#pedro pascal f1

[lazysoulwriter]

monaco madness - pedro pascal.

Pedro had always known you were obsessed with Formula 1. The kind of obsessed where Sunday plans revolved around race schedules, where you angry muttered driver names in your sleep, and where he once caught you watching an onboard camera video from 2008 just for fun.

So, when he suggested going to Monaco for the Grand Prix, it wasn’t just because of the glitz, the yachts, or the allure of Monte Carlo. It was because he loved seeing you in your element.

What he hadn't expected was to get completely sucked into it himself.

-

From the moment you stepped onto the circuit, decked out in Ferrari red, you were practically vibrating with excitement. The roaring sound of engines in the background made your eyes light up in a way that had Pedro smiling like an idiot.

“You’re going to explode,” he teased, tightening his grip on your waist as the two of you made your way to your seats.

“I might.” You turned to him, grinning, adjusting your sunglasses. “Do you even understand what’s about to happen?”

Pedro scoffed. “I understand that cars go fast.”

You snorted. “Wow, expert analysis. Maybe they should hire you for commentary.”

“I’d do great,” he said smugly. “I’d just point at the screen and go, ‘Look at that one. He’s winning.’”

You rolled your eyes, looping your arms around his neck. “You are so lucky you’re pretty.”

“I am pretty,” he agreed, leaning down to steal a quick kiss before you could pull away.

“Pedro!” you scolded, laughing against his lips. “We don’t have time for this! The race is about to start!”

Pedro groaned dramatically but let you go, watching as you practically bounced in your seat.

The cars lined up, the lights went out, and the moment the engines roared to life, you grabbed his hand without even thinking. Pedro barely had time to process the chaos before you were on your feet, screaming alongside thousands of other Ferrari fans.

“GO, GO, GO!”

Pedro had never seen you like this. Eyes wide, face glowing, shouting in frustration when someone overtook a Ferrari like they had personally offended you.

“Are you serious? That’s a penalty!” you cried, throwing your hands up.

Pedro leaned in, amused. “I have no idea what that means, but I love how angry you are.”

Before you could reply, a Ferrari made a daring overtake, nearly brushing the wall. The entire grandstand erupted, and Pedro felt something shift inside him. A thrill ran up his spine, and suddenly, he got it. The speed, the tension, the sheer insanity of it all. His fingers gripped the railing, and before he could stop himself, he was shouting,

“OH, SHIT! THAT WAS INSANE! FORZA FERRARI!”

You whipped your head toward him, stunned. “Wait. Are you—Are you into it now?”

Pedro ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. “I think I just saw God.”

You burst into laughter, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him full on the mouth. “Welcome to the dark side, tifoso.”

For the rest of the race, Pedro was in it. He booed strategy calls, cursed at pit stops that took too long, and even found himself gripping your thigh when things got too tense. Every time Ferrari made a move, you both jumped out of your seats, yelling like lunatics.

At one point, he turned to you, slightly out of breath. “I swear to God, if we don’t win, I’m—”

“You’re what?” you challenged, grinning.

Pedro narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know yet, but it won’t be pretty.”

You laughed, pulling him down for another quick kiss. “You’re so dramatic.”

He smiled against your lips. “And yet you love me.”

When the checkered flag finally waved, Pedro collapsed into his seat, exhaling like he’d just competed in the race himself. You giggled, straddling his lap, running your fingers through his hair.

“So?” you asked, tilting your head. “Worth it?”

Pedro smirked, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “I’m never missing a race again.”

You grinned. “That’s my baby.”

And just like that, Monaco had gained another die-hard Ferrari fan.

---

requested! loved thissss.

[colmiillo]

Not another hardcore smut,give reader's kittycat a rest

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Red Carpet Rivalry

Word count: 459

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader

Summary: When Y/n attends the Gladiator 2 premiere with her boyfriend Charles Leclerc, his jealousy is put to the test

______________________________________________________________

The red carpet for Gladiator 2 was dazzling, and as you stepped out of the car with Charles, photographers couldn’t take their eyes off you. You wore a fitted black dress that hugged every curve, the kind of dress that radiated confidence and allure. Charles looked dashing in his tailored suit, but his attention wasn’t just on the glitz and glamour. He was clearly tense, knowing exactly who you were hoping to see tonight.

As you made your way down the carpet, Charles’s arm possessively wrapped around your waist, he leaned close, his lips brushing your ear. “Just so you know,” he whispered, “Pedro Pascal isn’t as charming as everyone thinks.”

You shot him a playful smirk. “Oh, I’m sure,” you replied, knowing full well that Charles’s jealousy had been brewing ever since he found out Pedro Pascal was your celebrity crush. “But it’s Pedro. I mean…can you blame me?”

Charles sighed, visibly unimpressed, but he couldn’t hide the glint of jealousy in his eyes. Just as he was about to respond, you spotted Pedro at the far end of the carpet, posing for photos with that signature charming grin. Your heart skipped a beat, and for a brief moment, you were absolutely starstruck.

Charles noticed immediately, his hand tightening slightly around your waist. “You know, if he even tries to talk to you…” he started, his voice both teasing and laced with a hint of genuine protectiveness.

You couldn’t help but laugh, a sound that caught Pedro’s attention. He glanced over, and to your surprise, he shot you a warm smile, clearly intrigued. The butterflies in your stomach went wild, but you kept your composure, leaning a little closer to Charles as if to remind him he was still your date.

Still, Charles wasn’t fooled. “I see how he looked at you,” he muttered, only half-joking.

“Relax,” you whispered back, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

But as Pedro approached, Charles’s jealousy only grew. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a possessive embrace just as Pedro reached your side. The actor smiled, eyes flicking from you to Charles. “Charles Leclerc,” Pedro greeted warmly, shaking his hand before turning to you. “And you must be his stunning date.”

The compliment made you blush, and for a split second, you swore you saw a hint of challenge in Pedro’s gaze. But before you could respond, Charles was already pulling you closer. “She is,” he said firmly, flashing a smile that was just a little too tight.

You stifled a laugh, feeling a surge of affection for your jealous boyfriend. Charles might be competitive on the track, but seeing him this possessive over you? That was a whole new level of adorable.

[countingstars-17]

Charles Leclerc and Pedro Pascal attend the Royal Film Performance and Global Premiere of "Gladiator II" at Odeon Luxe Leicester Square on November 13, 2024 in London

[grande-lando]

I'm screeeeeeeching like a cat

[crumpleduppieceofpaper58]

I love my man 🙏 (he doesn’t even know I exist)

[softiedingo]

the crazy saga of Carlos talking to Pedro

[sunny-sainz]

ITS CHARLOS AND PEDRO OMGGGGG OMGGG

[f1amour]

୨ৎ request guidelines + who i write for ୨ৎ

request status…open!

writing for formula one, nfl, & harry styles. this blog will contain some nsfw content so minors please do NOT interact with those!

BEFORE REQUESTING !

— i will turn down a request if i find it uncomfortable or triggering to me, please do not take it personally!

— just a reminder i’m only one person and sometimes life gets busy or my inspiration for a certain request may not end up getting written so please be patient with me

— do not interact with any posts that are labeled 18+ if you are a minor! i understand some don't think it's a big deal but it would make me uncomfortable receiving requests from minors if they are nsfw. these are just my boundaries so please respect them <3

— if some of my fics aren't labeled with smut then of course anyone under 18 can read them!

WHAT I WILL (AND WON’T) WRITE !

will write・・・angst, fluff, smut, social media au's, text au's, poly relationships + threesomes, cheating, age gaps, and some tropes for example: enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, strangers to lovers, fake dating, childhood best friends, grumpy x sunshine, brothers best friend, best friends brother, etc. if there's a trope not listed but you want to know if i'll write it just send an ask!

won’t write・・・any dark themes, incest, sexual or physical abuse, self harm, dubcon/noncon

WHO I WRITE FOR !

formula one ・・・charles leclerc, carlos sainz, lewis hamilton, lando norris, oscar piastri, daniel ricciardo, max verstappen, alex albon, franco colapinto, george russell, logan sargeant, pato o’ward (cadillac seat is his!)

etc ・・・harry styles, joe burrow, jalen hurts, andrei Iosivas, josh allen, pedro pascal, paul mescal, and sebastian stan

all rights reserved ©flamour please do not copy, save, or translate my stories.

[twinkleteaparty]

Soft Launches and Soft Tyres

Part 1: The Princess of the Grid

A particular kind of silence falls in a garage before a race. It’s not quiet with radios crackling and the hum of tire warmers and mechanics shouting about torque and telemetry. But it’s a kind of silence in my head, like the calm just before I let the car swallow me whole.

I live for that silence. That, and the smell of burnt rubber. I’ve never fit into any neat little box anyway—not the way people expect, especially not when I got into F1 at 19. People expected me to be the new kid, quiet and compliant. And, well… okay, they were half right.

I was quiet. Still am, mostly. I don’t talk back, I let the track speak for me. That was something Seb used to say. “You don’t need to be loud to be heard, Moni.” He was my mentor before he became everyone’s eco-uncle and left us… left me. I still miss his hugs. And Daniel, god, Daniel was like my older brother, but funnier and worse at keeping secrets. He once said I had “golden retriever energy disguised in a kitten’s body.” Which is both cute and slightly concerning, but very him.

Anyway, it’s been five years now. I’m 24, and things have changed. There’s a new wave of younger drivers, some shinier, and I’m not the “baby” anymore. But I guess I still get called the “Princess of the Grid.” Mostly by Lando. Once, Carlos said it during a press conference, and Lando won’t let him live it down.

My mother raised me, just the two of us. She worked nights at a hospital and still managed to drive me to karting sessions on weekends. It wasn’t glamorous. We didn’t have the money that most kids in motorsport had. But I had her. She never yelled, never cried in front of me. Just kept going. Quiet strength. Maybe that’s where I get it from.

My dad left when I was six. I don’t remember much about him, and the stuff I remember feels more like watching someone else’s home video. He wasn’t cruel, just... unfinished. He didn’t know how to stay, and he missed a lot of things: my first race win, my Super Licence, and my debut in Formula One. Sometimes, people ask me if we’re in touch, and I say, “No, but I’m sure he knows where to find me.” I mean, it’s not like I’m hiding.

I signed my first F1 contract at nineteen with AlphaTauri, back when it was still AlphaTauri. It was a blur—media, pressure, more cameras in a week than I’d seen in my whole life. I kept my head down. Scored points when I could. Learned how to breathe in that car-shaped pressure cooker. I was never the loud headline, but I stayed consistent. That's what mattered. The paddock doesn’t always reward consistency, but it remembers it.

I still drive for VCARB even now, and I like it here. We’re not the underdog or the top dog. We’re the kind of team that sharpens you and makes you better.

-------------------------

Part 2: The Calm Before the Media Storm

Media day always smells like too much cologne and burnt coffee.

It’s a mix of waiting around in branded teamwear and pretending not to hear the questions asked in the next booth. My PR manager, Livia, clips a mic to my collar with practiced ease, gentleness usually reserved for bomb diffusers or hairstylists.

“You good?” she asks, smoothing the VCARB jacket over my shoulder.

“Define good,” I say, giving her a slight grin. She rolls her eyes.

“Smile. Be nice. Don’t swear.”

“Always nice. Almost never swear.”

“Almost being the keyword.”

She pats my arm and walks off, already on the phone.

The first few interviews are standard fare. Strategy questions, performance reviews, tyre talk — everything I’ve answered a hundred times, just repackaged in different accents and camera angles.

Interviewer: “Monica, do you think the team’s Q3 performance in Jeddah was a turning point?”

Me: “It was a data point. A good one. But one race doesn’t define a season.”

Interviewer: “You’ve been praised for your tyre management this season—”

Me: “I just don’t fight physics. That’s all.”

They laugh. One asks if I meditate. Another wants to know what I eat before a race.

“Toast,” I say. “Always toast.”

There’s a short break after the fourth interview. I peel off the mic and flop onto a couch in the VCARB media room. Isack’s already there, drinking a Red Bull while on his phone watching one of the videos the admin made us make on Instagram.

“You’re trending,” he says, not looking up.

I groan as I close my eyes to take the smallest nap a human is possible. “Again?”

He turns the screen toward me. A photo from last week, me again, blurry, exiting a hotel lobby at midnight. Someone had zoomed in on my hand touching someone else’s arm.

“Your mysterious shadow boyfriend strikes again,” he grins. “This time, people think it’s someone from the grid.”

“Great,” I mutter. “I love when my life makes headlines. You keep laughing, Isack, but one day, you won't even be able to pee in peace without getting on headlines."

He ignores me and keeps scrolling. “Also, apparently your ‘energy’ matched Pedro Pascal’s according to this fan edit.”

I blink. “What does that mean?”

“I have no idea. But I support it,” he says with a grin, and gets off the couch when his PR manager calls him for an interview.

I watch him walk away before my phone vibrates.

Groupchat: Who made this groupchat?

Carlos: MONICA.

Lando: Ma’am, why are YOU trending and not for overtaking someone???

Alex: Girl, you okay? Did you break the internet??

lewis: Princess, did I miss something, or did you go on a date with Pedro Pascal??

Charles: WHO IS THE MAN? Alex won't tell me anything.

Carlos: Becca won't either.

Max: I will find out. I know people.

Carlos: Moni. Seriously. Who is it?

Me: Stop spanning the group chat

Lando: We are not doing such thing, answer.

Oscar: We want to know?

Max: Does Daniel know? I bet he does.

Me:……

Charles: Young lady, come back here.

---

Sebastian (privately): 1 massage - unread

I stare at Seb’s message for a second too long. Then I press the side button and lock the phone without replying. The last interview of the day is with a lifestyle network—the ones who care more about what moisturizer I use than my racing line through Sector 3.

The questions start light.

“What’s always in your travel bag?” “How do you relax between races?” “If you weren’t an F1 driver, what would you be?”

I answer them all. (Sunscreen. Sleep. Veterinarian.)

And then

“So, Monica… the internet wants to know: Are you dating someone?”

There’s a beat of silence. Not awkward. Just quiet.

“I—uh.” I blink. “I don’t usually talk about my personal—”

“We know! That’s why everyone’s curious. There have been some pictures lately—late dinners, hotel lobbies. People are saying—”

I don’t hear the rest. My throat tightens. I nod slowly, a polite smile barely glued on. Livia appears out of nowhere, like a PR magician.

“I’m so sorry,” she cuts in. “We’re running late for a strategy debrief. Tight schedule today.”

The interviewer tried to hide their disappointment, but Livia was already guiding me out of the chair with a hand on my elbow and that fixed “this is fine” smile that PR people must practice in the mirror. Once we’re out of sight, she mutters, “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I lie. In the hallway, I check my phone again. Seb’s message is still sitting there. Still unread.

-----------

Part 3: When the Internet Breaks

[Clip: ‘The Last of Us’ Season 2 – Press Junket | Interview With Pedro Pascal]

Pedro Pascal is seated comfortably and exudes his characteristic warmth and charm.

Interviewer: "Pedro, 'The Last of Us' season 2 episode 2….what an episode it was, it delves deep into love and loss themes. Has portraying Joel influenced your perspective on personal relationships?"

Pedro: "Absolutely. Joel's journey is one of profound connection and vulnerability. It's made me reflect on the importance of having someone who grounds you and brings light into your life amidst chaos, just like Ellie did for him in a daughter-father way."

Interviewer: "That sounds personal. Are you currently experiencing such a connection in your own life, maybe with a lover?"

Pedro: "Well, let's just say I've been fortunate to find someone who brings that kind of light and grounding into my world."

The interviewer raises an eyebrow, intrigued.

Interviewer: "Care to share more?"

Pedro Laughing, shaking his head, "I think I'll leave it at that for now. I don't want trouble."

Within hours, the internet was ablaze with speculation. Social media platforms were flooded with clips of the interview, and fans dissected every word and expression.

Twitter/X – Trending Topics:

PEDRO PASCAL GF???

"Someone who brings light" [1.3M posts]

Monica VCARB edit (soft launch??)

MONICA IS DATING PEDRO

PRINCESS OF THE GRID x INTERNET’S DADDY 😭

Comments under various posts range from excitement to disbelief:

“Imagine going home to the Princess of the Grid and she makes you toast while talking about tyre deg 😭” “She was quiet but had the rizz of a thousand suns.” “Oh my god. THE fanfic is real.”

Private Chat – Daniel Ricciardo & Monica Daniel: So. The internet’s on fire. Pedro and you?

Monica: He didn’t mean to I think He was just talking. That’s how he is. He gets soft and starts talking, and the words fall out

Daniel: That’s adorable. I’m vomiting a little, but it’s adorable. So it’s real? Like, real real?

Monica: Yeah. It’s been a few months now. Met him at an awards thing. He was nice. Didn’t treat me like a headline. Didn’t ask about fame at dinner. Just asked about my favorite books. Stuff no one’s asked in years.

Daniel: You deserve that. You so deserve that. But you’re freaking out, huh.

Monica : I feel like I’m standing on a trapdoor. Like the minute I smile too wide or hold his hand in daylight it’ll open and everyone will pile on. I worked so hard to be taken seriously. Being the first woman in F1 was hell at first. You remember. People said awful stuff. Called me Seb’s “pet project,” remember that? Or the “baby with daddy issues.”

Daniel: Yeah. I remember. I also remember you outqualifying half the grid with a migraine and two hours of sleep. You’ve got scars. Doesn’t mean you hide forever.

Monica: He’s older. People will tear it apart. Say I’m looking for a dad. Say I’m broken. And with mine leaving, I never really figured out how to not let that stuff crawl under my skin. I know it’s stupid. But I’m scared. Of the headlines. Of the comments. Of being too happy and getting punished for it.

Daniel: That’s not stupid. That’s human. But you don’t have to carry it alone. Talk to Seb, Mon. He’s worried. We both are. You’ve got us. You always have us.

Monica: I haven’t opened his text.

Daniel: Mon, you know you have to talk to him at some point

I sat curled up in the corner of the hotel bed, hoodie sleeves pulled over my hands. The room was too cold, not physically, but in that way hotel rooms are when you don’t feel like you belong in them. My phone sat in my lap like it weighed five kilos. Seb’s name had been at the top of my messages for three days. Unread. Unopened. But never ignored. I stared at the notification, thumb hovering over it like the screen might bite back. Then, finally, I tapped.

Sebastian Vettel [3 days ago]: Hey, little one. I saw the headlines. I just wanted to say, I hope it’s true. Not the rumors. The happiness. You’ve always deserved to be loved out loud, not in secret. And you don’t owe anyone an explanation for that. If people try to turn your joy into ammunition, that’s on them, not you. Call me if you want. I’m here. Always. 💛

It hit me in layers. I could hear his voice in my head as I read. His calm, that steady warmth he always had, even when the whole world was watching him. I didn’t cry. Not really. But something loosened in my chest — something I didn’t realize I’d been holding onto so tightly. Like someone had cracked open a window in my ribs and let the stale air out. I stared at the message momentarily before hitting his number and hearing the ringing sound.

----------

Part 4: Eyes on the Paddock

Practice day always feels like the calm before the circus. Except this morning, the circus was already rolling in. By 9 a.m., the paddock was alive, TV crews in place, PR managers buzzing like caffeinated bees, fans pressed against the barriers, phones ready. Security tried to keep a clear path, but the chaos was controlled at best. Sky Sports F1’s Rachel Brookes adjusted her earpiece and stood near the entrance gate, mic in hand, eyes trained on the team hospitality areas. She nodded to the cameraman. “Alright, we're rolling in three, two, one…”

“Good morning from the paddock,” she began, the signature warmth in her voice. “It’s Friday, it’s practice day, and we’re already seeing a few drivers arriving.”

From behind her, someone in the crowd screamed as Charles Leclerc strolled past in Ferrari red, smiling at Leo with Alexandra by his side. Moments later, George Russell appeared with Carmen beside him, both dressed like they had walked out of a campaign shoot.

Rachel turned slightly to the camera. “A few of the grid’s familiar faces are arriving with their partners today, a little off-track love before the focus shifts to race pace.”

Then the air shifted. It wasn’t loud at first. Just… aware. Phones lifted. People stood on their toes. There was a wave of murmurs, the kind that travels fast, faster than even a car down the straight. And then there she was. Monica, the grid princess, walked through the gates like she’d done a thousand times. Cool. Grounded. Calm with her usual sweet smile. Except this time, she wasn’t alone. Pedro Pascal walked beside her, their hands linked, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.

Rachel blinked, then leaned toward the camera with a slightly incredulous smile. “And… Monica Cruz is walking in this morning with none other than Pedro Pascal. That… is quite the entrance.”

Click. Flash. Shutter sounds like popcorn. Monica didn’t stop walking. She didn’t pose or break stride. But she looked up briefly, smiled toward the crowd, and gave a small wave with her free hand. Pedro leaned close to her ear, clearly saying something only she could hear. She laughed, genuinely, softly, like no cameras were watching. Rachel, still recovering, added, “Well, that’ll be the shot of the weekend before the engines even start.”

-----

Author note: I had this idea and just had to get it down, even if it’s rough or awkward. I know it’s not perfect, and I apologize if the writing feels unpolished, but I hope the story's heart came through and that you enjoyed the concept. I’d love to keep writing and improving, especially regarding details and dialogue. Next time, I want to include more of Monica interacting with the grid and the other drivers. I hope this first part of the story feels like a good start.

[lazysoulwriter]

my list! ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

that's my content! 💗

Paul Mescal ♡

Pedro Pascal ♡

Joel Miller ♡

Drew Starkey ♡

Rafe Cameron ♡

Lewis Hamilton ♡

Charles Leclerc ♡

Lando Norris ♡

Harry Styles ♡

JJ Maybank ♡

Chris Sturniolo ♡ | Matt Sturniolo ♡

[colmiillo]

"WARNING: heavy angst" raw,next crisis💋

[mirrorball-leclerc]

everyone say thank you charles for posting this picture

[meep-meep-richie]

Charles being all of us when seeing Pedro

📸 charles’s insta

[polarprude]

STFU

[maroonpascal]

NOT THE MCLAREN ACC USING PEDRO’S AUDIO “BUT DADDY IS A STATE OF MIND”