I’ve been going down the secret girlfriend/child rabbit hole so I was thinking maybe one of the drivers having a daughter that no one but a select few know about. And there being an accidental reveal! Complete outrage from those not in the know
🏎️💥 “Wait… You’re a Leclerc?"
Pairing: F1 Grid x Reader (platonic)
Genre: found family, humor, chaos, protective uncles, outrage, heartwarming moments
Word Count: 1,166
Summary: Charles Leclerc has managed to keep you — his daughter — a secret from the wider F1 world for years. Only a very small circle knows. But during one chaotic weekend, the secret slips out… and the grid doesn’t take it well. At all.
The Setup: The Best Kept Secret in F1
If there was a trophy for “most surprising F1 fact nobody knew,” it wouldn’t go to a secret upgrade package or hidden team politics.
It would go to you.
You were Y/N Leclerc. 7 years old, elementary school student, and Charles Leclerc’s daughter.
…Except literally no one knew that part.
Well, almost no one.
Arthur knew, obviously (uncle privileges).
Pierre Gasly knew because Charles slipped up one late night after Monaco GP and almost cried into his wine about parenting.
Sebastian Vettel knew, because he was Charles’ dad away from home and caught him FaceTiming you in a Ferrari motorhome years ago.
And that was it.
No one else on the grid. No one in Ferrari. Definitely not the FIA.
Charles was protective—no, paranoid. He wanted you shielded from media chaos, online trolls, and the weight of the Ferrari name. So to the world, you were just “Charles’ niece” or “family friend” if you happened to be spotted anywhere near him.
And for years, it worked. Until it didn’t.
The Weekend of Chaos
The accidental reveal happened in Singapore 2025, and honestly, it started because you were bored.
Charles had dragged you along because your school schedule finally lined up with a race weekend. The original plan was to keep you in the background, tucked away in hospitality or a hotel room, invisible.
But… you were seven. Seven and curious. Seven and tired of being hidden like some undercover spy kid.
So when Charles went off to a briefing and Arthur was too busy chatting with Fred Vasseur, you kind of… wandered.
You ended up in the paddock, hoodie up, badge swinging, pretending you totally belonged. And it would have been fine. Totally fine. Except—
“Hey, you’re Charles’ niece, right?”
You turned around and froze.
Lando Norris was squinting at you, milk tea in hand, looking suspiciously friendly.
“Uh—” you started.
And here was the problem: Lando was nice. Too nice. And he had that older-brother energy that made you blurt things you weren’t supposed to.
So instead of saying the safe line (“yes, niece”), your mouth betrayed you.
“I’m his daughter.”
You slapped a hand over your mouth immediately, but it was too late.
Lando blinked. “…His what?”
Stage 1: Containment Fails
Lando Norris was not known for his ability to keep secrets. Within an hour, the situation spiraled.
Because of course he told Oscar Piastri.
And Oscar, being Oscar, just had to confirm with Carlos Sainz (“hey, did you know Charles has a kid?”).
And Carlos—good, dramatic, Spanish Carlos—just stared at you like you had committed treason.
“You’re telling me, mon frère—” he grabbed your shoulders in the middle of McLaren hospitality like it was a telenovela. “—that you are Charles’ hija and he did not tell me?! Me? His ex-teammate? His best friend? His brother?!”
You tried to escape, but it was too late. The dominoes had started falling.
By FP2, the grid knew.
By FP3, the journalists almost knew.
By qualifying… you had bodyguards in the form of ten very angry, very betrayed uncles.
Stage 2: The Outrage
The chaos really kicked in at the drivers’ briefing.
George Russell slammed his notebook shut like an offended school prefect.
“Charles, mate, this is unacceptable. Unacceptable. We’ve been friends for years. YEARS! And you didn’t tell me you had a daughter?!”
Charles buried his face in his hands. “It was private.”
Lewis, ever the calm voice of reason, raised a brow. “Private, yes, but come on… George is right. You know how protective we all are. We’d have looked out for her.”
“Looked out for her?” Carlos exploded. “I could have been her tío! I already bought a Ferrari onesie years ago just in case! Do you know how many birthdays I missed because I didn’t even know they existed?!”
“Stop yelling at me!” Charles groaned. “This is exactly why I kept it secret!”
Meanwhile, you were in the corner, trying not to laugh at the sight of twenty grown men acting like you’d just betrayed them personally by being born.
Stage 3: Uncle Mode Activated
The thing about the grid was that once the outrage wore off… the overprotective instincts kicked in. Hard.
Suddenly, you weren’t just “Charles’ kid.”
You were everyone’s kid.
Max Verstappen, of all people, was the first. He cornered you in the paddock, dead serious.
“You ever need anything, you call me. Doesn’t matter what. Flat tire? Homework? Somebody bothering you? I’ll sort it.”
"Okay dude". You nodded your head.
Then Lewis:
“You’re vegan now. No discussion. I’m sending you recipes.”
Then Daniel Ricciardo, practically bouncing:
“OH MY GOD, I’M AN UNCLE. I NEED A NICKNAME. UNCLE DAN. UNCLE DANNY. FUN-UNCLE RIC.”
“Danny,” Charles groaned, dragging him away, “stop corrupting her.”
But the worst? The absolute worst?
Lando and Carlos.
Those two declared themselves “joint custody uncles” and started competing immediately. Who could make you laugh more? Who could sneak you more paddock merch? Who could make Charles’ eye twitch harder?
By Sunday, you were wearing a McLaren cap over a Ferrari hoodie while holding a Red Bull water bottle and cheering for literally everyone.
The Accidental Reveal (to the World)
Charles thought he could still contain it.
Sure, the grid knew, but as long as the press didn’t find out—
Yeah. That dream ended when Daniel decided it would be funny to lift you up during the post-race cool-down room.
On live camera.
“Everyone meet my niece—no, wait, CHARLES’ DAUGHTER!”
You could practically hear Ferrari PR having a collective aneurysm.
The internet exploded.
F1 Twitter trended #MiniLeclerc within minutes.
TikTok was flooded with clips of your face when Daniel hoisted you into frame.
And the journalists? Sharks in water.
“Charles, when were you planning to announce this?”
“Charles, how old is she?”
“Charles, did Ferrari know?”
You hid behind Carlos as Fred Vasseur aged twenty years in the background.
The Aftermath
That night, Charles was sulking in his hotel room, muttering about “trust” and “respect” and “idiots for teammates.”
But you? You were grinning ear to ear. Because for the first time, you didn’t feel like a secret. You felt like family.
Lando had already texted you a group chat invite called “Uncle Protection Squad™” with seventeen members.
Lewis followed you on Instagram.
Pierre promised to teach you French properly (“better than your father speaks it, at least”).
Max… actually bought you a scooter so you could “keep up with Charles.”
And Carlos? Carlos just looked at you like you hung the stars.
“Mi sobrina,” he said dramatically, patting your head. “You’re stuck with all of us now.”
And honestly? You didn’t mind one bit.
Epilogue: Ferrari PR Statement
The following week, Ferrari released an official press release:
“We kindly request respect for the privacy of Charles Leclerc’s daughter. However, we acknowledge that she is now beloved by the entire grid and, apparently, half the internet.”
The internet’s response?
“Protect Mini Leclerc at all costs.”
Hi, I would also have a request. If you like the idea, could you write a story like this? Charles’s daughter, who is 3–4 years old and a genius, and every team wants to steal her from Charles so she can help them too.
🏎️ “Operation: Steal Baby Leclerc”
F1 Grid x Platonic!Toddler!Reader (3 y/o genius, Charles’ daughter)
Genre: Humor, Platonic Chaos, Found Family, Everyone vs. Charles
Word Count: 912
🎥 The Setup
It started with one simple moment.
During a Ferrari strategy meeting, Charles had you sitting on his lap because the babysitter cancelled and Arthur was too busy “being a menace” (his words).
Everyone was arguing about tire strategies. Softs? Mediums? Two-stop? One-stop?
And then, with your juice box straw still in your mouth, you piped up:
“Safety car lap 23. Double stack.”
The engineers laughed. Charles laughed.
Then… lap 23, a safety car came out. Ferrari double-stacked. Perfectly. Both cars in the points.
The paddock never looked at you the same way again.
🏁 Round 1: The Recruitment Attempts
From that moment, every single team decided they wanted you.
🟢 Mercedes
George corners you in the paddock.
“Y/N, how would you like to come to Mercedes? We have biscuits.”
You: serious toddler frown “Are they chocolate chip?”
George: “Yes—”
You: “Soft or crunchy?”
George: “Uh—soft?”
You: squints “Liar.”
Lewis laughs so hard he nearly drops his smoothie.
🔵 Red Bull
Max just walks over, blunt as ever.
“You work for me now.”
Charles: “EXCUSE ME??”
Y/N: tilts head, calculating like a mini computer “Depends. Do I get orange juice?”
Max: “Yes.”
Charles: “ABSOLUTELY NOT.”
Checo: whispering to Max “She negotiates better than Helmut.”
🟡 McLaren
Lando shows up with a tablet.
“Look, Y/N, we have coloring apps. Strategy apps. Even a simulator game.”
Oscar: “We’ll even let you pick the tire compounds.”
You: gasp “Do I get to tell you when to pit?”
Lando: “Of course.”
Charles storms in, scoops you up bridal-style.
“My daughter is NOT doing your pit calls.”
🟢 Aston Martin
Fernando crouches down with a conspiratorial smile.
“You know, I like winners. You could be the secret weapon of Aston Martin.”
You: eyes lighting up “Do I get green crayons?”
Fernando: “As many as you want.”
Charles: “SHE HAS GREEN CRAYONS ALREADY.”
Fernando: “But not Aston Martin Official Green™.”
⚫ Haas
Hülkenberg just asks straight up: “What’s your consultancy fee?”
You: “One million.”
Charles: “Y/N!”
You: shrugs “Plus a juice box.”
Nico: “…Honestly fair.”
🎥 The Chaos Escalates
By mid-season, the entire grid is running black-ops missions to steal you away from Ferrari’s garage.
Pierre tries to “babysit” you during media day, only for Charles to find you in full Alpine gear handing out race notes.
Carlos (uncle mode activated) literally carries you on his shoulders to keep you out of reach from rival teams.
Yuki teaches you how to yell “Box! Box!” dramatically into a walkie-talkie.
Logan offers you American candy if you join Williams. You take the candy. Still don’t join.
🏎️ Your Master Plan
Here’s the kicker: you’re only three, but you’re also a master strategist of chaos. You realize every team is desperate for your “insight,” so you start running your own little operation.
You draw “pit strategies” with crayons and sell them to the highest bidder.
You whisper conflicting strategies to different drivers just to watch the chaos.
You tell Max: “Push lap 14.” Then tell Lando: “Overtake Max lap 14.”
It works. Both listen. The overtake actually happens.
The FIA: deep sigh “We cannot regulate a toddler.”
🎥 Interviews
Carlos: “She’s the real team principal. Charles is just… there.”
Lando: “She sold me a race plan for a packet of fruit snacks.”
Oscar: “I still can’t believe she predicted the red flag at Silverstone.”
Lewis: “She’s a genius. But she’s also three. She asked me if DRS stood for ‘Dinosaur Racing System’ yesterday.”
Charles: holding his head “I am losing control of my own daughter.”
🏆 The Ultimate Heist
Singapore. The paddock goes dark.
The FIA thinks it’s just a power outage, but really? Every team is attempting the Ultimate Baby Heist™.
Mercedes distracts Charles by asking for a photo with a random fan.
Red Bull wheels in a suspiciously small “equipment box.”
McLaren bribes you with glow-in-the-dark stickers.
Aston Martin unleashes Fernando Alonso, who literally sprints with you under one arm.
Charles: chasing him down the paddock, screaming in Monegasque
The cameras catch it. It trends worldwide.
🎥 The Twist
But here’s the thing: you were never actually stolen.
Because while the grid fought over you, you were quietly sitting in Ferrari’s hospitality, drawing up the exact chaos plan that unfolded.
Arthur finds you giggling, coloring with an orange crayon.
Arthur: “Wait… did YOU plan this?”
You: innocent smile “Maybe.”
Charles, breathless, hair messy, finally bursts in:
“Y/N! Thank god, I—”
You hand him a piece of paper.
On it is a crayon drawing: a Ferrari car crossing the finish line first. Underneath, scribbled in red crayon:
“Papa wins. Always.”
Charles melts on the spot.
📱 Fan Reactions After the Video Drops
@scuderiafan: not Ferrari having to protect a toddler like state secrets 💀
@chaoticgrid: FIA needs to ban Y/N from the paddock, she’s too powerful.
@landoeditss: “one million and a juice box” IM CRYING.
@maxnation: max being outsmarted by a 3yo is peak comedy.
@monacochild: Y/N running Ferrari better than Ferrari.
🎬 Final Scene
You’re sitting on Charles’s shoulders as the grid reluctantly admits defeat. He’s holding you tight like he nearly lost you to Red Bull’s suspicious “equipment box.”
Carlos pats your head: “Strategy genius.”
Lando mutters: “She’s terrifying.”
Fernando smirks: “Call me when you want to win championships, pequeña.”
Charles: hissing at everyone “Stay. Away. From. My. Daughter.”
You: innocent giggle “Papa win Monaco next year.”
The grid: groans in collective fear
Charles: smiles proudly “She said it, so it will happen.”
😎that one loud Piastri sibling no one was prepared for (except maybe Charles)
Word Count: 1,156
Genre: Platonic, f1 x fem!reader (platonic)
Summary: You’re Y/N Piastri—Oscar’s youngest sister, Australia’s Olympic volleyball golden girl, and possibly the loudest person to ever enter a paddock. Somehow, despite not driving, you’re everyone’s favorite chaos dealer. Featuring banter, sibling shade, team bonding, and volleyball supremacy.
Warnings: Swearing, crack-level energy, mentions of nerves/anxiety in competition, found family tropes, protective driver squad energy.
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: Tumblr, tap in—this is your sign to write more chaotic platonic f1 x reader content :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧
“You’re Oscar’s sister?”
Carlos Sainz blinks at you like you’ve just said you were raised by wolves.
You raise an eyebrow, volleyball duffel slung over your shoulder, Team Australia jacket half-zipped, hair in a messy bun still flecked with sand from your morning drills. “Unfortunately. Why?”
“No reason,” Charles mutters, already backing away slowly like he’s about to witness a crime.
“No no, let’s hear it, Leclerc,” you call after him, stepping into the McLaren hospitality like you own the place. “Go ahead and tell me why every single one of Oscar’s coworkers looks personally betrayed that I exist.”
“We just… assumed he didn’t have siblings,” Ollie Bearman offers, popping up behind you with his usual baby golden retriever energy. “Or like, if he did, you’d be more…”
“Quiet?” you finish.
“Yeah,” Ollie says, and then realizes his mistake. “I mean—”
↳ You’ve been to exactly three F1 races before. This is the first time people are aware you’re that Piastri.
You went viral after the Australian Olympic committee posted your locker room hype speech before the women’s volleyball team beat Brazil in the finals last year.
Now, somehow, you’ve become the unofficial chaos courier of the paddock.
Kimi Antonelli [texts you at 1am]: Are you awake
You: when am I ever not??
Kimi: charles won’t stop stress-folding his underwear
You: omw
THE FIRST TIME YOU MEET THE WHOLE GRID (aka unsuspecting victims):
You’re only in Monaco for Oscar’s birthday and McLaren’s team dinner.
But then Lewis Hamilton hears you’re there and suddenly everyone wants to meet “the Olympic one.” You assume it’s because they’re curious. Turns out it’s because Oscar’s been lying through his teeth for years about having a “normal, quiet little sister.”
Turns out: you are not normal.
Or quiet.
Scene: Red Bull Motorhome, Post-Qualifying
Oscar qualified P4. You’re proud. You also absolutely grilled him on his sector 3.
“Mate, did you brake early into that chicane or did your brain just hit sleep mode?”
Oscar sighs dramatically. “Y/N, I love you, but shut up.”
Yuki leans around the corner. “You say that like she’s ever going to.”
“She’s not,” Max adds, sipping his smoothie. “I like her though. She yells at you more than I do.”
You wink. “Max, if we teamed up, the verbal takedowns would be unstoppable.”
Oscar groans into his hands.
Lando, at some point: “She’s so loud.”
Isack Hadjar: “She made the Ferrari PR guy cry by accident.”
Y/N, unapologetically: “I thought he was handing me a protein bar. I didn’t mean to grab his lunch.”
Charles: “I think I love her.”
Everyone: “Charles—”
Charles: “Platonically. She’s a menace. I admire that.”
YOU AND THE ROOKIES (aka Ollie + Kimi + Isack + Franco)
They orbit around you like you’re the sun and they’re deeply confused plants.
Ollie is constantly trying to match your energy and failing.
Kimi just stares at you sometimes like you’re a physics problem he hasn’t solved yet.
Isack keeps accidentally flirting with you and then combusting in embarrassment because “shit you’re Oscar’s sister.”
Franco follows you around to ask what “crikey” means or if it’s true you once knocked out a guy during a match. (It is.)
"Wait, you actually played in the Olympics?"
You nod, passing Isack a Red Bull. "Twice now. Gold in Paris."
He just stares. "That’s insane. I’m still trying to figure out how to pack my helmet correctly."
You shrug. “Different ball, same chaos.”
“Do you get nervous?” he asks.
You think about it. “Sure. But nerves mean you care. What matters is what you do with them.”
Ollie from behind a vending machine: “Is that from Remember the Titans or something?”
You chuck a bottle cap at him. “It’s from me, idiot.”
You post a TikTok of yourself doing volleyball drills with the caption: “training while McLaren fixes Oscar’s front wing for the 38th time”
The audio is “I’m just a girl :(” by No Doubt.
It hits 2 million views in a day.
YOU + CHARLES LECLERC = CHAOS DUO THE WORLD WASN’T READY FOR
Charles: “You remind me of my little sister.”
You: “Does she also destroy grown men in sports and then steal their snacks?”
Charles: “Oui.”
You: “We should form a support group.”
The two of you start a war with the Ferrari catering crew to smuggle extra snacks into the driver’s room. You name yourselves “Operation Pastry.” Carlos is horrified. Fred pretends not to see it.
Backstage at a driver press conference:
Charles (whispering): “Do you think if I fake faint, they’ll let me leave early?”
You (louder than necessary): “DO IT. I’LL CATCH YOU.”
Charles: “Non, you’ll drop me.”
You: “Exactly. Drama.”
SCENE: Australia GP - Olympic Parade Lap
They invite you to ride in the parade lap for national athletes. You wave to the crowd, wearing the gold medal, and Oscar tries to hide behind his balaclava.
You spot your brother on the grid and yell: “SMILE, OSCAR! YOU CAME FROM ME.”
He groans. Lando records it and sends it to the McLaren group chat.
Toto Wolff tells you afterward: “You’ve got good energy. Want to join Mercedes?”
You deadpan: “As long as I can bring snacks.”
Toto nods solemnly. “Non-negotiable.”
Nico Rosberg interviews you on Sky Sports.
He opens with: “So, what’s it like being the cooler Piastri?”
You grin. “Oh, I don’t know about cooler. I just talk more shit.”
Oscar yells from off-camera: “She’s not even joking!”
The Grid’s Nicknames for You:
“Chaos Wallaby” — Lando
“Spiky Volleyball Dragon” — Yuki
“Sunshine With a Megaphone” — Pierre
“The Only Piastri I’d Let Babysit My Dog” — Logan
“Paddock President” — Charles, unironically
“Don’t encourage her” — Oscar
A FEW HIGHLIGHTS:
You teach Kimi how to spike a volleyball. He accidentally dents a wall. You high-five him.
You challenge Max to a reaction time game. He barely wins. He asks for a rematch. You say “winner gets Charles’ cookies.”
You start a group chat called “Drivers Who Cry Watching Pixar Movies.” Ollie joins immediately. Esteban denies it. Charles sends four crying emojis.
You wear your medal to the Singapore GP. Yuki steals it and runs. You chase him across the paddock barefoot.
You and Daniel Ricciardo do a Vegemite taste test on TikTok. You win. Barely.
YOU + OSCAR (SIBLING EDITION)
You call him “Ice Cube.”
He calls you “Walking Headache.”
He once told Lando: “She’s the extrovert I didn’t ask for but the one the universe forced on me.”
But when you’re up at 2 a.m. crying because the press twisted your words about Olympic funding, he’s the one who shows up at your hotel with takeout and watches “Finding Nemo” with you until you fall asleep.
He’s quiet. You’re loud. You bicker constantly.
But no one gets between a Piastri and their sibling.
