Characters: Child!Y/N Wolff, Toto Wolff, Mercedes crew, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, random grid members
Setting: Formula 1 Grand Prix, Mercedes Garage
Genre: Platonic, humor, fluff, chaos, found family
Warnings: FIA logic not found, suspiciously capable child, mild language from Lewis (he’s stressed)
Word count: 1,140
You were just here to watch the race. To eat your “race waffles,” wear your oversized Mercedes headphones (they were literally Lewis’s old ones), and possibly press some buttons when no one was looking.
But then—tragedy struck.
Your papa, the great Toto Wolff, Team Principal and world’s tallest F1 dad, was sick. Like, nose red, voice scratchy, bundled in blankets and muttering in Austrian kind of sick.
And what does a responsible, loving, extremely mature child do when their dad is unwell?
You take his job.
“Y/N, no. You can’t just—”
“Papa. Rest.” You shoved a bottle of water into his hand like a nurse in a medical drama. “You are SICK. If you die, I’ll be emotionally unstable forever. You want that on your conscience?”
Toto blinked at you from under his hoodie, glasses slightly fogged.
“I’m not dying, schatzi—”
“TOO LATE. You’re horizontal and inactive.” You looked to the race engineers. “This is now my team.”
And for some unfathomable reason (maybe the look you gave them, maybe the fact that you once called a safety car before the FIA did during a junior kart race), they just… let you.
Bradley the race engineer just sighed, handed you the team radio, and said,
“Try not to bankrupt us, Mini-Wolff.”
📍LAP 1 – LIGHTS OUT
Lewis: “Y/N? What the—? Why do you sound like you’re sitting in my seat?”
Y/N: “Because I am. Papa’s sick.”
Lewis: “…Okay. Focus mode. Strategy A?”
Y/N: “Nope. Strategy Z.”
Lewis: “…That’s not real.”
Y/N: “It is now. Trust me. I’m very small but very wise.”
George: “Are we seriously letting her do this?”
Y/N: “George, how many podiums do you have?”
George: “That’s—”
Y/N: “Exactly. Shush and drive. We’re winning today.”
📍LAP 14 – TIRE WHISPERER ARC
You were scribbling notes with a glitter pen.
“You can’t just guess degradation like that,” an engineer whispered nervously.
“I’m not guessing,” you replied, eyes locked on the telemetry screen. “I can feel the vibrations through the data. Lewis’s rear left is sad.”
“…what?”
“I said what I said. Box him in two laps.”
Two laps later: perfect undercut. Lewis overtook two cars. You did a little victory fist bump in the air.
Bradley, slightly panicked: “How did you know?!”
Y/N, chewing gummy worms: “I am the tire whisperer. The Pirelli prodigy. The compound queen.”
📍LAP 24 – CHAOS ON TRACK
Carnage. Yellow flag. Someone (we’re not naming names but it rhymes with Marlos) yeeted into the barriers.
You stood up on Toto’s chair dramatically. “This is our moment.”
Engineer: “Moment for what?!”
You: “Gamble.”
Bradley: “What do you mean gamble?!”
You: “Box George. Mediums. If the safety car stays out another two laps, we leapfrog McLaren.”
Bradley: “That’s psychotic.”
You: “So is being five years old and running a multi-billion dollar race team. BOX HIM.”
They boxed George. Two laps later, the gamble worked.
George: “Wait, I’m in P3?! What just happened?”
Y/N: “Don’t worry about it. Focus on vibes.”
📍FIA GARAGE | MEANWHILE
FIA Official 1: “…Did a child just radio pit strategy to a 7-time world champion?”
FIA Official 2: “She’s registered as an ‘emergency stand-in strategist.’ Apparently Toto signed the paperwork before passing out.”
FIA Official 1: “You’re kidding.”
FIA Official 2: “Nope. Look. She even filed it in crayon.”
FIA Official 1: “How is that legally binding?!”
FIA Official 2: “I don’t know, but she’s better at tire calls than our actual stewards.”
📍LAP 42 – TOTAL MAYHEM
Rain.
The clouds opened like a Mario Kart final lap.
You slammed your glitter pen down. “INTERS. NOW.”
Engineer: “It’s just drizzle—”
You: “I know rain. I cried on the roof once and timed the drip rate per tile. THIS is inter time.”
They boxed Lewis and George. Half the grid stayed out.
Two laps later: full chaos. Red Bull? Slipping like toddlers on ice. Ferrari? Aquaplaned into the gravel. You? Eating crackers on the pit wall like a god.
Lewis: “Y/N, that was the best call all year.”
You: “Told you. I am the weather.”
📍FINAL LAPS – TENSION HIGH
It’s the last five laps.
George in P3. Lewis right behind Lando for P1.
You leaned into the mic, voice calm.
“Lewis.”
“Yes, boss?”
“Turn your brake bias up 1%. You’ll force him wide in Sector 3.”
“…you really are Toto’s kid.”
“You have no idea.”
Sector 3 came. Lando ran wide. Lewis snuck in. The garage exploded.
Y/N: “AND THAT’S HOW WE DO IT, BABY!!”
Bradley: “WHAT—HOW—YOU—YOU’RE FIVE!”
📍CHECKERED FLAG | LEWIS WINS, GEORGE P3
Toto (half-asleep, still sick): “Did we… win?”
You: “Yup. You owe me a pony.”
Toto: “…I owe you an entire race team.”
George stumbled into the garage, eyes wide. “Did I seriously just get strategy’d to a podium by someone in a Hello Kitty hoodie?!”
Lewis walked in, took one look at you sitting in Toto’s chair, sunglasses on, juice box in hand—and just laughed.
“You’re terrifying.”
You winked.
“I’m efficient.”
📍POST-RACE MEDIA ROOM
Journalist: “So, Lewis. Word is Toto wasn’t calling strategy today. Who was?”
Lewis (deadpan): “Our new overlord. Team Principal Y/N.”
Journalist: “…who is, what, in elementary school?”
Lewis: “Don’t underestimate her. She made tire calls with a glitter pen. I’d trust her with my mortgage.”
George: “I still don’t know what happened. I was just told to ‘believe in the compound queen’ and now I have a trophy.”
Lewis: “Same. She called me ‘Sir Grip-a-lot’ and I gained two seconds in Sector 1.”
📍FIA STATEMENT LATER THAT NIGHT
“While it is highly unusual to have a child act as acting Team Principal during a Grand Prix, no official regulations were breached. The FIA is, however, reviewing policy on glitter pens being used for official documentation.”
You replied via your unofficial Twitter account (that everyone knows is you):
“Catch up, old men. 🫡”
“Also I want waffles at every race now. That’s an order.”
📍EPILOGUE
Toto (recovered, sipping tea): “So. You took over my job.”
You (shrugging): “And won you a trophy. You’re welcome.”
Toto: “Should I be proud or concerned?”
You: “Yes.”
You then pulled out a notebook titled: “Y/N’s Master Race Plan (Confidential – No Boys Allowed Except Lewis)”
Toto blinked. “…Do I even want to know what’s inside that?”
You grinned, already heading back to the garage with your pit radio headset.
“You’ll see in Japan, Papa.”
💬 Comments under the Mercedes post-race win announcement:
🏁 @lewishamilton:
“Never doubting the tire goblin again 👏🏽”
🏁 @georgerussell63:
“Please don’t replace me with her. I swear I’m trying 😭”
🏁 @charles_leclerc:
“Why is she better than my entire strategy team.”
🏁 @y/n_wolff (definitely not you 👀):
“Maybe Ferrari should get a glitter pen 🫡🖊️✨”
🏁 @fiaofficial:
“This is NOT how we expected 2025 to go.”
End.
A/N: Let me know if you want a sequel: maybe “Y/N negotiates a driver contract with Christian Horner using crayons and threats.” 😈
Genre: Humor, fluff, found family, chaos
Word Count: 1082
Summary: Y/N Hanyu, younger sister of figure skating legend Yuzuru Hanyu, is a prodigy in her own right — Olympic medalist, beloved figure skater, and now, the most unexpected rookie on the Formula 1 grid. At only nineteen, she’s got medals, talent, and speed. The only problem? She barely speaks English outside of car terms. Cue: chaos in the paddock.
PT 2
The paddock was always loud. Engines firing, mechanics shouting, press running after drivers, fans screaming. But nothing — nothing — could compare to the noise level the first time Y/N Hanyu walked into Formula 1.
The world had known her for years, but in a very different context. The figure skating prodigy, the Olympic medalist, the girl who spun on ice like physics didn’t apply to her. And now she was in an FIA-approved race suit, helmet under one arm, walking beside her brother Yuzuru, who looked far too calm for someone escorting his nineteen-year-old sibling into possibly the most competitive motorsport in the world.
"本当にいいですか？"("Are you sure about this?”) Yuzuru asked her in Japanese, his tone carrying that quiet, endlessly patient Yuzuru energy that fans around the world knew.
Y/N only grinned, flashing him a peace sign.
“Car go fast. Me go fast.”
He sighed. Why did I even ask?
First Impressions: Disaster
The first official media day was, in a word, catastrophic.
Y/N sat at the long press conference table, bright rookie smile plastered on her face. Her team principal sat off to the side, probably already regretting his career choices. Next to her was Lando, on her other side George, and across from her Charles. All veterans at this point, all watching curiously.
The first question, asked in English, went to her.
“Y/N, welcome to Formula 1. How does it feel transitioning from figure skating to motorsport? Do you think your skills on the ice prepared you for racing?”
Y/N blinked. She’d caught maybe three words in that sentence. She recognized Formula 1. She recognized motorsport.
“...Car?” she tried carefully into the microphone.
The journalist frowned. “Uh. Yes. Car.”
Y/N’s eyes lit up. “Car fast! Brake, tyre, engine… good!”
The room fell silent for two beats before bursting into laughter.
Lando physically slapped the table. George muttered, “This is going to be brilliant.” Charles leaned forward, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“So… the car is fast?” he asked, exaggerating his English like he was talking to a toddler.
Y/N beamed at him. “Car vroom vroom! Like zoom zoom!”
The paddock, the journalists, the livestream viewers — everyone was gone. Memes were born instantly. The rookie who only spoke car.
Enter: Yuki Tsunoda
If there was one person who had expected this, it was Yuki.
He found her later in the paddock, sitting on a stack of tyres like they were a throne, chewing on a pocky stick while scrolling her phone.
"もう混乱を引き起こしたんじゃないの？" (“You caused chaos already, didn’t you?”) he said in Japanese.
Y/N looked up innocently. “I say car go fast. They laugh. Why?”
Yuki groaned. “Because that’s all you said! You didn’t answer the question!”
“But car go fast,” she insisted.
“...Fair point.”
From then on, Yuki unofficially became her translator. He’d sit next to her in press conferences, whispering translations in Japanese, and she’d nod seriously before answering in the strangest mix of Japanese, broken English, and car terms.
The drivers thought it was hilarious. The journalists thought it was a nightmare.
Language Barrier Chaos
The real fun started when Yuki wasn’t around.
Take one Thursday media scrum in Monaco. Y/N was cornered by journalists, microphones shoved in her face.
“Y/N, how are you preparing for your first street circuit race?”
She tilted her head, understanding none of that except race. So she answered confidently:
“Race… vroom! Wall bad. Tire… good.”
The journalists stared.
Charles, walking by, nearly spat out his water. “Wall bad. Tire good,” he repeated, deadpan, like it was some sort of rookie wisdom. “Honestly, she’s not wrong.”
Or the time in Spain when George tried to help.
“Y/N,” he said slowly, “they are asking… strategy. Strategy?” He mimed a pit stop.
Her face lit up. “Box, box!”
The media tent collapsed into laughter while her engineer buried his face in his hands.
The Grid vs. The Language Barrier
The drivers, however, took it as a personal challenge.
Carlos decided to teach her “important English phrases.” Unfortunately, Carlos’s idea of important was… questionable.
“Repeat after me,” Carlos said seriously. “No more smooth operator.”
Y/N blinked. “...No more smooth opera…tor?”
Carlos clutched his chest like he’d just been stabbed. “She’s perfect.”
Meanwhile, Lando attempted slang.
“Say… bruh.”
“Buru?”
“No, bruh.”
“Buru.”
“...Close enough.”
Max, surprisingly, was the most patient. He’d sit beside her and go through flashcards.
“This is… front wing.”
“Fron…to… wing?”
“Yes. Good.”
She tilted her head. “But… 前の羽根 (wings to front),” she corrected him in Japanese.
Max squinted. “...That sounds cooler.”
The Team Radio Disaster
Race day was its own special brand of chaos.
Her engineer: “Y/N, box box, box this lap.”
Y/N: “Hai! Boxu boxu!”
The world collectively melted from the cuteness. But sometimes, things got lost in translation.
Engineer: “Y/N, we need you to lift and coast.”
Y/N: “Lift? Coast? ...Push?? Push??”
The pit wall: “NO, NOT PUSH!”
Or her infamous first overtake.
Engineer: “Y/N, great move! How’s the car?”
Y/N: “Car… happy! I happy! Vroom vroom!!”
Half the grid was crying laughing in their cockpits listening to it later.
Yuzuru in the Paddock
If Y/N’s presence wasn’t already chaotic enough, her brother showed up in Suzuka.
The drivers, who had seen him on TV as the serene figure skating legend, were collectively starstruck. Fans screamed louder for him than half the grid.
Yuzuru bowed politely to everyone, then stood quietly behind his sister like an overprotective hawk.
“...That’s Yuzuru Hanyu,” George whispered.
“Yes,” Charles whispered back. “And he looks like he could kill me with a single glare.”
When a journalist asked Y/N a long, complicated question in English, Y/N turned helplessly to her brother. Without missing a beat, Yuzuru translated it perfectly into Japanese. She nodded and replied simply:
“Car good. Tyre… okay. Push.”
The paddock lost it.
Even Yuzuru cracked a smile.
Found Family
Over time, the grid adapted. They learned a little Japanese. She learned a little more English. They spoke a weird hybrid of both.
When Yuki was around, things ran smoothly. When he wasn’t, chaos reigned, but somehow, it always worked out.
And despite the language barrier, Y/N fit right in. She was the little sister of the paddock, the chaos magnet everyone adored.
Because even if she couldn’t always say it in English, she had a way of making everyone laugh, of bringing the grid together, of reminding them that at the end of the day —
Formula 1 Grid x Driver!Reader (Platonic)
ft. Gen Z reader, chaotic slang, Lulu bag supremacy, Max being confused, Charles being emotionally unstable
🔢 Part 3 of a multi-post fic series — goal is 10k+ words
🎧 vibe check: “Did Something Bad” by Taylor Swift (but like a nightcore version lol)
📍 Silverstone, Quali + Race Weekend
🧃 Word count (part 3): 847
📎 previous parts: Part 1 | Part 2
🧢 tag list: chaos, found family, F1 x platonic!reader, media interviews, group chats, roasting the entire grid, Gen Z slander
A/N: @omgsuperstarg Here it is
🏎️ CHAPTER 3: “Delulu Is the Solulu”
In which you roast the grid on live TV, Charles learns what “delulu” means, and Max contemplates retirement (again).
Saturday – Grid Walk Chaos
Silverstone Circuit
You’ve got your headphones on. Again.
Your pre-quali playlist today is a mix of sped-up hyperpop edits and one suspiciously aggressive Doja Cat song. Your walk to the grid is more of a strut. Lulu bag slung across your chest. Hood up. Giant sunglasses. A menace to society.
And then someone hands you a mic.
Bad idea.
F1TV Crew Member (nervously): “Y/N, can you join us for a quick grid walk segment? Just a few fun driver roasts?”
You smile. “Say less.”
You turn to the camera like you’re a TikTok influencer on live.
—
🎥 CLIP: “Y/N ROASTS THE 2025 GRID (AGAIN)”
(2.7M views in 4 hours)
🎤 You (to camera): “OKAY so I’m gonna give you a ✨vibe check✨ of everyone’s Spotify Wrapped based on nothing but their energy.”
🧢 Lando Norris:
“His top genre is definitely something like ‘future garage house-core sad-boy ambient.’ And his #1 song is that weird frog noise remix that’s like ‘wub wub wub’.”
👔 George Russell:
“He listens to classical music and calls it ‘relaxing’ but we all know he’s plotting world domination.”
💄 Charles Leclerc:
“Definitely Taylor Swift. But like...the break-up albums. Charles has cried to ‘All Too Well (10 Minute Version)’ and I will not be taking questions.”
🎮 Max Verstappen:
“His top song is the F1 theme. On repeat. He is the villain soundtrack.”
🥹 Oscar Piastri:
“Lofi hip hop to study and dissociate to. He’s just trying to survive.”
🍣 Yuki Tsunoda:
“Anime intros and Gordon Ramsay yelling.”
🌶️ Carlos Sainz:
“Reggaeton. But like only Bad Bunny. And he doesn’t know the lyrics. He just vibes.”
😌 Pierre Gasly:
“R&B. Slow jams. I don’t know how I know. I just know.”
💀 You finish with a wink: “As for me? My top song is probably a cursed Nightcore edit of Nicki Minaj yelling. It’s the only thing that hypes me up before quali.”
—
Back in the paddock…
Charles corners you by the Red Bull ice cream stand.
“You told the world I listen to Taylor Swift.”
You blink. “Do you not?”
“…I do. But now the fans are editing me into Sad Girl Autumn TikToks.”
You grin. “You’re welcome, bestie.”
He crosses his arms. “And what is this ‘delulu’ thing?”
You pat him on the shoulder.
“It means you believe in things that don’t make logical sense. Like Ferrari strategy or your love life.”
“Y/N—!”
—
📱TEAM RADIO – LAP 3, QUALI
Engineer: “Gap to P1 is 0.142. Push.”
You: “I AM the drama.”
Engineer: “Push confirmed.”
You: “It’s giving pole position or hospital.”
Engineer: “…Copy.”
—
📢 Group Chat: “Y/N’s Slay Cult”
Charles: i googled “delulu”
Y/N: and?
Charles: i am...very delulu
Lando: he just told a fan he’s in his “red flag arc”
Max: he is
Oscar: we need to stage an intervention
Yuki: make a powerpoint
Y/N: can i host the slideshow
Pierre: oh god
George: no
—
🧃Race Day Morning
Your breakfast? One iced matcha, half a bagel, and pure spite.
You show up to the paddock in:
Black parachute pants
Tee that says “SPEED DEMON IN LULU”
Your signature Lulu crossbody
Lip gloss
Matching black nail polish with glittery flames
And of course: sunglasses that are way too big
Max looks at you and sighs.
“Do you ever wear anything normal?”
You sip your matcha. “Define normal.”
He blinks. “Like…a team shirt?”
You hold up a vintage 2014 Vettel Red Bull tee you found on eBay.
“…Okay,” he mutters. “That’s actually kind of iconic.”
—
🎙️Media Zone Quote of the Day:
Interviewer: “Y/N, how are you feeling heading into the race?”
You: “I’m hydrated, delusional, and morally unhinged. So...business as usual.”
Interviewer: “Right. Um. Strategy?”
You: “Yeah, I plan to simply not get overtaken. Ever. Periodt.”
Pierre (off-camera): “This is why she has a fanbase of 14-year-olds and chaos goblins.”
—
📻Team Radio – Final Laps
Engineer: “You're P3 if you hold this. Norris behind, 1.3 seconds.”
You: “GATEKEEP. GASLIGHT. GIRLBOSS.”
Engineer: “…okay??”
You: “He’s not touching this podium if I gotta drive sideways.”
—
You finish P3. First podium of the season.
You jump out of the car, wave at the crowd, then immediately hand someone your Lulu bag and say:
“Hold this, I gotta be dramatic.”
Cue champagne spray and slow-motion sunglasses adjustment.
The crowd goes feral.
Charles holds up a sign that says “DELULU FOR P3 🖤”
You wink at him.
—
📱POST-RACE IG DUMP – @paddockslayqueen
📸 1: You on the podium holding your trophy like a purse
📸 2: Yuki and you doing finger hearts
📸 3: You captioning your tire deg chart with “she’s cooked but still slayed”
💬 caption: “p3 bbs 😌 the slay never sleeps 💅 #deluluera #maincharacter”
🧃 comments:
@charles_leclerc: proud delulu
@oscarpiastri: i’m so tired
@yourteamofficial: please stop changing your radio name to "hot girl telemetry"
@danielricciardo: keep slaying kid
@f1girlieshub: she’s so unserious and SO powerful
Formula 1 Grid x Reader (Platonic)
ft. chaotic Gen Z female driver!reader, lots of slang, many confused men
Word Count: 794
(this is part 1 of a multi-post fic adding up to 10k+ words!)
🧃 genre: platonic, humor, team bonding, slow build
📎 tags: gen z reader, reader is a driver, chaos, confused F1 drivers, gen z slang, lulu bag supremacy, baggy outfit energy, reader has a mouth on her, no romance, found family vibes
🎧 rec song while reading: "Cool Girl" - Tove Lo
🏎️ CHAPTER 1: “YOLO and Other Racing Strategies”
where Y/N shows up to the paddock dressed like she’s headed to a thrift store run, and the grid realizes they don’t have Google Translate for Gen Z.
"Y/N."
You don’t look up from your phone, thumbs moving way too fast for a normal human. TikTok brain had fully rotted your attention span, and you weren’t mad about it. You were chilling on a bean bag in your team’s hospitality tent — baggy cargos, massive graphic tee that said “SLAY MODE: ACTIVATED,” and your trusty black Lululemon crossbody slung across your chest like a seatbelt. Even your headphones were shaped like little cat ears.
Carlos Sainz blinks at you. “Are you listening?”
“Bro. I am listening. I’m literally absorbing your vibes through osmosis,” you reply, taking a sip of your iced matcha. “You just gotta trust the process.”
Carlos gives you the most Spanish™ look possible. "That means nothing."
“Okay boomer,” you mutter.
“…I’m literally 30.”
—
Your F1 debut was one for the books.
You were the first female full-time driver on the grid in years, a prodigy snatched out of F2 after doing one (1) illegal double overtake that made the entire internet scream. The media called you "electric." Fans called you “iconic.” Your engineers called you “a walking headache but somehow effective.”
The other drivers? Still trying to figure you out.
—
🧃 paddock fit check:
Baggy light-wash jeans that hang off your hips like you're from a 2003 Avril Lavigne music video
Huge tee that says “Hot Girl Lap Times”
Lulu bag. Always.
Headphones on. Music: Doja Cat or a random sped-up TikTok edit of a 2000s emo song
Lip gloss poppin’
Phone charged. Posts like “me n my intrusive thoughts 💅”
And your signature: three tiny silver rings and nails painted black with sparkles
—
"Y/N, please tell me you’ve done your track walk," Lando says, eyebrows drawn tight as he stares at your legs — which are definitely crisscrossed on the floor like you’re at a sleepover, not a GP.
You blink. “Oh babes, I touched grass. I just didn’t, like, study the grass. Y’know?”
“I don’t,” Lando replies honestly.
“You don’t need to memorize the turns,” you shrug. “Just manifest the apex. Visualize the drip. Slay the lap.”
Pierre chimes in from behind his phone: “I feel like I need subtitles.”
“Facts,” Logan mutters.
“Wait wait wait,” you say, standing up and adjusting your Lulu bag like it’s holding state secrets. “Are y’all telling me you don’t drive by vibes?”
They all stare at you.
Kimi Antonelli looks terrified.
—
📱Live Stream Highlight: “Y/N Explains the Grid”
user: @slaymodey/n
caption: “u ever look at a group of men and realize ur the only one with a braincell”
“You guys, I’m gonna say it. Charles is the main character, but he’s also an NPC. It’s the duality.”
Charles (off-camera): “What does that mean!?”
“Oscar is giving ✨youngest child who got ignored✨ energy. Like someone hug him.”
Oscar (somewhere behind you): “I don’t need a hug??”
“George is definitely the kind of guy who answers emails with ‘per my last message.’”
George: “Oi!”
“Max is just...a cat. Like he would knock over your water glass and then say it was your fault.”
Max, deadpan: “That’s because it was your fault.”
—
🏁 Pre-Race: Grid Walk
Martin Brundle approached you with a mic and a raised brow.
"Y/N, how’s it feel being the youngest and most unbothered person out here?"
You grin. "Martin, I’m just here so I don’t get fined."
"Right. So, how’s the car handling this weekend?"
"It’s giving… banana peel on Mario Kart. But like, we move."
Martin stares at you.
You stare back, biting your lip to hold in a laugh.
"Anyway shoutout to my fans, my iced matcha, and to the people in my DMs pretending to know about tire strategy. Love y’all."
—
🛠️ Post-Race Debrief
"Y/N," your race engineer sighs. "We really need to work on your radio comms."
“What do you mean ‘too casual’?” you reply. “I was just describing the understeer as ‘a lil bit sketchy, not gonna lie.’ That’s descriptive!”
“You also said the car felt like ‘a sad shopping cart at Target.’”
“I stand by that,” you say, crossing your arms. “It did.”
—
📩 Team Group Chat: “y/n’s 2 fast 2 slay”
Fernando: Y/N, why did you just send a pic of your helmet on a cat
Y/N: aesthetic.
Carlos: please focus
Y/N: I am focused on the ✨vibe✨
George: I’m begging you to speak English
Y/N: ok mr. per-my-last-email
Charles: I am scared but also impressed
Y/N: thanks bbg 😌
Logan: i’m deleting WhatsApp
Max: good. do it.
Yuki: wait i like the cat pic
Y/N: SEE?? yuki gets it 😤
Formula 1 Grid x Driver!Reader (Platonic)
Genre: chaotic platonic friendship, gen z slang, found family vibes, humor
🧃 Word count (part 2): 861
🎧 vibe check: “Money” by Cardi B or any sped-up song on your TikTok FYP
🔗 Part 1 ↩️ click here
📎 reader is a Gen Z F1 driver with big baggy fits, Lulu bag, and lingo no one else understands
🚨 warning: Max tries to decode slang. Charles cries. Kimi Antonelli panics. Again.
🏎️ CHAPTER 2: “It’s Giving… Slipstream Slay”
where you use Gen Z slang in the garage, confuse the engineers, and Yuki becomes your only translator
Race Weekend: Silverstone 🇬🇧
Friday – FP2
Location: Your Team Garage
“Okay, so the telemetry is showing a bit of degradation in Sector 2—” your race engineer begins.
You nod, but your attention is already split between the data screen and the literal fit check selfie you just snapped in the reflection of your helmet visor. The lighting? Chef’s kiss.
“Y/N? Are you—”
“Yeah, I heard,” you reply, pulling off your gloves. “It’s giving medium-soft-mid.”
Everyone blinks.
“…Sorry?” your engineer asks.
You take a deep breath. “Okay, like. The tires are kinda pop off, but also flopping by lap 10. It’s a soft slay, but not a hard one. Mid slay at best.”
A silence so heavy falls over the pit lane that even the Mercedes garage looks over.
Fernando Alonso peeks into the garage with his hands on his hips. “What does that mean?”
Yuki appears from literally nowhere, sipping a juice pouch. “She means tire good at start, then garbage.”
“SEE?” you shout. “Yuki’s bilingual.”
Yuki bows with pride. The two of you fist-bump.
—
🎙️Team Radio Moment:
Lap 12, FP2
Engineer: “Y/N, how are the tires?”
You: “Mmm… they’re cooking too hard rn. Like overcooked pasta energy. Flop central.”
Engineer: “Copy. So... high temps?”
You: “Yeah babes. Burnt to a crisp.”
Engineer: “…copy that.”
—
Later that day, you join the rest of the drivers for media duties. Everyone’s in team polos. You’re in:
Oversized brown zip hoodie that says “I survived another day of being iconic”
Baggy parachute pants
Lulu bag still strapped across your chest like you’re going to war
Giant bubble tea in hand
Sunglasses indoors
One AirPod in blasting 100 gecs
You look like a TikTok influencer who wandered into the wrong building.
Charles Leclerc stares at your outfit for a full five seconds.
“…Are you going to the track or to Coachella?” he asks.
“Slay either way,” you say, sipping your drink.
Oscar and Logan snort.
—
🎤Media Pen Shenanigans
Interviewer: “Y/N, how would you describe your weekend so far?”
You: “Chaotic good.”
Interviewer: “What’s your strategy for qualifying?”
You: “Full send. No thoughts, just vibes.”
Interviewer: “Um. Any thoughts on track limits?”
You: “I don’t see limits. I only see opportunity.”
Charles, in the background, whispering to George: “I think she’s broken.”
—
📱IG POST – @paddockslayqueen
📸: 3 pics of you in your hoodie + helmet, Lulu bag on
📍: Silverstone
💬 caption: “qualified P7 and spiritually I’m in Ibiza”
🧃 comments:
@landonorris: what does that even mean
@pierregasly: tell me you didn’t say that to the press
@yukitsunoda0511: i back this
@yourteamofficial: can we… talk
@kimiante22: i am scared but impressed (again)
@danielricciardo: iconic behavior
—
🧃 Back in the Drivers’ Briefing…
“So we all agree that Turn 9 is tricky under low fuel,” George says. “We should probably bring it up.”
“Facts,” you nod.
Everyone turns.
“…Did you just say facts?” Alex asks.
“Yeah,” you say. “Like… it’s true. No lies detected. Straight facts.”
“Okay,” Lando mutters, scribbling something on his notes, “I need a Gen Z-to-English dictionary.”
“I gotchu,” you say, flipping open your iPad and starting a Notes app guide:
Y/N’s Slang Dictionary – v1.0
Slay – good, awesome, cool
Flop – failure, bad, not working
It’s giving [x] – It reminds me of, has vibes of
Mid – average, not impressive
Ratio’d – got owned on the internet
Main character – person everything revolves around
Side character – supporting cast energy
Soft launch – subtle hint
Hard launch – obvious reveal
Vibe check – assessment of energy
Delulu – delusional
BFFR – be f***ing for real
Hits different – stronger emotional impact
Charles reads it over your shoulder. “So when you said ‘Oscar’s giving side quest energy’…”
“Exactly,” you say. “He’s like a bonus level in a video game.”
Oscar: “Should I be offended?”
Max, deadpan: “Yes.”
—
🧃 Pre-Quali Vibes
You’re bouncing around your garage like a gremlin. AirPods in. Music blasting. Pre-race ritual: TikTok dance, peppermint gum, and one sip of Red Bull that you immediately regret.
Mechanic: “You ready, Y/N?”
You: “Ready to be the problem.”
Team Principal: “…What does that mean?”
You grin. “I’m about to give them sleeper pick with main character energy.”
He just sighs.
—
📻 Radio During Q3:
Engineer: “Purple first sector, keep pushing.”
You: “Copy that. I’m in my villain arc now.”
Engineer: “Pardon?”
You: “Full chaos. Zero hesitation. Don’t wait up.”
You cross the line in P4. The garage erupts.
Pierre stares at the timing sheet. “Wait, she’s… fast?”
You blow a kiss as you walk past. “Main character behavior, baby.”
—
📱TEAM GROUP CHAT: "slaymode.exe"
George: I can’t tell if Y/N is joking or if she’s actually insane
Y/N: por qué no los dos 😌
Oscar: she just quoted a taco commercial
Max: focus. qualifying tomorrow.
Y/N: i am focused. focused on the slay
Charles: she qualified higher than me and said “oop”
Yuki: i think i love her
Lando: i give up
Kimi: is this what high school is like
okay now i wanna see when journalist!yn goes to watch another vb match but this time ran misses his set point serve. he even made a big deal abt it before serving, like pointing to her (the basketball player style when dedicating a score to someone) before doing it and literally everyone notices bcs he's not being subtle. then later on tiktok and/or twt goes into another breakdown from it.
anyways, love your aus. i dont know how you do it but each one of them were very well written<333
When Ran Takahashi Chokes for Love
(Volleyball x F1 x Internet chaos edition)
Main Story SideStory PT 1 Side Story PT2 SideStory PT4
🏐 The Volleyball Match
You’d promised yourself this time you were just going to watch.
No interviews, no chaos, no “accidental internet-breaking” moments. Just you, a credential badge around your neck, enjoying some high-level volleyball.
But the thing about promises? They were useless when Ran Takahashi existed.
The match was electric. Japan had clawed their way up to set point, and the crowd was practically vibrating with tension. Every time Ran touched the ball, the arena screamed. When he jogged back to serve, the cameras followed him.
Your friend leaned in. “You know he knows you’re here, right?”
You scoffed, even as your stomach twisted. “I’m in the front row. Of course he knows.”
And then it happened.
Ran picked up the ball, bounced it twice, and instead of focusing on the court like a normal person, he turned. He scanned the crowd, eyes locking right on yours.
And with the audacity of a man who had never known shame—he pointed.
Not subtly. Not casually. Straight finger-gun. Little grin. As if he had just declared: this one’s for you.
The stadium erupted. Screams. Laughter. Gasps. The commentators went ballistic.
“—did Takahashi just—”
“—he pointed to someone in the crowd, folks—”
“—oh this is incredible, he’s dedicating the serve—”
You froze, every cell in your body screaming in secondhand embarrassment. “Oh my god,” you whispered, hiding in your hoodie as your friend smacked your arm.
“Y/N, he literally just—oh my GOD, this is live television!”
Ran tossed the ball high into the air. The arena hushed. You held your breath.
And then—
THUNK.
Straight into the net.
The whistle blew. Set point gone.
The Japanese bench groaned, the crowd gasped, and Ran just… dropped his head with the world’s most sheepish grin. And because fate hated you, the jumbotron zoomed in on your face—eyes wide, hand half-covering your mouth, blushing like you’d just been caught in 4K.
The stadium screamed again. Half laughter, half disbelief.
You wanted the floor to swallow you whole.
📱 The Internet Meltdown
You didn’t even make it out of the arena before your phone was buzzing like it had been possessed. Notifications stacked one on top of another until your lock screen was unreadable.
Twitter was already gone:
@volleyedits: Ran Takahashi said “this one’s for you girl” then IMMEDIATELY botched the serve 💀 #YN #Takahashi
@sportsromcom: this is literally the plot of a Netflix romcom, I can’t breathe
@f1stan: bro really pulled a Leclerc moment. Dedicated it. Missed it. Iconic choke.
@shippingcentral: No bc the way the jumbotron caught her face… this is CINEMA.
TikTok was worse.
Someone had already clipped the entire sequence into a dramatic slow-motion montage with Taylor Swift’s Enchanted over it. Another edit had put your jumbotron reaction side-by-side with Ran’s missed serve like it was the most tragic love story in history.
Captions like: “His confidence left the chat the second the ball hit the net.”
Or: “Me when my crush watches me flop in real time.”
The hashtags were spiraling: #ServeForYN, #RanChoked, #SportsRomcomOfTheYear.
Your favorite (read: least favorite) TikTok? A stitched clip where someone edited in commentary from an NBA game: “He dedicates it! He shoots! AND—ohhhh, not even close, folks. Tragic.”
By the time you got back to your hotel, both “YN” and “Ran Takahashi” were trending worldwide.
And all you could think was: Oh god. If the internet is like this, what is the F1 group chat gonna look like…
📲 The Group Chat From Hell
You didn’t even have to open imessages.
The notifications were endless. Every driver, every rookie, even team principals—your phone looked like it was experiencing a full-blown cyber attack.
When you finally dared peek, the group chat was already on fire:
Lando: LMFAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO 💀💀💀💀
Charles: bro really risked it all for love and lost 😭
George: “This one’s for you” misses tragically that is PEAK romcom
Oscar: I’d retire. Genuinely.
Pierre: someone check on Y/N, she’s never recovering.
A new message popped up—an attached video.
It was the slow-mo edit from TikTok. Ran pointing. The serve. The miss. Your shocked face. All set to My Heart Will Go On.
Carlos: who did this.
Max: doesn’t matter. i saved it.
Alex: no bc the JUMBOTRON ZOOMING IN had me CRYING. producers are MENACES.
You groaned into your pillow. “Why are they all like this…”
Your phone pinged again.
Esteban: Y/N don’t worry. At least he tried 🥹 that’s romantic!
Daniel: nah mate that’s COMEDY. he’s never living this down.
Lewis: alright alright, leave her be. poor girl’s probably mortified.
Fernando: I give it a week before Vogue calls it the “serve of the century.”
You wanted to crawl into a cave.
🧢 Toto & Lewis: Big Brother Mode
As if the drivers weren’t enough, Toto himself cornered you the next day in the Mercedes hospitality unit.
“Y/N.” Arms crossed. Stern face. Boss mode.
You froze mid-bite of a pastry. “...Yes?”
He tilted his head. “Is there something you wish to… explain?”
“What—what are you talking about?” you stammered.
He pulled out his phone. Played the clip.
The exact clip of Ran pointing at you, missing, jumbotron zooming in on your blushing face. The audio overlaid with some TikTok voice going “OH HE’S IN LOVE, IN LOVE.”
“Toto,” you hissed, “why are you on TikTok?!”
“I have people,” he said flatly. “Now. Explain.”
Before you could, Lewis strolled in, grinning like a cat. “Don’t be too hard on her, Toto. Kid can’t help it if athletes are falling left and right for her.”
You groaned, slamming your head onto the table. “Please stop.”
Lewis patted your back soothingly. “Look, take it as a compliment. Man risked international humiliation for you.”
“Yeah,” you muttered, “and he missed.”
Lewis chuckled. “Happens to the best of us. Charles knows.”
From the other side of the room, Charles shouted: “I HEARD THAT!”
💻 The Internet Escalates
If you thought things would calm down, you were wrong.
The internet had fully embraced “Ran x Y/N” as the sports crossover event of the year.
Edits were getting cinematic: split-screen shots of you holding a mic in F1 paddocks paired with Ran on the volleyball court. Someone even made fake Sports Illustrated covers of you two together.
Fanfiction was popping up on AO3 at alarming speed. Titles like: “The Serve For You” and “He Missed, But He Fell.”
Worse? A clip surfaced from Ran’s post-match press conference.
Reporter: “What happened with that last serve?”
Ran (grinning, rubbing his neck): “Ah, I guess… I got a little distracted.”
The clip ended there. But the smirk on his face? Unmistakable.
TikTok captions went insane: “He’s not even hiding it.” / “Distracted by WHO, Ran?”
Your mentions were a warzone.
🏎️ The Next Race Weekend
When you arrived at the paddock, it was already doomed.
George greeted you with a solemn handshake. “Condolences for your loss. May the serve rest in peace.”
Oscar whispered dramatically: “He died for your sins.”
Lando literally had the moment set as his phone lock screen.
“DELETE IT!” you yelped, reaching for his phone.
“Nope,” he laughed, dodging you. “This is history. My grandchildren will know.”
Even the media got in on it. One journalist winked when asking: “So, Y/N, any chance we’ll see you courtside again soon?”
You nearly combusted. “Next question.”
The drivers howled watching the clip later.
🏁 Closing Chaos
That night, you lay in your hotel bed, scrolling through endless edits of The Serve Heard Around the World.
Your phone buzzed. Unknown number.
A text.
Ran Takahashi: Sorry about the… uh… miss. Guess I owe you a proper point next time?
You stared at the screen, heart racing.
The group chat pinged immediately after.
Daniel: 👀👀👀
Pierre: HE TEXTED HER
Lando: SOMEONE SCREENSHOT THIS QUICK
Charles: don’t choke the reply like he choked the serve
