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mediocre-shark-tales · 1 day ago

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Mexican GP

Masterlist

Trigger Warning- slow burn of increasing themes including sexism, SA, depression, and implied grooming.

The roar of engines echoed through the paddock, the familiar hum of pre-race chaos buzzing in the air. Practice sessions were in full swing, and I was doing everything I could to keep my head in the game.

The car felt decent—better than I expected on the bumpy, high-altitude track. But my focus was fraying at the edges, stretched thin by the relentless schedule and the undercurrent of tension that followed me everywhere.

Every time I stepped out of the car, Henry was there. Whether it was snide remarks about my driving, veiled insinuations about my competence, or thinly veiled flirtations that made my skin crawl, he always found a way to remind me of his presence.

“Not bad,” he said after the second practice session, his tone dripping with condescension. “But if you could push just a little harder in Turn 4, maybe you wouldn’t be so far off Fernando’s pace.”

I clenched my jaw, biting back the urge to snap at him. “Noted,” I replied curtly, forcing a smile for the sake of professionalism.

Mark and Tom tried to help where they could, offering constructive feedback and redirecting conversations when Henry’s comments veered into inappropriate territory. But their attempts were often shut down with a sharp glare or dismissive remark from Henry.

By the time media duties rolled around, my energy was already depleted. The questions from reporters were the usual mix of predictable and pointed:

“How are you feeling after your first win?”

“Do you think you can replicate that success here in Mexico?”

“What’s it like competing alongside Fernando Alonso?”

I gave them my best answers, masking my exhaustion and frustration behind a practiced smile. The last thing I needed was for anyone to catch on to how I was really feeling.

After the press conference, I bumped into Oscar and Lando in the paddock.

“You okay?” Oscar asked, his brows knitting together in concern. “You seem... off.”

“Just a rough weekend,” I said quickly, waving him off with a small smile. “I’ll bounce back.”

Lando tilted his head, studying me with a frown. “You sure? You’ve been a bit... quiet. Not your usual snarky self.”

“I’m fine,” I insisted, trying to sound more convincing than I felt. “Just tired, that’s all.”

They didn’t look entirely convinced, but they didn’t push either. I appreciated that, even as guilt churned in my stomach. I couldn’t tell them the truth. If word got out that I was struggling with Henry, it wouldn’t take long for the narrative to shift.

“She’s too sensitive.” “She can’t handle the pressure.” “She’s just a weak little girl trying to play with the big boys.”

I couldn’t risk it. Not after everything I’d worked for.

As the day dragged on, I kept my head down, burying myself in the technical briefings and debriefs, trying to drown out Henry’s presence. But no matter how hard I tried, his words clung to me like a shadow, creeping into the corners of my mind and making it harder to focus.

By the time I returned to my hotel room that evening, I felt like I was hanging on by a thread. I sank onto the bed, staring at the ceiling as exhaustion and frustration washed over me.

Tomorrow was another day, another chance to prove myself. But as much as I wanted to believe that, a small, nagging voice in the back of my mind whispered otherwise.

The paddock was already bustling when I arrived on Qualifying day. Engineers zipped back and forth, journalists hovered for quick soundbites, and the hum of engines warming up vibrated in the air. I clutched my bag a little tighter as I walked toward my garage, trying to shake off the growing pit in my stomach.

It didn’t take long for Henry to find me.

“There you are,” he said, stepping into my path with a smirk that instantly put me on edge. “Thought you’d try to sneak past me today.”

“I’m just here to do my job,” I replied, keeping my tone even as I tried to step around him.

But he didn’t move. Instead, he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Oh, I know. But maybe you’d do it better if you weren’t so uptight all the time. Loosen up, Y/N. You’re not here to impress anyone, are you?”

I clenched my jaw, forcing a polite smile. “Excuse me, I need to get to the car.”

Henry finally stepped aside, but not before brushing a little too close for comfort. I made a beeline for my personal driver’s room, my sanctuary in this chaos. Once inside, I closed the door and leaned against it, letting out a shaky breath. The room wasn’t much—just a small space with a couch, a locker, and a desk—but it was mine, and more importantly, it was somewhere Henry couldn’t follow.

Every chance I got, I hid in there. Between briefings, media obligations, and prepping for Qualifying, I retreated to the room to recharge and escape his incessant remarks. But out in the paddock, there was no avoiding him.

At one point, as I was heading back from a strategy meeting, Henry was once again trailing behind me, making one of his usual inappropriate comments.

“Do you always walk this fast?” he teased, falling into step beside me. “You know, you don’t have to be so cold. A smile wouldn’t kill you.”

I bit my tongue, willing myself not to snap at him.

“Y/N!” A familiar voice cut through the tension, and I turned to see Max and Lando approaching from the opposite direction. Relief washed over me like a wave.

Max’s sharp eyes flicked between me and Henry, his expression hardening slightly. “Everything okay here?”

“Yeah, fine,” I said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just heading to the garage.”

Lando’s gaze lingered on Henry, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something more serious. “You sure? You look... tense.”

“I’m good,” I insisted, brushing it off as casually as I could. “Just a busy day, you know how it is.”

Max didn’t look convinced. He crossed his arms, his towering presence suddenly feeling like a wall between me and Henry. “If you say so.”

Henry, for his part, looked completely unfazed. “She’s just focused,” he said smoothly, flashing a grin that made my stomach churn. “That’s what we like about her.”

I shot him a warning glance before turning back to Max and Lando. “Thanks for checking in, but really, I’m fine.”

They didn’t press further, though I could feel their eyes on me as I walked away, Henry still trailing a few paces behind.

As soon as I was out of earshot, Max turned to Lando, his expression dark. “She’s not fine.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Lando muttered, glancing after me. “Henry’s always been a bit... much, but that was something else.”

Max nodded, his jaw tightening. “We need to keep an eye on her. Something’s off.”

“Agreed,” Lando said, his usual light tone replaced with quiet determination. “Let’s make sure she knows she’s not alone anymore.”

Meanwhile, back in the garage, I settled into my driver’s room once more, trying to shake off the encounter. But the pit in my stomach only grew, a gnawing reminder that no matter how much I tried to brush it off, something had to give—and soon.

-timeskip-

The time finally arrived for qualifying, and I felt a strange mix of relief and focus wash over me. For the first time all day, Henry had no reason to be in my orbit—he was stationed on the pit wall, his attention glued to the screens monitoring the car’s performance.

The moment I stepped into the garage and put on my helmet, it was like a switch flipped. The world outside the car didn’t matter anymore. My heart rate steadied, and my grip on the steering wheel felt like an extension of myself. The tension that had weighed on me all weekend melted away as I slid into the cockpit.

The team ran through the final checks as I got comfortable in the car. Mark’s voice came through the radio, calm and steady. “All systems are good. Just focus on the track, Y/N. You’ve got this.”

“Copy that,” I replied, my voice steady. This was my domain, the one place where no one could touch me.

The first two sessions were rough. The car felt a little twitchy, especially in Sector 2, and I struggled to find a rhythm. I pushed through, adjusting my lines and braking points with each lap, determined not to let the day’s earlier frustrations seep into my performance.

As Q3 rolled around, I could feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins. The track was alive with energy, the roar of the crowd blending with the scream of engines. This was it—the moment to make it count.

I pushed the car harder than I had all weekend, finding time in the tricky middle sector and nailing the final corner with just enough finesse to keep the lap together. When I crossed the line, my engineer’s voice crackled in my ear.

“P4, Y/N. Great job! Carlos is on pole, Max P2, Lando P3. Solid result.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, a small smile tugging at my lips. P4 wasn't a pole, but it was more than I had expected given the challenges of the day.

“Thanks, team,” I said, feeling a flicker of pride. “The car felt better that lap. Appreciate the hard work.”

As I brought the car back to the pits, the weight of the day began to lift. For the first time all weekend, I felt like myself again—not the woman constantly dodging Henry’s advances or the driver carrying the pressure of proving she belonged here, but just me.

I climbed out of the car, pulling off my helmet and shaking out my hair. The team greeted me with nods and claps, and I let myself enjoy the moment, however fleeting it might be.

The hotel room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioner. I let the door shut behind me with a heavy thud, kicking off my shoes and tossing my bag onto the chair in the corner. The adrenaline from qualifying had faded, leaving behind an unsettling cocktail of exhaustion and vulnerability.

The bathroom’s warm light was a stark contrast to the cool, sterile tones of the rest of the room. I turned on the shower, letting the steam fill the small space, and leaned against the counter while I waited for the water to heat up. My reflection stared back at me from the mirror, hair disheveled and dark circles starting to form under my eyes.

I pulled off my post session sweats and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over my sore muscles. It should’ve been relaxing, but my mind had other plans.

Henry’s words from earlier echoed in my head, relentless and insidious. “Maybe you’d do better if you weren’t so uptight all the time.” “You’re not here to impress anyone, are you?” “That’s what we like about her.”

The mocking tone, the smug grin—it all played on a loop, growing louder and harder to ignore. I scrubbed at my skin as if I could wash away the feeling of his gaze, the weight of his presence lingering like a stain.

I leaned against the cool tile wall, closing my eyes and taking a shaky breath. Was he right? Was I too uptight? Too focused on proving myself? My confidence, so solid on the track, seemed to crumble the moment I stepped out of the car.

After finishing the shower, I wrapped myself in a towel and padded back into the room. The steam followed me, curling into the corners of the space as I sat on the edge of the bed. My routine continued mechanically: brushing out my hair, applying lotion, slipping into comfortable clothes. Each movement was automatic, a distraction from the growing weight pressing down on my chest.

But the thoughts didn’t stop.

Henry’s words weren’t new; they echoed sentiments I’d heard my whole life. “She’s too ambitious.” “She’s too emotional.” “She’s just here for attention.”

I ran a hand through my damp hair, staring at the floor as the doubts wormed their way deeper. My reflection in the full-length mirror caught my eye again. I stood there, taking in every perceived flaw, every reason I didn’t belong.

Was I really good enough? Or was everyone just waiting for me to fail?

I sat back on the bed, pulling my knees to my chest as the self-consciousness gnawed at me. The pride I’d felt earlier, qualifying P4 in a tough session, felt like a distant memory. All I could think about was how much more I had to prove, how many people were waiting to say, “I told you so.”

The loneliness of the room wrapped around me like a shroud. I wanted to cry, to scream, to break something—but instead, I sat there in silence, letting the doubts and insecurities seep into every corner of my mind.

Tomorrow was another day, another fight. But tonight, the weight of it all felt unbearable.

A soft knock at the door broke through the silence of the room. I froze, startled out of my spiraling thoughts. Who would be coming to my room now? Cautiously, I approached the door, glancing through the peephole. Relief washed over me as I saw familiar faces. Hannah and Liam.

I opened the door, and they greeted me with matching grins, Liam holding up a bag that smelled suspiciously like burgers. “Surprise!” he said, stepping past me into the room.

Hannah followed, balancing a tote bag that clinked faintly with the sound of bottled drinks. “We figured you could use some company,” she said, her voice warm and understanding.

“I—uh, yeah,” I said, stepping back to let them in. “Come on in.”

They didn’t wait for a second invitation, making themselves at home. Liam pulled a blanket off the bed and spread it across the floor, creating an impromptu picnic spot, while Hannah unpacked the food.

“We brought burgers, fries, and milkshakes,” Hannah said, glancing over her shoulder with a teasing smile. “Your favorites, right?”

I nodded, touched by the gesture. “Yeah, they are. Thanks, guys.”

We settled onto the floor, the hotel room’s TV playing a cheesy rom-com in the background. For a while, we just ate and talked about everything but racing—joking about Liam’s terrible taste in movies and Hannah’s overly dramatic reactions to every plot twist.

But I could feel their eyes on me, watching closely, their usual banter tinged with a hint of concern.

“So,” Liam said after a pause, leaning back on his hands, “how’s everything going? You’ve been quieter than usual this weekend.”

I hesitated, swirling my straw in my milkshake. “It’s... been a lot,” I admitted carefully. “The pressure from the team is just... a lot to deal with, you know?”

Hannah tilted her head, her expression soft. “You’ve been under pressure since day one, Y/N. This feels different.”

I bit my lip, avoiding their gazes. “It’s just... the expectations. They’ve grown. It’s like... like I have to be perfect all the time. I can’t mess up. Can’t let anyone down.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them, and I froze when I realized I’d echoed something Henry had said earlier in the week.

“Can’t let anyone down,” Hannah repeated, her brow furrowing slightly. “Who’s been saying that to you?”

“N-no one,” I said quickly, shaking my head. “It’s just how I feel. It’s nothing, really.”

Liam exchanged a glance with Hannah but didn’t push. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Y/N, you’ve always been good at handling the pressure. But if someone’s making you feel like you’re not good enough, screw them.”

“Yeah,” Hannah chimed in, her voice firm. “You’ve earned your place here. Don’t let anyone make you think otherwise.”

I smiled faintly, grateful for their support, but their words only made the guilt churn in my stomach. I couldn’t tell them the truth. Not yet.

By the end of the night, as we laughed over the absurd ending of the movie and polished off the last of the fries, the tension in my chest had eased slightly. But I could tell Hannah and Liam were still worried. They hadn’t figured out who was getting into my head, but they knew someone was.

As they stood to leave, Hannah gave me a quick hug. “We’re here, okay? For anything.”

“Thanks,” I murmured, meaning it.

Liam lingered in the doorway, his usual teasing grin replaced by something softer. “Don’t forget, Y/N. You’ve got a whole grid of people who’ve got your back, whether you like it or not.”

I nodded, watching as they walked down the hallway.

Liam and Hannah walked down the hallway in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. It wasn’t until they turned the corner, safely out of earshot from Y/N’s room, that Liam finally spoke.

“She’s not telling us everything,” he said, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I know her. She always tries to deal with things alone when it gets bad.”

Hannah nodded, her expression serious. “Yeah. She slipped up a couple of times, repeating things someone else must’ve said. ‘Can’t let anyone down’? That didn’t sound like her.”

As they reached the lobby, they spotted Max Verstappen leaning against a wall, scrolling through his phone. He looked up as they approached, immediately straightening when he caught their expressions.

“What’s going on?” Max asked, tucking his phone away.

Hannah glanced around to make sure no one else was listening before answering. “We went to check on Y/N. She’s not okay, Max. She’s brushing it off as team pressure, but it’s more than that. Someone’s in her head.”

Max’s jaw tightened, his gaze darkening. “I thought so. I saw something earlier—her engineer. He was following her around the paddock like a shadow, making her visibly uncomfortable. She tried to act like everything was fine, but I could tell it wasn’t. The guy’s overly demanding, crossing the line from professional to... something else.”

Liam crossed his arms, his frustration bubbling over. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

Max shot him a pointed look. “What was I supposed to do? Accuse someone without knowing the full story? She’d hate that. But now I’m starting to think it’s worse than I realized.”

Hannah hesitated, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Do you think... it’s more than just workplace harassment?”

“What do you mean?” Liam asked, frowning.

Hannah shifted uncomfortably, lowering her voice. “What if he’s grooming her? I mean, the way she described his comments—they weren’t just about her performance. They sounded... personal. Like he’s trying to break her down, make her feel dependent on him.”

Max’s fists clenched at his sides, his anger barely contained. “If that’s what’s happening—if he’s trying to manipulate her into something worse—he’s going to regret it.”

Liam nodded, his jaw set. “We need to keep an eye on her. If she won’t talk to us, we have to make sure she’s not alone with him as much as possible.”

Hannah sighed, worry etched across her face. “And if we’re wrong? What if it’s just the pressure getting to her?”

Max’s voice was cold, determined. “Then we’ll still have her back. But if we’re right, he’s done. No one messes with one of us like that. Especially not her.”

The trio stood in silence for a moment, a shared understanding passing between them. Y/N might not have asked for their help, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t give it.

“She’s not going to like this,” Liam said finally, shaking his head.

Max smirked, though his eyes remained hard. “She’ll thank us later. Or she won’t. Either way, we’re not letting this slide.”

With that, they split off, each silently vowing to protect her, no matter what it took.

As they parted ways, Max pulled out his phone, his fingers flying across the screen as he composed a message. He wasn’t one to stir the pot unnecessarily, but this was different. Y/N was part of their grid family now, and family looked out for each other.

Max Verstappen (Group Chat: "Grid Gossip")Guys, we need to talk about something serious.

The chat, typically filled with memes, jokes, and random banter, immediately grew quiet. The typing bubbles from multiple drivers popped up almost instantly.

Lando Norris:What’s going on?

Charles Leclerc:Serious? Coming from you, Max?

Lewis Hamilton:What’s happening?

Max sighed, leaning against the wall, and continued typing.

Max Verstappen:It’s about Y/N. I’ve noticed her engineer, acting really off with her. Following her around, being overly demanding, and making comments that clearly make her uncomfortable. Liam, Hannah, and I think it might be more than just workplace stuff.

George Russell:More than workplace stuff? Like harassment?

Max Verstappen:Maybe. Hannah thinks it might even be grooming. The way he’s breaking her down, it’s not normal. She won’t tell us what’s really going on, but it’s affecting her. Badly.

Lando Norris:I’ve seen him hovering too. She tries to brush it off, but you can tell she’s not okay.

Carlos Sainz:This is serious. What��s the plan?

Lewis Hamilton:We can’t just sit back and do nothing. We need to be careful, though. If we push too hard, it might make things worse for her.

Max Verstappen:Agreed. For now, we keep an eye on her. Make sure she’s not alone with him. And if he crosses the line again, we step in. Hard.

Charles Leclerc:I’ll talk to her if I get the chance. Maybe she’ll open up to me.

George Russell:Or me. She’s close with a few of us. If we all subtly check in, she might feel comfortable enough to tell one of us.

Lando Norris:And if she doesn’t? What if she keeps trying to handle it alone?

Max Verstappen:Then we protect her anyway. She is not going to fight this by herself, this engineer holds to much over her.

The group chat lit up with agreements, each driver vowing to do their part.

As Max slipped his phone back into his pocket, a small weight lifted from his chest. Y/N wasn’t alone in this, whether she realized it yet or not. The grid had her back, and together, they’d make sure no one—least of all Henry—could tear her down.

#x reader #driver!reader #f1 #f1 angst #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #formula 1 #max verstappen #charles leclerc #oscar piastri #lando norris #franco colapinto #lewis hamilton #carlos sainz #george russell #grill the grid #f1 grid x reader

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mediocre-shark-tales · 1 day ago

Text

Post Maiden-Home Win

Masterlist

Trigger Warning- slow burn of increasing themes including sexism, SA, depression, and implied grooming will be skattered throughout the rest of the story. Please feel free to skip parts you find uncomfortable or to stop reading the rest of the story in general. no harm no foul.

The days between the Texas and Mexican Grands Prix were a whirlwind, but they started with a night I’d never forget. Fresh off my first Formula 1 victory—on home soil, no less—I was swept into a celebration that felt larger than life. Nearly every driver on the grid showed up, save for a few who had family commitments or simply didn’t have the energy for our kind of chaos. Even they made a point to swing by and congratulate me before heading off to their flights or their quieter plans.

For once, the usual rivalries and tensions seemed to melt away. We were just a group of racers, toasting to a milestone that felt as much theirs as it was mine. The party buzzed with laughter, music, and the kind of camaraderie you only find in moments like these. It was as if my win had become a victory for everyone who had ever dared to chase a dream.

The party was everything I imagined a post-win celebration could be—yet so much more. For the first time since I’d joined the grid, the spotlight wasn’t about what I lacked, who I wasn’t, or why I didn’t belong. It was about me—a victor, a competitor, an equal.

The night felt surreal. The other drivers hoisted me onto their shoulders, chanting my name as if I was their hero, not just the lone woman who had somehow clawed her way onto the grid. Lando handed me a drink with a grin, promising that "you'll never forget your first win party," while Franco spun me around in a dance I didn’t know the steps to but couldn’t stop laughing through. Even Max, who was usually stoic, clinked his glass against mine and said, “You deserve it. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

For a few fleeting hours, the endless battle for respect and recognition faded into the background. I wasn’t the woman who had replaced Lance Stroll and had her abilities questioned at every turn. I wasn’t the target of snide remarks, belittling jokes, or the subject of ugly rumors that accused me of everything from sleeping my way into the sport to only being here for the media attention. I wasn’t the outsider fighting for space in a world that had never wanted me.

I was a winner.

But even in the glow of celebration, the shadows lingered. I knew this moment wouldn’t last forever. The headlines tomorrow would still dissect every detail of my performance, and the doubters would still find ways to diminish my success. The whispers wouldn’t stop—about how my team must have favored me, how it was “just luck,” or how the other drivers had “gone easy” on me because of my gender.

Still, as the music pounded and the lights danced across the room, I let myself live in this moment. For once, the people around me weren’t doubting me—they were celebrating with me. I drank it all in: the laughter, the clinking glasses, the genuine congratulations. Even if the road ahead would be just as steep, tonight, I wasn’t just a female driver in a male-dominated sport. Tonight, I was a champion.

Knock, knock, knock.

The pounding on the door echoed like a drumline in my head. I groaned, pulling the pillow over my face, and prayed whoever it was would give up and go away. No such luck.

“Y/N!” Lewis’s voice came through the door, muffled but unmistakable. “We know you’re in there. Open up before I have Charles break the door down.”

“I’m not breaking anything,” Charles protested, his tone light and teasing. “But we will stand here until you let us in.”

I groaned louder, dragging myself out of bed. My head felt like it was splitting in two, and the room spun just from standing. I stumbled to the door and cracked it open, glaring at the two figures on the other side.

Lewis and Charles stood there, both looking annoyingly chipper for people who had been at the same party as me. Lewis held a bag of something greasy-smelling, and Charles waved a bottle of water in one hand and a sports drink in the other.

“Ugh,” I muttered, letting the door swing open wider as I shuffled back toward the couch. “I’m dying. Leave me here to rot.”

Lewis chuckled, stepping inside and setting the bag on the coffee table. “We figured you’d say that. So we brought reinforcements—breakfast and hydration.”

Charles grinned, handing me the water first. “Drink this before Lewis starts lecturing you about recovery.”

I sank onto the couch, sipping the water while Lewis unpacked the bag. The smell of breakfast sandwiches and hash browns hit me, and despite my nausea, my stomach growled.

“See? You’re not that far gone,” Lewis said, passing me a sandwich.

Before I could thank them, another knock came at the door, softer this time.

“Now what?” I grumbled, shuffling back to answer it.

When I opened the door, Lando was leaning against the frame, his hair a mess and his hoodie pulled halfway over his face like it was his armor against the world. Franco stood behind him, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

“We heard there was a hangover party,” Lando mumbled, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

“Did you bring food?” Franco asked, peering around him.

“Not you too,” I said, but there was no bite in my tone.

“You looked worse than me at the party,” Lando quipped, flopping onto the couch next to me. “And that’s saying something.”

“Don’t remind me,” I muttered, taking a bite of the sandwich.

Franco perched on the armrest of the couch, watching me like I was some science experiment. “Do you always look this awful after drinking?”

“Do you always look this awful without drinking?” I shot back, earning a laugh from everyone in the room.

As the boys bickered and passed around the food Lewis had brought, the headache began to fade, replaced by something lighter, warmer.

-time skip-

Later that day, I was shipped off to Mexico City for the next race. The plane ride was uneventful, a mix of peace and monotony as I rode alone. First-class perks and my comfiest headphones helped pass the time, but it didn’t stop the creeping anticipation in my mind.

When I landed, my manager was already waiting, hustling me through the crowded airport. “Let’s get you to the hotel,” she said briskly. “You’ve got a little time to settle in before the meeting.”

I nodded, grateful for the momentary reprieve. By the time we arrived, I was too tired to do much more than toss my suitcase in the corner and collapse onto the bed for a quick nap. The quiet was short-lived, though, as the "big post-win meeting" loomed closer. Apparently, with Fernando and me both in strong positions for points after years of tough seasons, the team wanted to capitalize on the momentum. They saw this as an opportunity—not just to boost morale but to prepare us for the new pressure we’d be carrying on our shoulders.

When I finally walked into the makeshift meeting space, the buzz of conversation among the team greeted me. I scanned the room, offering small nods and smiles to familiar faces. But one gaze stopped me cold.

I clocked him instantly. The same guy from last weekend. His presence was a scar in my memory—a faded yet sharp reminder of a strange encounter I hadn’t quite shaken. His eyes locked on me, unrelenting and piercing, like he was trying to peel away every layer of my being. It wasn’t just uncomfortable; it was invasive, like he was searching for something I hadn’t consented to share.

I busied myself with casual chatter among the team, doing my best to avoid his line of sight. But he didn’t seem to take the hint. His questions started out innocuous enough but quickly grew more probing, each one designed to worm his way past my walls.

“So, Y/N,” he said, leaning just a bit too close, his voice smooth but loaded with something darker, “what’s it like carrying the hopes of an entire country on your shoulders? I imagine it’s… intoxicating.”

I forced a polite smile. “It’s a lot of responsibility, but I try to focus on the team effort. We all contribute to the success.”

He chuckled, as if my answer amused him. “Modest. But we both know you’re more than just another driver.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. My grip tightened on the water bottle in my hand as I tried to steer the conversation back to safer ground, cracking a joke with one of the engineers standing nearby.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Fernando watching the exchange, his sharp gaze flicking between me and the guy—Henry, as he finally introduced himself. Fernando’s expression tightened, his jaw clenching just slightly. He seemed to sense my discomfort, his focus narrowing in on Henry’s posture, which was all demanding presence and misplaced confidence.

Before Fernando could step in, the door swung open, and our team principal, Mike, strode in with a clipboard. The room quieted instantly as he called everyone to order.

I exhaled a small breath of relief, grateful for the interruption. Henry finally stepped back, though I could feel his eyes lingering on me as the meeting began. My focus stayed firmly on Mike, but my skin crawled with the residual unease of Henry’s attention.

Whatever the team wanted to prepare us for, it seemed I’d have to brace myself for more than just the pressure of the championship fight.

As the meeting progressed, Mike laid out the agenda with his usual no-nonsense tone. He congratulated Fernando and me on our recent performances, his words tinged with that managerial mix of pride and urgency.

“We’re in a great position,” he began, “but we need to push harder. Especially with the Constructor’s Championship still within reach. To that end, there’ll be some changes to help maximize efficiency and improve collaboration across both sides of the garage.”

I shifted in my chair, already sensing where this was headed.

“Y/N,” Mike said, his gaze landing on me. “You’ve done exceptionally well under the circumstances, but as the newest driver, there’s still room for growth—both in understanding the car and in working more seamlessly with the engineering team.”

I nodded, doing my best to look composed. “Of course. Whatever helps the team.”

“Good,” he replied. “You’ll be spending more time with Henry and his team the rest of this season. They’ll walk you through the car’s nuances, collect your feedback, and ensure we’re all on the same page moving forward.”

Outwardly, I kept my expression neutral, but internally, I winced. Of course he would be leading this. I stole a glance at Henry, who sat across the room with that same infuriatingly smug posture. He gave me a small, knowing smile that only made my stomach twist.

“As for you, Fernando,” Mike continued, turning his attention to my teammate, “your side of the garage will be following a similar approach, though with less urgency. You’ve proven time and again that you understand the car and the team’s dynamics. But we’ll still use this as an opportunity to fine-tune.”

Fernando gave a slight nod, his face unreadable. I caught his eye for a brief second, and there was a flicker of something there—concern, maybe.

The meeting wrapped up with the usual reminders about strategy sessions and media commitments, but I barely heard any of it. My mind was stuck on the looming task of spending more time with Henry. I didn’t doubt his skills as an engineer—he’d been with the team long before I arrived, and his reputation for precision was well-known. But his unnerving presence made the thought of working closely with him almost unbearable.

As we filed out of the room, Fernando caught up to me, his hand brushing lightly against my arm. “You okay?” he asked quietly, his voice low enough that no one else could hear.

I hesitated, glancing around to make sure Henry wasn’t within earshot. “I will be,” I said, offering a small, forced smile.

Fernando frowned but didn’t press further. Instead, he leaned in slightly, his tone soft but firm. “If he gives you trouble, you tell me. Understood?”

I nodded, the weight of his words grounding me for a moment. “Thanks, Fernando.”

He gave a small nod before stepping away to join his side of the garage.

I took a deep breath and turned toward Henry, who was waiting near the door, his hands in his pockets and that same unreadable look in his eyes. “Shall we?” he asked, his voice smooth as silk.

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to nod. “Lead the way.”

This was going to suck.

-time skip-

The next day was grueling. Henry and two other engineers, Mark and Tom, had me stationed in one of the team’s garages, walking me through nearly every detail about the car ahead of the Mexican GP. Aero dynamics, brake wear, tire degradation on the high-altitude track—it felt like I was cramming for an exam I hadn’t studied for.

Mark and Tom were professional, efficient, and clear in their explanations. They answered my questions patiently, sometimes even offering diagrams to make things easier to grasp. But Henry... Henry was a different story.

“So, Y/N,” Henry drawled at one point, leaning casually against the workbench as if we weren’t on a tight schedule, “do you ever worry you’ll... break a nail handling the wheel? Or does the team have a special manicure budget for you?”

I froze, gripping the edge of the table to keep my temper in check. Mark coughed awkwardly, glancing between us, while Tom cleared his throat.

“Henry,” Tom said carefully, “let’s stay on topic. We’ve got a lot to cover.”

Henry waved him off with a smirk. “Relax, Tom. Just trying to lighten the mood. Y/N can handle a joke, can’t you?”

I forced a tight smile, biting back the sharp retort burning in my throat. “Let’s focus on the car, shall we? There’s plenty I still need to learn.”

For a moment, I thought that might shut him up, but Henry only leaned closer, his voice dropping. “You know, you’d learn a lot faster if you weren’t so tense. I could help you... unwind, if you’d like.”

Mark’s jaw tightened. “Henry—”

“Let it go, Mark,” Henry snapped, straightening up and glaring at him. “I’m in charge here. Maybe focus on your job instead of babysitting.”

The tension in the room was suffocating, but I forced myself to keep going. I nodded along as Mark and Tom did their best to continue the session, subtly redirecting the focus back to the technical aspects of the car.

By the time we wrapped up, my head was pounding—not just from the overload of information, but from the constant strain of dealing with Henry’s veiled jabs and innuendos.

Back at the hotel, I trudged into the lobby, my mood dark and my patience worn thin. As I passed through, a burst of laughter caught my attention. I glanced over to see a small group of drivers lounging in one of the seating areas, looking relaxed and carefree.

Charles spotted me first, his smile warm and genuine as he waved me over. “Y/N! Come join us.”

I hesitated, torn between my sour mood and the temptation of their easy camaraderie. Lando, sprawled across one of the couches, noticed my hesitation and grinned. “You look like you’ve had the longest day in history. We’ve got snacks and bad TV—instant cure for whatever’s bothering you.”

Franco leaned against the armrest, tossing a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “And if that doesn’t work, I hear Lando’s jokes are so bad they’ll make you laugh out of pity.”

Despite myself, a small smile tugged at my lips. “That sounds... tempting,” I admitted, stepping closer.

Charles patted the empty seat next to him. “Come on. You seem like you need this more than we do.”

As I sank into the seat, the weight of the day began to lift. Their laughter, their lighthearted banter—it was a reminder that I wasn’t entirely alone in this world, even if some days it felt like it.

For the first time all day, I felt like I could breathe.

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