry laced in his young voice, his grip instinctively strong.

charles leclerc

"so, i got my tires fixed earlier." you start off. "some routine checks they said. and they offered me a cheap deal to air the tires!"

that charles more intrigued. the chore of getting your car properly maintained was up to your brothers; he personally went if you were in the same country, even managing the more menial task of keeping your gas tank full and any vehicle related maintenance.

"sweetheart," charles braces himself with a prolonged sigh, "how much did they charge you?"

"a hundred dollars! it was suposed to be more, but they had a promo going on."

"that's okay, sweet child." charles wordlessly pulls you into his arms, cooing at you. "nothing in the world is ever your fault." he nuzzles his nose in your hair placatingly, "i'll send you a hundrend grand, huh? don't go into places like that again..." he whispers, as if speaking to a petulant child; patronizing and amused. you hit him upside the head.

arthur leclerc

"fuck charles and enzo." arthur grumbles, slapping a hand on his forehead. "useless bunch of..." you blink at him in feign innocence, asking in a timid voice, "did i make a mistake?"

arthur shakes his head, "you could never make a mistake; everything you do is with a purpose far beyond anybody else's comprehension. you are perfect." he looks at you sincerely, hands gripping your shoulders in his hold.

"i never believed it when people said you guys were cult-ish, but i think there's really something wrong with the way you guys were brought up." you said with a slight panic tinging your voice.

"everything you say is right." arthur coos, tucking you under his chin and swaying you. his expression was calm and resolute, "i'll shove the air thing up their asses and make those scammers swell up like a balloon. we'll show them, princess..." you widen your eyes. "shhhhhh. there, there... everything will be okay."

lewis hamilton

"on one hand, that is outrageous." lewis tilts his head, "on the other, this is monaco." he regales your sheepish form with an amused expression; you were always bathed in pastels, wearing your sweetest perfumes, holding onto a dainty designer purse. you were the complete embodiment of a spoiled young woman; clutching onto a black amex with your pretty nails, a naive expression paired with it.

so to speak, he didn't know wether to call you lucky because they asked only for a couple hundred bucks, knowing you had no concept of money; or pissed they took advantage of your naivety.

"good job, sweet girl!" lewis took an unprecedented turn and cheered for you, kissing both your cheeks fondly. "i'm so proud of you for taking that scary step," he coos, kissing your wrist which earned him a giggle.

"it was scary." you played into it, widening your eyes as lewis pulled you to his side, "oh, it must be. i can't believe you'd go do that!"

max verstappen

... or when you *teasingly* ask the drivers to sign on a pretty canvas. (dilfs version // slc verse)

sebastian

sebastian's grin could be pictured from a mile away as he uncaps the pen, "just my signature?" he asks, his tone playful and suggestive.

"i could write you an essay. i feel quite inspired right now..." the ferrari driver says in a cheeky quip, while you giggled at him.

"just the name, superstar." you reply, tilting your head at him amusedly. sebastian smilingly writes his name down, his strokes were slow and deliberate. sebasti.. he was gonna let the pen do all the working while his eyes drifted from your soft skin to..

"so, are you around here often?"

"why? you wanna feel me up more?"

sebastian whips his head so fast you heard a miniscule pop from it. you reel back from his proximity, overwhelmed by his closeness and his— oh, he smelled so good. you've always loved armani on him.

"say that again, hase." he utters in a hoarse voice.

"tu m'as fait peur, sebastian. you act like you haven't seen me naked." you yelp as he quickly wraps his arms around you, smothering you in kisses all over your chest and neck. "seb!" you garbled as you threw your head back laughing, feeling ticklish from his overgrown stubble.

"sometimes it's even too vivid, darling..." the german grins at you suggestively, as he expertly takes the ferrari jacket away from you. "but everytime, it's not enough until i get my hands on the real thing."

fernando

"anything for my favorite girl..." fernando hums with a cheeky smile, his fingers playing with one of the buttons of your blouse, "liked the race so far, hermosa?" he asks you casually, his gaze flicking back and forth to your chest and to your face— watching your expression closely.

"hmmm. thought the podium finish deserved some fanfare." you say lightly, to which he chuckles. "you having fun there?" you pat his hand that casually rested a touch away from your chest.

"very." he answers shamelessly, licking his lips as if he were a kid on a candy shop.

jenson

"jenson..." you call out to him, amused at seeing him so focused.

"shush, love." jenson replies absentmindedly, bending his pen to write his full number. "i'm writing a masterpiece, on a masterpiece."

"hey picasso, those look like numbers to me!" you hear the yell of his engineer who casually walked past his driver room, followed by cheers and laughter of his team, who, despite being unaware of what was happening inside; were already familiar with the usual shennanigans jenson was usually up to.

"what do you know about art, you uncultured swine!" jenson shouts back playfully, kicking the door close while you'd threw your head back in laughter.