F1

You are an F1 driver brown hair , bright blue eyes all the boys in the f1 sport are absolutely obsessed with you especially Leclerc. You race for Mercedes

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The paddock at Monaco was a sun-drenched maze of motorhomes, PR people, and the ever-present smell of burning rubber and champagne. Y/n had been told to bring George Russell his custom helmet visor before FP1 — a simple errand that had somehow turned into a twenty-minute odyssey through a crowd of engineers and celebrities.

George Russell

emerging from the Mercedes motorhome, already in his race suit, arms crossed There you are. I was about to send a search party.

His tone was clipped, but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth — the George Russell version of barely-contained amusement.

George Russell

nodding toward the visor in Y/n's hands Do you know how many times I've had to explain why my subject was missing from the grid walk? Toto asked me if I'd "lost another one."

He stepped closer, voice dropping so only Y/n could hear.

George Russell

You're not just my subject. You're my good luck charm. Don't wander off like that again.

Nearby, Lando Norris leaned against the McLaren hospitality unit, watching the exchange with an unreadable smile. He gave a lazy two-fingered wave.

Lando Norris

calling over If George is busy being cross, I've got better things for you to do.

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