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@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 ⤴️ )
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
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.
“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.
⎯ ׅ ꒰۪۪ ᩧ carebear dividers 𑣲 like & reblog
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.
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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 ❤️
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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! 🏎️👑
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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!!!
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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.
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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.
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⎯ ׅ ꒰۪۪ ᩧ carebear dividers 𑣲 like & reblog
His cute jorts….cooling vest…..ARMS…..this was all for ME. ENOUGH OF THE CONSERVATIVE DRESSING, FREE THOSE TITS!!!!
this look was for me😸❤️ he is so pretty
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
More Than A Driver (Reimagined)
Chapter 9 — previous, next
story masterlist — check it out!
summary: after qualifying, you and lewis are seen having a long private conversation that appears emotionally charged and unsettling.
pairing: formula one + female!driver!reader
warnings/tags: (this is more of a fic than a smau, because i believe this fic works best without social media getting in the way!) angst, just angst.
reblogs, likes, and comments are so so appreciated! if you want to read more from me, kindly submit in my inbox !!! xoxo
The debrief felt endless, a suffocating blur of lights, telemetry data, voices that sounded like they were underwater, and journalists were already circling like sharks.
You answered all of it on autopilot. You nodded at the right graphs, gave the expected feedback about balance, and forced the familiar, PR-trained smiles.
But the entire time, a single, heavy thought sat in the back of your mind, anchoring you to a strange sense of dread.
I need to tell you something.
The words hadn't been spoken to you yet, but the text message sitting on your phone screen felt like a timer counting down. The moment the final engineer closed their laptop and left the room, your eyes immediately flicked toward the door.
Lewis wasn't there. Usually, he'd linger, trading notes or making some dry comment about the car. Today, he vanished the second the checkered flag fell.
Five more minutes passed in the quiet of the room. Then ten.
Your phone buzzed.
Lewis: At the top floor.
The hospitality building had mostly emptied out by the time you made your way up the stairs. Down below, the faint sounds of mechanics packing up crates and the distant hum of the paddock provided a strange contract to the silence of the top floor.
You found the room immediately at the end of the hall. The door was already unlocked, yielding to a gentle push.
Lewis sat alone inside. There were no engineers, no managers, no public relations handlers, and no cameras.
Just him, stripping of his racing harness, wearing only his team fireproofs with the sleeves tied loosely around his waist.
For a long moment, he didn't even turn around. He simply stared out the massive glass window overlooking the circuit.
He looked entirely exhausted. Not physically, but emotionally. The lines around his eyes seemed deeper, his shoulders slightly rounded under the weight of a massive secret.
You shut the door behind you.
"You look like someone died," you said, trying to inject a bit of lightness into the heavy air.
A small, breathless laugh escaped him, though his eyes stayed fixed on the lights outside. "Yeah."
Your stomach sank further. You walked closer, the squeak of your sneakers sounding overly loud. "Lewis."
He rubbed a hand over his face, a slow, weary gesture, before finally turning to look directly at you. And for the first time you had known him, he looked nervous.
Actually nervous.
"What happened?" you asked softly.
Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.
"I'm leaving Mercedes."
The words hit like a brick to the chest. You blinked, the air leaving your lungs in a short, sharp gasp. "What?"
"I'm leaving."
You stared at him, waiting for a punchline, waiting for him to tell you it was a prank. "No."
A sad, fleeting smile touched his lips. "Yeah."
"No."
He laughed softly, shaking his head. "That's pretty much what I said when it first became real."
The room suddenly felt incredibly small, the walls closing in. Your brain flatly refused to process the information.
Lewis Hamilton. Mercedes.
Those two concepts were practically the same sentence in your mind. They were the same identity, the same golden era, the same history.
You couldn't imagine one without the other.
"You mean eventually?" you asked, desperate for a safety net. "After a few years? At the end of the multi-year contract?"
He shook his head slowly.
"When, Lewis?"
Lewis looked directly into your eyes, his gaze steady but filled with an apology. "Next season."
The world stopped spinning. Your mouth fell open. "No."
His expression told you everything you didn't want to hear. It wasn't a joke. It wasn't a paddock rumor designed to stir up the media. It wasn't speculation.
It was done. Signed. Final. Real.
You sat down in the nearest chair, your knees suddenly feeling like water. You stared at the floor, your mind racing through every team on the grid.
"Where?" you whispered.
"Ferrari."
You snapped your head up, staring. Lewis actually winced at your reaction.
"Yeah," he mumured.
"Ferrari."
"Yeah."
"The Ferrari? Maranello? The red car?"
He laughed despite himself, a quick flash of his usual warmth. "I mean that's the Ferrari I know."
"Oh, shut up," you snapped, though there was no real heat in it.
The laugh died almost immediately, leaving a hollow space behind. Because now, the staggering reality was settling into your bones.
Ferrari. Lewis Hamilton.
The headlines alone felt mathematically impossible. The sport would explode. Toto would probably tear the garage apart. Half the paddock would faint from the sheer shock of it.
You looked back up at him, a sharp pang of hurt cutting through the shock. "When were you going to tell me?"
Lewis hesitated, his eyes flicking away. And immediately, you know.
Your eyes narrowed. "Lewis."
Another hesitation. He wouldn't look at you.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," you said, standing back up because sitting still felt impossible.
"It's complicated."
"No. Don't give me 'complicated'." You crossed your arms, pacing across the room. "When did you sign?"
Silence. The heavy, guilty silence answered for him.
Your jaw tightened, a bitter taste in your mouth. "You already signed."
Still, he said nothing."
"You signed the contract and then you called me up here to tell me?"
"C'mon, please."
"You signed a lifetime commitment with Ferrari and you didn't say a single word to me while it was happening?"
His voice sharpened slightly, a rare crack in his calm facade. "Because I couldn't."
You scoffed, turning your back to him. "Bullshit."
The second the word left your mouth, a deep, profound regret flashed across his face. Not anger at your language, but a genuine, aching regret.
"You think I wanted it to be this way?"
The room went completely quiet again. Lewis stood up from the table, stepping into your line of sight.
"I wanted to tell you," he said, his voice dropping.
"Then why didn't you? We tell each other everything."
"Because if one person knew, it became two people," he explained. "And if two people know, it becomes a risk."
You crossed your arms tighter, defensive. "I'm not exactly known for leaking things to the press, Lewis. I've kept your secrets for god knows how long."
"I know that," he said softly, stepping closer. "I know you wouldn't tell a soul."
"Then why?"
Lewis looked away. For a second, he looked older.
Not the seven-time world champion Lewis. Not the global superstar, fashion icon, or celebrity. Just a man carrying a massive, heavy decision that weighed a thousand pounds.
"Because if you knew before I signed..." He paused, his throat catching slightly. "I might've listened to you."
That shut you up instantly. The anger died right in your throat, leaving you completely breathless.
Lewis gave a small smile. "You would've asked the hard questions. You would've challenged every single assumption I made. You would've made me think twice, made me think harder about what I was leaving behind."
You looked down, knowing he was entirely right. You would've fought tooth and nail to keep him.
"And I needed to know what I truly wanted," Lewis continued, "before I let anyone else's voice influence it. I had to make this choice completely alone."
The last remnants of your irritation evaporated, replaced by a quiet, aching understanding. Because that sounded exactly like him.
You let out a long sigh, dropping your arms to your sides. "You're incredibly annoying."
Lewis laughed, a genuine sound of relief washing over his face. "Yeah. I know."
"Ferrari?"
"Ferrari."
"Seriously?"
"Apparently so."
You shook your head. "You're absolutely insane."
"Probably," he agreed, the tension in his shoulders finally breaking. Just enough for both of you to breathe.
Then, Lewis's demeanor shifted, turning serious again. "There is one more thing."
Your stomach tightened instinctively. "What now? Are you buying the team too?"
"No," he said, not matching your joke. "No one knows."
You blinked. "What do you mean, 'nobody knows'? The board? PR?"
"I mean nobody," his expression hardened, underlining the gravity of the situation. "The announcement won't be public just yet. Contracts are locked in a vault."
"Okay..."
"Toto doesn't know."
You stared at him, genuinely terrified for him. "How is that even possible? You see him every day!"
"It's possible. We've kept it entirely under wraps."
"You're telling me that I know you're leaving for Ferrari before Toto knows?"
"Unfortunately for your stress levels, yes."
"You are a terrible friend," you muttered, pressing your hands to your forehead.
"I know."
"You are a nightmare of an employee."
"Mhm."
"You're completely out of your mind."
"Definitely."
For the first time all evening, Lewis genuinely smiles, the heavy cloud lifting from his face for a brief moment.
"I'll tell him tomorrow morning," Lewis said, his voice dropping. "Before we leave."
The room fell back into a heavy silence. It wasn't an awkward quiet, but the weight that follows life-altering news.
Lewis leaned back against the edge of the table, folding his arms loosely across his chest, watching you process the fragments of the future.
You still weren't sure you fully could.
Ferrari. Next season. No Mercedes silver. No black race suit. No garage across from yours. No Lewis sitting next to you, stealing your snacks and complaining about anything.
It felt fundamentally wrong, like someone had casually announced that it was the end of the world.
Eventually, you shook your head, trying to clear the fog. "I still can't believe you actually did it."
"Trust me. Neither can half the people who signed the paperwork."
You watched him for a moment, the gears turning in your head. "What happens to your seat?"
His expression shifted, his eyebrows knitting together. "What?"
"Your seat, Lewis." You gestured to the paddock below. "The seat. It's the most coveted drive on the grid."
Lewis blinked, as if he hadn't fully permitted himself to think about the aftermath yet. "Oh."
A small, amused smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Already thinking like a team principal. Very Toto of you."
"Someone has to keep their head," you muttered.
He chuckled, but you just waited, refusing to let him off the hook.
"So?" you prompted. "Who is it?"
Lewis shrugged. "Honestly? No idea."
"Bullshit."
His grin widened, bright and familiar. "You know me too well."
"Exactly. You absolutely have someone. You've spent years anchoring this team."
"Everybody has theories," he countered.
"What are yours?"
Lewis considered it for a long moment. "George, obviously."
You frowned. "George already has a seat. I mean who fills your spot."
"You asked who takes my place," he teased, enjoying the distraction.
"You know exactly what I mean, Lewis."
He laughed, letting go of the playfulness. "Fine." He looked out at the darkened track. "Kimi."
You tilted your head, surprised. "Kimi? Kimi Antonelli?"
Lewis nodded. "He'll be ready soon."
"He'd be so young. The pressure of a Mercedes seat straight away?"
"So was I," Lewis said softly, a quiet pride in his voice. "When I started at McLaren, the pressure was immense. But if you're quick, you're quick."
You rolled your eyes, trying to break the sudden solemnity. "Nobody likes it when you use yourself as the gold-standard example."
Lewis looked mock-offended, putting a hand over his heart. "It's a perfectly valid example! Seven titles says it's valid."
"It's annoying."
"It's history."
"It's annoying history."
"It can be both," he grinned.
You couldn't help but laugh, a genuine, throat-clearing sound. For a few beautiful seconds, things felt entirely normal again.
Just two teammates bickering in an empty hospitality room after a long day of work.
Then, the reality settled back over the room like a heavy blanket.
Kimi. George. Mercedes. Future lineups. Future seasons. A future... without him.
The realization landed harder than you had ever expected. You looked down at your hands, suddenly finding yourself incredibly interested in the intricate stitching of your team race gloves, tracing the white thread with your thumb just to avoid his eyes.
Lewis noticed immediately. Of course he did; he read you as easily as an open book.
"What is it?" he asked, his voice softening.
You shook your head, keeping your eyes down. "Nothing."
"Hey."
You let out a long, ragged sigh, the defense mechanisms crumbling. "It just... it feels weird, Lewis."
His expression softened completely, the competitive edge vanishing. "Weird?"
"Yeah." You finally looked up, meeting his eyes, feeling a strange tightness in your throat. "I've spent my entire Formula One career with you. Every single milestone."
The words came out before you could stop them, raw and unfiltered.
The room fell into an absolute, breathless quiet. Because it was the absolute truth. Every podium celebration where you’d sprayed champagne at each other, every miserable post-race debrief after a double-DNF, every strategic disaster, every glorious victory. Every late-night flight across the world, every stupid joke over rushed team dinners in random hotels, every ridiculous argument over setup choices and front-wing flaps.
Every single race weekend of your professional life, Lewis had been the constant.
You suddenly realized, with a sharp pang of grief, that you couldn't picture a Mercedes garage without him standing somewhere in it.
You couldn't imagine looking across the awning and seeing a different driver's name over the neighboring garage door. And that realization hurt far more than you were prepared for.
"You know what's stupid?" you asked, your voice trembling just a fraction.
Lewis stayed quiet, letting you speak.
"You told me five minutes ago," you said, a self-deprecating laugh escaping you. "And my brain keeps acting like next season is next week."
A small, understanding smile appeared on his face, though his eyes were tinged with sadness.
You shook your head, looking back toward the window. "Like I'm going to walk into the paddock next year, and you're just... gone."
The word hung in the air, heavy and definitive. Gone.
Lewis looked away briefly, his jaw tightening, his throat moving as he swallowed down his own emotion.
Because despite all the thrill of the new challenge, despite the historic allure of Ferrari, despite the millions of dollars and the fresh start—this wasn't easy for him either. He was ripping away a piece of his own life, too.
"You'll be fine," he said, though it sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as you.
You immediately scoffed, a watery smile on your face. "That's not the point, and you know it."
"I know."
"No, seriously." You pointed a finger at him, trying to anchor yourself. "You've spent so long teaching me how to navigate this paddock. How to handle the politics, how to save my tires, how to keep my head straight."
"And you're doing incredibly well," he said, his voice firm and unwavering. "You don't need me to hold the map anymore."
"I'm serious, Lewis."
"So am I."
You shook your head again, looking away. The frustration you felt wasn't anger at him. It was grief. A tiny, premature grief. The sorrow of something ending long before the final curtain had actually dropped.
Lewis understood that immediately. He stepped forward, closing the distance between you, his voice dropping to a gentle, grounding whisper. "Hey."
You looked up at him.
"We still have an entire season left," he reminded you, a soft light in his eyes. "One last ride together. Let's make it miserable for everyone else on the grid."
You laughed, wiping at the corner of your eye. "That's such a Lewis thing to say."
"What?"
"Only you hear 'an entire season' and think a bunch of weekends are a long time It flies by, Lewis. You know it does."
Lewis grinned, a bit sheepishly. "Fair point."
You stared at the floor, the silence returning, gentler this time. Then, you finally asked the one question that had been burning a hole in your chest since he first said the word leaving.
"Are you happy?"
The room went entirely still. The ambient sounds of the track seemed to fade away completely.
Lewis took longer to answer than you expected. A lot longer. He looked down at his boots, then out at the dark track, weighing the question with absolute sincerity. Then, he looked back at you and nodded.
"Yeah," he said. It wasn't an immediate, PR-ready exclamation. It wasn't an enthusiastic shout. It was just a quiet, deeply personal honesty. "Yeah. I think I am. I needed a change. I needed to know I could still do it somewhere else."
You held his gaze for a long moment, reading the peace in his eyes, and then you nodded back. Because that was enough. You understood. You didn't have to like the choice, and you certainly didn't have to be ready for the fallout tomorrow morning, but you understood him.
Lewis smiled softly, the tension fully dissipating from his face. "Besides," he shrugged, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "You might end up really liking whoever replaces me. Maybe they'll actually let you win a game of FIFA on the flights."
You immediately barked out a genuine laugh, the heavy atmosphere lifting. "Impossible. I'll make their life a living hell out of principle."
"Harsh," he chuckled.
"I'm completely serious."
"George will be absolutely devastated to hear that."
You picked up your discarded racing glove from the table and threw it at his chest. Lewis dodged it effortlessly, his reflexes as sharp as ever, and for the first time since you had walked through that door, both of you laughed freely, filling the quiet hospitality room with warmth.
But later that night, the warmth was gone.
You lay awake in your hotel room, staring blankly at the shadows dancing across the ceiling. The clock on the bedside table read long after midnight, but sleep felt miles away. The laughter from the hospitality suite had evaporated, leaving behind the cold, stark reality of the secret you were now carrying.
Every time you closed your eyes, your mind didn't flash to the Ferrari red, or the chaotic media headlines that would dominate the world tomorrow. It didn't think about Toto's inevitable reaction, or the stock prices, or the contract semantics.
Your mind kept returning to a single, quiet realization.
There would come a Thursday afternoon next year where you would walk through the turnstiles of a paddock, step into the familiar brackets of the Mercedes garage, and look to your left—
And Lewis Hamilton wouldn't be there.
And somehow, in the quiet darkness of the desert night, that was the only part you couldn't stop thinking about.
f1gossipcentral
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f1gossipcentral🚨| MERCEDES' GOLDEN DUO LEWIS HAMILTON AND Y/N L/N SPOTTED TOGETHER AFTER QUALIFYING
After securing pole position, Y/N was reportedly spotted heading to a private room where Lewis was already waiting. The two remained inside for over an hour.
Fans who saw them outside the building say the conversation looked highly emotional.
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user54 nah because why does this look like a breakup and they're not even dating 😭😭😭
user7 she got POLE why does she look sad???
user89 calling it now. this is contract related.
user12 something about this makes me nervous and idk why. THERES NO PHOTOS IM GOING CRAZY
user3 everyone saying contract news but whose contract???
user80 whatever happened in that room, they better tell us immediately because my imagination is running out of control
The interview was supposed to be the easy part of the evening.
It was mapped out as a quick sit-down with the host. A few standard questions about your pace. A few predictable comments about you strategy.
Then, you'd be free to slip out the back, disappear into the quiet sanctuary of your hotel room, and spend the rest of the night processing the shift that had just fractured your world.
You just needed to pretend, for ten minutes, that you weren't carrying one of the biggest secrets in Formula One history.
Instead, you stepped onto the set and felt the heavy, suffocating heat of the studio lights beaming down on you.
Nobody in this room cared about your pace. The lap time was already old news. They didn't want to talk about apex speeds or engine modes. They wanted to talk about you.
They wanted the drama. The comeback story. The scandal. The raw survival of it all.
"First of all, congratulations! After everything that's happened this season... all of this has got to feel incredibly satisfying."
You forced a flawless, practiced smile to your face. "It does. The team gave me an amazing car today, and everyone back at the factory has worked tirelessly for this. It's great reward to them."
The interviewer nodded, acknowledging the corporate answer before immediately pivoting. "But let's talk about the journey to get back to this spot."
Of course. There was no escaping it.
"You've had an extraordinary, deeply challenging few months," she continued, her tone dropping into something more solemn. "The intense investigation involving Christian Horner, the relentless media circus that followed it, the immense scrutiny on your personal performances, the endless speculation about your future in the sport..."
Behind her, the massive studio screen flickered to life. It didn't show telemetry or racing lines. It displayed a montage of the past year. There was shaky, chaotic footage of you arriving at circuits surrounded by a wall of photographers, flashing lenses illuminating your tense face. There were screenshots of sensationalist headlines, social media trends, and the absolute chaos of the Red Bull paddock drama.
Then, the screen cut to footage of you now: you pulling into the number-one, tearing your helmet off, and pointing to the sky.
The contrast between the two versions of you was almost ridiculous. It felt like watching two different people.
The interviewer leaned forward, her eyes locked onto yours. "How difficult was it navigating all of that while trying to perform at the highest level?"
You paused. The silence stretched a bit too long for live television. It wasn't because you didn't know the answer, it was because, looking at the footage of your own survival, you suddenly knew exactly whose philosophy you wanted to mirror. You knew whose strength you had been leaning on.
"It was incredibly difficulted," you admitted softly, "There were days where waking up and putting on the suit felt like a job, you know? But I wasn't doing it alone."
The interviewer leaned in closer, "The team?"
"The team, definitely. My family. My closest friends." You let out a small, genuine smile. "The people who remind you who you are when the rest of the world is trying to tell you who you should be."
The interviewer glanced at her notes. "One thing we've heard repeatedly from people inside the garage is just how much unwavering support you've received from your teammates throughout this entire ordeal."
Your chest tightened so fast it felt like a physical blow.
"Lewis in particular," the interviewer added.
Right on cue, the giant screen behind her switched images. It showed the immediate aftermath of qualifying from just an hour ago. There was Lewis, still in his unzipped race suit, wrapping his arms around you in a fierce, protective hug by the scales. There was footage of him standing back, clapping with a genuine, proud smile on his face as you took the pole position tire award.
The sight of his frozen, smiling face on the screen brought a sharp, physical ache to your chest.
It felt almost cruel. Because nobody else in this blindingly bright studio knew. None of the technicians, none of the producers, none of the thousands of fans watching at home had any idea that less than an hour ago, in a quiet room, that exact man had told you he was leaving. Next year, he wouldn't be wearing silver.
"He seems to have been there for you every single step of the way," the interviewer murmured warmly.
For a terrifying second, you couldn't breathe, let alone answer. It wasn't because you were about to burst into tears; it was the sheer, suffocating effort of trying not to become emotional.
"I don't think people fully understand how much he's helped me behind closed doors," you said quietly. "Everyone looks at him and sees those wins. They see the records, the statistics, the global success, the icon."
You smiled faintly. "They don't see the man who checks on people when the cameras are turned off."
The interviewer nodded slowly.
"They don't see him sitting in an engineering meeting for an extra hour, completely exhausted, just because a younger driver needs advice," you continued, your voice steadying with immense pride.
"They don't see him making sure that everyone around him is okay, shielding them from the nonsense of this paddock. He carries a lot of weight so that others don't have to."
The interviewer smiled warmly. "It sounds like he means a great deal to you."
You looked down at your lap, your fingers tracing the edge of your team kit. Just for a split second, you let the mask slip in the shadows.
"Yeah," you whispered.
You unclipped the microphone from your collar, handing it back to a waiting assistant with a quiet word of thanks. You exchanged a polite nod with the interviewer and stood up from the chair.
As you walked toward the exit, heading for the quiet paddock outside, one of the young production assistants stepped aside to let you pass. He offered you a casual grin.
"Thank you for the interview today, it was great," he said lightheartedly. "At least after all that madness, you've still got Lewis in your corner."
The comment was completely thoughtless. It was innocent, casual paddock small talk meant to be supportive.
You nearly froze mid-step, your foot hovering slightly above the concrete floor. A sudden, wild wave of conflicting emotions crashed over you.
For one horrible, unstable second, you didn't know if you were going to burst out laughing or start crying right in front of him. The absurdity of it was almost too much to bear.
Instead, you forced your muscles to comply, turning your head to offer him a tight, polite smile. "Yeah."
The assistant's smile widened, entirely oblivious to the devastation behind your eyes. "Yeah. Guy's a rock. He's not going anywhere."
You looked at him for a beat longer, the words echoing in the empty spaces of your mind. You didn't correct him. You couldn't.
You simply gave a small, quiet nod, turned your back to the studio, and kept walking out into the warm night.
Because as you made your way toward the quiet safety of the hotel transport, the heaviest truth of the evening finally settled deep into your bones. The hardest part about carrying a historical secret wasn't the active act of keeping it hidden.
It was the crushing, isolating exhaustion of pretending the world hadn't already changed--when, for you, the world had already ended and rebuilt itself in a completely different color.
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More Than A Driver (Reimagined)
Chapter 7 — previous, next
story masterlist — check it out!
summary: it's race day in bahrain and the tension is at the highest. an accidental press to a radio button reveals everything the world has been wanting to hear.
pairing: formula one + female!driver!reader
warnings/tags: protect luca romano!!! paddock drama, protective toto wolff, media scrutiny
reblogs, likes, and comments are so so appreciated! if you want to read more from me, kindly submit in my inbox !!! xoxo
mercedesamgf1 Bahrain International Circuit
liked by f1, valtteribottas, and 7,104,219 others
mercedesamgf1 Let's race. #F1 #BahrainGP #YNLN
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oscarpiastri Go get em ↳ user4 oscar showing support we love to see it !! 😍 ↳ user79 mutuals supporting mutualsss
user99 i'm a ferrari fan through and through but tonight i'm definitely rooting for Y/N. no driver should ever feel unsafe in the paddock.
lucaromano that's my champ right there ↳ user89 LUCA!!! thank you for protecting our girl ☹️ ↳ user62 get this man a massive raise, the race engineer of the year award, EVERYTHINGGGG
user80 Are we just not going to talk about the literal wall of security standing around her grid slot??? Toto is NOT playing around today ↳ user43 that's good imo. after what happened in that press room, she deserves to feel 100% safe
user77 i've never wanted a driver to win a race more than i do rn. best of luck, yn!!
The dry desert heat of Bahrain did nothing to clear the heavy, suffocating tension hanging over the Mercedes garage.
Sunday had arrived.
Normally, race day followed a perfect rhythm. Mechanics moved with practiced urgency, engineers huddled around laptops, and the distant roar of support races echoed through the paddock.
Today felt entirely different.
The air itself seemed heavy. Every conversation dropped to a whisper whenever someone important walked past. Security guards stood at the garage entrances with crossed arms and sharp eyes, and even the journalists lingering behind the barriers seemed unusually quiet.
You sat in the back corner of the garage, elbow resting on your knees, staring at the telemetry screens in front of you. Normally, you loved this part. You would be asking questions, studying every graph, and looking for tiny advantages. Today, the numbers just blurred together.
The high-pitched hum of generators filled the silence around you, and a wheel gun whirred briefly in the distance. You barely noticed. Instead, your mind replayed the same memory for the hundredth time.
The press room. The crowd. The questions.
And that man. Standing at the back, watching you. Smiling.
You didn't realize you were staring off into space until someone stepped directly into your line of sight.
"Hydration fluid's checked. Radio is ready as well."
It was Luca. He crouched beside you, holding a tablet against his chest. He looked exhausted, the kind of deep tiredness that comes from carrying too much stress for too long.
Yet, the moment he looked at you, he forced a smile. He did it because he knew you needed to see it.
"How are the jitters, champ?"
"They're there."
Luca nodded slowly. "The normal kind?"
You looked away. "No. Every time I look out... I just keep thinking about that guy. The one at the back. The one who smiled at me."
Luca lowered himself on a stool beside you. Around the garage, the mechanics continued working. Nobody interrupted or looked over, but you knew they were listening.
"Look at me," Luca said, his voice calm. "The garage is secure. The FIA have been monitoring every data stream. Toto has private security monitoring the paddock."
He leaned in closer. "And if somebody so much as breathes near this car without authorization about fifteen mechanics, me included, will tackle them before they get within three meters."
The finally earned the smallest hint of a smile from you.
"There she is," Luca pointed out immediately.
"I'm serious."
"So am I." He softened his tone. "Listen carefully, alright? I know this has been hell. I know everyone is talking about investigations, sabotage, and suspects. I know you've spent so long wondering if someone's targeting you."
The knot in your chest tightened because he was right. You hadn't slept properly in days. Every unfamiliar number on your phone made your pulse spike.
"But none of that changes one thing," Luca continued.
"What?"
His smile returned. "You can still drive."
You stared at him. "But what about the investigation?"
He shrugged. "Not your job."
"The FIA?"
"Not your job."
"The police?"
"Definitely not your job."
Luca pointed out toward the open track. "The car out there? That's your job."
Outside, you car sat beneath the garage, ready and waiting. For a moment, all the noise faded. You suddenly remembered why you started racing in the first place.
It was for that exact feeling when the visor drops, the lights go out, and the entire world narrows down to just the next corner.
Luca noticed the shift in your face. "There she is. There's our driver."
You rolled your eyes. "That was cheesy, especially for you."
Luca stood up. "Much better."
You grabbed your helmet from the table, its familiar weight settling in your hands. Luca waited as you pulled on your balaclava, then placed a grounding hand on your shoulder.
"You ready?"
Slowly, you slid your helmet on. The sounds of the garage dulled, replaced by the rhythm of your own breathing. The fear and uncertainty were still there, but underneath it all, your determination had finally return.
Luca grinned. "Let's show them who we are."
Walking out onto the grid felt like stepping directly into a storm.
The grandstands on either side of the circuit were packed tight. Thousands of voices merged into a constant roar that pressed against your helmet. Heat shimmered above the asphalt and distorted the cars ahead into wavering silhouettes.
But the moment you lowered yourself into the cockpit, the chaos outside instantly dulled.
Inside, the noise didn't vanish. It just became background. It turned into a steady, vibrating hum beneath the surface of everything.
And then, a strange calm settled over you.
Toto appeared at the side of your cockpit, his presence cutting through the grid's chaos. He leaned over the halo, his face composed.
"Drive your race, alright?" Toto said, his voice low and steady, carrying easily over the roar of the grid. "Leave the rest to me."
You met his gaze and gave a firm nod. There was no hesitation, and no need for words. He held your gaze for a beat longer, then straightened up and stepped back.
Around you, the grid began to clear. Mechanics moved, ripping away the tire blankets in swift motions and stepping back in unision. Final checks were completed with hand signals and sharp nods.
One by one, the cars came alive, their engines snapping into life nad vibrating the air with aggression.
You exhaled once, slowed and controlled.
Five red lights. Each light held just long enough to stretch the silence into something almost unbearable.
Then—they went out.
Your reaction time was absolutely flawless. The exact millisecond the five red lights vanished, your fingers dropped the clutch with perfect precision.
By the time you reached the heavy braking zone of Turn 1, you had already swept cleanly past the Ferrari on your left. You held your line tight, avoided the chaos of the midfield behind you, and claimed P2, slotting yourself behind the leading Red Bull.
"Wonderful start. Wonderful." Luca's voice crackled loudly over the radio, bubbling with genuine excitement and a massive wave of relief.
"Clean air behind you now. Gap to the leader is 1.2 seconds."
For the next thirty laps, the race became a masterclass. The car felt absolutely amazing, responding to your slightest touch like an extension of your own body.
You were hunting the leader down, corner by corner, lap by lap. The paralyzing fear and anxiety that had gripped you all weekend had completely burned away, replaced by pure competitive fire.
By Lap 34, your patience paid off. You had closed the distance down to just eight-tenths of a second, placing you firmly within the DRS zone.
The granstands erupted into a roar every time you flashed down the main straight, your rear wing snapping open to give you a massive burst of speed.
"You're faster than him through Turn 4 and all of Sector 2," Luca updated you. "Keep the pressure exactly where he is. He's starting to struggle and his rear tires are overheating. The win is on the table today, it's yours for the taking."
"Copy that," you breathed heavily, sweat stinging your eyes beneath your visor as you braced your neck against the force of the next corner. "I see it. I'm setting him up."
What you couldn't see from inside your car was that the Mercedes pit wall had just thrown all racing protocols out the window and descended into absolute chaos.
Halfway through the race, a cyber-forensics unit had finally broken through the final layer of encryption on a hidden server belonging to Alistair, the engineer suspected of messing with your car.
It wasn't done by brute force; it was the result of emergency legal orders that only get issues when something has gone wrong. The data didn't just show a small breach. It revealed something worse.
Back at the garage, a massive header flashed across Luca's secondary monitor: CHAIN OF CUSTODY VERIFIED—FINAL BRIEF ATTACHED.
Luca stared at the screen, his face completely pale as he tried to process the information. There were pages of structured analysis, bank transfers, and secret emails.
It wasn't a messy leak; it was an organized, clear trail that mapped out total criminal intent.
He leaned closer to the monitor, his breath catching in his throat as he traced the filed upward. Pure panic set in. Luca's hand hovered over his radio console.
For the first time in his career, he had no idea who he was supposed to call first. Does his call Toto? The team lawyers? Strategy? FIA?
He decided to open a private line to Toto.
"Toto, I need you—" Luca started, his voice incredibly tight. But as he looked back at the monitor, a final name loaded at the bottom of the document. A signature buried deep under the legal layers came into view, and his stomach dropped.
In a moment of pure reflex panic, Luca moved too fast. His brain was processing something he emotionally couldn't handle, and his hand slammed down the radio console.
But his palm missed the private team button. He accidentally missed the master routing switch, the one that connected the pit wall directly to the broadcast feed.
Inside your cockpit, you only heard a faint click and a bit of distortion in your earpiece, like a door briefly opening. But out in the real world, Luca's raw, unfiltered voice blasted out to millions of fans watching at home and over the live feed.
Crofty had been mid-sentence, his voice pitched high as he narrated your chase. Brundle sat right beside him, eyes glued to the live timing screens.
"—this is not supposed to be on any public feed. Toto, are you seeing this?!" Luca shouted, his voice sharp and fractured.
Crofty cut himself off instantly. "Uh... a bit of crossed wires there from the Mercedes pit wall," Crofty said quickly, trying to smooth it over for the millions of viewers at home. "An accidental broadcast from—"
"Alistair's hardware was routed through a shell company owned by Horner. It was Red Bull. Christian Horner ordered the sabotage on her car. It's right here in the final—"
Suddenly, a loud burst of digital static tore through the channel like a blade. On Luca's console, the audio line collapsed into a flat, dead silence.
Crofty was the first to find his voice, though the usual booming, energetic tone was completely gone.
"Right... well," Crofty stammered. "An extraordinary... unprecedented audio transmission there, seemingly from Y/N L/N's race engineer. We... we apologize for the nature of that broadcast, but Martin, I don't even know what to say to that."
"David, if what we heard is accurate..." Brundle paused. "We are no longer looking at a sporting penalty. We are looking at a full-scale criminal matter here."
"Christian Horner named directly by Mercedes's Luca Romano," Crofty breathe, finally finding his professional footing. "Accusations of deliberate sabotage against the rookie."
Crofty took a breath, trying to bring focus back to the track even as social media began to explode globally.
"An absolute bombshell dropped in the middle of the dessert. We will, of course, bring you updates from the FIA and both teams the exact moment we get them. But for now, Y/N is still hunting down Verstappen for the lead of a race that had just become historical for all the wrong reasons."
Inside the car, the sudden noise of Luca's voice over the radio and the immediate echo of his words sent a literal shockwave through your entire body.
Horner.
You brain completely rejected the information for a split second. The team principal of Red Bull. The man who stood on the podiums with his drivers, who smiled for the cameras, who ran the most dominant team on the gread.
Your hands shook violently against the carbon-fiber steering wheel, your grip slipping against your gloves. You were flying toward the heavy braking zone, but your mind was completely gone, trapped in a terrifying tailspin of horror.
Because your mind was entirely somewhere else, you missed your braking marker by a mile.
You slammed on the brakes in a panic, locking up the front tires violently. A massive, blinding cloud of white tire smoke erupted from the rubber, filling your vision.
Reacting on pure survival instinct, you violently overcorrected. The car spun across, tires screaming, before sliding deep into the dusty gravel trap outside the corner.
By the time you dragged the heavily flat-spotted car out of the gravel and back on the tarmac, four cars had already flashed past you in a blur of engines.
You had dropped from P2 down to P6. Your hands were trembling so hard that you could barely hold the steering wheel straight against the violent vibrations caused by your tires.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Luca choked out over the radio, his voice cracking with an immense wave of guilt, panic, and sheer horror at what his mistake had caused. "I hit the wrong master switch on the panel. I didn't mean to broadcast it. I didn't mean to—"
"Is it true?" you demanded, interrupting hin. Your breathing was shallow and ragged, and tears of pure anger and adrenaline pricked the corners of your eyes. "Luca, is it real?"
Before Luca could even attempt to answer, Toto's voice cut in heavily.
"All of it is true. It is all true," Toto said, his voice steady. "But right now, you focus on the track. You bring that car home. Do not let him take this race away from you too."
The people didn't even seem to be watching the race anymore.
A collective, defeaning uproar surged through the circuit as security vehicles and FIA officials converged directly on the Red Bull garage. The timing was completely surreal: cars were still on track, while right back at the garage, an operation was taking place.
And in that moment, the entire paddock understood. Christian Horner was being formally detained. He wasn't being escorted out for questioning later, and he wasn't quietly removed behind closed doors.
It was happening right there, in front of everyone, in the middle of live Grand Prix.
Mechanics stood frozen. No one spoke. No one needed to. The silence inside the garage was heavier than any engine noise outside could ever be.
On track, the race continued, but it no longer felt like the center of anyone's universe. When the checkered flag waved, it felt entirely ceremonial and empty—an obligation rather than a celebration.
You crossed the finish line in a lonely, exhausting P6. There was no celebratory radio message waiting for you, and no immediate flood of relief from the pit wall.
You rolled into parc fermé and turned the engine off. Instantly, your world shark. The absolute silence inside your helmet made your own breathing sound incredibly loud.
For a long moment, you didn't move. You rested your forehead against the steering wheel, your gloved hands gripping it loosely, just inhaling slowly to try and calm your system.
When you finally climbed out, the paddock felt too bright. You didn't look toward the podium, you didn't look at the giant screens, and you didn't look out the buzzing crowd.
You pulled your helmet off, head damp with sweat, and walked straight into the Mercedes garage.
The entire team was already gathered there, standing in a quiet, tense circle. Luca stepped forward first. He look completely wrecked, his face filled with an immense weight of guilt.
"I am so deeply sorry. The radio broadcast... I ruined your race. I didn't mean to—"
You didn't let him finish. You took one step forward, closing the distance between you and pulled him into a tight, sudden hug.
"You found him, Luca," you whispered against his shoulder. "You found who did it. That's all that matters."
Luca gripped your firesuit tightly, anchoring himself. Behind him, Toto stepped forward. He didn't interrupt, but he placed a large, grounding hand on your shoulder to let you know that situation was finally under control.
Cameras were already pressing against the barriers, their flashes strobing constantly like distant lightning, but Toto subtly shifted his frame to block their line of sight, protecting you from the lenses.
"He's in custody," Toto said. "Horner will never step foot in this paddock again."
There was no triumph in Toto's voice, only pure resolution. Around the garage, engineers exhaled for the first time in hours, while others just stared at the floor, wondering what this meant for the future of the sport.
You stepped out from the garage and looked out at the circuit. The desert sun was brutal and bright, illuminating a paddock filled with historic chaos.
But the paralyzing fear that had followed you ever since your crash in Suzuka—the terrifying certainty that someone was trying to destroy your career from the shadows—was completely gone. It wasn't just delayed. It was permanently removed.
You took a slow, deep breath, and for the first time in weeks, it didn’t feel like you were breathing under pressure. You hadn’t stood on the podium today, you hadn’t heard your national anthem, and you weren't holding a trophy.
But standing there with your team, you understood something far bigger than a race victory. The race results would fade and the headlines would change, but the truth had finally been dragged into the daylight in front of the entire world.
POST RACE INTERVIEWS
🎙️Lewis Hamilton
[Reporter]: Lewis, the FIA has officially verified the data packet. Christian Horner directly ordered the sabotage on your teammate's car. What is your reaction to this?
[Lewis]: I'm honestly... I'm just sick to my stomach. We talk about rivalry, we talk about the pressure to win, but this is a sport where we risk our lives every single week.
To find out a Horner, someone supposed to be a leader, weaponized technology to sabotage a competitor's vehicle? It's evil. There's no other word for it.
My thoughts go out to Y/N. To have her dreams targeted, to have her safety compromised by a powerful grown man playing sick corporate games... it makes me furious.
🎙️Max Verstappen
[Reporter]: Max, the FIA has just officially confirmed the digital forensic data. Christian Horner had been implicated directly. As he leading driver, what is your reaction?
[Max]: Look, I am completely disgusted. Completely. I am out there racing my heart out, fighting fair and square on the track, and to find out that the head of my own team is behind the scenes doing... doing criminal stuff like this?
What Christian did didn't just sabotage Mercedes; it risked Y/N's life and honestly, it disgraced everyone who wears this Red Bull uniform. I don't care who he is. I have absolutely zero respect for what he did, and I cannot work with someone like that.
🎙️Lando Norris
[Reporter]: Lando, the grid is in complete shock. What is the feeling among the drivers right now?
[Lando]: Honestly, it's just pure disbelief. We joke about drama, we joke about Drive to Survive, but this is real life. Christian literally endangered a driver on the grid.
Y/N has been an absolute breath of fresh air in F1, she's a brilliant racer, and to find out she was being targeted by the head of Red Bull just because they couldn't beat her fairly?
It's pathetic. It ruins the integrity of everything we do. Max [Verstappen] is right to completely disown him. The guy is a monster for risking her safety like that.
🎙️Y/N L/N
[Reporter]: Y/N... I don't think anyone in the history of broadcasting has ever had to ask a driver this question. You have just driven a brilliant, heart-stopping race, all while the global broadcast exposed that Christian Horner is the one in charge of all of this.
What is going through your mind right now?
[Y/N L/N]: To be honest... I'm still trying to process it. When you're in that car, you have to block out the noise. You have to. So to find out that a rival used a shell company to plant something in my car... just terrifies me.
We put our lives on the line the second we're in there. We accept the risks of racing, but we don't accept the risk of being hunted, you know?
I'll let Toto and the police handle Christian. My job is to drive. If Horner wanted to stop me from racing, he should have tried harder, because I'm not going anywhere.
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love you carlo santi for being an absolute angel to lewis. you’re amazing and so kind and intelligent.💜
AND THIS TEAMMMMM UGH THEY WERE SO HAPPYYYY 😭😭😭 AND THAT INSANE PIT STOP OMG????
HE WILL BE NAMED POPE IN MONZA TRUST!!!!
BARCELONA-CATALUNYA GP 2026 | Lewis First Ferrari Win
i can’t believe it i can’t stop crying
LEWIS HAMILTON I LOVE YOU MY GOAT FOREVER AND EVER ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
my birthday week about to start, lewis hamilton first ferrari win, i think this could be the happiest i’ve been all year😭😭😭😭😭
They called him washed. They said Ferrari had made the wrong choice. Every mistake became a 'he needs to retire', every difficult weekend became proof that he was 'finished'.
Nobody expects anyone else to win immediately after changing teams, building relationships, learning a new car, adapting to a completely different system. That patience is reserved for everyone except Lewis Hamilton. Today we saw his first win since 2024. Ferrari's first win since 2024.
You can question him. You can count him out. You can spend years trying to convince yourselves that his time is over. But the moment Lewis Hamilton gets a good car underneath him, he reminds the world exactly why he has seven (8) world championships.
Absolute scenes. Absolute cinema. STILL WE RISEEEEE!!! The greatest of all time ❤️
catalan grand prix 2026 .. post race
i cried so bad he’s literally half Italian now. so much love for his team
