my name is arabella and i am currently obsessed with f1! i write some preferences and imagines, but also sometimes i just shitpost when i don’t have time. feel free to send me your thoughts on anything f1 related or request a preference/imagine. i don’t write smut btw, but send me anything else you might want! kisses 💋
summary: it’s the hungarian grand prix and max has won every race this season. when you get pole, can you finally defeat the undefeated?
series masterlist
You walk through the paddock, cameras flashing, people shouting your name. You pull your red cap lower over your eyes, trying to get through the crowd and into the safety of the Ferrari hospitality.
As Ferrari’s clear number one driver, it was no surprise that people wanted to get your picture or signature. Even just a quick sound bite would get a reporter views. And normally you’d try to stop for as many of your fans as possible, knowing that taking a few seconds out of your day would mean the world to them. But today was different. Today you were on a mission.
The Hungarian Grand Prix normally wasn’t a huge highlight on the calendar for you or the team, but today it felt different. With the new upgrades on the car and a stellar qualifying that got you onto pole position, you had a chance.
That chance was to beat Max Verstappen, the current reigning world champion. Last season he had dominated, winning all but three races, his teammate Checo Pérez taking the ones he failed to win. And this season, he had claimed all of the victories of the first twelve races. He was on track to win every race this season, setting a Formula 1 record and doing something nobody else had ever been able to do.
But not if you had any say in the situation. As his main rival on track you would do anything to stop his reign. The bad blood between you and Max ran deep, having started racing in Formula 1 the same year as him. With both of you going into your 10th season in the sport, it was clear to most people that he was the better driver and you hated that.
Maybe today would be different.
You walked into the Ferrari garage, quickly making your way over to your race engineer, Renée, and pulled her aside.
“So what’s the game plan for today? Besides keeping Max behind me and defending like crazy.”
She smiled at you. “We’re running a one stop strategy. You’re going to have to push like crazy at the start and try to get a lead. You know how aggressive he is…”
I scoff. “Aggressive is an understatement. He’s a damn maniac.”
Renée chuckled. “Yeah. Well you’ve got pole so you’ll have a slight advantage over him in second. And you’ve got your teammate Charles behind you in third, so you should have the support there. He’s been made aware that his job is to keep the rest of the grid off of you and Max. Even our odds against him.”
You nod. “Glad to know. We’ve got to win this one today. He can’t win them all.”
“He won’t. We’ve got pole, a good strategy, car upgrades, and your determination to win this one. Today will be our day.”
“Let’s hope it is,” you say, giving one last acknowledgment to Renée before walking to your driver’s room to start your pre-race ritual.
You put on your headphones and started playing your favorite hype song, practicing a few stretches that you always did before a race. As you continued to follow your routine, slowly all the noise faded away and you were left with one feeling. Determination that Max would not win.
---
As you walked out to stand for the Hungarian national anthem, you found yourself lined up directly next to the world champion himself. The tension nearly crackled in the air between you as you made eye contact with Max, his gaze more like a glare. You didn’t dare speak to him as the performer was singing and the grid kids stood before you, but you could already tell he was focused. Though he seemed nonchalant, you knew it secretly bothered him that you were on pole.
As soon as the performance ended and the drivers began to disperse, you whispered under your breath as you walked by him. “Enjoy watching my rear wing.”
You walked away before you could see if he responded.
Standing by your car, you prepared yourself to race. You needed to start strong and capitalize on your pole position. You risked a glance back at the Red Bull behind you, watching Max put on his helmet and ready himself to get in the car. You could have sworn he was looking back at you, almost as a predator looks at prey.
You climb into your car, pulling your own helmet over your head, readying for the formation lap. You give a thumbs up to the crew, watching them step away from the car and take the covers off the tires.
As you pull away from the start line, you move side to side across the track, trying to warm your tires to get better grip for the start. You knew Max would be on you instantly, trying to pass you as you went into the first corner. You went through the corners of the track on the formation lap, readying yourself for the race.
As you pulled into pole position, you watched the red lights begin to light up
1
2
3
4
5
Lights out and away we go.
You sped up as fast down the main straight, trying to get your car first on the inside line. You could see Max beside you, trying desperately for the same thing. As you went wheel to wheel, you nudged your car ahead of his, managing to secure the racing line for the time being.
But in your mirrors was Max Verstappen in a Red Bull, arguably one of the scariest sights in Formula 1. And as you made your way around the first few laps, you just couldn't find a way to shake him. He kept behind you, only just outside of getting DRS to pass you.
You kept speeding through the corners of the Hungaroring, sensing it was only a matter of time before he passed you. The pressure was on, the Red Bull and Ferrari rivalry at its greatest.
One pit stop each and a safety car later, you found yourself driving slowly behind the car. And in your mirrors, you could now clearly see the man himself, right on your rear wing. Any lead you had built was gone, taken away with the safety car. The lion was in striking distance and you knew it.
As the safety car moved to resume the race, you pressed the pedal full on, needing to shake the dutchman behind you. With only 10 laps left of 70, you needed to hold on.
But as good of a driver you were, Max was better. The best driver on the grid, undefeated in the first 12 races of the season. And he wouldn't let a Ferrari beat him.
You entered the main straight and you knew Max was close enough for DRS. You watched he caught up to you, going wheel to wheel as you sped through the track.
It would have been easier to accept if there'd been a fight, some sort of defense available, a challenging overtake for Max.
But he just breezed past you, as if you weren't even there. Not a threat. Not a problem. Not anything he'd ever worried about.
Even after a strenuous and hard fought race to gain a lead, Max Verstappen once again would win. His thirteenth consecutive race. Another damn record.
You finished the last nine laps of the race, still pushing but not nearly as hard. You felt defeated. Nothing you or the car was capable of would be enough. Not against him, a living legend of a driver.
As you crossed the finish line in second, you congratulated the team on their efforts on the radio, but your heart wasn't in it. Most drivers would be happy with a podium, if not elated. But not you. Not when you would be forced to spray him oncemore with champagne. Not when he would take home another trophy, which would just be another hunk of metal to him.
You climbed out of the car besides him, noticing Oscar Piastri pulling into the 3rd place spot. You could at least be a little happy for the Australian, having earned another podium in just his second season. You walked up to Oscar and congratulated him, making a point to do so before turning to Max.
"Congrats on the win," you said, your voice monotone.
"Thanks," Max replied simply. "You had a good drive there at the start."
"Not good enough," you retorted, trying and failing to hide your disdain at both him and your own failure.
"Still a podium though," Max shrugged.
"You know damn well you'd be pissed in P2."
Max looked you in the eye. "I think you should be grateful I let you lead the race for so long. My car is clearly faster than yours."
You rolled your eyes. "I don't want to do this here. Not with all the cameras."
Max had the audacity to smirk. "Suit yourself. But I did earn the win, don't deny me that."
You hated it when he was right.
You stalked away from Max on track and headed over to your team, clapping a few of the engineers and team members on the back for their performance. Sure, you were mad. But they still got you a podium position. And you wanted to delay the cooldown room as long as you could.
But you couldn't delay it that long, and god did some water sound refreshing. So you went into that room, looking at Max seated in the center chair, Oscar on his right in the 3rd place chair. You grabbed a water bottle and slumped down in the remaining seat next to Max, not saying a word.
"Could have taken that corner better," Max said, commenting on a clip of your car briefly sliding out of track limits. "Maybe that's why you lost some time to me right before the safety car."
"Thanks for the observation," you said sarcastically.
The tension in the room was palpable. You almost felt bad for Oscar Piastri, having to deal with the two of you.
"If there hadn't been that safety car, I would have had a tougher race. But I still think I could have caught you... your tires seemed to be degrading faster than mine. At least that's what the team said. Also with a few of those small mistakes like going wide on the turns..."
He kept going on, in his typical way, what the internet had dubbed Maxplaining. They were right. It was like he didn't understand that you knew your mistakes and how he had driven faster.
But anyways, you were spared as the three of you were called for the podium. Oscar went out first, followed by you.
You heard the cheers of your team and fans and you tried your hardest to be happy and excited about your podium. But when the cheers for you were eclipsed by those for Max, you couldn't pretend anymore.
You stood only begrudgingly beside him on the podium as the Dutch national anthem played for the 13th time in a row. And when he popped the champagne, even he didn't seem excited, like winning had become habitual for him and that this was an obligation, not a reward.
This was a man with more victories than defeats in the past few seasons.
A man who's wins were routine.
A man you loathed with your whole being.
You chose to spray your champagne over your own head rather than his. An act of protest and anger.
And when you left the podium, you left with stronger feelings. The taste for victory lingered on your tongue. And the desire for revenge burned stronger in your heart.
it seems like nobody on the grid is able to outrace max verstappen, even you. when you, the number one ferrari driver, start getting mixed up with red bull's golden boy what will happen next?
series chapters:
more victories than defeats
can't put me down
not in your dreams
a bullet to the head
shoutout to my family
the war isn't over
just another trophy
the dance
paying the price
silenced
one last cry
you make me nauseous
still alive
undefeated
(chapter titles inspired by "invaincu" by stromae)
ahhh my first ever series! i've never done a writing project of this size before but i wanna give it a try! i nearly guarantee that i'll run out of inspiration/motivation at some point but i'm gonna give writing this a try over the summer! wish me luck! and if you have any feedback please lmk!
summary: you had fallen for your childhood friend lance. but when he shows up to his family's party with his girlfriend, you are forced to confront your feelings.
i apologize in advance if your name is bethany, just the name i picked. but i hope you enjoy my first lance fic!
no warnings that i can think of :)
Lance captivated any room he stepped into. All eyes turned to the billionaire’s son, the racecar driver, and the worldwide star. But even with her on his arm, his eyes turned to you, his best friend.
You had grown up together, both starting karting around a similar age. You had gone from competing against each other to cheering when the other did well in races. Then you were hanging out at each other's houses outside of racing, playing video games or running around outside. In your teenage years, you continued to be friends even as the racing got more and more competitive.
The years blurred by until you got to where you were today, Lance racing in Formula 1 and you in Formula 2. You got to see him less often now, mostly when the F2 schedule aligned with the F1 schedule. He was always busy training, and frankly so were you. Apart from the occasional chat, you were now living separate lives.
So it had surprised you when Lance had posted a few pictures to his Instagram with a woman. They were holding hands in one photo and he had his arm wrapped around her waist in another. You had stared back in disbelief. Of course he was an adult, he was allowed to date someone. It was just the fact that he hadn't told you that hurt. And maybe the fact that you had fallen for him years ago.
Yes, you were hopelessly in love with your best friend. Lance Stroll, the Formula 1 driver.
And it seemed he now loved someone else. When they had walked into the party that his family was hosting, everyone in the room had turned to look at the driver and his new girl. You couldn't blame them. He looked stunning in his tux. And she looked like a goddess in her flowing red dress.
In the crowd, his eyes found yours and you felt your breath stop. Those soft brown eyes that you had looked into for years. His face shifted to a grin and the couple made their way over to you.
"Hey, you," he said, pulling you into a friendly hug once he made his way through the group of people. "Long time no see."
"Yeah," you replied, your voice like a sigh.
"Oh, and this is Bethany," he said, introducing you to the woman he had arrived with. "We're dating."
You plastered a smile onto your face and shook Bethany's hand. "It's so nice to finally meet you," she had said. "Lance talks about you all the time."
He did? Even though you two had fallen almost out of touch? This caught you by surprise.
"All good things I hope," you had replied with a chuckle.
"Of course!" she had laughed, smiling at you.
You looked over at Lance and saw he was no longer looking at you, but at the ground. Almost as if he were embarrassed. You flashed her a smile again and looked over at Lance.
"Well I'll let you two enjoy the night," you said, trying to excuse yourself from the conversation. You turned to leave them alone, before you heard Lance stop you.
"No, why don't you come eat at our table?" he asked. You saw Bethany's smile falter a little bit. And as much as you didn't want to have to watch Lance with his girlfriend, you couldn't exactly turn down your best friend, could you?
"If that's okay with you," you responded, looking between the couple.
You found yourself sitting on Lance's right while Bethany was to his left. You all had engaged in a bit of conversation, Lance talking about how his season was going in Formula 1 and you talking about how Formula 2 was going well for you. Bethany seemed a little zoned out of the conversation, a lot of the intricacies of racing not familiar to her. Racing was something that would always tie you and Lance together, whether you liked it or not.
But as the conversation went on, you saw her reach for his hand and grab it. You didn't deserve to be mad, as you had never decided to voice your feelings in fear of ruining what you had. But watching that simple act of intimacy between the two broke you.
You had always enjoyed his family's parties in the past, but now? Now that you couldn't sneak out early with him to go drive around aimlessly and listen to music or that you couldn't bribe him to grab you an extra portion of dessert, things were different.
As you distracted yourself with a refill of your drink, you didn't notice how his eyes lingered a little too long on the back of your dress or how he released her hand after he saw the way you looked sad.
A few more awkward moments in conversation with the couple, you decided to make a break for it. Being questioned by Lawrence for leaving early would be better than any more moments watching your childhood best friend and crush being romantic with someone else.
"I- I'm sorry," you mumbled. "I have to go..."
"Are you okay?" Lance asked, looking concerned.
"It's fine..." you sighed, quickly getting up from the table. "Enjoy your night. You both deserve it."
Quickly making your way to the parking lot, you held back tears. Even though you had drifted apart, a small part of you had held onto hope that maybe he would feel the same. That he could love you back just as you had loved him for so long. But clearly that was an illusion.
You staggered through the door of the venue in your heels, kicking them off and picking them up before running into the parking lot. You didn't care if there was media watching, all you needed was to get away as fast as possible.
Finally getting to your car, you fished around in your purse for your keys. You mumbled a few curses, unable to find where they had gone. A few tears pricked your eyes, this was the last thing you needed right now. You leaned up against the car and slid to sit on the ground, shutting your eyes against the world.
"Hey," a familiar voice said. "Forgot your keys."
You peeked open your eyes to see Lance standing in front of you. He looked concerned upon seeing you in such a disheveled state.
"Are you okay?"
You barely nodded. "Not really... it's stupid..."
Lance sat down on the asphalt next to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. "You can talk to me. I know we haven't been as close lately, but I'm always willing to listen."
"I don't want to ruin things..."
"What could you possibly ruin? Look, I care about you. Just tell me what's going on."
Him saying he cared about you was all the motivation you needed. Maybe if you just got this over with, you could move on and things would go back to normal.
"Lance... I've always liked you... as more than a friend. And seeing you tonight... so happy with her... I guess it hurt."
The look on his face went from concerned to shocked and then to sad.
You cleared your throat. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to put you in this position. You and Bethany... you look good together. You deserve someone like her."
Lance was silent for a minute. "I... you never asked me how I felt?"
"I never thought you would feel the same. Didn't want to ruin our friendship.
"Well... for the record I did love you. I... still do."
Your heart skipped a beat at the answer. "You do?"
"Yeah. I do."
You both sat in silence for a minute. "What do you want to do about it?" you asked quietly.
"I broke it off with her," Lance said simply. "Before I came running after you."
"Why would you do that?" you asked, genuinely confused. "You seemed so in love with her."
He looked you in the eyes. "Because coming to this party made me realize. It brought back so many memories. All the years we goofed around in front of dad's rich friends. All the times we left early to go have fun just the two of us. And then I saw you in that dress... and the way you looked at me after all these years. And I realized what I had with her would never compare to the years I've had with you. Even if you had said no... I couldn't just let you leave like that. Thinking our relationship didn't mean anything. Even if we just ended up being friends tonight."
"Lance I..."
"You mean a lot to me, you know? Just took a year apart and a girl I didn't truly love to realize how much."
You took a chance and reached over to grab his hand, just like she had a few hours earlier.
"Wanna get out of here?" he asked. "Speed away like we did as teenagers?"
"Yeah. I'll drive and you get the music."
"Deal," he said, cracking one of his smiles that just made your heart melt. He tossed you the keys to your car that you had forgotten on the table. You caught them with ease and stepped into your car. You looked over at your best friend, and now possibly lover in the passenger's seat and your heart was full.
"Lance..."
"Yeah?"
"I've wanted this for a while. Just me and you again."
"Well if you want to... we can spend a lot more time now just the two of us. Now that we're both on the same page."
"I can't imagine anything better," you said with a smile. You shifted the car into drive and pressed down the gas pedal, speeding away into the night. And as your favorite song came on the radio, you knew your life was about to get so much better.
pairings: charles leclerc x reader, carlos sainz x reader, lewis hamilton x reader, mick schumacher x reader. max verstappen x reader. oscar piastri x reader.
warnings: mentions of puke, the world ending and charles becoming an air hostess?
author’s note: this is so bad i’m so sorry. my brain just wasn’t braining today 💔 hope u enjoy and remember that requests are still open.
hiiii! I'm a silent reader most of the time but I just LOVE your blog - we have the same name and i'm gonna assume from ur name that u are a max girly like me! this is litch just to show my appreciation for you and you should know that you are such an amazing writer.
have a great day xxx
omg heyy!! thank you so much, you just made my day lol
summary: even though he’s dating a new girl, charles still keeps the pictures of you on his phone.
warnings: breakup, general angst
hope you all enjoy this highly requested part 2! i actually liked writing this one more than the original lol
part 1
Charles had spent all day with the supermodel he had been seeing ever since your breakup. She was good company and had known Charles when he was a kid. He got along fine with her, but they were just friends. Someone he could talk to, even if they would never dance in the rain together or stay up late at night drunk on his balcony.
Just someone to fill the void.
After he had dropped her off back at her place, Charles had driven home himself. He had taken a shower before collapsing on his couch. As soon as he opened his phone, he saw that pictures of them together were already on social media. He wondered whether you had seen. Whether you had cared.
He opened his camera roll, looking back at all the pictures he couldn't bear to delete.
--
It was the first time he had invited you to come watch him race, his personal guest in the Ferrari hospitality. You had shown up wearing a T-shirt with his name and number on it, a red Ferrari cap on your head. He remembered how just seeing you in his team gear had made his heart flutter.
You had run over to him in the paddock, pulling him into an embrace. The cameras were flashing, but he knew you didn't care. Charles hugged you back, whispering in your ear how glad he had been to see you. He vowed then and there that he never wanted to let you go.
He gave you a tour of the paddock, showing you the places he knew the cameras wouldn't follow and the best places to grab food before the race. He had spent so much time in various tracks like this that he knew it like the back of his hand. He only hoped you would one day feel the same, having come to many more races of his.
When it was time to head on track, he had given you one last embrace. And before he went, he asked if he could take a picture with you. Him in his race suit, you in Ferrari gear. You happily obliged and he took his favorite picture of the day, just the two of you in his garage.
He would look back at that picture whenever you couldn't make it to a race, remembering that you were cheering him on from home. Even though he hadn't won that day, getting to spend it with you had been its own sort of victory.
As he looked at the photo now, all he felt was regret. Regret that maybe you didn't understand how much you had meant to him and how much better he felt with you around.
He couldn't make himself delete the picture and so he scrolled on.
--
A few minutes later, he found another picture that brought back memories. He chuckled to himself, remembering that day.
It had been Christmas time. You both had spent Christmas Eve with Charles family, as they celebrated the holiday. On the actual holiday, you had asked him to spend a cozy day in instead of celebrating in an extravagant way. He had agreed, wanting nothing more than to spend the day by your side.
But he had to still get you a present, no matter how many times you had insisted the only gift you wanted was to spend time with him, away from everything. He had searched endlessly for the perfect present for you, finally settling on something he knew you would appreciate. It was tickets to see a band you both listened to in concert. One of the first things you bonded over as a couple was your love for their music. It was perfect and he was so excited to see the look on your face when you opened the tickets.
Christmas had rolled around and as promised, he spent the morning cuddling with you in bed. Around lunch time, he had got up to make the two of you a brunch. His cooking skills were lackluster to say the least, so you had joined him the kitchen a few minutes later. He could still remember how you looked in the soft morning light and how you sounded when you laughed at how poorly he had chopped the ingredients of your favorite dish.
About halfway through the meal, he had handed you the envelope with the tickets. He had tried to hide how excited he was, but he knew you could read his emotions like a book. You opened the simple card he had bought and your eyes had widened when you saw the tickets.
But instead of getting all excited as he imagined, you burst into laughter. He felt his face getting red and he started to panic. Had he messed up? What was so funny?
"Mon amour," you had said, finally pausing in your laughter. "Go look under the Christmas tree."
Not knowing what else to do, he had stood up from the table and walked over to the tree. There was a small box underneath. He grabbed it and walked back over to you with a look of confusion. You nodded and he opened it.
Inside were two tickets to the same concert.
"You bought the same thing?" he had asked incredulously.
"Yes. I thought you would love it."
"Well I love it so much that I bought you the same thing," he laughed, now understanding what was so funny.
He had taken a picture of the two of you together each holding the tickets the other had bought. Your smiling faces stared back at him now from his phone. You had known each other so well. How had a relationship so deep crumbled?
He couldn't bear to let go of the memory. He scrolled to the next photo, stopping himself from pressing delete.
--
He had finally reached the last photo from your relationship. It was you, standing on his boat. One of his oversize shirts was on your shoulders. He always thought they looked better on you. With the image, the circumstances under which he took them came back to him. That he would delete it when you two got back together.
He thought back to that fateful day.
You had gone out together on his yacht. He had hoped it would be a lighthearted and relaxing break from the stress that had been plaguing your relationship. He saw you standing close to the edge of the boat and he had remembered a time where you had pushed him into the water, jumping in after him yourself. He walked over with the intention of recreating the fun moment.
But the second he pushed you, he knew he had misjudged the circumstances. You had shouted at him.
"Mon amour, it was just a joke Don't take it all so serious. We are here to have a good time, no?" he said, trying to smooth over the situation and bring some brightness back into the day.
"Not if you are going to throw me in the ocean."
He had sighed, wishing you could just appreciate the day with him. You two had descended into an argument afterwards. He didn't remember what he had said, only that he had wanted to make you see that he wasn't always the villain. Sure, he had neglected you in the past in favor of his career. But he was here now, wasn't he, trying to make it all better?
The rest of the argument was a blur in his head. Up until the point you had uttered the words that finally broke him.
"I don't think this is going to work anymore."
He had tried so hard for you. But his best wasn't good enough and he could see that now. Somewhere along the line you both had lost your understanding of the other person. Your relationship had become built on memories of the past and differing ideas of the future.
He had blinked back tears behind his sunglasses. He didn't want you to know how bad you had hurt him. Charles knew he had his fair share of blame for how things had turned out. He didn't want to cry in front of you now. He could hold it in until he got home, as much for your sake as his own.
The words he said next were crystal clear in his mind.
"Okay. We can take a break. But let me get one last picture of you to remember you by. And when we get back together, I will delete it off my phone so we don't have to remember this day? Ok, ma cherie?"
Charles had taken the picture that stared back at him now. Even now, he could tell how unhappy you were in the picture. It was clearly a fake smile that you had given him.
But even though the picture and the memory of how it all fell apart had pained him, he couldn't bear to delete the picture off his phone. The hope and the promise that he could still end up with you were too much to throw away.
Instead, he clicked onto your name in his messages. He selected the picture of you on that boat. His finger hovered over the send button. He had a choice to make.
But surely if you had wanted to see him again, you would have said something. You were probably happy now without him. He didn't want to ruin your peace. So he clicked out of your messages and into hers.
He sent another text back to the model, asking if she wanted to see him again next weekend. If you had wanted him out of your life, he owed it to you to make that happen. Even if he couldn't make himself delete your memories from his phone.
