it’s hammertime!

she/her • ♏️ Requests: OPEN! (Read pinned before requesting!)

[wetweathermilton]

Welcome to my Masterlist! 🪐⭐️

(divider by @lariesographic )

Please note that I only write for Lewis Hamilton. No Smut or Dark Content. There will be individual warnings for every fic.

Read this to know about me and the request rules!🤍

Fics

Meet Cutes NYC (Lewis Hamilton x Fem!Reader, fluff)

Hair Me Out (Lewis Hamilton x Fem!StraightHair!Reader, fluff)

Walking past my Husband pt. 2 (Lewis Hamilton x Fem!Reader, fluff)

“I Mich You.” (Dad!Lewis Hamilton x Fem!Wife!Mom!Reader, fluff)

Requests

Honorary. (Lewis Hamilton x Fem!Doctor!Reader, friends to lovers, fluff)

Family. (Part 2 to Honorary ⤴️ )

[jadeittic]

More Than A Driver (Red Bull Version)

Chapter 2 — previous, next

story masterlist — check it out!

summary: as you adapt to a new team, a new car, and a new teammate, the pressure only grows. meanwhile, rookie kimi antonelli struggles under the weight of replacing you, forcing you to confront the complicated emotion of leaving behind the team that made you.

pairing: formula one + female!driver!reader

warnings/tags: smau + irl, slight toto slander, paddock politics, making kimi suffer a bit for both his and driver!yn's character development

notes: chapter 2, baby! so sorry for the wait, guys :(( ur girl has been so busy w work lately and i do try my best to regularly update you guys when i can! lmk what you guys think of this chapter and what more you'd like to see from driver!yn and i'll get to you guys as soon as i can. all my love to yall x

f1 ✔

liked by yourinstagram, lewishamilton, and 2,349,480 others

f1 ✔ Ahead of the first cars hitting the track at Bahrain International Circuit, drivers met with the media to discuss new beginnings, new challenges, and the season ahead.

Testing starts tomorrow. 🏁

#F1 #F1Testing

view all comments

user3 CRIMINAL that you put these sequence of photos

user29 max, y/n, and kimi sitting next together???? whoever planned this deserves a raise

user1 seeing y/n in a different team is still SO weird

user7 watch the first question somehow be directed to kimi and then immediately become about y/n 😭

user63 these pictures felt like a gunshot after gunshot to the head

user80 kimi just blink twice if you need help

user12 i just need one good maxyn interaction and i'm good for the rest of the week

user21 oh I KNOW y/n's manager backstage is fighting for his life telling her what not to say

To your right sat Max.

He was the picture of absolute, unbothered indifference. Slouched slightly in his chair, fiddling with the cap of a water bottle, looking very much like a guy who was desperately waiting for this meeting to end.

To your left sat Kimi.

The young Italian was sitting bolt upright, his shoulders rigid. His hands were placed flat on the table, his thumb repeatedly tracing the edge of the tablecloth over and over again.

Every time a photographer shouted his name from the front row, his face flashed a practiced smile that vanished the absolute second the flash faded.

You knew that look. You had worn that exact expression.

Different car. Different team. Same unrelenting chaos.

The moderator had barely cleared his throat to introduce the panel before a dozen hands shot up into the air. He didn't bother calling on a specific outlet, he simply pointed to a journalist sitting in the third row.

"Question for Y/N," he began, his voice echoing clearly through the microphone. "After the highly public and turbulent nature of your exit from Mercedes, there are many in the paddock who view your signing with Red Bull as political."

"Some would go so far as to suggest that Red Bull didn't sign you because they believed you were the absolute fastest driver available, but because taking you away from Mercedes was the ultimate power move to embarrass Toto Wolff. How do you respond to claims that you are merely just a revenge plan?"

Before you could even reach for the small black switch on your microphone, another voice barked out.

"Follow up to that!" a reporter added without waiting to be called on. "Did signing that contract feel like personal revenge? Do you feel any anger on how they easily filled your seat, or do you think Toto Wolff is already regretting letting you walk?"

Your hand hovered over the microphone. You gathered your breath, preparing the neutral, PR response you'd rehearsed fifty times in your head.

Before your finger touched the button, a loud click echoed through the room's speakers. Max had leaned forward.

He rested his forearms on the desk, tilting his head with a look of boredom. He scratched the back of his neck.

"I think," Max said, "that if anyone here is trying desperately to make a movie out of this..."

He raised his eyes and looked directly at the first journalist who had spoken. "...it's probably you."

Chuckles broke out across the room. A couple of photographers lowered their cameras, smirking.

Max shrugged, tapping his fingers once against the tabletop. "The car is quick. She is quick."

He gestured toward you. "Red Bull wants quick drivers. Mercedes lost one. It's not exactly rocket science, is it?"

The moderator jumped on the opportunity to regain control before the press could recover. "Thank you, Max. Moving on--"

Max switched off his mic with a click and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. But as he settled back, his eyes shifted toward you.

You clicked your microphone on.

"I signed with Red Bull Racing because they offered me the best deal and the clearest path to winning a world championship," you said. "If people want to turn this into a sob story, that's their choice. My job hasn't changed."

You paused, folding your hands together on the table, letting the quiet sink into the room. "Drive fast. Give the engineers good feedback. Win races. The time doesn't care what team I'm on, and neither do I."

At the very back of the media center, leaning against the door frame beside three more people, stood Toto Wolff. His arms were folded tightly across his chest, his eyes locked on the stage.

Then, he turned his head away.

The moderator cleared his throat loudly. "Moving to the left. Question for Kimi."

"Kimi, an enormous amount of media focus had been placed on the void left behind by Y/N's departure. Do you feel that replacing a driver like her creates an unfair level of pressure on your debut season?"

Kimi's mouth opened slightly. "Um..."

His hands slid off the table, disappearing into his lap. From where you sat, just two feet away, you could see what the cameras missed. His fingers were locked together, trembling with enough force to shake his wrists.

"I... I am just focused on my work," he stammered, his voice cracking slightly before he managed to pull it back down an octave. "The team has been very supportive. I am very grateful for the opportunity from Toto and the board."

Before he could finish his train of thought, a journalist from the second row chimed in. "Do you feel like you're sitting in someone else's seat, Kimi? How tense was the handoff between you two during the break?"

The young driver froze, looking like a deer caught in high beams. The sheer weight of the expectation, the media, and his own raw youth seemed to press down on his chest all at once.

For a brief, desperate fraction of a second, his eyes darted to his right. Looking at you.

You caught his eye, inclined your head slightly, and offered a calm, steady smile. It was a tiny gesture, invisible to the cameras focused on his face, but Kimi caught it. He swallowed hard, took a slow breathe through his nose, and straightened his posture.

"We're both professional drivers," Kimi said, his voice more stable. "We both have a job to do on the track."

Leaving the press conference was never a clean getaway.

The exit corridor was a long, narrow road running behind the hospitality structures. It was jammed with sound engineers wrapping up cables, camera operators walking backward while trying not to trip anyone over, and nervous PR managers barking into phones while waving their hands to clear pathways for their drivers.

You stepped out into the bright light of the hallway, flanked by a press officer who was keeping a tight grip on her clipboard. You had barely taken ten paces down the corridor when the crowd parted slightly, revealing a cluster of silver shirts coming from the opposite direction.

Mercedes.

George was at the front of the group, a bag slung over his shoulder. The moment his eyes met yours, his guarded face softened into something warm, if slightly conflicted.

Then Toto stepped out from behind him.

The corridor seemed to contract instantly. The air grew thick, the background noise of chatter and camera shutters fading into a distant buzz.

Toto called out your name. His voice was the same calm, authoritative tone he used in board rooms and team radio.

You stopped moving. Your PR officer paused two steps behind you, her eyes darting nervously between the two of you.

"Toto," you replied smoothly.

"I hope you're finding everything to your satisfaction," Toto said, his eyes flicking down to the Red Bull crest on your chest before returning to your face. "The transition appears to have been... smooth."

"So far, so good," you answered. "The team's been very welcoming."

"Good," Toto said softly. A small, polite smile formed on his lips, but it never quite reached his eyes. "It'll certainly be... an educational environment for you. Red Bull operates very differently than we do."

"Different isn't necessarily bad," you replied. "Sometimes a change is what we need."

Toto's smile didn't slip, but the muscle in his jaw ticked. "Of course. I genuinely hope it delivers the results you felt you were lacking with us."

Standing slightly behind him, George looked uncomfortable. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking down at his shoes before finally raising his eyes to meet yours.

"It's... really good to see you," George offered, his tone lacking any of Toto's sharp one. "I hope everything went okay."

"It's been perfect, George. It's good to see you too."

An awkward silence threatened to stretch again.

"There you are!"

A hand rested firmly on your shoulder. You turned your head slightly to see Mekies stepping up alongside you. He wore a warm, easy smile, but his eyes were sharp, reading the room immediately.

"Toto," Mekies said, extending a polite hand toward him.

"Mekies," Toto acknowledged.

"I have to steal her away, I'm afraid," Mekies said smoothly, his arm shifting to gently position his body between you and Toto, blocking his line of sight yo you.

He looked down at his watch with a well-acted look of mild panic. "If I don't get her into the debrief in three minutes, everyone's going to start throwing car parts at me."

The joke was light, but it was clear that Mekies had built an invisible wall between you and your past.

"Of course," Toto said, stepping back slightly to allow room. "Don't let us hold you up."

Mekies kept a protective hand on the back of your shoulder, guiding you past the silver shirts and down the corridor toward the Red Bull garage.

Only when you had rounded two corners and were far out of earshot of any lingering media did Mekies lean in slightly, his voice dropping to a low, quiet murmur.

"You held yourself well back there," he said. "Let's not waste our time on them, alright?"

f1gossip

liked by user81 and 6,238 others

f1gossip The paddock has been buzzing after footage surfaced of a tense-looking interaction between former Mercedes driver Y/N L/N and Team Principal Toto Wolff following today’s pre-season testing press conference.

The clip, which has now gone viral across F1 social media, shows Y/N stopping in the paddock corridor after being approached by the Mercedes camp.

👀 What fans noticed:

Y/N remained composed while speaking with Toto, showing little of the emotional reaction many expected after her controversial departure from Mercedes.

George Russell appeared noticeably softer during the interaction, with fans pointing out his smile when he saw his former teammate.

The biggest talking point is he arrival of Laurent Mekies, who stepped in moments later and guided Y/N away toward the Red Bull garage.

No audio from the conversation has been released, leaving fans to speculate about what was actually said.

view all comments

user73 the way mekies appeared like “yeah no, my driver has somewhere to be” 😭😭😭

user10 everyone is making this dramatic but george literally just looked happy to see his old teammate

user5 toto’s face when he looked at the red bull logo on her shirt??? somebody check on him 💀

user23 Imagine telling rookie y/n that one day she’d walk away from Mercedes and become Max Verstappen’s teammate.

user66 max defending her in the press conference and mekies backing her in the hallway??? red bull said THAT’S OUR DRIVER

yourinstagram ✔

liked by judebellingham, michaelbjordan, and 6,237,168 others

yourinstagram ✔ back to work

view all comments

maxverstappen1 ✔ Finally someone who knows how to set up a car properly liked by yourinstagram ❤️

kimi.antonelli ✔ Good luck today! 🙌 ↪ yourinstagram ✔ ty kimi 🤝 see you out there champ

user57 LMFAOOO her entire comment and like section becoming a celeb meetup

lewishamilton ✔ Go show them what you can do liked by yourinstagram ❤️ ↪ yourinstagram ✔ learned from the best

user8 lmfao why are there more celebrities than f1 drivers in her comments

georgerussell63 ✔ Good luck! Except when you're in front of me ↪ yourinstagram ✔ so basically always? 😕

user43 so NOW yall suddenly discovered motorsport the second y/n joined red bull

djo ✔ so when's the hot lap?

user79 girlie changed teams and unlocked a whole new fandom

lando ✔ guys calm down she loses at bowling ↪ yourinstagram ✔ you are literally the worst person to talk about losing

user44 someone explain why this comment section looks like the guest list for the met gala and monaco gp combined

raye ✔okay but when are you teaching me how to drive this thing

judebellingham ✔ that's a fast car ↪ yourinstagram ✔ it's a very faaaaast car ↪ user6 brother you are NOT slick 😭 ↪ user24 are you fucking kidding me ↪ user91 no shame on the main account bro... there's no car in sight in this post

The Red Bull garage was different.

The moment the doors closed shut behind you, the noise of the paddock vanished, replaced by the noise of the garage. Air hoses hissed, fans whined softly, and the distinct scent of oil filled the air.

You pulled on your balaclava over your head, tucked the radio wiring neatly down the collar of your undersuit, and stepped up to the side of the cockpit.

You stepped onto the seat, slid your legs deep into the car, and lowered yourself inside.

Immediately, the differences between Mercedes and Red Bull became starkly apparent.

The Red Bull seat cradled your hips significantly higher, tilting your torso slightly forward into a far more aggressive driving position. The steering wheel sat nearly to inches closer to your chest, its handgrips thicker and angled differently against your palms.

Down in the narrow footwell, the pedal box required a sharper, stiffer angle from your ankles. Even the sightlines were different; the lower nose profile meant the front tire bulkheads sat higher in your field of vision, forcing you to re-calbirate how you aimed for corner apexes.

Your new race engineer, who goes by name of Harry, leaned over the cockpit rim, his headset dangling around his neck as he pointed down at the complex array of switches on the wheel face.

"Alright," he said, "We've loaded your base brake migration profiles in here. It'll automatically shift the brake bias toward the rear as you downshift through the gears to keep the entry stable."

"Copy," you said. "What about the differential entry settings?"

"Differentials are configured a bit more aggressively than what you're used to," he explained, pointing to a blue switch. "Max likes a very free mid-corner rot. The car is designed to turn the moment you hint at the wheel. If the rear feels too loose on entry, dropping the differential entry map down to setting two."

"I'll try setting one first," you replied, pulling your helmet down over your head and snapping the visor shut. "I want to feel what the car wants to do before I try and control it."

Harry smiled. "That's what we like to hear. Buckles coming in."

You've always thought you get lucky with the race engineers you have. Harry's an absolute sweetheart. Listening attentively to your requests, checking in if you have any concerns, and welcoming you into the team more than anyone else did.

God, how you missed Luca.

"Radio check."

"Loud and clear."

"Engine start on five... four... three..."

The starter motor whined sharply, and then the engine erupted into life with a deafening, violent roar the vibrated through your spine, through your ribs, and straight into your chest.

"You're clear to go. Mind the traffic in the pit lane."

The mechanics dropped the car off the stands. You eased the clutch paddle out, and the car surged forward, its tires rolling smoothly across the floor before breaking out into the sunlight of the pit lane.

The first three warm-up laps were a revelation.

The Red Bull RB22 didn't handle like any car you had driven before. Where your old car required patience, this one responded to the absolute smallest input with instant precision.

"How's the front end feeling?" Harry asked over the radio as you swept through the high-speed sweeping section.

"There is... so much front grip," you admitted, your breath coming in hitches as the force pressed against your neck. "It's unreal."

"That's our tunnel layout working," he replied, a hint of pride in his voice. "You can carry far more entry speed that what you think you can. Trust the floor."

By lap six, your brain had begun to re-wire itself. You pushed your braking points deeper into the heavy deceleration zones, feeling the brakes bite into the discs with tremendous force.

Ahead of you on the long back straight, a familiar shade of silver appeared.

It was George. And you caught him fast. Astonishingly fast.

You maintained a tight line behind him. Through your visor, you could see George's car fighting for traction, its rear end stepping out slightly as he tried to put the power down out of the corner.

By contrast, your RB22 felt locked to the earth, the floor sucking the chassis down to the track with authority.

You stayed behind him through the main straight, choosing not to use DRS to blow past him. You didn't need to pass him to make a point.

"Alright, new kid," Harry's voice cracked over the radio. "We're dropping the fuel load to low-run levels. Fresh set of softs going on. Let's see what she can really do when we turn the engine up."

You pulled back into the pit box. The crew worked with breathtaking speed, hydraulic jacks lifting the car in a fraction of a second while tire guns whirred.

"Clear in pit lane. Fire it up."

You existed the pit lane, weaving aggressively back and forth across the tarmac on your out-lap to scrub the glossy layer off the cold rubber and build heat into the core of the tire carcass.

"Gap's clear behind. Push when you're ready."

You rounded the final corner, straightened the wheel, and crossed the line.

The RB22 screamed down the main straight. You stomped on the brake for Turn One. The deceleration hit you like a punch to the gut, your body thrown forward against the belts. You clipped the apex perfectly, hit the throttle early, and shot out of the corner.

Sector One: Purple. Fastest overall of the session.

"Great start," Harry noted. "Keep it tidy through Sector Two."

You fed the car into the turn with a subtle flick of the wrist, letting the downforce lock the tires down. The next turn followed immediately; a tight hairpin where lock-ups were common. You trailed off the brake with precision, rotating the car mid-corner and getting straight back onto full throttle.

Sector Two: Purple again.

Confidence surged through your veins. The initial unfamiliarity of the cockpit had vanished, replaced by the sheer, exhilarating flow. The car felt light, infinitely capable, and blindingly fast.

Then came the next turn.

It was one of the highest-speed, most demanding corners on the Bahrain circuit. You turned into the corner, eyes locked firmly on it, your foot hovering over the brake just in case, but your foot was pinned on the accelerator.

Suddenly, a flash of bright silver flared in your peripheral vision.

It was Kimi. He had been running a slow cooldown lap after aborting his own flying run, cruising off-line along the far right side of the tracking exiting the turn.

It should've been a non-issue.

Except Kimi, misjudging the blinding speed at which your Red Bull was closing the distance behind him, checked his mirrors a second too late. Seeing a car charging up behind him, he panicked.

He swerved to the left to give you the outside lane. Straight into the primary racing line. Directly into your entry path.

"What the fuck?!"

There was no time to brake. At this speed, braking would've have locked the front tires instantly and launched your car directly into the rear of Kimi's car like a missile.

Instinct, honed by thousands of hours of racing at the edge of human reaction times, took over instantly.

You yanked the steering wheel hard to the right to avoid the collision.

The sudden, violent change at extreme speed unseated the car's floor. The rear end of your car broke completely loose.

The world went sideways. The car rotated violently beneath you, the rear end swinging around toward the outer barrier at a terrifying angle.

The steering wheel ripped wildly through your hands as the front wheels kicked against the force of the slide.

You snapped your wrists to the left, counter-steering with everything you had, fighting the forces attempting to spin the car across the gravel trap.

Tires screamed in agony, laying down thick bands of black rubber as the car skidded sideways at massive speed. A massive cloud of dust and debris swept over the visor, obscuring the track completely.

The rear end snapped back violently to the right, a violent snap that threatened to throw the car backwards into the concrete wall. You caught it again with a lightning-fast countersteer, your arms working in a blur of pure reflex.

The car bucked, bounced hard over the outer exit, and finally slithered to a halt in the deep asphalt runoff area, pointing sideways to the circuit, its engine whining angrily.

For one second, everything completely quiet inside your helmet. Only the sound of your own ragged, heavy breathing.

"Are you okay? Did you make contact?"

"No contact," you managed to choke out, your voice rough, heart pounding like a sledgehammer against your ribs. "No contact with the Mercedes. I caught it."

Through the dust clearing from your visor, you looked down your side mirrors.

A hundred yards ahead, Kimi's Mercedes had come to a near-complete stop on the far side of the track. Through his rear-view mirrors, you could see the young driver looking back, his hands raised to his helmet in a gesture of utter shock and horror at what had almost been a season-altering crash.

You clicked the clutch paddle in, engaged first gear, and turned the car back toward the track.

"Car's rolling," you reported, your voice slowly settling back into a calm register as you drove back onto the circuit. "I'm coming back in."

taglist: @nyxisnotok @dramaticred @victoria-eliserahh @fullyinlovewithfics @piantonelli @lalaland43 @xxjewellynwatts @sleepyfrog01 @spooky-librarian-ghost @spiderliliesliveon @scenesofobx @rufles2 @wetweathermilton @emsluvsbunnies @bestillmystuckyheart @moonlight52moonlight @starrgir1 @fiercetigerpoison @rufikyof @howling-wolf97 @nuggiesnuggetdog04 @bia-n-t-d @cherubinn7 @kat-w2s8 @sp1rl @exhausted-exho@yavintagebae @silveritydreams @rtyuy1346 @victoria-eliserahh @dramaticred@givcd @marvelousmiss-marvel @josephinel83 @thealikesdogs @kheurwen @seawaterbrain @pharmasennapuff @yourlocalrivergirl @anyasthoughts @idkmaybesparkling @hellsingalucard18 @bella423 @popasterous@existing-apparently@akeeema @hanquokkascheeks @melanie-15@cevans-winchester @wispmemt @solo-bunni @joostkleinn @stup1dlysmart-human @wandabillywrites @ominouscitadelpoison @riskisdrowningbutimgonnatakeit annieisgoingmadmax @polodragon @misssmalik28 @z0mbie-mo0on @dessashippr @eerilydeepeffigy

[wetweathermilton]

Hi guys!

Extremely sorry I’ve been MIA like crazy. It’s just been a lot in my personal life…I’ve had to deal with a confusing and painful breakup, and due to the stress + a viral infection here, i have fallen sick terribly. I have just started to leave my bed and it’ll take me a while to regain my energy.

Along with that I’ve had to juggle my internship and college at the same time, so that’s been hectic as well.🤧

Hope you guys forgive me for not answering your asks sooner. I’ll be back with a bang i promise!🤍

[starkwlkr]

mum said no | lewis hamilton

an: i love hot ones <3 that’s all

After canceling many times, Lewis finally made his appearance on Hot Ones with Sean Evans. He was a big fan of the show so he was happy to finally get to be a guest. Not only was he a big fan, but so was his eleven year old daughter, Maeve, so naturally she accompanied him to the set.

Maeve Hamilton watched as her dad ate spicy wings and answered questions. When talking about Roscoe, Maeve payed close attention. She loved talking about Roscoe so much.

On the monitor, a picture of Roscoe and Maeve appeared. Maeve was wearing a black Lewis shirt that her mum had bought from an Etsy store while Roscoe licked her face. It was the British Grand Prix and Maeve, along with her sisters, was beyond excited.

“Look, Mavy, that’s you and Roscoe!” Lewis pointed to the screen. “That was taken last year. Do you remember?” Lewis asked his daughter.

Maeve looked at the picture and nodded. “Angela took it!”

“Is your family always at the races?” Sean asked.

“Most of the time during the summer, yeah. It’s always a great time when they’re in the garage, but when it’s school time, they stay home with their mum.” Lewis explained. “They don’t like that at all. But I always tell them education comes first.”

“But I get lots of good grades.” Maeve cut in.

“What’s your favorite subject?” Sean asked the girl.

“I like science.” Replied Maeve.

As the show went on, Maeve was seated next to the camera crew, laughing at her father. He was now taking bigger bites.

“You can do it!” Maeve cheered on.

“Thank you, baby. Love you.” Lewis chuckled and blew a kiss to the girl. “I can always count on my girls to cheer me on.”

“On the topic of family, is it possible that Formula One could get another Hamilton on the track? Or do they want to go into other careers?” Sean asked.

“At one point, they did say they wanted to, but now they’re discovering more careers that they’re interested in. I will support them in whatever choice they make.”

You and Lewis both knew that your daughters would never be Formula one drivers. You both talked about how hard it would be on them. He saw how fans were tough on Mick. He didn’t want his girls to go through that.

The wings got spicier and all Maeve could do was laugh at the faces Lewis was making. He drank milk but that barely helped. Tears were starting to come out his eyes. Maeve noticed and quickly went to her father’s side and used a clean napkin to clean the tears since she didn’t want him using his own hands that were covered in sauce.

“Thank you, baby.” Lewis said as Maeve cleaned up the tears.

“What kind of reaction do you get when somone pulls up alongside of you and then sees that it’s, you know, Lewis Hamilton behind the wheel next to them?” Sean questioned.

“Most people are just like ‘Holy Shit!’ um. . .” Lewis chuckled.

“They’re not revving their engine at you or anything?”

“I’ve had people, yeah traffic light that wanna race yeah.” He nodded. “Definitely when I was young, I felt like yeah. . . smoke this fool.” He laughed.

“This man wanted to race you yesterday!” Maeve spoke up. “Mum said no.”

“I got kids now!” Lewis laughed once again. “I got precious cargo, I can’t be fooling around.”

“And mum said no.” Maeve whispered to him.

“Yup, and mum said no.”

[jadeittic]

More Than A Driver (Red Bull Version)

Chapter 1 — next

story masterlist — check it out!

summary: new team. new color. new drivers. what could go wrong?

pairing: formula one + female!driver!reader

warnings/tags: smau + irl, poor kimi in this chap he's just living his dream :(, merc shade but thats honestly just a taste of it, luca and y/n r lowkey gp and max coded, sky sports cameos

notes: first chapter, hello ?!?!?! so overwhelmed w the love you gave driver!yn and i'm more than happy to introduce you to her new era :) all my love to u all reading and supporting xx

mercedesamgf1

liked by georgerussell63, lewishamilton, and 4,972,439 others

mercedesamgf1 Mercedes-AMG PETRONAS F1 Team is pleased to confirmed that Kimi Antonelli will race alongside George Russell for the 2026 FIA Formula One World Championship.

Welcome to the Silver Arrows, Kimi.

#MercedesAMGF1 #KimiAntonelli #F1

view all comments

kimi.antonelli Dreams really do come true. Let's get to work!

user8 yall are pissing me tf OFFFFF

lewishamilton Huge congrats mate

user29 truly think kimi's gonna do wonders but this feels so wrong for y/n...

georgerussell63 Welcome, mate 👊 Can't wait to get started

user72 Remember when mercedes said they were "building around y/n?" where tf is that energy now

user12 everyone's blaming kimi when he's literally done nothing lol

user90 why did they let admin post this knowing the comments are going to be MESSY

user53 laurent mekies refreshing the comments like 😋

redbullracing

liked by maxverstappen1, redbull, and 6,329,340 others

redbullracing Oracle Red Bull Racing is delighted to announce the signing of Y/N L/N on a multi-year agreement ahead of the 2026 FIA Formula One World Championship.

A proven race winner with exceptional pace and determination. Welcome to the family.

#RedBullRacing #YNLN #F1

view all comments

yourinstagram new beginnings babyyy

user63 TOTO YOU FUMBLED SO BAD

user5 merc basically spoon fed redbull

lando LETS GOOOOOO

lewishamilton Proud of you.

user72 other drivers interacting here more than the other side is kinda...

danielricciardo oh? OH?

user21 how do you even explain horner getting fired then the new tp hiring y/n l/n to a normal person

user4 imagine dropping your race winner only for your rivals to sign her IMMEDIATELY.

user10 admin was READY to post this

Your phone vibrated against your bedside table at exactly 8 AM.

You ignored it, pulling the duvet tighter around your shoulders, trying to cling to the final moments of sleep. Then it buzzed again. And again.

By the time you finally rolled over and blindly reached into the cold air to grab it, the bright light of the screen illuminated the room. It displayed an overwhelming amount of notification.

Your eyes adjusted to the glare, and the first major headline locked into focus.

BREAKING: Mercedes-AMG PETRONAS F1 Team confirms Kimi Antonelli as race driver for the 2026 FIA Formula One World Championship.

For a long second, you forgot to breathe. You didn't like the post. You didn't read the caption. You didn't need to.

Deep down, in the quietest part of your mind, you had known this day was coming for months. But seeing it written out officially still felt like a punch to the face.

Before you could even fully process the quiet sink in your chest, the screen lit up with another notification, overriding the first.

Oracle Red Bull Racing is delighted to announce the signing of Y/N L/N on a multi-year agreement.

For the last six months, your stomach had been in a permanent, tight knot. You had spent half a year waiting for the axe to fall. There had been endless, grueling meetings behind closed doors, hushed conversations in the back of the units, and polite but entirely empty smiles from Toto whenever you passed him.

You had been living in a state of constantly performing while knowing your seat was actively being shopped around.

Mercedes had chosen their teenage prodigy, Kimi.

But Red Bull, the ruthless giants of the grid, had chosen you.

You unlocked your phone, knowing immediately that it was a terrible mistake to do so on a morning like this. Within half a second, your social media feed refreshed itself, instantly descending into madness.

RED BULL SNATCHES MERCEDES STAR Y/N L/N ANTONELLI PROMOTED. L/N DEPARTS IN SHOCK MULTI-YEAR DEAL. WOLFF'S BIGGEST GAMBLE?

You scrolled down, your eyes catching the comment sections, which were updating so rapidly that the text literally blurred.

"Mercedes absolutely bottled it. How do you let a proven race winner walk away just to gamble on a kid? Toto has lost his mind."

"Kimi is the future, it's the right move. Mercedes is playing the long game. People said the same thing about Lewis back in the day."

"This is going to age horribly for Mercedes. Y/N is going to have the biggest advantage on her shoulders now."

"Max is going to absolutely destroy her. No one survives the second seat. It's a career killer."

The official announcements had been live for less than five minutes, and the internet had already mapped out the entire trajectory of your career, predicting either your ultimate downfall or your greatest revenge.

Before you could read any further, an incoming call came. You swiped the screen to answer, immediately putting him on speaker and placing the phone back down on the bed as you sat up, wrapping your arms around your knees.

"You've seen it?" Luca's voice slightly muffled, the low hum of morning traffic in the background suggesting he was already driving to work.

You let out a dry laugh. "I mean it's kind of impossible to miss. I think my phone is about to explode."

"I've had six different journalist call my personal number already," Luca said, his tone in sheer disbelief. "Half of them didn't even say hello! They just started asking if I was going with you."

"Only six?" you teased, trying to put some lightheartedness into the morning. "You're losing your touch. Usually, you're the most popular guy in the paddock."

"Just give it ten minutes," he sighed.

Luca had been your race engineer since the very first weekend you had ever turned the wheel. He was the calm, steady voice in your ear through the highest highs of your first podium and the absolute, miserable lows of failures and bad pit stops.

You two had spent countless late nights locked inside cramped rooms, arguing over strategy, upgrades, and degradation until the security guards had to physically knock on the door and tell you to leave.

He wasn't just your engineer. He was your anchor in a sport that constantly tried to pull you under.

"You okay?" Luca's voice softened, dropping his usual tone.

"I'm relieved, honestly. I didn't think I would be, but the moment they released it, it felt like a massive weight was lifted off my chest."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "I was hoping you'd say that."

"And you?" you asked. "How are you feeling about it all?"

"I'm furious," Luca admitted frankly. "You deserved a hell of a lot better than finding out once they've made their decision. They dragged their feet for months, keeping you on the hook while they finalized Kimi's contract. It's straight up disrespectful."

You didn't argue. Because he was entirely right.

Losing the opportunity to continue with Mercedes hurt. But the coldness of how they had handled it, making you play the role of the loyal team player while they secretly prepared your replacement, hurt a lot deeper.

"You know, I'm going to miss working with you," Luca said quietly, his voice cracking just a fraction.

Your throat tightened suddenly. "I'm going to miss yelling at you over the radio."

He laughed. "You mean ignoring my perfectly calculated strategy calls?"

"Luca, I love you, but they were usually terrible strategy calls."

"Hey, they won you races!"

lucaromano

liked by lewishamilton, yourinstagram, and 423,749 others

lucaromano I've been lucky enough to be there for the highs, the lows, the podiums, the celebrations, the frustrating sundays, and the little moments nobody sees.

Wherever you go next, I'll always be cheering.

P.S. Lucky misses you already. 🐶

view all comments

user16 oh i know LUCA HATES THEM

user47 race engineer subtweet is crazy

yourinstagram don't make me CRY

yourinstagram i don't think i'll ever find anyone who puts up with me like u do

yourinstagram im cryifn couldn't have asked for a better person next to me through all of this

user82 the fact everyone knows luca and y/n are a package deal 😭

user3 luca being the first person she looks for after getting out of the car will always be my roman empire

user29 they really broke up the best engineer-driver pairing for WHAT

user44 the fact that he NEVER posts and THIS is what he chooses to post

Three hundred miles away, in the heart of London, the cameras were already rolling in the Sky Sports studio.

Naomi Schiff leaned forward in her chair, her expression serious as she looked into the camera.

"I think Mercedes made the biggest gamble of the decade," Naomi said, gesturing with her pen toward the graphics on the screen.

"And let me clarify, this is not a criticism of Kimi. We all know he is an incredibly fast, generational talent. But Mercedes has allowed Y/N L/N, a driver who already knows exactly how to handle the immense pressure of a top-tier team, to walk straight out of their building and into their biggest rival's garage."

Nico Rosberg, sitting directly next to her with his arms crossed, nodded in agreement.

"If I was Red Bull," Nico said, a sharp, knowing smirk on his face, "I'm absolutely popping champagne today. You're getting a driver who's hungry, highly experienced, and massively motivated by how she was treated. Mercedes didn't just lose potential today, they lost guaranteed points to their rivals."

Jenson Button folded his arms, playing devil's advocate to keep the debate going.

"But you have to look at the long-term future here, Nico. Kimi represents the next decade for Mercedes. Sometimes you have to take a massive risk in the present to build the next era."

"The future doesn't score points in the constructors' today, Jenson," Naomi countered. "Red Bull just got significantly stronger, and Mercedes just handed them the perfect match."

By the early afternoon, you were walking through the doors of the Red Bull building in Milton Keynes.

As you walked through the main lobby, mechanics and engineers looked at you. Instead of the polite, formal nods you were used to, you were greeted with broad smiles and enthusiastic waves.

"About time you got here!" a voice shouted.

Another mechanic, dressed in team kit, held up a can of Red Bull, grinning widely. "Welcome to the dark side! I assure you that we have the better parties."

You couldn't help the genuine smile that spread across your face. It felt incredibly warm. It didn't feel like a PR stunt, and it didn't feel forced for the sake of the cameras.

For the first time in over a year, you felt like a driver who was actively wanted, rather than a driver who was simply being tolerated.

Mekies walked beside you, keeping his hands casual in his pockets as he guided you toward the simulator building.

"I told you," Mekies said in a reassuring voice, looking over at you with a small smile. "We wanted you here. We don't sign drivers just to fill a seat or to make up the numbers. We sign them because we believe they can help us win. Remember that."

Before you could reply, the doors of the simulator bay slid open with a soft hiss. Max stepped out, a towel draped over his shoulders, his hair slightly damp from a grueling simulator run.

He spotted you immediately. He didn't wait for his manager to introduce you, he didn't look around to see if any cameras were watching.

He just walked straight over to you and stopped, towering slightly over you.

"So," Max said, wiping his face with the towel.

"So," you replied, tilting you head up slightly and matching his tone.

"It's official, then."

"I guess. No turning back now."

He nodded once, his eyes analyzing your face, looking for any sign of hesitation. "You ready for this?"

"I think so," you said, keeping your voice steady.

Max shrugged, amusement appearing in his eyes. "I hope not. If you already think you're completely ready, this place gets boring very quickly. You have to keep pushing."

"Is that your way of a motivational welcome speech, Max?"

"Yeah," he said simply. "Pretty good, right?"

"Did you practice that in the mirror this morning?"

"No. I don't waste time on that."

"You probably should have," you retorted. "It needs a bit of work."

A grin broke across Max's face. He reached out, shaking your hand with a firm grip. "Welcome to the team, future champ."

yourinstagram via instagram story!

view all comments

user86 damn seeing her in any other color is giving me jumpscares honestly

user42 SHE LOOKS GOOD WITH IT IM SORRY YALL

user5 i just stared at this for 5 minutes in silence

lando finally got u in the right color

user21 and to think she was just mercedes' rookie

mercedesamgf1

liked by kimi.antonelli, yourinstagram, and 3,213,300 others

mercedesamgf1 Join us live from the Mercedes-AMG PETRONAS Formula One Team headquarters as we welcome Kimi Antonelli to the race team!

Kimi and George Russell will sit down with the media to discuss the new season, the challenges ahead, and the future of the Silver Arrows.

#F1 #Mercedes #KimiAntonelli #GeorgeRussell

Kimi stood in the main lobby, nervously adjusting the stiff collar of his brand-new team shirt. He looked incredibly younger under the lights that had been set up for the press day, his eyes wide and slightly overwhelmed as he took everyone crammed into the space.

George walked past the media pen, noticing the visible tension in the teenager's shoulders. He reached out, clapping a hand firmly on Kimi's shoulder with an encouraging smile.

"You'll be fine, mate. Just breathe and stick to the talking points."

"Yeah, I'm trying," Kimi muttered, offering a weak smile in return. "But there's so many people."

The moment Kimi sat down, a dozen microphones were instantly thrust into his face.

"Kimi! Do you feel any personal guilt taking Y/N L/N's seat, especially considering how much she has contributed to the development of the cars?"

Kimi blinked, the carefully memorized, media-trained answers completely evaporating from his mind. He looked down, swallowed hard, and tried his absolute best to find words that wouldn't cause a massive headline.

"Look... I don't think any driver ever wants to see another driver lose their seat," Kimi said, his voice quiet. "We all know how hard it is to get to this level. This was a dream opportunity for me and my family, and it was an opportunity I simply couldn't say no to."

Down in Italy, Lewis was sitting in the Ferrari lounge, dressed in his striking new team gear. He was quietly sipping a cup of espresso, watching the live coverage of the Mercedes press day on the screen.

Charles walked past, stopping to look at the screen before glancing at Lewis. "So? What do you think of the big swap?"

Lewis didn't take his eyes off the screen. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, checking his watch with a knowing smile. "I give it exactly an hour before they invent a rivalry between them. They love a good villain story."

He tapped his screen, scrolling through his contacts until he found your name, and hit dial. You answered on the second ring, your voice sounding a bit breathless.

"Congratulations," Lewis said immediately, his familiar voice instantly cutting through the noise in your head.

"Thanks?" you replied. "Congratulations to you, too. I have to say, seeing you in red is still going to take some getting used to."

Lewis chuckled softly. "They're acting like like the championship's starting today. The press is going absolutely crazy."

"It definitely feels chaotic," you admitted. "I haven't even sat in the car yet."

"It's all just noise," Lewis said, his tone turning serious and protective. "You have the whole year to write your story. Don't let them get inside your head."

"I'm trying not to. But it's hard when every second post is comparing my stats to his."

"And they're going to keep doing that," Lewis warned gently. "Every single weekend."

"I know."

"Don't play their game. Show them exactly why you belong in that seat."

f1

liked by redbullracing, mercedesamgf1, and 5,290,401 others

f1 The FIA has officially confirmed the media schedule for the upcoming Formula 1 Pre-Season Testing at the Bahrain International Circuit.

Teams and drivers will take to the track for the first time ahead of the new season, with media sessions, press conferences, and testing programmes scheduled throughout the week.

Full driver appearances and press conference timings are now available.

#F1 #Formula1

view all comments

user61 THISLL BE THE FIRST TIME WE SEE Y/N IN A RED BULL GARAGE AND KIMI IN A MERCEDES GARAGE

user3 i love how everyone already knows that the first conference is going to be the most watched non-race event in f1 history

user78 MAX AND Y/N IN MATCHING TEAM GEAR IM READY

By the late afternoon, the FIA officially released the media schedule for the upcoming pre-season testing in Bahrain.

Your phone buzzed again in your hand. It was your personal PR manager, who had been managing your media presence since your MotoGP career.

"Hey, do you have a quick second? I have a slight update regarding the media run."

"Please tell me it's actually a simple update, Ryland," you groaned, leaning your head back. "My brain is completely fried."

"Well... the media delegate just sent over a last-minute change to the seating arrangements for the main stage." Ryland paused, clearing his throat.

"Instead of seating us by teams like they usually do, they've decided to mix the order to create a more 'dynamic visual.' Their words not mine."

You sat up. "What do you mean? How are they mixing it?"

"It means... you'll be sitting directly between Max..."

He hesitated, letting the silence stretch for a beat.

"...and Kimi."

You closed your eyes, letting out a long, slow breath as you rubbed your temples. "You have got to be kidding me."

"I wish I was joking," Ryland said. "Everyone's throwing a party online. They know exactly what they're going to get."

After you hung up, you stared at your blank phone screen for a long moment. You locked your phone, tossed it onto the sofa, and looked out at the rainy night.

Tomorrow, the talking would finally stop. Tomorrow, you'd see them all again. And tomorrow, the real fight would begin.

taglist: @nyxisnotok @dramaticred @victoria-eliserahh @fullyinlovewithfics @piantonelli @lalaland43 @xxjewellynwatts @sleepyfrog01 @spooky-librarian-ghost @spiderliliesliveon @scenesofobx @rufles2 @wetweathermilton @emsluvsbunnies @bestillmystuckyheart @moonlight52moonlight @starrgir1 @fiercetigerpoison @rufikyof @howling-wolf97 @nuggiesnuggetdog04 @bia-n-t-d @cherubinn7 @kat-w2s8 @sp1rl @exhausted-exho@yavintagebae @silveritydreams @rtyuy1346 @victoria-eliserahh @dramaticred@givcd @marvelousmiss-marvel @josephinel83 @thealikesdogs @kheurwen @seawaterbrain @pharmasennapuff @yourlocalrivergirl @anyasthoughts @idkmaybesparkling @hellsingalucard18 @bella423 @popasterous@existing-apparently@akeeema @hanquokkascheeks @melanie-15@cevans-winchester @wispmemt @solo-bunni @joostkleinn @stup1dlysmart-human @wandabillywrites @ominouscitadelpoison @riskisdrowningbutimgonnatakeit annieisgoingmadmax

[glueeangel]

ohhhh he swears he swears🤤🤤

[writtenbylolo]

⤷ the winner takes it all

masterlist ᯓ★ lo's commentary: well this was possibly the most hurtful thing i've ever had to write, but thank you for all of the support on my last fic. i appreciate it so much + hope this helps soothe some of the pain from the semi final :(

pairing: bf!jude bellingham x reader summary: after England’s heartbreaking 1-2 semi-final loss to Argentina, a devastated Jude tries to hold it together in public but completely falls apart once he’s back in the hotel room with you. heavy emotional comfort, soft reassurance, and the quiet kind of love that helps him through the worst nights. warnings: pain. more pain. more pain. and some sweet loving comfort. heavy angst + emotional hurt/comfort, mentions of jude crying, soft intimacy (nothing explicit), established relationship wc: 3.1k

It never really gets easier for Jude. Winning is stitched into his bones. He hates losing with a quiet, burning fury most people never see. But nothing cuts quite as deep as the feeling that he’s let an entire country down.

You watched it all with your pulse roaring in your ears. For long stretches England had looked dangerous, unbreakable even. Anthony Gordon’s goal had sent the England end into delirium, and for a little while the dream felt dangerously close again. This time. This year. The whole nation had let itself believe.  Then it slipped away in the cruelest way possible. Again.

Two late goals from Argentina, clinical and ruthless, tore the final apart in stoppage time. The final whistle sounded like the end of everything. The stadium erupted in blue and white while the England players stood frozen on the pitch, chests heaving, dreams crumbling in front of their eyes.

Denise had her sunglasses on, but her grip on your arm was tight. Mark looked utterly devastated for his son, jaw clenched, eyes glassy. Your own throat felt raw, too tight. None of you could find words. You could only stare down at the pitch as Argentina celebrated wildly in front of the shell-shocked Three Lions.

Jude was near the centre circle, hands on his hips, head bowed. Even from the stands you could see the devastation carved into him. His broad shoulders rose and fell with each ragged breath, jersey clinging to his sweat-drenched frame. He tried so hard to hold it together, his jaw locked tight, eyes blinking rapidly against the sting, but the mask was cracking. You watched him mouth “fuck… fuck” under his breath, one hand dragging roughly down his face as if he could wipe the reality away. His knees looked like they might buckle for a second. The worst part was always watching him grieve the dream in real time, watching the reality of what they'd just lost settle in. 

He still tried. He always did. You saw him pull a couple of the lads into quick, tight hugs, clap backs, force a few words of encouragement even as his own world felt like it was collapsing around him. But the pain was written so clearly across his face. His eyebrows furrowed deep, lips pressed into a thin line, dark eyes glassy and distant. He looked lost. Gutted. Like the weight of every “what if” and “so close again” was pressing down on his shoulders so much he could barely keep himself upright. The minute you saw him crying, your heart shattered clean in two.

“God, I just hope they’re easy on him in the interviews,” you whispered, voice tight.

“They never make it easy,” Mark replied quietly, patting your back.

Denise’s voice was barely above a breath, but it was steady. “He knows how to handle it. He just needs to get through the next few hours.”

The time between the final whistle and when the lads finally made their way over to the family and friends section blurred into something heavy and suffocating. You couldn’t bring yourself to check your phone. Couldn’t find any words for Denise or Mark. The hurt sat deep in your chest, sharp and aching, all for him.

You only looked up from the floor when you heard movement around you. Jude was walking over, cap pulled low, head down, shoulders slumped so low that it made him look smaller than his six-foot-one frame ever should. The devastation rolled off him in waves.

He hugged his mum first. She held him tight, whispering things you couldn’t hear, and you watched his broad shoulders tremble under her arms. Then his dad. Mark held him upright, hand rubbing slow circles on his back, murmuring quiet words of pride. That’s when you finally caught a proper look at his face. His breathing was hitched, eyes red-rimmed, one hand covering them as if that could shield him from the cameras that never stopped clicking. The media could be so cruel. They’d been vicious during the Euros, tearing him apart for every mistake, every expression, every “arrogant” celebration that wasn’t a celebration at all. Tonight they weren’t quite as vicious yet, but still… they were there. Waiting for the golden boy to break.

You met his eyes over Mark’s shoulder. His eyebrows knitted together the moment your eyes locked, and you were sure your face mirrored the pain on his. His bottom lip trembled for a split second before he forced it still. He was with his safe people, but the stadium still felt too exposed, too bright, too full of eyes that wanted to watch him fall apart.

Instead of letting himself fall into you – because he knew if he did, the dam would break completely – he dropped into the seat beside you and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, cap pulled even lower to hide his face more. You placed a hand on his back, rubbing slow, soothing lines up and down, offering whatever small comfort you could. It felt like the rest of the stadium had gone quiet. All you could hear was the occasional quiet sniffle he tried to hide.

“I’m so sorry Jude–” 

He shook his head quickly, dismissive. Like he wasn’t ready to hear it out loud yet, like mentioning it at all was irritating the wound. 

You frowned, heart twisting as you tried to find something else to say. “Did the interviews go okay?”

He nodded, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Yeah… yeah. Just told them I was gutted.” His voice cracked on the last word and he cleared his throat, trying to steady it. “I’m so fucking–” He couldn’t finish, his voice breaking again as he hid his face with his hands. The words were too painful, caught in his throat.

You shuffled closer, your hand never stopping its gentle path along his back. “Alright, baby… I know. I know,” you whispered, leaning your head against his shoulder.

He stayed hunched forward, breathing shaky, the weight of another near-miss pressing down on him like it might crush him right there in the stadium’s seat. Eventually the staff started rounding the lads up for the post match briefing before the third place game on Saturday. Jude stood slowly, blinking away fresh tears, trying to pull some composure back together that clearly wasn’t there.

He hugged his mum and dad again, long and tight. In that moment Morgan Rogers wandered over, looking just as drained as the rest of them. He’d become a close friend to Jude during the tournament, always by his side, and by extension he’d grown close with you too.

“Sorry Morgs,” you said quietly as you pulled him into a hug, “I don’t know what to say to you.”

He let out a heavy sigh against your shoulder, a little more composed than Jude but still clearly gutted. “Yeah… I know,” he mumbled, voice quiet. “Doesn’t feel real yet.”

You pulled back and gave his arm a gentle pat, your worried eyes already drifting back to Jude, who was wiping at his face again as he let go of his dad. “Stick close to him tonight, yeah?” you whispered.

Morgan nodded, frowning a little, the concern clear on his face. “I got him. Don’t worry. We’ll see you back at the hotel later.”

Jude eventually turned toward you. He placed a hand on your waist, not a full hug yet, like he still didn’t trust himself not to completely break down in front of everyone. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, lingering there for a second.

“I love you,” you whispered, hand cupping the back of his neck, thumb stroking gently.

His voice came out higher than normal, shaky and cracking under the weight of everything. “I know, baby… I love you more.”

Then they were gone, trailing after the staff with their heads down. All you could do was watch his tall frame disappear, shoulders still carrying far too much, and wait until you could finally have him to yourself at the hotel later.

A few hours later you were lying on his bed in the team hotel. The room was dim, only the bedside lamp on. Jude’s head was buried in your chest, his body curled into you like he was trying to disappear. He’d showered and changed into his favourite black hoodie and joggers, but he was still so withdrawn, so quiet compared to the Jude you knew and loved. All losses affected him. But losses with England broke something deeper inside him every single time.

He loved playing for his country. It wasn’t just football to him; it was legacy, it was family, it was the little boy from Stourbridge who grew up watching the Three Lions and dreaming of being the one to finally bring it home. Every time they got close and fell short, the shame lingered. He carried the weight of a nation’s hope on his shoulders, and when it slipped away again, he internalised it as a personal failure. Like he hadn’t been good enough. Like he’d let every kid back home, every fan who believed, every former player who’d come before him, down. It wasn’t rational, but it was Jude. He was a winner through and through, and this kind of hurt cut right to the soul of his very being.

You kissed his temple softly, not rushing him. You’d stay here in silence until they forcibly dragged him from your arms if you had to. He wasn’t crying anymore, he was just silent. Both hurt the same.

After a long stretch of quiet, his voice finally cracked the stillness, low and hoarse.

“I… I wanted it so bad.” The words came out raw, almost childlike in their honesty. You felt them land heavy in your chest, a fresh source of sadness pouring over you. “You all did, Jude. You all fought so, so hard out there.”

“But it wasn’t enough,” he whispered, voice breaking on the last word. “It’s never fucking enough. We got so close again… I really thought it felt different this time. I believed in us. I believed in me.”

He shifted slightly, pressing his face harder into your chest like he could hide from the memory of those late goals. You ran your fingers up and down his neck, slow and soothing.

“Jude… you’re twenty-three. Twenty-three. You just led your country to the semi-finals of a World Cup. Do you know how insane that is? How many players would kill for what you’ve already done at your age?”

He stayed quiet for a moment, breathing against you. When he spoke again his voice was muffled but thick with emotion.

“It just hurts so much. I don’t know what even happened to us. We were winning. We were in control. And then…” His shoulders started to shake. “It felt like we were finally going to do it. Like the whole country was behind us. Like maybe this was our time.”

You tightened your arms around him, heart aching.

“You brought the nation together, Jude. For weeks people have been smiling again, believing again, wearing the shirt with pride because of you and the boys. Kids all over England are kicking a ball around in the park right now pretending to be you. That doesn’t go away just because it didn’t end with the trophy. You gave them hope. You gave them something to dream about. You get to keep doing that for years.”

He let out a shaky breath, almost a sob, and shuffled up so he could bury his face properly in the crook of your neck. His big body curled around yours, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist as he breathed you in like you were the only thing keeping him together.

“I knew if I let you comfort me in the stadium I was gonna sob,” he mumbled against your skin. “And… you know I just don’t want people seeing me like that. Not the cameras. Not the whole world. They already love tearing me down when things go wrong. Especially after the Euros… I couldn't give them that again. But I wanted you to comfort me, I needed it.”

You stroked the back of his neck, pressing soft kisses to his hair.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time, baby. Not with me. Not with your family. You’re allowed to hurt. You’re allowed to be gutted. You just carried a whole country on your back for weeks. It’s okay if it feels heavy right now.”

He was quiet for a long time, just breathing against you, fingers clutching the back of your top.

“I really thought we had it this time,” he whispered eventually, voice small. “It felt… different. The lads were so together. The belief in the camp was real. And then it just… slipped. Again.”

You held him tighter.

“And it will feel different next time too. Because you’re going to keep growing. You’re going to keep getting better. And one day, whether it’s the next tournament or the one after,  you’re going to lift that trophy. I know it. Your mum knows it. Your dad knows it. The whole country knows it, even if they’re hurting tonight. It hurts because you had belief, Jude. But we all still believe in you.”

He let out a wet, broken little sound and pressed even closer, legs tangling with yours.

“I just wanted it for them, you know? For my family. For you. For the fans who travel everywhere. For the kids who look up to me.” His voice cracked again. “I wanted it so fucking bad.”

“I know you did, my love. And you’ll get another chance. You’re only twenty-three. The best years are still ahead of you.”

He stayed buried in your neck for a long time after that, letting the quiet comfort of your arms slowly ease some of the weight. Every now and then his shoulders would shake with another quiet sob, and you’d just hold him closer whispering how proud you were, how much you loved him, how this one loss didn’t define the incredible player and man he was.

You kept stroking his hair, heart still aching for him, but so full of love it almost hurt. This was your Jude. The one the world didn’t always get to see. The one who carried everything so beautifully, even when it broke him.

“I’ll never forget your face when they sang Wonderwall and Hey Jude to you,” you whispered, voice soft. “Never. You’ve made some beautiful memories, baby. Ones that millions of people are going to hold onto for years. That’s not nothing.”

He stayed quiet for a long time, just breathing against your neck, arms locked around you like you were the only solid thing left in the world. When he finally spoke, his voice was small and raw.

“It just… it hurts so much tonight. I know I’m young. I know there’ll be more chances. But right now it feels like we were so fucking close. Like we had it in our hands and it just… slipped away again.”

You pressed a kiss to the top of his head again, hands smoothing down his back

“I know, my love. And it’s okay to feel that. You’re allowed to be devastated. You’re allowed to grieve it. But please don’t let it make you forget how far you’ve already come. Twenty-three years old and you’re one of the best players in the world. You’ve carried this team. You’ve inspired a whole country. Kids are going to grow up wanting to be you because of what you showed them this summer.”

He let out a shaky breath that sounded half like a sob, half like a laugh.

“You always know what to say,” he mumbled, voice higher than usual from crying. “Can’t even cry properly without you making it feel better. Even when I feel like the biggest failure in the world… you make me feel like maybe I’m not.”

“You’re not,” you said firmly, tilting his chin up gently so you could look at him. His eyes were red, lashes wet, but they were still the same beautiful brown eyes you fell in love with. “You’re my favourite person in the whole world. The hardest worker I know. The one who never gives up. The one who makes me proud every single day. This one loss doesn’t change any of that.”

He stared at you for a long moment, something fragile and hopeful flickering across his face. Then he leaned in and kissed you. Gentle and slow, full of everything he couldn’t quite say. It was soft and grateful, his lips moving against yours like he was trying to pour every ounce of love and thanks into it. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours again.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he whispered. “Seriously. Tonight would’ve been unbearable if I didn’t have you waiting for me.”

“You’ll always have me,” you promised, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “Win, lose, or draw. I’m right here.”

A tiny, tired smile finally cracked across his lips. It was barely there underneath the grief, but you saw it. It was the first one you’d seen since the final whistle, and it made your heart feel a little lighter.

“There he is,” you whispered, smiling back. “My favourite smile in the world.”

He let out a quiet huff of laughter and kissed you again, slower this time, sweeter. When he pulled away he tucked his face back into your neck, arms tightening around you as his body finally started to relax.

“Thank you,” he murmured against your skin, voice sleepy and warm. “For being here with me. Loving all of me. Even the shit parts that make me cry like a baby.”

“Especially the shit parts,” you teased gently, still playing with his curls. “I love every single one of them.”

He didn’t answer with words, he pressed one last soft kiss to your collarbone and let out a long, exhausted breath. Within minutes his breathing evened out, the tension finally draining from his shoulders as a restless sleep took him over.

You kept holding him, hands still moving gently over him to soothe him, heart full even though it still ached. Tomorrow would be hard. The media, the questions, the what-ifs. But tonight he was safe, here with you in your arms. One day, you truly believed it, he would lift that trophy. You closed your eyes and imagined it. His smile lighting up the whole stadium. The tension finally falling away from his shoulders. The relief he’d feel. Until then, you’d be with him for every high and every heartbreaking low.

tags: @thesizzler @hvnsinureyes

[jadeittic]

More Than A Driver (Red Bull Version)

story masterlist — check it out!

summary: one day, you're the future of mercedes. the next, you're watching toto wolff hand your seat to a rookie. entering a garage known for breaking drivers is a massive gamble, but with a twitchy car that demands perfection and a world champion teammate who respects nothing but pure, unadulterated pace, you finally have the tools to fight back.

pairing: formula one + female!driver!reader

warnings/tags: smau + irl, mentions about misogyny, cursing here and there, lowkey mercedes shade (but because of what they did to her!), ferrari!lewis, redbull!reader

notes: redbull!yn here we coooomeee !!! we're now in navy blue wink wink, so excited for what i have in store for you guys as we explore a new chapter in the following season ;)

The rain was drumming a steady beat against the glass of the Red Bull building. Inside, the room was quiet, away from the chaos.

Mekies handed you a warm cup of coffee, his expression serious but kind. After the absolute mess of getting dropped by Mercedes - watching Toto hand your seat to Kimi before your side of the garage was even finished packing up - this quiet room felt like a sanctuary.

"I know your head is probably spinning," Mekies said, leaning against the edge of a desk. "What Toto did... it wasn't about your talent. It was politics. But here, we don't care about narratives. We care about how fast you can go."

"I didn't bring you here to be a backup or to get revenge," Mekies said softly but firmly. "I brought you here because you're fast. You're stubborn. You don't back down when things get tough. I want you in that car because I know you can handle it. Max knows it, too."

Right on cue, the door slid open. Max walked in, wearing his usual team kit, a cap pulled low over his eyes. He didn't look angry or unwelcoming, he just looked incredibly focused.

He glanced at Mekies, who gave him a brief nod, and then Max turned his full attention to you. He grabbed a bottle of water and walked over, pulling out a chair across from yours and sitting down.

"So," Max started, his voice casual. "It's official then."

"It's official," you replied, your voice steady despite the nerves humming under your skin.

Max nodded, a small smiles breaking through his face. "Good. Honestly, when we heard what went down, I told Laurent we should call you immediately. Your races this year? You were driving the wheels off that car, even when it looked completely un-driveable."

"Look, our car isn't easy," Max explained honestly. "It's fast, but it's really twitchy, especially in the corners. It takes some getting used to. But I think you're going to fit it really well."

Max stood up and held out his hand, his grip firm and welcoming.

"We're going to be a strong team. Let's go out there, work hard, and show them what they threw away."

taglist: @nyxisnotok @dramaticred @victoria-eliserahh @fullyinlovewithfics @piantonelli @lalaland43 @xxjewellynwatts @sleepyfrog01 @spooky-librarian-ghost @spiderliliesliveon @scenesofobx @rufles2 @wetweathermilton @emsluvsbunnies @bestillmystuckyheart @moonlight52moonlight @starrgir1 @fiercetigerpoison @rufikyof @howling-wolf97 @nuggiesnuggetdog04 @bia-n-t-d @cherubinn7 @kat-w2s8 @sp1rl @exhausted-exho@yavintagebae @silveritydreams @rtyuy1346 @victoria-eliserahh @dramaticred@givcd @marvelousmiss-marvel @josephinel83 @thealikesdogs @kheurwen @seawaterbrain @pharmasennapuff @yourlocalrivergirl @anyasthoughts @idkmaybesparkling @hellsingalucard18 @bella423 @popasterous@existing-apparently@akeeema @hanquokkascheeks @melanie-15 @cevans-winchester @wispmemt @solo-bunni @joostkleinn @stup1dlysmart-human

[ilovesfandoms]

personally, i don’t get when there’s an ‘x reader’ fic, but they give reader a name because “we don’t use y/n around here”. i thought the whole point of x reader fanfictions was to have y/n because it’s x READER not a random person

[wetweathermilton]

Fuck today’s race. fuck the fia. Fuck f1. Fuck Ferrari.

but we are still in the WDC fight so hell yeah. Lewis I’m so proud of you. I’m so sorry this sport continues to be jealous of you and fucks you over.

Onwards and upwards.🩷🥲

also extremely saddened about kimi. he was panicking so much. poor boy.

[wetweathermilton]

“I Mich You.”

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Fem!Wife!Reader

Summary: Lewis surprises your babygirl at school.

Warnings: FLUFF!! Mentions of giving birth, parental guilt, guilt of leaving your family behind and choosing between career or family, lewis is the BEST dad and BEST husband, healthy family, Daisy is the cutest baby, that’s all I think!!

AN: I saw a video based on the title and it was so cute I HAD to write this!!!🥹❤️ this was written in a rush and finished at 2 am, pls Im sorry. I’ve been mia a long time so I might be rusty. But this photo from the plus44 photoshoot KILLED me. I need to give him babies. He’s a girl dad. Bye.

[divider by @pxrce-lain ]

"You know she's going to lose her mind, right?", you chuckled fondly while typing on your laptop, the click clack of the keys a pleasant sound in the quiet, cozy, coolness of your bedroom, which was filled with warmth as your husband's infectious giggles floated out of the closet.

"I know, that's the point!", Lewis walked out with a blue hoodie on, a bright smile pulling at his cheeks, one that showed his cute tooth gap and deep dimples.

He had just gotten back from a triple header and finally had some time off, which he wanted to spend doing domestic things with you and your 3 year old baby girl, Daisy.

“You don’t know how difficult it was to keep this secret from her. When you called me to say that you’d landed and told me to not put her on the phone, she kept side eyeing me like I stole her chocolate or something!”, you grumbled jokingly as he came up to your bedside and flopped down in front of you, his hands coming over to cup your chin before leaning in and kissing your other cheek sloppily.

Ideally, he was going to come home after Daisy came back from nursery. But somehow his flight was scheduled earlier than expected, due to which he was now home after Daisy had left for her nursery. Which is why he had immediately put his bags away, showered, and changed into comfy clothes, just so he could pick her up.

Your heart grew three sizes when you saw how excited he was.

It was like all of his exhaustion had melted away at the thought of seeing her again. You were used to him being away for longer times after being with him for so many years. But ever since Daisy had started to figure out that her dad had to go away for weeks and months for his job, even though she could still see him on the tv screen, she had understood that he would not be coming home anytime soon, she had understood that whenever Mommy said that "we will see daddy on TV today!" more than once a week, it meant that Daddy was not going to be back sooner.

It always prompted a sad breakdown, which broke your heart, and you had to call Lewis while he was in the midst of working or in a meeting, and he'd have to reassure her that he will 'pinky promise' call at bedtime for a story. (And he would, without fail. No matter how tired he was.)

"She's just like her mummy. So smart and sharp", he pressed another kiss to your cheek before squishing your face in his hands.

You pouted and took a hand off the keyboard to poke at his stomach through the soft fabric of his hoodie He jumped and chuckled loudly.

"Owkay, shmartass. Now go and bwing the pwincessh home", you managed to blabber out from your squished cheeks, making your speech sound similar to Donald Duck.

Lewis giggled again before releasing your face to softly caress it and kissing you, jumping out of the bed to quickly reunite with his princess.

-

The nursery is pretty close to your house, so Lewis found himself standing outside the nursery gate in just under 10 minutes, which still leaves 5 minutes for him to spare until they let the kids disperse.

He had the hood over his head, so as to not disturb the other parents, kids and teachers, even if all them had already gotten used to seeing Daisy's very famous Dad and Mum pick her up. They had seen him at enough events, cheering little Daisy on, and be present pick ups to not be surprised about his presence.

He sent you a quick text to let you know that he'd reached, before pocketing his phone and restlessly darting his eyes towards the gate in anticipation, his teeth stressing the inside of his cheek and feet constantly moving back and forth.

After flashing a smile to another parent standing next to him, the sharp trill of the dispersal bell hit his ears, making him perk up and snap his head towards the sound, an involuntary smile already stretching at his lips.

He tries to stay strong for the both of you, he really does, but he misses the two of you so, so much. When he's all alone in a hotel room in some other country, or even in some of his own houses across the world, the silence feels like it physically hurts, the bed is always too cold and lumpy without his two girls in it, making his insomnia worse and emotions wavy.

Lewis hates to admit it, but he has missed some of Daisy’s milestones, barely even making it in time for her first day of school, and the thought that he's putting one half of his heart at stake for his other side that consisted of speed and adrenaline, always makes him doubt himself whether he's doing it right, or not. Of course, he has you reassuring him at every moment, you have made your own sacrifices to ensure that you guys had a normal life, and it was something he'd always respect. You're his rock, you’re why he keeps pushing even on his darkest days.

Lewis also knows this makes him looks clingy and unsure of himself, but maybe he is. He doesn't take his family lightly. And god, he's hoping he doesn't cry right now in front of everyone and worry, or embarrass, Daisy.

He heard the stomps of little footsteps over the sound of his loud thoughts, pulling his attention back towards the gate. Now, his eyes had a shine to them. Whether they were unshed tears or the happiness at reuniting with his Daisy-Daze, he welcomed it nonetheless. Brown eyes eagerly swept past bright outfits and backpacks, the sweet squeals and giggles of kids automatically brightened the otherwise gloomy day in London,

and that's when he heard it.

"Daddy?!"

A loud, high pitched voice yelled over the other kids' voices, Lewis getting a whiplash from how quickly he turned his head towards the source, and there she was.

His little princess, in her purple t-shirt and lilac leggings, her sparkly Barbie pink shoes, her bouncy curls- which were tied up in adorable little plaits, a ritual that he missed dearly- were adorned with matching rubber bands and were all over the place as she ran over to where he was standing, her tiny ‘Sofia the First’ backpack going up and down as she did so.

Lewis immediately crouched to be on her level, his eyes crinkling and dimples deepened by the sheer amount of joy he was feeling. He opened his arms for her to climb in, a small 'oof' leaving him as she crashed into his chest, her tiny but determined arms going around his neck as her face pressed into the shoulder of his hoodie, eyes scrunched up tightly as his hands pulled her closer to his warm embrace.

"Hi, my sweetie", Lewis cooed, his own eyes shutting close, the telltale sting of tears made him pull her closer as he safely picked her up, standing upright with a hand behind her head and an arm supporting her legs and bottom.

The entire world had ceased to exist for them.

All the two of them could feel, were these big emotions, that made them take big breaths which expanded their lungs, as Lewis started rocking his body left to right.

He was so sure that if you were here, you’d be crying and capturing this moment proudly. The three of you didn’t need anything else when you were with each other.

His train of thoughts was again broken by Daisy’s soft and shaky voice. “Daddy…I mich you.”

She sounded so small and sad, he felt his heart breaking into pieces. He pouted and pulled away to look at her, his breath hitching as he looked at her damp face, her little mouth tugged into the saddest frown he’d ever seen.

And his guilt was back in full effect.

Lewis couldn’t handle seeing his little sunshine so upset, you even teased him at times for spoiling her (even though she was the most precious and good baby). But on the odd occasion that he’d manage to upset her, his guilt and anxiety would sky rocket because he was the cause of it.

Because she trusted him and loved him so unconditionally, and even though he left the two of you alone at home, for months and months, the two of you still chose him. He’s forever grateful for that.

He was seriously contemplating on taking a break but he knew that you would never force him to sit home, and his own heart, body and mind would find that difficult to do.

So, he had decided to make gold out of what he already had.

“Oh, my darling, daddy missed you so much too”, he gave her a kind smile before brushing her hair away from her sticky cheeks.

She still couldn’t pronounce her S’s or R’s properly, so she ends up saying “mich” instead of “miss”, and it was so cute to return her baby talk back, but you’d told him (and he’d read) that although parents should encourage the kids to talk in whatever way they want, they must never repeat the baby talk after a certain age, to help them grasp the correct vocabulary better.

So you’d always correct her in your responses, and she would always get the cutest furrow in her brows as she processed it.

She had the same look right now, except now she just looked adorably mad, her chubby fingers gently pulling at his hoop earring, her favourite thing to do whenever she was cuddling him or wanted to self soothe.

“You late. I wait for you evevy day! I-I tell mummy I mich daddy. Mummy say Daddy back soon but, Mummy mich Daddy too when Mummy sleep. Daddy late and on TV, again!”, She huffed out and clumsily wiped her tears, her cheeks puffed out because of how hard she was trying to be angry.

Lewis bit the inside of his cheek again to control the surge of emotion, torn between crying or cooing at her adorable British accent that she took from him, and instead, held her hand in his own inked ones, bringing it up to kiss it, before moving up towards her face to kiss her cheek in apology.

“Daddy’s so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. I know I’m late. You can scold me all you want. But I’m here now! I came here just to pick you up! Tomorrow, we will go out on a picnic—You, Mummy, and I. What say, hm? No school for you.”

He saw the moment her eyes lit up with joy, her legs began swinging with excitement at the thought of staying at home with her favourite people and doing her favourite thing: picnic!

She was completely his twin with the way she loved the outdoors. Spent nine months in your tummy, only to come back out as her father’s carbon copy.

Safe to say, your hands were full with two adventurers.

“Picnic? Pwomise? No ‘chool? I sleep with mummy daddy?”, she asked excitedly, her hands bunching up his hoodie as he smiled at her brightly, nodding as a reply.

Lewis giggled loudly as she let out a big “Yay!!” and pressed her cheek to his, his hand splaying over her back to bring her closer.

“Tank yew, daddy!”, Daisy said cutely and pressed a loud smooch on his cheek, making him smile so hard that his cheeks were hurting. His baby girl was already getting so big, she’d learnt manners and everything now!

If only she knew how much that deeply affected her poor old man. He already misses all the times he’s spent away from her and missed on these firsts.

“Thank you? Princesses don’t say thank you to their daddy, Daze. I love you, so so much, okay? Daddy loves you and mummy the most, don’t forget that, okay?”, his voice unknowingly broke as he finished the sentence, his hand rubbing her small back in comfort as she watched him with that child like innocence in her sparkly doe eyes.

“I no fowget, daddy. Mummy and me love you one, two, three, four, five!!”, she stubbornly added, her favourite thing to say whenever you would say “too.” It was so sweet, that you and Lewis couldn’t help but make it a little tradition and a silly joke to let her prove that she loved you more in numbers.

She simply added the numbers that she knew.

Which were only till 5, for now.

Lewis simply smiled fondly, his heart full with so much love that he didn’t know what to do with it.

This little human ruled his life, and he was happy to let her do it. She had him wrapped around on her tiny finger, right from the moment he saw her screaming, crying, pale and squirmy little body in the hospital room, 3 years ago.

He cleared his throat before the dam broke, and gently removed her backpack, slinging the tiny thing around his broad back, and shifted her to his other side, locking his arms across her to secure her on his hip, her legs going around his waist and arms holding on to his shoulders with her unwavering trust in him.

At that moment, he knew exactly what his sister told him when she held Willow for the first time on her hip: pure, soft, tender love and overwhelming responsibility for this little baby who returned all of your love back, tenfold and trusted you blindly to never drop them when they wrap around you like this.

God, he’d do anything for her. And you. The thought was scary, but he was nothing if not daring and fearless.

“Okay. Let’s go back to mummy, Daze?”, he softly asked her, kissing her forehead as he made his way out of the school compound.

“Okey, daddy”, Daisy Hamilton sleepily murmured before laying her head on her father’s big and comforting shoulders, the ones the held the dreams of thousands and the sweet weight of his daughter’s and wife’s tired heads.

Lewis Hamilton was an 8 times world champion.

But this was his most favourite victory: being loved unconditionally by the people he called home.

-

AN: I love girl dad lewis are you kidding me.

[pxrce-lain]

⎯ ׅ ‌꒰۪۪ ᩧ carebear dividers 𑣲 like & reblog

[jadeittic]

More Than A Driver (Reimagined)

Chapter 10 — previous

story masterlist — check it out!

summary: lewis hamilton announces his shocking departure to ferrari. but as one door closes brutally in mercedes, the rest of the grid starts to move.

pairing: formula one + female!driver!reader

warnings/tags: smau + irl, slight angst, paddock politics

notes: last chap for driver!yn's mercedes lore!!! her next one will give her wings 👀

reblogs, likes, and comments are so so appreciated! if you want to read more from me, kindly submit in my inbox !!! xoxo

f1 ✔

liked by yourinstagram, lando, and 18,329,034 others

f1 ✔ BREAKING: Lewis Hamilton will leave Mercedes at the end of the season and join Ferrari on a multi-year deal.

After seasons with Mercedes, Lewis Hamilton will begin a new chapter in red. The move marks one of the biggest driver transfers in Formula One history.

view all comments

scuderiaferrari ✔ Welcome to the family!

lando ✔ i woke up to WHAT

user89 chat is this real

user9 unfortunately yes

user60 i've refreshed this post 14 times hoping it'd disappear

user7 somebody check on toto

user3 nah somebody check on YN

user4 this notification ruined my lunch

user74 imagine being the dude who had to schedule this post

user63 Y/N HAS BEEN SO QUIET WRU GIRL

yourinstagram ✔

liked by lewishamilton, oscarpiastri, and 14,238,498 others

yourinstagram ✔ i'll miss having you on the other side of the garage more than words can explain. go make history in red.

i love you always, lew ❤️

view all comments

lewishamilton ✔ So proud of the person you've become. Keep making them believe. I love you forever.

user74 can't be crying over people i've never met

user6 i don't even watch f1 like that and i'm crying???

user72 i know lewis saw this and had to sit down for a second

user80 this is what closure looks like ig??????

user23 "go make history in red" STOP SHE KNEW EXACTLY WHAT SHE WAS DOING

alex_albon someone get me tissues this is too much

LEWIS HAMILTON TO LEAVE MERCEDES.

Inside your pocket, your phone was vibrating relentlessly. You didn't need to pull it out to look. You already knew exactly what every single notification said.

George. Lando. Alex. Charles. Oscar. Your parents. Friends you hadn't spoken to in months, suddenly resurrected.

Hundreds of mentions. Thousands of notifications. The entire motorsport world was screaming into a void, looking for answers, for confirmation, for a sign of life.

Across the crowded garage, cutting through the sea of mechanics an engineers who were trying very hard to look busy, you spotted them. Lewis was standing near the back of the tire racks, speaking quietly to Toto.

Neither of them looked surprised. They didn't look angry, either. They just looked profoundly tired. As if the announcement hadn't actually exploded this morning.

Toto said something, gesturing faintly with his hand. Lewis nodded, his eyes scanning the floor before lifting.

That's when he caught your eye.

For a fraction of a second, the overwhelming noise of the garage completely disappeared. The chaos faded into static. Lewis offered you a small smile. It was a heavy look that asked a single question:

You alright?

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat and answered with a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

I'm okay.

It was the biggest lie of the weekend. Neither of you believed it.

mercedesamgf1 ✔

liked by georgerussell63, yourinstagram, and 10,329,582 others

mercedesamgf1 ✔ The end of an era, but the bond remains forever. Catch the ultimate trio before the paddock dynamics change forever! 🏎️👑

view all comments

georgerussell63 ✔ Gonna miss the chaotic energy. And don't worry, I'll look after her. 👊 user6 GEORGE PLEASE I AM ALREADY CRYING DO NOT START user51 "i'll look after her" oh he's taking the older brother role offically

user9 NO MORE TIKTOKS OF GEORGE AND Y/N PRANKING LEWIS. NO MORE MATCHING FITS. I AM SICK

user76 standardly deleting instagram for the rest of the year because this press will take ten years off my life

The press conference room had never been this suffocatingly full.

Normally, it attracted a healthy, predictable crowd. Today, there wasn't an empty seat left. People lined the back walls three rows deep, camera operators stood shoulder to shoulder, and late arrivals lingered helplessly in the doorway.

The moderator leaned into the microphone, he said, "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us. I think we all know where this is going."

The room erupted into a wave of intense, knowing laughter just as the side door opened.

Lewis entered first, still wearing his team kit, still smiling, and still impossibly composed. Yet, there was something undeniably different about him - he looked lighter, as though the crushing weight of carrying the secret had finally lifted.

Behind him came you, your hands tucked into your pockets to hide the slight tremor in your fingers. George brought up the rear, already looking resigned to his his role as a spectator at his own team's press conference.

As the three Mercedes drivers settled into their chairs, the wall of cameras exploded into a deafening roar of shutters.

Lewis adjusted his microphone. You reached for your water bottle, taking a slow sip just to give your hands something to do. The moderator barely finished introducing the panel before the first hand shot into the air like a rocket.

"Lewis," a journalist stood, gripping his notepad. "Why Ferrari?"

Lewis smiled softly, his eyes lingering briefly on the iconic logo across his chest. "I've achieved things with Mercedes that I'll sped the rest of my life being profoundly grateful for. This team made me who I am. But every driver dreams of wearing red at least once in their career. This isn't about leaving something behind because it's broken. It's about challenging myself one more time. I wanted a brand-new chapter."

The room fell completely quiet. "You don't make a decision like this lightly," Lewis added, his tone lowering. "I've thought about it for a long time. And now... it just feels right."

The moderator turned his gaze toward another raised hand. "Question for you."

Every single head in the room pivoted toward your side of the table. The journalist offered you an apologetic smile. "I imagine this is going to be the question you've been asked most frequently today, but... when exactly did you find out?"

"...Earlier than everyone else."

Another immediate wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd. "Were you surprised?" the reporter pressed.

"I think the entire world was surprised. I just happened to have had a little more time to process the shock than the rest of you."

Immediately, another hand went up. "There's been an immense amount of speculation surrounding a private conversation you and Lewis had on the grid after qualifying a couple of weeks ago. Were you two discussing this specific announcement?"

Lewis glanced sideways at you, a subtle tilt of his head. He was giving you the floor, giving the choice of how much to reveal.

You nodded once, leaning into your mic. "We were. He trusted me with something incredibly important, and I was deeply, deeply honored that he felt he could do that."

Another journalist immediately jumped on the answer. "Was it difficult keeping a secret like that?"

You let out a breathless laugh. "Oh, it was unbelievably difficult. I'm not exactly known for having the most impressive poker face in the world."

"She's being modest," Lewis interjected, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "She was fantastic."

Even George couldn't stay silent anymore. "There were a few morning briefings where she looked like she desperately wanted to blurt something out just to stop her brain from exploding."

"I absolutely did," you agreed, throwing your hands up in mock defeat.

The laughter eased the weight in the room for a fleeting moment, until an older, sharp reporter stood up from the front row, holding your gaze.

"This is for you. Mercedes has just lost arguably the greatest, most successful driver in the entire history of the sport. In your honest opinion... can Lewis ever truly be replaced?"

You didn't answer immediately. Instead of looking at the journalist, you looked to your left. You looked at Lewis. Really looked at him. This was the man who had become an irreplaceable mentor from the moment you joined the team, a supportive teammate, and a genuine friend.

You turned back to the microphone. "No," you said. "You don't replace Lewis Hamilton. You simply learn how to continue after him."

The silence that followed your words somehow felt louder, more resonant, than the deafening applause after a victory. Several journalists slowly lowered their pens.

Lewis blinked once, looking down at the table for a long second, his jaw working as he swallowed down the sudden wave of raw emotion creeping into his throat.

George, sensing the gravity of the moment, reached over without looking and gave Lewis's shoulder a quick, firm nudge.

The moderator cleared his throat, his own voice a bit tighter. "Next question, please."

A journalist stood up, a vibrant energy back in his voice. "Lewis, what do you think the future of Mercedes looks like without you leading the charge?"

Lewis managed a warm smile. "I think the future of this team is in very good hands, very capable hands." He gestured openly toward George, and then turned his hand toward you.

"They are both extraordinary, fiercely talented drivers. I've watched them grow over the races. I've watched them make mistakes, take their knocks, and come back infinitely stronger every single time. I don't think Mercedes needs to search for another me. They don't need a copy. They need this next generation to fully become themselves."

You looked down at your hands, a sudden swell of pride and bittersweet gratitude warming your chest.

"A question for both of you," another reporter chimed in. "What are you two going to miss the most about working alongside each other as teammates?"

Lewis took the lead, a nostalgic laugh bubbling up. "Oh, definitely the completely random, unhinged conversations we have. We'll spend forty-five minutes intensely analyzing strategy..." He grinned, looking over at you. "...and somehow, we'll end up debating whether penguins have knees."

George leaned over his microphone, his face a picture of deadpan comedy. "I'd just like everyone in this room to know... I walked into that exact room halfway through that debate, and neither of them even acknowledged my existence."

The laughter lingered longer this time, filling the press room with a comfortable warmth. It felt exactly like watching a tight-knit family teasing one another at a dinner table.

Eventually, a journalist stood up near the back of the room.

"This question is specifically for Lewis," the man said. "If you could leave your teammate with just one piece of advice before you put on the red racing suit and move to Ferrari... what would it be?"

The room went dead silent again. Lewis didn't answer right away. He folded his hands together on the table, staring at his knuckles, taking a moment to choose his words carefully. When he lifted his head and spoke, his voice was quieter, stripped of any performance.

"Don't become the driver everyone else expects you to be." He looked up, his eyes locking onto yours. "Become the driver you promised yourself you'd become when you were just a kid."

Your throat tightened instantly, a sudden, sharp prickle of tears threatening to blur your vision. You had to look away, focusing intently on a random spot on the floor before anyone could notice the crack in your composure.

The moderator checked the time and signaled to the room. "We have time for one final question."

A journalist stood up near the back. "This one if for both of you. When this final, long season eventually comes to an end... what do you hope people remember about this partnership?"

Lewis leaned in first. "The victories are nice, of course. The trophies, the poles, the championships - they're incredible milestones. But when I walk away, I just hope people remember that I tried to leave this sport a little bit better, a little more inclusive, than I found it."

Then, it was your turn.

"I hope..." you started, searching for the right words. "...I just hope people remember that I got to spend my years here racing alongside one of my absolute heroes."

Lewis looked away almost immediately, his jaw clenching tightly as he fought back his own reaction to your words.

"And I hope they know," you continue, your voice steady and clear, "that I never took a single lap, or a single day of it, for granted."

For the first time all afternoon, the press room didn't erupt into frantic typing. Instead, a wave of applause broke out.

The moderator officially closed the session, thanking everyone for attending. As you turned to walk off the stage, Lewis reached out, resting a hand briefly against your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Neither of you spoke a word as you walked down the steps and back toward the garage. You didn't need to.

lh44archive

liked by user and 4,390 others

lh44archive i'm genuinely so sick to my stomach just looking at these photos knowing we're never getting this dynamic back. mercedes colors belonged to them and them only. goodbye to the greatest era to ever do it!!!

view all comments

user15 please delete this it hurts too bad

user89 "mercedes colors belong to them" pull the trigger why would you say that

user4 oh! i was planning to keep my sanity today but i guess not

user12 looking at these pics you cannot convince me he wanted to leave. ferrari threw a bag at him and he threw away the love of his life i'm sick

user62 they really used to match their fits every single week and now we're just supposed to accept him wearing red??? 😭😭

Canada, Circuit Gilles-Villeneuve

Everywhere Lewis went, fans stood three rows deep behind the barriers. They held up handmade signs that read: THANK YOU, LEWIS! ONCE A SILVER ARROW, ALWAYS A SILVER ARROW!

Lewis stopped for nearly every single one of them, signing caps, mini helmets, and faded merch that looked older than the fans holding them. You waited patiently nearby, having learned long ago never to rush him during a fan walk.

"You know," you said playfully once the crowd finally began to thin, "at this rate, you're going to miss FP1 entirely."

Lewis looked over, uncapping yet another marker with a grin. "Worth it."

You smiled, shaking your head. "Knew you'd say that."

The media was relentless. Every broadcaster wanted one last feature. It became almost comical - Sky Sports, ESPN, and even high-fashion lifestyle magazines that had never previously uttered the word 'motorsport.'

Lewis took every interview with infinite patience, and whenever he grew visibly exhausted, you found ways to break the tension between takes.

One afternoon, halfway through recording a particularly serious segment, you slipped behind the camera operator and held up increasingly ridiculous cue cards. BLINK TWICE IF U NEED SAVING!!!

Lewis almost choked mid-answer, causing the producer to call a halt to the recording. Lewis pointed a finger directly at you.

You widened your eyes, trying to look completely innocent. "What?"

"You know exactly what."

"I have no exactly what you're talking about." You smiled broadly. You knew exactly what.

@/user tweeted! lewis arriving at canada and stopping for every single person even when the crowd is three rows deep is just the sweetest.

@/user tweeted! i am literally sobbing right now 😭 lewis is an actual angel. y/n joked he was going to miss fp1 and he just smiled and said "worth it"

Mexico City, Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez

After media obligations finally wrapped up, Lewis disappeared from the hospitality suite. Knowing his habits, you tracked him down and found him sitting alone on the pit wall.

You didn't ask for permission. You simply hopped up and sat down right next to him.

Neither of you spoke for a long time. The paddock behind you hummed at a low, quiet frequency as the garages slowly locked up for the night.

Lewis broke the silence. "You know... I've probably spent more time sitting on pit walls in my life than on my own sofa."

You let out a quiet laugh. "I actually believe that."

Another peaceful minute passed before he spoke again. "You'll miss this."

"The racing?"

He shook his head. "No. The quiet. When it's just you... and the circuit."

You let yourself really look at the environment - the empty grandstands, the low hum of the lights overhead, and the faint smell of scorched rubber still lingering in the cool evening air.

"I already do," you admitted softly.

Lewis offered a small smile. "So did I."

@/user tweeted! oh my god look at them ☹️ someone snapped a pic of lewis and y/n in the dark. it's giving such core memory energy

@/user tweeted! finding out lewis skipped the post-media chaos just to go sit with his favorite person is doing things to me.

Brazil, Interlagos

Sprinting from the hospitality building toward the safety of the garage, your boots caught on the slick concrete and you immediately lost your footing.

You barely managed to catch yourself before taking a full dive. A firm hand shot out, grabbing the back of your jacket and hoisting you back upright.

"You've driven open-wheel cars at three hundred kilometers an hour," Lewis teased, letting out a loud laugh, "but walking across a flat floor completely defeats you?"

"The floor attacked me," you shot back, adjusting your jacket.

George walked past the two of you without even slowing his pace, staring straight ahead. "I saw absolutely nothing."

"Traitor!" you called out after him. "You were never going to help me anyway!"

"I support your rights," George shouted over his shoulder, disappearing into the engineering office, "...and your wrongs."

Lewis doubled over, laughing so hard he had to lean back against the tire stacks. "So that's what we're doing now? Is that the new line?"

"He spends way too much time with Alex," you muttered, though you were laughing too.

@/user tweeted! LEWIS'S LOUD GIGGLE IS AN INSTANT SEROTONIN PLS THE WAY HE DOUBLED OVER

@/user tweeted! honestly this trio has zero brain cells when they get together the mercedes garage is just a massive sitcom at this point

Abu Dhabi, Yas Marina Circuit

Abu Dhabi approached far too quickly. Nobody wanted to admit it, but the reality was settling into everyone's bones. The final weekends had stopped being entirely about championship points and had become entirely about preserving memories.

One evening, after a particularly long meeting, one of the mechanics wheeled a karaoke machine into the lounge.

Lewis backed away immediately, raising his hands. "No. Absolutely not. I am not singing."

"Oh, you are absolutely singing," you replied, grabbing a microphone from the table and stepping into his path.

"No."

"Yes!"

"I have a choice, and I choose no."

You thrust the microphone toward him as the surrounding mechanics erupted into a chant. "Le-wis! Le-wis! Le-wis!"

Lewis looked around the room at the sea of grinning faces. Traitors. Every single one of them.

Five minutes later, he was standing right beside you on a makeshift stage, singing hopelessly off-queen to Queen's Don't Stop Me Now.

Half the lyrics you both sang were completely wrong, but neither of you cared. The garage crew cheered louder than they had for actual podium finishes.

The final races blurred together, not because they didn't matter, but because everyone was trying to so desperately hold onto them before they slipped away.

Every autograph took a few seconds longer. Every walk through the paddock slowed down. Every post-race conversation stretched out for an extra twenty minutes

Nobody wanted to be the first to say a definitive goodbye - not while there was still one more race on the calendar, not while Lewis was still dressed in Mercedes black, and not while this chapter hadn't quite reached its final paged.

So instead of mourning the end, you all laughed. More than you ever had before. As if laughter alone could somehow convince the clock to wait.

@/user tweeted! yeah that's family right there. nobody wants this chapter to end i can't handle the abu dhabi vibes this year, it's too heavy for me 💔

@/user tweeted! the chaotic energy of forcing a multi world champion onto a karaoke stage is insane behavior LMAOOO his team doesn't care about boundaries, look at his face when they started chanting his name 😭

That afternoon, the FIA organized one final, special media session dedicated entirely to Lewis. Unliked the highly clinical press conferences from earlier in the season, this one wasn't an interrogation about contracts.

It wasn't about Maranello, and it wasn't even strictly about the mechanics of Mercedes. It was simply... about Lewis.

As the interview progressed, various drivers from the across the grid began wandering into the media pen. Some appearances were planned, but many were completely spontaneous.

Fernando stopped by first. "I've raced against three different generations of drivers now," he told the room, prompting a wave of laughter from the journalists.

He smiled, looking directly at Lewis. "I raced Michael. I raced Sebastian. And I raced Lewis. Every great era eventually comes to an end, but that doesn't make it any easier to watch it happen."

A little while later, Lando wandered past the pen holding a coffee. Spotting the live interview, he immediately froze and tried walking backwards out of the camera frame.

It was entirely too late.

"Lando!" the presenter called out, laughing. "You might as well come over."

Lando sighed dramatically, stepping onto the small stage. "I knew making eye contact was a massive mistake."

"What's one thing you're genuinely going to miss about Lewis being at Mercedes?" the presenter asked him.

Lando didn't even have to think about it. "The black race suit."

Lewis frowned playfully. "...Really? That's it?"

"No," Lando’s smile softened, his voice turning genuine. "I’ll miss looking across the grid before a formation lap and just... expecting you to be there in that car. You’ve always been there since I started. It's going to be weird not seeing it."

The guarded media smile on Lewis's face melted into something deeply touched. "Thanks, mate."

Then came Charles. The atmosphere in the media pen shifted instantly. It wasn't awkward or tense, but it was undeniably surreal.

Because everyone in that room knew what was coming next season: teammates, wearing the same iconic red overalls. Charles stepped up, shaking Lewis's hand firmly before pulling him into a brief hug.

"I am incredibly excited," Charles admitted openly to the cameras, before his eyes drifted to the Mercedes garage across the pit lane. "But... I understand this isn't an easy transition for anyone here."

Lewis nodded quietly. "It isn't."

Charles offered a warm, reassuring smile. "We'll take care of you over there, don't worry."

Standing just behind the main cluster of television cameras, you smiled to yourself. You completely believed him.

georgerussell63 ✔

liked by lewishamilton, yourinstagram, and 6,328,563 others

georgerussell63 ✔ Sharing a garage with you has been the privilege of a lifetime. Proud of what we've built together. 🫡

lando

liked by charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri, and 7,329,681 others

lando grew up cheering for this guy, and now i get to share a track with him. enjoy the next chapter (just don't be too quick in that red car)

charles_leclerc ✔

liked by alex_albon, arvid.lindblad, and 9,810,049 others

charles_leclerc ✔ It is an absolute honor to welcome you to the family. Let's make some history together. 🐎

The rest of the weekend passed in what felt like a matter of minutes. Free practice dissolved into qualifying, and qualifying bled directly into race day. And then, just like that... it was over.

The chequered flag waved one final time on Lewis Hamilton’s legendary Mercedes career. The actual race result barely even mattered; not today.

The cooldown lap took an eternity as Lewis drove slowly around the Yas Marina circuit, letting the moment breathe. In the grandstands, thousands of fans remained standing long after the cars had filed into the pit lane. Many were applauding loudly, while others were crying openly into their team flags.

When Lewis finally climbed out of the cockpit for the last time wearing his Mercedes race suit, the garage crew was already waiting for him.

He hugged the first mechanic he reached, then another, and then another. Someone near the front of the circle started crying, and like a domino effect, the emotion caught on. Soon enough, almost everyone was tearing up.

You stood a few paces back, quietly watching the scene unfold. You knew this specific moment belonged to the people who had spent a decade building his championship cars, and you wanted to give them their space. Eventually, through the sea of people, Lewis reached you.

Neither of you spoke. He simply opened his arms, and you stepped forward immediately.

The hug lasted much longer than either of you had anticipated. When you finally pulled apart, Lewis looked down at you, his eyes searching your face. "You alright?"

You let out a breathless laugh, blinking back suspiciously glassy eyes. "You ask me that every five minutes, Lewis."

"Because I know you."

"I'm perfectly fine."

"Liar," he whispered gently.

You rolled your eyes, sniffing slightly. "Takes one to know one."

He chuckled, a sound of pure relief. "Fair point."

The two of you stood there on the grease-stained garage floor for another long second, neither wanting to be the one to officially walk away first.

Finally, Lewis reached out and gave your shoulder a firm, reassuring squeeze. "I'm incredibly proud of you."

The weight of those words landed much harder in your chest than you expected. You swallowed hard. "You know, you don't actually have to say goodbye."

He smiled, shaking his head. "I'm not saying goodbye. I'm just changing garages. I'm only going to be a few doors down the pit lane."

You nodded, trying to match his optimism. "I know."

But looking around at the empty tire blankets and the settling dust of the season, it still felt unmistakably like goodbye.

That evening, Mercedes hosted one final, strictly private celebration in the hospitality building. There were no media passes allowed, no television cameras, and no corporate sponsors. It was just the team. It was designed as a celebration, but it carried the undeniable weight of a farewell.

Toto stood up first, raising a champagne glass. The low chatter in the room gradually quieted down until you could hear the faint hum of the air conditioning. He looked around at the hundreds of familiar faces before him, his gaze finally resting on Lewis.

"I’ve spent the better part of two decades trying to find the right words to describe what you mean to this team," Toto began, his deep voice echoing slightly. A small laugh rippled through the crowded room. "And honestly, I still haven't found them."

More laughter broke out, easing the tension.

"So instead, I will just say... thank you," Toto said, his expression turning entirely serious. "Thank you for every single lap. For every historic victory. For every heated disagreement in the briefing rooms. For every seemingly impossible engineering idea. For every world championship. And most importantly, thank you for making every single person in this room believe that 'impossible' wasn't actually a word that applied to us."

Silence held the room for a beat, and then the applause broke out. It was long, deafening, and completely relentless.

When the noise finally subsided, Lewis stood up to speak. His own speech was notably shorter, and visibly much harder for him to get through. He didn't focus on his own trophies; instead, he thanked every single department individually.

Halfway through thanking the garage crew, his voice cracked completely. Nobody in the room pretended not to notice. By the time he lowered the microphone and sat back down, there wasn't a dry eye left in the room. Not even Toto's.

You caught yourself looking around the brightly lit room, consciously trying to memorize every single detail. You memorized the sound of the laughter, the background music, the silver race suits hanging decoratively in the corner, and the sight of Lewis smiling warmly despite the tears still shining in his eyes.

You didn't entirely know why, but you had an overwhelming, distinct feeling that you needed to remember this exact moment. Every single second of it. Because a quiet, heavy intuition told you that this wouldn't be the last difficult goodbye you'd have to survive in this sport.

lewishamilton ✔

liked by carlossainz55, maxverstappen1, and 8,419,610 others

lewishamilton ✔ How do you sum up years of magic in a single night?

Last night was full of tears, entirely too much laughter, and some absolutely horrific karaoke that I will be erasing from the internet permanently.

Thank you for letting me be exactly who I am. I might be changing colors next year, but a piece of my heart will always stay black and silver.

view all comments

yourinstagram ✔ thank you for the wildest ride of my life :(

user5 lewis and y/n screaming their lungs out is literally the definition of "instead of mourning we're making it everyone's problem" and honestly i support it

user90 okay cool cool cool i'm just gonna go lie down on the highway

user8 can someone PLEASE leak the unedited audio of the don't stop me now cover i am literally begging on my hands and knees i need to hear how off-key they were

The morning after Abu Dhabi felt disorienting. It wasn’t a dramatic, cinematic ending; it just felt like the world had failed to update itself overnight. The trucks were being packed, and engineers reviewed data out of habit, but Lewis’s side of the garage already felt hollow.

You noticed it first in a tiny detail: his name strip above the workstation had been half-peeled away, like even the building itself wasn't ready to let go.

You stood there, fingers resting lightly on the desk, as Lewis appeared a few minutes later carrying a travel bag. No helmet, no headset, just a man ready to set down a life he’d carried for over a decade.

He caught your eye and walked over. "Flight’s this afternoon," he said quietly.

You nodded. Even goodbyes had logistics.

Lewis exhaled softly, looking around the dismantling garage. "You know what's weird? I've left plenty of circuits before. But this is the first time it feels like the garage is leaving me, too."

You let out a faint laugh. "I get what you mean."

Toto appeared at the far end of the garage, his calm demeanor carrying the weight of something important. “Hey,” he called out quietly, gesturing toward his office. “Can I have a word?”

Lewis gave you a subtle nod.

You followed Toto down the corridor, the door closing with a heavy click. Neither of you sat.

“We’ve made a decision about next season,” Toto began, his tone measured. “We’re bringing Kimi in.”

You nodded, your brain instantly shifting into professional driver mode. “Okay. That’s great for the team. I’m sure he’ll adapt quickly—”

Toto gently cut you off. “He’s not taking Lewis’s seat.”

You frowned slightly. “…George’s?”

Toto shook his head. The silence stretched for a brutal half-second before he said it: “He’s taking yours.”

The words hung in the air. Your expression stayed perfectly composed for exactly one more heartbeat before going entirely still. “So… I’m being replaced.”

“Yes. It’s a long-term strategic decision. It’s not a reflection of your performance.”

It was the standard corporate cushion, but it didn't make the ground any softer. You swallowed the sudden lump in your throat, tightened your jaw, and extended your hand. “Thank you for telling me directly.”

He shook it—firm, respectful, and entirely final. You turned and walked out before the silence could break you.

Back in the garage, life continued exactly as it should. Mechanics were still working, and screens were still running. But when you reappeared, Lewis noticed the subtle shift in your pace immediately.

“You alright?” he asked.

You opened your mouth to give the automatic response, then stopped. “…I think so.”

He studied you for a second, not pushing for details. “Come on. Walk with me.”

You moved through the half-empty paddock together, past the closed hospitality suites and packed-up banners, until you reached the concrete pit wall. The track ahead was silent, almost unrecognizable without the roar of the engines.

“You didn’t look surprised,” Lewis finally said, breaking the quiet.

You gave a short, humorless laugh. “I’m getting good at that, apparently.”

“You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Those words caused your shoulders to finally drop. “I just didn’t think it would feel like this,” you admitted softly.

Lewis nodded slowly. He understood completely. “You know they’ll come for you,” he said, looking out at the empty asphalt.

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

A faint, knowing smile touched his face. “Other teams. They always do.”

You didn’t answer right away, because for the first time all day, that didn't feel like a theory. It felt like an inevitability.

In your pocket, your phone buzzed. Once. Then again. You didn’t look at it yet, but you already knew exactly what it meant. Somewhere in the silence behind you, the rest of the grid had already started to move.

The first message came from an unknown number.

Red Bull Racing.

You stared at the screen for longer than you intended. Not because you didn't understand what it meant, but because you understood it perfectly.

Your thumb hovered over the phone. Then, another notification popped up. Ferrari. Then Aston Martin. Then McLaren.

You let out a short, sharp breath through your nose, almost amused by the brutal timing of it all. Lewis was right. They always came. Not when you were available—but when you were vulnerable.

You locked your phone without replying. For now.

An hour later, you found yourself back in the Mercedes motorhome. It was emptier than it had ever been.

Lewis sat opposite you, his elbows resting on his knees and an untouched bottle of water gripped in his hand.

“You saw it,” he said quietly.

You didn’t ask what. You didn’t need to.

He nodded, and a heavy silence settled between you. You gave a small, casual shrug. “Apparently, I’m popular now.”

That earned a faint, genuine smile from him. “About time.”

You glanced up, locking eyes with him. “You’re not going to tell me what to do, are you?”

He shook his head immediately. “No.” He paused, his voice dropping. “I learned a long time ago that advice only works if someone is still in the same chapter as you.”

Lewis broke the silence again. “I meant what I said yesterday. You’re not done.”

You let out a faint exhale. “That’s not really up to me, is it?”

“It never is,” he said. "But it’s also never decided by a single garage."

The words landed heavily. You didn't respond right away because you knew exactly what he was doing. He wasn’t trying to persuade you; he was reframing the entire geometry of your situation.

This wasn't about Mercedes, or Toto, or one sudden boardroom decision. This was a grid. A market. A system. A sport that moved on ruthlessly fast when it realized it could profit from a new narrative.

You stood up slowly and walked over to the window. The pit lane was mostly deserted. In the distance, a transport truck idled, ready to head to the airport.

Without turning around, you spoke your mind. “They replaced you within a day in their heads, Lewis.”

He didn’t answer immediately. Then, softly: “They didn’t replace me.” A beat. “I left.”

The distinction hung between you, sharp and impossible to ignore. You turned back to face him. “That’s different.”

He nodded once. “It is. But not as much as you think.”

Later that evening, Mercedes held its final debrief of the year. There were no formalities, no technical slides—just a room full of exhausted people trying to summarize a season that no longer needed summarizing.

You sat at the very edge of the table, trapped in a strange, liminal space. You were no longer fully a part of the team, yet not entirely outside it either.

Toto spoke for most of the meeting, running through strategic notes, areas for improvement, and the outlook for next season. Kimi’s arrival was mentioned briefly and casually, as if it were just another data point on a telemetry sheet.

You listened professionally, but your mind kept drifting. You didn't feel anger, or even sadness. You just felt a profound, quiet clarity. Something had shifted irreversibly.

When the meeting finally ended, chairs scraped against the floor and laptops clicked shut. Routine goodbyes were exchanged—the usual, temporary 'see you next week.' Except you wouldn’t. Not in this garage. Not in this jacket.

Lewis caught your eye as the room emptied out. He waited until the last of the engineers filtered through the door before walking over.

“You coming?” he asked.

You nodded, then hesitated. “Yeah. I think I just need a minute first.”

He understood instantly. “Okay.” He didn’t press, giving you a supportive nod before stepping out into the corridor.

You stayed alone in the debrief room for a long time, listening to the distant, mechanical sounds of the paddock shutting down. Finally, you pulled out your phone. The notifications had piled up. More messages, some longer and carefully worded by PR agents, others blunt and direct. All of them saying the exact same thing: Opportunity. Future. Seat. Discussion.

You opened the Red Bull message again.

Laurent Mekies: We should talk.

You stared at the text. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, and you typed out a short, controlled reply.

I’m listening.

taglist: @nyxisnotok @dramaticred @victoria-eliserahh @fullyinlovewithfics @piantonelli @lalaland43 @xxjewellynwatts @sleepyfrog01 @spooky-librarian-ghost @spiderliliesliveon @scenesofobx @rufles2 @wetweathermilton @emsluvsbunnies @bestillmystuckyheart @moonlight52moonlight @starrgir1 @fiercetigerpoison @rufikyof @howling-wolf97 @nuggiesnuggetdog04 @bia-n-t-d @cherubinn7 @kat-w2s8 @sp1rl @exhausted-exho@yavintagebae @silveritydreams @rtyuy1346 @victoria-eliserahh @dramaticred@givcd @marvelousmiss-marvel @josephinel83 @thealikesdogs @kheurwen @seawaterbrain @pharmasennapuff @yourlocalrivergirl @anyasthoughts @idkmaybesparkling @hellsingalucard18 @bella423 @popasterous@existing-apparently@akeeema @hanquokkascheeks @melanie-15

[pxrce-lain]

⎯ ׅ ‌꒰۪۪ ᩧ carebear dividers 𑣲 like & reblog

[wetweathermilton]

His cute jorts….cooling vest…..ARMS…..this was all for ME. ENOUGH OF THE CONSERVATIVE DRESSING, FREE THOSE TITS!!!!

[brazilgp2021]

🥵

[wetweathermilton]

this look was for me😸❤️ he is so pretty

[niki-phoria]

i'll let you know just how much you mean to me / as snow falls on desert sky

♫⋆｡♪₊˚ my chemical romance - demolition lovers

(gn reader / fluff / 822 words) lewis kisses you in public after his first ferrari win

LEWIS HAMILTON IS ABSOLUTELY SMITTEN. it was no secret — interviews were peppered with mentions of his partner, fans caught photos of him buying flowers and watches, even his instagram feed featured small glimpses of you, each carefully cropped and thoroughly inspected to ensure your privacy remained as much as possible. 

but the world didn’t know who you were. they couldn’t. 

you had made the agreement over dinner several years ago. telling the public meant jeopardising lewis’s career and even his safety. it wasn’t a risk you were willing to take, no matter how hard it was. so you hid. 

your knuckles brushed against each other when you walked into the paddock, far enough to be mostly unquestioned. lewis gave curt answers when prodded about his personal life, shrugging off dating rumors that circulated online and giving snarky responses in lieu of sincerity. you attended races sparsely and in secret, hiding away in lewis’s drivers room and sneaking out of the back exit with the help of a few strategists. 

but all secrets must eventually be revealed. 

the roar of the crowd rings in your ears. your hands are shaking slightly, still overcome by the adrenaline of the race. tears sting at the corners of your eyes. they roll down your cheeks before you get the chance to blink them away. 

lewis’s hands are gentle when they brush against your skin. he cradles your face gingerly between his fingers. you can’t help but chuckle when his thumb swipes against your cheek, wiping away the tears just below your eyes. you reach up, wrapping your own hand around his wrist. his skin is warm against your own. the feeling is grounding amidst the chaos surrounding you. 

“don’t cry,” lewis says through a chuckle. his smile mirrors your own but you don’t miss the tears stinging the corners of his own eyes. 

you shake your head, letting out a quiet laugh of your own. you take a half step closer through the crowd, slowly closing the distance between your bodies. lewis meets you halfway. he pulls you close enough that you can wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, burying your head into the crook of his neck. his own hand comes to rest against the back of your head, careful not to tangle with your hair. 

“i’m so proud of you,” you murmur. your breath ghosts against his bare skin, making him shiver. he chuckles softly, pulling you even closer until your chests are pressed together. you catch a glimpse of the broadcast cameraman nearby, circling like a shark. 

lewis seems to notice as well. he coaxes you to pull away just enough to meet his gaze. his eyes shine the color of caramel in the sunlight. they glint at the corners with fresh tears. his race suit is sticky from champagne. still, you cling to him even tighter, unwilling to let go. 

lewis whispers your name like a prayer. like something sacred. his hand finds your face once again, now resting against the curve of your jaw. “i love you,” he begins. his voice wavers slightly but his gaze is steady when he looks into your eyes. “more than anything else in the world. i couldn’t have done this without you.” 

“lewis…” your voice shakes. you thread your fingers into the fabric of his race suit, gripping onto it as if it will steady your shaky knees. you just barely catch the way lewis’s gaze falls to your lips for a few seconds. he brushes his thumb against your bottom lip to silently ask for permission. you anxiously tighten your grip. “everyone’s watching.” 

“let them,” he says. lewis leans in even closer. your breath hitches when his nose brushes against your own. your eyes flutter shut almost on instinct. the noise of the crowd disappears, replaced by the sound of your own racing heart hammering violently against your chest. “let them see how much i love you.” 

your hands are shaking even more, now. you focus your attention on lewis’s hands holding you steady, still resting against your face. on the warmth of his skin against your flushed cheeks. on the way you both breathe in tandem. for now, the crowd is forgotten. 

electricity courses through you when lewis’s lips finally meet your own. he tastes like the mint gum you had shared before the race began. your mouths dance in a familiar rhythm — one previously hidden safely in hotel rooms and stolen in the back of ferrari hospitality. the rest of the world disappears, forgotten in the overwhelming emotion of the moment. 

you’re breathless when you finally pull away. lewis is smiling brightly when you meet his gaze. someone pats your shoulder from somewhere behind you. the mechanics swarm around you once again, excitedly shaking your shoulders and patting your back. lewis leans in to steal one more chaste kiss before he finally pulls away, wandering off to do his post-race interviews. 

notes: please leave feedback if you enjoyed!! f1 reqs are open and greatly appreciated <3 in celebration of his ferrari win and bc i haven't written a lewis fic in forever, written with male reader in mind (happy pride) bc i love the idea of coming out publicly after a big win, not super happy with the beginning but i think the end is cute

if you enjoyed this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, or reblogging!! and if you want to support me, consider checking out my f1 masterlists here and here <3