#bright young things and motorsport

[formulaocean]

“But I wonder if they’ll miss me once they drive me out”

The parallels between Max Verstappen & Kimi Antonelli and Charles Leclerc & Ollie Bearman ft Nothing New by Taylor Swift ft. Phoebe Bridgers.

[sebscore]

gen z!reader is this sweet, bubbly, bright ray of sunshine who could honestly do no wrong, so I'd love to see a fic where in a driver's meeting gen z!reader loses their shit and calls out the FIA for their blatant sexism and misogyny in front of everyone and everyone is shocked cause they've never seen them gets this mad before.

NO ONE LIKES A MAD WOMAN

pairings: f1 grid x driver!reader (+ cameos from brundle, susie and buxton) 

warnings: sexism. fia is fia'ing. swearing. my own unaccurate ruling of penalties (it's for the sake of the story, just go along with it). susie mothering. it wasn't sure to me who conducted the driver's briefing during this time so I just picked a random name from the many that I came across. 

author's note: less comedic one this time, hope you enjoy it anyway! 

masterlist

• • • • • • •

''Alright, thanks for clarifying, Checo.'' Derek concluded, glancing down at his journal to see what the next topic of discussion was. 

The director scratched his voice before addressing the drivers again. ''Uhm, we also wanted to remind everyone to be wary of what they say in the media regarding our organization,'' he stated, ''the FIA has the feeling that there have been deliberate attacks on them the last few weeks and they are willing to give out penalties if it happens again.'' 

The drivers looked at each other, confused by the sudden declaration that the FIA has been receiving ''attacks'' from the drivers. ''Can you give an example, because I think I speak for everyone when I say that I'm confused.'' George spoke up, the others nodding along to his question. 

Derek flipped through his papers, trying to find the notes his colleagues had given him regarding the ''offensive'' comments that had been made against them. 

''Oh, here,'' he put on his reading glasses, holding the piece of paper farther from his face, ''the comment they're referring to was one made by… Y/N at the previous race.'' 

The young woman's head sprung up at the mention of her name, clueless as to how she could have upset the FIA. ''What? W-what did I say?'' She managed to stutter out, all the eyes on her making her feel uneasy. 

''Uh, you were asked about the diversity in the sport and you said, and I quote: 'The FIA should do more regarding women in motorsport, there are still many things that need to be changed.' End quote.'' Derek answered her, putting his paper back in place. 

Y/N frowned at the man. ''I don't see what's wrong with that, to be honest.'' She told him, failing to see how the FIA would feel this was a ''deliberate attack''. 

The director sighed, already getting the suspicion the woman would not be happy with what he was about to say. ''Certain members of the board were offended by your words, because they saw it as you accusing them of being sexist.'' 

The silence in the room was deafening, every single person awaiting Y/N's reaction to Derek's clarification. The drivers took a glimpse at her, trying to read the indifferent expression on her face that didn't give much away about how she was feeling. 

''They think I'm accusing them of being sexist? What I meant was that they should take more actions in encouraging young girls to get into racing- I don't understand how that would correlate to me calling them sexist.'' Her usual cheerful tone was replaced by a monotone voice that almost scared some of her colleagues. 

Derek took a deep breath again. ''Well, they felt like you were insinuating it and they are offended by the alleged insinuation.'' 

''Just because they are offended doesn't mean they're right.'' She bit back, not missing a beat. 

''I'm simply delivering their message, Y/N,'' the director told her politely, wanting to remind her that he's not the person she should be upset with, ''anyway- if you go up there and apologize for your comment, they're considering leaving it as a warning for you and also the others.'' He finished the list of notes they had given him. 

The reaction from the room wasn't one he was expecting; absolute outrage. 

''She shouldn't apologize for that neither should she be penalized for it.'' Sebastian was the first one to speak up, directly looking Derek in the eye. 

The drivers agreed. ''Yeah, it's called freedom of speech.'' Max added, also not seeing why Y/N should go down there and say sorry to the members of the board. 

''Like I said earlier, I'm simply delivering their message.'' Derek repeated himself, feeling the tension and frustration growing in the small space. 

''But don't you see how ridiculous this is?'' Sebastian rebutted, hoping the man at the front could at least agree with them and say that it was indeed a weird request. 

Derek shook his head. ''I'm just the middle man, Seb,'' he sighed, turning his head towards the quiet female driver, ''Y/N, make it easier for yourself and go up there after the meeting, you don't want to receive a penalty for something like this.'' 

''I'm not apologizing.'' Her voice comes out strong, not in an aggressive way, but in a manner that lets everyone know she's not backing down. ''Give me as many penalties as you want, I'm not accepting them.'' She crossed her arms, indicating she was sticking to her words, almost stubbornly. 

The other drivers looked on proudly, glad she was standing by her belief and didn't give in simply because it would make everything ''easier''. Lewis gave her a nod, subtly letting her know he supported her and had her back. 

''Alright, then that will result in a fine of a number that is yet to be determined.'' Derek picked up his pen and wrote down that she would not come by their office, already knowing his colleagues wouldn't be happy with it. 

''Just so you know- I'm not paying that.'' Y/N said, matter-of-factly. 

Derek looked up from his journal. ''If you refuse to pay the fine, we can either add a grid-place penalty or a time penalty.'' He recited the rule as if he had done it a million times before. 

''Derek, this is stupid,'' Kimi decided to voice his opinion, ''the race shouldn't be affected, because of a comment she made that had nothing to do with racing in the first place.'' He defended her, allying behind her stance to not accept any of the penalties they give her. 

''I'm just doing my job, Kimi.'' 

''I also want to just do my job, Derek, which is racing, but these ridiculous rules to silence me prevent me from doing that.'' Y/N argued his response, just wanting him to see her point of view. 

The director's hand went over his face, seemingly wiping his agitation away. ''No one is trying to silence you, Y/N.'' He quickly answered. 

''That's why all the other drivers receive penalties whenever they question the FIA, right?'' Her comment must have shut him up as he solely put his pen down without saying another word about the matter. ''Yeah, that's what I thought.'' 

Y/N felt her presence wasn't longer necessary as she stood up from her chair, ready to leave the room and join her engineering team in preparation for the upcoming race. However, Derek felt different about that. ''The briefing isn't over yet, Y/L. Sit back down, please.'' 

''I'll see you at the next meeting, Derek.'' She ignored his plea and walked towards the door. 

The director stood up from his desk at the front. ''Y/N, if you leave before it's done, the board will-'' 

''The board can kiss my ass.'' 

''Y/N Y/L RECEIVES A 20-PLACE GRID PENALTY AHEAD OF THE 2021 SPANISH GRAND PRIX DUE TO DAMAGING REMARKS AGAINST THE FIA'' 

''FIA RE-EVALUATING Y/N Y/N's PENALTY AFTER BACKLASH'' 

''FIA SUSPENDS GRID PENALTY OF Y/N Y/L DUE TO AN ERROR'' 

The day after the driver's briefing had been quite eventful to say the least. As soon as the FIA announced that she had been given a penalty, the backlash from drivers, fans and reporters started. 

Lewis had condemned their decision claiming it was based on nothing and that nothing about her comment was an attack on the organization. His teammate, Valtteri, followed him in his opinion stating: ''Drivers should be able to say what they want to say, she doesn't deserve a penalty for that.'' 

Sky Sports F1 reporter, Martin Brundle, also came to the driver's defense. ''If we're going to punish drivers for stating their opinions, we might as well get rid of the entire sport, especially if what they're saying isn't far from the truth.'' 

After finishing P5 in the race, Y/N spoke to Will Buxton in her post-race interview. ''You must be very happy with your result today, considering you almost had to start from the very back of the grid.'' 

''I'm content with today's race, obviously would have loved a podium but Mercedes was better today,'' she chuckled, ''yeah, it wasn't fun waking up to that news, but I'm happy that it was reversed and the support I received was just- wow, I'm very grateful for everyone.'' 

''According to some sources, it got pretty heated in the driver's briefing on friday- would you like to clarify?'' Will asked her. 

A sarcastic laugh left her mouth. ''I would just like to forget about it, moving on is the best thing to do right now.'' She smoothly avoided the question, figuring she shouldn't make the FIA more mad by airing out all their business. 

''Alright, thank you so much for talking to us, Y/N and congratulations on your race today.'' He nodded, bidding her goodbye. 

On her way back to her team's hospitality, she was stopped by none other than Susie Wolff. ''Lewis told us what happened during the briefing- I'm very proud of you for standing up for yourself, not everyone could have done that.'' 

''It was so awful, Susie,'' Y/N hugged the older woman, ''it's like they just wanted to give me some sort of punishment- I don't even want to know what would have happened if I went down there by myself.'' Susie rubs her back at her words, also not wanting to think about what could have gone down. 

''It's okay now, honey,'' they pulled apart, Susie's hand staying on her shoulder, ''by the way- did you really say that the board could kiss your ass?'' 

Y/N laughed at her question, excitedly nodding her head. ''At first I wanted to say something like 'the board can stick that penalty right up their ass’ but I needed a cool getaway so I opted for something shorter.'' 

''Atta girl'' 

taglist :: @i0veless @missskid @missthem @rosesintj @evans-dejong @thehistoryone @dreamycloudsworld @formulazeesworld @muushmeg @topguncultleader @the-great-adventures-of-me @love13tter @xcharlottemikaelsonx @kiwisa @starkwlkr @nora_moon @princesselle2111 @valluvsu @thatsadsmallchild @babyyoda89 @milkbreadforlife @fxllfaiiry @hc-dutch @its-ash-not-grey @princessbetsy123-blog @mehrmonga @nyenye @screechingtrashkid @ahnneyong @holybatflapexpert @itsnotgray @beautycinders @scuderialavender @rowansshit @uhhevie @revengze @nylaslife @majx00 @multi-universe21 @jaydensluv @isasalom @gentlemonsterjennie1 @appledashhh @breathinfive @lighttsoutlewis 

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[leclucklerc]

Check Point MV1 - 00. Opening Sequence

Pairings: Max Verstappen x Actress!Reader

Summary: She should've realized that coming back to Formula One after quitting the sport years ago is a bad idea. Especially considering that most of your childhood friends and rivals from your karting days are now in the paddock.

Word Count: 2k

Masterlist Next

The thing is, y/n l/n loves racing.

Maybe it's in her blood, maybe it's the way she was raised, maybe it's her calling. She doesn't know. All she knows, is that all her life, she had been in love with racing.

It's the way her eyes lit up when her father gave her her first kart. It's the way she absolutely relishes in the feeling of adrenaline and wind as she swept through the track. It's the way she would laugh and play with the kids during racing weekends.

As a young child, watching her father drive the world's fastest car in the highest form of motorsport has been fascinating. More than fascinating, really. Watching the man that she could proudly call dad living his dream as he made his way to become one of the most legendary figures in formula one. 

The red car that always finished first. Her dad who always climbed out, fist pointing towards the sky - as if he's communicating or thanking with a higher power - as cheers and yells full of excitement reverberated through the air.

She could still remember the bright red flags being waved in the air. How the tifosi's cheered for her dad, how the race track became the liveliest place on earth.

To the young y/n, everything had been so fascinating.

Reynold l/n had been a four time formula one world driver's champion under Ferrari. One of the most legendary drivers to ever existed, someone that had inspired so many young children to take up the challenge of formula one.

One of them, is his own daughter.

It was the main reason why she took up karting at such a young age. Wanting to feel the thrill and excitement just like her father. To see, what made this sport so addicting and so so enthralling. To share this love with the father that she had loved so much.

And yes, y/n loves it.

She absolutely loves it. How her heart would be thumping wildly as she could hear her father cheering in the distance. How with each race, she felt as if she was closer and closer to her father. How she would won races, smiling and laughing, imagining the small podium as an actual Formula One podium.

It was amazing, it was addicting.

Besides that, anyone with two eyes can see that y/n has a talent in racing. At first, her father had worry immensely that she would stand out in a bad way considering that she's a girl in a male dominated sport. That she would be pushed around or be belittled by the people around her.

That worry turns out to be unfounded considering how amazing the girl is at the track. After all, she's not only a girl who's karting. She's a girl who's winning in karting. Y/n always stood on the podiums with her male counterparts, proving that yes, a girl can succeed in this sport. That gender has nothing to do with talent and hard work.

Her racing trophies could be seen lining up the walls of her house, accompanying her parents. His father would boast his daughter's apparent talent in racing to everyone that would listen and well, everyone will listen to Reynold l/n if he started talking.

If anyone had asked her what her first love is, she would say racing. 

Racing is her first love, no doubt about that. Though, racing, is not the only thing that she loves.

Because the thing is, as much as y/n loves her father, she also loves her mother. As much as she had idolized her father, she too, idolized her mother greatly.

The beautiful Nicole Merle-y/n had been Hollywood's icon once upon a time. Or maybe, she still is. An amazing actress with beautiful face and peerless talent. A woman, that had become an icon in the entertainment industry. Many of her movies had become a classic, spanning generations upon generations.

Back during the height of her career, she would become the muse of so many musicians. Love songs would be made while thinking of her, and romantic movies would be produced with her as a lead actress.

Just like her father races, as a child, y/n too had watched her mother acted in front of the cameras. The way the woman could shift her emotion so seamlessly, how tears would drop from her eyes on command, how she can command the attention of the room with a single glance.

Her mother is a woman that y/n aspires to be.

A femme fatale that can make men fall in love with a single glance. An independent woman with her own value and stance. An actress, that shine in front of a camera so brightly.

During her younger years, aside of racing, y/n also acts during the off season. From smaller roles as a side character in her mother's films or even the main character in a movie with a child protagonist. Similar to karting, it was not long before people realized that oh, she's also talented in this.

As expected of her mother's daughter. As expected, from the child of Hollywood's icon.

She's the youngest actor to be nominated for an Oscar for her lead role. She actually won an Oscar for her supporting role despite her young age. Many people thinks that she's the second calling of her mother. The next Hollywood's A-lister that will take the entertainment industry by storm. 

Y/n l/n, a girl who has everything.

For the longest time, y/n had insisted on doing both. That both racing and acting is important for her and there's no way she can let one of them go-

"The Ferrari driving academy wants you in their program," said her father after one of her race. The adrenaline is still high and she's still holding her first place trophy tightly. "They want you to debut in GP3 shortly."

Y/n blinked at that.

From besides her, her mother let out a laugh. "Ah, isn't that amazing?" she said. "Did the academy called you?" The last bit was asked directly towards her father.

Her father shrugged. "Stefano also called," he said as they walked towards their car. "He said that there's a possibility that y/n is going to become one of... Ferrari's future talent for their F1 team."

And, isn't that the big news?

Stefano Domenicali is Ferraris' formula one team principal. He's the team principal of the team that her father used to drive with and won three driver championship. He's the team principal of one of the top team in formula one.

He's also a man that seems interested in her talent.

"Amazing," said her mother. "It's an amazing offer!"

"I know," said her father too. "But this also comes with a consequence."

Time seems to stop at that. His father didn't even have to clarify what the consequences are because the three of them know.

"Darling," started her father as he crouched in front of her. "You know what this means right?"

Y/n nodded, eyes staring at the older man. "If we accept that offer, I'm going to be a full-time racing driver," she started, small hands hugging the trophy on hand tightly. "I- I have to follow a sportsman training, which will take a lot of time and strength." She continues.

"Yes," said her father. "That is true."

"Which means, I can't do both racing and acting anymore," said the girl, eyes flicking towards where her mother stood, also staring at her. "I have to give up acting if I want to accept that offer."

Her father ruffled her hair. "You can take your time to think about this," said the man. "Max also got called up for Red Bull Driver Academy recently right? Maybe you can discuss this with him."

The girl nodded at that. Her childhood friends did told her that he was being called up for Red Bull junior program a few weeks ago. He had been so excited and she too, had been excited for that.

"What about you, Dad?" she asked, desperately trying to avoid his gaze. She doesn't want to see any doubt or disappointment on his eyes. "Which one do you think I should pursue?"

"Well," started the man. "You tell me, it's your life darling. It's your decision, I don't want to influence it in any way."

"Y/n" said her mom gently, caressing her cheek. "Both of your father and I had talked about this," she said gently. "It really is your decision; we don't want to force you."

Y/n stared at her.

Racing or acting.

She loves racing and yet at the same time, she also loves acting. The two activities that she loves the most in the world.

From the start, she knows that both of them needs a lot of dedication and time. That to do both at the same time would be impossible. Still, she held out toward the small hope that maybe – just maybe – there's a possibility that she can do both.

If she takes up the offer, she probably have to move to Maranello and live there or somewhere close. There's a chance where she won't have enough time off to shot any movie of series. There's also a chance that when she finally got into GP3 or the higher category, racing will consume her life fully.

Y/n loves racing, she really do.

But can she gives up acting for racing?

Or can she give up racing for acting?

Reality came crushing down and it is time for y/n to choose.

"And that's the story of how I almost became a Formula one driver," laughed 24 years old y/n l/n with a charming smile. "But I guess, all of you know what decision that I made that day."

Amidst the bright studio lights and setup, the female positively glows. From the way her black dress hunched elegantly as she sat, towards the magnetic gaze that she directed to everyone in the room. When y/n l/n is in the room, it's impossible to look away from the female.

It's no wonder that the highly acclaimed actor had won many awards over the years. Many of her works had been praised highly and even won many many oscars. To anyone who had seen the female act, they all would've thought that she was born to do it.

So it's  a bit surprising to hear that not only the female almost gave up acting, she almost gave up acting to be a racing driver.

Jimmy Kimmel let an actual laugh at that, half disbelieving. In his hand, a picture of y/n's karting days could be seen by everyone on the studio. She could see the small racing suit as well as the bright pink helmet that her father gave her years ago. Certainly, it brings back memories.

"I mean, that is an interesting story!" said the man as he put down the picture. "Formula one is so different from being an actress!"

"I agree," she said good-naturedly. "it would've changed the trajectory of my life tremendously."

"But tell me, did your father got mad by your decision?"

The actress let out a twinkling laugh, eyes creasing. "He's upset for maybe a day or so," said the female, remembering how her father had said that he was not disappointed but sulked around the house for some time. "Though we made up when I cooked him a breakfast in bed a few days later."

"Amazing!" said Jimmy, laughing at the answer. "It's like choosing between your dad and mom, right?"

"For sure," she said. "When I ended up choosing to act my mom was so smug about it. Though, that doesn't mean my love for the sport has dwindled, me and my dad still follow the races often on tv."

Nodding, Jimmy decided that it's time for them to change towards the next topic. "Speaking of Formula one, the Miami Grand Prix is around the corner," he started, learning forward a bit. "Are you going to attend?"

Y/n tilted her head a bit, making sure that the camera captured her charming points. The question hangs in the air as she began ponders the answer. Truthfully, the last time that she had come into a formula one race in person was back when she was 17. It was fun, meeting all of her dad's friends and she even had the chance to tour the paddock and watch the race from the Ferrari's garage.

Though, over the years, as she became busier and her schedule became more packed, following the sport live is almost impossible. After all 22 races in 22 countries is a lot and she can't possibly tune in live to every each of them.

The Miami Grand Prix this year is different.

While formula one had always been a popular sport back in Europe, it had never taken off in America. At least, until the last few years. She began noticing more and more people talked about formula one in LA. Maybe it's because of the Netflix documentary? Or maybe it's because there's a change in management? Who knows.

All she knows, this year Miami Grand Prix will be different from any other races. Every celebrity that she knows will be there. Literally.

Even if she has no interest in Formula One, she's sure that her agent will somehow make her attend the event. Either for publicity or maybe as the brand ambassador of one of the sponsors. After all, there is no way she'll miss out the hottest event in the past few years.

"Hmm," she hummed playfully. "I mean, I do have a father-daughter bonding day scheduled in Miami GP," she said, making cheers and claps erupted in the studio.

Laughing, Jimmy nodded his head. "Great then!" he said. "Are you excited to see the sport that you almost become a star in?" asked the man. "Maybe you will have a change of a heart in the upcoming grand prix."

"Doubt it," she said cheekily. "Considering my movie will be released this month."

"And that ladies and gentlemen, is the final plug for the night, Product of Glory will be out in theatres at the 1st of May!"

With that final say, y/n let out a beautiful smile as Jimmy did his closing ment as he thanked her for her participation in the show before she exited the stage.

[theemporium]

38 and 53 for charles leclerc ff the smut promos list pleaseeee 💞

send in a prompt + name

38. "I'll let you do anything if you just touch me now"

53. "you're more than just a one night stand"

.

It was a mistake. 

A mistake the two of you decided was a one time deal and promised to never discuss again. A mistake that should have never happened in the first place. A mistake that would drag you both down if it ever got out. 

When you were introduced into the world of Formula One, the public knew you as one of the closest—if not the closest—best friend of Max Verstappen. Max was young and bright and ready to really start his career after signing with Red Bull Racing. You were his supportive best friend who dabbled in and out of races between your years at university and work. 

However, things started to change once you graduated and suddenly you were in the paddock for more than a weekend here or there. 

And suddenly, you were bumping into the likes of Charles Leclerc—a boy you knew so much of and yet nothing about. 

In the earlier years of Max’s career, Charles was nothing but the nuisance that Max would constantly complain about. He was the boy who drove recklessly, who was unfair, who would constantly push him off the track. 

As the boys got older and matured, Charles was just another face amongst the other Formula One drivers who you’d hear the odd thing about, here and there. Max was far more friendly with the boy, but their dinners out or time spent together never seemed to coincide with whenever you were in town. 

You officially met the Ferrari driver after the Monaco Grand Prix—and that was when the first of many mistakes were made. 

You kissed him. 

You shouldn’t have. You really shouldn’t have. In fact, you should have never been out on that balcony in the first place. You should be out with the rest of the team, celebrating the fact your best friend just won one of the most prestigious races in motorsport history. 

But instead you were on a balcony with someone who could be considered his enemy, listening to the way he sounded so defeated about letting down his home country once again, and you just couldn’t help yourself from leaning over and placing your lips on his. 

The second mistake was just a few weeks later when a double Red Bull DNF and a grump Max made you take solace in some other paddock friends (knowing Max just needed space to be grumpy before he talked about it), and instead of dancing all night with friends, you found yourself hidden in the corner of some club making out with a certain Monegasque man. 

The biggest mistake was not even a week or so later, another country for another grand prix, only this time you had lost Max and the others and instead found yourself in Charles Leclerc’s hotel room. 

It all led you to now—summer break for the Formula One season—where you promised your best friend you would spend time with him in Monaco.

Except, instead of Max’s apartment, you were in his rival’s on the other side of Monte Carlo. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you murmured against his lips, the plush sofa beneath your knees making it comfortable as you straddled the driver in the dimly lit living room. “This is a bad idea.” 

“It’s a great idea,” he argued as his head ducked down to press kisses down the column of your neck. 

“It’s a mistake,” you said firmly, but maybe you were trying to convince yourself more so than the boy underneath you. 

“All five times?” Charles humoured. 

“Those were one night stands,” you muttered, knowing full well you should be pulling away, creating some distance between you both as you spoke. “They didn’t mean anything—“ 

“You’re more than just a one night stand, cherie,” Charles groaned, hands around your waist tightening almost like he could read the thoughts in your head that wanted to move away from him. “You know that.” 

And maybe deep down you did. 

At least you knew he was different from every other one night stand you had before. You knew that the feelings you harboured for the Ferrari driver were stronger than you had felt for anyone before. You knew that you never enjoyed kissing someone the same way you did with him, or touching them too. 

You knew that Charles Leclerc was like nothing and no one you had ever experienced before. 

“What are we doing?” you whispered softly, your hands resting on his chest with his racing heart beating wildly beneath your palm. 

“We are enjoying each other and the pleasure we give each other,” he told you, his lips tracing over your pulse and you could have sworn you felt his lips twitch when your breath hitched. “And I can promise you I am enjoying every single moment of it.”

Your hands slid down his chest, pausing at the waistband of his sweatpants as you fiddled with the drawstrings. “Yeah?” 

He gulped a little. “Yeah.” 

“You enjoy me touching you, Leclerc?” 

The teasing tone of your voice wasn’t lost on Charles, not at all. But it was hard for him to even bite back when your fingers dipped beyond the waistband, your fingers wrapping around his cock and squeezing him in a way that made every thought in his head just stop.

“Shit,” he hissed between clenched teeth as his head fell to rest on your shoulder.

“That doesn’t sound very encouraging,” you murmured as your thumb swiped along the head of his cock, a soft whine escaping his lips as you did so.

“Baby, please,” he moaned, his soft pants fanning against the skin of your neck as he spoke. 

“Words, Charlie.” 

“I–” But the boy only let out a pathetic whine when you pulled your hand away, and it was quick reflexes that had his hands clamping down on your waist before you could jump off his lap completely. 

“I said words, baby, can’t do anything unless you say it,” you teased lightly, your palm pressing down the bulge in his sweatpants.

“Anything,” he rasped in a husky voice, his accent coating his words thicker. “I’ll let you do anything if you just touch me now.”

You had to bite down on your bottom lip to hide your grin. “Anything?” 

“Anything,” he confirmed. 

“Get those sweatpants off, Leclerc,” you ordered him as you shuffled off his lap, your knees hitting the soft carpet. “I want your cock in my mouth.” 

Charles groaned, muttered prayers whispered under his breath as he quickly shed his sweatpants to the side.

.

[lokideservesahug]

For How Long!?!- Extras

Extra 3: First Impressions (and do-overs)

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Pairings: Logan Sargeant x reader (not yet romantic)

Warnings: None that I can think. Young Y/N is a bit of a dick?

Notes: I love this series sm...so here's another extra! Also apologies for any spelling mistakes

Summary: Y/L/N and Sarge first met at 13 and 14... and did NOT get along well at all. Does that change when they re-meet a few years later?

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

It was hard being a woman in a male dominated field. I mean sexist remarks and extra criticism are to be expected. But the amount of attention you received? It was nearly enough to make you quit the sport all together. But, you knew that this what you were getting into when you started karting and now that you know the feeling, there is nothing better than zooming as fast as you can around a track.

Despite the regular criticism, one thing that the spectators had to admit was that you were good. Like really good. You were only 13 and already you had a backing from one of the biggest F1 teams' junior programmes (how you managed that, you're not quite sure).

You were happy with the rate in which you were going; winning race after race (and if not then at least scoring points). F3 was already in the discussions with your name thrown around. Maybe you'd even be racing there already... if there weren't age limits that you were yet to hit for another few years.

You were comfortable. Until HE came along. Logan Hunter Sargeant. The most stereotypical American you could ever imagine. You didn't hold a grudge at first, you never did. When you went to speak with him and shake his hand after his recent promotion into the WSK series, you were actually quite excited to meet him. Despite being constantly surrounded by men you weren't used to seisng anyone so...pleasant looking (he also wasn't unattractive to your 13 year old self's brain).

However, when you bounced out of your seat and introduced yourself whilst holding your hand out, he just stared, slack jawed. Gosh he really was just like everyone else. Surely it's not that outrageous to see a woman here. I mean the sport is getting much more diverse!

So disheartened and slightly upset, you turned way and grunled a quiet "Ok then" under your breath as you walked away.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Logan didn't mean to react like that. He just couldn't help it. He'd heard of you, everyone had. The youngest woman currently dominating the lower levels of motorsport. Everyone spoke about the Y/L/N girl with the super bright future. Yet, everyone failed to mention how pretty she was. By the time he realised his worldless, opened mouth state, it was too late. You and already started to furrow your brows, frown and turn away.

When his brain and body had finally resyncronsied, it was too late. You had walked off and he was left feeling. Well like a complete jerk.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

He had tried many times to re-introdice himself as time went on. But unsurprisingly to protect yourself, you had made a judgement and stuck to it.

However, Logan was adamant. He tried again and again to make you at least talk to him.

However as time progressed and you got promoted into F3 and then F2, he was left only questioning what could had he have introduced himself differently on that fateful day.

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Being 17 was quite an interesting age for what you did as a 'hobby' you thought. You were old enough to have shown your talent and solidified your place as a good driver. However, you were not old enough to actually be able to drive in Formula 2, per the Fia's age regulations (you were still upset that you missed out by only a few months).

You can't really remember what you thought when you heard that Logan Sargeant was being promoted to F2. Maybe a small "good on him" fluttered through your mind before quickly being squashed by a thought of "is he still the same?"

The awsner to that was no; he was not the same. He'd grown exponentially and now borderline towered over you. He actualy looked like he belonged on the scene- and had his eyes always been that dreamy? Wait, you couldn't get caught up in these thoughts.

For all you knew, he was still the young 14 year old boy that just stared when you excitedly first greeted him with your hand stuck out and a smile plastered on your face. Not unlike the one he had on now...

Huh?

You then actuly payed attention to your surroundings and now saw the American stood in front of you with his hand stuck out and a slight flush on his cheeks. "Uh, hi" he said breathlessly (almost like he had rushed to get to you before you had a chance to get away).

You gave him a glance up and down. "Hi." You raised your eyebrows and continued, "Can I help you?" His eyes almost lit up at your response. Almost like he was excited that the two of you were actualy holding a conversation after all these years.

"Yeah. I just wanted to apologise" He looked down as he said the last part. "Apologise for what exactly?" You countered. You knew what you wanted his response to be but whether he had conjured up something to apologise for that you were unaware of was beyond you.

"Well I'm not sure if you remember when we first met." Oh you remember. For some frustrating reason it had plagued your mind on many nights. "But you introduced yourself and I just kinda stood there and didn't say anything...like at all. And I've felt really bad about it for many years and I've tried to make up for it so man-" "Hey" you laughed at his clearly passionate yet worried rambling "It's fine. You've apologised. That's all that matters."

And there it was again. That same slack jawed expression that he sported all of those years ago. You almost had the urge to laugh at the obscurity of the situation or even roll your eyes when he mumbled out "That's all it took?" What was he talking about? "After all of these years That's all I needed to say?" Now he looked almost hurt...

"Well no." You spluttered out. Did your avoidance of him really have that much of an effect on him? "Well I mean..." Maybe your avoidance was a good thing if he reduces you to a spluttering mess after one conversion. You released a sigh of resignation and then apologised.

"Look I'm really sorry for how I reacted because clearly it wasn't enjoyable for either party." The last part made his eyebrows rise as you continued "I'm just so used to having that reaction for the wrong reasons so I never really gave you a chance to explain yourself. So, like I said, I'm sorry. Can we possibly start over again?"

That got him to smile and oh if it didn't make your heart flutter. You took his turned up lips as enough of an awnser and stuck your hand out like you did those many years ago and tried again. "Hi I'm Y/N Y/L/N. It's lovely to meet you." This mouth then split into a wide grin and at that you found yourself doing the same. "Well it's a pleasure to meet you Y/N. I've heart a lot about you."

"You didn't say your name!" Your fake whisper caused him to let out a breathy chuckle and he corrected himself. "My Bad, I'm Logan Sargeant, the newest driver." After you exchanged a handshake you began to giggle at the obscurity of the situation.

Four years ago you would have been appaled that you 'forgave' the man after just one conversation. But as he joined in in your laughter and the two of you became hunched over with giggling, you couldn't find it in you to care.

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

I miss these 2.

As always, Likes, reblogs and especially feedback are always welcome!

Taglist: @nikfigueiredo @mysoulispainted @leclercings @d3kstar @hiireadstuff @a-beaverhausen @nichmeddar @lozzamez3 @stinkyjax @marymustdie @littlesatanicassholebitch @mehrmonga @insanedeathwish @ems-alexandra @a-disturbing-self-reflection

[clickoly]

O'Knutzy Week - Day 4

Part IV of Starboys, a Cubs Formula One AU

Characters by @lumosinlove, for @oknutzy-week-2024

Prompts: Purple, Sunscreen, Swimsuit, Chest

Links to: Part I, Part II, Part III, Ao3

Midnight talks and confessions.

cw: brief reference to abusive family behavior

•••

But you know the truth,

I'd rather hold you

A sip of golden rose wine, a bite of homemade ratatouille. Logan felt sated. 

The seagulls chirped at the sun, slowly setting in the distance between the barely visible horizon and a strip of land—the tip of a gulf outlined by the edges of a few small towns and the low mountains. The sky was shades of purple, brushed with bursts of warm rays that blended into the deep, shimmering blue of the sea, as calm and comforting as the voices surrounding him at the table. 

"You have a bright future ahead of you," his dad told Finn, but he was staring straight into Logan's soul. "I know it."  

For a moment, Logan wandered back to that awful GQ interview Celeste had forced him into for his 20th birthday. A whole article about his early life and career. A child of art, it read, young and gifted. An athlete like few others, bound to go down in the annals of motorsports. 

People looked at him and saw a name, the past and present glory behind it. A polished smile, money, status, the luxurious life of a young millionaire. Lucky, they called him. And he really was, but for reasons other people might have found mundane.

Today he'd savored his greatest fortune, every single bite of it. And the cherry on top? A goofy redhead sitting by the pool with sunburned shoulders, a big sunscreen stain on the tip of his pointed nose, and a ridiculous bucket hat with tiny strawberries on it—a fan's gift that had somehow matched his sinfully tight swimsuit. 

"You want some more, mon ange?" Iva tempted Logan with another slice of Tarte Tropezienne. 

"You know I'd eat the whole thing." 

Noelle snorted. "Ouais, we're all aware, Lolo." 

"Okay, okay." Iva stood up from the table and grabbed the plate. "I'll put it back in the fridge before it's too late." 

At Finn's loud laugh, Logan turned to pointedly glare at him, only to be regarded with a blinding smile. "Wanna go out tonight?”

Logan shook his head, "You're tired." 

"A little, yeah." 

"And tipsy." 

"Maybe," Finn sipped the last of his wine. 

"Could have fooled me." 

"Why don't you two go make yourselves comfy?" Iva suggested. "Finn, cher, there's a jar of after-sun lotion in your bathroom. Put some on, will you?" 

Finn's tomato red cheeks blushed even more, up to the tips of his ears. 

"Thank you," he beamed. "For... everything." 

Many goodnights and sleep tights followed, and soon Logan found himself walking back into the house, Finn by his side, desperately gathering courage—to ask or to let go, he wasn't sure which. 

"Fish?" 

A warm hand pressed between his shoulder blades. "What's up?"

"I... Um. My mom gave me something. Earlier..." Logan halted outside his bedroom. His head fell against the door, hitting the painted wood with a soft thud. "Would you..." 

Finn gently tussled Logan's hair. "I'll be right back."

Fifteen minutes had not passed when Logan heard a quiet knock at the half-open door. 

"Tremz," Finn's socked feet slipped on the marble floor. The temperature had cooled a bit, and Finn had opted for a warmer outfit for the night. He had his phone in one hand, eyes glued to the screen as he closed the door. "Look what Al just sent me."  

"Why are you wearing my socks?" 

Finn shot up. "Why are you wearing my t-shirt?"

Logan narrowed his eyes. "Touché. Let me see," he said, patting the soft spot next to him. 

"We're famous now," Finn handed him the phone. 

Logan tried to read his face. "Exactly how much wine did you have?" 

"I'm not drunk," Finn chuckled. "What I meant was that this picture is basically trending everywhere."

Logan took a closer look at said picture. It was a shot from the podium in Monza, he recognized—a close-up of himself, Finn, and Leo, drenched in champagne and covered in colorful confetti, all holding their trophies and smiling wildly. Logan could still feel the elation of that moment. "Why?"  

"Because, mon ami, apparently people think we're super hot."

"Oh God..." Logan groaned. He felt a burning blush spread through his body, head to toe. "Formula One sex symbols– What's that hashtag mean??"

Finn cracked up laughing. He took the phone back from Logan's hand and settled down on the sheets. "I'm sending this to Leo. I need to hear his reaction." 

Logan let his head drop to the pillow. "Speaking of the devil..."

"Who, Leo?" Finn shifted on his side to face him. "Looks more like an angel, doesn't he?"

It felt like torture to stare at him so close. 

"Are you going back to Italy before we leave?" Logan asked. 

"No," Finn picked at the hem of his own pillowcase. "You know we're setting up the upgrades for Texas. Why?"

"Sirius wants me at Silverstone on Monday. Come with me?" 

Finn gave him the softest of looks. It shimmered in the dimness of the room. "You take the enemy to your secret cave?" 

"Non," he laughed. "But I still get to spoil him with a night out in London and then a thirteen hour flight on a private jet." 

"Deal," Finn grinned. 

"I was thinking…" Logan began tentatively. "Maybe we could ask Leo to join us." 

Finn nodded quietly. "I'd really like to see him." 

"Good," Logan whispered, and waited silently while Finn's mind went a mile a minute. Something was bugging him, Logan could sense it. 

"Can I ask you something?" 

Logan blinked, still waiting. Anything, always.

"Those rumors... about Leo," he paused. "What's that all about?" 

"Bullshit," Logan sighed helplessly. "That's exactly what it is. You know that Sirius' family business sponsors Silver Racing, right?" 

Finn nodded, but didn't interrupt. 

"Well, when my race engineer asked for early leave... The Blacks tried to force their youngest, Regulus, into the job. But he refused, and Sirius backed his decision." 

"So..." Finn was trying to put the pieces together, but he couldn't know. The atrocities Sirius had confessed to Logan were hidden in a frightening corner of his mind that he refused to open. 

"They withdrew all the money, but it's not exactly public knowledge yet. We're talking about millions of dollars, all gone. They're awful people, Fish," he shook his head. "And Leo just showed up at the worst possible time." 

"Fuck..." Finn breathed. "That must be hard for him." 

"He's a tough nut to crack," Logan's lips twitched into a faint smile. "He knows what he's doing and doesn't need anybody else's sympathy. Even if he seems all shy at first."

Finn snorted. "Wouldn't dare call him shy at all." 

They had a great time, back in Italy. Somehow Logan had been impatient for Finn to meet Leo properly. After all the time they'd shared back at the factory in England, it just seemed right to bring those pieces of his life together. Leo was funny, kind, and so smart. They clicked perfectly together and apparently so did Leo with Finn. Logan had felt giddy watching the two of them sip champagne and chat and joke as if they'd known each other forever. He longed for more of those moments, of them. But what those tangled feelings made of him, he didn't quite understand. 

"Lo?" Finn's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

Logan rolled over to the bedside table to get the present his mom had given him earlier in the afternoon. When he turned back, Finn was staring at him with a spellbound look on his face.

"Remember this?" Logan murmured.

Finn carefully took the silver frame in his freckled hands and stretched out on his back. God, Logan used to dream about that secret smile on nights that felt too empty and painfully lonely. Finn brushed his thumb over the old, fading photograph. Fifteen years old, to be exact. There was nothing but affection in the deep sigh he breathed out.

In the picture, a ten-year-old Finn was raising a golden cup to the sky with a just as young version of himself. Toothy grins on full display for the camera.

"Look at that cute little face," Finn teased. "You haven't grown any taller lately, huh?"

Logan slapped Finn hard across his chest, making him groan with laughter. "Fuck off," he retorted, but flattened his palm over Finn's pounding heart and let his hand rest there. "Tell me the story?"

"Hm?"

"The day we met," Logan looked at him expectantly. "I like the way you tell it."

So Finn did. He went back to the time he'd flown from New York to Montreal with his dad for his first international race. He had come home a few days later with a shared victory—a head-to-head photo finish—and a new friend he wouldn't shut up about.

Logan allowed himself to be lulled by those fond memories, by that deep yet gentle voice he'd become addicted to—the luring call of a siren, a melody echoing from a remote island in the open sea where Logan would undoubtedly have been shipwrecked and never left. 

Finn quieted as soon as he heard a soft snore. If he hadn't known better, he would have been offended at how quickly Logan had drifted off.

But how could he blame him? The house, Logan's bedroom, his bed. Those were safe places, a cocoon where they could hide from time to time and choose to be free, happy.

Nice always stirred up so many memories. Flashbacks of endless summer breaks, far from duties that had sometimes felt overwhelming on their teenage shoulders. Midnight swims in the calmness of a warm sea, cool drinks and casual talks at their favorite spot on the rocky shoreline. There had been plenty of shared glasses of whiskey under the moonlight of an empty porch and a quiet house.

And Finn's personal favorite. The early August nights, lying on soft blankets in the darkness of the backyard, carefree eyes seeking shooting stars.  

They had been eighteen and scared.

Look, there's one over there.

Nineteen and curious.

Where? I didn't see it!

Twenty, and aiming at the infinite sky.

Right there, Harz. Make a wish.

Twenty-one and lost.

A wish?

Twenty-two and discreet.

Ouais. So it comes true.

Twenty-three, and holding hands.

Oh. Okay, hold on.

Twenty-four and reckless.

What did you ask for?

Twenty-five and dreaming.

Can't tell you. I really want this to come true. 

They could have been happier. They could, together. 

Nobody had ever said no. No written rules. 

But Finn, what if…

I know.  

Finn tangled his fingers in Logan's hand, the one he'd placed almost protectively over his chest, and laid it ever so gently on the mattress. He carefully slid away from Logan's soft touch, and it tasted like a caress. 

The moment he sat up, he felt the burning tickle rise up his spine. When he looked down at Logan's peaceful face, tenderly smushed against the pillow, it all burst out in a choked sob. 

Finn used every ounce of his strength to convince himself to go back to the guest room. He probably owed it to himself, to them, so that history wouldn't repeat itself.

Just once. 

We shouldn't. 

Why not?

Because once is never going to be enough. 

The problem was, he didn't want to. Not anymore. The pull was there, stronger than ever, and it wasn't meant to be broken. Was it so selfish of them to wish to be each other's? 

They had drawn a line on a what if, trampled by seventy years of history where not a single driver had openly dated another man, let alone a rival on track. 

The jump into the void had seemed so high that they had simply resigned themselves to the fact that they couldn't do it.

Now Logan couldn’t to reach out to him, half asleep, and pull Finn back to nestle against his chest. He couldn't let his calloused fingers trace feathery patterns on his jaw, couldn't let his achingly frightened eyes share the lust, the need to be impossibly close. 

Logan couldn't, and yet he did. 

He did what they both feared would hurt them and break the safe thread that held them together.

“You should tell me to go,” Finn whispered, but it couldn't sound any less convincing. 

Logan's shaky answer floated in the small space between them, as soft as the pad of his thumb on Finn's lips. “What if… I wanted you?” He breathed. “Now,” He pressed his steady palm against the nape of Finn's neck. “Everywhere. Always.” 

Words failed Finn miserably. He thought of the silence, the distance. How wretched he had felt staring at those unanswered texts, how guilty. 

What would it take to really tear them apart? Was there anything that wouldn't lead them to find all the answers in each other? 

“Stay,” Logan leaned in closer. He looked gorgeous under the warm light of the reading lamp, green eyes screaming a long hidden truth. “Please, stay with me.”  

Logan's sharp breathing clung to Finn's skin. They huddled together as Finn brushed their noses, then their lips, barely touching. Silently asking. 

One last check—I want this. I want you. 

Logan moved first, finally closing the distance with an urgent kiss, fierce and burning and breathtaking, just like his grip on Finn's hair, pulling every last wisp of air out of his lungs. Finn cupped Logan's face in his shaking hands and deepened the kiss, more languid and gentle, unhurried. A promise. 

Just us, all night long. 

[umlewis]

Every Traveler Needs to Try Lewis Hamilton's Hotel Hacks [part 1/2]

The F1 driver has mastered the art of resetting his body clock and getting comfortable on the road.

Lewis Hamilton first stepped into the Mercedes-AMG Petronas car over a decade ago. Before his signing, Mercedes was struggling to produce as a team, but with the young, cunning Brit behind the wheel, things changed. Since then, Hamilton has scored the record for most wins, pole finishes, and podium finishes in the most competitive motorsport in the world. No matter how gifted the athlete, leading the pack like that doesn’t come solely through natural ability, and the driver has found a formula for success that follows him across the globe. Men’s Journal spoke with Hamilton on how he prepares to drive circuits he’s never seen before at speeds over 200 miles per hour, his favorite cross-training activities, and the travel routines that keep him at the front of the pack.

Men's Journal: F1 Las Vegas Grand Prix has a start time of 10p.m. PT. How are you prepping for a night race—any hacks? Lewis Hamilton: Preparing to drive a new track means as much simulation work as possible to get a feel for the course. I have two full days that I’ll do in the sim before I land in Vegas. It’s important to adjust your internal clock, so before we get to Nevada, the team is spending some time in Los Angeles. I’m already adjusting my mornings to waking up and going to bed later to fit with the schedule of a night race. I’m also making sure my meals and nutrition intake fits the new schedule. The key is adjusting the light I’m taking in—using different bulbs with different brightness so I can maintain a good circadian rhythm. Since we travel so much, I always make sure the rooms we’re staying in have blackout curtains so I can get a deep sleep at any hour. I like to keep the room cool, which makes the bed more welcome. The bed itself is also crucial, I like a firm pillow because I like to sleep on my side. The ones I have at home are Tempur-Pedic. Do you struggle with sleep? I’ve never been a great sleeper. For years I would go to bed at 2 or 3 in the morning and sleep for about five hours. But, to be honest, that worked for me, because our days are leading up to the the main event, which is later in the afternoon. So if I wake up at 5 in the morning, I’m probably peaking a lot earlier in the day than if I wake up at 8. So I’m sticking with waking up later, though these days I’m trying to get more like seven hours of sleep a night. The Mercedes Benz team has a partnership with Marriott Bonvoy and The Ritz-Carlton, which seems like a smart one given how much you travel. How do you make a hotel feel like a home away from home? One of the most important amenities is a coffee machine in the room, because I like to have coffee when I wake up on race day or any day for that matter. I love to play music, it calms me so I’ll have my music equipment in the room as well. I have a keyboard that folds in half so it’s easier to travel with. I really want that hotel space to feel like home. The Marriott team takes that to another level, and sometimes they’ll even have a picture of my dog, Roscoe, on the nightstand. It’s also about what I have them take out of the room. I have them take out all the snacks and anything from the minibar, because when you're working strange hours your body can crave comfort. The easiest way to get that is from food, so I want to eliminate any temptation I might have to deal with later. Instead, I’ll make sure the fridge is filled with healthy snacks like fruit. What’s the most challenging part about being a Formula 1 driver? The Formula 1 season is very challenging for all the drivers. We're going to 24 different countries, maybe more throughout the year, sitting in planes all the time. Rest and recovery is a huge part of making sure we're on point when it comes to showing up to the races ready. There's an immense amount of travel involved. My mindset is greatly benefitted by meditation, so I try to prioritize it. I don’t always get to, and I can feel the difference, but the schedule can get very hectic. I always do better when I can put that focus into my mental game. I like to start my day with positive affirmations, no matter what state I’m in, and focus on the things I want to do. That’s where things like playing music comes in handy. Competing has become very serious business, and we work hard, perhaps too hard. There’s immense benefit to smiling to the body and mind. Exercise is also a great way to help me stay sharp, on top of being critical to succeeding in motorsports.

[velocitysedge-if]

Kieran "Kie" Patel

Kieran Patel was born in the bustling metropolis of Mumbai, India, to a family of engineers and academics. From a young age, it was clear that Kieran possessed a brilliant mind. His parents, both esteemed professors in engineering, nurtured his talents, providing him with access to books, educational materials, and scientific experiments.

Kieran's fascination with all things mechanical and mathematical only grew as he entered his teenage years. He spent hours tinkering with gadgets and building intricate model cars in his small workshop. His academic prowess earned him a scholarship to one of America's most prestigious engineering universities.

Upon graduating with honors in computer science and engineering, Kieran was offered several lucrative positions in the tech industry. However, his passion for Motorsports had always burned bright. He couldn't resist the call of the racetrack, and against his family's expectations, he chose to explore a career in Formula 1 data analytics.

Kieran's journey took him to Europe, where he joined a prominent Formula 1 team as a data analyst. His analytical skills and keen eye for detail made him an invaluable asset to the team. His ability to interpret complex data and provide insights into car performance, strategy, and optimization soon earned him respect within the Motorsport world.

Over the years, Kieran continued to hone his skills, working with different teams and drivers, contributing to several championship-winning campaigns. His quiet, methodical approach to the sport earned him the nickname "Racer" among his colleagues, as he pushed drivers to reach their full potential.

Behind his analytical exterior, Kieran harbored a deep love for the sport. He couldn't help but be moved by the exhilaration of the races, the camaraderie within the team, and the human drama that unfolded on the track. While he remained dedicated to analyzing numbers, he also came to appreciate the intangible, emotional side of Formula 1.

Kieran Patel's journey from the streets of Mumbai to the pit lanes of Formula 1 was a testament to his unwavering dedication, brilliant mind, and his ability to find the perfect blend of science and passion in the fast-paced world of Motorsport.

[thrillridesz]

heart racing ▫ j.yn

in part of the adrenaline rush! collab hosted by @lucas-wongs​ + @ickjun​

⇢ pairing: jaehyun x reader (f) (ft. other nct members + twice’s jeongyeon)

⇢ genre: fluff, angst, racer!au, best friends to lovers

⇢ warnings: swearing, mentions of cheating, mentions and consumption of alcohol, alcoholism, hitting rock bottom

⇢ synopsis: once a revered member of the racing industry, jaehyun has been living at rock bottom for the past few months following a tragic accident that effectively put him out of racing. it seems as though nothing would get through to him, not even you. will he ever break out of the constant loop of doubt and start seeing things for what they really are?

⇢ word count: 8.04k

⇢ fic playlist: get you to the moon - KinaBeats ft. Snøw | Amnesia - 5SOS | You Belong With Me - Taylor Swift | Confetti Falling - Big Time Rush | Go Season - Devin Bronson (highly recommended for the racing scene) | Love Story - Taylor Swift 

⇢ a/n : unedited! also posted on this account because I’m considering merging my nct account with my tbz writing blog also PLEASE check out the other writers’ works ^^ we’ve all worked hard on our fics

“Jaehyun, you’re ruining yourself.”

The dim room reeked of stale alcohol and something mouldy as the empty beer bottles that littered the floor clanged noisily against the surrounding furniture, leaking golden yellow liquid all over. Old, worn clothes were draped everywhere, stained and darkened with murky stains while the battered television flickered weakly to live, showing nothing but static. The walls were streaked and striated with scratches, as if someone had just been clawing desperately at them and on the floor amidst the empty glass bottles, were pieces of scrap poster paper. Sunlight peeks in through the drawn blinds, giving a teasing glimpse to the bustling outside world from the sad, decrepit apartment Jaehyun lived in.

Sprawled on the couch with nothing on except a wrinkled pair of jeans, Jaehyun’s eyes were devoid of emotion - blank and dazelike. In his hand, his fingers held on limply to the neck of yet another bottle of beer, possibly his nth for the day. His usually shiny hazel brown hair was greasy with filth and his bare chest was sticky with sweat from being cooped up all day in this tiny, stuffy apartment of his. His jawline was starting to grow a hint of stubble given how much he’d completely let himself go and dark circles were appearing underneath those intense eyes of his.

Slowly, Jaehyun lifted his gaze from the floor to look at you, the first flicker of emotions that he’d ever displayed in the whole day. You stood before him, arms akimbo, your gaze sharp and piercing. He smiled, a smile that held no mirth or happiness.

“Oh, you’re still here.”

You shook your head, ripping the bottle of beer from his grasp. As you approached, the bottles, clothes and torn pieces of paper on the ground almost made you trip and you tutted under your breath.

“Of course I am. I’m your best friend who is somehow still here with you. Best friends help each other.”

He chuckled nonchalantly, waving his hand at the door. “Well, feel free to leave then. I don’t need your help.” His eyes held a hint of anger as he did, something that did not escape your notice.

“Jaehyun,” you said softly, placing the bottle on a nearby table as you dread what was to come next. “Please, not this again.”

Your words only served to fuel the fiery spark of anger in his eyes as he said in a barely controlled tone, the irritation radiating from him in ripples that threatened to evolve into waves, “Why not? I’m a fucking wreck and a loser anyways. Leave like everyone else did. Leave like…” His voice wobbled, “leave like Jeongyeon did.”

Your heart fell and it took almost a godlike willpower not to let your emotions show. Was he still thinking about her?

“Jaehyun-”

“What? Are you gonna say I’m not a loser like you always do? Cut the fucking lies. Everyone out there is saying the same thing, what makes you think you can convince me that you’re not thinking it either? Hm?” He spat, the drowsiness in his demeanour dissipating fast as red hot anger replaced it. There was so much internal frustration within Jaehyun that just seeing him like this was enough to break your heart. It was one thing to see him in this terrible state but it was quite another to see him directing his anger towards you.

You drew in a deep breath, trying to calm your pounding heart and to stop the tears that pricked at the corner of your eyes. Having been there with him every step of the year ever since the both of you were children playing and horsing around the neighbourhood, you found yourself desperately missing those much simpler times and wondering how things became so wrong.

For as long as you could remember, Jaehyun had always been interested and had a natural flair for racing. There always existed a competitive streak in him that thrived off a challenge. It didn’t matter what it was, as long as it was a game that could have a clear winner or incited competitiveness, he was all up for it. As kids, the two of you used to compete over everything, be it for the last popsicle in the convenience store down the street or past the gates of your school. It was as if racing was something he needed in order to live. It wasn’t until sophomore year of high school did Jaehyun decide to take his love for racing to a professional level. He began to dive deep into the motorsport industry, starting out as a mere rookie in auto racing. He never did apply to college, preferring instead to invest all his time into his newfound life career.

His rise to fame was quick, quicker than most. Within his first year, he had won a number of races, beating even some of the well known names in the sport. Every other month, he was winning trophies and exorbitant cash prizes which in return earned him the recognition of famous sponsors and racers. Bumper stickers from the various sponsors decorated the back of his ride and it was no time at all before Jaehyun began to don some of the most expensive sports gear on the tracks. With his smouldering good looks, he also appeared on the front pages of magazines and newspapers, all while attracting a loyal fanbase made up of both racing enthusiasts and adoring admirers.

To everyone else, he was the suave, handsome and effortlessly cool young racer who was practically born to race and to do it well but to you, he was your childhood friend… and your first love. In front of the flashing lights and cameras, Jaehyun knew his way around the crowd. He knew exactly when to flash one of his dazzling, dimpled smiles and how to work the crowd - it was just one of his innate charms. Yet, you knew that underneath that, that flashy, extravagant Jaehyun, was the Jaehyun you grew up with and had gradually fallen in love with.

As children, he was there for you whenever you needed him, always ready to lend a helping hand when he noticed that you were stuck in an unfavourable situation. You distinctly remember what had happened in second grade. It was a bright and warm summer’s day, the lovely scent of sweet peas floating in the air as the sun bore down on the earth. Pigeons flitted over the sidewalks, pecking at the cemented floor and the leaves of the oak trees that lined the streets rustled gently in the wind.

You fell with a loud and heavy thud on your bottom, feeling the leaves crunch noisily under your weight. Fear and trepidation coursed through your veins as you stared with eyes wide at your tormentors.

“Look at her, she looks pathetic. Do it, Johnny! Do it!”

A tall, hunkering boy flanked by his cronies stood over you, his dark, massive shadow engulfing you as you frantically scrambled backwards. Tears were beginning to stream down your face and a sharp pain shot up your spine with each move, owing to the impact of the fall. There were scratches on your hands as you dragged your palms over the rough gravel in an attempt to move away.

There was a malicious glint in Johnny’s eyes and his lips were curved into a devious smirk as he stared down at you, domineering and intimidating. The veins in his arms and hands were bulging angrily and as he clenched his fists, you felt your stomach sink. Your legs began to feel like jelly and your vision was beginning to blur from all the salty tears. You were struck with fear and the sense of helplessness you felt made you feel both ashamed and furious at yourself yet there was nothing you could do.

You held your hand up to shield yourself from the impending attack as the bully lifted up his fist.

“Hey! How about you pick on someone your own size?!”

The group of you turned to see Jaehyun, eyes blazing with anger as his chest heaved. His wind-swept hair hung over his eyes, a surefire sign that he’d run over and his cheeks were red from exertion. Even from afar, he was clearly no match to Johnny’s larger build, much less the whole lot of them.

“J-Jaehyun?” You spluttered, shocked.

“Who is this clown- Ow!” Johnny stumbled backwards as a rock pebble hit him on the head, promptly ricocheting off his forehead and bouncing onto the ground. His jaw was clenched in pain and when he removed his palm, a reddish bruise had blossomed and there was even a faint trace of blood. There was a split second of stunned silence before Johnny turned almost magenta with rage.

“GET HIM!” He roared and his cronies shook out of their daze, immediately going after Jaehyun who’d already ran a good distance before the reality of what had just happened set in. His mocking laugh rang through the afternoon amidst a cackle of profanities and threats yelled at him.

It was a laugh that remained in your memories all these years. It was a laugh that strengthened you, a laugh that spoke so much of willful courage and youthful rebellion which was everything you’d eventually come to associate with Jaehyun. That laugh was bright and so… him.

Yet now, you could see none of that playful mischief and vibrancy in those eyes. All that is left is emptiness.

“You’re not a loser, Jaehyun,” you began softly, “you never were in my eyes. You were a fighter.”

Those beautiful eyes you adored so much narrowed at you, his face twisted into a scowl.

“A fighter? Guess what, y/n?” He sneered, his voice dripping with venom. “I fought. I fought endlessly but did that work out for me? I threw in everything I could, every little thing. I worked hard and put in a hundred and one percent of my effort.”

You stared at him, your heart aching for him as a single tear began to roll down his cheek, tears of anger, indignation and pain.

“But did that work out? No, it didn’t. If anything, it left me a wreck. People out there call me a loser, a has-been and even my girlfriend has left me. It doesn’t matter how much effort I put in, how much I fought because at the end of the day, everyone is only here because of what they think I am. They saw me as a champion, an up and coming and the moment I wasn’t anymore, they all dropped me in a heartbeat. What are you waiting for, y/n? Why the hell are you even still here?”

His words echoed through the empty apartment and out loud, it sounded bleak, harsh and biting. His anguished voice tore at your heart and as each word left those lips, it felt like your heart was slowly breaking apart. Neither of you said anything for a moment, locked in a silent, unspoken fight as he held your gaze steadily. His eyes were cold and there was the look of a broken man in them.

“I am here because I love you, Jaehyun,” you said finally, your voice quivering. “I don’t care who or what you are and it pains me to see you tear yourself down like this because I know you are not the loser you believe you are. I don’t know how much of this I can take, seeing you ruin yourself.”

You can see the slight softening in his eyes and you gritted your teeth.

“I’m going to go. I don’t know when I’ll be back. I can’t see you ruin yourself and be able to do nothing about it. I’m not strong enough for that.”

With that, you left the apartment before he could see the tears in your eyes.

The miserable, empty can of beer clattered loudly against the hardwood floor, the sound echoing through the dank apartment.

Jaehyun barely lifted an eyebrow, his fingers growing slack without him even knowing. He stared up at the dark ceiling, a hooded look in those once bright eyes. The stench that hung around him was growing more intense by the day and it was reaching a point whereby he could almost smell himself but there was nothing in him that seemed to care.

Sounds of active civilisation outside drifted in through the windows and occasionally, he’d hear the honking of angry drivers on the roads or the laughter of children playing at the playground at the courtyard below. Normally, he loved waking up to these sounds or at least when he wasn’t off to the race tracks, when he was relaxing with a book in his hands. Now however, he found them irksome, irritating and he wanted nothing more but to block them out. He wanted absolutely zero reminder of the world outside.

Grunting, Jaehyun dragged himself off the couch. As he trudged heavily back to his room where his comfortable bed beckoned to him, he turned to stare at the large, imposing front door where moments ago, you’d slammed shut as you left him to his own devices.

Guilt tugged at his heart and for a split second, Jaehyun contemplated running after you. When you left, there was an indescribable sense of hollowness that engulfed him in a way that he couldn’t quite understand or explain. The apartment was filthy, dark and small but somehow with you around just a few minutes ago, it felt just a little bigger, a little warmer. As much as he hated to admit it, his heart was calling to him to reach out to you, run after you. The crumpled look on your face haunted him but he shook the thought from his mind.

It would be better if you left him. If you knew what was good for you, you would.

The anger in him was beginning to resurface at the thought of everything that had happened over the past few months. His career plummeting on a downward spiral right after his recovery, the exact opposite of what was predicted by his agent.

He was born to race, his family and his friends had always told him so. He knew it himself, he could feel it in his blood, his bones, his spirit. Ever since he was little, Jaehyun had known that his career would have something to do one way or another with racing. As a child, he loved running, competing but most of all, he loved riding in his father’s pickup truck on the way to school. He loved the way the vehicle would zoom past the streets, overtaking other vehicles and he loved the feeling of the wind against his face. He loved the speed and everything about cars or racing. It felt natural for him to pursue a career in competitive racing and a natural he was.

After getting signed with a racing company, Jaehyun quickly rose to fame with his numerous championships, bagging trophies, medals and cash prizes in almost every event he participated in. Sports magazines and reporters would clamour over each other to score an interview with him. People wanted pictures with him, wanted him to sign an autograph for them.

He was the golden boy in the racing world, an untouchable.

In the racing world, everything goes a mile a minute and nothing waits for anyone. After the morbid crash at the June Tokyo Prix, Jaehyun had sustained several fractures to his ribs and a severe concussion that left him in the hospital’s intensive care unit bedridden for several months. The pain was unlike any other and every single move hurt immensely but what suffered more damage than he did was his career and his relationships.

Within months, the racing career he had so painstakingly built up for himself collapsed before him. Due to long inactivity, brands and sponsors began to drop him, slowly at first then steadily one by one. He was also constantly under the media’s scrutiny for a period of time, their cameras and microphones thrusted in his face while he lay helpless on the hospital bed. The bright flashes blinded him and the loud noises made his head pound and even now, he still remembered how that experience was like, shuddering every time it crossed his mind. It had taken Jaehyun countless hours of physical therapy before he could even think of racing competitively again.

Yet when he did, he quickly realised he never could revert back to his old self, the one who got off on adrenaline kicks while zooming along the tracks at breakneck speed, the one who only knew what it was like to win. He was slower, less coordinated. His body could no longer take the pressure racing would subject it too, or at least not quickly enough for him to make a full, stunning comeback.

The tabloids and news had run wild with his fall from grace, writing up horrible, demeaning articles about him. His rivals had mocked him to his face and he could even sense the visible disappointment from his fans emanating from the stands whenever he’d lost yet another race. The thing that really broke the camel’s back however, was when his girlfriend Jeongyeon initiated a breakup.

Jaehyun had hoped that things would turn for the better, never one to give up. He’d trained tirelessly everyday, pushing his brittle body to the limit. He never let up on himself, gritting his teeth through all the physical and mental pressure he had imposed on himself. When the final text was sent, Jaehyun could remember distinctly how hopeless and distraught he’d felt. It felt like his world, the empire he had so painfully and relentlessly crafted for himself from scratch was breaking bit by bit. To add salt to the wound, the next time he’d seen her on television, her body was plastered against his biggest rival, Yuta. Her arms were wrapped around his and her lips pressing against his cheeks with no shame whatsoever for the interviewer interviewing him, no sign of the girl who’d once told him that she loved him with all her heart.

What was once determination and naive hopefulness soon devolved into anger and resentment. Jaehyun began to let himself go and the change was drastic. Where there once existed a time whereby he’d rise from his slumber early to visit the gym, he now regularly slept well into the late afternoon. His diet began to consist largely of takeout, junk food and alcohol and his apartment got more and more cluttered by the day. He’d stopped contacting his friends and family, ignoring their calls and texts, preferring to fester in his own solitude. It wasn’t long before an odour had started to emit from his place, a nauseating mixture of stale pizza, beer and pure filth from the lack of showers.

His appearance was also no longer polished, but rather haggard as if he’d aged five years in a matter of months. He was beginning to lose his fit stature, the healthy glow he’d once been prized on by magazines and gossip columns dimming. It got to a point whereby Jaehyun had begun to avoid looking at his hideous reflection in the mirror, his self-hatred growing with each day.

A poster of him in his racing gear and his race car was tattered and wrinkled on the floor, stained with ketchup and soda. Staring at it blankly with eyes empty of any emotions whatsoever, Jaehyun swiped it up and in a swift moment, he tore it up with a large rip before trashing it somewhere on the floor.

Flopping onto his comforter, he almost moaned in pleasure as he sunk into the soft sheets. Reaching for the air conditioning control, a loud smack on the ground roused him from his hedonistic haze. His hair was sticking up in all directions as he peered over the edge of his bed to see a picture frame that had fallen from his night stand.

Holding it in his hands, he looked at it with a nonchalant air.

It was a picture of the both of you a few years ago, back when he was just kick starting his racing career. He hadn’t yet made a name for himself then as the two of you leaned in for the picture.

You had on a bright, illuminating beam on your face, your eyes alive and glittering with happiness. Your hair was down, wisps of it framing your face as the sun brought out the colour and shine of it. Next to him, you’d completely dwarfed in comparison. He had his arm around you, bringing you to his side and from the picture, Jaehyun could feel a smile begin to crack on his face at the comical height difference.

He’d looked completely at ease here, carefree with the recklessness and restlessness of the soul beneath shining through his dark eyes. His hair was wavy, styled down in that ridiculous fashion he wanted so badly to leave back in high school. He had worn a dimpled smile on his face, the look of someone who knew he was destined for greatness and believed in it.

Jaehyun was about to put the picture down when something caught his eye. He leaned in closer.

There was something about you. At first glance, it would have been clear that you were smiling for the camera but upon closer look, it looked as if you might be smiling at him instead. Your smile was softer, eyes gentler from the first time he’d seen the picture. It was the sort of smile that struck him in his heart, the kind of smile that would make its recipient feel loved, appreciated.

“I want to be a racer when I grow up.”

You turned to Jaehyun, eyes wide as saucers as you popped the ice popsicle out of your mouth.

“Why?”

He shrugged, still struggling with the wrapper of the popsicle. The two of you sat on the wooden bench, side by side as the other kids ran around the park, playing rounds of tag while their parents or babysitters sat watching over them. The sun was glaring down on the earth and though it was a great day to go out to play and sweat it out, it was also a perfect day to find an excuse to buy popsicles with what little pocket money your parents had given to you two. It wasn’t an opportunity to be missed.

“I really like racing. I don’t know if there’s anything else I’d want to be,” he said simply, grinning as he finally succeeded in breaking open the plastic.

You tried to hide the blush that was beginning to creep up to your cheeks, looking away from him.

“My mom says being a doctor is good.”

As soon as you said it, you immediately regretted your words. Jaehyun scrunched up his nose in disgust.

“No way! It’s so boring. Do you want to be a doctor?”

Quickly, you shook your head fervently. “No!”

“Then what do you want to be?” He asks curiously, sucking on his popsicle.

You are quiet for a while as you ponder over his question. What exactly do you want to be when you grow up?

“...A writer.” You said finally and he swiveled around to look at you, clearly not expecting your answer.

“A writer? Hm, why?”

“I just really like reading. I want to write interesting stories that people will like,” you take a tentative lick of your popsicle, the icy, sweet taste of apple flavouring coating your tongue, “Like fairytales!”

Jaehyun broods over your answer, seemingly deep in thought. For a moment, neither of you say another word as you sit together under the warm, sunny day, enjoying your popsicles.

“I want people to like me too.” He says suddenly, his eyes shining. “People will like my racing! I’m going to be a racer and people will like me to win!”

He hops to his feet, his popsicle raised as he made his declaration. There is a triumphant, toothy smile on his face and he says it with so much hope and gusto that you can’t help but feel drawn to his driven spirit. For a boy of five foot, there was a lot of motivation and energy in him and there was just something about him that got you transfixed.

Under the sunlight, his smile seemed almost blindingly bright with the shadows highlighting the charming dimples on those round cheeks. The butterflies in your stomach were going crazy and your heart began to pound. Your words seemed stuck in your throat and you choked out, “I t-think you’ll make a good racer, J-Jaehyun.”

You thought your heart might burst as his smile grew wider, his dimples making deeper indentations. It felt like the sun might just be a little too hot since your face felt like it was positively flaming.

“Thank you, y/n.”

Suddenly, something caught your eye and shakily, you pointed at him.

His smile dropped as his eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

“What?”

“Y-your popsicle is m-m-melting… down your a-arm.”

The elevator button made an uncharacteristic squeaking sound as Jaehyun jabbed repeatedly at it, his jaw clenched in impatience.

“Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up,” he muttered frantically under his breath, pacing the lift lobby. The red letters above the elevator were moving at a snail’s pace and it seemed as if it’s stopped to pick up some passengers on the 5th floor. How long does it take for people to move into an elevator?

Jaehyun groaned in annoyance as he watched the number on the display crawl up slowly.

This wouldn’t do. By the time it’s here, it would be too late.

Immediately, he sprinted for the stairs instead, his heart hammering against his chest.

There was great fanfare as the rowdy crowd erupted into raucous cheers, the large, industrial sized party poppers going off with a bang, covering everyone in glitter streamers and confetti. Cameras were flashing and clicking away at every corner while throngs of sports reporters flooded the holding area, all trying to reach the champions for their coveted exclusive interviews. Agents and pit crews were all celebrating with the sound of champagne bottles popping and yells and cheers of congratulations ringing through the air.

Jaehyun stood at the top of the podium, shooting the cameras his trademark stunning grin as he posed with his golden trophy that looked to be about the size of his torso. The racing suit he was wearing was uncomfortably hot and he wanted nothing more than to strip from it but the adrenaline and euphoria he was experiencing far surpassed any feelings of discomfort.

This was it, the taste of success. It was everything he lived for, raced for. This was why he always trained so hard, from dawn to dusk. This was why he put his own body through all those hours of endurance training, gym and dieting. It was all for this single moment of true bliss enjoyed and savoured after the extreme thrill of racing. Here on the podium, towering above everyone else… He was truly where he needed to be, where he was born to be.

As he stepped off and the bodyguards swarmed in to escort him to his own holding room, Jaehyun couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. Yet another trophy for display on his shelf back in his apartment. He didn’t think he’d ever get sick of it, the feeling of winning but then again who would?

Reporters were attempting to accost him at all sides, all screaming out the same old questions he had grown tired of early on.

“How do you feel after winning the prix for the third year running?”

“You hit a record timing today! How did you train for the race?”

“What do you have to say to your rival, Nakamoto who came in second this year? By a mere few seconds at that!”

Jaehyun nodded and waved at a few of them, still wearing a smile on his face but there was no answer evoked from him. He’d kept up a calm and cool demeanour throughout but once he was in his holding room alone, the moment the door closed shut behind him, he let out a loud, jubilant howl.

“Fuck yes!” He roared out in happiness before collapsing onto the couch, laughing to himself as he held his trophy above him. He badly needed a shower but he couldn’t care less, not with the trophy in his hands. Under the light, the gold shone and even as a seasoned racer, the excitement and happiness from winning never grew old. In the empty room, the victory felt even more profound, the reality of claiming the championships for yet another year sinking in.

He was in the middle of celebrating and basking in his own victory, he received a text.

Jy: how’s my man doing? congratulations on the win honey ❤️

Jae: thanks babe, it feels fucking amazing. you have no idea… also i missed you so much

Jy: we should celebrate. together, alone. tonight at my place? ;) we haven’t done it in awhile, i miss your body, your kisses

Jaehyun stared at the text. He should be happy, excited to see Jeongyeon again after so long. He had been so preoccupied with training for the big race that he’d barely had any time for her. He had missed her yet now that they were finally exchanging texts again after so long apart, he didn’t seem to feel the same anticipation.

There was something about that text she sent that seemed weirdly… detached. He had imagined their first interaction in over a month to be one that warmed him up in the inside, brought him to a whole new level of euphoria even after winning but if anything, this reality paled in comparison to the scenario he had looked forward to in his mind.

Jae: yeah sure

After pressing send, he tossed his phone onto the coffee table and rested his head against the velvety cushion of the couch. Somehow, that very short exchange with Jeongyeon had dimmed his excitement and readiness to celebrate.

His phone suddenly rang, disrupting him from the reverie he’d found himself in.

“Must be Jeongyeon,” he thought to himself and for some reasons as he swiped to answer the call, he found himself reluctant to talk.

“Hello?”

“Jung Jaehyun! I was watching your race on television, congratulations for coming in first yet again! You were terrific out there.”

Y/n.

Jaehyun smiled, feeling his heart swell at your words.

“Thanks, y/n. I really appreciate it.”

“How about we meet for dinner tonight? I know of this amazing Italian place that serves the best lasagna, your favourite! My treat too to celebrate your win, how’s that?”

At the mention of lasagna, Jaehyun could feel his stomach rumbling and his mouth watering. The tangy tomato sauce, copious amounts of cheese and spiced minced beef with soft pasta… He would absolutely be down for some well-deserved lasagna after weeks of feasting on plain, watery salads. Dinner sounded like a great idea.

“Sure, I- Wait, I can’t,” he groaned, suddenly remembering his plans with Jeongyeon. Plans he didn’t even particularly look forward to.

“Why not?” You asked.

“I um…”

Fuck, why is it so hard to say it?

“I have plans with Jeongyeon tonight,” he said, ignoring the strange pang of guilt and indignation that hit him square in the chest.

“Oh! Oh, uh… That’s completely fine. Don’t worry about it, we can always have dinner some other day.”

“Really? That would be great! How does next week sound?”

“Sounds good to me!” Even on call, he could imagine you bobbing your head enthusiastically like you usually did and that brought a chuckle out of him.

“Alright, I’ll see you then y/n.”

“See you! Please rest well, you deserve it.”

“Thank you,” he replied before hanging up.

What is this warm feeling in him?

Jaehyun raced out of the apartment complex, his eyes searching his surroundings.

The sun was glaring and he couldn’t see straight without squinting his eyes. He must have been a weird sight to behold - scruffy, pale from the lack of the outdoors and reeking of the garbage piled up in his apartment. An elderly woman walking past him tutted disapprovingly at his disheveled appearance, holding her nose as she did but Jaehyun didn’t seem to notice her. His mind was on something else, something more important.

A boy from across the street was staring at him with his mouth agape, looking like a deer caught in headlights as he shakily fumbled in his pockets for his phone. Jaehyun let his sights linger on him, wondering if he should have at least thrown on a coat but as he turned, he caught sight of a figure hanging by the bus stop, looking miserable.

He swallowed thickly, feeling the slight clench of his heart and without hesitating a single second longer, he made his way over.

The heart monitor’s methodical beating was driving him near insanity. If not that, then certainly the suffocating atmosphere of the hospital and the bandages wrapped tightly around almost every single inch of his body would. Not to mention the occasional undercover paparazzi who would try to inch their way into his ward.

Jaehyun stared up at the white ceilings, still as a plank. Every part of his body hurt to move, he couldn’t even turn his head without feeling a painful pounding in it. Sometimes, he would get dizzy spells so intense he actually felt nauseous. His appetite for food or anything in general had since plummeted. Everything, but racing.

He yearned to go out there onto the tracks, to resume his training. The Roman Prix is coming up in a month’s time and he was so far from ready. He needed to get out of this place as soon as possible, even if it meant jeopardising his own safety. His career mattered more than anything.

Jeongyeon hadn’t called either since the day he got admitted. Jaehyun had soon grown tired of checking his messages or asking his publicist for news from her, the feeling of disappointment felt deep within him. He closed his eyes, suddenly feeling a wave of fatigue wash over him.

There was a gentle knock on the door and as the door creaked slightly open, you poked your head in. Upon seeing him, you smiled softly and made your way over to him. Jaehyun watched you approach, his eyes following you.

You had brought along a basket with you, seemingly full of items. As much as he wanted to know what you’d brought, he tried not to look overeager. “I made you something special today,” you said, settling down and practically vibrating with excitement.

“What?”

“Tomato minestrone soup!” You exclaimed, uncovering the lid as the tantalising aroma of tomatoes and a medley of vegetables drifted in the air. Jaehyun almost had to restrain himself from moving, lest he shift a bone out of place somewhere.

Somehow seeing you had sparked a certain kind of joy in him. Maybe it was a sign nobody had really forgotten about him yet. He had watched his number of visitors trickle down day by day and now that it was close to a month since he’d been hospitalised, after the tragic accident, he barely got any. Perhaps three or four a week if he was lucky.

You, however, you were different. You visited him almost every other day, no matter how busy you were. You visited his bedside even if you were worn out from a long day of work, even when you had things to attend to, even when no one else bothered to. You would bring along snacks whenever you did or homemade get-well food like fish porridge or chicken noodle soup you’d whipped up yourself, though they might be far from the usual gourmet fare he was used to back when he was still active when he would go for exquisite dinner parties. Usually, you stayed for a substantial amount of time and sometimes, you even stayed the night.

Jaehyun didn’t understand why you would do all of this for a friend, a friend who never seemed to have time to spare for you at that. More than anything, the feeling of guilt in him only grew stronger with each visit yet he was grateful, extremely grateful. Your presence was like a warm ray of sunshine in this dreary hospital ward. Whenever you visited, he couldn’t help but smile even though he could not find it in himself to smile. But when it came to you, it felt natural.

“Y/n!”

At the sound of Jaehyun’s voice, you turned and even from afar, he could see your reddened eyes - a surefire sign you’d been crying. Guilt and anger washed over him in waves and he tried not to think how many times he had been the cause of your tears. If only he could turn back time, he would have shook himself for ever dismissing you so lightly like he did, before he saw the situation for what it was.

He was blinded. Blinded by his obsession for winning, fame, glory and pleasing the wrong people. In a way, it felt like a fog had been lifted before him and now that he could see, think, feel clearly… He wasn’t going to let the right person out of his grasp. The person who loved him unconditionally, not just for his fame and achievements. The person who stuck with him through thick and thin but he was just too daft to notice it. The person who always felt like home whether he knew it or not.

You.

“Jaehyun? W-What are you…” You spluttered, desperately trying to wipe your tears from your face as you stared up at him.

It took a couple of seconds for him to regain his breath, his face turning red from embarrassment and exertion. He should really start leaving those beers and junk food alone.

“I…” He panted, both out of fatigue and relief, “We need to talk.”

“Jung is getting closer, any minute now Hendery!”

“I don’t believe this! Are we looking at a potential comeback for this prix? Push, push, push!”

“It seems like we might be! Here he comes! He is absolutely mad!”

The nascars zipped along the race tracks, smoke and some bits of burnt rubber and chipped metal trailing along its wake. They were a blur of colours to the spectators, who were practically glued to their seats as they watched the race reach its climax. A massive telescreen was displaying close ups and the ranking board with huge overhead lights that illuminated the stadium. The crowd was growing wilder by the second as the racecars zoomed past them, their attention fixed on one racer in particular.

The sleek nascar was streaked in royal blue and crimson red over a metallic black base, looking almost purple and black with how fast it was flying across the tracks. The wheels were spinning so fast that the friction between the tough rubber tire and the rough granite almost lit up the tracks. It was charging forward with a steely determination and ruthlessness, closing in rapidly on a green and white nascar ahead of it.

The adrenaline coursing Jaehyun’s veins was unlike any other. The thrill he got from racing could practically send him into an all time high and a cunning grin tugged at his lips as he stepped his foot down hard on the pedal, his hands gripping tightly onto his steering wheel. Rounding around a bend, he clenched his jaw as he pushed his body weight to the left, the muscles in his abdominals and biceps flexing and straining against his racing suit as the car drifted across the tracks in a perfect arc.

“Did you see that perfectly executed drift?! Insanity!”

“Jung is absolutely on fire!”

The thunderous cheers of the crowd and the loud hum of the race cars racing across the tracks faded into the background as he kept his eyes trained steadily forward. Any time now…

“Watch out, Nakamoto,” he whispered under his breath.

Steering his wheel sharply and accelerating much to the crowd’s excitement and trepidation, his race car was now driving side by side along Yuta’s. For a split second, the two turned to look at each other through the window and even though there was no way of seeing the other’s face through that helmet, something in Jaehyun told him that his rival was angered, shocked and… Fearful.

Jaehyun grinned beneath his helmet and without a second thought, he zipped forward, leaving Yuta behind in the smoke.

“He’s going for it, he’s going for it… Wait for it… And he crosses the line! The legend has reclaimed his spot on the top!”

“And that is how you execute one of the greatest comebacks of all time, ladies and gentlemen. Jung has done what we believed to be impossible and dominated the race! I wonder how Nakamoto feels about that?”

The other commentator chuckles into his microphone.

“Well Haechan, if I were him, I’d be pissed off for sure! But I’d also be worried… So very worried.”

The crowd was absolutely wild when he’d disembarked from the car and as he removed his helmet, he was greeted with camera flashes all around him. He shook his head, running a gloved hand over his hair and he took a deep breath. The air smelled of burnt rubber, smoke and… Success.

He had done it. He had made his comeback.

His pit crew made a beeline for him, slapping him on the back, their faces jubilant and lit with pure joy. His new manager, one that he trusted and helped him inch his way back to the top step by step, shot him a thumbs up which he nodded in acknowledgement as the crowd of sports journalists, reporters and photographers began to swarm in on him.

Yet, he paid them no attention. If this was three years ago, he would have basked in the glory, the attention but now he had greater concerns on his mind. His heart was pounding now for a different reason altogether and he could feel his hands growing clammy.

Jaehyun craned his neck and searched the rowdy media crowd. Where were you?

“Jaehyun!”

At your voice, he turned and immediately almost stumbled backwards as you crashed into him for a hug. The feelings of you against him sparked a joy in his heart, a joy almost greater than winning. He enveloped you in a hug, holding your waist as he nuzzled his face into your hair. Your scent of honey and jasmine was intoxicating, alluring and a welcomed change from the smell of smoke and rubble.

The two of you had been dating for about two years now, each day together better than the previous. After he’d caught up with you that day, it was as if you were seeing a different Jaehyun from the one you’d seen in his apartment. That Jaehyun who had caught up with you at the bus stop was the old Jaehyun you’d missed and it was as if a switch somewhere had been flipped. To this day, he had never admitted what changed while you were gone for those few minutes. He had subsequently apologised for everything he’d done, even things you didn’t see a problem with. It was shocking to say the least to see the unapologetic Jaehyun apologise for anything at all, but not more shocking than what entailed a few days later.

It started with a vase of luscious red roses being sent to your workplace followed by an invitation for dinner. Before you knew it, the boy you’d loved almost all your life was courting you with a passion. It felt like a complete dream, so much so you had been afraid to wake up suddenly and realise it was all just your imagination. He’d been more of a romantic than he’d let on and many times, you had found yourself completely smitten by his stunts that stretched from learning how to make homemade chocolates for you on Valentine’s Day knowing that you liked them, even though he was well known as a terrible cook to sending flowers up to your doorstep every other week.

Within a couple of months, the two of you were dating and deeply, wildly in love.

Amidst date nights filled with laughter and kisses, he had also been steadily climbing his way back up the ranks of the racing world. After ditching his unhealthy lifestyle he had been living for the past year, the change was apparent. He’d started hitting the gym, eating healthier and before long, he was in prime condition to start racing again. Training was long and tough but he never did give up. He was more determined and driven than you’d seen him and though the old Jaehyun would have been gutted at a loss, this new, better version of him never fussed over a loss of any kind, instead learning from his mistakes.

All of his efforts had led to this ultimate moment, the taste of victory on his lips.

You noticed he had been shifting uncomfortably and you looked up, puzzled and concerned.

“Jaehyun? You okay?”

He looked at you, his ears red, a sign that he was anxious, nervous.

“Jaehyun? What-”

Your words got stuck in your throat as he knelt down on one knee, the lights overhead bringing out the sparkle in his eyes and the shine in his hair. Those dark orbs were so full of hope, anxiety and love all intermingled in one and you found it difficult to believe that those eyes were looking at you directly, the emotions in them all for you.

Jaehyun withdrew a tiny, velvet box from his pocket and popped it open. In the box, was a tiny diamond ring, glittering and absolutely regal. The diamond itself was beautifully cut and interwoven into the metal band with microfibres of white gold and it simply shone as the camera flashes went off. The crowd was going bonkers, screaming and cheering with wolf whistles.

“Y/n,” he spoke softly, his voice gentle. “You have always been there for me, always been my better half. We have been friends for over a decade and lovers for merely two but it seemed as if we always were meant for each other. It took me so long to realise that and there is not a day I don’t regret not realising it sooner. You are my everything - my past, present and future. Falling in love with you was gradual, unconscious. I guess my heart knew you the one before I even did. It started with me being in a dark, dark place where I drowned in my own self-hatred and insecurities. I was beaten, defeated and I just gave up. Where everyone did the same, you never did. You were like a beam of shining light, shining upon me and guiding me even if I didn’t notice it at the time. But when I did, you glowed even more brightly than I’d envisioned. I’d been oblivious to your beauty both inside and outside for far too long and god knows how much I fucking regret it. I’m different now though, because of you. I am the best version of myself right now because I have you in my life. You taught me how to love, allow myself to be loved. There’s no universe whereby I’d want to be without you. I can’t see myself without you in my life. I need you, I love you.”

Tears were beginning to stream down your face and the stadium had grown quieter, all tuning into what was happening.

Jaehyun looked up at you, hopeful and so full of love that you thought your heart might burst.

“So I guess what I’m saying is, will you marry me, y/n?” He asked breathlessly.

[multifandomboii]

It has been two years.

On the 31st of August, 2019, during the sprint race in Belgium, a horrific accident occurred which tragically saw Anthoine Hubert's passing.

Anthoine always was and still is a star, shining brightly on the sky. A charming, humble and kind young man, who brought smiles into the paddock. Taught us to always be true to ourselves and pushed everyone to always be at their best.

I never knew him personally, like most of us here, but the news broke my heart and I still get emotional when I think about him. Never once heard a bad thing about him, I don't think I have ever seen someone who disliked him. It's safe to say that he was one of the truest drivers in the whole motorsport community. He had a bright future in F1, really sad that he never got there.

I wish I was able to see him race at least once in real life. I hope he passed away with a smile on his face...

We all miss you Anthoine, I hope you're having fun racing on Heaven's track. You will stay in our hearts forever and you will never be forgotten! ❤🕊

[riderdrauggrim]

Day Unknown. Friday. Sep 25. 2020.

I'm not dead! But my battery is.

Riding up to Fort McMurray, through to see the Giants of Syncrude - old massive mining machines by the roadside.

ABS light comes on. Weird. Maybe something to do with the new tires. Should fix with a restart.

Dashboard display turns off. Worrisome. No speedometer, gas level etc. But I don't need those immediately. Start looking for someplace safe to pull over.

There isn't any. I'm on something locally known as 'Supertest hill'. A very long climb. It's three lanes wide, with no shoulders, and a deep several meter dirt ditch slanting down the right side. I realize if I crest the hill, I'll be virtually invisible to anyone making their way up it, so I make the judgement call to pull over as far as I can maybe 300 yards before the top.

The road edge is loose dirt and gravel, I have trouble with footing to stabilize the bike and get the kickstand down. I turn off the machine. Wait a few. Turn it back on. The display reappears, but not as bright as usual. I press the starter. The display vanishes and the starter makes a few weak clicks.

Shit.

Well. I thankfully decided to bring my emergency booster. Almost hadn't because it's very heavy, but added it back in at the last second. Dismount, unhelmet, dig it out of the tail pack, hook it up, wait. My cigarette lighter socket USB charger/voltmeter reads around 10. Usually it's around 12. 14 when running.

I get it back to about 11.6 and decide to try my luck. It starts! I rush to repack my tools and put my gear back on. I get on the bike and notice the voltage is dropping. Try to go and... Dies again.

The sun is starting to set and I am in a BAD location. Time to call CAA.

I don't know if I just need a Boost (bad battery? End of life? Unable to handle the extra drain of the phone/gps and the new chain oiler?) or a full on Tow (where to? There's no motorcycle shops on her list. The tow driver can't let me ride along because of the pandemic. How do I get back? Where do I go?)

The tow company calls me. He suggests 4G Motorsports, a Can-Am and Ski-Doo dealership. It's that or a Harley place. 4G, please. He is currently on a tow and will be here in about an hour.

I have a reflective vest on, but I'm standing on the ditch side of my bike for safety. There are no road lights. And obviously my hazards don't work. A few semi trucks come uncomfortably close as they struggle up the hill in the growing dark.

I shift the vest to drape over the tail luggage, and abandon attempting to boost the battery, using the charger instead for its blinking flashlight feature, pointing it down the hill and activating the three pulse flash.

Nothing to do but wait. Behind me, over the forest, a pillar of smoke wafts high into the night sky. The stars are out. At least it isn't raining. Each time a vehicle approaches, I brace, praying they see me and shift away from my precarious position.

I glance back to the forest and notice the smoke pillar has warped and shifted, and there was other light glowing overhead.

Oh, shit.

It wasn't smoke at all.

I'd finally found the Northern Lights.

I tried to enjoy the show, in between tensing as trucks surged past, as the green band stretched and wriggled through the planet's magnetosphere, or whatever the correct term is. Pictures proved elusive, as single snaps resulted in too dark an image to share the sight, and iso delayed shots would lose the definition of the individual bands of particles. But that didn't stop me from trying.

I'd love to be able to relax and enjoy the show some night, but at least I got this.

The tow service arrived, EMI - Eastern Mechanics Inc. Kind young gentlemen, the driver from Nova Scotia, came to work the sands like so many young people of the Atlantic provinces. A game attempt at a boost proved ineffective as the battery again tapered out once the charger was removed. The driver, his buddy, and me struggled to get the bike up the dual incline of the hill AND the angled flatbed, but eventually everything was secured. They called a cab for me and waited until it arrived, destination 4G Motorsports, Fort McMurray.

The cab got there first, the driver perplexed as to where I would spend the night. The local hotels have a monopoly on shelter, so the prices were all upwards of $120 for the night, and me facing an undefinable repair bill. That and the night was already half over - no discount for only using a room for four hours. I assured him I'd be fine.

The tow pulled in about ten minutes after, same driver, different buddy. We unload the bike, they refuse a tip (thank gods, I'm so stressed about finances), and now I'm alone. 4G opens at 9am on Saturday, so I do the logical thing and set up my bivy next to the bike at the edge of their parking lot. The Aurora is gone, but I was too exhausted to watch the skies any longer anyway.

I sleep.

[ellie-mayflower]

It sounds like the dumbest thing to focus on but seeing all those pictures of Billy in the paddock I can’t help but think that the bravest thing of all is just his willingness to be seen. 

To go there despite knowing that everyone will be staring and to see the pity in their eyes and it’s okay for that pity to be there because even though I know he’s going to go on to do amazing things it’ll never stop being a tragedy. But still, to be a young man and suddenly have people leaning down to talk to you, adjusting the speed of their stride so you can keep up, even just people being so nice to you out of nowhere... it would be so easy to find that humiliating and to be nothing but angry at the world and to not even want to be in a motorsport environment for a while because it just reminds you of what you’ve lost. 

But there he is, relentlessly positive and it’s so easy to tell that it isn’t just for show. That big bright grin and the way he looks at the cars and the garage and the whole paddock and there isn’t even a hint of bitterness, just a sense that yeah one day I’ll be back doing this. 

You’re aces dude, just aces.

[theloudpedal]

These People Might be Crazy: TLP goes drifting

There’s one kind of automotive event we’ve put off attending for a while now. Not gonna lie, drifting kind of seemed like more of a novelty in the overall pantheon of motorsport. On the drive over to Sonoma Raceway to pull back the curtain on this new to us motorsport we discussed our preconceived notions. Sure, we would have acknowledged that it’s some sort of competition that could be scored…but also something judged on artistic flair or other metric. That it was something other than “real racing” was pretty much how we would have described it. We’ve been around the block a time or two…young guys in slammed late-models, lots of camber, lots of tire smoke, stickers, rev limiters, loud exhaust and lots of pshhhhh…yadda yadda yadda. Been there, done that, wrote the article. (And in our defense, we saw a little of that)

But it was more than that. It was a whole lot more.

Enter Heather Taylor. Long story short, we met Heather at Sonoma Speed Festival this year. Among the many things she does (and there are apparently many) she makes sure that bonehead photographers and gawkers don’t walk on to hot race tracks, and generally helps make sure racing events are safe for spectators as well as competitors. Out of the blue, she sends us an email in her role as PR Manager of Team Faruk telling us about a new Netflix show and a guy named Faruk. We don’t know her real well and we have no idea who this Faruk guy is, but whatever.

Needing another Netflix show to binge like we need another hole in our heads, we binged the Netflix series, “HYPERDRIVE.” It was…well…a lot to behold. Pretty much everything was over the top (crazy) and the color commentary was a bit much, but what emerged as the competition progressed was some pretty impressive driving talent from a bunch of people (some of them well known to others) we’d never heard of. Truth told, we’re still not sure how we feel about HYPERDRIVE. But we digress….

As sure as Heather said, one of the competitors on the show was this Faruk Kugay. Faruk did not win the the HYPERDRIVE challenge, but he did do well, and he drove the holy snot out of his Toyota Supra 2JZ powered BMW M3 putting out over 600HP (We’re no experts, but we were pretty sure that HYPERDRIVE was’t exactly a true “drifting” competition…in fact, it was so over the top, we’re not sure what it represented other than sheer motorsport porn.) The guy’s also a bay area local #represent, and as the google search turned up races in something called Formula Drift (apparently it’s a bit of a “thing,” but again, we’re new to this, #noobs).

So Heather also invites us to come to Sonoma Raceway to meet Faruk, kick some tires and learn about an event he manages called Sonoma Drift and maybe strap into a drift car for some demo laps. What could possibly go wrong, right? Go meet some relative strangers, watch some young guns with flat-brimmed hats hoon around in some home-brewed “race cars” in a parking lot…at night, no less. Then maybe get in one of these things with a stranger and let them do their thing while we sit there and well…hold on and pretend everything is alright (ummm, but it’s crazy). Easy peasy.

Our initial apprehensions were soon relieved when meeting up with Heather and Faruk.

Faruk may be fast in his race car, but he may be just as fast as an event organizer as manager of Sonoma Drift ,which since 2012, has grown to become one of the largest grassroots drifting events in the country. The Wednesday night drifting occurs simultaneously with Wednesday night drag racing, with participants rolling in to race what they brought throughout the evening. Faruk is responsible for ensuring that this, from our outsider perspective, chaos is a safe and as entertaining as possible, with an army of volunteers assisting with the endeavor. He was in a constant state of movement and communication, directing folks and setting up the track configurations, yet made time to give us a tour of the course and explained just exactly what was going to happen once things kicked off. His only currency keeping everyone in line and on program was a fist bump and word of encouragement. Between the drifters and the drags, there were literally hundreds of cars (and a few trucks) ready for action. If this is how many cars come out on a Wednesday evening (as has been the case for the drag cars for decades), the future for drifting is indeed bright.

(We can’t repeat this part enough, Faruk is one of the nicest people you’ll ever meet, and the perfect ambassador for drifting)

The Ride-a-Long:

As part of our visit, we were scheduled to do a ride-along with one of the drift participants. Excitement for the opportunity was somewhat tempered by an incident that Faruk experienced only days prior at SEMA Ignited at the SEMA show in Las Vegas. Putting the “ignite” in Ignited, Faruk had an unscheduled Car-BQ in the drift box outside the Las Vegas Convention Center. A video of the incident was/is all over social media putting the danger of this sport (as exists in any motorsport) on full display, helping us second guess a taste of the full drifting experience. After quickly signing away liability, one of us (Mark) would do some research for the Loud Pedal team and get the full drift experience. Faruk connected us with a participant willing to let a noob sit shotgun and either scream in excitement (or excrement) or cry in fear. A big thank you to Julian Dumay who offered to take our Farouk around the paddock drift course in his Nissan S12 200SX powered by a 350z engine. Below is a compilation of three clips captured during the experience. In the first part, the yelling that can be heard in the background are primal screams of pure joy.

While never getting a completely clean run as each was interrupted by incidents (in which we may, or may not have been involved in) nonetheless it was a grin-inducing introduction to something that we had long misunderstood. Simply thinking about it brings a smile at this moment and the hope to do it again.

Grass Roots:

Drifting as a driving technique has been around since the first person experienced the glee of sliding the rear of their car around a corner successfully. The modern sport of drifting traces it’s origins to Japan and Kunimitsu Takahashi. Takahashi started his racing career with motorcycles and later went on to race cars in the 24 Hours of LeMans, Japanese touring cars and even one Formula 1 race in 1977 at the Japanese Grand Prix. In the 1970s while competing in the All Japan Touring Car Championship Takahashi would overcome the inadequacies of the racing tires used at the time by drifting through the corners to keep up his speed. It was a technique that would put him on the top step of the podium race after race.

What does this history have to with drifting today? Drifting may have gotten its start on the race track but with a little American spin (no pun intended) it has a strong grassroots foundation. Sonoma Drift is a great demonstration of RWYB..Run What you Brung. The paddock was filled with all manner of drifting cars from big American V8s, to vintage and bone-stock rotary-powered Mazda’s. Some came on trailers, but most others were driven in through the main gates. Some owners had a little extra cash for upgrades but generally, the stable of cars reflected the pure passion of the weekend wrench turner sweating and busting their knuckles in their backyards and garages. And We’re Out… After it was all done, and we wussed out of spending any additional time because we were cold and tired (#schoolnight…#oldmen) so on the way home we reflected on what we had just learned. First, we learned that hanging out with drifters as not as bad as our parents had warned us about. Drifting is one of the few automotive sports, where even when a failure occurs it’s still as entertaining and mind-blowing as when the proverbial “it” all goes right. Sonoma Drift also reinforces the utter foolishness of folks that do their hooning on public roads and engage in s(l)ideshow behavior that can end up killing people for no reason. With an investment in some safety equipment (and tires…lots of tires) and for less than $50 every Wednesday night, one can burn up their rubber until the late hours of the evening. Sonoma Drift gives participants an organized and controlled (relative speaking, as it is drifting after all) environment to unleash whatever psychotic sideways fantasies one may have.

(Before we close, we would like to extend our most sincere thanks to Faruk and Heather for their time, their hospitality, and their willingness to hold our hands through our first experience with drifting)

We got a taste for drifting as a sport and as a community, though we still have much to learn (other than that these folks might be crazy) about this side of the motorsport road. We’re already hooked and are planning to return to Winter Jam on December 21-22 to get another dose of this crazy. Amateurs ticking off practice laps is quite a different thing from running in direct competition for cash prizes and/or glory. Registration for each event will go on sale one month prior to event date. Register online at: www.sonomaraceway.com/sonomadrift

Spectator tickets available at Gate 1 Main Entrance - $10 (Kids 12 and under are FREE)Gates open at 3pm - Drifting 4:00pm – 10:00pm (Starting time is subject to change without notice).

[itsworn]

Historic 1930 Ford Model A Gasser Helped Establish Drag Racing in New England

In the 1950s, hot rodding was still considered a four-letter word in many municipalities across the country. In the Northeast, the “outlaw” hobby was growing in popularity thanks to national coverage in magazines such as HOT ROD, Car Craft, and the ilk. However, in stuffy New England, life just couldn’t be tougher on this burgeoning new wave of motorsports.

On-road shenanigans, hooliganism, and speeding were of special concern to law enforcement. Safety issues arising from the homebuilt hot rods put the cops on alert, thus starting a crackdown on the sometimes underbuilt customs. The need for speed was a hard habit to break, especially if you were a young gun with a hot ride trying to make a name for yourself out on the streets. But help was soon on the way.

The Rake was built as a street/strip/show rod to promote sanctioned drag racing in Connecticut and greater New England. Frank Maratta made sure to build the hot rod up to the NHRA safety standards of 1958. It helped in part to open up the now defunct Connecticut Dragway in the spring of 1961.

In 1951, the National Hot Rod Association was created in part to help take drag racing off the street and bring it into a controlled environment. This helped to quell some of the friction between hot rodders on one side and law enforcement and the general public on the other. But there was much more that needed to be done, especially in the Northeast. That touchy situation would soon be smoothed out by a few brazen trailblazers who hoped to see the sport gain traction (so to speak) in their respective locales.

Forefather

Back in the mid-1950s, Frank Maratta Sr. owned and operated a body shop in Hartford, Connecticut. Though he was nearly 3,000 miles away from the heart of the Southern California hot rod scene, he felt that his shop could be a home base for the purveyors of the hot rodding gospel right there in the heart of New England. He had made a name for himself over the years, creating top-tier customs and promoting car shows in and around the greater Hartford area.

Maratta took the Rake to the 1958 NHRA Nationals in Oklahoma City, where he finished runner-up in A/Gas—the car’s first dragstrip defeat. The Petersen Publishing Archive didn’t turn up any photos of the Rake on the track, but we did find this photo of the Model A during a prerace parade.

Maratta had developed a love of racing, and was already building strip-ready rides for his local clientele. He realized that a purpose-built track was needed to cater to the growing population of drag racers in the area. Up to that point, the only usable dragstrips in New England were converted air fields, most notably in Charlestown, Rhode Island; Orange, Massachusetts; and Sanford, Maine. All these strips were a pretty good distance from his home base in Hartford. What was needed was a sanctioned track where Connecticut’s racers could do their thing, both safely and competitively, and without butting heads with the law.

Working with the NHRA, local police, and the newly formed Nutmeg State Timing Association, Maratta helped lay the foundation for what was to become the Connecticut Dragway, the state’s first and only sanctioned dragstrip. It was a daunting task, but he had a plan to help turn the tide and change the general public’s view on hot rods and drag racing.

The Rake got quite a bit of ink in its day. Rodding & Restyling magazine published a feature on the car in its March 1959 issue, and it was also right in the middle of the photo that opened the magazine’s coverage of the 1959 Hartford, Connecticut, car show in the June 1959 issue.

What Maratta wanted was a cornerstone, a well-built example of a hot rod racer to start a motorized movement. A car that would not only attract attention to the hobby and be of show-car quality, but also properly outfitted with the safety equipment that conformed to the NHRA’s standards. In other words, a shining example of what a proper hot rod should be.

In early 1958 he bought a needy 1930 Model A for $35. He didn’t want to skimp on the process of building a “true” hot rod, and so he began the build just like many early rodding pioneers had done, starting their rods with salvaged parts and pieces.

The coupe was taken down to body and frame and rebuilt from the ground up. The stock Model A frame featured boxed framerails up front and a 1932 Ford front suspension set up with a 4-inch dropped axle on heavily modified spring perches. The steering box and front brakes came from a ’47 Ford.

Frank and the Rake were also featured in the Oct. 1960 issue of HOT ROD. Editorial Director Wally Parks (who was also NHRA chief) likely made sure Maratta’s safe-and-sane approach to building the car was prominent in the headline and subhead. The similarly painted truck shown on the second page belonged to a friend, who lent it to Frank to tow the prized hot rod from show to show.

With the deep drop up front, Maratta enhanced the stance by mounting an Anderson quick-change rearend on a 1937 Ford half-ton truck suspension out back, along with a stock Model A spring. Once the tall and wide 16×9 Ford truck wheels shod with pie-crust slicks were added, the ride was christened the Rake.

The roof was kept at stock height and filled. A visor was added over the windshield, and full fenders were used front and back, augmented by a stock Model A rear bumper. Once the look was achieved, he basted the car with metallic gold paint and white scallops, and pinstriping by local artist Fred Luck.

The interior featured a custom dash with a full set of Stewart-Warner gauges, a 1958 Chevy steering wheel, and custom bucket seats with gold and white upholstery to match the paint outside. A fire extinguisher and a set of lap belts were added to live up to the safety standards that Maratta was trying to achieve.

The Missile was the second incarnation of Maratta’s Model A and was a purpose-built drag car. It was definitely a product of the times, sporting chrome accents, mag wheels, and the Moon tank up front. Another key revision was the sectioning of the front and rear fenders and the running boards. It would run the local strips until the Chevy powerplant finally gave out on a pass while trying to set a new A/Gas record.

Maratta didn’t skimp on the car’s motor-vation, either. He started with a ’57 283 V8 he pulled from his infamous pink Mystery car. It was stroked and bored to 352 inches (a 3 1/2-inch stroke and a 4-inch bore), and Jahn’s pistons with Grant rings were installed running at 10.5:1 compression. A Weiand Drag Star intake with six Stromberg 97 carburetors were placed up top, and a Howard M2 cam was added to keep it thumping.

Ported and polished heads were assembled with large valves and added to the mix. To light it up, a Grant Spalding Flamethrower ignition was used, and a set Hedman headers with lake pipes (changed to side-exit drag headers in 1959) got rid of the spent gases in style. This rodder’s recipe was good for a stout 360 hp and propelled the lightweight racer down the strip with ease. A LaSalle transmission kicked it through the gears.

Current owner Dean Schimetschek bought the Rake in 2015 after it had sat in the New England elements for nearly 40 years.

The Rake was built over a six-month period for a sum of $3,500. It was a sight to behold and an attention grabber wherever it went. Which was Maratta’s goal all along: build a hot rod that could be used as a fast, safe, and stunning template for future drivers.

The Rake soon collected show and drag trophies throughout New England. It was the undefeated regional A/Gas champion in 1958 and competed at the 1958 NHRA Nationals in Oklahoma City, where it came in runner-up, just barely losing to the stiff competition. This would become the only defeat the Rake would suffer until the runoffs for the 1959 Nationals at Charlestown Dragstrip the following year.

Between 1958 and 1960, the Rake took more than 30 First Place trophies and appeared in numerous magazine features, including a two-page spread in the October 1960 issue of HOT ROD, where the car was said to have run a best of 12.6 seconds at 114 mph.

From this angle it’s obvious where Maratta’s hot rod got its name. The stance is a product of several suspension factors, and those big mag wheels and slicks out back. This is the revamped Missile version of this wild ride. The suspension setup under the car when it was the Rake would have added to the steep gradient from back to front.

Maratta’s Missile

In 1961, change was in the wind. Maratta’s hard work had paid off, and the Connecticut Dragway became a reality, opening in nearby East Haddam, Connecticut, in the spring. By now his body shop had turned into a full-bore speed shop, and business was good. With a few seasons under his belt with the Rake, he decided it was time to mix things up. He figured he needed a vehicle that was a dedicated race car. The hot rod was brought into the shop for a teardown and total makeover into a quarter-mile terror.

There were a lot of modifications in store for the Model A. Maratta swapped the drop axle for a chromed Model A straight axle and added pie-cut split wishbones up front. Out back, a ’58 Chevy rearend with ladder bars and chopped Model A spring were installed. A roll bar made its way into the interior for added safety. The fenders and running boards were sectioned 6 inches to make the rod more chiseled. The rear fenders were bobbed as well, and the sun visor was drilled full of holes.

Originally the Rake sported a ’32 Ford front suspension with a 4-inch dropped axle. When Maratta changed the coupe over to the Missile, he added this chromed straight axle from a Model A.

The gasser received a Moon fuel tank and was refinished in bright blue metalflake with “Maratta’s Missile” callouts on the flanks. Last but not least, a set of American Racing magnesium wheels was added: 15×8.5s with slicks out back and Le Mans 15x4s with Firestone skinnies up front. Changes to the powertrain included a Hilborn mechanical injection setup now topping the Chevy motor, and a B&M Hydro-Stick to do the shifting.

The ride emerged from the shop and hit the track with earnest in 1963. Now with the Connecticut Dragway nearly in Maratta’s backyard, the Missile was just a stone’s throw away from legal quarter-mile runs. It was the perfect tool to promote both his expanding business and the race track he was in charge of.

Sometime after that, while attempting a national A/Gas record, the powerplant finally gave out. With the responsibilities of running his shop and the dragstrip, Maratta had no choice but to park the Missile until he had time to deal with it. That time never came. In 1965, he decided to sell the hot rod a local racer in Hartford.

Maratta built the Rake with a quick-change rearend but changed the setup to this ’58 Chevy rear and ladder bars during the Missile period.

MIA

The Model A was said to have bounced around through several owners after Maratta sold it. Alan Lisee of Voluntown, Connecticut, bought it in 1971, put a 283 back into the car, and drove it for a few years as a street rod. It was also repainted a Mint Jade Green color in 1974. After a few years it was decommissioned, and the car sat behind his house for the next 35 years, letting the New England weather take its toll on the once pristine coupe.

In 2012, Lisee took the now worn Model A to a local garage to get the ride back on the road. However, the project soon stalled, and the decision was made to put it up for sale, along with several other project rides. Enter local hot rod historian Dean Schimetschek and his dad, Greg.

Originally the Rake was dressed with Moon aluminum discs over its wheels, but those were replaced by American Racing magnesium wheels during the transformation into the Missile. Up front is a pair of 15×4 Le Mans rims shod in Firestone skinnies. This view also shows one of the cutouts in the fenders from where a set of chromed headers with 6-inch collectors was installed in the early 1960s.

While walking around the Milltown Hot Rod and Custom show in 2015, Dean saw something of interest. “I spotted pictures of the car alongside other projects for sale posted on a board in front of an old truck. I knew the car’s history and that it had been pretty much lost all these years. I was amazed it had resurfaced.” Dean made plans to see it the next day.

Once Dean and his dad saw the hot rod, they knew they had to buy it. “By the following June I had it back on the road, with a fresh, built-up 283 and full-competition Powerglide  I was saving for another Model A I own,” Dean says. He also started collecting anything that was related to Frank Maratta’s cars and the Connecticut Dragway. “We believe it is very important to maintain and preserve this local history so that it is not forgotten by future generations.”

Out back, the 15×8.5 American Racing mags now wear Radir slicks.

For now, the Rake will stay the way it was found. Dean says, “I cleaned off the Jade finish it was painted in the 1970s to reveal the Missile’s patina’d blue flanks.” It’s now out there on the streets of Connecticut, and he’s driving the famous hot rod to all the local shows. But more is planned. More shows and events are definitely on the list, as Dean wants people to understand what this Model A meant to hot rodding in New England and to the country as well.

“We are real excited about having the Rake back on the road where it belongs,” says Dean. And who knows, maybe there will be a full-blown restoration, bringing this piece of history back to its glory days as the Rake, or possibly even Maratta’s Missile.

This Model A went through several powertrain variants over the years. Frank Maratta started with a full-house Chevy 283 punched and stroked to 352 inches. When it morphed into Maratta’s Missile, the powerplant received a mechanical Hilborn injection setup, built with chrome stacks up top.

Today the hot rod is fitted with a ’58 283ci engine topped with a Weiand intake and four deuces. A Spalding ignition gives the spark, and the engine is backed by a built Powerglide transmission. A few of the original parts remain on the firewall.

Many of the Rake’s original interior parts are still with the car, including the Moon pedal and fire extinguisher. Schimetschek added the steering wheel and seats, purchased from a source close to Frank Maratta, to make the hot rod drivable again.

The aluminum dash from the Missile years sits behind this wood overlay, which was installed sometime after. It still possesses its original Stewart-Warner gauges.

Some of the memories from over the years are pasted to the windshield, including a sticker from the 1958 NHRA Nationals in Oklahoma City.

As factory-produced cars moved forward in the late 1950s with sleek, modern, rocket-fueled designs, hot rods were considered backwards, unsafe, and unruly by the general public. It was men like Frank Maratta who showed that hot rods could be built with both style and performance, and engineered to conform to modern safety standards. We’re glad Dean Schimetschek rescued this significant piece of rodding history.

The post Historic 1930 Ford Model A Gasser Helped Establish Drag Racing in New England appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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[jonathanbelloblog]

Automobile’s Holiday Gift Guide: Gifts for Enthusiasts on Every Budget

Forget getting that cheap R/C car or yet another T-shirt for the gearhead in your life this holiday season. Here, we’ve assembled a wide-ranging collection of stocking stuffers and all-occasion gifts to fit all price ranges and tastes. (And be sure to snag something for yourself, too.)

Leica M10-P Rangefinder Available in Leica retail stores ($7,995)

New for 2018, the M10-P is a stealthier take on the already excellent M10 digital rangefinder. In the “P,” the classic red Leica dot is gone from the body, replaced with a screw that adjusts the rangefinder. It also adds a touchscreen and what Leica claims is the quietest shutter ever fitted to the M range—a lineage that stretches back to 1954.

MotorMemo Log Book motormemo.com/en ($3)

It’s time to ditch that grimy spiral notebook in your glove box. MotorMemo is here to organize and simplify your classic\-car record keeping, providing owners a place to write maintenance notes, ownership history, and mileage, among other things. Sixty preprinted pages are separated into six chapters, all bound in a handsome, vintage-inspired package.

Drive Coffee drivecoffee.com (From $18)

Automotive-themed coffee is nothing new, but Drive Coffee’s alluring oil-can packaging caught our eye. Each roast has a motorsports theme with corresponding art on the front of its can, with the options ranging from Imola to Dakar. When you’re done admiring the design, you can enjoy a delicious cup of coffee using beans sourced from all over the world.

Ray-Ban Scuderia Ferrari Collection ray-ban.com (From $218)

We usually suggest avoiding branded apparel and accessories altogether, but Ray-Ban’s new Ferrari collab is a nifty exception. The popular eyewear company teamed up with the Italian automaker for a range of special-edition sunglasses, with different frames inspired by various Formula 1 venues.

Vandel Driving Shoes vandel.co ($172)

It’s hard to look cool in driving shoes. Even if you use them as intended, you always look as though you’re trying too hard walking up to your dual-clutch GTI wearing bright red kicks. Vandel’s driving shoes strike a perfect balance between functionality and fashion, though, and offered in either dark blue or olive green. Each pair is made in Europe from 26 pieces of Italian suede.

Striipe Design Socks striipedesign.com ($20)

Maybe you can’t afford a Porsche with houndstooth interior (join the club), but we bet you can afford Striipe Design’s socks. Striipe offers wonderfully subtle and not-so-subtle automotive-themed socks that serve as homages to vintage BMW interiors, the classic Rothmans livery, and much more. Keep an eye out for future collaborations along the same lines as one that resulted in socks inspired by SharkWerks.

TAG Heuer Carrera Calibre 16 tagheuer.com (From $4,350)

TAG’s Calibre 16 is hardly the newest chronometer on the block, but this heritage-inspired variant does provide a fresh take and commemorates the Carrera’s 55th anniversary. The dial features elements inspired by both racing and watches of the 1970s, and the namesake Calibre 16, itself an evolution of the Valjoux 7750, provides 42 hours of power reserve and a date complication at the three-o’clock position.

Hamilton Khaki Field Mechanical shop.hodinkee.com ($475)

Although this isn’t strictly an all-new release, it is an update to the existing Khaki Field Mechanical we’ve known and loved for years. In this welcome refresh, Hamilton removed the date window and simplified the military-inspired dial. Powered by an ETA 2801-2 hand-wound mechanical movement, this is as pure and simple as enthusiast watches come. And at less than $500, it’s hard to beat the price.

  Moso Natural Air Freshener mosonatural.com ($9.95)

Please stop buying those pungent air fresheners from the convenience store. Instead, throw a Moso Natural or two in your ride, and your passengers will thank you. Moso uses bamboo charcoal to absorb odor, not mask it, making for a less cloying overall experience. As a bonus, it has a claimed two-year life span.

Peak Design 45L Travel Backpack peakdesign.com ($299.95)

There’s a staggering amount of options for those in need of a new backpack, especially one aimed at travel. Peak Design recently released one of the better travel packs, offering 45 liters of storage space. If you don’t need all that room, it collapses into a 35-liter daypack. It also sports a large number of storage pockets and compartments.

Vintage-Style Chevrolet Garage Signs chevymall.com (From $24.95)

If your workspace or garage is looking a bit drab, the branding wizards over at Chevy have you covered. Chevrolet Mall has a massive selection of both modern and vintage-style metal and neon signs, ranging from “OK Used Cars” to classic model scripts like “Chevelle” and “Corvette.” There’s something from every era of the bow-tie brand, too.

Rimowa Original Cabin rimowa.com ($1,150)

Trust us. Don’t skimp on your luggage, especially if you travel more than a few times every year. For pure quality and durability, Rimowa is one of the best in the biz, providing travelers with incredibly well-crafted aluminum bags. It doesn’t hurt that the products are some of the best-looking rollers on the market, either.

Away Carry-On awaytravel.com (From $225)

If you can’t or won’t spend four figures on a carry-on, we suggest something from Away. This resilient polycarbonate design is handsome and well constructed, incorporating useful features like a detachable laundry bag, ejectable battery for recharging devices on the go, and divided interior compartments.

Wooden Toy Garage by Bentley shop.bentleymotors.com (around $130)

You wouldn’t park anything less than the Flying B in the garage, so why should your kiddo be forced to play with anything other than a Bentley wooden garage? It’s a three-story affair, featuring a fuel pump, elevator, heliport, and functional turntables.

  Thinkware F200 Dash Cam us.thinkware.com ($139.99)

With distracted driving on the rise, a dash cam has almost become a necessity. If you’re in the market for the first time or just need to upgrade old hardware, check out the Thinkware F200. It’s a compact and discreet 1080p camera, loaded with essential features like Wi-Fi, thermal protection, and optional parking surveillance.

BMW M4 Motorsport Ride-On Car shopbmwusa.com ($327)

Before they hit the kart track, plunk your tot on this ride-on M4 to get them thinking about competition early. It’s safer than a shifter kart, topping out at a heady 0.6 mph, and features trick tech touches such as a radio and MP3 interface and simulated engine sounds.

Good Reads

Speed Read Supercar Amazon.com ($19.99)

Speed Read Supercar will prep you for any casual conversation regarding supercars. Author—and regular Automobile contributor—Basem Wasef covers a sprawling range of supercars and boutique exotics from Mercedes-Benz to Koenigsegg, turning anyone into a factoid dork in record time.

Enzo Ferrari: Power, Politics and the Making of an Automobile Empire Amazon.com ($49.95)

This 968-page behemoth covers everything from Enzo Ferrari’s humble beginnings as a young racer to his twilight years in the 1980s. Make sure you have plenty of espresso on hand for late-night reading marathons.

Autophoto Amazon.com ($65)

If you’d like to be a little more discerning about what you park on your coffee table, Autophoto is a good place to start. Th from Performance Junk Blogger Feed 4 https://ift.tt/2AXzakx via IFTTT

[robertkstone]

2018 Lamborghini Huracán Super Trofeo EVO Review: The Future of the Supercar

The brake lights just ahead flash bright red through the steeply raked windshield. I count an extra beat then mash the brake pedal as hard as I can, the bellowing 620-hp V-10 behind me erupting into a quick fire, shock-and-awe sonic barrage—boom! boom! boom!—as I fan the left hand paddle, working the transmission back through the gears. The all-wheel-drive Lamborghini Huracán Performante in front of me is squirming all over the road as Squadra Corse test driver Christian Engelhart dances it to the absolute limit of adhesion on corner entry.

My rear-drive 2018 Lamborghini Huracán Super Trofeo EVO stops hard enough to punch the air from my lungs, dives for the apex the instant I turn the wheel, and then carves through the corner, slick tires gripping like limpets, as the big V-10 at my shoulder blades bellows once more. In that moment I feel like a racing god—like I’ve swapped jobs with Lewis Hamilton or Max Verstappen, and no one’s laughing. And that’s exactly how Lamborghini’s newest factory race car has been designed to make me feel.

Welcome to the future of the supercar.

With its trick aerodynamics, racing transmission, slick tires, carbon brakes, and FIA-approved roll cage nestling in a stripped-down interior, the Lamborghini Huracán Super Trofeo EVO is a proper race car. It’s also proper production Lamborghini, created by Lamborghini engineers and designers and built alongside the Huracán and Aventador road cars. Write a $295,000 check, and the friendly folks at Lamborghini will send you one, pretty much ready to race. What’s more, they’ll give you somewhere to race it.

Super Trofeo is a Pro-Am race series devised and promoted by Lamborghini specifically for these Huracán race cars and aimed at customers the company politely calls ‘gentleman drivers’—those with the money to consider racing Lamborghinis on some of the world’s most iconic tracks a hobby. Super Trofeo championships are held in North America, Europe, the Middle East, and Asia, culminating in a world final at the legendary Imola circuit in Italy, just down the road from Lamborghini HQ in Sant’Agata Bolognese.

Despite its race-face swagger, the Super Trofeo EVO is heavily based on the Huracán road car, sharing about 70 percent of its parts, including engine and suspension. It’s not as fast, nor as tricky to drive on the limit, as the Pro-spec Huracán GT3 race car. Although it has more power, the Super Trofeo EVO generates less downforce, and it is electronically limited to 174 mph. “We allow drivers to enjoy the power and torque, but the Super Trofeo is meant to be a scholarship car, to prepare them to move up to a GT3,” says Lamborghini Motorsport boss Giorgio Sanna.

The EVO’s engine, transmission, brakes, wheels, and tires are carried over from the 2015 Huracán Super Trofeo, along with sundry other pieces of hardware, including the giant rear wing. Power remains the same—around 620 hp—but a new air intake layout delivers a 3 percent increase in torque at maximum speed. Also new for 2018 are the exhaust system, revised hydraulic power steering pump, and updated software for the traction control and antilock braking systems.

The new aero package that comprises most of the EVO upgrades has been specifically designed to improve chassis balance and stability, especially through the fast fourth, fifth, and sixth gear corners that would give gentlemen drivers wide eyes and sweaty palms in the edgier GT3 Huracán. Key elements are new rear fenders, a vertical fin on the engine cover, bigger cooling vents for the front brakes, and larger louver openings on the front fenders.

Overall downforce is unchanged from the 2015 cars, but the aerodynamic balance has been shifted 3 percent toward the front axle, and the dorsal fin improves stability at the rear. Meanwhile, an 8 percent reduction in drag means better acceleration on the straights. Working together, these tweaks trimmed 1.5 seconds off the 2015 car’s lap times in testing at the storied Monza grand prix circuit outside Milan.

Many racetracks are built on godforsaken pieces of real estate; barren and windswept, stinking hot in the summer, freezing cold in the winter, miles from anywhere. Not the Autodromo Enzo e Dino Ferrari in Imola, Italy. This 3.1-mile track nestles comfortably among rolling hills on the tree-lined south bank of the Santerno river, barely a mile from the cafés and restaurants of Imola’s old town, the streets of which were mapped by Leonardo da Vinci in 1502. Lamborghini boss Stefano Domenicali was born here.

Home to the San Marino Grand Prix between 1981 and 2006, the Imola circuit gained worldwide notoriety after the sublimely gifted Ayrton Senna was killed in the opening laps of the 1994 race. Tragically, Senna’s death had come barely 24 hours after Austrian Formula 1 rookie Roland Ratzenberger lost his life in a crash during qualifying. The first fatalities at a Grand Prix in 12 years, they prompted a redesign of the track layout. With chicanes replacing the fearsome 190-mph sweeper called Tamburello, where Senna crashed, and the flat-out right-hand Villeneuve kink that claimed Ratzenberger, Imola today is a less intimidating place. But it’s still fast and flowing in places, with dramatic changes in elevation that test driver commitment as much as chassis composure.

Perfect for a first drive of a 620-hp mid-engine race car, then.

‘My’ Super Trofeo EVO is one of two cars Lamborghini Squadra Corse has on hand for a small group of journalists to sample in between qualifying sessions and races over the Super Trofeo finale weekend. Painted menacing matte gray, it’s the older of the two, with some parts clearly straight out of the prototyping shop. The other EVO, painted bright lime green, is better finished but has been set up to suit the shorter drivers of the group. Only the pedals adjust—the seats are fixed—and the Lamborghini mechanics have had to guesstimate two broad compromise settings to enable journalists to switch in and out of cars with minimal time loss.

At 6’2”, I’m the tallest driver here, and the pedals in the tall guys’ car are still slightly too close for my liking. But I fit, and at least the steering wheel is reach and rake adjustable. ‘Wheel’ isn’t an entirely accurate description: It’s a vaguely butterfly shaped affair with an Alcantara covered rim that’s flat across the base and loops up and around to join the top side of a carbon-fiber-covered boss that has eight buttons and two knobs. To the lower right of the wheel is a box covered with pads. You press one to awaken the Lambo’s electrics and another to crank the big V-10 into life. It settles down to a fast, bawling idle.

As in most modern supercars, paddles lurk with easy finger reach behind the steering wheel rim, upshifts on the right, and downshifts on the left. But there’s also a clutch pedal, small and tucked down near the floor. The rear-drive Super Trofeo EVO has a full-race, six-speed sequential shift transmission that’s designed to bang home gears without the niceties of worrying about a clutch to smooth things out, but you still need that third pedal to get the EVO underway and to bring it smoothly to a halt.

Lemme see … Clutch in, left thumb on the neutral button on the steering wheel boss, click back the right paddle. Thunk! We’re in first gear. Build revs, ease out the clutch, and the low-slung Lambo stutters down pit lane, bah-bah-bah-bah-bah-bahing against the 30-mph pit lane rev limiter. Past pit exit, right thumb on the pit button to cancel the pit limiter, and the Super Trofeo leaps forward. Bang! Second gear slams home like an anvil dropped in a dumpster. Bang! There’s third. Bang! Fourth.

I’ve only driven a car with a sequential shift transmission once before—the brain-melting Caterham R500, a pint-size 500-hp featherweight that, if you can stop the rear tires from going up in smoke, will dust a Viper ACR over the quarter mile. But that was only in a straight line. Over successive laps around Imola in the Lamborghini I learn there’s subtle art to getting the best out of a sequential-shift transmission; that on downshifts especially you have to pay close attention to engine revs and vehicle speed to prevent momentarily locking the rear wheels on corner entry and unsettling the car.

The grip, the stability, the noise, the braking—especially the braking—it’s all a vivid rush for the first few laps. Every young racer I’ve spoken with after they’ve driven a Formula 1 car for the first time has raved about the braking, not the power, and in the Lamborghini Huracán Super Trofeo EVO I get a sense of why. This is my first experience of modern slicks, downforce, and carbon brakes all working together, and I cannot believe how deep I can go into corners before hitting the middle pedal. The Lambo slows crisply and concisely, corner after corner.

What’s most impressive about the Super Trofeo EVO, however, is that even after a few laps you can start to push it, to explore its limits rather than worry about your own. Default handling mode is mild understeer, which requires a little patience with the throttle exiting tight second and third gear corners but is a safer, more predictable option through the fast curves, where that new fin helps keep the rear end tracking faithfully on line. The engine loves to rev, the LEDs on the simple digital instrument readout rapidly flickering through green, blue, and orange en route to red, but the fat torque curve cuts you a little slack if you aren’t quite on top of your shift points.

This is a race car that rewards neatness and precision with a fast lap time but won’t bite your head off when you get it wrong, as mere mortals like us inevitably will … You can dial up or down appropriate levels of traction control and antilock braking via the two knobs on the steering wheel boss, depending on track conditions and your confidence level. And before you sneer, even the pros play around with these settings as they work toward the optimum setup. This is, as Lamborghini claims, a car in which you can learn how to drive like a pro racer.

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