Could you write something with Lando or Oscar using the song Lights On from Shawn Mendes? Maybe the reader is sad about comments over her body appearance.
Thank u
Love your stories xx
Lights On: or, How the Entire Paddock Adopted a Rookie Against Her Will
Formula 1 x Rookie!Reader (platonic)
Genre: Angst, fluff, comfort, found family, humor
Warnings: Mentions of body image struggles, social media toxicity, eating patterns — ends in comfort & fluff
Inspo: Lights On – Shawn Mendes
The comments (aka the internet ruins everything)
You’d thought the hardest part of your rookie year would be learning the car, or racing against literal world champions.
Turns out, it was… Twitter.
After your debut, the articles weren’t about your defending against charles or your p8 finish. they were screenshots of comments.
“how did they even fit her in the car lol”
“she’s not even athlete-shaped. looks like she belongs in an influencer house, not an f1 seat.”
“the grid is getting desperate if THIS is the next rookie.”
And the kicker:
“too fat to be a driver 💀💀💀”
you stared at the mirror that night in your hotel bathroom. normal-sized. fit. you trained like hell. but now all you saw was wrong.
so you started to… fix it. smaller portions. skipped meals. Extra cardio. More baggy hoodies so no one would see.
Except. You’re on the f1 grid. Everyone notices everything.
The grid starts catching on
Lando, chaos detector™
lando: “Y/N, did you just push lettuce around your plate for an hour?”
you: “I ate.”
lando: 👀 sus 👀
lando, later to oscar: “Yeah something’s off. Watch her.”
Oscar, human lie detector
oscar: notices your unopened snack bars. notices you only sip water.
doesn’t say anything at first but he’s staring.
you: “what.”
oscar: “i’ve seen toddlers eat more than you. fix it.”
Pierre, parisian grandma energy
literally SHOVES a croissant in your hand during breakfast.
“petite, if you faint in the car i will personally drag you out and make you eat escargot.”
watches you eat. the whole time. arms crossed. terrifying.
Charles dramatic monaco prince
Charles when he finds out people called you fat:
“WHAT??? no. no no no. you are perfect. you are FIT. you are STRONG. i see you training every day! what do they know?!”
proceeds to threaten to fight twitter dot com personally.
Lewis, wise paddock dad
sits you down in the merc motorhome.
soft voice, calm eyes.
“i know exactly what this feels like. they said things about my body too. they’ll always find something. but your worth isn’t theirs to decide.”
also: deletes your twitter app himself. “trust me.”
George, powerpoint dad
shows up with a literal chart: “see here? caloric intake vs endurance performance. scientifically, you’re sabotaging yourself.”
you: “george please i’m already depressed don’t bring excel into this.”
George: “this is important data, y/n.”
Carlos, mediterranean grandma vibes
brings you tapas like clockwork.
“eat this. no argue. you’re too skinny. finish it.”
threatens to call your actual mother if you don’t eat.
Yuki, food soldier
OFFENDED. “why would you ever eat less?? food is joy. food is life. let’s go. ramen. now.”
drags you to dinner. orders double. stares until you take bites.
Max , blunt but weirdly comforting
max: “you’re not fat. you’re normal. people are stupid. just drive.”
you: “...”
it’s so simple it kind of… helps???
The collapse (aka monza incident)
Qualifying day. Monza sun beating down. p10, not bad.
You step out of the car. adrenaline crashes. the world tilts.
your knees almost give.
and oscar catches you. one hand steadying your arm, voice low and worried.
“hey. easy. you okay?”
“yeah— just hot. i’m fine.”
Lie.
Lando sees it too. he’s waiting in the garage, arms crossed, uncharacteristically serious.
“No. you’re not fine. we’re not doing this anymore.”
The intervention (aka Landoscar adopt you)
Hotel room that night. lando and oscar sitting cross-legged on your bed like mismatched older brothers staging an intervention.
Lando: “we see you. we notice when you don’t eat. we notice when you’re pale. we notice when you lie.”
Oscar: “and we don’t care what strangers say. you’re already here. you earned this. you don’t need to hurt yourself to prove it.”
You: whispering, “i just wanted to be… enough.”
Lando: immediately blurts, “you’re TOO much actually. it’s annoying.” shoves your shoulder to make you laugh.
Oscar: soft smile. “lights on, lights off. you’re enough either way.”
and in your head that song plays — lights on — not about romance, but about being seen. really seen.
The paddock rallies (aka everyone becomes your parent)
lewis: confiscates your phone. “twitter is banned for you now.”
charles + pierre: double-team breakfast watch. you are not leaving until the croissant is GONE.
yuki: your new dinner buddy. every night. no excuses.
carlos: sends you food pics daily captioned “eat or else.”
george: updates his nutrition powerpoint weekly.
max: mutters “ignore idiots. you’re fast. that’s it.” (max-verstappen-language for “i care about you.”)
lando + oscar: literally schedule themselves around you. constant check-ins. text you “drink water rn” every two hours.
at this point you can’t even skip a snack without three different drivers materializing like food fairies.
