#driver

[arcadebroke]

[comasuart]

You know the story about the scorpion and the frog? 🦂

[suliigwp]

okay but but may i requesr some Rookie! Reader being an absolute menace that she’s considered a ticking timebomb bc of how ballsy she is with her moves on the track? Yk the quote— “I knew he'd hit the brakes—he has a wife and two kids at home.” Reader applies it to EVERYONE. They have families back home, people to get back to, and she doesn’t even care if she lives or dies, she has to cross that finish line 😭 yk everyone is praying in their respective garages when she’s racing 😭 I’d love a fic where we can see just how death defying vroom vroom is and how her grid parents and the f1 community reacts !

TICKING TIME BOMB

Rookie! Reader x Platonic! Paddock

Previous part!

SULI: Hiiiiii thank you all so much on the love for this series — this is extremely rushed and a little short but oh well I was stuck- this is a more serious one I haven't been feeling well and can't really come up with jokes- sorry the next part well be back

Warnings: reckless driving, she's better at English here, bad writing lol

They started calling her that around Monaco.

The Time Bomb.

Not to her face. Never to her face.

Because you don’t provoke someone whose idea of a clean overtake involves two wheels in the grass and a sixth sense for who won’t risk it all.

Everyone had a theory.

“She grew up karting with criminals.”

“She used to race bikes in underground leagues.”

“She watched too much Senna footage and lost the plot.”

None of it was true. None of it mattered.

Because whatever circuit she was on, she drove like it was her last race on Earth. Not desperate, not suicidal—indifferent. Like crashing or finishing were equal outcomes. As long as she got past you first.

Barcelona, Turn 1.

She went wheel to wheel with Sainz at the start.

The commentators said: “That’s gutsy!”

The team said: “That’s unnecessary.”

Carlos said: “She’s insane.”

She said nothing.

When asked about the incident, she shrugged and unzipped the top of her race suit like the air was too heavy.

“I knew he’d brake,” she muttered to the wall of microphones. “He’s got a girlfriend.”

The media room fell into an uneasy silence.

A few reporters exchanged glances. The PR girl standing beside her stiffened slightly. She didn’t bother clarifying. She wasn’t joking.

The Grid Watched.

She had no interest in post-race handshakes or fake Instagram smiles. The others stopped tagging her in memes. Stopped inviting her to dinner. It wasn’t personal. It was caution.

She walked like someone who had better places to be. Talked like she’d done this all before.

Fast in the car. Faster out of conversations.

No one knew where she went after the debriefs. Some nights she was spotted at the edge of the paddock. Others, she disappeared before the cooldown room had even emptied.

She lived in silence and tire smoke.

Lando Noticed.

He didn’t mean to. But you notice the things that scare you.

At first, it was little things. Her qualifying laps—perfectly controlled chaos. Her refusal to let anyone walk behind her in the garage. Her habit of double-checking her steering wheel even after the mechanics had gone over it.

Then it became something else.

He saw her staring at the pit lane before a race, completely still, like she was somewhere else. Not zoned in—zoned out. Like she was waiting for something to catch fire.

“You know,” he said one afternoon, leaning against the wall of her hospitality, “you drive like you don’t care what happens.”

She didn’t look at him. Just kept tapping her fingers against the water bottle in her lap.

“I don’t,” she said, eventually.

He laughed a little, awkwardly. “You can’t mean that.”

Now she looked at him. Eyes like flint. “I’m here to win. I’m not scared of anyone on this grid.”

He believed her.

...

Spa Weekend, Qualifying.

She went purple in Sector 2.

Purple, despite rain, despite cold tires.

Purple, even after nearly clipping Albon into the wall on the previous lap.

Her engineer’s voice cracked mid-sentence: “Box—no, wait—okay, you're—fuck—”

DNF.

She came back into the garage with two wheels vibrating like they’d seen war. Took off her gloves and threw them on the floor.

“I had half a second in that lap,” she muttered, ignoring the shaking hands she quickly stuffed into her pockets.

Her team principal pulled her aside.

“You have to stop doing this.”

She blinked. “Doing what?”

“Risking everything. You’re not racing them, you’re threatening them.”

Whispers on the Grid Grew.

“He said she cut across him at 290.”

“She’s going to hurt someone.”

“She’s going to hurt herself.”

When asked about it, Max didn’t say anything. Charles gave a diplomatic shrug. Pierre muttered something about needing a cigarette and walked away.

Lando? He just watched.

There was a storm behind her eyes that he didn’t think she even noticed anymore. Like she’d been living inside it so long, she thought that was just the weather.

Later That Night.

He found her sitting on the curb behind the motorhomes. Helmet beside her. Still in her race suit. Her boots were untied, like she hadn’t even noticed.

“You okay?”

She didn’t look up. “Do I look okay?”

“No. You look like you might detonate.”

A dry chuckle escaped her lips, but there was no warmth in it.

She pulled out a cigarette and stared at it for a moment before tucking it behind her ear. “You ever feel like you’re one bad day from being someone else entirely?”

He didn’t answer.

She looked up at him then—finally—and her voice was quieter. “This isn’t about winning, Norris. It’s about surviving long enough to win.”

And that was the first time he realized:

She wasn’t reckless.

She was exhausted.

...

Monza.

She went P3 after nearly tangling with Alonso on the final chicane.

As she walked past Lando in parc fermé, he said, “Nice moves out there.”

She looked at him. Not a glare. Not even her usual smirk.

Just that same hollow smile.

“I knew he’d brake,” she said again, softer this time. “He’s got people to go home to.”

She paused, eyes flicking to Lando’s.

“And you? Would you?”

He hesitated.

“I don’t know.”

She nodded like that was the only answer that made sense.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

She wasn’t trying to crash.

But no one was brave enough to assume she wouldn’t.

She was only just getting started.

Taglist For Vroom Vroom, comment to be added;

@angstynasty @cryinghotmess @mits-vi @dramaticpiratellamas @mimisweetz

Make sure you can be tagged! Thank you!

[artsy-moonwalker]

happy birthday ryan gosling!

[taasgirl]

blame - driver!reader x grid

summary: driver!reader goes to war protecting her teammate and best friend, max verstappen.

a/n: this is NOT a romance smau!!

liked by user76, user98, and 6, 872, 014 others f1 Following a breach of conditions set by the FIA, Max Verstappen will serve a mandatory community service period.

tagged: maxverstappen1

ynusername just say ya'll can't handle him and move on!!!

user27 be careful y/n, they'll send you too user46 HAHA SHE'S SO REAL

user51 this is so stupid

user90 who decided this???

user75 Okay I understand him getting community service for the Ocon incident, but for swearing?

user21 they're treating max like he's a child

liked by oscarpiastri, redbullracing, and 2, 379, 918 others ynusername unbothered, moisturised, and definitely plotting to overthrow the fia!

tagged: maxverstappen1

user59 My dreams 5 minutes before my alarm:

user61 y/n and max are never beating the platonic soulmates allegations

user87 Get yourself a teammate that fights the FIA on your behalf @/estebanocon

maxverstappen1 I was going to say something nice then I saw the last photo.

ynusername pls still compliment me x

oscarpiastri I agree with the caption

landonorris ur too ashy to be moisturised

view ynusername's story...

caption only the FIA could ruin a beautiful flight @/alex_albon

liked by carlossainz55, alex_albon, and 1, 256, 280 others ynusername me and bro suiting up to destroy the FIA

tagged: carlossainz55, landonorris

lewishamilton This is why you're my favourite on the grid

ynusername this is why you're the 🐐

oscarpiastri Hey I hope you were joking when you said you'd be turning into a grid terror haha (please be joking)

ynusername don't worry ur safe xx

landonorris WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS Y/N???

landonorris If me and my gang pull up ahh post

ynusername yup you're now my number one target for unironically using 'ahh'

maxverstappen1 I hope I am bro

ynusername there's no one i'd rather serve community service with

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, lewishamilton, and 3, 287, 3389 others ynusername don't worry I won't actually replicate crashgate. however, please know that I have free reign over my radio xx

landonorris Thank god u had me scared for a minute

user49 y/n is taking this too far 😭

ynusername oh i can go further if needed

lewishamilton HAHA this is gold y/n

ynusername when I have the praise of sir lewis hamilton then I know that I'm doing something right

user20 OMG Y/N GOING INSANE ON RADIO IS A NEEEED

user91 y/n is the only reason i'm tuning in this weekend

view ynusername's story...

caption: I have some business to attend to this sunday afternoon

liked by user62, user87, and 209, 557 others f1updates Not shy on the radio so far! Y/N on the formation lap, and she'd already quizzing her engineer.

user83 she's so unserious i love her

user90 This is my sign to strictly watch her onboard today

user41 y/n really is going to put on a show huh

liked by user 34, user75, and 1, 722, 981 others f1updates A few of the unhinged thing's Y/N was saying during today's race. Safe to say that she may be sporting a ban for the next race.

user38 her engineer replying with 'affirm' is so fucking funny to me

user92 And ya'll still wonder why she's my fave driver

user47 THE WAY THIS ISN'T EVEN EVERYTHING SHE SAID

user28 what else did she say??

user47 @/user28 she went on a whole tangent about how stroll is a prick that shouldn't be in f1 😭😭

liked by charlesleclerc, landonorris, and 3, 615, 248 others ynusername FIA knew I'd be too powerful for another race (hey at least bestie doesn't have to do community service).

maxverstappen1 You're insane I love you

ynusername dinner is still on you right?

landonorris NOOOOOO RIP Y/N

ynusername bitch i'm still alive

oscarpiastri Welcome back Kevin Magnussen liked by ynusername

redbullracing She might be crazy, but she's our kind of crazy!

ynusername pls keep me employed ya'll

view landonorris's story...

caption Yes, she still has the helmet on

view maxverstappen1's story...

caption Okay time for us to get to work

eeee i hope you guys liked this, please let me know if you did!

[shamelesstrashcollective]

nando's renault era is immaculate!

[readwithsahana]

Champagne-soaked 💋 LN4

pairing: lando norris x photographer!reader (first person pov)

warnings: implied smut, swearing, filming the implied smut- (its not that bad, trust.)

You are one of McLaren’s photographers for Lando. You loved your job but found it very hard to ignore how attractive the Brit was. After a well-deserved race win for him, you go to his driver’s room to get some post-race win content but you both end up doing some other things…

sahana here…hey guys, so i don’t know where this idea came from (lando’s 2023 sg gp pics, definitely those 🤭) but i hope you enjoy reading!!

———————————————————————

“It’s a McLaren 1-2 yet again, as Lando Norris takes the first step of the podium here in Singapore.”

The McLaren Garage was roaring, cheers going all around.

I grabbed my digicam out, a new thing they’ve asked us Socials managers to do, to take candid polaroids.

I took the camera and snapped a few pics of Stella being picked up by Zak and twirled around as they celebrated.

We watched from below as Oscar and Lando sprayed each other with champagne, both of them getting drenched.

There were a lot of perks, being one of McLaren’s photographers. Like going around the world, and seeing the race action up close but to you, the biggest one was getting to be around Lando every weekend. Who doesn’t love some eye candy at work?

After the interviews, they made their way to the driver rooms, to cool down. And as a good photographer, I know the best content is the post race ones, the fans love that- and maybe so did I, just a teeny tiny bit. I knock on the door labeled ‘4’, as I get the camera out.

“Hey Land- Oh, uh…”

I almost choke on air as I see a shirtless Lando appear infront of me. One thing about the Singapore grand prix, is that it’s warm, like really warm. Sweat drops were splattered onto his toned chest and the champagne from earlier dripping from his hair.

He smirks at my reaction, amused by how stunned I looked.

“Need the content, huh?”

I nod and brush away any thoughts that were surging going through my mind right now, composing myself. I give him an awkward smile as he lets me in. I try to distract myself from how…well let’s face it, sexy, he looked right now.

To be honest, I’ve been at this job for about 2 months now and I’ve seen a lot. I’m there when he’s getting out from his car, or in the ice bath, or walking in the paddock and interacting with fans, I’m always with him and I can’t lie I’d love to turn certain…dreams into reality but I’d never - I mean I’d lose my job probably, no, definitely.

I grip my camera as best as i can, my hands were weirdly sweaty…wonder why…and then switch the settings, getting ready to record.

“Okay can you say something like ‘thanks for the support’ and talk about the win?”

The young Brit nods, as he puts his fireproof back one, the fabric sticking to his skin outlining his defined body as if it wasn’t hard enough to stay focused. God, why?

I spot a curl of Lando’s hair out of place, and can’t help but want to fix it.

“One second, can I just?-“

He’s confused for a second but sees me signal to his hair and lets me fix it up. I can see his body tense a little as I move closer to him. I push that curl back into place, and brush out a few other rough spots. I feel the heat radiate off Lando, the sickeningly sweet smell of champagne sharp in the air. My heart was beating out my chest, the distance between me and him less than my will to live.

Was it warm in here? It surely felt like it. My cheeks felt like they were on fire, tinted reddish-pink.

My train of thought was broken off by a beeping sound from my camera. The sound made me jump back off him. I tried my best to brush off whatever unspeakable visions kept popping into my head. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m his goddamn photographer!?

“Uh- So, you ready?”

If i completely ignore the weird tension in the air, it’ll be fine…right? right.

I pressed record then he started thanking all the fans, and saying how happy he was that he won. I smiled from the other side of the camera at his proud tone and the way his lips curled up every time he mentioned the win.

After the video, there was just a few more photos to take for the socials managers to post later.

“Can you do the winner pose?”

“Winner pose?”

“Yeah the one all the winners do, you know? The cheering on one.”

I do the act out the pose that everybody does, when they win or do something well and he lets out a soft chuckle at my demonstration.

“So the usual one?”

“Yeah but just, like a winner.”

His dimples show up with that signature Lando smirk - the one that makes any girl fall to her knees swoon.

I click a few more pictures and go through them, showing them to Lando. I pull up next to him and face the camera screen towards him.

“Fans are gonna love that.”

“Just the fans?” He tilts his head to the side, with a pout looking at me. Shit, that was cute.

“Well who else?” I roll my eyes playfully, masking the violent butterflies i’m feeling right now. He smiles seeing the photos scanning through each of them, towering over me as he looks closer at one.

I felt some of the champagne and sweat soak through my McLaren team gear. My cheeks flare up, from him being so close and a cold sweat runs over my body. What is happening with me, you work for him?!

“They look good.”

“Thanks…”

I turn to face him forgetting how close we actually were standing. My breathing hitched as his face was less than a hands lengths away from mine.

“I uh-“

His lips crashed into mine.

Hands running wild, his gripping on to my waist. Mine find my way to his hair as though it were instinct. I can taste the champagne on his lips, sweet, leaving me craving for more. Our bodies pressed up against each other, both of us now sweaty and champagne soaked.

But i couldn’t shake the feeling in my gut telling me to pull away. I could lose my job for this, i could lose everything for this. Forcing myself to pull my lips away, it really did take all of my strength not to keep kissing the McLaren driver.

“Lando…I can’t.”

His cheeks were stained pink and warm from the kiss. He looked so majestic right now, it physically hurt to not kiss him again.

“Wha- Why? What happened?”

His brows furrowed, blue eyes staring at me with a mix of concern and frustration. Fuck, this was hard.

“I’m your photographer, I’m sorry I can’t…do this with you. I could lose my job, Lando.”

“Only if they found out, right?” His smirk was back. The corners of his eyes crinkling again like they always did. I took a second to think about it…

He wasn’t wrong. Even if he was, I wouldn’t agree.

“Only if they found out.”

I connect our lips again, the feeling electric. This time it was deeper, more passionate, more…needy.

Lando was riding a high like no other. Winning the Singapore grand prix and getting the girl? Though he’d like to consider this reward better than the trophy.

I reach over, not breaking the kiss, to keep the camera down on a nearby table but was stopped by his warm hands gently gripping mine.

“Turn it on.” Lando’s eyes were dark, lust-filled, tone gentle but assertive. He knew what he was asking for.

“Are you sure…?”

The young brit hummed into my skin, as he laid soft kisses down my neck driving me crazy. Well, its not like i’m going to disagree when he’s so good at convincing.

The camera beeps again as it sets to record, perched up onto the table. I never thought I’d be okay doing something like this with my employers camera…let alone, be turned on by it.

Things only got steamier from there, the British driver loving every second of this. He’d been eying you ever since you got the job really. The way you’d be quiet in one of the corners, always focused on taking photos - never really engaging with anyone else but Lando himself. He had wanted this since he first met you.

———

That night almost felt like a dream. Lando dropped me off in his car after we finished and I woke up with a smile on my face, and a text from the 25 year old.

‘You left your camera with me. Hope you don’t mind, i sent myself the video 😉’

‘LANDO WHAT?’

‘What? You looked so good with me last night I couldn’t help myself, baby.’

‘…Just make sure it doesn’t get out.’

‘As if! You’re all for me, and for me only. Why would I let other people see it?’

“I’ll be there in an hour. To pick up the camera.”

“Just to pick up the camera?😏”

[hiraethid]

[vitalverstappen]

Cassandra - C. Leclerc

summary: when everyone believes you, what's that like?

pairing: Charles Leclerc x platonic teammate! reader

warnings: Mattia Binotto, swearing, some sexist comments

word count: 3k

a/n: in honor of max winning the WDC, i figured i'd post something. in honor of charles finally losing his shit on the team radio, i figured i'd post this. also it takes place during the 2022 season

masterlist

the tortured drivers department masterlist

2022 was supposed to be your year. You broke onto the F1 scene in 2020 with Haas after working your way up through F3 and F2, championing both levels of racing with ease. You proved yourself time and time again by consistently placing within the points in a less than superior car. 

That’s how you got the attention of Ferrari. They offered you a one year deal, and you couldn’t turn it down. You were okay with being the second driver, because you were racing for the most historic team in F1. 

Things started out great. The car was a major upgrade from the tractor you were driving with Haas, and the team actively listened to your input and took having a woman in the car seriously.

You and Charles also clicked instantly, which led to some amazing content for the social teams. 

“Anything you need, or feel needs changed, let us know. We’re a family here” Mattia said as he gave you the tour of the Ferrari factory.

You couldn’t have drawn up the first two races any better. Both you and Charles were on the podium and it looked like you two were going to give Max and Red Bull a run for their money in the championship races. 

The downward spiral started in Australia. From the moment you hit the track for the first time, something felt off. The car was sluggish, it took all of your strength to accelerate and brake properly. 

“There’s something wrong with the car.” you told the team, your frustration mounting. “It takes forever to accelerate and then when I do, I can’t break”

“Have you tried leg day?” Mattia asked, a smirk forming on his face, causing you to storm away and find your mechanics. 

The Australian Grand Prix ended up being a disaster. You struggled through the laps, barely able to keep up with the field. The car was just too much of a handful. Thirteen laps in, you hand no choice but to retire from the race. The speed was gone, and your confidence was shot. 

“I cannot believe he looked me in the eyes and said ‘try leg day’” You fumed as you barged into Charles’ driver room. The frustration was evident in every word, your anger still fresh from the weekend’s events. 

Charles looked up from his phone, raising an eyebrow at your entrance. “Well hello to you too” he said with a small chuckle. “What’s going on?” 

You let out a deep sigh and recounted the car troubles and the interaction with Mattia. “He actually said ‘try leg day’ to me, like it’s some kind of joke. What happened to ‘if you need anything, let me know’?”

Charles listened intently, a sympathetic look crossing his face. “Hopefully it was just an assembly issue” he said, trying to ease your frustration. ”Imola should go smoothly for the two of us. We both know you’re a hell of a driver.” 

Imola was next, and that was somehow even worse than Australia. Instead of acceleration and braking problems, the new issue was the engine. It had to be replaced between practice 3 and qualifying, only for the new one to fail during the race in Imola. 

“I have the utmost trust in my team.” You said during your press interviews “We’ve tried upgrades, but they’ve fallen flat. Hopefully Miami provides some better results” 

For Miami, the team had reverted your car back to the original set up, the one it had when the season started. The difference was night and day. The car felt responsive, alive in ways it hadn’t in the past few races. As you flew through all three practice sessions and qualifynig, you could feel the weight lift from your shoulders. You had been pushing the limits all weekend, and it had paid off - P2, only behind Charles. Things were looking up. 

The problem now was the strategy. As the number two driver, you knew your strategies were mostly going to be defend defend defend but you didn’t realize how badly Ferrari’s lack of adaptability would come into play 

The race was shaping up to be intense. Charles had led most of it, with Max behind him. You were right behind Max, keeping a steady pace, but always aware of the massive pressure from the drivers behind. Then, when Charles pitted, you thought, for sure, you’d get the green light to battle Max for the lead. After all, you were right there, in prime position.

Instead, the radio crackled to life. 

“Y/n keep defending. Leclerc will be back up there in no time.” Your engineer said

You blinked, incredulous. “I’m sorry what?” You couldn’t believe what you just heard. 

“Defend Max. Charles will be back up there to take over. Hold your position” he repeated as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

“Are you fucking serious?” you barked back, your grip tightening on your steering wheel. “I can overtake him for the lead and you want me to defend?!” 

Before your engineer could respond, Mattia’s voice boomed over your radio “Defend y/n. Team orders.” 

You could feel your irritation building, but there was no choice. Ferrari had spoken. You stayed behind Max, holding position, and waiting for Charles to catch up. Sure enough, Charles had soon found his way back to you, but by that point, Max was far enough ahead that any shot at victory was all but lost. 

Later, in the media pen, you stood with the press surrounding you, microphones, shoved in your face. They asked you the usual questions, but you were still stewing over what had happened. 

“Yeah, I mean the car felt great” You started, trying to keep your tone even. “We reverted back to the original, pre-upgrades and the car showed it’s worth”

The reporter pressed further. “Now even though the car was great, why do you think you couldn’t pull off the win? You were less than a second behind Max, and chose to defend your position instead of attacking.”

A disappointed sigh escaped your lips. You were tired of repeating the same frustrations. “If it was up to me, I would have attacked. I know we would’ve gotten a different result on the podium today. If we had a different strategy, then we would have gotten many more points.” 

“How do you think this result is going to impact the championships?” another reporter asked 

You paused, considering the question. “It could make or break it. There’s a large jump of points between one, two and three, and one thrown away strategy can make or break a shot at either championship. I’m just hoping they don’t mess up Charles’ strategies like they have mine.” 

As you finished your media duties, you made your way back to the garage, expecting to be alone with your thoughts. But to your surprise, Charles was waiting for you.  

“What are you doing here?” You asked, raising an eyebrow as you approached

“I, uh, wanted to congratulate you on P3. You had a good race out there” He said sheepishly, his hands shoved in his pockets.

You shrugged, the weight of the day still on you. “I could have won if my strategy wasn’t total shit.” you muttered, your tone flat.

Charles let out a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I get it. P1 and P2 would have been great, but strategy isn’t Ferrari’s strong suit” he admitted, his eyes meeting yours with a shared understanding.

“So I’ve learned.” you replied dryly. “I just hope it isn’t bad enough to fuck up winning either championship” 

He nodded, a look of quiet concern in his eyes. “So do I. I’m terrified my shot at a driver’s championship is gonna slip away” 

Before you knew it, your interview was trending all over social media. Clips of you talking about the strategy missteps were circulating, and the Tifosi and general F1 fans alike were all over it. They didn’t believe you. They thought you were complaining, too bitter about the loss, and some even accused you of undermining the team. The backlash was stiff.

User1: there’s no way they’re going to mess up the golden boy’s strategy. Mattia cares too much about winning to do that

User2: y/n doesn’t know racing. She’s obviously going to get the shit strategy - she’s not charles 

User3: Ferrari needs to get rid of her. She doesn’t belong here #burnthebitch

Before media day in Spain, you got called into Mattia’s office. 

“Thank you for joining me on such quick notice y/n” Mattia said with a smile as you walked in 

You gave him a polite smile as you sat across from his desk “Of course. Why did you call me in?” 

The smile on his face instantly hardened “We need to talk about how you approach the media. You embarrassed myself, along with the rest of the Ferrari staff during Miami.” 

You found yourself fixing your posture and dropping the smile you had previously, prepared to go toe to toe with your principal. “I would say I told the truth on how the race was handled. We could have left Miami with eleven more points, had we gone P1 and P2”

Mattia sighed “That may be true, but we know you couldn’t have battled Max safely. Regardless, that was two weeks ago. We need to focus on Spain now.” 

“Whatever” You mutter “ If we provide sufficient results, I’ll give you praise. If we don’t, I’ll keep mentioning what needs to be done better. Simple as that” 

Spain turned out better for you than it did for Charles. You had finished P4, while Charles was forced to retire. Another blow for Ferrari. 

Both of you managed to score points in Monaco. The car felt good and it seemed like the team was back to how they were at the start of the season. That is until Baku. 

The start of the race seemed like it was going well. The practices and qualifying went well. Charles was on pole and you were not far behind him at P4. But that’s when the good luck ended. Just like the Australian Grand Prix, your brakes were faulty, and this time your clutch wasn’t working. 

“Check the hydraulics - brakes aren’t working again and clutch is out.” You voiced over the radio, concern filling your words 

After a few moments of silence, your engineer’s voice filled your ears. “Seems we have a uh hydraulic problem. You need to retire the car.” 

You muttered a curse as you found a spot to pull your car off. If it wasn’t a strategy issue, it was the car. If it wasn’t the car, it was something else. Something always had to go wrong. 

It was only lap eight and Charles was still driving. You had some hope he could get points for the team and for his championship. 

Throwing on a spare headset in the Ferrari garage, you watched as Charles battled through the streets of Baku. Just as quick as he was driving, the problems with his car also began to show. He had to retire only a handful of laps later with a power problem. 

While Ferrari’s golden boy wouldn’t have a negative thing to say about them during the pressers, you had much less of a filter. 

“You can mark my words that we aren’t winning a championship this year. As much as I want to put faith into our team and our strategies, we’ve shown time and time again we come up short.” 

Instead of your remarks being pushed aside by everyone, you found yourself in the spotlight. All eyes were on you as you walked into the paddock for the British Grand Prix. You acknowledged your team out of respect, and they greeted you back, but you could tell there was tension. 

“Mattia wanted me to tell you that the strategy for today is the same as usual: protect Charles.” Your engineer told you as the two of you sat down for lunch

You furrowed your eyebrows “Why couldn’t Mattia tell me that himself?” 

“He doesn’t think you deserve his time and energy” He said, rolling his eyes 

A scoff left your lips “That’s ridiculous. We’re both adults. He needs to act like it.” 

“You’re telling me” Your engineer muttered 

Before you knew it, it was lights out at Silverstone. The race was a disaster for everyone. While a scary crash had been cleaned up, leading to a restart, another safety car was put out for a stopped car. 

“Y/n box box” Your engineer spoke through your earbuds 

Under the safety car, you were able to pit and get fresh soft tires. When the race resumed, you quickly found yourself behind Charles. 

“Am I defending again?” You asked 

“You are free to overtake, but you must give up the position once Charles gets back up after pitting” 

“You mean Charles didn’t box under the safety car?” 

“Correct.” 

“Fucking idiots” You sighed, but did as you were told. 

Charles easily gave up the front position to you as he headed to the pit lane. You expected him to make a quick comeback in the next few laps, but as the laps ticked by, the gap remained. The radio crackled with instructions from your engineer, and you kept your focus, pushing through. 

And just like that, you crossed the finish line. Your first Grand Prix victory. 

The celebrations were a blur - the podium, the champagne, the flashing cameras. As the trophy was handed to you, you felt a surge of pride, but the weight of the race still hung in the air. Charles had been a force throughout the race, and even though you had won, it felt wrong that he hadn’t been able to capitalize on his pace. 

After the post-race formalities wrapped up, you found yourself in Charles’ room, finally able to breathe. He greeted you with a grin, the kind that only someone who experienced a dramatic race could wear.

“Congratulations! First win!” Charles said, his voice full of enthusiasm 

“You should have fucking won that and we both know it.” You said as you tossed him a Gatorade 

Charles caught the bottle with a small chuckle, cracking it open “You’re fucking telling me.” he said, taking a long swing. “At least Mattia didn’t chastise you on national TV.” 

You leaned against the wall, your arms crossed. “Maybe we’ll both be off speaking terms with him by the end of the season,” you joked, but there was no humor in the situation. “But seriously, what did he say?” 

Charles groaned, clearly not looking forward to recounting the conversation “Basically that I needed to listen to team orders. He was pissed that I was pissed that I didn’t win the thing. Said I needed to trust that the team knows what they’re doing.”

“They know what they’re doing?” You raised an eyebrow “Because the last time I checked, they’ve messed up both of our races this season” 

“Tell me about it” His tone shifted, frustration building, “I need him out.” 

A small grin tugged at the corner of your mouth “Twenty bucks he’s out of his job by the end of the season” 

Charles hesitated for a moment, then extended his hand “Deal” 

The rest of the season trudged along, with highs and lows in the car, the strategy, and the relationship between Mattia and his drivers. There were some days he would be all over their radios encouraging them, while others he would avoid them like the plague. 

And sure enough, once Abu Dhabi came, Charles and Ferrari were so far behind Max and Red Bull that it was impossible to catch up to them in either championship. Mattia announced that he would be stepping down at the end of the season, and you had repaired your rocky relationship with your team, allowing you to renew your contract with Ferrari. 

It was the final time in the media pen this season, and it felt much different. The usual questions about the ups and downs of the season were there, but now they came with a certain respect - respect for the struggles you had endured and for the candidness with which you handled it all. Your honest take on Ferrari’s performance had earned its fair share of criticism, but it had also sparked conversations, both within the paddock and among fans. 

The final question from the reporter hit differently. The interviewer’s tone wasn’t mocking, but rather filled with a certain curiosity. “How does it feel to know that you had called it earlier in the season, that Ferrari weren’t going to win either championship this year?”

The question hung in the air for a moment as you processed it. The emotions of the entire season flashed through your mind: the excitement of the podiums early on, the disappointment after races like Miami and Baku, the frustrations with the strategies, and the battles you fought on and off the track. It had been a rollercoaster, and while it hadn’t turned out the way you had hoped, you were still standing. 

You cracked a smile as you spoke, a mix of pride and exhaustion “Oh, so you guys believe me now?” you said, your voice light but laced with the weight of everything that had happened. “Have a good winter break. I’ll see you in Bahrain” 

It was the moment of closure you needed. The reporter thanked you for your time, before wishing you a good break as well. As you walked away from the media pen with Charles by your side, the season’s tension finally seemed to release, at least for a moment. 

Charles, sensing the mood, nudged you. “That was… honestly, impressive. You know, calling it before anyone else.” 

You let out a short laugh. “Yeah, I guess I had a feeling.” you said, shrugging. “At least I wasn’t wrong.”

Charles smirked, clearly tired but also relieved that the season was over. “Let’s just hope next year’s a little less… chaotic, yeah?”

“Agreed.”

[rickymartin-1]

Showing up, still hanging up!

What's something you showed up for this week?

[coolthingsguyslike]

[cl16mv1op81]

CHARLES' SPECIAL HELMET FOR HIS 150TH F1 GRAND PRIX! ❤️❤️

🏎️💨🇯🇵

[suliigwp]

Vroom vroom rookie reader pulling up to the paddock dressed so good ? compared to her usual maybe lazy outfits ? and it’s because Lewis started to style her and give her tips bc yk showing up w style ✨

Styled by 44

Rookie!Reader x Platonic! Lewis Hamilton/Paddock

Rookie!Reader Series here

SULI: Rookie Reader is back! Love her relationship with lewis and lando(I can't help myself) hope you enjoyyyyyu

Warnings: none

She was minding her business—coffee in one hand, phone in the other—when she felt a shadow. A judgmental shadow.

“Okay. I’ve held it in long enough.”

She looked up. Lewis. Arms crossed. Eyebrows raised. Dressed like a goddamn magazine cover.

She blinked. “Hi?”

He pointed at her outfit like it offended his soul. “What... is this?”

She looked down. Hoodie. Baggy sweatpants. Crocs. “It’s cozy?”

“Cozy is not a personality trait.”

“I disagree.”

He leaned down slightly, like he was talking to a small animal or a child who just drew on the walls. “Listen to me, yeah? You are a professional. You’re walking into the paddock. This is Formula One. It’s not your living room.”

She sipped her coffee. “...It kind of is though. I nap here.”

Lewis pinched the bridge of his nose. “No. Nope. I’m intervening. This is a style intervention.”

She tilted her head. “A what?”

“Style intervention.”

A long pause.

“…You want to style my inventions?”

He blinked. “No. I said—”

“You want to style... inventions? Like my car? The race suit? Because I don’t think that’s allowed—”

“INTERVENTION, baby. Inter-ven-tion. Like help. Like when your friends corner you because your life is off track—”

“Ohhhh,” she said slowly. “Like rehab but for ugly?”

Lewis stared. “Yes. Exactly. That.”

She nodded like she understood. She did not. “So you want to... dress me?”

“Correct.”

“Like, in clothes?”

He squinted. “Yes?”

“That’s... a little weird.”

Lewis physically took a step back like he was in pain. “Why is this so difficult?”

“I’m just making sure I understand! English is weird! One minute you're saying 'fit' means outfit, next minute it means you think someone’s hot, and now you’re trying to put clothes on me—”

“I’m not putting clothes on you, I’m choosing the outfits!”

She pointed at him. “SEE? That’s what I mean. That sentence is terrifying.”

He ran both hands over his face. “Okay. Look. I’m not trying to marry you, I just want you to stop dressing like a lost intern at a tyre warehouse. That’s it.”

“…Tyre warehouse?”

Lewis gave up. “Just—Thursday night. My suite. I’m fixing this. No crocs allowed.”

She perked up. “Can I bring snacks?”

“Yes. But if you show up in that hoodie again, I’m setting it on fire.”

She looked down, offended. “This hoodie has sentimental value.”

“It has mystery stains.”

She took another sip of coffee. “Fine. But if you make me wear heels, I’m pushing you into a lake.”

He smiled, victorious. “Deal.”

Later that night, he texted:

🕘 Thursday 9PM. Come humble.

👜 Style godfather is waiting.

🔥 RIP hoodie.

...

The outfit was offensive in the best way:

Low-rise office pants in faded blue. A tiny, ruched baby tee—barely brushing her waist. A silver belt hanging loose on her hips. Thin sunglasses. Heeled boots. Her hair actually done for once.

It looked like 2002 met office core.

From inside the bathroom, she shouted:

“Lewis?!”

“Yeah?”

“Is this shirt meant to stop this high up?"

“Yes!”

“It’s basically a sports bra!”

“Exactly!”

“Lewis.”

“You’re welcome.”

She stared at her reflection. There was a little sliver of stomach showing. And the pants—they:re classy, but that shirt was anything but.

She cracked the door open. “If you say anything mean I’m stealing your dog."

Lewis turned around from the couch—then froze.

She stepped out. Slowly. Did a little awkward spin. “You’re quiet.”

He looked like he forgot English. “You... look wicked.”

Her face dropped. “Wicked?? As in bad??”

“No! No, no—wicked means fire. Wicked means good. Like... crazy hot.”

She squinted at him. “Are you lying? Because I look like I just stepped off a Bratz doll bootleg commercial.”

“You look like a problem,” Lewis said. “In the best way.”

She blinked. “A... what?”

He stepped closer. “I mean if I were twenty-four and dumb again, I'd walk into traffic for you in that outfit.”

“I think that’s a threat.”

“No. That’s admiration.”

She eyed the sunglasses on the table. “Do I need the glasses? I feel like a backup dancer from 2003.”

“Put them on,” he said.

She did.

Lewis made a sound that was not human. “Fuck. Okay. You’re going to cause injuries tomorrow.”

“Good,” she said, smug. “Maybe they’ll crash from staring too hard.”

Lewis laughed, but he was still clearly struggling. She looked like trouble. Like she had somewhere better to be and was only gracing the paddock with her presence out of pity. It was perfect.

Then he held out a hand. “Now. The hoodie.”

She hugged it. “You can’t take it. It’s my comfort hoodie.”

“No. It’s a war crime. Hand it over.”

She dramatically let it go. “This feels like betrayal.”

Lewis tossed it across the room. “It feels like fashion.”

She turned once more in the mirror. “You sure this isn’t too much?”

“I’m sure. You’re going to ruin lives tomorrow.”

“Yay.” Then she looked him dead in the eye. “You’re a wicked, wicked man.”

He pointed at her. “You did it again. That’s not how we use it—”

...

She wasn’t supposed to be early.

In fact, she was known for being five minutes late to everything—press, media, even the damn grid once (she blamed traffic; no one believed her). So when she pulled up to the paddock before the rest of her team, people noticed.

But it wasn’t the timing that stunned them.

It was the fit.

Slick black trousers, tailored within an inch of her life. Open-collar white shirt, cufflinks gleaming under the sun. Hair actually done. Designer sunglasses that looked like they could cut glass. And a slow walk like she knew every single camera was on her.

People stared.

Phones came out.

Someone dropped a coffee.

“Since when does she dress like that?” Pierre asked, eyebrows up.

“Since Lewis got to her,” Alex muttered, already scrolling through her tagged posts.

And sure enough, there it was—an Instagram Story from the night before, half-cropped but unmistakable: Lewis holding up a rack of clothes while she stood in front of a mirror, frowning at herself in an oversized Balenciaga jacket.

@lewishamilton: “She finally let me help. It’s over for you all now.” ✨👗

Lando didn’t say anything.

He just stared from across the paddock, helmet still in hand, half-stunned.

She looked dangerous. Not just because she was fast, not just because she drove like she had no concept of fear—but because now she looked good doing it.

Scary good.

Effortless in that “I-didn’t-even-try-but-my-suit-cost-more-than-your-car” way. Minimal makeup, but enough to make her eyes hit different under the paddock sun. A slight curve to her lip like she knew she was being watched and didn’t care.

“What is this?” her engineer asked when she got to the garage. “You look like you walked off a Vogue cover.”

“Lewis,” she said simply, tossing her bag on the counter.

“...as in Hamilton?”

“Yeah. He said if I’m going to drive like the devil, I might as well dress like I own the place too.”

Post-practice interviews were chaos.

Every question: “New stylist?” “Big debut?” “Was this planned?”

She rolled her eyes. “I wear sweats one day and the world loses its mind the next.”

“You always wear sweats,” the reporter laughed.

She glanced at the camera and said dryly, “And you always wear that tie, but I don’t bully you for it.”

Lando laughed—just loud enough for her to hear.

She looked over. Raised an eyebrow.

He mouthed: You look good.

She smiled.

Back in the garage, Lewis was already texting.

Taglist, comment to be added;

@angstynasty @cryinghotmess @mits-vi @dramaticpiratellamas @mimisweetz @mrssaturday @chiara8104 @moonlight-girls-posts @linnygirl09 @rue-t @danielricroll @the-vex-archives @trees-are-books @blodwyn4u @yoruse @ccrickett-t @l-a-u-r-aaa @multifans-things @woderfulkawaii @azrinableuet @mayax2o07 @everyday-is-sunday365 @devilacot @faithxyu @miniaturedreamchild @nishimura-mimura @pookynknowntranger @elliott-calls @nemo-fish @sadprimrose

Make sure you can be tagged!

[rdmasevi]

Slipstream

Title: "Slipstream": Formula 1 fanfiction

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Male Reader ( Ex Driver )

Genre: Sports romance | slow-burn | angst | second-chance love |

Summary: After two years away from the sport, a former F1 driver (the reader) returns to the Monaco Grand Prix, unexpectedly crossing paths with Max Verstappen—his former rival, confidant, and something more.

The paddock still smelled the same.

Fuel. Rubber. The faint metallic tang of adrenaline, and the expensive polish of carbon-fiber machines tuned to perfection. It all hit you the moment you stepped through the gates. You hadn’t set foot in this world for nearly two years. After you walked away from racing, you promised yourself you wouldn’t look back. But here you were. Back in Monaco of all places.

“You’re really here,” came a voice from behind, one you knew too well.

You turned. “Hey, Max.”

Max Verstappen stood there in his Red Bull gear, arms crossed, a slight smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. He hadn’t changed much—still sharp-eyed, still unreadable unless you knew where to look.

“Didn’t think I’d see you in the paddock again,” he said, stepping closer. “You always said once you were out, you were out.”

“I guess I lied,” you said with a dry smile. “Old habits.”

Max’s gaze lingered, thoughtful. “Or maybe you missed it.”

You didn’t answer that. Because maybe you did miss it—more than just the cars, the speed, the noise. Maybe you missed him.

Back when you were still racing, you and Max had something. Not public. Not even fully defined. Just moments—stolen glances on the grid, post-race silences filled with electricity, hotel rooms where you didn’t talk about the next race because talking would make it too real. You didn’t know what to call it, so you didn’t.

“I heard you were working with young drivers now,” he said, voice low as you both walked past the garages.

“Trying to keep them from crashing in every damn corner, yeah,” you replied. “Less death-defying, more… mentoring.”

Max laughed, the sound soft but genuine. “You always were better at reading the race than most. Shame you left.”

“You know why I left.”

His jaw tightened, the mood shifting. You had told him, once, in a rare moment of honesty—how you were burning out, how the politics behind the scenes suffocated you more than the g-forces ever did. He didn’t argue then. He just let you go.

But now, he stopped walking. “You should’ve told me it wasn’t just about the sport.”

Your heart kicked in your chest. “What do you mean?”

Max didn’t look away. “I would’ve asked you to stay.”

Silence stretched between you, longer than a straight at Baku.

You swallowed. “Would you have?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

There it was. Everything you never said, everything you left behind—not just a career, but a chance. With him.

“You’re still racing like it’s life or death,” you murmured, trying to shift the focus.

“And you’re still running from things that scare you,” he countered, his voice softer now. “I’m not seventeen anymore, you know. I know what I want.”

You looked at him, really looked at him. The way his eyes softened when he looked at you. The tension in his jaw like he was holding back more than just words. He wasn’t a kid chasing podiums anymore. He was a man who knew what mattered.

“You want me to stay this time?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

He stepped closer, enough that his breath hit your skin. “No. I want you to stop leaving.”

And just like that, something inside you gave way. Maybe it was the years of regret. Maybe it was the way your heart never stopped racing when he was near. Maybe it was just time.

So you leaned in. And Max met you

halfway.

My main masterlist

[artsy-moonwalker]

my favorite goslings