#a safety car dominated race???

[sophiewagentje]

Just end this pls

[livetogether--diealone]

i can't belive i waited this long for rb to get the car wrong, for people to see max wasn't that good of a driver and he could not have beaten the lewis hamilton without a better car and cheating, for people to say he's too aggressive, for rb to be this close to the bottom feeder cars only to exchange that with lando norris in a rocketship and it's also a fucking mclaren

[mv1simp]

for anon’s request: How about Lewis’ Daughter!reader like innocent and protected but Max completely makes her submit to him like actual love that she thinks Lewis is the bad guy for tryna come between their relationship? (Made it Lewis’ sister!)

Gods & Monsters ♥️

Max Verstappen x Hamilton!Reader

You got that medicine I need, fame liquor love, give it to me slowly…

As Lewis Hamilton’s younger, innocent sister, you’re desperate to prove yourself as an upcoming racer. Your family never seems to take you seriously, though, and after a fall out you end up training under Max Verstappen - your brother’s arch rival. Max promises he’ll train you to become the next world champion…as long as you do everything he asks.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, innocent virgin Hamilton! Reader, dark manipulative! Max, VERY dubcon, blindfolds, size kink, somnophilia, LH44 is sexist for plot reasons, ayo this is DARK!! 😙 3.4k WC

Growing up, you and your big brother Lewis were presented with two options. Either succeed, or fail to live upto the Hamilton name. Both your parents were incredibly hardworking and sacrificing - but all their attention would always go to their firstborn, the much older, bigger and better Hamilton. You were just as good as Lewis had been when starting out, spending every weekend on the track and dominating the junior karting races - but when it came time for you to progress into formula cars, your brother and father had chuckled, patting your head and saying it might be a bit too much for you, you were a lot smaller and younger than Lewis, after all. Maybe you should just stick to karting for now, or had you considered going into car design, you got pretty good grades in uni and that’s a much safer option?

You were understandably upset at the lack of opportunity to prove your last name. So you tried to sneak onto the F1 paddock, chatting up the team principals in the hope that they would recognise you from the karting podiums and recruit you into their junior teams-

But Lewis had caught on unbelievably fast, a tight smile and redirecting hand on your back as he led you out of the McLaren garage. We discussed this, baby sis Lewis said as you walked back to the Mercedes hospitality. He was never one to raise his voice but you could tell from his tone he was disappointed. You tried to argue again, saying that it wasn’t fair, you were a good driver too, but Lewis cut you off with a stern look. It’s not safe for you. The guys who race here - they aren’t like me, lil sis. You can’t trust any of them. I’m sorry, but you should stay in karting.

You’d slumped in resignation, briefly looking into the Redbull garage as you walked past - the only team you hadn’t yet gone to talk to. And home to perhaps the only driver who could understand the pressure you felt to live upto your father’s expectation - current reigning champion, Max Verstappen. Otherwise known as the bane of your family’s existence. He’d been the one to break your big brother’s winning streak, the subject of many a heated family discussion over the dinner table about how to defeat in a race. Truly, you hadn’t seen your big brother hate someone before until the day Max had crashed into him, sending him to the hospital and your heart rate into 200bpm as you prayed for his safety. Lewis had been fine, but his winning streak had not as Max went onto P1 that race.

So you had always learnt to stay far, far away from Mad Max. But last year when you’d been having a hard time on one of your karting races, and you paced back and forth during the red flag because normally you’d ask Lewis for help but he had started coming less often these days - you were interrupted by a knock on the door. You ran to open it, thinking your brother had decided to come after all - only to crane your head up to meet the handsome face of the tall Dutch Redbull driver. You’d immediately flushed, on guard just like your family had taught you to be and asking what he was doing - but he had kindly ignored your rudeness and said he happened to be here for another friend and had seen your race, did you need some advice?

You’d been so desperate to win that you had let him in, looking around to make sure no paparazzi had seen as you were sure Lewis would ban you permanently from karting if he caught a whiff of this. To your suprise, Max was so helpful and supportive, giving you excellent pointers and aggressive strategies your brother would never dare guide you towards. You’d gone onto win P1, and after the podium had excitedly gone to find Max and thank him. Of course, schat, he’d replied easily, a handsome smile on his face, making you blush. Since then Max had always been there to guide you at your races, making you win multiple competitions to celebrate together or comfort you after a loss. Your family had no idea, of course, because they would skin both you and Max alive if they ever knew about your close friendship.

But now, things were starting to reach a boiling point as your relationship with your brother became tense as he actively tried to deter your formula career. And Max - your kind, thoughtful friend Max - had definitely noticed this. So he casually informed you that the Redbull academy was recruiting, and personally drove you the trials the next week, and welcomed your excited hug into his broad arms afterwards as you sailed into P1 and were offered an immediate spot on the Redbull F2 team, so grateful that the older, experienced driver had taken such a genuine interest in your racing, unlike your own family.

When you tried to break the good news to your family, shit had obviously hit the fan and they demanded that you decline the position. It’s not that I’m not proud of you baby sis, Lewis had sighed. It’s that you cannot trust Max Verstappen, seriously - he only thinks about himself. He’ll definitely hurt you or use you to hurt me.

You had screamed and cried, saying that Max had been the only one to look out for you these last few months. You’d called the Dutchman for advice, sniffling and saying I’m sorry Maxie, they won’t let me go, I have to decline-

He’d gently interrupted and reminded you that you’re an adult, you know schat? And an incredibly talented driver. You should put yourself first for a change. You’d hesitated, because you’d never done anything without your family closely supervising you before - but where would you go, you say confused. You didn’t know anyone - you know me, Max offered. Come stay at mine while you sort things out, but don’t let it delay starting your F2 season.

You’d started crying again, telling the Dutch driver how lucky you were to have him as a friend. And that’s how you found yourself tucked into his much larger frame, on his private jet en route to Monaco, fast asleep from the emotionally charged day as he lovingly kissed your forehead. And your temporary residence at his penthouse dragged into months into an indefinite stay as he insisted it was safer for you, given the papparazzi that had gone crazy at the youngest Hamilton sibling switching sides - just for now, until it dies down. You’d gratefully accepted, becoming accustomed to his luxurious lifestyle and wanting to be in close proximity to Max. It was hard to control the thumping of your heart as you scolded yourself internally for your crush on the tall driver, who you were sure only saw you as a junior driver to guide.

Before the season started, Max had warned you that your family would interfere and try to turn you against him. You hadn’t taken it seriously, but when Lewis approached you at your first race, demanded to speak to you in person after you’d been blocking his calls for days, Max had been all to happy to get security to escort him away after you’d started becoming upset, just like he knew you would. Don’t pay any mind to him, schat. He’s probably just jealous of your success.

You’d found that hard to believe, because although your big brother had a few annoying traits, he would always be genuinely happy about your wins. But Max had planted the seed of doubt that began to crumble your inner self worth, questioning if your big bro had only been holding you back because he wanted to remain the family champion. Remaining on edge, your anxiety began damaging your racing and dropping you in the rankings. You slept fretfully, paranoid that you were going to be benched and would be forced to go home in humiliation and hear your family’s we told you so.

You let Max climb into your bed one night when he heard your muffled cries, running a soothing hand up and down your back, hungrily enjoying the view of your thick ass as your silky nightie rode up while you sobbed into his strong chest. And when you opened up about all your worries, it was only natural that he offered to be the one to train you, being the current world champion and all, right? You had lit up, so delighted that he had offered, flushed because truly you’d never met anyone so kind and giving like him.

And Max - well, he would never let an opportunity to get back at Lewis slide by. Training his precious little sister, the one he always protectively hid away from the rest of the grid? Oh, it was almost too perfect, he thought darkly. And it was an added bonus that you were so gorgeous, all dark curls, innocent doe eyes and a soft, curvy 5 foot figure under his almost 6 foot frame. But my training is intense, schat. Very strict. He made you promise that you’d do whatever he asked, no matter how you felt, because it was the only way to win - and that you couldn’t tell anyone else about his top secret training methods, especially your big brother. You’d eagerly nodded your agreement, looking up at him with starry eyes and saying Yes Maxie, of course, I trust you, thank you so much for offering, I’m so grateful!

As the weeks went by, Max proved himself to be the best mentor you could ask for. You two would train together, going on morning jogs, drinking the same protein smoothies, discussing the best overtaking techniques. All the time you two spent together made rumours fly around the paddock about the exact nature of your relationship - but Max dismissed them all with a roll of his eyes, telling you that it was so sexist of people to assume you were his girlfriend and not his junior driver. You’d agreed, althought you couldn’t help feeling disappointed that Max didn’t seem to think about you in a romantic sense at all.

Your rankings started improving, but Max had said that you needed a lot more work if you wanted to reach P1, especially given your smaller size compared to the rest of the drivers. You nodded eagerly, curious when he easily picked you up and deposited you in between his thick thighs on his sim rig, ordering you to show him your driving. You’d been doing so well until he started brushing his large hands across your soft waist and whispering naughty things in your ear about how sexy you looked, how hard it was to resist you every night while you slept right next door to him. You’d squealed, confused and asking just what he was doing - Trying to test your ability to focus, to avoid any distractions, Max replies disapprovingly as your car crashed on the screen. Clearly, you have a lot of work to do. This isn’t good enough!

Oh, you’d replied, feeling foolish for thinking anything romantic of it. Max didn’t like you like that, after all. So you two resumed the daily sessions, him torturing you for hours with caresses all over your body, squeezing your soft tits and pinching your nipples through your tight camisoles, and sliding large fingers up the skirt he’d always make you wear to tease your embarrassingly damp slit. You’d gone pink in the face when he first felt it, stuttering out apologies but he just sweetly reassured you that it wasn’t your fault, just a normal reaction - like this, he’d said, pulling your small waist back so you grinded on something very large and hard tucked into his sweats. You’d never felt something like that before, having never had a boyfriend since your family always kept you under their protective eye.

But it felt sooo good, you thought guiltily, hoping Max wouldn’t mind when you would be unable to resist grinding against him some sessions. He never seemed to care, instead progressing you to the next level by slipping his cock out of his sweats one night and letting it bounce up against your most innocent parts. You had gone wide eyed seeing it for the first time, not expecting it to look soo big and thick and angry, making your stomach twist in fear. But it was business as usual as Max angrily scolded you for becoming distracted, making you restart as he began gliding his cock along your puffy folds - always separated by your soaked lace panties, of course.

Once you had become a master at being laser focused, he made you develop your senses next. A good driver is always in tune with the feel, the smell, the sound of the car, he explains. You don’t question him, obediently drooping onto your thick ass in front of his spread thighs as he wraps a silk tie across your eyes. You bite your lip from the sudden disorientation, feeling nervous, but Max’s large palm comfortingly strokes your hair. At his command you poke your tongue out and hold your palms up, waiting for the first test and he almost groans out loud from your sweet gullibility. You correctly identify a bunch of different exotic tasting fruits, specific switches and buttons on the replica steering wheel - and sassy, you giggle, when you feel Max’s cat climb into your lap. He muses that he’s going to have to give you something harder to figure out cause you’re so good as this, making you blush from the praise. You curiously hear a rustle as he steps closer and then he guides your small hands to something very long and thick. You experimentally rub your hands along it, hearing Max hiss. A banana? You say dumbly after a few beats, Cucumber?

Wrong, Max says, sounding a bit breathless. Why don’t you taste it, hmm? You diligently lick the tip of it with your delicate tongue, not recognising the heady, salty taste, and begin licking more and more as you become determined to figure it out. You don’t know how many minutes have passed but you aren’t any closer to guessing it, instead saying It tastes really good, Maxie, what is it? You hear him swear, grip tightening in your hair, and then he orders you to open your mouth wide to get a proper taste, his normally deep voice even huskier than normal. You feel him trace your plush lips with his thumb, making you feel that dirty tingly feeling in between your legs again, before the mysterious warm and thick length is shoved down your throat, making you gag uncontrollably. You whine, trying to pull back and breathe, but Max’s strong hand doesn’t let up as he roughly shoves it in and out of your tight mouth.

Tears drip down your cheeks at the intensity and you’re drooling messily, but Max doesn’t seem to care one bit and you might’ve imagined it but you thought you hear the click of multiple photos being taken. Guessed what it is yet, schat? Max asks mockingly, and you whine, shaking your head. Too bad, maybe this will help you figure it out. He pushes the whole length past your lips as you feel something thick and creamy flood your mouth, giving you no option but to swallow it, licking your lips to try figure out the taste. Afterwards, Max had gently taken the blindfold off, revealing his flushed face, and wipes your tears away sweetly. Sorry I didn’t get the last answer, you say guiltily, upset that you had no clue. It’s alright, doll, Max reassured, I’m sure you’ll get it next time, yeah?

Another thing that you needed to improve was your endurance and stamina. F2 races were a lot more demanding than karting, Max pointed out, noticing how tired you would be after a race. He increased the frequency of your runs and workouts, always helping you stretch before and letting his dark gaze hungrily linger on your pliant body underneath him. You’d wear the cutest little yoga shorts and sports bras, leaving your sensitive chocolate-toned skin on display for him, and it was almost too easy to accidentally slide in between your legs or brush the swell of your breasts as he stretched you out, bending your legs right back up over your head and leaving you breathless. But it wasn’t enough for Max as you consistently scored on the podium now but never P1. So he proposed the ultimate endurance training, that all the F1 drivers did regularly - fucking.

Fu-you mean, making love?! You’d shrieked hysterically, whipping your head up as he brought it up casually when you two were watched a movie, cuddled up on the couch. He’d smirked, Sure darling, making love.

You’d looked nervous, like a deer in headlights, telling him you weren’t sure, you felt uncomfortable doing that for the first time…but Max’s stormy expression left no room for discussion. Everyone on the grid does it, all the time. Even your older brother, he said condescendingly. It’s a pretty good stress relief. Trust me, your driving will become so much faster.

You innocently eat up Max’s blatant lies, hesitantly asking if you should get a boyfriend then, that cute engineer from the Redbull garage had asked you out after all- No! Max says heatedly, glaring furiously at the thought of some other man laying their hands on what belonged to him. You look at him, confused how he expects you to- I mean, no, it’s fine schat, it’s part of your training after all, so I’ll take care of you, okay?

You flushed prettily, biting your lip and squeezing your thighs together at the thought of Max taking your virginity, as your romantic feelings had only grown the more time you spent with him. And soon enough, later that night, Max had climbed into your bed again to find you shyly waiting for him, dressed in that silky nightie he liked. Pulling it up over your hips, he moved your lace panties to the side and made you blush as he hungrily eyed your dripping innocence, just like he’d done many times while you’d been peacefully sleeping, unaware of the twisted desires your mentor had for you. He’d then stretched you out on his thick fingers, then replaced them with his even thicker cock - no condom, of course - sickly enjoying the tears streaming down your face as you sweetly moaned from pain and pleasure. Within minutes he was claiming you as his, sending you spiralling into orgasm after orgasm, screaming his name as you fell apart from overstimulation.

Max smirked at your small frame that was now passed out below him - you’d need a lot more training if this is all you could handle, he thought darkly as he gripped your petite waist, easily continuing to move you up and down his fat cock like a ragdoll. You moan blissfully in your sleep as he stretched out your virgin cunny. Maybe multiple times a day, Max decided, cause you just felt too damn good. In his bed next time, on the kitchen counter, in your driver’s room before the race and then maybe again after- and at least once in a hotel room where he neighboured Lewis. He could just imagine your wide eyes, teary from panic as you struggled to keep your moans quiet, begging him Maxie please, please not so rough as his thrusts repeatedly banged the headboard against the wall, making it clear to his rival just what kind of filthy things Max Verstappen was doing to his precious little sister.

The dirty, possessive thought makes him cum with a guttural moan, pumping you full of his generous load as he buries his flushed face in between your pretty tits to lick and bite at them. But what Max most looked forward to was the look on Lewis’ face when you would eventually show up to the paddock one day, F2 trophy in hand and a glittering rock on your ring finger to match, beaming in anticipation of replacing the Hamilton surname with Verstappen.

And no, Max would not be inviting him to the wedding.

—————————————————————————

A/N: ok anyways. This is a ridiculous amount of smut for me to have churned out in less than a day I need to touch some grass 🙏 as always lmk what you think and send in some more requests!

[rafecameronssl4t]

Unfinished Lap || F1 driver!Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: One moment, Rafe was dominating the race; the next, it all slipped away. You tried to steady his rising emotions, but his frustration overwhelmed him, leaving you no choice but to walk away from the paddock.

Warnings: angst, kinda toxic!rafe if there’s anything else lmk!

Word count: 1,865

A/n: nfl!rafe x dcc!reader later today!!! (Second part is up!)

MASTERLIST (F1 driver!rafe x fem!reader au masterlist)

“No! No! What happened?” Rafe’s voice crackles through the radio, his panic lacing every syllable as the chaos unfolds on the screen. Your gaze flickers back to the broadcast, watching his Ferrari crawl around the track, smoke billowing from the engine.

One moment, he was dominating the race, leading effortlessly—now, he’s barely moving. A mechanic’s voice cuts through the air, sharp with frustration. “His engine’s fucked,” a mechanic mutters, his voice heavy with disappointment. The team around them exchanges grim looks, all too aware of what this means for Rafe.

In your head, you can already hear his inner monologue—his fury at the failure, his frustration bubbling to the surface. Rafe was the kind of guy who measures his worth by every lap, every second on the track. Failure doesn’t sit well with him—especially failure that isn’t within his control.

You swallow the lump in your throat. The best you can do now is try to stay positive, to soothe the storm he’s bound to unleash on himself. But you know how hard that will be. Rafe is a perfectionist. The smallest misstep, the smallest flaw, eats away at him. Problems that he can’t control, like this—like his car giving out—will be the ones that break him.

Your gaze shifts back to the screen, where Rafe’s car is now completely immobilized. Smoke still rising, he’s done for the day. You exhale sharply. The screen zooms in on him, his face a mask of frustration. He’s already agitated, you can see it in the tightness of his jaw, the way he rips his gloves off his hands. You sigh, half in pity, half in resignation, when hand suddenly appears on your shoulder.

Austin gives you a sympathetic look. You force a smile, trying to lighten the moment, you both know the storm Rafe’s about to bring. You watch as the safety car pulls up in front of the garage, Rafe soon emerges, his movements stiff, every step heavy with the weight of his disappointment.

He walks past his team, offering a few terse pats on the back, but his face is an unreadable mask. It’s clear he’s holding everything inside, and that’s never a good sign. When he finally approaches you, your heart sinks. You open your arms, ready to offer the comfort you know he needs.

But Rafe, eyes dark with frustration, only snakes his hand briefly around your waist, his touch cold, distant. “It’s okay-“ You start but is cut off my him, “It’s not. It was a fucking shit show, so don’t say that it’s okay,” he spits, his voice low but sharp, full of venom as he practically hisses the words into your ear before brushing past you.

You freeze, your breath catching in your throat. His words hit harder than you expected, the sting of them sharper than you imagined. You can feel your heart beat erratically in your chest, a mix of shock and hurt washing over you. You scoff, trying to hold yourself together, trying not to let his outburst tear you apart.

His behavior is worse than you thought—this rage, this venom he’s spewing, it’s not just at the race. It’s at everything. And you, standing here, helpless to make him see reason, feel like the target. Rafe’s PR manager, Mia, watches the exchange from a distance, her eyes filled with sympathy.

You give her a small, dismissive wave, brushing off the weight of the situation as best as you can before turning sharply to head toward Rafe’s room. You close the door behind you, and the silence envelops you both. Rafe sits hunched over, his head in his hands, but when you speak, he doesn’t respond.

“It’s not your fault,” you say, your voice soft but firm as Rafe lifts his head from his hands. His eyes lock onto yours—cold, distant, unreadable. The usual fire you know him for is gone, replaced by a storm you can’t understand. You step closer, your heart tightening in your chest as you meet his gaze. “You know that, right?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he just stares at you, his jaw clenched tight, his expression a mask of frustration. There’s something else behind his eyes, something that feels like defeat. “I don’t need your sympathy, Y/n,” Rafe mutters, the words barely escaping his lips, low and edged with annoyance.

You flinch, but you don’t back down. You refuse to let him push you away, not now, not when he’s clearly falling apart inside. “I’m not trying to pity you,” you reply softly, crossing your arms as you take another step forward. “I’m trying to help you.”Rafe growls under his breath, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

“I don’t need help. I need things to fucking work out for once,” he snaps, the bitterness in his tone cutting through the air like a blade. Your chest tightens at his words, but you stay calm, your hand trembling slightly as you reach out to him, your fingers running through his hair, offering a fragile comfort.

You lean his head against your stomach, holding him in the way you know he needs, even if he doesn’t want it. “You were doing great out there, Rafe,” you murmur, trying to keep your voice steady. “It wasn’t your fault the car broke down. You couldn’t have known—”

“Just stop, Y/n,” he interrupts, his voice rising, harsh and guttural. He jerks his head away from your touch, the movement quick and sharp. He stands up abruptly, pacing away from you as his frustration boils over. “I’m fucking tired of this. Tired of everyone pretending like it’s fine when it’s not.”

You watch him, unsure of how to respond. He’s pacing now, back and forth, his movements agitated, like he’s trying to escape the tension that’s building up inside of him. The room feels smaller now, and you feel more distant from him than ever before. “Why do you have to keep pretending everything’s okay?”

He spits, his eyes flashing with something fierce, something you can’t quite pinpoint. “You keep telling me I’m fine- that I did well- but it doesn’t fucking matter. It’s not fine.” You stand frozen, trying to make sense of his words, your heart sinking with every second. “I’m not pretending, Rafe,” you say softly, trying to make him see, trying to make him understand.

“I know you hate losing, but you were amazing out there. I just… I just don’t want you to beat yourself up over something you couldn’t control.” “You don’t get it, do you?” he snaps, his voice breaking with the weight of his own frustration. “I don’t need your fucking sympathy. I don’t need you trying to make it better with your damn words. Words don’t fix this.”

The sting of his words hits you like a slap in the face, but you hold your ground, refusing to let the hurt show. “I’m just trying to look out for you, Rafe. You think I don’t know how much you’re killing yourself over this? You’re destroying yourself from the inside out when things you can’t control go wrong. But I can’t just sit here and watch you do that to yourself.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes with a dismissive gesture. “Yeah, well, maybe I don’t want your fucking help.” His voice is cold now, empty of anything resembling warmth. He sinks into a chair in the corner of the room, slumping back as if the weight of the world has finally crushed him under its pressure. “I’ll deal with it myself.”

You stand there for a moment, the silence deafening, before the frustration boils over, spilling from your lips before you can stop it. “I’m sorry for caring about you,” you mutter bitterly, the hurt in your voice unmistakable as you turn away. You can’t stand to be near him right now, not when he’s pushing you away like this.

You grab your bag, the strap slipping off your shoulder as you prepare to leave the Ferrari garage. Your pace quickens, the footsteps echoing too loudly against the concrete floor. The people around you, the team members, staff, mechanics—they all seem to part in front of you, but their gazes follow you, like they know something’s wrong.

And it makes everything worse. As you make your way towards the exit, Austin steps into your path, his eyes scanning you with concern. “Hey, what’s going on?” he asks, his voice low but urgent. You freeze for a moment, his gaze locking with yours. You don’t even know how to begin explaining what just happened.

The words that Rafe had spat at you earlier still sting, his anger, his frustration—none of it was about you, but somehow it felt like it was. “I… I need to get out of here,” you mutter, trying to sidestep him, but Austin’s hand gently grips your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

It’s as if he’s waiting for you to break down, to tell him what’s going on. But you can’t. You just can’t. You feel your chest tighten, your throat constricting. Every part of you wants to leave, to get away from the suffocating atmosphere of the garage, the pitying looks, and the questions you don’t want to answer.

“I… I just can’t right now,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. You don’t want to break down in front of him, especially not here. Not now. Not when everything feels like it’s crumbling around you. You shake your head, blinking away the tears threatening to fall. “I just need space,” you choke out, your voice cracking under the weight of it all.

“Please, I just need to go.” Austin doesn’t stop you this time. You step out of the garage, the cool air hitting your face, but it does nothing to numb the pain inside. As you walk past the crowd, the stares feel even sharper now, their judgment cutting through you like a knife. You ignore them, but the weight of their eyes only adds to the heaviness in your chest.

“Y/n, why are you leaving so soon?” A voice calls out from behind, but you don’t turn. Paparazzi surround you almost instantly, their cameras flashing in rapid succession, each click a reminder of the chaos you’re trying to escape. You keep walking, your head held high, your face stoic, their questions are nothing but noise.

You reach your car, your hands trembling as you unlock it, your phone buzzing relentlessly in your pocket. Your phone buzzes in your pocket again, persistent, like it won’t let you escape. You pull it out, knowing who it’s from before you even look at the screen. Rafe’s name is there, multiple texts, all apologies and pleading, the usual dance he does when he’s trying to fix something.

But this time, you can’t bring yourself to read them. Not now. Not after everything that just happened. You scoff, a bitter sound, the frustration and hurt bubbling up again. With a harsh swipe, you shove the phone back into your bag and slam the door of your car shut, the sound of the engine roaring to life offering you a strange kind of relief.

PART TWO HERE

[hoe4hotchner]

Red to Blue | [A.H]

Pairing: F1 driver!Hotch x fem!reader | WC: 0.7k | CW: Sweat?

A/N: I’ll give you this in celebration of me finishing the Lego F1 cars I bought 🤭

The paddock buzzed with anticipation as the 2025 Formula 1 season was about to kick off under the bright Australian sun at the Albert Park Circuit in Melbourne.

The air was filled with the familiar scent of high-octane fuel and burnt rubber.

Amidst the grandeur of top teams like Ferrari and Red Bull, a renewed energy emanated from the Williams garage—a team historically rich in legacy, now attempting to reclaim its stature.

At the helm stood Aaron Hotchner, he was the newly appointed team principal of Williams. Years had passed since his celebrated tenure as a driver for Ferrari, where he had clinched multiple wins and a few world championships before an unexpected mid-season retirement.

His departure had been shrouded in speculation, but those close to him knew he sought a life beyond the circuits, a life with you.

Williams had approached him several times during his retirement, trying to reel him in, but only as you'd gotten a great job opportunity in the UK, had he agreed.

Now, with the same determination that had defined his driving career, Hotch was poised to steer Williams back to its former glory.

Beside him, you observed the meticulous dance of engineers and mechanics moving around the garage, their movements were a testament to the countless hours of preparation that the first race had foregone.

The team’s driver lineup had undergone a significant transformation: Carlos Sainz, formerly of Ferrari, brought a wealth of experience and a burning desire to prove himself even further.

It was an irony not lost on anyone—Carlos had been the one to take Hotch’s vacant Ferrari seat years ago. And Hotch had been the first to grab him for the team once made available.

Now, under Hotch’s leadership, their paths intertwined in an entirely different dynamic.

Alongside Carlos was Alex, whose resilience and adaptability had ensured him to continue in his seat at Williams. This pairing, although unusual, was a blend of seasoned expertise and tenacious spirit.

It had already begun to show promise in the early stages of the season.

As the cars lined up on the grid, the atmosphere was electric. The front row was dominated by the usual powerhouses, but Carlos had secured a P5 in qualifying, with Albon close behind in P7.

Hotch's gaze was fixed on the monitors, analyzing real-time data, his mind orchestrating potential strategies. His headset only covered one ear, as he stayed aware of his surroundings with the other.

"Nervous?" you teased, nudging him gently.

He offered a rare smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Always. But it's a good kind of nervous."

The formation lap commenced, engines roaring to life. Hotch’s voice, calm and authoritative, crackled over the team radio. "Stay focused. Remember our strategy. Trust the car, and trust yourselves."

As the lights went out, the race erupted into a blur of speed and tactical maneuvers. Carlos made an aggressive start, skillfully navigating through the pack to challenge for a podium position. Albon, displaying his characteristic finesse, defended his position while seeking opportunities to advance.

Hotch’s leadership was noticeable. He seamlessly coordinated with his engineers, making split-second decisions on tire strategies and pit stops. His transition from driver to team principal had endowed him with a unique perspective; he understood the car’s language and the driver’s psyche, allowing him to bridge the gap between the cockpit and the pit wall.

Mid-race, a sudden safety car deployment and added an element of unpredictability. Hotch’s experience shone through as he swiftly called for a double-stack pit stop, a bold decision that catapulted Carlos into P3. The Williams garage erupted in cautious optimism, the possibility of a podium finish within reach for the first time in years.

As the checkered flag loomed, Carlos defended his position against Lando, crossing the line to secure third place. Albon finished strong in P6, earning valuable points for the team. The Williams garage was a whirlwind of elation, the podium finish a testament to their collective effort and Hotch’s strategic insight.

Before entering the cooldown room, Carlos approached Hotch, his race suit drenched in sweat but his face alight with triumph. "Couldn’t have done it without your call."

Hotch clasped his shoulder, pride evident in his eyes. "It was all you out there. This is just the beginning."

As the national anthem played and the podium celebrations commenced, you stood amidst the team, Hotch's arm wrapped around your frame, pulling you close to him, your heart swelling with pride.

Hotch’s journey had come full circle—from a champion driver to a visionary leader, reigniting the spirit of a storied team. And through it all, you had been by his side, sharing in the highs, the lows, and now, the resurgence of a legacy.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

Ford GT40

Ford made significant improvements with the Mark II, featuring a 7.0-liter V8 engine, and refined aerodynamics. In 1966, Ford achieved its goal when the GT40 Mark II, driven by Bruce McLaren and Chris Amon, won the 24 Hours of Le Mans, marking the first time an American car had won the prestigious race outright.

The GT40 effort was launched by Ford Motor Company to win long-distance sports car races against Ferrari, which won every 24 Hours of Le Mans race from 1960 to 1965. ... The Mk 1, the oldest of the cars, won in 1968 and 1969, the second chassis to win Le Mans more than once.

The 2005 Ford GT40 is a legendary car born out of a grudge, fueled by ambition, and ultimately crowned with victory on the world's most prestigious racing circuits. Its story begins in the early 1960s when Henry Ford II, commonly known as "Hank the Deuce," sought to challenge the dominance of European manufacturers in endurance racing, particularly at the 24 Hours of Le Mans.

In 1963, Ford attempted to buy Ferrari, which was then the dominant force in endurance racing, having won Le Mans multiple times. However, the negotiations soured, and Enzo Ferrari, the founder of the Italian marque, walked away from the deal at the last minute, leaving Henry Ford II furious.

The 2017 Goodwood Members Meeting Chassis P2262, again piloted by Chris Ward, lined up for the Surtees Trophy in 8th position after a qualifying session that was dominated by Lola T70’s. Chris Ward got away cleanly and started to make up places but in the fading light a collision occurred bringing out the safety car. When racing resumed Chris Ward raced to the flag climbing to 5th overall.

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐊𝐲𝐥𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!  

Warnings: swearing, nsfw included (no one under 18 please).

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

ISFP

Gryffindor

Chaotic Good

Gemini Sun, Virgo Moon, Cancer Rising

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・Kyle Garrick is a true romantic.

・He always opens doors for you, and pouts when you don't let him. So you always let him, because a pouty Kyle is an insistant Kyle - he will literally put you back in the car and re-close the door, just to open it himself.

・Yes you've been late to things because of this

・Affection is easy with him. Even PDA. He loves holding your hand in public, kissing you on the lips, wrapping an arm around your waist etc.

・He doesn't care whose watching, but loves to let everyone know you're taken.

・He does care about your safety, so he was insistent you take self-defence classes (don't worry, I think he would attend them himself. But in another room, as to not make anyone uncomfortable)

・However, I also think he would instruct the instructor (because this is his area of expertise ... it's literally his job)

・Loves when you get passionate about something and rant. He's a great listener; encouraging you to talk about anything you want, whenever you want

・Loves buying you flowers; actually looks up the meaning and has that as apart of the card. I.e., Baby's Breath means everlasting love, White Hyacinth means loveliness etc.

・Always great at making you laugh, he has a great sense of humour and usually finds it in most situations. But don't think he can't be serious whenever it's needed.

・He's very intuitive like that

・Especially with your feelings as well, in all things he thinks of you.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Short & bossy (You) x Tall & follows them around (Kyle)

"You wear the pants in this relationship" (You) x "oh I wish, I cannot control you at all" (Kyle)

You Fell First, But They Fall Harder

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Unbreakable Bond

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Hell N Back by Bakar

𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 🔞 No one under the age of 18 past this point, makes me feel weird if you read it.

・A true romantic in the bedroom as well.

・Your first time together felt like something out of a book.

・Kyle is very gentle. He loves taking his time, stroking your skin, pressing his lips to the most sensitive places and watch as goosebumps rise.

・He's very well-endowed. Both thick and long; knowing how to use it to hit right where you want it to

・Neither yet both dominant & submissive. His style isn't to push your limits but to make you moan as much as possible

・The best head you've ever received. Takes his time. Really, takes his time.

・The raunchiest place you've fucked is a dressing room. His hand over your mouth, smiling into your neck - having to bite it when he came.

・Large hands, with long fingers. His hands ... are very sexy. Kyle does like to hold your hands when you fuck; usually above your head or behind your back

[cheriladycl01]

Monaco Mayhem - Charles Leclerc x Reader

Plot: Charles finally breaks the dreadful Monaco curse to bring a home race win!

In 2018 Charles was unlucky in Monaco, a virtual safety car came out on lap 73 when his left front brake disc failed just before the Nouvelle Chicane, causing him to crash into the back of Brendon Hartley.

In 2019 the ‘curse’ continued even though he was now in Ferrari, after a rough qualifying he began to fight through the field after starting in 15th place. You were so happy watching him having made it up to 12th by lap eight, but touched the inside wall at turn 17 during an overtake attempt on Nico Hülkenberg, which is always a risky move in Monaco. This contact caused a right-rear tyre puncture. Over the course of the next lap, you had watched, tears in your eyes for your boyfriend as he fell to last place as his tyre ripped apart and caused significant damage to the car's floor, causing him to be a while lap down by the time he came out of the pits.

In 2020, due to COVID restriction your boyfriend and the other 19 drivers weren’t racing on the historic circuit due to the strict regulations in place.

In 2021, first time in Monaco since COVID and the curse was still in place. After an incredible qualifying Charles was sitting in pole position. You both celebrated that night, so excited for the Sunday race. However whatever gods were watching over Monaco … or Charles or the ones who supported Max in getting his first world championship worked overtime that night, as Charles had a Did Not Start due to a driveshaft problem.

In 2022 it was the first year that you and Charles started having proper relationship issues. You’d just had a huge deal at work, which meant you weren’t able to come to as many races as you had been in previous years (where you basically went to all of them except a few that clashed with your schedule) and he was for the first time leading the drivers world championship, ahead of last year’s champion, Max. You were both stressed, and not around each other enough and it put a huge strain on your relationship.

However, you made sure to be at Monaco despite your huge argument at the last race in Spain.

He qualified on pole for the second year running and you were beaming for the hills. You were praying that nothing happened to the car overnight or in the race. However you clearly didn’t pray hard enough, with the shit show that came from team order.

Is it to pit or not too pit …

Well nobody fucking knew and you could hear over the radio how frustrating it was for Charles when he and Sainz ended up pitting at the same time due to miscommunication on the Ferrari pit wall.

This caused delays meaning both Verstappen and Perez got out ahead of them and left Charles not even on the podium.

In 2023, you and Charles had started communicating a lot better towards the end of the 2022 season and were a lot better off for it, meaning your relationship was never better despite Max’s (and Red Bulls) clear domination this season.

Monaco again was disappointing. But it was a hard race.

2023 despite being a uneventful year in Formula One, Charles had proposed to you, and you were set to get married after the Monaco Grand Prix of 2024, as there was a little bit of time before Canada to have the ceremony with some of Charles closest friends and family, who had tight and busy schedules.

So here you were waiting as Charlie, your fiancé … soon to be husband is sat in P1, Oscar … his son who you’d both famously adopted this weekend right next him.

You were nervous through the whole race despite how dull the race was. You were sat with Charles family, hugging Arthur from one side and Pascale from the other as you gasp at a tight corner that Charles got a little close for comfort over.

You were praying for your boyfriend to finally get his home race win and kiss the curse goodbye that had been held over his head for the last 5 years.

Tears are streaming down your eyes as you hear his race engineers comforting words in the last few laps where he’d made a pretty strong gap to the person behind him.

All of Ferrari was hyped for the man that had been with them for the last few years and had all developed strong bonds with the driver. They watched on as he completed his last laps, no errors to be seen. When he crosses the chequered flag, your launching yourself at anyone you can, not caring that you definitely resemble a watering can right now to the Sky Sports camera that you just know will be on you.

Your celebrating with the team who eventually drag you out to the park ferme area to go see him. And when you do, my god he looks ethereal. The sweat sheening around him, and how his hair still managed to look as though it had been styled by his mum this morning.

He was immaculate in your eyes. He celebrated with the team, hugging Carlos and Oscar, before settling his eyes on you.

“This one was for you, my love” he whispers in your ear lifting your up into a hug, a blush coating your face making you dive you head into his neck away from the faces and camera.

“I’m so so proud of you, you finally did it. I don’t even think you’ve just made every resident of Monaco happy but everyone watching was routing for you!” You smile before pulling him into a kiss.

“I love you so much, I - I can’t believe this feeling right now! I -“ he breathes struggling to find the words.

“Go get that P1 trophy … Mr Leclerc” you grin and he smiles back, a goofy expression on his face.

“And will Mrs Leclerc be watching …” he grins back and you can’t help but laugh.

“Still Miss Y/L/N until tomorrow honey” you smile and start to push him further away to where he’s being heckled over by Martin Brundle for his post race interview.

And you keep to your word, you watch with tears in your eyes as you hear the Monacan National anthem for the first time at an F1 race since 2022 and the way Charles looks in that podium is a real sight to see.

You know the photographers are rubbing their hands and licking their lips as they take the pictures right now knowing just how much cash they’ll get for these photos.

You watch on as he dedicates his trophy down to you, kissing it and then blowing you as kiss making you catch it and place it in your cheeks. (Once you just rolled your eyes at his childish antics … let’s just say you never ever missed an kiss again).

Later that night and you were celebrating his win with all of his and your friends. Lando, Pierre, Carlos and Max were all there with their partners who you were very close with, and later on you were joined by Oscar and Daniel and their girlfriends.

It was a full atmosphere with everyone coming up and congratulating him not only on the win, but wishing him luck and sending their congratulations for the wedding tomorrow. Two cakes were brought out … one for the win, one as a little preemptive wedding cake got tomorrow.

“Wait Y/N, Charles do you have separate parties before tomorrow?” Kika says shouting out over the loud music sounding around.

“What do you mean?” You ask her confused only for everyone to gasp.

“You mean to say you don’t have a bachelorette party, or Charles doesn’t have a stag due? I just thought i didn’t get an invite” Lando says a hand against his chest happy that he didn’t get left out.

“No?” You laugh, not seeing the big deal with it.

“Oh come on, it’s your last time to party single!” Rebecca laughs, shaking your shoulders a little.

“What?! I’m not single though, Charles is my fiancé. It would just be the last time to party when I’m not fully tied down, but … I mean it’s not like after we marry we’ll become an old couple that doesn’t come out with us” you offer and they all look at you.

“Do you see Sergio or K-Mag here? Or any of the married lot, even George and Alex bailed on tonight to be with their girls … you guys are next” Daniel argues and you and Charles look between each other in shock.

“Oh come on guys, we aren’t going to be like that” you whine.

After some more back and forth of arguing you guys all decide on some more drinks, but you Ane Charles have a wordless agreement that you wouldn’t become THAT couple after marriage.

You guys would still be fun right?

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[coimbrabertone]

The Long Beach Grand Prix: the F1 Years.

I had initially intended to post about the history of the Long Beach GP daily on twitter/bluesky, however, brevity is a foreign concept to me and character limits are oppressive, therefore, I've decided to do it here instead. Leading into the Long Beach Grand Prix this year, I'm going to do a blog on the initial F1 years, then the CART/Champ Car years, and finally look at the Long Beach GP since the unification of American Open Wheel Racing.

Today is the F1 years.

So naturally, we start with Formula 5000.

Formula 5000 was born in America as a junior Formula series that originated in 1968. The idea was essentially to take a Formula Two sized car and pair it with a 5000cc production V8, something that made a lot of sense in America.

It did not make as much sense when the series was exported to places like Europe, Australia, New Zealand, and South Africa, however, with the likes of Lotus, McLaren, and Brabham no longer producing mass amounts of customer F1 engines, F5000 became the fastest cars these series could get their hands on. Thus, F5000 spread regardless.

By 1975, F5000 was big enough and professional enough that F1 used it as a pilot event to test out the Long Beach street circuit in September 1975, ahead of a full on F1 Grand Prix the following spring.

This 1975 F5000 Grand Prix of Long Beach drew in big names too, with the grid including:

Reigning SCCA F5000 champion Brian Redman of the UK, driving for Carl Haas' racing team.

USAC stars Mario Andretti and Al Unser for Vel's Parnelli Jones Racing.

Australia's Vern Schuppan for Eagle.

South African Jody Scheckter and Englishman David Hobbs for Hogan Racing.

New Zealand's Chris Amon in a Talon.

Gordon Johncock for Patrick Racing.

And many more from the worlds of F1, Indycar, sports cars, junior racing, etc, etc - even some names you might recognize from completely different things, like Graham McRae who I talked about in my last blogpost, or Bill Simpson, who now makes safety equipment throughout the racing world.

Chip Ganassi also once set him on fire.

That's a story for another time though.

Mario and Al would take a Vel's 1-2 in qualifying, while Theodore's Tony Bryce would win the first heat race. Al Unser won the other. This set the stage for the main event.

28 cars would start the race but only eleven would finish, and only three of those were on the lead lap. These lead lap cars were:

Brian Redman in a Lola-Chevrolet on his way to another SCCA F5000 title in 1975.

Vern Schuppan who finishes about thirty seconds behind in his Eagle-Chevrolet.

Canadian Eddie Wietzes in another Lola-Chevrolet.

This was the first win for both Carl Haas and the Lola-Chevrolet combination at Long Beach, but it wouldn't be the last. Carl's team, later rechristened Newman/Haas Racing thanks to investment from Paul Newman, would become a regular winner at Long Beach, while the Lola-Chevrolet was the dominant chassis/engine combination in late 80s and early 90s CART.

Interestingly enough though, that particular pairing of Newman/Haas and a Lola-Chevrolet would only win once more, with Mario Andretti behind the wheel in 1987.

Most of Newman/Haas' success at Long Beach would come with Cosworth power.

That's another story for another day though, the important thing is that the pilot event was successful.

Thus, on March 26th, 1976, F1 came to the streets of Long Beach for the United States Grand Prix West.

1976 is a famous season for the battle between James Hunt and Niki Lauda, with Niki in the Ferrari initially building up a massive gap before a brutal crash at the Nurburgring opened the door for Hunt in the McLaren to claw enough ground back that he was in contention at the final race in Fuji.

Another wet race, Lauda's first since the accident.

Lauda would famously retire from this race, declaring conditions were unsafe, while Hunt would drive through adversity as a puncture and a botched pitstop nearly threw the championship away for McLaren, but in the end, Hunt did just enough. His third place gave him the title by one point.

Nobody saw that scenario coming at Long Beach, however.

Lauda had swept the first two races at Brazil and South Africa, and while Hunt took both poles and gave Lauda a fight at Kyalami, ultimately, Lauda won and he finished second.

Lauda was on 18 points from two wins, Hunt had 6 from his single second place.

It wasn't even enough for second place in the championship, as Patrick Depailler in the Tyrrell - not yet the six-wheeler, that would be introduced in Spain - had taken second in Brazil and a seventh in South Africa, so he was ahead of Hunt with the same number of points thanks to quality of results.

All this set the stage for round three, Long Beach.

The first of two US races in the season, with Watkins Glen hosting the traditional USGP while Long Beach had the USGP West, this was the second time the same country hosted two races. The first was Italy in 1957, which hosted both the Italian Grand Prix at Monza, and a Pescara Grand Prix on a circuit so fearsome, even Enzo Ferrari didn't send his drivers.

The guy who they called Saturn, devourer of sons, thought Pescara was too dangerous to race at.

Thus, Pescara was a one-off, but Long Beach was hoping to be a more permanent edition.

There were some problems though, because between rough American city streets and the close proximity of concrete walls, the field would have to be limited to twenty cars.

Jacky Ickx, driving for the merged Wolf-Williams team, would be one of the seven cars going home.

Ferrari's Clay Regazzoni, meanwhile, would take pole. Patrick Depailler would take second, James Hunt was just behind in third, while Niki Lauda qualified fourth. Tom Pryce in a Shadow was fifth, while everyone else was half a second back from Pryce or more. These guys were going to be the contenders.

Regazzoni would rocket off the grid and lead, while Depailler and Hunt would battle for second - something that was no doubt made an even fiercer battle by the fact that they were both ahead of Lauda, so whoever finished second amongst them would not only move into second in the championship, but they'd gain on the championship leader in a real way.

Unfortunately, they got a little bit too focused on this scenario and wound up screwing themselves.

Depailler forced Hunt to go around him in the hairpin, which ended in disaster as Hunt crashed into the wall on lap four. Hunt was out of the race, and he'd make his feelings known, shaking his fist at Depailler every time the Frenchman passed him.

Patrick didn't necessarily get away scot free either, because Lauda would pass Depailler for second on the very next lap.

Things then went from bad to worse for Patrick as he spun around and dropped to seventh. He'd get back two positions within six laps as he passed Jean-Pierre Jarier in the Shadow for sixth followed by Ronnie Peterson in the March for fifth.

Next up on the list for Patrick was the other Shadow of Tom Pryce, who retired on lap 32. This gave Depailler fourth place.

Then Patrick's own teammate Jody Scheckter retired two laps later with a suspension failure, moving one Tyrrell onto the podium at the cost of the other.

Depailler was on a charge and he'd close the gap to Lauda to just 7.5 seconds at the end, which is remarkable given the utter odyssey of a race that he had, but it wasn't enough to stop the Ferrari 1-2.

It was a career day for Clay Regazzoni who took pole, led every lap, took fastest lap, and won to take a grand slam victory. Niki Lauda in second extended his championship lead, while Patrick Depailler's third place kept him second in the championship.

Ligier's Jacques Laffite, McLaren's Jochen Mass, and Copersucar's Emerson Fittipaldi completed the points.

The race played into the themes of 1976 perfectly, with Ferrari dominant in the early stages, Hunt being devastatingly quick but not having the consistency, and the Tyrrells being just fast enough to play the role of spoiler.

Indeed, Scheckter and Depailler would finish third and fourth in the standings, ahead of both of Lauda and Hunt's teammates.

Thus, the first F1 race at Long Beach was a success.

1977 would bring the first American win at Long Beach as Mario Andretti in the Lotus 78 took the victory.

1978 was back in Ferrari's control as Carlos Reutemann won and became the first driver to sweep the American races in the season as he'd also win Watkins Glen at the end of the season.

1979 would go to Ferrari again as Gilles Villeneuve took his third career win. Gilles would repeat Reutemann's feat and win both Long Beach and Watkins Glen.

1980 and 1981 would prove interesting, as Nelson Piquet in a Brabham won 1980 before Alan Jones in a Williams won 1981, inverse of their championships (Jones won 1980, Piquet won 1981).

This actually brings up an interesting bit of trivia about Long Beach: the winner of the USGP West never won the F1 championship in that season.

Jones in 1981 would, however, become the third driver to sweep the US rounds, as he won the opening race in Long Beach and then won the season finale, the Caesar's Palace Grand Prix, which had just replaced Watkins Glen as the season finale.

1982 would bring Niki Lauda winning the USGP West for McLaren, his first win post-retirement.

1983 would be the last Formula One race at Long Beach and it would once again go to McLaren, this time with John Watson leading a 1-2 finish over teammate Lauda.

By this point, not only was Renault running their turbo, but Brabham had adopted BMW engines, Ferrari and Alfa Romeo introduced their own turbos, and even McLaren themselves would switch to TAG turbos at the end of the season, along with Lotus who adopted Renault power and WIlliams who'd test out Honda engines in the final race of 1983.

The golden age of the Cosworth DFV was truly over, and the turbo era was beginning.

Thus, by 1981, 1982, and 1983, it became notable that turbocharged engines had never won the USGP West. The Ford-Cosworth DFV kept chugging along, and in rather absurd fashion too, as Watson and Lauda started that 1983 race from 22nd and 23rd respectively.

A Cosworth shouldn't've won in 1983, and yet they did anyway.

The minnows could still fight the turbo teams here.

That would change in 1984, as promoter Chris Pook announced that due to the high costs of sanctioning fees and shipping equipment in from Europe if there was no preceding race, or places as far flung as South America or South Africa if there was, Long Beach would leave F1 and switch to a CART race.

And in CART, the dominant engine at the time was the Cosworth DFX, a turbocharged variant of F1's old faithful. I guess if you can't beat them, join them!

More on that next week.

[dedeinthewild]

rafa camara x reader, short fic

—You can’t be in here—

summary : Rafa has an outstanding debut in f3, dominating the weekend and showing everyone how he's made, but he's more than the determinated driver...

Rafa had his own way of standing out in the motorsport world, with that sweet and reserved air that, however, made room for a solid and unbeatable driver on track. And he had managed to make his name known even in his first weekend in Formula 3, alongside drivers with much more experience than him, asserting himself on a Melbourne that had been anything but forgiving, and making his white, red, and blue single-seater emerge from the puddles that turned the track into nothing more than a blurred memory. But then again, Brazilians had always made themselves heard, especially when the rain came. And he had never been any different.

He had a car that had left nothing but scraps for his rivals for years now, and his red helmet was the fleeting sight the others caught from behind his rear wheels—a reminder that talents like his were rare and that he had no time to slow down, as if his dream and his goal would simply stop and wait for him. Yet, he was also the kind of person who, after dominating without mercy, would go to the fans or the interviewers, laughing along with them, chatting like any other boy his age would, forgetting the ruthless leader he became between the corners and the scorching asphalt. It was almost as if there were two people inside him, seamlessly blending into the sweet and clean-cut face of a boy who was special—both as a person and as an athlete.

He had parked behind the number one marker, finishing an absurd and chaotic race due to the many mistakes of the other drivers, who had taken trips into the gravel or ended up in the wall, causing yellow flags that, in a way, had robbed him of the chance to truly shine—without the first place coming to him behind the safety car. He had gone a little long on the stop, as if the emotion had made him hit the brakes a second too late, nudging the number one sign with the nose of the Trident before taking his time, waiting for the other two drivers in the top three to park their single-seaters beside his. Then, he grabbed the steering wheel, detaching it to stand up and climb out of the cockpit, rising victorious with his arms in the air and his eyes visible through the open visor—his smile leaving little to the imagination.

—Rafa! Give us a one!— Every photographer shouted as his team and the academy he was part of celebrated him, ignoring the fact that the season was still long and focusing instead on how he had started on the right foot, showing exactly who had to be beaten.

And everything around him was a blurred bubble, almost muffled by the massive, menacing clouds watching from above. Everyone was humming, laughing, smiling at him, patting his shoulders and helmet for the first time in a race weekend he shared with the queens of motorsport. He could feel the entire race in his body—every lap in his hands and knees as he melted into every hug, a little awkwardly as always, unsure whether to shake hands, throw friendly fist bumps, or just let them decide how they wanted to celebrate.

—Come on, weigh time— a steward took him, leading him toward the podium scales for the post-race weigh-in, making him look around with that strange, confused air, as if he were searching for something amidst all the people in parc fermé. Or someone.

His brown eyes were scanning the crowd, looking for a pair of glasses so familiar that they always made him smile, and a smile that reminded him of the Brazilian sun, the very one he carried in his irises. She had to be there, somewhere. She had never missed a race since the day they had met.

Everyone was trying to talk to him while he did his best to satisfy all the photographers with different poses, and the men from the Ferrari Driver Academy were speaking to him, raising their voices to be heard above the chaos reigning in pit lane—from the preparations for the upcoming F2 feature race to the crowd gathering to watch the F3 podium. But all he saw was her standing a few steps back, leaving him his moment. Huddled under an umbrella with his lead mechanic.

—Let’s go, Rafael— the same steward took him, Theophile, and Noah, leading them toward the makeshift cool-down room on the back balcony of the podium, while the three walked up, huge smiles on their faces as they chatted about the race and the miserable conditions that had made it such a challenge.

He looks at her again, like maybe she’ll be gone if he doesn’t, but she’s already giving him the smallest nod, like go on, I’ll be here.

A few minutes later, after discussing the car with his teammate and confirming with the engineer who would be joining them on the podium, the Brazilian was leaning against the wall next to the Van Amersfoort Racing driver, adjusting the cap with the number one on it. A huge smile was still stretched across his face, unable to stay quiet as he laughed—almost like he needed it to burn off the adrenaline from his first-ever Formula 3 race.

—I thought you’d be happier about winning— a voice said, appearing in front of him before he could even register it.

—You can’t be in here— he blurts out, even though his grin is already giving him away.

It was the same one he always had when she was around—when she held his helmet while he signed autographs for fans or when he drove the team’s quad around the paddock, badly singing along to whatever song she had made him listen to during their lunch breaks under the tents.

—I won’t stay long— she smiled, hands full of cables and driver cards she should have been taking to the garage instead of sneaking up the podium stairs to reach him, while Noah and Theophile drank some water and waited for the signal to step outside and collect their trophies. —I just had to remind you how much you amaze me every time—

He got that usual expression, a little confused and unreadable, typical of someone young, sweet, and a little hard to pin down. But she knew him like the back of her hand, though it had taken her a while to pick up on the smallest details of the Brazilian.

She had barely stepped inside before he started yapping, his words coming out in rapid bursts, barely making sense but not caring if they did. He was always like this when she was around, because with her, there was no need to worry about keeping up the sweet and reserved good-boy image—he could be anything he felt like being, whether it was the unbeatable driver, the unshakable athlete, or the guy who couldn’t shut up even if he tried.

—and did you see the way I almost lost the car in turn 3? I swear, I felt it slipping and I just— he said, speaking quickly, knowing their time was limited. —My heart stopped. Like—actually stopped. I knew it was going to be okay, but it was thrilling—

And his passion was so pure. That all she could do was lean against the wall, listening to every tiny detail, without reminding him that after the podium, they had all the time in the world to talk about it over eggs and a glass of water in hospitality.

—You’re doing the thing again—

—What thing?—

—The thinking thing— she said, knowing how confident he was but also how he always demanded the absolute best from himself and his races, even though nothing could change the way he saw himself as an athlete.

—Well, yeah, my brain kinda works like that— he joked, adjusting his cap again.

—I mean, it isn’t the race you wanted, but it was the best debut you could have had in these conditions— she stopped for a second, fixing the collar of his fireproof suit, smoothing it just below his Adam’s apple. —And I’m proud, as always—

—I know— he smiled, that bright, sincere one that made his dimples stand out.

It’s ridiculous. They’re standing in the cool-down room, moments before he’s meant to step onto his first-ever F3 podium, laughing over nothing. But that’s how it always is with them. No matter where, no matter when—he just finds her. Always.

—I should go before someone finds me in here— she said, noticing the steward moving with that professional air, the accreditation device hanging from her neck, an earpiece in her ear as she approached them.

—Are you, uh… representing the winning team on the podium?— the steward asked, sounding bored, knowing only one team member could go up and celebrate with the top three.

—Oh, no, I’m actually leaving— she said apologetically, before stepping back.

—We’re two idiots, Rafa— she laughed, grabbing his shoulders and hugging him tightly, her face resting in the crook of his neck while he rubbed her back, right where the Trident logo stood proud, their hearts beating almost in sync, knowing this was only the beginning.

—I’m, like, really sweaty right now— he muttered, inhaling the garage scent in her hair, mixed with the same perfume she had always worn.

—Believe me, I know— she chuckled.

Rafa held her a little tighter, allowing himself to enjoy the moment, just this once. And he laughed into her hair, his entire body shaking with the weightlessness of it all. Then he stepped onto the podium, lifting the trophy high. Happy. A winner.

If it wasn't for yesterday's unfortunate crash, he'd have had the perfect weekend, but even with that he's just shown again how much he can do. He's going to be the next Bortoleto, mark my words. Would you like more of these short stories? do you like them?

[vax-merstappen]

undefeated pt. 1 (mv1)

more victories than defeats

summary: it’s the hungarian grand prix and max has won every race this season. when you get pole, can you finally defeat the undefeated?

series masterlist

You walk through the paddock, cameras flashing, people shouting your name. You pull your red cap lower over your eyes, trying to get through the crowd and into the safety of the Ferrari hospitality.

As Ferrari’s clear number one driver, it was no surprise that people wanted to get your picture or signature. Even just a quick sound bite would get a reporter views. And normally you’d try to stop for as many of your fans as possible, knowing that taking a few seconds out of your day would mean the world to them. But today was different. Today you were on a mission.

The Hungarian Grand Prix normally wasn’t a huge highlight on the calendar for you or the team, but today it felt different. With the new upgrades on the car and a stellar qualifying that got you onto pole position, you had a chance.

That chance was to beat Max Verstappen, the current reigning world champion. Last season he had dominated, winning all but three races, his teammate Checo Pérez taking the ones he failed to win. And this season, he had claimed all of the victories of the first twelve races. He was on track to win every race this season, setting a Formula 1 record and doing something nobody else had ever been able to do.

But not if you had any say in the situation. As his main rival on track you would do anything to stop his reign. The bad blood between you and Max ran deep, having started racing in Formula 1 the same year as him. With both of you going into your 10th season in the sport, it was clear to most people that he was the better driver and you hated that.

Maybe today would be different.

You walked into the Ferrari garage, quickly making your way over to your race engineer, Renée, and pulled her aside.

“So what’s the game plan for today? Besides keeping Max behind me and defending like crazy.”

She smiled at you. “We’re running a one stop strategy. You’re going to have to push like crazy at the start and try to get a lead. You know how aggressive he is…”

I scoff. “Aggressive is an understatement. He’s a damn maniac.”

Renée chuckled. “Yeah. Well you’ve got pole so you’ll have a slight advantage over him in second. And you’ve got your teammate Charles behind you in third, so you should have the support there. He’s been made aware that his job is to keep the rest of the grid off of you and Max. Even our odds against him.”

You nod. “Glad to know. We’ve got to win this one today. He can’t win them all.”

“He won’t. We’ve got pole, a good strategy, car upgrades, and your determination to win this one. Today will be our day.”

“Let’s hope it is,” you say, giving one last acknowledgment to Renée before walking to your driver’s room to start your pre-race ritual.

You put on your headphones and started playing your favorite hype song, practicing a few stretches that you always did before a race. As you continued to follow your routine, slowly all the noise faded away and you were left with one feeling. Determination that Max would not win.

---

As you walked out to stand for the Hungarian national anthem, you found yourself lined up directly next to the world champion himself. The tension nearly crackled in the air between you as you made eye contact with Max, his gaze more like a glare. You didn’t dare speak to him as the performer was singing and the grid kids stood before you, but you could already tell he was focused. Though he seemed nonchalant, you knew it secretly bothered him that you were on pole.

As soon as the performance ended and the drivers began to disperse, you whispered under your breath as you walked by him. “Enjoy watching my rear wing.”

You walked away before you could see if he responded.

Standing by your car, you prepared yourself to race. You needed to start strong and capitalize on your pole position. You risked a glance back at the Red Bull behind you, watching Max put on his helmet and ready himself to get in the car. You could have sworn he was looking back at you, almost as a predator looks at prey.

You climb into your car, pulling your own helmet over your head, readying for the formation lap. You give a thumbs up to the crew, watching them step away from the car and take the covers off the tires.

As you pull away from the start line, you move side to side across the track, trying to warm your tires to get better grip for the start. You knew Max would be on you instantly, trying to pass you as you went into the first corner. You went through the corners of the track on the formation lap, readying yourself for the race.

As you pulled into pole position, you watched the red lights begin to light up

1

2

3

4

5

Lights out and away we go.

You sped up as fast down the main straight, trying to get your car first on the inside line. You could see Max beside you, trying desperately for the same thing. As you went wheel to wheel, you nudged your car ahead of his, managing to secure the racing line for the time being.

But in your mirrors was Max Verstappen in a Red Bull, arguably one of the scariest sights in Formula 1. And as you made your way around the first few laps, you just couldn't find a way to shake him. He kept behind you, only just outside of getting DRS to pass you.

You kept speeding through the corners of the Hungaroring, sensing it was only a matter of time before he passed you. The pressure was on, the Red Bull and Ferrari rivalry at its greatest.

One pit stop each and a safety car later, you found yourself driving slowly behind the car. And in your mirrors, you could now clearly see the man himself, right on your rear wing. Any lead you had built was gone, taken away with the safety car. The lion was in striking distance and you knew it.

As the safety car moved to resume the race, you pressed the pedal full on, needing to shake the dutchman behind you. With only 10 laps left of 70, you needed to hold on.

But as good of a driver you were, Max was better. The best driver on the grid, undefeated in the first 12 races of the season. And he wouldn't let a Ferrari beat him.

You entered the main straight and you knew Max was close enough for DRS. You watched he caught up to you, going wheel to wheel as you sped through the track.

It would have been easier to accept if there'd been a fight, some sort of defense available, a challenging overtake for Max.

But he just breezed past you, as if you weren't even there. Not a threat. Not a problem. Not anything he'd ever worried about.

Even after a strenuous and hard fought race to gain a lead, Max Verstappen once again would win. His thirteenth consecutive race. Another damn record.

You finished the last nine laps of the race, still pushing but not nearly as hard. You felt defeated. Nothing you or the car was capable of would be enough. Not against him, a living legend of a driver.

As you crossed the finish line in second, you congratulated the team on their efforts on the radio, but your heart wasn't in it. Most drivers would be happy with a podium, if not elated. But not you. Not when you would be forced to spray him oncemore with champagne. Not when he would take home another trophy, which would just be another hunk of metal to him.

You climbed out of the car besides him, noticing Oscar Piastri pulling into the 3rd place spot. You could at least be a little happy for the Australian, having earned another podium in just his second season. You walked up to Oscar and congratulated him, making a point to do so before turning to Max.

"Congrats on the win," you said, your voice monotone.

"Thanks," Max replied simply. "You had a good drive there at the start."

"Not good enough," you retorted, trying and failing to hide your disdain at both him and your own failure.

"Still a podium though," Max shrugged.

"You know damn well you'd be pissed in P2."

Max looked you in the eye. "I think you should be grateful I let you lead the race for so long. My car is clearly faster than yours."

You rolled your eyes. "I don't want to do this here. Not with all the cameras."

Max had the audacity to smirk. "Suit yourself. But I did earn the win, don't deny me that."

You hated it when he was right.

You stalked away from Max on track and headed over to your team, clapping a few of the engineers and team members on the back for their performance. Sure, you were mad. But they still got you a podium position. And you wanted to delay the cooldown room as long as you could.

But you couldn't delay it that long, and god did some water sound refreshing. So you went into that room, looking at Max seated in the center chair, Oscar on his right in the 3rd place chair. You grabbed a water bottle and slumped down in the remaining seat next to Max, not saying a word.

"Could have taken that corner better," Max said, commenting on a clip of your car briefly sliding out of track limits. "Maybe that's why you lost some time to me right before the safety car."

"Thanks for the observation," you said sarcastically.

The tension in the room was palpable. You almost felt bad for Oscar Piastri, having to deal with the two of you.

"If there hadn't been that safety car, I would have had a tougher race. But I still think I could have caught you... your tires seemed to be degrading faster than mine. At least that's what the team said. Also with a few of those small mistakes like going wide on the turns..."

He kept going on, in his typical way, what the internet had dubbed Maxplaining. They were right. It was like he didn't understand that you knew your mistakes and how he had driven faster.

But anyways, you were spared as the three of you were called for the podium. Oscar went out first, followed by you.

You heard the cheers of your team and fans and you tried your hardest to be happy and excited about your podium. But when the cheers for you were eclipsed by those for Max, you couldn't pretend anymore.

You stood only begrudgingly beside him on the podium as the Dutch national anthem played for the 13th time in a row. And when he popped the champagne, even he didn't seem excited, like winning had become habitual for him and that this was an obligation, not a reward.

This was a man with more victories than defeats in the past few seasons.

A man who's wins were routine.

A man you loathed with your whole being.

You chose to spray your champagne over your own head rather than his. An act of protest and anger.

And when you left the podium, you left with stronger feelings. The taste for victory lingered on your tongue. And the desire for revenge burned stronger in your heart.

Part 2 coming!

taglist: @jehun

[dear-ao3]

new to f1 - can i ask for some team history? have red bull always been so dominant? how often do the cycles change??

yes yes ok So who’s dominant depends on a lot of things, drivers yea but mostly the car and who can make the regulations work for them. you can be the best driver but if you’re in a shit box you’re Fucked.

so presently red bull is dominating, max won in 2021 but they properly started dominating in 2022. this was cause of the big change in regulations mostly.

they change the regulations all the time but big changes are every few years for a variety of things: driver safety sometimes, making the cars have a lesser environmental impact, making things just plain more interesting, putting people on a level playing field etc etc. the last batch of regulations that caused mercedes fall from grace was i believe the cost cap. previously you could spend whatever the hell you wanted on the car and everything else. and Now there is a cost cap. this was done to try and bring the teams all closer together because previously it was all the top four or so teams that had all the money and would win things and then the back marker teams were just there. i don’t remember offhand what the cost cap is but i do know you can’t spend more than that each year on Everything (including crash repairs i’m Pretty sure) which keeps things interesting. anyway that and the other changes that got implemented in 2021 (?) caused red bulls rise to dominance.

mercedes had been dominating before then and won the constructors (team championship) from 2014-2021 (max won the drivers in 2021) and lewis hamilton won in 14 and 15 and then 17-20. nico rosberg won in 2016 (lewis’s teammate. he then retired after his first win. no one has ever done it like him and no one ever will again but we do Not have time for that). mercedes i believe only became a team in 2010 (?) they had been on the grid previously like Years ago but made a return in 2010 and had a few shit years before, surprise surprise, a regulation change went in their favor and they built a rocket ship.

prior to mercedes it was back at red bull. they won in 2010-2013 both constructors and drivers with sebastian vettel winning the drivers championships all 4 years. and i’m pretty sure it was another regulation change that caused them to rise to the top. red bull had been doing Okay prior to then but they i think only entered the grid in 2004(????) after buying the jaguar team

prior to 2010 there were several years where there wasn’t really multi year dominance by any one team.

jenson button won in 2009 with brawn (???) and that was a surprise to everyone especially the team and turns out they just so happened to build a good car that year.

lewis hamilton won at mclaren in 2008 at the end of a very very close season. i believe he won in the last race and it was a matter of a few points separating him and felipe massa at ferrari

2007 was won by kimi raikkonen at ferrari in yet another close season, lewis hamilton nearly won this season and it was his rookie season

then we had two years of fernando alonso at i think it was renault (which is now alpine) in 2005 and 2006.

prior to that was the real era of dominance from 2000-2004 with michael schumacher at ferrari

prior to that i’m not really sure of the teams and i’m in a car and not fact checking Any of this so i could be totally wrong about what i’m saying lol. but there were several years of williams dominance in the 90s and mclaren again had another few years i Think.

anyway. to answer your question. yes there are eras of dominance but it is far more interesting when it’s not because then multiple people are winning the races. like this season is the first time since 2021 there’s a proper title fight (at least for the constructors) since 2021 and we’ve had something like 7 i think different race winners, which hasn’t happened in A While

i hope this was helpful? if not feel free to ask me more questions

[keepthedelta]

what would you consider Rosberg's best race? (wanna hear people wax poetic about their special interest)

it's going to be a list because i am weird about nico

singapore 2016. an absolutely dominate weekend for him, fastest in every single session, outqualified lewis by 7 tenths (and danny ric by 6) setting what was (at the time) a track record. spent the entire race managing brake and engine issues, got screwed over by merc strategy when they were trying to get lewis back onto the podium after he got overtaken by kimi, had to make his tyres last an extra 20 laps with danny ric chasing him down 2-4 seconds a lap faster than him. won the race and then posted a slutty shirtless photo of him being cooled down by a fan in what could be considered the ancestor of the ice bath videos that teams post now.

canada 2014. a real contender for my favourite ever nico race even though he didn't win. both merc cars had mgu-h failure about 20-30 laps in thereby losing half of their power. nico switched brake bias to the front brakes so that less strain would be put on the rear brakes because on the lack of power and potential overheating. about five laps later lewis dnfs with rear brake failure. nico should have been overtaken by just about everybody, but instead he spends the next 30 laps using all of his power and speed in one specific sector (the one with the drs detection point) so that checo (now in second) is too far behind to get drs, and then, even though nico's car is barely alive for the rest of the lap, he can never overtake him. it literally took checo's car breaking down and allowing danny ric (now driving the best car in the field) for nico to lose the win. the mechanical masterclass of modern f1 (and yes it might not have worked at another track or i f someone other than checo had been in second, but i firmly believe that the lowest nico could have ever come given the circumstances was third) and it is not appreciated enough.

china 2012. i rewatched this recently and literally no one believed that nico was going to win until about five laps before the end. he was driving one of the world's shittiest mercs (i promise every single merc pre-2013 was worse than any car since then), got pole by half a second, got a perfect start, flawless tyre management, cruised to victory while everyone else was fighting for their lives behind him (the battle for second was absolutely insane, and nico was just minding his own business about 15 seconds ahead of them all).

singapore 2008. crashgate has entered the building. back then cars refuelled during the race and so another factor in the strategies was fuel load. nico and a number of others were running low initial fuel loads, so they would have to stop relatively early. except, just before they were going to stop, nelson piquet jr binned it into the wall (on purpose) and the stewards closed the pitlane for safety reasons. however, nico and the others on similar strategies needed to refuel so they had to enter the pitlane anyway which earned them a stop and go penalty which had to be served within three laps. nico did those laps as fast as he possibly could, meaning that after he served his penalty he only lost a handful of places (i think 3). robert kubica who also took a stop and go penalty on the exact same lap for the exact same reason (and was in a better car) lost far more places and i don't think he even finished in the points. nico spent the rest of the race rising up the field and finished second only to fernando (who got there by cheating) with lewis in a distant third (tbf i don't think he needed to try that hard by the end as he got a massive points gain over felipe massa his championship competition due to the ferrari pitlane incident).

malaysia 2016. casuals will tell you that this is the race where lewis lost the championship because of his dnf (and if you're a lh hater i recommend watching it because the level of conspiracy that emerges from lewis and sky sports is genuinely quite funny) but i think that's very misleading. in the very first turn seb crashed into nico, spinning him around and leaving him in dead last by the end of the first lap. nico fought through the field, pulled off a rallycross overtake on kimi, got a penalty for it, and was already sitting in fourth when lewis's engine blew up. he then pulled a ten second gap over kimi so that he kept his podium place, got danny ric to make max do a shoey, nearly threw up when he did one himself, told a room full of reporters that he didn't want danny ric to win another race (that year) and filmed one of the funniest ever post-race vlogs where he fidgeted with the neckline of his t-shirt while describing how seb had apologised to him for the crash and that was nice but it didn't get him any points back. truly iconic.

there is definitely a running theme in these choices i think. mostly that i think nico was at his best when he was fighting against the potential capabilities of the car/circuit/circumstances rather than other drivers 🤷🏿‍♀️

[23fallencomets]

Foolin’ Yourself // Loscar

okay so this was inspired by a prompt @ashzerog19 gave me which was unrequited loscar being teammates and while this isn’t the actual response to the prompt, i did pick some things from it and i did most of this in one sitting so 😗

Theres a bone deep despair in Logan when he sees the announcement.

Oscar Piastri to Join Logan Sargeant in Cadillac as team principal, Zak Brown, Signs Pato ‘O Ward for the 2025 season.

Logan feels like a boat adrift, no anchor or crew to navigate him back to shore. There was no fucking way Mclaren were loaning Oscar out, not when he’s just reaching the height of his career with them. Its unheard of really, to loan a driver out to a new upcoming team for a driver that has only been in an F1 car three times. Its possible Zak doesn’t want to lose Pato, probably doesn’t want to call his bluff.

He scrolls through the article, the notable part being that if Pato doesn’t preform to the best of his abilities, theres a clause that can let Oscar and Pato switch teams. It make the hairs on the back of Logan’s neck to rise, unease replacing the relief he was barely allowing himself to feel.

Pre-season testing starts in a few weeks so just like he always does, he hides out in the ocean, just him and the want to drown.

--

Its awkward half-dealing with Oscar. Testing had gone alright, they’re not the fastest, but they’re not at the bottom which soothes the never-healing scab Logan picks at. He’s use to fighting the car, trying to pull whatever he can from it, so the CGM-25 is almost a blessing when he hits the track.

The season starts in Australia, the McLaren drivers dominate and the two settle with points—P6 and P7 respectively. Oscar feels unsettled as he gets out of the car, the slide had nearly ruined his race and he was chasing the back of Logan’s car for most of it.

Logan barely smiles at him when he goes to congratulate him and that shifts him off key more. He knows he wasn’t the best of friend to Logan, communication between them seemed to solely happen during race weeks and slowly, Logan’s messages in between them died off; its not like Oscar tried too hard to respond either, his messages getting shorter and shorter until there was nothing to say.

He does see Logan light up when Alex comes over, a solid P5 for him and Williams. Something twists in him as he watches Alex casually throw an arm around Logan and frowns when Logan seems to melt into it, a grin wide on his face as they bump into Kimi and Ollie.

The thing is, is that Logan plays up their friendship on camera, smiles and loud laughter that makes Oscar think everything is going to be okay, but then the cameras are off and the conversation becomes stilted, like it physically pains Logan to continue the conversation but does so because that’s just who he is.

It’s Lando of all people that sits him down after he catches Oscar glaring at Liam when the Kiwi drapes himself over Logan, refusing to let go much to everyones amusement. They don’t know Logan the way Oscar did, never made the effort to want to know Logan. He knows it’s unfair to want all of Logan’s undivided attention and knows, on a deeper level, that he doesn’t exactly deserve it either.

“Did you ever apologize?” Lando asks in the safety of his driver room. Whenever Oscar can, he crashes in Lando’s room, the papaya orange more soothing than the blue and red of Cadillac.

“For what?” Oscar mutters even though he knows for what.

Lando knows that, kicking him with a socked foot, “For blowing him off all summer and then all winter and being a general dickhead.” Do you know how insane it is to be reprimanded by Lando Norris of all people?

When Oscar doesn’t respond, Lando digs his toes into his ribs and Oscar yelps, squeezing his ankle, “You have to talk to him, Osc, you cant keep glaring at people just because they’re around Logan, you muppet.”

And Oscar does plan to talk to Logan, except he forgot how well Logan is at evading people he doesn’t want to see. It hurts Oscar a little that he has become that person, but its what he gets isn’t? He ghosted Logan and some naïve part of him assumed that Logan would always come back, that being teammates could fix that.

When he finally gets a chance to catch Logan, a cold feeling crawls up his spine when he sees someone holding Logan’s hand as Logan introduces them to his team. Theres wide grins on their faces as Oscar gets closer, the conversation reaching him until he’s standing besides Logan.

“Oscar!” Logan says and it’s the first time in months that Logan smiles at him genuinely, sea glass eyes crinkling and cheeks flushing as he motions to the person next to him, “This is Ry, my partner.”

Oscar is going to be sick, he’s going to keel over and die because he was an idiot who couldn’t do anything about his big stupid crush on his not-really-best friend who looks like the sun shines just for him.

“Hi, pleasure to meet you.” Oscar says, shaking Ry’s hand. Ry smiles at him, their own faces equally flushed as they let go of Oscar’s hands and presses closer to Logan again. The floor sways under his feet as he dismisses himself from the conversation, making an excuse about meeting Lando and Charles.

He avoids Logan’s side of the garage whenever Ry is there, mostly because Oscar feels sick every time he sees them interact, the soft looks Logan has that Oscar knows were once reserved for just him. Lando just shakes his head whenever he catches Oscar staring, knowing just as well that whatever chance Oscar was hoping for was long gone.

They continue to race, circuit after circuit, country after country, and at most of them, Ry was there, a quiet fixture in Logan’s garage. They’re the first person Logan goes for after the race, it makes Oscar ache, his heart breaking over and over again as the season goes on.

And then the fight that Oscar wants to say came out of nowhere, but in reality, it had been brewing for weeks, especially after a scuffle in Austin that inadvertently caused Logan to miss out on his first podium finish. He had clung onto P4 by the skin of his teeth and had quietly sat in his rage during his media team.

“I wouldn’t have done that to him,” Logan had said, “But its racing, isn’t it?” but the anger is evident even under the charming smile. Logan had accepted the apology with a strained smile, but whatever strands of their friendships they were mending had frayed, and Oscar wasn’t sure they would ever recover.

The fight happened after Vegas, after Lando secured the Championship. Cadillac had dnf’d, another incident involving both drivers. Oscar had pushed too far and too fast, locking up and slamming into Logan. The barriers in Vegas are unforgiving and Logan, sandwiched between Oscar and the barrier can only feel the cold tendrils of rage slipping through his fingertips.

He waits until he’s cleared, Ry anxiously waiting for him outside of the medical center, their eyes rimmed red with a quiet Oscar next to them. The rage hadn’t receded, not like it usually does. Ry’s hands tremble as they brush over Logan’s chest and its what pisses Logan off even more, both times that Logan had winded up in the medical center were both times Ry was worried out if their mind, and both times, Oscar had put him there.

“What did they say?” Ry asked, refusing to let go of Logan. It softens the edges just a bit, just enough to remind Logan that his anger wasn’t towards Ry, but his teammate, someone he once considered his closest friend, his first love.

“A miracle, just some bruises and soreness.” Logan says, “Can you go get our things? I’m being excused from media so we can go straight to the hotel, Elias will take you.”

“You’re not coming?” Ry asked, eyes still lined with tears. Logan smiles softly at them, pressing a kiss to their forehead.

“I’ll meet you there, now go, I have to talk to Piastri.” Ry looked over their shoulder where Oscar was still waiting, expression neutral. Ry had seen the tension between the two grow, held back by the smokescreen of long-time friends. They know it could’ve been something else, something bigger than the two of them, but it was Ry that had pulled Logan out of that pit, it was them that had made sure Logan will never have to go another day questioning if he’s worth being loved, worth being alive.

It was almost petty, the way Ry kissed Logan and the stare they gave Oscar when they walked past him and towards where Elias was waiting for them.

The fight is near violent, stripping each other verbally until the truth slips from Oscar, a last step defense against the truths Logan flings at him. Oscar’s heart is in his throat as Logan looks at him in disbelief, anger and frustration clear in his eyes.

“That’s low.” Logan says, “That’s something you should’ve buried long ago.”

And how was Oscar supposed to that? He had spent years loving Logan, even if the American didn’t believe him. It’s not like he had a chance now, not with the way Ry seems determined to stay by Logan’s side; Oscar can’t compete with that and realistically, he would of never won.

“I tried.” Oscar whispers, “I truly did try.”

“Clearly not hard enough,” Logan responds, voice tight, “God Oscar.”

“I’m sorry, this isn’t something I asked for.”

“Thanks Captain Obvious, I could fucken see that.” Logan leans against the wall, the fight now leaving him, “You’re ridiculous Oscar, you leave me out to dry and somehow it comes back to you and how you feel.”

Oscar shakes his head, arms wrapped around himself, “It’s not—I was never going to act on them, especially not now, not with Ry in the picture that’s-that’s not who I am.”

“I don’t know who you are anymore,” Logan says quietly, “I don’t know you anymore. Isn’t that insane? We grew up together, celebrated birthdays and holidays together and now I look at you and can’t even imagine what you’re thinking.”

Oscar feels the floor beneath him spin as he breathes in, “I’m thinking that there is some severe damage between us and my personal feelings aside, I miss you and I really am fucking sorry that I let us drift off.”

“Yeah, well, two more races and then you’re back to McLaren, and then maybe we can figure this out.”

Oscar nods, “You and Pato will be great.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever you say future world champion.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

yeah i can’t let loscar end on a bad note im sorry! they figure their shit out and Ry is slightly skeptical of it (mostly because of the way oscar looks at logan but they quickly find out oscar looks at everyone like that) and oscar is in logan’s groom party thing when he marries Ry because they are now logan’s go-to partner if i ever need to write logan in an already established relationship (definition of finding each other in every universe) anyway that was it i had fun but cannot write loscar angst to save my life

kisses 😚

[revelauver]

⌕ race review!   ֢֢֢ ◝﹝bahrain [ 04/13/25 ]

🏎️_⠀ op81, cl16, gr63, pg10, ka12, ln4, mv1, cs55, lh44, & yt22 are the quali top 10!

i had to miss most of bahrain because i had a flight to catch 💔 but i was there for the start! and caught up to watch the rest just now ofc

lando that was INSANE, up 3 places instantly from p6? HE IS LOCKED IN 🔒 i’m convinced the farther lando is back on the grid, the better his start is

george quickly took it back and almost caught OSCAR in turn 1, who had a good start

jesus christ george what were you on today

JESUS LECHRIST WHAT HAPPENED TO CHARLES 😭 HE HAD P2 AND LOST IT TO HALF THE BRITISH ARMY

and then he spent the rest of the race defending like a maniac against them + the french. the nation of monaco knows no peace

Ollie gained like five positions in like one turn OMFG

Kimi babe we like to drive ON the track

and because this is MY race review, we are going to be discussing the disastrous kimi antonelli subplot in extensive detail

he was the only driver on a 3 stop strategy PITTING FOR SOFTS EACH TIME 💀 

he lost so much time in the pits, came out into heavy DRS traffic every time, and the tires just kept wearing off from there as he tried to get by AND THEN got super unlucky with the timing of the safety car just after pitting for the softs (hence the 3 stop strategy)

but that overtake on max was just beautiful i could CRYY 😭he checked that item off the bucket list ✅

speaking of max he was NOT having a good time 💀

literally everything that could have gone wrong in that accursed redbull garage went wrong

strategy? flop. PIT LIGHTS? flop. car? what do YOU think 🫵

p6 was a miracle considering how close max was to a nervous breakdown

YUKI IN THE POINTS 🎉 he was dealing with the pit lights and terrible car, but at least the team had him on a better strategy than max 😬

vcarbs (isack) where did y’all go

i don’t even bother to ask about sauber anymore

the things that kimi must sacrifice for an op81 win 💔like yikes, flashbacks to the floor damage in china

nobody does a recovery drive like ollie bearman—10 places HELLO? His family’s radio was so cute

he and kimi fighting for p10 okay prema deja vu 😍

aston martin, i fear adrian newey is your only hope. not even alonso can save you now

how tf did george keep lando back with a car falling apart (transponder, drs, brakes, & dash) faster than oscar piastri’s lap times 👀 i was not familiar with your game

lewis dotd for being the only unproblematic driver in bahrain and consequently making up 4 places. fair tbh 🫡

as for charles, ferrari didn’t even really fuck up the strategy or the pit stops 😭

he fought sooo hard against EVERYONE for those positions, but i wonder what the race could have been like had he held onto the start

also because this is my MY race review, we are going to be discussing oscar piastri dominance in extensive detail

first mclaren driver on pole in bahrain? first mclaren driver to win in bahrain? AND BY 15 WHOLE SECONDS?

plus his lap times were SO FAST! he had 0.39 second a lap advantage ON AVERAGE to the next fastest driver

absolutely flawless race i could not be happier ☺️🫶

got to give lando his flowers though! he made it onto the podium (one for every race of the year)

i guess we have to talk about alpine -_-

finally scored some points via the french driver, and now every single f1 team has points!

jack was jumping ALL OVER the graphics, but eventually landed in p15 💔 i was really rooting for him

let’s review the penalties for today because they were being handed out like crazy: (1) 5-second penalty to ln4 for a false start, (2) 5-second penalty to ob87 for an unsafe pit release, (3) 10-second penalty to cs55 for forcing ka12 off the track, (4) 5-second penalty to jd7 for exceeding track limits, (5) 5-second penalty to ll30 for a safety car infringement AND (6) 10-second penalty to ll30 for colliding with nh27

shockingly no ocon appearance

and this isn’t even including both mercs getting a 1-place grid penalty during quali for the pit exit

in another episode of the carlos sainz shakespearean-tragedy soap opera, he had to retire bc of damage from the yuki contact 😭 man shaved his entire body for an extra tenth of speed for a p8 in quali only to dnf from a literal black hole in the side of his car

guest star alex albon also had his own quali woes, but he made up a couple places 💅 you go girl

the graphics were actually driving me up the wall. pinnacle of motorsport my ass

i was following the bbc live report on my way to the airport, and it showed george disappearing from the time sheets. I THOUGHT BRO DNFED FOR A SOLID 2 MINUTES 😃 and then there were no places listed for any driver behind p10

there wasn’t a single overtake for the lead, and this was still the best race of the season, purely from entertainment pov alone! we got so much quality racing, overtakes, and unexpected results. I honestly loved seeing all the teams taking risks with strategies and trying different ones, regardless of how well they were executed on track

i couldn't be more excited to go into saudi next week! less than 15 points separating the top 4 drivers in the championship, and anything could happen

contact me @ ⠀꒱⠀ . ⠀ 1-800-hot-n-fun ⠀ —— ⠀ ✧ !

[scrumptiousartisanheart]

Everything was fine until it wasn't... well except for Max being in a nightmare of a race...

Another one of the damnable "what if"s of Charles' career, how frustrating. At least he put up some good defence against Norris and had a good strategy until the safety car.

Otherwise, Oscar dominating was nice along with Ollie and Kimi impressing again!