my inbox is open & i am currently accepting requests! these can be for any driver for any formula one team. i am still pretty new to the f1 realm, so i am not quite familiar with the f2 & f3 drivers quite yet!
the requests can be smut, fluff, oneshots, blurbs, ficlets, or just anything you want. the only thing i typically refrain from writing are social media aus. if you have any questions on what else i refrain from writing, please just ask! i typically answer my inbox/asks within the same day or a day later.
i would love to have some f1 mutuals! <3 my favorite teams are aston martin, red bull & mercedes (i actually love all of them for the most part but those are my top three)
the drivers i typically gravitate writing for are: fernando alonso, sergio perez, max verstappen, sebastian vettel & daniel ricciardo. i also write for toto wolff. he was the main inspiration in starting my f1 blog!
i am open to writing for just about any driver. please do not hesitate to ask if would like to see a fic with your favorite driver!
if you have any questions, or want to know about me, don't hesitate to reach out! my masterlist will be linked below! <3
hey hey! im a new follower, ive been reading some of ur fics (specifically that one oscar fic... what a masterpiece), and i would like to request one𼚠lowk dont know how to request stuff since its my first time doing this.. but erm.. may i get some osc fluff? i might be yapping too much but ive always wanted to see osc with an utaite reader (utaite is someone who covers vocaloid songs,,) and i love both vocaloid and f1 :33
sorry for the long yap session......
WAIT THIS IS SO CUTE & FUN!!! <3
i would love love love to write this. the shy fluffiness would be to die for. iâll add this to the garage! đ˝
this is where i am going to keep all of my upcoming works! they will be sitting in the garage, waiting to be released out onto the grid! <3
â§Ë ° key â§Ë °
in the garage - upcoming works to be posted sometime this week
at the paddock - upcoming works, more than likely posted within the next one to two weeks
residing at team headquarters - ideas i have brewing, perhaps potential series or fic ideas, a lot of rambling more than likely, fics to be posted at some point in time
Ëââ° in the garage âąËâ
{untitled} -> chapter two of college student!reader x daniel
{untitled} -> midwestern!reader x carlos sainz
Ëââ° at the paddock âąËâ
{untitled} -> chapter four of girls like u
{untitled} -> chapter two of princess!reader x knight!oscar piastri
Ëââ° residing at team headquarters âąËâ
reader x seb vettel fluff -> cute moments over the radio hehe
fernando x actress!reader -> smau
female!driver x grid -> where the grid reacts to her not having a definitive seat for next season
olympian!reader x danny ric -> danny is so stoked to show off his stud of a girlfriend
singer!reader x checo -> sometimes internet sleuths can expose someone's biggest secret, no matter how famous they are
{untitled} driver!reader x joe burrow
{untitled} engineer!reader x josh allen
checo pĂŠrez x wife!reader -> with the influx of hate checo has been receiving lately, he's in desperate need of some comfort
max verstappen x tennis player!reader -> max is so supportive of his badass girlfriend who happens to be one of the biggest tennis stars in the world
fan!reader x sebastian vettel -> a fic inspired by the song "fictional"
sebastian's sister!reader x kimi räikkÜnen -> the younger sister of an infamous driver is very eager to prove to the ice man that she is more than just a family name
wwe diva!reader x fernando alonso -> why is nando at a wwe event? who is he there to watch? it's more than likely his sexy wwe girlfriend!
sebastian vettel x red bull princess!reader -> a fic set in the early 2010s with seb and his red bull princess
just a reminder that my requests are always open! if you would like to see your idea come to life, feel free to send a message in my inbox! <3
Heyyyy hope youâre well! Iâd like to request a max fic inspired by his gt3 debutâŚ
What about him venturing out to rallying and heâs looking for a co pilot he can trust. So he asks yn (who is a driver at merc and has known her for forever) about joining. And shocking to everyone they get along super well. Up to you if itâs just a wholesome friendship or basically a hard launch haha
the documentary did come out todayâ đŤŁ
i would LOVE to see this dynamic & to add in some flair, maybe some grumbling from her team principal because he knows it may end up costing him his best driver?
two lethal drivers in one car. together. high stakes environment. veryyyyy tense (and sexy!) iâm thinking slow burn. not enemies to lovers because thatâs too over saturated.
K, hi! How have you been? Would it be okay for me to request a platonic Sebastian Vettel x reader fic? During his time at Aston Martin, instead of Stroll, reader is the other driver there and Seb takes on the role of her mentor? I donât have anything concrete but I really like this dynamic and would love to see what you come up with!
oh this dynamic would be very fun to explore & i would love to write this for you!!!
i am also looking to write more platonic fics too!! not all of my work has to be romantic!! yâall can send me whatever your heart desires!
hii, hope you're having a good saturday!! I'm not sure if you write for Kimi antonelli or not, but if you do, could you consider write something with a reader that's a normal uni student from Italy and isn't famous? i would love reading this.
They've been a couple for several months, and Kimi has never tried to keep her hidden âlike always being seen in public and on his Instagram and stuffâ But even so, she is quite a lot shy on cameras and was afraid that people would call her a gold digger bc her family isn't exactly millionaire or famous, which is why she keeps her social medias private and a low profile. Still, people adore her easily, either for her sweetness or for her great fashion style, she begins to gain popularity and maybe even some girls will ask her for an autograph? which is crazy for her because she doesn't even have one loll. All this while Kimi just watches her proudly unfold that way.
It doesn't have to be written exactly this way! It's just the idea that's been running through my head haha, no problem if you don't write it but thanks anywayđ¤
hi lovely!!!
since kimi is nineteen, i am going to write this with pure fluff, no weird or infantilizing vibes.
i hope you enjoy! i always eat up these sort of prompts. đ¤
of course he wanted you to come for monaco.
he said that it would be okay. that he would be by your side the entire time. that he wouldn't let the fans get too close or touch you without your consent. that the cameras would be focused on other drivers and gossip, as there were other headlines taking the spotlight.
still, the soothing words were not enough to combat the bundle of nerves and bubbling pit in your stomach as you clutched to his elbow, nearly trembling with every step.
"easy there," his voice is low, only audible enough for you to hear, "you're going to take me down with you if you grip me any harder. then the paparazzi would really be taking pictures."
"kimi antonelli," you hiss through gritted teeth, "i cannot believe that you convinced me to come here. of all races. monaco."
"you told me one thousand times that you were okay with it," he shrugs, sunglasses parked on the bridge of his nose, "i promise you that it will all be okay. once we make it to the mercedes garage, you will feel so much better. you can meet carmen and hang out with her."
that statement alone spikes your heart rate.
not only you were making a rare public appearance at the paddock, but you were attending the monaco grand prix. perhaps one of the most iconic race circuits in the history of motorsports. not only was is historic, but it was plush and luxurious, sponsors and attendees going all out to flaunt their wealth.
and of course, every little thing that you could nitpick was intensified tenfold. your lip gloss felt smudged, your hair was not cooperating, your dress felt tight yet baggy in all of the wrong places, and there was already a thin layer of sweat pooling under your arms.
the anxiety was almost suffocating, gripping at your throat as the two of you made your way through what seemed like an endless maze.
"we're almost there," his bicep flexes, anchoring you, "promise you'll get a kiss for being brave, sweet girl."
the words are almost like static, your mind blanking as you make out a group of shadows materializing in your peripheral. they come closer, your knuckles nearly white as the horror washes over you.
they were a group of girls, similar in age, maybe a couple of years younger. bright-eyed and bushy tailed, merchandise in their grasp. eager smiles are painted across their features, one of the girls clearing her throat.
"u-uh hi."
"buongiorno," kimi chirps, giving a wave, "how are you guys today? enjoying the weekend?"
"yeah!" one of the girls gushes, a tinge of rose spreading across her cheeks as she shifts in place, "we um, we actually wanted to see her."
"m-me?" you sputter out, warmth flourishing into the base of your neck, "you wanted to see me?"
"duh!" a girl squeals, "we love your outfit! we follow you on instagram. i bought the set you wore the other day on your instagram story. the cute striped one!"
your brow furrows as your mind scrambles, trying to recollect what piece the girl could be referring to.
it surges back to you, the image flashing across your field of vision.
oh!
she was talking about the cotton set you wore when you went boating with kimi's family over the weekend. the one that was flowy yet flattering, comfortable in the bright mediterranean sun.
a set that kimi couldn't keep his hands off of.
"t-thank you," your mouth curves into a broad smile, "did you make sure to size up? when i read the reviews, they all said the measurements were a bit tight. plus, you don't want to worry about it shrinking because of the material."
"i did," the girl nods, "it's on the way right now. i can't wait to wear it! you made it look so good!"
"oh stop," a giggle bubbles up in your throat, "are you guys from around here?"
"oh no," one of the girls, more than likely the youngest of the group replies, holding up a cap, "we're from spain. we traveled here because we couldn't get tickets to the race in our hometown."
"did you want me to sign that?" cautiously, you point at the cap, "i can if you want me to."
the girl's eyes widen, "o-oh. um. yeah. i wanted your autograph so i can show my sister back home."
"i'll sign it for you," carefully, you take the sharpie out of the girl's fingers. your hand shakes a little as you scribble, and you pray that they don't notice.
"thank you!" the girl beams, "we hope to see you again! have a fun weekend!"
as the group turns, giggling among themselves, you can't help but feel... relaxed.
that wasn't bad at all.
"see," kimi's arm loops into yours, fingers threading together, "that wasn't so bad, yeah?"
"not at all," you shake your head, "they were really nice."
"they love you," swiftly, he presses a peck to your temple, just at your hairline, "thank you for coming, sweet girl."
"of course," you lean into his touch, nuzzling into his shoulder, "let's get going. don't want you to be late."
as the two of you resume your walk, you can't help but feel a little bit lighter.
pairing -> singer!reader + red bull! sebastian vettel
word count -> 1.5k
warnings -> sexual innuendoes, slight metaphors for desire/lust, cursing, slight age gap (nothin' crazy y'all), seb trying so hard to restrain himself, yearning, two idiots in love, slight angst
a/n -> this one is for one of my besties. if you know, you know.
no session was the same.
that was something sebastian vettel learned very early on in their relationship.
sometimes they were spontaneous, fueled by passion, brimmed with desire, pupils blown wide open as warmth seeped into her cheeks.
other times they were slower, measured and deliberate, her brows furrowed together with concentration as she found that sweet release.
that blissful escape.
and without fail, she was always the one to initiate.
he loved that part of her. that desire that seared through her veins. the way her voice trembled as she asserted her needs. the flicker of a flame in her stare, framed by those eyelashes that left him weak.
whether it was 6:36 a.m. or 10:12 p.m., he was down for it. as long as she received that sweet, sweet, euphoria.
after all, sebastian vettel was never one to tell his woman no.
not when his woman was a grammy nominated, world renowned, triple platinum indie artist.
well, she loathed that label. despised every aspect of it.
you see, his love bug didn't really like being placed in a box. she mentioned to him that it felt like a cage, where she couldn't express herself freely. she preferred to remain ambiguous, crafting melodies to fit whatever was her on mind that day.
sometimes it was anger, furious ballads with heavy synth instrumentals and distorted shouts. often times it was the whisper of melancholy, laced with a nostalgia that you couldn't quite place.
like walking through your childhood home, fingertips running along your bedding, recollecting that nothing will ever be the same again.
yet, it was her voice that really tugged at his heart.
if she was a siren, he was a sailor, entranced and allured by her call.
and fuck, was he ready to risk it all.
it's the rustling of sheets that pull him out of his slumber, cool air slithering up his legs.
blearily, a hand rubs his left eye, the words rumbling from the base of his throat, thick with exhaustion.
"going to write, bug?"
she hums, her weight shifting so that the bed dips.
"mhm. i won't be long. i just had this dream and i need to get it out before i lose it."
that was one boundary he never crossed.
if she wanted her solitude, then he let her have it.
after all, he couldn't bring himself to disturb her creative process.
however, the warmth of her palm as it connects with his neck signals that maybe she didn't want to go downstairs alone.
her touch is light, tender as fingertips trail along his jaw, trailing over his lips, descending down to his chin.
between his thighs, he feels the rush of blood as it pumps through his veins.
"careful," he murmurs, the word dripped with his accent, "you may not get much writing done if you keep that up."
"what if i wanted you to come with?" lips graze his earlobe, breath fanning against tousled rays of sunlight, "come down with me, lover boy."
it doesn't take much for him to wake up after that.
donning a faded t-shirt and sweats, he pads down the stairs, noting the sway of her hips with every step, cotton pants hanging loosely, inky lines of her tattoos barely visible.
in her grasp is her journal, the leather binding torn and tattered, corners of loose pages poking through. her hair is thrown up, just enough so that it is out of her face as she writes.
in the low light, he catches the birth mark behind her ear, jaw clenching.
fuck, was he riled up.
she tended to have that effect on him.
often.
her spell was so powerful that even the slightest glimpse of her dazzling grin had his knees buckling. the tiniest whisper of his voice had him spiraling, clutching his chest to contain his rampant heart. and when she experimented with fashion? there were some days in the garage that he had to remind himself where he was.
sometimes it was so bad that kimi threatened to blindfold him so that he didn't make those "disgusting goo goo eyes."
of course, sebastian would tease that it would amp him up even more.
the door knob clicks, notifying sebastian that they made it to the recording studio. it was a simple setup in the basement of her home: microphone stand, bass, and various percussion instruments strewn about. her keyboard was tucked away in the corner, amps lined up neatly beside it.
the booth and production were separated by a layer of drywall, constructed by her father himself. there was a window, along with every possible apparatus and piece of equipment she could dream of hooked up in its own organized fashion. there were a few chairs on the production side, reserved for a select group of people.
sebastian, her best friend, margo, and lukas, her producer. however, they preferred the term visionary partners.
"seb," her voice floats from the other side of the wall, angelic, "can you switch on the computer? i need to make sure i get these demos saved."
"of course."
leaning over the motherboard of dials, switches, and buttons, he flicks on the computer. the tower whirs to life, screen illuminating the dim space.
"what do you want to me pull up, bug?"
"pull up that software lukas downloaded last night. i want to try it out. i'm feeling loose tonight."
at that, the corners up his lips twitch into a smile, fingers clicking the mouse. swaying to his left, he flashes a thumbs up.
"i'll hit record whenever you're ready."
"just a few more minutes," she replies, the sound of scribbling echoing off the walls, "i need to think."
"well don't overdo it," leaning back in the chair, his gaze settles on her through the glass, "that pretty head of yours might combust."
"i promise i won't," she deadpans, and he can make out the hint of a scoff, "you worry too much."
"i always worry about my little einstein," fighting a yawn, he props his chin up with a hand, "take as long as you need, bug. i'll be right here."
minutes pass before her head pokes around the door frame, headphones in her grasp, "okay, i'm ready."
"all right," nodding, sebastian scoots over to the keyboard, hand floating above the mouse, "the stage is yours, love bug."
sliding the headphones on, she gives him a thumbs up, notifying him that it was time. sebastian's index finger applies pressure, the key clacking.
as she leans into the microphone, her voice spills from her diaphragm, tantalizing as it drifts into his ears. it's haunting, aching with a softness that sweeps him off his feet, this longing sensation unraveling in his chest tenfold the moment his eyes take in how the light dances across her features.
nothing scared him. not even the dread that filled him to the brim as he braced for impact. not even the skid of tires as the car sailed across wet tarmac, struggling to find grip. not even the fumes of smoke as engines failed, the various buttons and levers drained of their power.
one thing did, though.
and it absolutely terrified him.
the one thing sebastian vettel feared most was the idea of never being able to watch her perform ever again.
it was paralyzing, the fibers of his muscles straining as the thought bubbled to the surface from time to time. it was fleeting, only coming to fruition every now and then.
but it was enough to leave sweat pooling in his palms, jaw wound so tight that it left his neck searing.
so, that is why any time she sent the invitation, he graciously accepted it.
because why skip out on the opportunity to watch the person you adored more than anything do what they loved most?
blinking, the german's head swivels over to the clock on the wall.
the time read 1:47 a.m.
although she said it wasn't going to be long, from the way she sounded, voice raw and unfiltered, it was going to be another few more hours in the studio.
thank god for the mini fridge stocked with red bull.
not that sebastian minded watching anyway. she was in her zone. where she was most vulnerable, finding that flow state that sent adrenaline crashing throughout her being like tidal waves.
he often found that she was most ethereal in this state. a divine goddess confined to this mortal state.
and perhaps he was under her spell, completely and utterly hypnotized, separated by a thin layer of glass, paint, and insulation.
his own private concert, spanning all hours of the night.
fuck, was she gorgeous.
fuck, was she absolutely stunning.
and fuck, she was his.
all his.
his love bug, no one else's. and here he was, able to just watch for as long as he wanted. to study every little thing until it was ingrained in his memory, stored away to fantasize and dream about any time he wanted.
as he suppresses a groan, the german can't help but glance down at his pants, swallowing thickly.
even if she was going to be a few hours, the throbbing between his thighs would be keeping him wide awake.
warnings -> cursing, themes of power imbalance, manipulation, boss & employee relationships, allusions to smut, sexually explicit content, angst, lots of angst, isolation, despair, anti toto sentiments
a/n -> here is the next riveting chapter of my baby. let me know what y'all think! if you would like to be tagged, let me know in the comments <3
july 1st, 2025Â
âhi! iâm julia. itâs so nice to finally meet you in person!â
sheâs cute really, auburn locks sweeping along her shoulders as she speaks, hazel eyes bright with admiration as they settle into their seats, engaging in conversation.Â
the hue was reminiscent of the way light pours in through a forest, sunlight scorching the muddy earth.
beautiful yes, but nothing like the intensity of fighting your way through the ocean as it stormed, waves pounding the rocky shoreline, completely washing away everything with their brute strength.Â
from what he remembered from her profile, she was an educator, teaching high school freshmen all about what the subject of biology had to offer at marymount. she was passionate about the environment, as he noted her preference for the paper straw and various national park pins attached to her bag.Â
she is what he needs. someone quiet, private, low-profile. the gentle breeze on a humid summer evening that follows the pouring rain.
yet, every two seconds, he has to remind himself that heâs on a date.
he has to give this a chance.
he has to.Â
thereâs the zip of a bzzztt, notifying him that someone was trying to get a hold of him.
it rattles the table, vibrating four times.Â
julia blinks, clearing her throat, extending a hand out.
âif you need to, go ahead and answer that.â
âno itâs okay,â the australian notes ooze through every word, âitâs probably nothing importantââ
before he can even finish, his phone vibrates one more time.
julia fidgets, tongue swiping along her lower lip, âyou should probably answer that. i donât mind. our drinks havenât even arrived yet.â
his brow furrows, teeth nibbling at the inside of his cheek, âyou sure?â
âyeah,â she nods, bearing a quaint smile, âi know youâre a busy man.â
âthank you,â he chirps as fingers curl around the device, flipping it over.Â
at the sight of the contact name, his breath hitches in his throat.
itâs max.Â
max verstappen.Â
and when the dutch lion texts you, itâs usually one of three things. heâs bored. heâs in the mood to be facetious.Â
or, heâs about to ruin your life.Â
swallowing thickly, the figureâs eyes squeeze shut.Â
here goes nothing.
tapping on the text thread, three messages appear, tolling like bells.Â
you still alive?
if you are, watch this.
the final text contains a hyperlink, the letters underlined, prompting him to pry open their contents.Â
the words to follow send a shiver down his spine.
look at what theyâre doing to her.Â
his phone trembles in his hand, nearly slipping. tightening his knuckles, he catches it before it hits the table, heart thumping against his rib-cage as blood roars in his ears.
oh god.
oh fuck.Â
fuck. fuck. fuck.
of all places.Â
of all times to reach out.
why here? why now?
his gaze flickers across the table, where his date is situated. her head is cocked slightly, brow knit together in confusion. her lips purse, as if she wants to press, but something inside of her tells her not to. straightening his spine, he exhales, desperate to return back to the previous conversation.Â
âs-so tell me, whatâs your favorite part aboutââ
his phone pulses in his grasp, signaling another text.
glancing at the screen, the next message is like a shot to the heart, blowing his chest wide open.Â
i know you read that. read receipts are on.Â
now watch the damn video.Â
fuck.Â
his jaw clenches as his thumb hovers over the link.
tapping once, he is taken to a new tab.Â
the app flashes across his screen.
tik tok.Â
before him is an edit, showcasing the tragedy of two formula one drivers. his thumb presses along the side of his phone, ensuring that the volume was quiet enough for his date not to hear, but loud enough for it to register in his ears. the song of choice is headlock by imogen heap, grainy flashes of a team principal, garage, and track unraveling as it plays.Â
the tone shifts, and she appears in the frame.
goosebumps prickle his neck, slithering down his arms.
sheâs sweaty, tearing a balaclava off her head as she confronts the other driver, lip curled into a sneer. the drivers argue, their words heated as the camera pans to the wreckage in the background. sheâs still for a moment, but then leaps forward as the other driver goads her on, marshals scrambling to hold her back.Â
you say itâs too late to start, got your heart in a headlock.Â
he doesnât even read the caption at first. the rest of the edit is a blur as it loops.Â
heâs too distracted by the final few seconds.
sheâs there once again, mercedes logo seared into her suit as she hangs her head in defeat, helmet hanging loosely in her grasp as she walks away, smoldering flames burning in her gaze now reduced to mere embers, clinging onto life.Â
you know youâre better than this.
the clips fade to black, his eyes honing in on the bottom left corner of his screen.
enemies? not quite. but close enough. welcome back brocedes.
his throat tightens, searing as despair bubbles deep in the pits of his stomach.Â
what had really happened since his departure in singapore? what all had he missed? when did that fight happen? how often was this happening? did anyone else know? what were they doing to help? what was mercedes doing to her?
was she okay?
across the table, a voice cuts in, catching his attention.
âeverything okay over there?â
head snapping up, he nods, perhaps a little too fervently.
âoh yeah, iâm okay. sorry. it was just a good friend of mine.â
yet, in his far corner of his mind, the edit plays, looping not once. not twice.Â
but three times.
julia brings a glass to her lips, sipping for a moment. setting the glass back down on the table, her gaze rakes over his face, picking him apart.
âare you sure everything is okay? you look like you just saw a ghost.â
he coughs, ây-yeah. couldnât be better. i mean, iâm on a date with a very beautiful woman. why wouldnât i be okay?â
at that, he notices the peach hue that tinges her cheeks, flushing into her neck. the corners of her lips twitch into a grin, and her eyes crinkle.
thereâs a beat of silence that settles over the table, the pair avoiding eye contact.Â
julia pipes up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, âso tell me more about dirt biking. you seem to really enjoy that.â
âoh yeah! um, as you know, iâve been into motorsports since i wasââ
to his left, his phone buzzes, interjecting.
stifling a groan, he reaches for it, barely tipping it so that he didnât have to read the entire thing.
however, itâs no use.
max already had him right where he wanted him.
lol.Â
you still love her.Â
the bubbling sensation in his stomach erupts, billowing into ribs and chest. it grips at his throat, squeezing every muscle with its devastation. itâs paralyzing, seeping into every fiber as his mind reels, scrambling to keep composure.Â
god fucking damnit, max.Â
however, he canât type a response.
not now.Â
because if he responds to maxâs message, then he would have to acknowledge it.Â
and once he acknowledges it, it becomes real.
so rather, he buries it.
well, he fails miserably at it.Â
the poor woman sitting across the table can read him like a fucking book, her gaze boring into him as he fidgets, knee starting to bounce as his hands clasp together. she tilts her head a few more degrees than she did minutes ago, shoulders wound tight.Â
âd-do we need to reschedule? your energy is off and you donât even look like youâre interested anymore.â
his head droops, eyes fixated on the grain of the table, âi-iâm sorry. but i canât do this.â
âdid i do something wrong?â
fuck, of course that was her first thought.
the truth was, she didnât do anything wrong at all.
she was perfect really, in every way.
they just werenât the right fit.
and they never would be, as his person was halfway across the world, in a completely different country, fighting tooth and nail for a championship title.Â
âno,â shaking his head, the notes in his voice donât falter, âyou didnât do anything wrong, believe me. it truly is me. i thought i was ready to do this, to go on a date and be present, but iâm not. i never was. and you donât deserve to be led on like this.â
he can sense her disappointment, lips forming a tight line as her eyes narrow, âis there someone else in the picture?â
rising to his feet, he reaches out, grabbing the receipt, âsomewhat.â
âsomewhat?â she echoes, folding her arms across her chest, âis it your ex?â
his lip twitches, vision blurring.Â
âyes. but sheâs not just an ex.â
julia exhales, bringing a hand to her temple, âwell, i appreciate the honesty. thank you, for not leading me on. and thank you for covering my drink. whatever it is that youâre dealing with, i hope that it all works out. youâre a great guy, and i know that whoever she is, you really care about her. i wish you the best of luck, daniel.â
it only takes him approximately thirty seconds before he is out of the restaurant, gripping his chest as the city skyline twinkles. cars whiz by, the roar of their engines reminding him that this was not a dream. the air is suffocating as his chest heaves, phone burning into his thigh through the pocket of his jeans.
panting, he shoves a hand in, retrieving the device.Â
it only take two rings for max verstappen to answer.
that bastard.
âyeah?â
through gritted teeth, he manages to sputter out the words.
âwhat the fuck are they doing to her?â
thereâs a rustling on the other end, the dutchman inhaling a sharp breath. his tone is flat, matter-of-fact.
âsheâs winning but itâs coming at a price.âÂ
daniel ricciardoâs eyes sting as he steadies himself, planting his feet into the sidewalk.
âshe looks soââ
âso you saw it.â
the australian brings a hand to the bridge of his nose, pads of his thumbs wiping away tears, âand iâm not there for her. fuck. fuck. fuck. w-what do i do? i canât just watch as she withers away.â
max huffs, the words barely audible.
âyou know she doesnât like asking for help, daniel. thatâs just how she is.â
thereâs a pause, daniel mustering every last shred of strength to push the lump in his throat down. max continues, the notes blunt as they sock daniel in the gut.Â
âbut if youâre going to do something, you need to do it soon. as soon as possible, actually.â
âwhat if i make things worse?â
a chuckle vibrates deep in maxâs throat, âyou donât think things are bad right now? you donât have to be her superhero, daniel.â
snorting, the australian swivels his head, watching as a couple strolls toward a bus stop, making their way underneath the awning. they sit, the man wrapping an arm around his loverâs shoulders, pulling them in close. their head snuggles into the manâs shoulder as they share a pair of headphones, blissful grins painted across their features.
his heart pumps, and daniel swears he can feel blood pouring out with every beat.
âshe needs me, max.â
the dutch driverâs response is swift yet volatile.
âthen show up. stop pretending that you can just keep pushing this away.â
âyou know,â the words tumble out, fueled by pure instinct, âi never stopped loving her.â
âglad you finally came to terms with that mate. silverstone is the next race on our schedule. let me know if you need help with accommodations. see you soon, daniel. you better show up.â
the line clicks dead, the australian letting out one final exhale.Â
max was right.
he couldnât put this off any longer.
it was time.
and in just a few days, he would show his face in the paddock.Â
not for just anyone.
but for her.
after all, she needed him, and he would be there.
waiting with open arms.Â
august 31st, 2025Â
âgolden girl! itâs nice to finally see a smile from you after an exceptional qualifying session. how are you feeling about the car as the race approaches? weâre just a few short hours away, after all.â
the shutter of cameras flood the space, flashes blinding as you fiddle with the hem of your sleeve, rolling a loose thread. leaning into the microphone, you clear your throat, the words crisp as they flow.
âiâm feeling pretty good about the car. i feel like weâre really starting to understand one another. wherever i want her to go, she follows my lead.â
âso your car is a girl? elaborate on that, please,â the reporter arches a brow, scribbling away.Â
âuh,â you stammer, tugging at the thread, âi-i mean, bono and i sort of nicknamed her after hungary.â
laughter ripples among the crowd, journalists grinning in delight. the same reporter nods, encouraging you to continue, âplease, tell us more. whatâs her nickname?â
straightening your spine, fingers curl around the microphone, bringing it closer to your mouth. leveling your head, you meet the reporterâs inquiring gaze, ensuring that you had their full attention.
âwe nicknamed her athena.âÂ
the reporterâs lips purse, their head cocking, âafter the greek goddess of war?â
in your fingers, the thread snaps.
âyes. after all, when youâre in the pits of hell, you need all the help you can get.â
several gasps slip out, journalists springing to their feet, cameras swinging your way as you shove the microphone toward lando, folding your arms across your chest. the mclaren driverâs voice is drowned out by your name, hands frantically shooting out, waving frantically. to your right, max nudges your leg with his knee, shooting you a wink. you just shrug in response, avoiding any eye contact with the far left side of the room, where you knew a pair of eyes was lasered in, honed in on your every move.Â
despite your lighthearted tone, you meant every word of that statement.Â
following austria, the grip that toto wolff had on you tightened.Â
you were no longer loved.
you were managed.Â
you were not allowed to attend press events alone. he would be your escort, to ensure that you did not say or do anything out of line. every race you were reminded of what was off limits, and what could be explored. every race outfit was carefully coordinated through a stylist, just so that it was not too revealing or too flashy. every interview was rehearsed, polished and refined so that it fit a compelling narrative.Â
golden girl, the star of formula one, was not only dominating the track, but she was able to win the heart of her team principal. however, would she be able to fend off max verstappen, lando norris, and oscar piastri for the world title? would she be able to beat the odds and make history?Â
would she be able to keep her contract with mercedes? would she be dropped if she couldnât perform? would any team be interested due to her fiery tongue and aggressive persona? and we canât forget her aptitude toward a certain team principal. would any team be willing to accept that her heart truly belongs to toto?
and we canât forget george russell, fellow driver and rival. in the wake of austria, the drivers were rarely seen together, only spotted for team briefings or mandatory press events. even then, it is clear that the two would not touch one another with a nine foot pole.Â
how will the rest of the season play out for americaâs princess? will she rise above it all? will she reign victorious? or like the great empire of rome, will she topple under the immense pressure?Â
the glory, the guts, and the drama of it all.Â
stay tuned, as you will not want to miss a damn thing.Â
the last few months of your life had been reduced to nothing but faint memories, vague and indistinguishable. every day felt like the last, the mornings bleeding into nights as the summer trudged on. the heat was no help, sweat drenched suits only reminding you that you were stuck, branded by the mercedes logo, trapped in a place that drained every piece of you until there was nothing left.
lewis hamilton won a historic silverstone, proving to you that legends never die. although you managed to secure hungary and belgium, it was clear that max could not be counted out, as he was practically nipping at your heels. lando and oscar were stealthy, finding their way to podium positions throughout the course of the summer.
a world that you once perceived to be bursting with life, vivid and rich, was now stripped of its color, dull and bleak. now, it was just a gray space where you happened to exist, running on what was left of your depleted nervous system.Â
adrenaline that one pumped through your veins the second you got behind the wheel was now replaced with a dread. there was no high. no euphoria. no bliss.
racing was simply a task you were designed to complete.
you were no longer a person, but a machine.
stiff. robotic. performative.Â
an actor in a racing suit, the track your stage.Â
and as you stepped onto those podiums, pumping the trophy in the air, an empty, hollow feeling took a hold. your body would default to autopilot, ensuring that the mask would not slip.Â
sure, winning was nice. leading the championship was even better.
but if it felt like this, was it really worth it?Â
is this what driving for a high-caliber team was really like?Â
would this feeling last forever? when would this pain end?Â
when would winning finally come without suffering?Â
a world that you once perceived to be bursting with life, vivid and rich, was now stripped of its color, dull and bleak. now, it was just a gray space where you happened to exist, running on what was left of your depleted nervous system.Â
yet, there were glimmers of hope.
peter bonnington was one.
over the last few weeks, your bond with the engineer only blossomed. he was the one constant when everything went to shit. he stayed by your side, becoming your voice when you could not find the words to speak, keeping you afloat through offerings of encouragement and praise. he never judged, pried, or made choices for you.Â
it was always this or that, plan a or plan b, or even plan c. he trusted your judgement, advocating for you when others doubted. there were even instances in which he firmly reminded his boss that you were the one driving the car, not him. you knew what to do more than anyone else in that garage, even if they had more experience. after all, you were the one leading the world championship, not them.Â
it was your title to win, not mercedes.Â
he was aware of your loneliness. how you felt isolated in a room full of people sharing the same uniform. he offered you solace, the two of you maintaining a solid routine.Â
for the past couple of weeks, he would sit outside of your driverâs room as you decompressed, remaining vigilant as you came completely undone. you would scream. cry. throw shit across the room. he would simply scroll through race data, tablet in hand, making annotations for the next race.Â
you would throw open the door, eyes tinged crimson, tears caked to your cheeks. he would open his arms, graciously wrapping you up against his chest, promising you that he would not let you go through this alone.Â
if you needed him, he would be here.Â
in each and every way possible.Â
max verstappen was another.
following qualifying in silverstone, he marched into the garage on race day, not afraid of the whispers that followed. he found you standing next to bono, invested in a discussion over tires, throwing your hands up in the air as toto strolled into the space.
coughing, the dutch driver cleared his throat, pointing to the car.
âstop overthinking the damn tires. what you need to worry about is the braking into turn one. you were quicker on the softs, yeah, but that doesnât change anything if you donât lift your foot off the brake. trust in yourself first, and the car will follow.â
before you could even respond, he whirled around, waving goodbye.Â
âsee you out there!â
during the driverâs parade in belgium, he slithered in beside you, scrolling on his phone for about a minute before speaking.Â
âyou know youâre supposed to be here, right?â
âi donât feel like it.â
âwell you better get used to it. because i am not going to let you feel like you arenât.â
he even offered you his number, stating that if you ever wanted to race on the simulator, he would gladly give you some pointers. he would sit next to you when alex was not available, and loved to rile you up during national anthems. by the dutch grand prix, the line between acquaintance and friend was quickly deteriorating, and you knew that it ruffled totoâs feathers.
social media was starting to gossip, wondering if this was totoâs latest ploy to get max recruited to mercedes. some pondered if this was all a master plan, if the friendship was generated for good press in the fallout of austria. since max was so outspoken about staying away from paddock politics, headlines raved about how he could not stay away from the mercedesâ problem child.Â
yet, you didnât care. and neither did max.
the two of you simply valued one anotherâs friendship.Â
he was honest and authentic, something that you needed most when everything was so deceptive. so uncertain. so fake.
and how could you forget alex, carlos, theodore, or lily? your family?Â
they kept you going.Â
and well, the hope of achieving the impossible did too.Â
but you werenât sure how much longer that flame could burn before dwindling out.
august 31st, 2025Â
âhey!âÂ
a voice calls out, the accent oh so familiar.Â
theodore flinches, instinctively taking a half-step forward to shield you. however, as the figure comes into view, your shoulders slump, relief blooming in your chest.
itâs max, red bull proofs glued to his chest, pirelli cap situated on his head. his brows are furrowed, knit together in concentration as his suit hangs loosely on his hips, half-zipped. heâs drenched in champagne, confetti fluttering off his muscular frame with every step.Â
by now, half of the paddock has cleared out, the lingering crew dismantling the grandstands, tossing litter into bags. the red bull and mercedes garages are buzzing with delight, as both teams managed to snag a podium. their chatter is nothing but white noise as the dutch driver faces the two of you, fluorescent lights humming to life as the sun dips over the horizon.Â
folding his arms across his chest, his head swivels, toward theodore.
âcan i have a word with her? alone?â
turning on your heel, your chip lifts upward, âitâs just max. heâs my friend.â
you make out a few grumbles, but he relents.Â
âtake as long as you need. call me when youâre done. we have a flight to catch in a few hours.â
motioning your head in the direction of your motorhome, you wave a hand, âcâmon. we can talk in my motorhome. itâs a little more private.â
the dutch driver follows your lead, snorting, âiâm surprised that toto let you out of his sight.â
you scoff, rolling your eyes, âshocker, right?â
the dutch driver tuts, and you can sense he wants to say more. but he holds his tongue, pace syncing with yours as you stroll along the path, the team logo looming in your peripheral, only reminding you of one thing.
no matter where you went, mercedes would follow.
turning the knob, you push open the door to your motorhome, sweeping an arm out, âwelcome to my humble abode.â
the dutch driver enters the space, wrinkling his nose at the sight before him.Â
clothes were scattered all around, slung over the couch, gathered in piles on the counter. the trash was not overflowing, but it was getting close, a few wrappers away from needing to be taken out. empty energy drink cans were tossed in the sink, gleaming in the low light. stacks upon stacks of documents towered on the coffee table, clearly unread. he even made out your toothbrush teetering on the lip of the kitchen sink, a glob of toothpaste trailing down the stainless steel.Â
âhow is it that you can overtake me with such precision yet live like this?â
shaking your head, you curl up on the couch, burying your face in your hands, âi donât want to talk about it.â
pulling a chair from the dinette table, he parks it right next to the couch.Â
âwell, we are going to talk about it. and youâre not going to like it but i am going to say what i have to say and thatâs that. okay?â
you barely have time to react before his icy stare meets yours.Â
âyou are clearly not happy. not at mercedes. not with him. and you havenât been these last few weeks.â
âi-i,â you stutter, unconsciously reaching for your zipper, âi-i donât know what youâre talking aboââ
âthis is all iâm going to say,â sucking in a breath, his voice is quiet, barely audible, âyou have not been yourself since this season started. i donât know what shifted, what happened, or what is said behind closed doors. but what i do know is that you have been driving angry. all season. and itâs noticeable. at least, to me.
iâm not telling you what to do. iâm not telling you what to feel. all i am saying, is that no one should have to kill themselves in order to win races.â
âyou donâtââ
âtell me,â a tongue swipes along his lower lip as he leans back, âwhen was the last time you felt like yourself? who was there?â
he doesnât even have to say his name, but he makes note of the way your jaw clamps shut, how you retreat in your suit.Â
max doesnât elaborate further, taking your silence as his cue to leave. he knows that he doesnât have to say much else, as the fire deep within you was just stoked.Â
the driver rises to his feet, padding toward the door. taking one last look over his shoulder, a hand hovers over the knob, gaze taking in you in fetal position, darkness shrouding your frame.
âone more thing before i go. you better finish the season. win it all. take everything. destroy anyone and everything in your path. and be selfish about it.â
light pours in the door clicks open, the air static as he takes a half-step out. you remain silent, nearly frozen in place.Â
âand then decide who you want standing next to you as you accept that trophy in abu dhabi. whatever you do, make sure that choice is yours.â
