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saintescuderia · 20 days

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pancakes (pt. 3)

AKA - the story of how the naive australian rookie befriended the gym junkie F1 hospitality worker with the shoe collection - and inadvertently broke the grid's most treasured and unspoken rule: you don't go for y/n.

series masterlist here :)

A/N: don't come for me. i love daniel. it's all for plot. (also, if the timeline seems odd it’s bc creative liberties have been taken 😌)

P3 - stairmaster endurance

As you walked down the steps to the Drivers Gala in your stunning red dress, you were unaware how one Ferrari driver couldn’t take his eyes off you. Looking at you smiling elegantly to one of the reps who greeted you, Charles realised just how much of a mistake he had made. Carlos was at his side, saying something that was back ground noise. All Charles could focus on was you. Your flowing hair, your eyes glinting in the light as you smiled your beautiful smile at whoever was talking to you. You always spoke with such passion. Charles always loved that about you. He would always love every little thing about you—

The alarm went off.

You blinked and stopped the timer notification that essentially shook you out of the deep rabbit hole of F1 fanfiction you had found yourself falling into. Closing the purple app, you wondered why you still remained on Tumblr even after the 2013 hype of it died and everyone shifted to Twitter. Let alone the fact that your Tumblr had become your closeted way to fangirl about the sport you had dedicated your life to.

Then again, what were you to expect? The algorithm clearly picked up on your interests. That or the government was listening in and knew that Formula 1 was your day-to-day. That would explain how, one day, you were simply scrolling through the random, niche memes and BAM! You were met with the completely random gif-set of Arthur Leclerc and Oscar Piastri sat in an interview for Prema.

It had caught you off guard, seeing that come up on your phone screen. It had also been a while since you had seen Arthur. For the whole duration of that single and endless moment, you didn't know how to react.

So your thumb double tapped the screen.

And maybe it was your fault for liking it, for encouraging the algorithm. But you could’t help but smile at the gif of Arthur confident and proud of his 18 hour screen time. That boy had no filter and never gave a fuck about the social norm. That and he often just didn’t read the room. Even after all these years, and his climb up the motorsport ladders, that youthful element about him had remained. It made you smile. You always liked that about him.

However, with that gif-set came more stuff. Innocent stuff. More F2 bits - you really missed those boys - and then everything else. Funny bits of Max at Red Bull. Carlos and Lando. All the Guenther Steiner moments. It was a little weird to be liking gifs of a team principal, you were well aware, but if anything it just made you feel proud of how far the German-Italian had come.

Back in the old Red Bull days, Guenther would always tell you about his dreams of directing his own team. It was nice to see him finally achieve that. It was also an endless source of amusement for you.

For example: the day Kevin had shattered the door.

When it happened, though, it was definitely not a laughing matter. You had been just finishing up the lunch service at the Haas motorhome - making sure to pack up some food for the drivers and mechanics who still were in a meeting - when you had heard the loud noise. Mack, the sous-chef, had stopped and looked at you with wide eyes.

You had both exited the kitchen to walk out to the main space of the motorhome and see other Haas employees equally as confused and whispering. Not getting a clear answer, you patted Mack on the shoulder and returned to the kitchen to finish plating up Kevin and Romain’s lunch for later.

Fifteen minutes later, however, and you had gotten your answer when Guenther stormed into the kitchen fuming. “He does not slam my fucking office door! What am I going to do? Call Gene and tell him his drivers are some fucking idiot babies?!”

You had simply stared at him, blinkingly.

Guenther had then spied a plate of food sitting on the bench. “That fucking driver doesn’t deserve any of your fucking food!” And he picked the plate and dumped plate with its contents in the bin.

“Guenther," you had began in a calm voice, "that was my lunch. Kevin’s plate is in the fridge.”

“Well eat his fucking food! Or—" Guenther reached into his pocket and pulled out a credit card and slammed it onto the table in front of you. “Go to a fucking five star hotel and have lunch there on that fucking idiot baby's pay.”

And the two of you had actually done so.

Even after he calmed down, Guenther had been adamant to take you to lunch which, admittedly, wasn't the most odd thing ever. Guenther was removed enough from all the driver drama and you had known him a for long time. You were the reason he had helped in the debut in 2016 anyway.

Still, no matter how Guenther Guenther was, Kevin was still a driver. You knew how it might look.

Said driver, however, had thankfully just dismissed it when you offered to pay him back. "Make me those mini pizzas next time you're with us and we're good."

And so when you clocked on this morning to see you were covering Haas, you immediately smiled and went to make good on your promise to K-Mag.

You always loved working in the Haas motorhome. If only half the stuff you saw Guenther did and said ended up in gif-sets on Tumblr.

Pushing yourself off the stool, you pocketed your phone and grabbed the oven mitts to pull out the mini pizzas. You had made extra for the engineers since there was an issue with Nico’s PU and knew they would be up late working on the engine. It wasn’t a secret that your pizzas were a coveted snack, being low-carb and high protein enough for even the drivers to consume. You were half expecting Fred Vasseur to pop in and steal some. He did love these pizzas. Any time you were stationed at Alfa Romeo, it was a guarantee you would be making them at his request.

Though, now Fred was moving to Ferrari. So you weren't sure if he was still going to be nice to you. Mattia Binotto had always treated you like the fucking plague.

"Ah, Y/N. For fuck's sake!" You heard the German accent and felt your mouth curve up into a smile as Guenther arrived on scene. He was dressed in the Haas gear for 2023, lanyard around his neck. "You still here running the coffee when you can beat any of these idiots in the car."

You gave him a fake two finger salute. "If I drove, no one would stand a chance."

"Well maybe you could help us score some fucking points." Guenther said. Immediately, he got down to business. "Harry Kane did well last night. Scored two fucking goals."

You snorted. One of the many reasons you and Guenther bonded so well was that you one of the few people amongst this Paddock that took football seriously. Almost as seriously as Formula 1. Almost.

"Didn't see it." You said, shaking your head. Bundesliga was lower on your list of priorities when it came to games. You only paid attention to the German league when it came to teams making it into Champions League. Besides, Guenther should’ve known what game you were watching last night. Still, you reminded him. "The Reds were playing."

He rolled his eyes, though unsurprised. "Of course you're going to watch English fucking football."

"Hey, only because of Salah.” You reminded him and hit your chest proudly, “I gotta represent."

"That much is fucking obvious." Guenther said. One of the many reasons you liked working in Haas so much was that it was by far the most relaxed garage out of them all. For example, you hadn't yet taken off the hoodie you wore which had, on top, the number 10 Liverpool jersey. It looked unprofessional, having a t-shirt over a jumper like that, especially mixed with the headscarf you had tied on your head like a durag, but Guenther couldn’t care less. If anything, he was probably just offended at your choice of EPL team.

“United is fucking Red.”

"Ah, Guenther. You know my heart really lies." You reminded him.

Your uncle, a Spanish man, had brought you up following the iconic Real Madrid. He literally visited the hospital with a teddy bear and Bernabeu membership, adamant he would get his newborn niece into the sport. No matter what.

From the moment he found out your number one team, Guenther was salty. “Los Blancos.” He scoffed. “The fucking villains of football." He came round to see the circular pieces of bread covered with sauce and an array of different toppings. Guenther picked one up - and immediately dropped it. "Fuck!"

"It's hot." You said, dryly. You took out another tray and set it down. You closed the oven door and turned it off. You flipped the towel over your shoulder as you watched Guenther now at the sink, running water over his burnt fingers.

"You don't fucking say." Guenther blowing on his fingers.

“Stop being a baby.” You laughed, bringing up your hands to your head to fix your headscarf.

Guenther ignored that comment. "Fred fucking loves these things. Don't tell him you made them. I don't want him in here stealing them."

You said nothing and turned around to pretend to busy yourself with the trays of mini pizzas. It was best to just remain quiet sometimes. Bahrain testing had kept everyone occupied and at that start of the season F1 Hospitality were usually running around after Stefano Domenicali and the FIA Co. for last minute set up. It was only into the race calendar that Hospitality were eventually went around to the teams.

So, no. You hadn't seen Fred. You hadn't seen anyone. You were just grateful that your first race of 2023 was in the safety of Haas. Nico and Kevin were older and, therefore, a little more out of it when it came to driver drama. If they knew anything, they were old enough to be mature about it.

Though, that couldn't be the same of others from their generation. You were already losing sleep from the feelings that arose from seeing Daniel in Red Bull gear. It didn't help that the last time you two had spoken, things hadn't exactly been civil.

You were on the stair-master. The clock on the machine read 37:48. The sweat was dripping off you.

Your grey jumper had darkened in shades, wet from the sweat. You kept your hands on your head as you stepped and stepped and stepped and stepped. Angsty rap music blasted into your ears. Tinnitus was likely to worsen, but you would take that over the shit storm that was currently breaking all over the Paddock.

I understand that, without my agreement, Alpine F1 have put out a press statement late this afternoon that I am driving for them next year. This is wrong and I have not signed a contract for Alpine for 2023. I will not be driving for Alpine next year.

Oscar hadn’t even yet joined Formula 1 and he was already stirring trouble. That was a problem. For you. You were supposed to lay low. The whole point of this was to lay low and not drawing any attention to yourself. The agreement was that you could still be there if only in the role of Hospitality.

And the idiot had tweeted that and then, ten minutes later, decided to follow you.

How he even found your Twitter was surprising? It wasn’t very personal - your profile picture was solid black - so no fans would be able to recognise you. But the Paddock? The FIA and your bosses? They were raising confused eyebrows that Oscar Piastri would drop that bomb and then follow you.

You could already imagine what Otmar was going to say. God, the 2023 season hadn’t fully started and you were already dreading walking into the Alpine home. And then Jos Verstappen was rumoured to be attending more races this year and who could forget about Daniel coming back to Red Bull? The universe apparently needed to give you some character development, it seemed.

Your legs ached, begging to stop. Your mind thought about pressing the red emergency button, to just end it. But you knew better. You knew this was all a mind game. Pain is an allusion. Keep going. Shit hurts but you push through. Keep going. Keep going. Keep fucking going. It's what you always told yourself. It's how you got yourself through everything. It's how you'll get through all of this. If you can push through the pain of the stairmaster, then you can push through the pain of anything. You had learned that pain was temporary and it was just a mind-game. You could always go longer than you thought possible. You just had to keep reminding yourself of that fact. So, right now, it was just practice. Each step you took right now was practicing the endurance of pain from this stairmaster fucking filling your legs. If you could get through this, you would be able to handle any drama in the future.

Unfortunately, drama walked through the door before you could make it through the current pain of said stairmaster.

Daniel Ricciardo stormed into the Driver’s Only Gym, knowing all too well that this was where you would be. He had been the one to tell you about this fucking place in the first place. Before everything, you had always loved working out and exercise was part of the reason you two ended up as you did. Now, you didn’t have the luxury you did before. You didn’t have the lanyard.

So, now, you had to workout in the shadows.

That didn't mean Daniel didn't see you. Didn't hear you. Didn't know what you were doing every single day of every weekend the both of you avoided each other at the Paddock. He knew you still wore your sneakers according to the race location. He knew you still wore headscarves when in the Middle East and covered your tattoos when in Japan. He knew you still avoided Charles just he like he knew you still avoided him. He knew you.

So Daniel knew you woke up at 4am every day to work out. And after Zak Brown told him the news, he spent the night dealing with his spiralling career through a bottle of Jack Daniels. Then he had the idea to come out from the four walls of his hotel room and see you.

Because Daniel knew you had made your pancakes for the rookie, that fucking Oscar Piastri. And Daniel was one of the few people who knew, who fully understood just what that meant to you.

Drunk and emotional, Daniel planted himself right in front of the stair master. He stared at you, caught like a deer in headlights and got right to it.

“You must be fucking happy.”

It was the first time he had directly spoken to you in five years.

So it took you a second to process what was happening.

Daniel Ricciardo was right here, in front of you, at 4:50 in the morning as you sweated your body weight out through the repeated steps you took on the machine.

Suddenly you were aware that you had rolled yourself out of bed with a little less motivation than the norm. You had been extra tired, hitting snooze more than twice. You hadn’t washed your face and you wondered if Daniel would be able to spot the stain of egg yolk on your hoodie. It had been some time since he had been this close to you and you were in bike shorts and currently on a bulk. Suddenly, you wished you were on a cut. Why did the one time he came this close to you had to be so big and puffy?

"Excuse me?" You found yourself saying, shifting one headphone off your ear. “Can I help you?”

"Did you know?" Daniel asked. He didn't give you a chance to respond. "Of course you fucking did."

Without even thinking, you pulled the red plug your mind had obsessed over and jumped down. The pain was already here so there was no point going through any more than necessary. You looked up at Daniel, panting. He, too, was exhaling a little heavier than normal. Too angry and, judging by the smell of his breath, drunk to be stable.

There was no point lying to him. Aside from the fact that Daniel was emotionally charged (and drunk - and he got super passionate when he was drunk) you knew he would immediately pick up on it. You don't spend three years with someone and not know them like the back of your hand. And, unlike him, you can safely say that you hadn't really changed since 2018. If you lied, he would know.

"I signed a NDA, Daniel." You said simply, walking to your gym bag sat on the red bench. You picked up your bottle to take a sip, your throat dry. You tried to keep yourself calm and not shaky. Do my legs look too big? God, Please don’t let me smell like BO. Your thoughts were still running rampant. Despite the extensive cardio, your body was buzzing from the anxiety of having Daniel so close.

Daniel. To think you had once been so deeply in love with the man stood before you.

"Fuck off." He spat. You recoiled. "No one gives a shit about that."

"I do." You said, trying to keep your voice from growing small. "Sorry I care about my job."

Daniel let out a sardonic laugh. You braced yourself, knowing what was to come. You had experienced this many times before during your fights. "What? Making coffee and fucking washing the dishes? Yeah, great job you got there, babe."

"Don't call me babe." You spat back. "And can you not be a dick for two fucking seconds, Daniel."

You said it. His name. When was the last time you had said it? It made you both take a second to process what was happening, to acknowledge how long it had been since the two of you had actually spoken to one another, how long since you had addressed the other as a human being that actually existed.

In that moment, Daniel finally seemed to lose a bit of anger and, instead, show a glimmer of vulnerability. "I lost my seat. I don't know what I'm going to do."

You looked down at your shoes at show of helplessness. New Balance 350s. Red and yellow. They had been on sale. You liked them for stable LISS circuits but hated the colour way. Now, they were the most interesting thing to look at.

Everyone knew that Daniel Ricciardo was always all smiles and that, no matter what, he was optimistic. Happy. He never showed any weakness.

Except, you had seen him when the smiles fell away and the laughter died. In the safety of your private hotel rooms and Daniel could just be, you saw him vulnerable, you saw him hurt, you saw him stress, worry, cry, swear and be open to how he was really feeling. Like right now.

“Daniel I—“

"You didn’t even think to fucking tell me."

You looked up at the change of tone and how he was frowning-- no, sneering at you. This made you change and any remorse, any pity, you felt for the man in front of you immediately vanished. You weren’t in a hotel room. You were in the gym. And it had been five fucking years.

"Are you fucking blaming me right now?"You snapped back. "What the fuck do I owe you, exactly?"

"I’m the reason you’re here!"

By now, your heart was racing. And not from the exercise. This, this was it. You finally had your moment to say it.

"Yes, exactly, Daniel. You’re the reason that I am, as you said, making coffee and fucking washing the dishes! If it weren’t for you, we both know where I would be right now. But you got fucking scared of Max and blamed me for it!"

This hit a nerve. "I was not scared of Max! I outperformed Max!"

"Yes, on the weeks I fucking trained you!"

"Fuck me,” Daniel was shooting straight daggers at you despite the wry grin on his face, “do you really think that was all you?"

You put your hands on your hips and squared up to meet his eyes, narrowing your own. "Considering how your teammate took me on as a trainer and then became the number 1 driver, yes, I will take some fucking credit for that." Daniel's face dropped when you said it. And you knew it was a low blow, but you couldn't help the words before they tumbled out from your mouth. "The world’s fucking moved on from Monaco 2018. Maybe you should too."

"Fuck you!" He shouted.

"Fuck you!" You shouted back. You grabbed your phone and found yourself tapping onto a recent chat and speedily composing a text. You hated how your fingers shook. You also hated how you were texting for help.

"Well, clearly you haven’t moved on from Monaco if you’re bringing it up." Daniel said, no longer shouting, but his tone still as icily. "You’re going to be mad about that until the end of time?"

You closed your eyes and willed your eyes not to think of the image of him with her, the pain you felt walking in and seeing that. Instead, you opened your eyes and stared him dead in the eye and spoke as calmly as possible.

"Jos Verstappen will be coming to the races more often this year. That means I won't be able to work in the Red Bull garage. If I'm at AlphaTauri, do not fucking come."

Daniel ignored this, undeterred. Instead, he kept grinning down at you thinking he found something. "You seriously aren't over it, are you?"

"No, the memory of you putting your dick into another woman still keeps me up at night." You rolled your eyes despite how it still did admittedly hurt. You pretended it didn’t and hoped he believed it. "Please stop thinking so highly of yourself. Remind yourself of why you're here, right now, talking to me."

Daniel's eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to say something but the sound of the doors opening had him closing it. You grabbed your gym bag and finally made a move to turn around and escape the gym.

Ignoring the looks of one very confused Carlos Sainz as you breezed past him.

"I have to go deal with idiots who can’t tell me what’s wrong with the engine." Guenther said. You had brought forth two plates and slide two pizzas onto each.

"Here. For you and Nico." You said, knowing Nico would join the meeting about his car. "I'll bring a tray in a little bit for the rest of the engineers."

"Make me and Nico some coffee, please." Guenther said, taking the plates. "And pour in some fucking whiskey." You laughed and watched him disappear down the hallway of the offices set up. Haas' lack of financial support meant their motorhome was mediocre at best. Still, you loved being here more than anywhere else. It was the safest, really.

Wiping your hands on the towel, you went outside to where the coffee cart was situated. Another example of Haas' lack of funding was needing a Formula One coffee cart and not having an in house machine like everyone else did. You went about preparing the coffees like how you knew Nico and Guenther liked - as well as making yourself one while you were at it.

"No Real Madrid today?"

You found yourself jumping at the familiar Spanish lilt of the other Ferrari driver. Carlos Sainz was someone you never really paid any close attention to. He wasn't close enough to either Daniel or Charles' circles to ever have been on your radar. He had left Red Bull before you did and since he was Ferrari associated, it meant you never really had much to do with him.

Still, he was pleasant and nice. He always had been. He was one of those drivers that if word had spread to him - and it was very likely that it had - he didn't show it. Or care enough about it. Any time Carlos saw you around the Paddock, it was with a warm smile and a quick small-talk question about your thoughts on Real Madrid's latest match. But that was really ever it.

Until that time he had walked in at 5am to see you and Daniel Ricciardo screaming at each other.

"Uh, no. Liverpool was playing yesterday." You said, wondering if he knew you also cared about the Scouse team. Admittedly, you didn’t have the same love for them as you did for the Spanish legends, but you couldn’t have Egyptian heritage and not care about Mo Salah.

"You're Egyptian, no?" He asked. You focused on frothing the milk, unable to really look him in the eyes so soon after this morning.

"Yes." It was there in the mix, yes, but you really weren't up for explaining the complicated heritage of your ethnicity this morning. Looking at the milk circling in the silver jug, you realised your face was heating up. You were slightly surprised he even knew you were Egyptian in the first place. Unlike with Guenther or the splattering of other football fans in the Paddock, you and Carlos only ever had brief snapshots of Real Madrid small talk.

Still, this wasn't an odd conversation, you had to remind yourself. You were talking about the one thing you and him ever talked about. But, again, this was after Carlos had walked in to see you, a Hospitality worker, arguing with a driver.

"Please don't tell anyone about me being in the gym." You finally said, turning off the frother to gently tap the metal jar against the bench and settle the bubbles in the milk. "I could get into a lot of trouble since it's only for drivers."

Carlos waved a dismissive hand and shook his head. When it was clear he wasn't going to, you breathed a small sigh of relief. But then he leaned against the cart and you felt yourself starting to get anxious again. There was a quiet moment for a second as your poured the latte for Nico. Carlos' eyes followed your hands.

"I will say something if Ricciardo upset you." He said in a quieter voice.

You immediately shook your head and finally looked him in the eye. "Please don't. There's enough complication with... everything." You finished lamely.

"So I've heard." Carlos said.

You looked away. He knew.

"So then you'll know I don't need anymore complications." You said through gritted teeth, hating very much the confirmation that word had spread about what had happened.

"You haven't done anything wrong, though."

This caught you by surprise. It was the first time anyone - or, at least, a driver - had said those words to you. At the start, everyone had immediately pointed fingers at you. You were shunned and blamed. Some saw your position with the Formula One Group as part of Hospitality too light a punishment for what had happened. For the longest time, it was the confusion as to why everyone had reacted that way that did that hurt you. You hadn’t thought you had done anything wrong. Not really. You struggled to understand why no one else saw it that way. Least of all any of the drivers that knew what had happened.

Hearing Carlos say that really threw you for a short second. Carlos even caught it. He said your name and you finally looked up at him when you heard him say your name.

"Sorry it’s just - uh, Carlos, man.” You laughed a dry laugh. “You're probably the only driver who thinks so."

"I'm not." Carlos crossed his arms. "I might be the only one who has said so, but if I've understood correctly... then I'm not."

You looked down at metal jug in your hand with the extra milk you had frothed for yourself. Suddenly, you didn't feel like any caffeine. Your anxiety was already through the roof.

"Do you want a coffee?" You asked, sounding, again, very lame as that was your response to Carlos' comment.

The Spaniard looked back down at the spoon and jug in your hands. He nodded. "Have you had one already?" You asked. He shook his head and so you went about pulling down another paper cup to make his piccolo.

"You remembered." He said, laughing slightly.

"First coffee is a piccolo. Second and third are black." You recalled his order. Carlos smiled at you as you poured the milk. "I know everyone's coffee orders."

You didn’t catch how his smile lessened slightly at that.

You looked back at him and tried to ignore the thought of whether his kindness was exaggerated for your sake. A pity thing or something. Carlos accepted the coffee and then he actually offered a thank you in Arabic. You found your lips turning up hearing the marhaba on his Spanish tongue. “Es un placer.” You came back with his own native language.

You don’t work in Formula 1 without picking up a few things here and there.

Hence how you could recognise the German swears that sounded from within the motorhome as Guenther suddenly appeared.

“Where is that Y/N? Liverpool fucking tops the league and thinks she can take her time with— ah, you Ferrari fuckers!” Both you and Carlos looked to where he had come up behind the driver and slapped a friendly pat on his back. “Tell Fred he can’t have any pizza.”

“Pizza?” Carlos asked and looked down at you. “You made your pizza?”

You didn’t get a chance to respond before some Haas engineers appeared behind Guenther and called for you and him. Carlos took this as his sign - he was technically on Haas territory - and nodded at you and Guenther, holding up his piccolo in salute. Guenther had already taken the coffees you’d made for him and Nico and disappeared behind the sliding doors. You made a move to follow when Carlos called out.

"I want to try some famous Y/N pizza!” He said, turning on his heel as he walked backwards and called out to you.

You smiled and shook your head, walking back into the Haas home. You went back to the oven and set about plating up the pizzas to be a little more presentable to them. You also made sure to put some aside especially for Kevin. This was supposed to be for him.

You thought idly of saving some for Carlos when some Haas engineers you vaguely recognised walked past.

"Oh nice!" One engineer said, coming up and immediately reaching for one to stick it in his mouth. You watched him do the same blunder that Guenther did.

The other engineer, a woman with a thick Irish accent? was staring at you. Smug. "Damn, who got you smiling like that, missy?"

"What?" You asked, eyes going wide. You hadn't realised the wide smile on your face that was likely the direct result of one Carlo Sainz. Your face became hot again and it took every ounce of will to not seem affected by her words. “No one.”

"Mmm. If you say so.” She said in a sing song voice. “Well and me Mr Cool over here,” she gestured to the the other engineer trying to breathe through the hot pizza, “are heading to the garage now to see Kevin. Can we take them?"

"Yeah." You nodded. "Go ahead."

"Not saving some for anyone?"

"No." You shook your head firmly. "Take them all."

taglist:

@eugene-emt-roe @spookystitchery @vicurious28 @taytaylala12 @c-losur3 @hiireadstuff @samantha-chicago @fionaschicken @casperlikej

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macherielaila · 1 month

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#f1 #charles leclerc #sharl leclerc #formula 1 #ferrari #forza ferrari #ferrari formula one #ferrari formula 1 #ferrari f1 #formula one #cl16 #monaco #leclerc brothers

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l1li4n · 2 months

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being a max verstappen fan is so hard but so fun. like people hateeee him for winning and he just smiles and giggles through it. he's such a cocky and stupid bastard, i love him.

also yesss carlos, go bestie. show them what they're losing next season. ugh i love ferrari but i hate them. also super sad for my charlie boy. we could have had a lestappen podium but it is what it is. i believe he will do better further in the season, when they hopefully fix the car. but it's impressive nonetheless how he put that car in p4 with the difficulties he faced.

god i'm so glad formula one is back. i have something new to look forward to every weekend.

ALSO MAX VERSTAPPEN YOU SIMP.

he don't give a fuck unless it's a man whose name starts with c and ends with harles leclerc. like get up max. but i would be a simp if it was someone like charles too. lestappen girlies keep winning (me).

#formula 1 #formula one #charles leclerc #max verstappen #carlos sainz #red bull racing #red bull f1 #red bull formula 1 #ferrari #ferrari formula 1 #ferrari formula one #we're so back #bahrain gp 2024 #lestappen

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urmooniee · 6 months

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Monaco Misunderstanding - C.L

Charles Leclerc x reader

tw: swearing

y/n = reader

Monaco's cobblestone streets were abuzz with activity as Y/N continued her exploration. She was utterly engrossed in her surroundings, admiring the breathtaking views of the Mediterranean and capturing the essence of the picturesque town with her camera.

As she walked along the crowded promenade, navigating through a sea of tourists and locals, she felt the jostling of the crowd and abruptly bumped into someone. The collision was unexpected and jarring, and before she could catch herself, Y/N instinctively blurted out an expletive in Italian, exclaiming "Stronzo!" Her face twisted in irritation, and she rolled her eyes, assuming the person she had bumped into wouldn't understand her Italian profanity.

But to her surprise, the person she collided with, a man with a cap and a friendly grin, smirked and responded in perfect Italian, "What did you just say?"

Y/N, caught off guard and slightly taken aback, was unaccustomed to having her profanity understood. She didn't back down, though, and with a hint of sarcasm, she retorted, "Oh, you heard me. Want me to buy you some Q-tips? Maybe you need them to clean your ears."

The man's eyes widened in amusement, and he leaned in closer. "Well, you're feisty, aren't you?"

With that, Y/N, not realizing the identity of the person she had just encountered, left him behind, still a bit irritated by the collision but more than a little intrigued by the stranger's response.

As Y/N, still unaware of her encounter with a Formula 1 star, continued to explore Monaco's charming streets, Charles watched her retreating figure with a grin. It was rare for him to have a conversation so unfiltered and authentic. She was captivating in her fiery spirit, and he found himself intrigued by her boldness.

For the rest of the day, Charles couldn't shake off the encounter with the feisty Italian girl who had inadvertently sworn at him. He decided to do a bit of research and was surprised to find that she was an accomplished travel photographer known for her incredible work capturing the world's beauty. Her name was Y/N, and he couldn't help but admire her passion and talent.

As the hours turned into days, Charles's curiosity about Y/N grew. He couldn't resist finding more information about her, and he discovered that she often traveled to various race circuits to document the world of Formula 1. Monaco was her latest destination, and Charles couldn't help but wonder if their paths would cross again.

One sunny afternoon, fate intervened. Y/N had set up her camera along a scenic view of Monaco's coastline, capturing the glimmering sea, the luxurious yachts, and the picturesque cityscape. She was so absorbed in her work that she didn't notice a friendly stranger approaching.

Charles had recognized her from a distance and seized the opportunity to surprise her. He approached her silently, his hand covering her eyes.

"Guess who?" he whispered in Italian, his lips close to her ear.

Y/N nearly jumped, startled by the sudden touch. But when she heard the voice and the familiar Italian greeting, she couldn't help but laugh. "Is that you again, the man with no peripheral vision?"

Charles removed his hand from her eyes and smiled, revealing his identity. "Guilty as charged."

Their second encounter was filled with laughter and exchanged stories. Charles shared tales of his racing experiences and the excitement of competing in his hometown, while Y/N revealed the incredible places she had explored through her photography.

With time, their connection deepened, as they explored the beauty of Monaco together, their shared passion for adventure, and the intricacies of their respective careers. It was a chance encounter that had transformed into an unexpected bond, proving that sometimes, the most genuine connections are formed when you least expect it.

au/ raga mi sono stufata con la scuola 😻😻

Stronzo = asshole? I think, if you are Italian and the meaning is something else please do tell .

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okkotsuyuutaloml · 6 months

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inspired by this tweet 😻👍

a/n: preliminary exams are going on but who gives a shit

pairing: carlos sainz x gn!driver!reader

wc:

cw: drugs—cocaine to be specific

f1 mlist ! | main mlist !

in a world where speed and competition reigned, you were a rising star in f1. your drive and determination had taken you to the cusp of greatness, but even in the fast world of racing, there was room for personal indulgences.

one morning, you woke up with a craving for pancakes & luckily for you, your boyfriend boyfriend was not only a talented driver but also a master in the kitchen. he had a secret pancake recipe that could make anyone's day brighter. the aroma of sizzling batter filled your kitchen and soon, a plate of fluffy, golden pancakes was placed before you. they were surprisingly delicious, just as you had hoped.

you devoured the pancakes with delight, savoring each bite. little did you know that the next day would be the turning point of your life and career. you had to undergo a mandatory drug test, which is a standard procedure in the racing world. to your shock and dismay, the test came back positive.

your team, sponsors and fans were all in disbelief. you were stripped of your coveted f1 seat. your dreams shattered. you couldn't understand how this had happened. you were clean, you knew it, but the test results didn't lie.

the truth behind your positive drug test remained a mystery until one day, you received a letter from an anonymous sender. it contained a confession: carlos had spiked your pancakes with cocaine, all in a sinister plot to eliminate his biggest rival – you.

you confronted carlos and the truth spilled from his trembling lips. he had seen my success in a tractor ass car as a threat to his own ambitions and jealousy had driven him to commit this heinous act. the love you once had for him had now turned to bitterness and betrayal.

your career had been derailed & your life had taken an unexpected, painful turn. it was a stark reminder that even in the fast world of racing, treacherous motives and sabotage could be lurking just around the corner. you were left to pick up the pieces of your life and rebuild it, but the taste of carlos's pancakes and the bitter betrayal would forever be etched in your memory.

a/n: should i make a pt 2 💀?

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ferraripoolfc · 2 months

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My beautiful Ferrari driver…Mr. Carlos Sainz Jr! Most handsome Spanish man uno…this song is him.

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silly--fangirl · 13 days

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carlos sainz the man that you are 🤭🤭🤭

#formula 1 #formula one #carlos sainz #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz junior #f1 #f1 racing #formula 1 racing #f1 race #ferrari #ferrari f1 #ferrari formula 1 #ferrari formula one

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hookhausenschips · 15 days

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Goodnight Sweetheart Goodnight

Summary: Y/N is one of the driver's of the 2026 season for Audi. A very respectable driver and cherished. But life has other plans.

Word Count: 4,365

Warnings: major character death, funeral, sad, grief, anger, accidents, mourning, race crash, angst this is very detailed

Join my Taglist!

Masterlist

Reblog and like if you enjoyed!

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With a promising car and a supportive team, Y/N entered the season with high hopes and determination.

The first few races of the season saw Y/N performing exceptionally well. She consistently scored points and even secured a podium finish, earning the respect and admiration of fans and competitors alike.

The sun hung low over the F1 circuit as the drivers prepared for the race of their lives. Among them was Y/N, a talented young driver, who had been making waves in the sport with her exceptional skill behind the wheel, with dreams of championship glory. The atmosphere in the Formula 1 paddock was charged with excitement as teams prepared for the highly anticipated race.

The atmosphere crackled with anticipation as engines roared to life, signaling the start of the race.

As the lights went out, the cars surged forward, hurtling into the first corner. Y/N and Max jostled for position, their cars inches apart as they navigated the tight bends.

During a critical phase of the race, Y/N was engaged in a heated battle for p3 with Oscar on a challenging circuit known for its tight corners and rapid elevation changes. "Aaron, this is Y/N. I'm... I'm losing control. Something's wrong with the car. I can't... I can't steer properly. It's... it's getting worse.” Y/N radioed to her team. As she approached a particularly challenging turn, Y/N's car experienced a sudden and catastrophic mechanical failure, causing her to lose control at high speed.

“I'm trying to regain control, but it's... it's not working. The car's... it's spinning out. I can't stop it. I need... I need assistance. Aaron, I'm scared. I don't know what's happening. Please, talk to me. Keep me focused. I can see the barrier approaching. I'm... I'm bracing for impact. Oh, God. It's... it's too late. Brace for impact.”

Despite Y/N's skill and reflexes, she was unable to regain control of the car as it veered off course and collided with the barrier with significant force. The impact caused the car to spin violently before coming to a rest on the edge of the track, surrounded by debris.

"Y/N, can you hear me? Y/N, please respond. We're with you, we're here to help. Stay calm, help is on the way. You're going to be okay, Y/N. Just hold on, help is coming.” Aaron, her engineer radioed as the paddock stood still with the red flag waving.

“Aaron, it hurts. I can't... I can't feel my legs. I need help. Please, hurry.” The girl began to panic as she tried to lift herself out of the mangled car but her body had no energy left.

“Y/N, it's Aaron. I need you to stay focused, and stay with us. You're doing great, Y/N. We're going to get you out of there. Just hang in there, help is on the way.” He replied, his heart in his throat hearing the pain and desperation in his driver’s voice. Silence followed.

“Aaron, I'm sorry. I tried. I tried my best. Please... please tell my family... I love them. I'm... I'm trapped. I can't move. It's... it's dark. I'm scared. I don't want to die. Please, help me.” She struggled to breathe, her chest feeling like it was caving in.

“Y/N, you're a fighter. You've faced challenges on the track before, and you've always come out stronger. You can do this. Stay strong, Y/N. We're right here beside you. Y/N, listen to my voice. Focus on your breathing. Stay conscious, Y/N. We're going to get you out of there, I promise.”

“I know it's hard, Y/N. I know it's painful. But you're not alone. We're here with you every step of the way. You're not just a driver, Y/N. You're a member of our racing family. And we take care of our own.”

“Y/N, I need you to keep fighting. You're going to make it through this. I believe in you, Y/N. You've got the heart of a champion” Aaron continued talking to the girl to keep her awake.

“Aaron, can you hear me? Please respond. I need to know... I need to know I'm not alone. I'm losing consciousness. I can't... I can't hold on much longer. Aaron, please... don't leave me." Y/N tried to stay awake but her body finally started to shut down, the shock nearly wearing off.

“Y/N, you're not alone. We're right here with you. Stay strong, Y/N. Stay strong. We're here for you, Y/N. We're not giving up on you. Hold on, help is almost here. You're going to make it, Y/N. I believe in you." Finally, Aaron received an update that the medical team had reached Y/N.

Emergency response teams quickly arrived on the scene, extracting Y/N from the wreckage and providing immediate medical attention.

As the scene unfolded David Croft spoke, “Ladies and gentlemen, as we witness the unfolding events on the track, our hearts are heavy with concern for Y/N, who has been involved in a serious accident. Emergency response teams are on the scene, working swiftly and diligently to extract Y/N from the wreckage and provide the urgent medical attention she requires.”

“In moments like these, the racing community comes together as one, united in our concern for the well-being of our fellow competitor and friend. We extend our deepest gratitude to the dedicated medical professionals and safety personnel who are working tirelessly to ensure Y/N receives the care she needs.” Martin Brundle added.

David Croft nodded, “As we await updates on Y/N's condition, let us take a moment to reflect on the inherent risks and challenges of competitive motorsport. Each time our drivers take to the track, they do so with courage, skill, and an unwavering commitment to pushing the limits of what is possible. But with that pursuit of excellence comes the understanding that accidents can happen, and it is in these moments that we must come together to support one another and ensure the safety and well-being of all involved.”

“Our thoughts and prayers are with Y/N and her loved ones during this difficult time. We stand united in our hope for a full and speedy recovery, knowing that the strength of the racing community and the indomitable spirit of our drivers will carry us through even the darkest of moments.” Laura Winter spoke.

“As we await further updates, let us draw strength from the bonds of camaraderie and solidarity that unite us, knowing that together, we can overcome any challenge that lies ahead. Our hearts are with you, Y/N. Stay strong, and know that you are not alone." Laura added as the camera cut back to mangled remains of Y/N’s car.

Y/N was rushed to the nearest hospital in critical condition. The entire racing community held its breath as updates on her condition trickled in. Fans around the world prayed for Y/N's recovery, hoping against hope for a miracle. Y/N was not only a talented driver but also a beloved figure among fans and colleagues alike.

Outside the hospital, a vigil was held as fans, friends, and fellow drivers gathered to show their support for Y/N and her family. Candles were lit, prayers were said, and messages of hope were written on banners and signs.

Days turned into weeks as Y/N remained unconscious in the hospital. Doctors worked tirelessly to stabilize her condition, but the prognosis remained uncertain. The racing world held its collective breath, waiting for any sign of improvement.

As Y/N fought for her life in the hospital, the racing world held its breath. The grid often visits and sits with her, in silence or talks to her about anything and everything. Fans continued to show their solidarity and love for the young driver. The atmosphere was heavy with worry and sadness.

Y/N’s family called her colleagues and fellow drivers to the hospital. It was a week after Singapore, one of Y/N’s favorite circuits. They were hopeful that she had finally woken up. But once they had walked into the ICU and seen Y/N’s father consoling his wife they knew. They each got to say their goodbyes before the beeping sounds in her hospital room turned into silence. Like a bright star eaten by a dark hole in space, Y/N was no longer alive. The light that she had was no longer.

Tributes flooded in from all corners of the globe. Fellow drivers, team members, and fans shared memories of Y/N's remarkable career and the impact she had on the sport. The outpouring of grief was overwhelming.

As the racing community grappled with the loss, plans for Y/N's funeral began to take shape. It was to be a grand affair, fitting for a driver of Y/N's stature. The Audi team worked tirelessly to ensure every detail was perfect. The family had requested everyone wear white in memory of the light Y/N was.

In the days leading up to the funeral, a memorial was held at COTA where Y/N had achieved so much success. Drivers and fans gathered to pay their respects, sharing stories and memories of Y/N's incredible talent and spirit.

On the day of the funeral, the streets were lined with mourners as the funeral procession made its way through the city. Flags flew at half-mast, and the atmosphere was somber as Y/N's casket was carried to the church by her pallbearers; Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, Lewis Hamilton, Lando Norris, Fernando Alonso, and her teammate at Audi; Carlos Sainz.

Fans created a makeshift memorial outside the venue, adorned with flags, banners, and memorabilia celebrating Y/N's career. Inside, a dedicated area was set up for fans to leave handwritten notes, flowers, and tokens of appreciation. A large screen displayed messages and photos shared by fans on social media, providing a digital space for the global racing community to come together and pay their respects to Y/N's enduring legacy.

Audi arranged for Y/N's race car to be positioned at the front of the venue, surrounded by floral arrangements in Audi's signature colors. The car's engine cover bore a custom decal with Y/N's racing number, 21, and a heartfelt message from the team expressing gratitude for her contributions and dedication. Teammates and crew members had placed personalized tokens of remembrance, such as race gloves or miniature trophies, around the car as a tribute to Y/N's impact on the team.

Major sports networks and broadcasters dedicated a portion of their programming to live coverage of Y/N's funeral. Special segments and live reports provide viewers with updates on the funeral proceedings, including interviews with attendees, insights from racing experts, and retrospectives on Y/N's career highlights.

Online streaming platforms and social media channels also offered live coverage of the funeral, allowing fans and supporters from around the world to participate in the commemoration of Y/N's life and legacy.

Inside the church, friends, family, and members of the racing community gathered to say their final goodbyes to Y/N. Her favorite song, ‘Forever Mine’ by The O’Jays played as everyone took their seats.

“Please rise for the family.” The preacher spoke as the doors opened revealing Y/N’s parents, her siblings, and some aunts and uncles.

The preacher stood at the front of the church. Below him lay Y/N’s customized casket. The casket is crafted from high-quality, polished wood, with a sleek and elegant design that exudes sophistication and reverence. The exterior of the casket is adorned with a custom vinyl wrap, featuring a striking racing-themed design that pays homage to Y/N's career as an F1 driver.

At the head of the casket, a large image of Y/N's race car in action is prominently displayed, surrounded by images of checkered flags, racing stripes, and other iconic symbols of motorsport. Y/N's racing number is emblazoned across the front of the casket in bold, stylized lettering, serving as a visual reminder of her identity and accomplishments on the track.

Along the sides of the casket, intricate decals and graphics depict scenes from Y/N's racing career, capturing moments of triumph, camaraderie, and determination. Images of Y/N celebrating victories on the podium, engaging with fans, and competing in thrilling races are showcased in vibrant detail, creating a dynamic and visually captivating tribute to her legacy.

The interior lining of the casket is adorned with luxurious fabric in Y/N's favorite colors, providing a comfortable and dignified resting place. Soft cushions and pillows are arranged to cradle Y/N's body with care and reverence, ensuring a peaceful and serene final rest.

At the foot of the casket, a small display area is set aside for the placement of Y/N's racing memorabilia, including her helmet, gloves, and racing suit. These cherished items serve as a tangible reminder of Y/N's passion for motorsport and her enduring legacy as a beloved figure in the racing community.

Engraved plaques and plates adorn the casket, featuring meaningful quotes, messages of remembrance, and significant dates from Y/N's life and career.

He began to read Y/N’s eulogy, “As we gather here today to honor the life and legacy of Y/N, it is with heavy hearts that we bid farewell to a beloved figure whose presence illuminated the world of motorsport and touched the lives of all who had the privilege of knowing her. Though her time with us was tragically cut short, Y/N leaves behind a legacy of excellence, passion, and sportsmanship that will forever be remembered and cherished by all who had the honor of witnessing her remarkable journey.”

Silent cries and sniffles could be heard. “Y/N was born on May 3rd, 2001 in Shreveport, where she quickly developed a passion for racing that would shape the course of her life and career. From an early age, Y/N exhibited a natural talent and determination behind the wheel, honing her skills in karting competitions before making her mark on the world stage as a rising star in the world of Formula 1.”

Fans outside and around the world hugged one another as they watched. “Throughout her illustrious career, Y/N achieved numerous milestones and accolades, earning the admiration and respect of fans, teammates, and competitors alike. Her skill, agility, and unwavering commitment to excellence set her apart as one of the most formidable drivers of her generation, with each race serving as a testament to her indomitable spirit and unwavering passion for the sport she loved.”

“Off the track, Y/N was known for her humility, kindness, and generosity, touching the lives of countless individuals through her charitable work, mentorship of aspiring young racers, and dedication to giving back to the racing community. Whether signing autographs for adoring fans, visiting children's hospitals, or supporting worthy causes, Y/N's impact extended far beyond the confines of the racetrack, leaving an indelible mark on the hearts and minds of all who had the privilege of knowing her.” The air felt heavy inside the walls of the church.

“Tragically, Y/N's journey was cut short, leaving behind a legacy that will forever be remembered and cherished by all who had the honor of knowing her. Though she may no longer be with us in body, her spirit lives on in the memories we hold dear, in the lessons we have learned, and in the enduring legacy of sportsmanship, camaraderie, and dedication to excellence that she leaves behind.”

“In the words of the poet Alfred Lord Tennyson, 'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.' Y/N's life was a testament to the power of love, passion, and perseverance, and though we mourn her loss, let us also celebrate the joy and inspiration she brought into our lives. May Y/N rest in peace, knowing that she will be forever cherished, forever remembered, and forever loved. Amen."

Amen’s were murmured amongst the crowd. “I was speaking to the family to gain some insight on what kind of person Y/N was. One story that stood out to me was when she placed a snake in the cracked open window in their bathroom while her brother was in the shower. He ran out of the house with no towel and suds still in his hair.” The preacher spoke as he stepped down and around Y/N’s casket. Tear-filled laughter rose in the air.

“Does anyone have any stories or anything they would like to share about Y/N? You can remain where you are or you can come up to the mic as well.” He concluded. Many people from family members to childhood friends and colleagues spoke up about the young woman they loved.

“The track feels emptier without Y/N's presence. Her laughter, her passion, her drive – all silenced too soon, leaving us to navigate a world dimmed by her absence." Daniel spoke up.

Her parents walked up to the mic together, “As parents, we watched Y/N grow into a fearless competitor, always striving for excellence on and off the track. Her determination and courage were truly remarkable. Y/N's presence illuminated every corner of our lives. Her smile, her spirit, and her love for racing will remain etched in our hearts forever.” Her father’s voice shook.

Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, not really grasping that his daughter was gone. “Though Y/N's time with us was cut short, her impact on the racing world was immense. She lived her life with purpose and left behind a legacy that will endure for generations. We are grateful for the outpouring of love and support from the racing community. Your unwavering kindness during this difficult time has been a source of comfort for our family.”

“Y/N's journey may have ended, but her spirit will continue to race on in the hearts of those who knew and loved her. We will cherish the memories we shared and honor her legacy with each lap we take.Today, we say goodbye to Y/N, a true champion in every sense of the word. May her passion for racing and her indomitable spirit inspire us to live each day to the fullest, just as she did." Her mother finished as she wiped away her tears while placing a hand a on her baby girl’s casket.

“Y/N's love for racing was infectious. She shared her victories and setbacks with humility and grace, teaching me the true meaning of sportsmanship and resilience. Her memory will forever inspire me to strive for greatness." Lando spoke before sending a watery smile to her family and then passing the mic to Yuki, “Y/N was not just a competitor on the track; she was a true friend and a remarkable talent. Her spirit and dedication will forever inspire us all."

A montage featuring a collection of photographs spanning Y/N's life and career, capturing moments of joy, determination, and triumph both on and off the track. It included images of Y/N as a child, competing in karting competitions, celebrating victories on the podium, and forging friendships with fellow drivers and teammates. Candid shots of Y/N interacting with fans, signing autographs, and participating in charity events are also included, showcasing her warmth, generosity, and humanity.

Interspersed with the photographs are video clips of Y/N in action on the racetrack, showcasing her skill, agility, and competitive spirit. Footage from memorable races, thrilling overtakes, and championship-winning moments, is set against the backdrop of roaring engines and cheering crowds. Slow-motion shots of Y/N navigating hairpin turns, battling adverse weather conditions, and crossing the finish line in victory capture the essence of her prowess as a racing driver.

In addition to her achievements on the track, intimate glimpses into Y/N's personal life, highlighting moments of joy, love, and connection with family and friends. Images of Y/N celebrating holidays, milestones, and special occasions with loved ones, as well as candid snapshots of quiet moments of reflection and contemplation.

The montage concluded with a reflection on Y/N's legacy and impact on the world of motorsport, accompanied by a final video clip that encapsulates her enduring spirit and the indelible mark she left on the racing community.

Soon music began to play, some sang along and some cried hearing the lyrics. “Goodnight Sweetheart Goodnight", "The Thrill Is Gone", "Wind Beneath My Wings", and “You Raise Me Up".

Somewhere Over the Rainbow" by Israel Kamakawiwo'ole began to play and everyone stood as Y/N’s casket was wheeled to the back of the church. Soon people were escorted to the back to say their goodbyes before lining up outside of the church. There Y/N lay in an eternal slumber. She looked beautiful, her hair done to perfection as well as her makeup. She wore a dark navy blue dress, the same one she wore to the F1 award ceremony the year prior. Many people kissed her hand or forehead while whispering tear-filled goodbyes.

Her casket shined in the sun as the boys carried their fellow driver and friend out of the church and placed her in the back of the hearse. The car is a sleek Audi sedan, the Audi A8, chosen for its elegance and association with the Audi racing team. It was meticulously cleaned and polished for the occasion, with the Audi logo prominently displayed on the hood and doors. Black and silver ceremonial flags bearing the Audi emblem are affixed to the front fenders, fluttering gently in the breeze as the car leads the procession.

Y/N’s parents and siblings, Audi team members, fellow F1 drivers, and racing personnel travel in a convoy of vehicles provided by Audi, each meticulously maintained and adorned with custom decals and black ribbons. Additional vehicles, including Audi sedans and SUVs, follow closely behind, carrying team members, drivers, and their families, all wearing formal attire and displaying visible signs of mourning, black armbands, or lapel pins. Local law enforcement agencies coordinated with event organizers to ensure the safety and security of participants and spectators, maintaining order and facilitating the smooth passage of the procession through city streets and intersections.

Fans and supporters of Y/N gathered along the designated funeral route, lining the streets with flags, banners, and homemade signs bearing messages of love and remembrance. Some fans brought their vehicles to join the procession, decorating them with decals, flags, and tributes to Y/N, creating a moving tableau of solidarity and support.

Law enforcement officers from the local police department provide a formal escort for the funeral procession, comprising motorcycle officers, patrol cars, and even mounted police units. The lead motorcycle officers clear the way ahead of the procession, stopping traffic at intersections and directing pedestrians to maintain a respectful distance, while patrol cars follow alongside and behind the procession, ensuring that the route remains secure and orderly throughout its duration. The presence of law enforcement lends an air of solemnity and reverence to the proceedings, underscoring the significance of Y/N's passing and the importance of honoring her memory with dignity and respect.

A designated area within the cemetery, near Y/N's final resting place, is prepared for the graveside service. A simple altar is set up, adorned with floral arrangements and a photograph of Y/N during her first win as an F1 driver in Spa. Attendees gathered around in a semi-circle, with seating provided for elderly or disabled mourners.

Racing honors included the display of Y/N's racing helmet, gloves, or other memorabilia, as well as the revving of engines by fellow drivers in attendance, symbolizing a final salute to their colleague and friend.

Lewis, Charles, Lando, Max, Fernando, and Carlos carefully lower Y/N's casket onto the apparatus before the casket is lowered into the ground while mourners gather around to offer their final farewells. Roses were being tossed in the air towards her lowering casket as the hymn, Take Me To The King flowed through the air. The gravesite is adorned with flowers, wreaths, and racing-themed decorations, reflecting Y/N's passion for motorsports and the love and respect she had inspired in others.

Following the funeral, leading motorsport publications and broadcasters dedicated special segments and articles to Y/N's career, featuring highlights from her most memorable races and interviews with colleagues, competitors, and mentors who knew her well. A commemorative video montage showcasing Y/N's greatest achievements and defining moments played, accompanied by stirring music and narration honoring her legacy and lasting impact on the sport.

In the weeks following the funeral, the racing world slowly began to adjust to life without Y/N. Tributes continued to pour in, and the impact of Y/N's passing was felt deeply by all who knew her.

For Y/N's friends and family, finding closure was a difficult journey. They leaned on each other for support, cherishing the memories they shared with Y/N and finding solace in the knowledge that her legacy would live on.

As the F1 season continued, the absence of Y/N was keenly felt on the track. Competitors raced with heavy hearts, their minds filled with thoughts of their fallen comrade. But they knew that Y/N would want them to continue doing what they loved.

Throughout the season, tributes to Y/N were a common sight at racetracks around the world. From moments of silence to specially designed liveries, the racing community came together to honor the memory of the legendary driver.

As the season drew to a close, the battle for the championship intensified. Drivers pushed themselves to the limit, determined to claim victory in honor of Y/N's memory. It was a fitting tribute to a driver who had given so much to the sport.

As the dust settled on the season, the racing world took a moment to reflect on Y/N's legacy. Her impact on the sport was undeniable, and her memory would live on in the hearts of fans and drivers alike for years to come.

As the racing community mourned the loss of Y/N, they also looked to the future with hope and optimism. They knew that Y/N would want them to continue pushing the boundaries of the sport, always striving for greatness.

In the end, Y/N's legacy was not just about winning races or championships. It was about the passion, dedication, and sportsmanship she brought to the sport every day. Her spirit would forever be a guiding light for future generations of drivers.

“Though Y/N may no longer be with us, her spirit lives on in the hearts of all who knew her. She may have crossed the finish line for the final time, but her legacy will endure, inspiring generations of racers to come.” Charles spoke as he held his championship placing a hand over his heart having felt Y/N’s presence there one last time, the entire paddock felt her spirit. Warm and comforting as a final montage of her F1 career played on the screen in front of the world for the final time.

‘Goodnight, sweetheart

Well, it's time to go

Goodnight, sweetheart

Well, it's time to go

I hate to leave you, but I really must say

Oh, goodnight, sweetheart, goodnight’

272 notes · View notes

adventuringblind · 9 months

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Cheering From Heaven

Charles Leclerc x Senna!Driver!Reader

Genre: sad but also fluffy

Request: yep! I hope you like it! I actually cried a little writing it. My requests are still open for like... half the grid at this point. So please send me your ideas, I am begging, don't be shy. :)

Summary: reader never got to meet her father, but thanks him everyday for the racing in her DNA. When she overhears a conversation about her over dramatic celebrations, she becomes more reserved. Charles immediately takes notice and is determined to restore the energy she once had.

Warnings: Talks of death and crashes, not proofread (if I ever proofread call the police because it’s not me someone stole my identity).

Notes: written in second person. For the purpose of this fic, the Ferrari strategists know how to do their job.

Y’all have been giving my fics so much love. Thank you all so much 🥺❤️

Masterlist

You were the first female driver on the grid. You worked your way up the ranks just like everyone else. Your mother doing her best to support you despite it being just you and her.

She always said you have racing in your blood. Your father died before you could meet him. The fatal accident of Aryton Senna rocked everyone.

Especially your mother, who had just found out she was pregnant with you.

You were determined to continue his legacy. Knowing he was cheering you on from the afterlife.

When you started competing more often and moving up through the stages. You decided to go by your mother's last name. Not wanting your fathers name to have anything to do with how people saw you as a driver.

You wanted to race for him, not because of him. Nepotism in this sport can make or break someone's career.

When you got up to Formula 1, you cried tears of joy. Knowing that your father was looking out for you.

You were relatively accepted among everyone. You and your teammate Charles got along better than anyone could imagine.

Competing and pushing each other, but still remaining close at the end of the day.

What you didn't know was that some on the grid found you annoying.

You had found fast success and with it came rituals. You wanted to cheer loud enough for your father to hear you. Celebrating enough for the both of you.

It hurt having not known him, but you felt like you did at times. Hearing his name still being praised. You’d watched his races on YouTube repeatedly. You knew he would be ecstatic to see you here.

Everywhere else you were very down to earth and chill. On the podium, however, was a different story. There you let everything go, enjoying yourself for those who couldn’t be there with you. It was your ritual and you loved it. Charles found it entertaining despite not understanding it. You worked hard for your success, why shouldn’t you enjoy it?

You were going to run up and join a group of the guys walking and talking after a race one evening. Charles being one of them. You’d grown feelings for him and even if he didn’t return them, having him as a friend was still great.

They didn’t hear you approach, continuing there conversation without remorse.

“I don’t know man, I find her annoying.”

Charles was immediately confused at this. “Annoying? How so? I find her the least annoying out of everyone else.” He chuckled at his own funny remark.

“I agree. She seems very cocky when she wins. Rubbing it in everyone’s faces.”

A course of similar comments and agreements strung from their mouths. You didn’t stay to hear everything, quickly finding your way back to your hotel room.

Charles had left the conversation not long after. Leaving them the group with one last statement before walking off. “Who cares how she celebrates? Anyone that wins wants to enjoy it, so let her have this.”

While you became quieter and more reserved, Charles became more concerned. You weren’t the sunshine everyone enjoyed having around. You weren’t offering soothing words when someone had an off day. It was strange and he didn’t like it. He became determined to help you through it.

Everyone started talking after your next win. You smiled but said nothing. You looked unfazed by the champaign chaos. You were hardly celebrating.

Everyone else assumed your were sick, but Charles had the feeling there was something else at play.

He’d immediately given into his crush on you. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to escape it since you spent tons of time together. If only he could help you through whatever fought patch you were in. Maybe he could get the confidence to ask you out.

It was now time for the Brazilian Grand-Prix. Imola. The track Ayrton Senna lost his life.

You were hoping to win today for him, and you had a good shot at doing so after an amazing qualifying.

In the evening you decided to visit your father’s memorial. The track was clear like the sky. Pink and orange hues shining down in rays. You dropped to your knees, placing the flower you brought in front of the memorial.

“I hope you can forgive me for not cheering loud anymore.” You cried. Failing to notice the footsteps behind you. “Mom says you’d be proud of me. That you would’ve come to every race. I wish I could’ve known you.”

Charles crouch’s next to you. His hand rubbing circles on your back in a soothing manner. He didn’t say anything, just let you talk. He knows how it feels to miss someone.

“I cheer loudly so that he can hear me. I just know he’d be celebrating with me, so I do enough for the both of us.” You confessed, leaning into Charles’ touch.

“I understand.” He guides your face to look at him, gently wiping your tears with his thumb. “Your dad would be proud of you. I am also proud of you.”

No other words needed to be said. You leaned in, your foreheads now touching. Somehow, that did all the talking for you.

The next day brought excitement and anxiety. You and Charles fighting hard to be at the top. You nearly cried when you won. Charles right behind you in second.

When the cars were parked, you jumped into his arms. Adrenaline flooding through your veins. She the interviewer came to ask you about the race, you looked at Charles. Him nodding at you and giving you a thumbs up for reassurance.

“I just want to say that I’m dedicating this win to my father, Ayrton Senna. I hope to continue his legacy.”

Everyone stared at you before the chanting of your name started. The name everyone knew you by now changed.

You were hesitant to celebrate on the podium. Until Charles took your hand in his and yelled at the top of his lungs. Bathing you in the alcohol. So you finally let loose again, the fans screaming with you.

And when you two were alone again, you realized your father had been watching you. He sent you Charles. A soft ‘thank you’ falls from your lips before kissing Charles Champagne covered lips.

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cuoredimarzapane · 1 year

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They have same favourite dishes like a married couple

For reference: Charles , Max

#charles leclerc #max verstappen #charles and max #charlesxmax #lestappen #favorite dish #ferrari formula one #redbull #red bull formula 1 #red bull racing #scuderia ferrari #formula one #f1 #chicken with pasta #married #love #cl16 #mv1 #mv33

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mattysmarvel · 5 months

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Charles and Carlos via The Today Show’s Tiktok

#the way carlos keeps bouncing into charles??#the way charles is staring at him??#the way they’re giggling at each other??#also carlos looking up and down at charles…#something feels like it’s in the air #there’s been too many bedroom eyes this weekend #sorry but once again carlos just leaning into charles the entire video???#also idk but i love how carlos always fully tries to enunciate every single part of a word #i feel like that’s very uncommon in english 😭#charlos #carlos sainz #carlos sainz jr #charles leclerc #carlos sainz 55 #ferrari #ferrari formula one #c2 #ferrari boys #formula 1

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saintescuderia · 1 month

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pancakes (pt. 1)

welcome a new multi-chapter fic. enjoy.

series masterlist here :)

P1 - bulgarian split squats

Really, the only way to survive Formula 1 was by going to the gym.

The gym addiction was something that had existed long before joining the circus of a motorsports paddock filled with politics and rumours, as well as the slim fitting uniforms that always seemed to be accompanied by, in your opinion, ugly ass shoes.

Sure, Puma was the offical sponsor but couldn’t they get anything other than the Speedcat? And what even was that name? Speedcat? It was on brand, sure, but at what cost? Really? If Formula 1 was trying to grow its popularity they could honestly start with their dress code. Seeing Christian Horner in Skechers really took the intimidation out of him when you served him his double espresso during the Spanish Grand Prix that one time last season.

One of the perks of working in Hospitality - and there were very few far and in between - was that uniform was not so strict. F1 Hospitality only required an all black service with ‘comfortable shoes.’ This you took for interpretation. Dunks. Jordan 4s. Maybe 1s. Never 13s. Forces were good for a night race - that usually meant more stairs - and Vans were what you reached for in the morning when you knew you’d be working the barista shift. Converse were for ‘throw away’ races.

These were the races where you knew the shoe-care was not important. For example, Silverstone with its torrential UK drinkers who were likely to throw up on your beloved sneakers. Alas, you had learned the hard way when you almost lost your job by rushing to the kitchen to start scrubbing the vomit off your blue and red Cortez during peak lunch.

Never again.

Admittedly, you did try to keep at least one pair of Converse in good care since they were the renowned shoe come leg day.

Another perk of working in F1 Hospitality was that every circuit’s map layout had been drilled into your head. Meaning you always knew exactly where the communal driver’s gym was located at and could therefore get your daily dose of dopamine before dealing with… well, everything.

You silenced the shrill horror that came from the iPhone alarm. 4:00 read the lockscreen, the light shining brightly into your face. It didn’t help that your wallpaper had a photo with a clear blue sky, making the light even harsher in the darkness. You could’ve very well changed it and avoid the pain you routinely go through every morning. But it was this very photo that reminded you why you were getting up in four in the morning in the first place.

You had snapped it during a free practice in Italy that had miraculously lined up with a break in your shift. The sky was clear and the red car was small, but clear on the circuit. Ferrari, of course. You still remember the buzz that circled around the paddock staff that day. No matter who you routed for or whatever bias you had, there was a unanimously acknowledgement that Ferrari winning at Monza was special. He was special.

Then again, you’ve known that long before he stood on that podium in Italy and was given his infamous nickname.

It didn’t even take you ten minutes until you were out the door. Your gym clothes (pump cover included!) were on the one limpy chair that decorated your poor little hotel room, your shaker sat on top of your gym bag with you black high top Converse right beside it. By the time you had made it to the gym, it was a little past 4:15 and you had already scooped in pre-workout into your mouth ready to get through the oncoming pain.

Your hips were a little tight, as per normal. The left side even more so. The hood of your hoodie was up, headphones on and blasting the hardstyle house music that would see you through the next two hours. You went through your usual stretches but with today’s added focus on the lower body.

And then you went about destroying your legs.

It was about an hour or so that Oscar finally sleepily arrived. You weren’t actually sure what time it was but you were up to doing bulgarian split squats - and hating life - and that was usually at the hour mark. You gave him a curious once over, noting the odd choice of clothing. It was a little odd to see a driver in the paddock wearing athleisure that wasn’t their team uniform.

“Bro, it’s five in the morning.” Oscar groaned, shuffling over to come and sit on the bench next to you. You gave another three more reps - Oscar silently watching you groan in pain through the last two - and then finally dropped the dumbbells. You reached over to take a sip of water and checked the phone for the time.

“It’s five thirteen in the morning.” You corrected. It had been just about the hour mark. “Are we training today or?” It wasn’t the first time Oscar had joined you. The reason his neck was getting stronger was because of you. In your opinion, the trainer Alpine had assigned Oscar was a fucking idiot.

“You’re doing legs.” Oscar pointed out, as if that was enough of an answer. He leaned to lay back down on the bench and stared up as he continued to speak. “Drivers don’t need bulky legs. We’ve been over this.”

You had. Many times. You knew he was right. It still would be nice to have someone to go through legs with you, though.

“So train with light weights.” You offered, trying. Oscar just gave you a look that made it clear he was not picking up any type of weights. You shrugged, not deterred. “I’ll do calisthenics with you. Or we can work on plyometrics.” Oscar’s response was to close his eyes and let out a deep sigh. “Fuck it man, do some cardio.” You came to the last resort, coming to kick his legs as you walked past to load up the smith machine with some different plates.

“Piss off Tezza.” The Australian-ness continuing to shine through with the nickname that Oscar had specifically designed for you in respect of your shared citizenship to the ‘land down under.’

Except unlike the blond caucasian boy who loved AFL, grew up in Brighton East and attended Haileybury, your Australian-ness was less obvious. Your accent, for one, wasn’t as prominent since your parents were African immigrants. This, of course, didn’t just influence your speech patterns and accent.

Dark skin, dark eyes and dark hair, you weren't exactly the picture of a 'true blue Aussie.' The rite of public school bullying from those who did look 'Australian' (whatever that meant) had you scoffing at vegemite and preferring to follow EPL and La Liga than whatever the fuck was Aussie Rules Football.

Why is it called football if the players pick up the ball?

Still, when a homesick Oscar Piastri overheard one of the Hospitality staff yell out that that they were going for a 'Macca’s run' between the practice sessions on his very first F1 race weekend, he instantly picked up on the Australian-ism. And he didn’t let it go. And cue the beginning of a friendship that had Oscar Piastri calling you ‘bro’ and shortening your last name as per Australian rite.

Even if you had sworn off that sort of thing.

“Oscar, man, if you ain’t here to train then why are you?” You said, locking the plates in place on the smith machine. You lifted up your hood up and ducked under the bar to rest the metal against you shoulders, the hood acting as a cushion. The starting weight was light enough that you wouldn't have to worry about music for your first set. Besides, if Oscar was here, he could be the entertainment for this set. “You forget that this is a driver’s only gym. You could get in trouble." The sarcasm was all too clear in your voice.

No one used the ‘drivers-only’ gym. It was something that every Grand Prix had set up. Mobile, communal and high-end, it had enough equipment to rival the local 24/7 studio franchise gym that seemed to exist in every neighbourhood. Despite the fact that every driver preferred to train at their own motorhome gym - or that every team had their own mobile gym set up in conjunction to the motorhome - F1 still went about packing up and moving their own studio gym to every single location come race weekend.

If anything, it was a nice stop during the presentation walk during the sponsorship lunches where good old Stefano Domenicali would show off all the amazing resources that the Grand Prix space has to offer.

So, no. F1’s Driver Gym was not used.

The only reason it wasn’t gathering dust was because every weekend it was packed up and moved. That and you woke up at 4am every weekend to destroy your muscles in the familiar red and black equipment.

"You're here." Oscar reminded you. "And not a driver."

You ignored him and just kept up with your repetitions, focusing on engaging your glutes and keeping your core tight. Oscar was silent as you finished your first set. When you finished your last rep, he stood up and came round as you locked the machine. He knew you well enough to pick up the 10kg and help add it to the sides.

"Thanks." You said. Oscar nodded and added the weight to the other side. There was a quiet air for a moment and you went to pick up your headphones to put them back on. Things were getting heavier and you would need music to get through the next few sets.

“I might be leaving Alpine.”

You looked up at Oscar who dropped the bomb and then looked back at your headphones. You sighed and then dropped the headphones back to land in your gym bag. Headphoneless, you went back to the machine and Oscar took your invitation.

“Zak Brown approached me yesterday and suggested something about picking me up for next year.” Oscar said.

You just kept squatting. Oscar was far too removed to yet be aware of - well, everything.

“And with talk of Fernando quitting, I know that Alpine will be calling me up but do I trust that? Honestly Lando has been doing so well and Ocon has always pissed me off.” Oscar watched as you started to struggle.

He stood up and came around to help you but you just shook you head. You pushed through one more rep and then called it.

“He does have a punchable face.” You said, now out of breath. Esteban had always annoyed you and before meeting Oscar, you used to dread the weekends where you were put on Alpine.

Your friend handed you the water bottle sat beside your gym bag before you could even ask. You gave a two finger salute in thanks as he continued on.

“And Lily and I got into this massive fight again! Apparently I don’t communicate enough!” He huffed. “But I sent her flowers and chocolates because she’s going through finals and she likes daisies and Cadbury."

“Yeah, but is that her love language though?” You asked, dropping your bottle and going to stack up the final set of weights on the smith machine. Oscar stood up again to help you.

“Her what?” He asked, handing you the plate.

“Love language.” You answered, still panting, and explained, “You’ve got physical touch, gift giving, quality time, words of affirmation and acts of service.”

“Are you saying people love in specific ways?" Oscar asked, quick to process new information as always.

“Exactly. You did something nice for her, an act of service. Maybe all she wants is a nice, long phone call or maybe some texts complimenting her or something.” You shrugged and then brought up your headphones.

Oscar accepted this, knowing the last set would require music.

He watched you as you settled back under the smith machine bar and went on squatting more than his body weight. He shook his head and ran a hand over his face. He really shouldn't have been surprised at your lack of surprise. Little shocked you. That or your might’ve already known and just kept it to yourself. F1 Hospitality were a part of the Formula One Group and, therefore, were not associated to any one team. They had rotations across all teams and, therefore, every member of staff were required to sign an NDA. Not that ever did anything in this damn place.

Still, Oscar knew that you were one of the few genuine people left in this place.

He knew that there would’ve been so many opportunities where you could’ve easily done something for yourself by recounting something you had overheard while pouring Toto Wolff his coffee or serving Mattia Binotto his lunch. It was the reason why so many teams hired their own internal hospo staff.

It was also the reason why Oscar felt comfortable coming to tell you about Alpine and McLaren before he had even told his own parents, or Lily. The argument with his girlfriend had prevented him from getting any sleep, mulling it over in his mind for hours. Oscar knew you would be able to help him through it all.

And that you would be the only one awake at this godforsaken hour.

By the time you had finished your first set, he was Googling love languages and having a quick read through.

By the time you had finished your second set, he was halfway through doing the love languages quiz.

By the time you had finished your third and final set, he was seeing what the problem was between him and Lily.

“I think Lily is words of affirmation and I'm acts of service." He said, coming up to the machine as you stepped back and pulled down your headphones. You blinked and nodded, still put of breath. "I think I forgot to check in with her and send her some compliments. Tell her I'm proud of her for getting through exams. Especially because she never is one for gifts, really."

You held out your hand to him. "There you go. Growth."

"I don't know what to do about Alpine."

"Call a lawyer."

Oscar pursed his lips and then considered this. That wouldn't be his first move but thinking about it, it was probably for the best. "That's actually a good idea."

"Isn't that why you're here?" You retorted. "Since you're not here to train. Speaking of which, the fuck is that?"

“What?” He asked and realised you were looking at his feet.

“Zak Brown isn’t going to hire you if he finds out that you’re wearing fucking thongs with socks.” You said, finally recognising the flip-flops he wore with some white socks that really needed to be washed.

“You’ve been a great help, thanks.” Oscar smiled. You rolled your eyes and went to your gym bag. Pulling out a pair of white Adidas Sambas, you tossed them to Oscar.

“Put these on.”

“Is my footwear really that offensive to you?”

“We’ll go run the track.” You said then gestured to all of him. “It’ll help you burn all of this off.”

Oscar sighed and did as he was told. He laced up the shoes you'd given him that surprisingly fit his large feet and followed you out to the track. He used his pass to get through since a driver running the track at 5:30 in the morning would just be seen as the dedication to the grind. A Hospitality staff member would just be accused of breaking in.

“Maybe it’s a good thing you’re going through a crisis. I’ve always wanted to do a morning run on the track.” You said with a grin as the pair of you came to the starting line that, in a matter of hours, would be full of mechanics, engineers, reporters, camera crew members and, of course, drivers.

“If I get a seat at McLaren, you can be my trainer.” Oscar said as you both started warming up into a light jog.

"Ha." You snorted. "As if you could afford me, bro."

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