UltimateSimp

like, wdym I lost my seat for getting p9 in a midfielder and gave up on my career?

wdym I'm always making mistakes and [insert driver/love interest] has to correct me all the time?

1) Go on vk.com

2) Go on one of these channels:

first, i’m a narcissist and will not read it if it’s not about me

second, I love the feeling of people liking me

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your stroll is interrupted by a man asking for an interview. But this might be the best interview either of you have ever given in your lives.

Warnings: Fluff, Recollection of memories, Lewis is anxious and protective, cuddles, little Roscoe baby name drop :’), first lewis fic ever so I apologise for any mistakes. In no way am I insinuating that he is like this irl. Also reader is a bit south asian/desi coded (since i am one) but anybody can read it! Please be gentle, it’s my first time writing for him <3

AN: OHH i have been dying to put this out and this is so self indulgent cus i am obsessed with the meetcutesnyc account, it's so cute and the couples are always so smiley when they recall their memories 🥹 In my head, lewis would be a little reserved but he'd probably say the most heartfelt things ever. Lets ignore that he does not publicly date anymore <3

(rest in peace, baby roscoe. we love you so much. ❤️‍🩹)

It was a lovely day out in New York.

Autumn had finally begun, so the air was crisp and cold, the scent of all things cinnamon, pumpkin and baked was wafting all around you, the streets had lulled down into a pleasant chatter, making it seem even more cosy and sweet.

Lewis had some work in NYC related to Plus 44, something about meeting local designers that he wanted to collaborate with and a talk in one of the schools that Mission 44 had partnered with. He'd offered you to join, considering that it was a weekend and you said yes since you'd taken some of your work to do from home.

Episode # 3 (Pt.2)

: { First Impressions Pt2 }

===================================

===================================

Synopsis:

Your first impressions leaves the grid boys wanting to get to know you more. Your whole being is endearing with your personality being just as lovely as your appearance.

Pairings:

Various F1 Grid x You

Warnings:

None / just more of the grid simping / Fluffyyyyy

===================================

If you haven't read the past chapters I suggest reading it to avoid any confusion as it is a direct continuation of the previous chapters:))

Chapter #1

Chapter #2

Chapter #3 (Pt.1)

Happy Reading!

===================================

The parade was only moments away, but inside the driver’s docking area, time seemed to slow in your presence. Every driver lingered, hesitant to end the quiet intimacy of meeting you for the first time. You had a way of pulling the room inward — a gravitational force, soft and irresistible — wrapping everyone within a bubble where nothing existed but you.

Carlos still knelt to your level, frozen in this moment, eyes closed, with your fingers still gently weaving through his tousled brown curls. Your nails grazed his scalp with featherlight care, and he looked so at peace, like your touch had cast a spell he never wanted broken.

But time, cruel as ever, pressed forward.

With a reluctant exhale, he fluttered his eyes open, his lashes low as he peered up at you, memorizing the soft concentration on your face. “You seem to be enjoying yourself,” he murmured, voice husky, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “You wanna continue this some other time, cariño?”

It took all the restraint he had not to lean into your touch again — if he had it his way, you’d be playing with his hair until the end of time.

His deep brown eyes remained fixed on you, hooded and warm, waiting for your response. His words finally snapped you out of your trance, your hands still tangled slightly in his hair. “Ah—yes. My bad,” you stammered, cheeks flushed. “Got lost in the sauce a bit there.”

He chuckled under his breath, watching you with soft amusement as he slowly rose from his kneel. The air between you was thick with unspoken things, neither of you able to break eye contact. It was as if that one simple act — your fingers in his hair — had created a thread now unwilling to snap.

At last, Carlos offered one final handshake, lingering just a second longer than he should’ve, before moving on to make room for the next driver. But he walked away stiffly, acutely aware of the burning stares behind him. He could feel them the laser like gaze of the other grid drivers— boring into the back of his head. Still, under his breath, he muttered to himself, “Totally worth it.”

Across the room, Kimi stood motionless — stiff as a statue. While others had taken their turns introducing themselves, he’d been quietly absorbing every detail of you: your voice, your smile, the way your expressions flickered with sincerity. He was utterly captivated. Too captivated.

He tried desperately not to memorize the way you tilted your head when you spoke or the little laugh you gave when you were embarrassed — afraid those memories might overwrite the race data he’d drilled into his brain just hours earlier.

“Curse having good memory,” he grumbled under his breath.

You were intoxicating. Everything about you — your presence, your energy, your laugh — drew him in like gravity. Why did you have to debut the same year as him? Couldn’t you have joined next season, when he was more composed? More confident? More ready?

Now, not only did he have to focus on adapting to a brand-new team, a new car, and the most competitive grid in the world — now he had to deal with this. With you. with falling in love? If only you were a photographer or media manager he wouldn’t have to be worried about seeing you all the time, but you were a driver under Porsche meaning you’d literally be on the track racing BESIDE him. It’s safe to say that he was having a full on internal freak out at the prospects of having to race with someone who made him fidget like crazy. And fidget is the last thing you want to do in a car that can go 200mph.

A shiver traced down his spine at the mere thought of you overtaking him during a race and his distracted brain betraying him at the worst possible moment. The daydream spiraled quickly into a crash fantasy before he mentally slapped himself, jaw clenched, hating how he was acting like a nervous schoolboy trying not to mess up in front of his crush during the spring play.

Next to him, Ollie was just as enraptured — but in a completely different way.

Where Kimi trembled with nerves, Ollie practically buzzed with anticipation. Confidence radiated from him, lips curled in a smirk as he watched you get closer, already plotting what he dubbed “operation rizz.” Unlike his flustered friend, the young Brit was energized by your presence, not unnerved.

How should I ask her out? he mused, eyes locked on you. Too soon for a proper date. Maybe post-race celebrations? No, better — keep it casual. Rookie hangout. No pressure. Cool, chill, effortless…

His mental monologue was cut short by a sharp elbow jab to his side. “Quick,” Kimi whispered, panicked, “She’s coming. What do I say?!”

Ollie winced. “First of all, ouch. Second of all—just. Act. Natural.”

And then you stepped forward, radiant in the golden hue of the morning sunlight. Your smile was tentative, warm, and impossibly captivating. Even the noise of the paddock seemed to fade, as if the moment demanded reverence.

The three of you stood in that breathless space between introduction and something far more complicated bubbling beneath both of the rookies who stood before you.

You extended your hand — polite, poised — landing between Kimi and Ollie, giving them both that same warm smile you’d offered everyone before them.

But neither of them had been prepared for it.

Like clockwork, both reached out at the same time.

And instead of one hand meeting yours, both of theirs did — at once — clasping around your outstretched hand in a clumsy, synchronized mistake.

For a second, no one moved. Kimi’s hand was on your right, Ollie’s on your left, and your much smaller hand was caught right between them — like an awkward truce neither was willing to call off.

The two boys then made eye contact, mentally having a debate with one another trying to argue who might have grasped your hand first, neither of them willing to back down. Then came the smallest, most imperceptible tug — one from each side. An attempt from both to pry your hand away from the other.

And just like that, balance was lost.

Your feet slipped forward, heels clicking against the floor. A startled gasp left your lips as gravity tilted you off-center, and both boys instinctively pulled.

In the blink of an eye, you were caught.

Two pairs of arms looped swiftly around your waist — one from each side — locking into place like seatbelts. Your body landed squarely between theirs, pressed snugly against the front of Kimi while your back leaned into Ollie’s chest. Warm, solid, and entirely too close.

It all happened so fast you barely processed it.

There was a heartbeat of stunned silence.

Kimi’s breath fanned lightly against your cheek. His hand was splayed across your side, fingers stiff but unmoving. His eyes — wide and mortified — slowly flicked down to where your bodies met, then back to your face.

Behind you, Ollie had gone still too, his chest rising and falling against your back. His grip around your waist had tightened instinctively — secure, protective — but now he was very aware of where his hands were. Too aware.

You could feel the tension crackling between the three of you, like electricity waiting to arc.

“I—uh—” you started, brain scrambling to catch up. “That… escalated.”

Kimi blinked. “You okay?” he asked softly, voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded quickly. “Y-yeah. Just… sandwiched.”

There was a beat.

And then Ollie let out the softest laugh behind you. “Not how I imagined our first meeting going, but… I’m not complaining.”

Kimi shot him a glare over your shoulder, his jaw tight.

“You pulled first,” he muttered.

“You didn’t let go,” Ollie shot back.

“You both didn’t let go,” you cut in, breathless, half-laughing, half-dying of secondhand embarrassment. Your hands were still awkwardly pinned between their chests, your body still nestled too comfortably between theirs. “Uhm, you guys. Can Let go y’know.”

Slowly, almost reluctantly, their hands fell away. You stepped back — or rather, peeled yourself free — cheeks blazing, breath uneven, trying very hard not to make eye contact with either of them.

“Well,” you said, smoothing your shirt, trying to regain composure. “That was… memorable.”

Ollie grinned, ever the charmer. “Wanna make it a tradition?”

Kimi looked like he might combust on the spot, but held on to the little sanity left by offering you a wobbly smile. “Buongiorno, my apologies for the little mistake, it’s nice to meet you.”

Ollie following suit finally greeting you properly giving you a final toothy grin. “Yeah sorry about all that. It’s lovely to meet you fellow rookie, hope we get close!”

Somewhere off to the side, someone coughed pointedly — several of the drivers slightly ticked at them being the first to hold you in their arms — with the moment undeniably stamped into your memory.

And though the parade was about to begin, one thing was certain: things between the three of you had already started.

From the corner of the room, Nico Hülkenberg caught sight of his rookie teammate standing stiffly by himself, eyes flicking anxiously in your direction. Gabi shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly battling with his thoughts, as if searching for the perfect words to introduce himself. He hadn’t moved since you entered the room — frozen by nerves or maybe something far deeper.

With a knowing smirk, Nico strolled over and gently tapped the younger man’s back before slinging an arm casually across his shoulders. “Look, kid,” he murmured, voice low and friendly, “if you like her, don’t waste time. Just go for it. If she likes you, great. If not… make her like you.”

Gabi grimaced, shooting him a sideways look, unimpressed by the advice. “That’s… absolutely terrible advice,” he muttered under his breath.

Nico laughed. “Worked for me once or twice.”

Before Gabi could argue back, the older driver steered him forward — arm still snug around his shoulders — walking him directly toward you like a showman unveiling his next act.

“Please don’t embarrass me,” Gabi hissed, eyes wide with panic.

But Nico didn’t hear — or didn’t care. He stopped just a foot away from you and spun the Brazilian around by the shoulders, presenting him like a prized painting in a gallery. “This here is Gabriel Bortoleto,” Nico announced proudly, his grin wide. “A rising star from Brazil, master of wet tracks, P1 in the Formula 3 championship, ANDDD P1 in Formula 2 championship, back to back! and probably the only one in this room who doesn’t use hair gel.”

You blinked, caught somewhere between amused and stunned. Gabi, meanwhile, stood beside him, straight-backed and stiff, one eye twitching dangerously.

Leaning in slightly, he bent down, close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath as he whispered, “Please ignore him. Pretend he’s on mute. If not for your sake, then for mine.”

You slapped a hand over your mouth to muffle your laugh, voice low and teasing as you replied, “Actually… I’m enjoying it. I need someone to flex my accomplishments too. Think Nico takes reservations?”

The softest laugh rumbled from Gabi’s chest, his lips parting in surprise. He opened his eyes — and found yours waiting. The proximity struck him like a spark, and suddenly, time seemed to halt. His breath caught. You were so close. His brain short-circuited.

And you just… looked at each other.

A long, loaded pause.

Nico watched the moment with a grin only a proud older brother could wear. If he’d had a camera, he’d be framing the shot.

Gabi coughed awkwardly, finally tearing his gaze away, though his face was already betraying him — pink blooming across his cheeks and climbing toward his ears. With one final, firm handshake, he managed to speak. “Can’t wait to start the season with you,” he said, the words rushed but sincere.

Then Nico ruffled your hair like an overzealous uncle. “You’ll do great, kid. Good luck out there!” he said with a dramatic thumbs-up before sauntering off.

You barely had time to catch your breath when your eyes drifted across the room… and landed on him.

If there was anyone you were truly nervous to meet — besides Alonso — it was the Lewis Hamilton.

Seven-time world champion. Global icon. Arguably the greatest face Formula 1 had ever known.

He was leaned casually against a far wall, arms crossed, head slightly tilted, as if he owned not just the room, but the moment itself. Sunglasses masked his eyes, but you could feel his gaze even if you couldn’t see it.

Unbeknownst to you, he hadn’t looked away once since the moment he stepped inside the room.

Lewis was watching. Studying. Observing each interaction you had — who made you laugh, who made you blush, who you lingered with. He was quietly calculating your chemistry like he would a racing line, making mental notes. The smallest cues didn’t escape him: the way your lips tensed when you spoke to the older drivers, the way you bit them when nervous. They looked slightly raw now — plump and flushed — and it sent his thoughts briefly spiraling to places they shouldn’t.

He cleared his throat, forcing his mind back into gear just as you began walking toward him.

Your steps were hesitant, your smile a little shy. Under his gaze, you felt impossibly small — yet excited. Nervous. Thrilled. You extended your hand to him, unsure if he’d even take it.

He did. Slowly removing his sunglasses, Lewis revealed a pair of striking eyes that locked instantly with yours.

And just as the Brit were about to speak, your nerves broke in the most unexpected way cutting him off—

“Would you like to see a picture of my hamster named Hamilton?”

A beat of silence.

Then he blinked.

And again.

A grin spread across his face, slow and absolutely radiant. His hand flew to his mouth, unable to stop the laughter that spilled out — warm and completely unguarded.

“Oh my god,” he said, nearly breathless. “That was so cute.”

You giggled, cheeks burning, quickly pulling out your phone. “He’s actually named after you, cuz y’know HAMster and HAMilton? Not the most original but I couldn’t help it.”

“I’d love to meet him,” Lewis said, leaning over your shoulder as you began scrolling through your camera roll. As you rambled on about your beloved pet, he nodded attentively, eyes occasionally drifting to you more than the screen — trying to memorize your scent, your smile, the rhythm of your voice.

Several minutes pass of you just going on a tangent on your small pet, Before he could ask more, a loud cough echoed from behind. Charles Leclerc stood nearby, tapping his watch with theatrical impatience.

Lewis sighed. “We’ll talk more about Hamilton Jr. after the race, yeah? You can talk my ear off all you want.”

You pouted dramatically. “Promise?”

He chuckled, ruffling your hair. “Plenty of time to spend together, little lady.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Then came Charles.

He reached for your hand — but instead of shaking it, he gently lifted it and brushed a kiss to your knuckles.

“It’s a delight to finally meet you, ma belle,” he said, voice velvet-smooth.

Ever too keen to finally get a chance to fully taken in your enchanting visage. Now that you were so close to him the Monegasque made certain to capture every single blemish and beauty mark that graced your face. A mole under the eye, a dimple on your cheek when you smiled, a cute freckle here and there—-

As the Monegasque was engulf in his own thoughts you too were having an inner monologue—-It was no secret that Charles was a handsome man, everyone thought it, heck even your brother admittedly said he had a man crush on him, naturally you too would see the guy as nothing short of attractive. You used to have the biggest crush on him way back in his Alfa Romeo days, remembering the time you begged your father to get you some team merch, specifically the red and white hat with Charles’ 16 racing number. It was your first piece of formula 1 merch that wasn’t a hand me down—- memories of your brother teasing you relentlessly whenever the Monegasques’ face would show up on the screen of your tv back at home.

You honestly got over the small crush years ago, but seeing him now kind of unlocked that buried box that was tucked way deep in the bowels of your brain, rekindling the old flames of a puppy crush.

Up close, he was even more dangerously handsome. You cursed your teenage self for ever having that massive crush on him, knowing full well your brother would bring it up the second he saw him. But you refused to give him the satisfaction of embarrassing you in-front of some of the worlds fastest men, nuh uh- not on your watch—

You had to act fast.

After the handshake, you leaned closer. “Mind if I whisper something in your ear?”

Charles raised an eyebrow jokingly asking. “You gonna confess your love or something?”

“Something like that… but not really,” you muttered.

Eyes wide and curious, he bent down, and you tugged him in by the arm.

“Sooo, just to warn you — I might have had a huge crush on you back in your Alfa Romeo days. Not THAT big but y’knowwww My brother will try to embarrass me, and I just… wanted to beat him to it, not a big deal or anything… also I’m begging you not to tell anyone—“

Charles went still, lips parted in surprise. The word crush echoed in his head like a favorite song on repeat. He by all means was not a childish man (most of the time) but you having an old crush on him definitely gave him a confidence boost.

He pulled back, grinning like a kid at Christmas. “No need to worry. I’m… actual extremely flattered ma belle”

He was still reeling — already dreaming up ways to use this to his advantage — when he added, voice low and teasing, “You sure you don’t still have a crush on me?”

You laughed, cheeks aflame. “Don’t push your luck, Leclerc.”

The two of you were still chuckling when Pierre Gasly approached, arms crossed.

“What did you say to him?” he asked, suspicious.

“Nothing of your concern,” Charles answered, still glowing, not planning on gloating towards the other drivers about you having a crush on him, not until the right time— this was his trump card after all, boy was he excited to see the looks on their faces if he ever decided to bring it up.

Pierre rolled his eyes before turning to you — but the second you took his hand, he observed your face, your eyes pointed with mischief, lips split into a wide smile. You’ve been waiting to do this for a long time—-

“PierreeeGASSLLLLYYYYYYYYYYYY!” you sang out like a fangirl at a concert.

Pierre doubled over laughing, wiping tears from his eyes. Remembering fondly of the last time he heard that from Daniel Riccardo, he was quick to yell out your name in the same manner, with the elongated end of your last name being echoed out. “Oh, you’re SO coming with us to karaoke. No question.”

“I was about to ask that,” you grinned. “Guess we’re on the same wavelength.”

“We’ll blow you away with our pure vocal talent.”

“I dare you to try. And while I’m at it I’ll show you boys how it’s done.” As you give him a smirk

As you parted ways, Pierre returned to Yuki with a bounce in his step.

Yuki whisper to the French man. “Has the deed been done?”

Pierre smugly looked at the Japanese man. “Mission ‘Invite Pretty Rookie to Karaoke’ — accomplished.”

“Nice one dude!” Yuki whisper yelled, fist already in the air.

Pierre grinned and bumped it with his own. “Didn’t even have to try.”

Ocon and Lance slipped in late, still caught up in their Marvel debate — Esteban animatedly recounting a plot twist while Lance nodded along, too invested to notice the minutes slipping away. Neither of them had seen your short four-minute live clip, so when they finally pushed open the door, they walked in unprepared.

At first, it was just the usual noise of the boys, laughter bouncing off the walls. But then their eyes landed on you. A smaller, unmistakably feminine figure standing in the middle of the room, bright against the sea of race suits. Both froze, mid-step, their conversation dying instantly as wide eyes locked on you.

The soft click of the door drew your attention, and when you turned, you found them staring — slack-jawed, breath caught, like they’d both forgotten how to function.

Fernando was the first to notice, smirking at the sight of his teammate gawking. He slung an arm around Lance’s shoulders, teasing,

“Careful, chico. Ask her for a picture — might last longer.”

The usually reserved Canadian let out a strangled noise in protest, his ears burning red.

Meanwhile, beside him, Ocon wasn’t faring much better. His teammate Ollie leaned close, grinning.

“Absolute beauty, isn’t she? Sweet as sugar too. Just wait till you talk to her, mate.”

Esteban tore his gaze from you long enough to blink at Ollie.

“Wait—hold on. You’re saying she’s… a driver?”

Lance, still flustered, spun at that.

“She’s a driver??”

Ollie only smirked, proud.

“Darn right. Porsche, number fifteen. Last-minute addition to the paddock — best surprise of the season if you ask me.”

You, ever the polite cat, crossed the space with a bright smile, hand outstretched. You shook Esteban’s hand first — his grip lingering just a second too long — before sliding smoothly to Lance, whose touch was hesitant, almost reverent.

By now, meeting the rest of the grid had melted away most of your nerves. Their warmth, their banter, had shown you there was no need to fear them — well, except maybe on track (looking at you, Max). The confidence bubbling in you made it easy to tease these two stragglers.

“Do you perhaps want to exchange media managers if I got here late I’d be roped into another sermon” you quipped, tilting your head playfully. “Mine’s given me so many lectures about being late I could recite them word for word.”

Both chuckled, relief flickering in their eyes. Esteban ducked his head, grinning, while Lance finally found his voice, soft but genuine.

“Guess we’ll take the sermon if it means we get to meet you.”

The interaction ended with the two of them drifting back into the group, but the regret lingered — a quiet ache that they hadn’t arrived sooner, hadn’t stolen just a little more time in your presence.

Lastly, there were the two boys clad in papaya orange. Lando and Oscar lingered in the far-right corner, claiming it as their territory, quietly conspiring while the others introduced themselves to you.

Lando, ever the nosy one, had been hunched over his phone, searching your name for any crumbs of information. Oscar had been watching the way you carried yourself instead, the way you moved. He didn’t care about articles — he wanted to know how you drove, how you’d fight him on track. The fact there was so little to find unsettled him. You were a complete unknown.

And unknowns were dangerous.

Because you’d skipped the usual European ladder. No karting here, no Formula 3 or 2 campaigns. Instead, you’d carved your name in Japan — Super Formula champion, runner-up the year before, fourth the year before that. Respectable, but quiet. A shadow climbing the ranks until suddenly, here you were, in the same room, about to stand on the same grid.

“Hey!” Lando suddenly called out, his voice breaking through the hum of chatter. He grinned when you turned. “Don’t forget about us. Save the best for last, yeah?”

The invitation was unmistakable. Being last had been their plan all along.

You walked toward them, cheeks still warm from all the attention, but when Lando reached out for your hand, his grin turned mischievous.

“Finally,” he said, giving your hand a firm shake that bordered on a tug. “Thought you were avoiding us. Can’t say I’d blame you though—Oscar’s a bit scary.”

Oscar rolled his eyes, but you laughed softly, nerves easing. “Avoid you? Please. I was just giving you two time to rehearse your lines.”

Lando’s eyebrows shot up, amused. “Oh, so you think I’d need to rehearse? Come on, I’ve been practicing charm since karting. I could flirt in my sleep.”

“Keyword being could,” you teased, and that earned a few chuckles from the drivers still eavesdropping nearby.

“Cheeky,” he murmured, leaning closer, his grin crooked. “I like it.”

His grin was wide, borderline flirtatious, as his palm swallowed yours. His hand was massive compared to yours — warm, solid, fingers wrapping all the way around until yours disappeared inside his. The sheer size difference made your pulse skip, a quiet little flutter that you tried to ignore.

“You’ve got some competition for the best handshake, Norris,” you teased lightly, but his smirk only deepened.

But before the teasing could spiral further, Oscar stepped forward, catching your other hand. The shift was subtle but immediate — Lando’s warmth and banter faded into the background as your gaze met Oscar’s.

Everything about him was different. Where Lando radiated brightness, Oscar carried quiet gravity. His hand wrapped around yours, steady, deliberate, and you felt it deep in your chest.

“Your driving intrigues me,” you told him honestly, voice dipping low. “I’ve been waiting a long time to race you.”

Oscar’s composure flickered, just barely — a quick widening of his eyes, the faintest tightening of his jaw. If you weren’t staring so intently, you might have missed it.

What he didn’t know was that he wasn’t just another rival to you. You’d studied him for years, since his Formula 3 debut. Back in your super formula season, when your emotions had burned too hot and your engineers urged you to control them, you’d turned to him. Calm, clinical, unshakable Oscar Piastri was your muse, you couldn’t count the hours you poured into studying his race craft, rewatching several of his races late into the night. You’d built parts of your own style from his — your yin to his yang, your fire tempered by his ice. You admired his calm demeanor.

He had no idea, but he’d been with you every step of your climb. And now, for the first time, you were finally looking at him without the helmet.

And God, he was—

When did he get so… attractive?

The thought flustered you, warmth blooming across your cheeks, but you didn’t look away. You couldn’t.

Oscar felt it too — the pull, the magnetism, the way the room seemed to shrink until it was just the two of you. He’d never admit it out loud, but he was caught. Hooked.

Lando cleared his throat loudly, breaking the spell. “Alright, alright, stop flirting with your eyes, yeah? My feelings are getting hurt over here.”

Your blush deepened as you laughed nervously, but Lando wasn’t done. He hooked his arm around your shoulder, pulling you lightly against his side. “Don’t waste all that intensity on Mr. Stoic. You’ll find I’m much better company. And much cuter.”

Oscar shot him a look sharp enough to cut steel. You, sandwiched between their very different energies, could only grin and shake your head.

“Guess I’ll just have to see who lives up to the talk on track,” you said, pulling free and holding both of their gazes in turn.

It was playful, but the undertone was clear: you weren’t here to pick favorites. You were here to race.

Still, the air between you three thrummed with something unspoken — Lando’s easy charm tugging you one way, Oscar’s quiet intensity pulling the other. For the first time that night, you weren’t sure which pull was stronger.

===================================

Authors Note: Next post is gonna be a new series, it’s still a part of the Racing Hearts Series universe, but focused on specific moments that happen on the paddock, think of it as a sub series for Racing hearts! It’s a way to get my smaller writing ideas for specific drivers without having to write a long form fic just for that moment :)) if your enjoying racing hearts I highly suggest you keep an eye out for it when I do post it

Another thing to note is that Chapter 4 for ‘RHS’ will be shorter as it will just be about the drivers parade :))

Lastly, I’m trying to improve my writing, make it have a smoother flow and polish the over all reading experience of it, I have a tendency of making a wall of text if I have too many ideas, so I hope the improvement is noticeable! Ty again for the support <33

xoxo- Victoria

PS: OSCAR CRASHEDDDD NOOOOOOOO, also I want Taco Bell desperately to quell the pain of bb crashing 😔

Taglist: @lottie810 @malphaspeverii @hlmzsbl @hlydia111

Episode # 1

: { The face that launched a thousand cars }

==================================

==================================

Synopsis:

Readers! first race and immediately the whole paddock is whipped for her. Reader is a driver for the Porsche F1 racing team and has been kept a secret. Finally a sneaky Camera man captures her first true appearance in the paddock and the rest of the grid are head over heels.

Pairing:

Various F1 Grid x You

Warnings:

None/ fluff/ and just cute scenarios!

Other things to note:

- This will be a series so expect more scenarios in the future of reader and her speedy adventures with the grid.

-Sometimes this series will focus on specific drivers. And I want to make this clear that none of this is accurate nor do I claim to know all the ins and outs of f1 I simply want to make a fun read!

-Reader races for the Porsche F1 Racing team with the number 15 (yes I’m aware this team does not exist but I wanted to add this is so I wouldn’t have to worry about removing anyone from the grid if I decided to write about them)

-the only physical description of reader I may include sometimes is the height but if your are a tall girlie I encourage you to just over look this extremely minor detail :)) I’ll try my best to avoid using it but it slips from my head at times

Happy reading!

==================================

A bright and sunny day at the paddock and the start of a new season. New cars, new racing uniforms, new helmets, new racing numbers, and new rookies-

Speaking of new rookies, there you go a bright eyed new rookie running through the paddock, dodging and weaving through the bustling crowd of formula 1 fans clad in various race team jerseys. Being a new rookie you refused to make a bad impression so for some reason the first idea that popped in your head was to just completely avoid all media attention until you get in your f1 car and let your driving do all the talking.

Not wanting to have to suffer at the hand of the media swarm that was bound to come with the obvious questions of “what’s it like to be a female in formula one?” OR “how do you think you’ll perform in a male dominated field” you came strolling into the paddock fully decked out in your classic running from the paparazzi disguise —big bug-eyed shades that covered nearly 60% of your face, a oversized hoodie pulled over your head, and legs (despite being shorter than yuki’s) that ran like Usain Bolt towards Porsche hospitality.

Breath ragged and short you slammed the door behind you with an awkwardly grin and wave. Everyone in Porsche hospitality turned to you startled by the bang but ultimately used to your fashionably late arrivals. But for safe measures you remove all your disguise not wanting them to mistake you as a rogue fan trying to take a sneak peak at the new Porsche rookie then you wheezed out a breathy “IM HERE”

(If your wondering yes you got up late: you have no self control and binge watched top gear till 4 am)

Sneakily making your way towards your motorhome you fixed up your slightly messed up makeup and lightly frizzed out hair and threw on your race gear to test it out and make sure it fits right. Walking out towards the Porsche garage your team principal Patricia threw your helmet towards you, a sleek design and the number 15 gleaming proudly on your helmet, you grin so widely your cheeks start to hurt while you stared at the smooth surface that now held the design you made, a physical symbol of your mark in formula one history. Simply taking time admiring it as the shiny new surface glinted against the lights in the garage, matching your starry eyes.

Though you found the whole paddock a tad bit overwhelming you acclimatize fast and slowly lowered your guard allowing yourself to ease into your first bustling formula1 Grand Prix. Looking around you took in your dedicated garage clad with your name, racing number, and photos. Even on the blankets of the tires of your car held the first letters of your first and last name in a simple white text.

Mentally talking to yourself, ‘normally all this would be embarrassing ’. While gazing at yourself doing a slightly cringey pose plastered on a big board on the wall but right at this very moment you felt real, seen and proud. No amount of embarrassment could ruin this moment. You made it. You made it into formula one.

There you were sanding idly in your own world trying to get into focus, your weight shifting from one foot to another as you stared at your car you failed to notice the camera man who’s been hopping around the paddock filming the different grid drivers on the big screen sneakily peaking into your number 15 garage camera in hand pointed towards you like a ninja getting ready to assassinate their target.

There you were in all your glory—- Almost like the world stilled and time stopped. You could almost hear a pin drop on the floor from the sudden deafening silence. Your face appeared on the big screen everyone inhaled and held their breath forgetting how to breath the moment their eyes landed on you, the new female rookie racing for Porsche. Your face was relaxed and slightly turned to the side, an almost inviting ghost of a smile painted your face, completely unaware, but completely in your zone. An enticing curve to the corners of your lips almost as if your were pouting, because you were standing towards the back of your garage the indirect sunlight created an almost ethereal like glow around you, not quite hitting your face but completely highlighting your features. You were a fine artists’ master piece on the big screen, like Da Vinci handled a paint brush making sure every brush stroke he did on the canvas was deliberate and done for the soul purpose to take one’s breath.

You were absolutely Mesmeric

No one saw this coming, no one expected it. Porsche knew what they were doing. Call it genius marketing if you will. When you joined the Porsche racing team everyone knew you were a one of a kind beauty, the type one would see on vacation and never again. The moment you signed your contract, Porsche hid you completely from the world, they knew that keeping you secret would make your reveal viral, putting the new racing team on the front page of every platform and to create a ripple, an absolute shock to the formula one world.

Like I said marketing genius— because it most certainly worked.

You weren’t as tall as a model walking on a runway, neither were you built like a pop star, but you were you. Something about your aura, facade and demeanor. you made people blank out. The kind of beauty that doesn’t realize just how much power they hold. The cheering in the stands along the race track ceased completely the moment the camera cut to you, everyone simply wanting to admire the beauty being displayed and for once the f1 community seems to agree on one thing. That you were a sight to behold.

In the McLaren garage a *clang* of a wrench being dropped on the floor could be heard as one of the McLaren engineers dropped everything to stare at the screen in the garage, confused the two papaya boys who were previously in a conversation watched in confusion as the wrench made contact with the floor. Worried at the sudden change in the engineer the two boys walked towards him to check if he was okay. The engineer silently made eye contact with Oscar then to Lando and pointed towards the screen that held your delicate face.

Oscars breath —-hitched as Lando muttered a breathy —-“wow”

The two papaya boys looked as if they were in a museum admiring a painting that long existed before them. Their hearts raced and their pupils were set on you like the checkered flag. They knew that this race season just got hell of a lot more interesting, with another trophy other than the world champion cup coming into sight for them both.

Along the paddock Lewis and Charles were drinking coffee together playing chess to pass the time till drivers parade started. Lewis was laughing at Charles for making a rookie chess mistake, tears pricked his eyes but as he leaned back his peripheral vision caught you. Behind Charles’ head was a screen with your face unknowingly scrunching your nose cutely. Referencing Charles rookie chess mistake Lewis muttered “speaking of rookie, she’s gorgeous”

Charles tilted his head confused at his new teammate, one moment he was staring at a man cracking about a cheesy chess joke now he was staring at a man who straight up looked like he was ready to propose to the love of his life. Following Lewis’ line of sight he turned in his seat while drinking his coffee. Charles none the wiser harshly coughed into his coffee cup, the warm liquid suddenly feeling like lava. The moment he looked at the screen his English ceased roughly coughing out a strained “Putain” and his body paused. The moment was slow motion to the Monegasque. The curve of your glossy pink lips to the sight of your fluttering eyelashes that framed your deep pupils. His eyes diluted and wide. Truly, he knew he just experienced love at first sight.

Both the Ferrari boys knew they found a mother to their furry companions Leo and Roscoe , their racing hearts a testament to their love struck faces.

A few ways away in the Mercedes garage stood Kimi Antonelli standing so still it’s as if he was participating in the mannequin challenge looking as if he’s been hypnotized by a hypnotist standing in-front of one of the live broadcast screens. George walks into Kimi’s garage looking for said rookie. Calling out for the young boy George is met with nothing, confused at the silence, fully used to Kimi being like a lost puppy quick to respond to his name, started looking for him.

Walking around the garage he finally finds Kimi “Hey Kimi you ready for the drivers parade?…”

No response from the rookie. As George gets closer to the rookie his brows furrow wondering what’s gotten into him“Hey buddy you oka-“ the British man completely blanks, finally reaching Kimi’s side he stumbles a bit muttering a thickly accented “crickey, think I’m smitten” infront of him and Kimi once again was a screen with your goddess-like appearance quickly rendering the Mercedes boys cemented to the ground.

Kimi still silent turns to his older team mate, eyes almost glossy, cheeks so red that it can rival a little boy in preschool trying to give a flower to his crush. Looking George dead in the eye the rookie says “how am I going to race when she’s here, she’ll see all my mistakes!”

The two Mercedes boys start rambling about the new female rookie like they were two high-school boys hyping each other up to ask a female classmate to the school dance. Both of their hearts racing as if they’re already going 200mph yet they’re simply standing and staring in-front of an idle screen.

All the way back at the paddock entrance, Max Verstappen grumbles under his breath once again annoyed at the overbearing media crowding him simply wanting to get a lovely start to this f1 season. While the current world champion briskly got half way through the paddock his feet found no reason to run and he slow down his steps realizing that the once swarming interviewers were gone. Perplexed by the lacking presence of a mob of interviewers he turned and saw the crowd of media now focused on a live broadcast screen a few meters away from where he stood, squinting to try and see what they’d stop to stare at he let out an almost happy huff. Grateful for the sudden period of peace and fresh air he shrugged off the odd occurrence making his way into the Red Bull hospitality area where he mentioned the media pen leaving him alone to Yuki.

Yuki immediately knowing why the media completely swerved away from the multiple world champion, then pushes his phone into the face of the reigning winner. “This is why you were spared from the swarm”

Max haphazardly grabbing the way-too-close phone adjusting his eyes to focus on the screen was greeted by your divine visage. Your whole person was threateningly alluring. His eyes flickered from one feature on your face to another it’s as if he was memorizing your silhouette like a racing circuit on his racing sim. This man knew that you would be a danger to him on the track a distraction a very pretty distraction. Snapping out of his daze, he took a big gulp of air not realizing that he held his breath as if he was scared to acknowledge your presence. Afraid at the fact that his heart is racing.

Yuki wanting to admire you more yanks his phone back from the suddenly tight grip of Max whining out “oi it’s my turn” then he jokingly said “and don’t forget to thank her for saving you from media crap”.

Inside Alonso’s motor home held some of the new rookies looking to get a few more words of wisdom from the old rookie Fernando. A glance inside the motorhome would give you the sight of Gab, Franco, Isack, Ollie, Liam, and Jack all crammed in the small space waiting on Kimi to arrive.

Unbeknownst to them Kimi was currently cemented to his garage floor completely entranced by your whole being on the screen, the one thing snapping him out of it being his phone ringing with Ollie’s face popping up on the screen. Picking up the phone Ollie’s slightly annoyed voice is first to greet him along with the rest of the rookies asking where he’s at, reminding him of the quick rookie get together before drivers parade.

Kimi is quick to dash towards Fernando’s motorhome wanting to inform them of the beauty they’re currently missing like a school boy wanting to introduce his friends to his crush. Quickly clicking to the live feed on his phone to show the rest of the rookies. Hoping into the small space with the rest of the rookies Kimi rambles an incoherent and extremely accented “you guys have to see her”

Ollie is first to peer at the phone already completely gawking, and blabbering out what could only be described as gibberish. Then the Bear was transformed into a cub just by gazing at you through a screen.

Isack poking fun at the British rookies gibberish follows suit immediately cutting off his wheezing replacing it with him grabbing the fabric of his shirt right above his heart as if Cupid just shot him.

Gab getting more curious by the second jumps for the phone next and quickly joins the rest of the affected rookies going completely slack jawed and almost star struck.

Franco and Jack look towards each other both making the expression of skepticism fully expecting this to be a prank then looked over Gabs shoulder and as expected joins in on the admiration for the female rookie.

As the circle of male rookies gather around the young Mercedes drivers phone, much like the rest of the paddock, the rowdy 2025 rookies suddenly quiet down as if a teacher scolded them, once again your presence claims more victims leaving the circle of rookies a lightly blushing mess and with racing hearts , now all painfully aware of your existence by them as a fellow rookie.

(Fernando looks at the boys a light laugh leaves his lips as he leave them to their simping ppfftt)

Meanwhile Pierre has been roped into just staring at her after yuki ran towards him and practically threw his phone at the French man’s face. Normally Pierre wouldn’t enjoy sitting still at all but just this once an alluring rookie manages to keep him in place.

Around the corner Carlos makes his way into his garage planning to scroll while waiting for the parade is then greeted by an eerily silent garage as opposed to the normally booming atmosphere. Seeing his whole racing team gathered around the screen wondering if this was just part of the Williams experience made his way to peak over his engineers shoulder. Unable to see what all the fuss was about he went over to Alex’s garage to ask if this was a normal occurrence.

Alex being the chronically online king he was knew about the mystery driver racing for Porsche, surprisingly he managed to find some blurry pictures of you, sure you were pretty but seeing you in real life was a completely different experience. Alex then pulled Carlos to peak around the wall separating the Williams garage from the Porsche garage and nudged his head towards your direction. Mouthing out “she’s got everyone in a chokehold” Carlos trying his best to peak around the wall nearly falls straight down to his knees the moment his eyes nearly make eye contact with yours. “Ay dios mío, I think I just stared into the eyes of an angel” as he sat on the floor of the Williams garage with Alex he can almost feel your presence through the wall, a wall that suddenly feels an inch too thin scared that you just might hear their hearts racing in their chests.

Completely oblivious to the sudden silence around you trapped in your own world waiting for drivers parade.

Little did you know you were a mortal danger to the grid men.

==================================

Authors note:

Yay! You reached the end!

Hope this wasn’t too much of a long read and you enjoyed this fun little fanfic. This was done purely for fun and to make y’all feel pretty!

Anywho! Have a great day and thanks for taking the time to read, it’s greatly appreciated and if you have any suggestions for what happens in episode 2 feel free to mention it :))

xoxo- Victoria

PS: sorry for any grammar mistakes

Disclaimer: English is NOT my first language. Forgive me for any typo(s), grammatical errors, and such.

This is RAW and not read proof.

It is also my very first fanfiction. So kinda nervous over here. Have some mercy on me, please.

☆ Summary: You're being forced to watch F1 in Italy with your gay best friend who's obsessed with F1. When the camera man filmed you on big screen, everyone was dying to know who you are. And by everyone it means EVERYONE. Yes, including all the drivers and people behind it.

☆ Genre: slice of life, fluff, comedy (maybe?), non f1 fan!reader.

☆ Characters: LH44, CL16, LN4, OP81, CS55, AA23, GR63, KA12, MV1, YT22, LS12, FA18, LL60, IH6, NH27, GB5, EO31, OB87, PG10, FC43 + All TPs!

☆ WARNING: nothing except for my English and grammar, BAD and POOR translation, mention of y/n, female!reader and/or reader is using feminine pronouns, semi headcanons, slightly mention of kpop, and some Original Characters (OC) for the storyline!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four

Chapter 5: Curiosity Kills the Cat and Now I Am Dead (I'm Not the Cat)

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

George clicks on the user emirnotemir since it's not private and he starts to scroll all of his tweets. Now, this might make him sounds like a creep, but hey, he's just a normal curious guy. People says that curiosity kills the cat, but to George, satisfaction will bring it back.

There's not much he can find actually. This emirnotemir account mostly tweets about fashion, retweeting F1 and F1 fan account tweets, his hatred towards FIA (which made George laugh for good) and his interactions with his friends especially with the user oatmilked.

George sighs when he clicked that username because the account is private. The display name being 'military wife' doesn't help either, and who the hell is Jaehyun in the bio?

So George short 'stalking' session ends up with nothing. He even scrolled back to the user emirnotemir, but unfortunately out of 10,3K tweets that he made, not once he mention the name of the user oatmilked when they interact.

George stares at his phone screen that's now showing the profile account of the user oatmilked, he sighs again and then decided to end the stalking session, not knowing that his thumb accidentally clicked on the follow button—which it means he just sent a follow request—when he wants to lock his phone.

George gets up and shoves his phone to his pocket before joining Max and Pierre to play air hockey, not realizing what kind of mental damage he just gave you.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

"Go. I'll wait here," you say to Emir and push him to the changing room.

After breakfast and a short mental breakdown from that guy named George Russell who tweeted something about you earlier, you and Emir took a bus ride to this area that's known to have a lot of small but good stores.

As you sit yourself on the sofa of the store that you and Emir stumbled upon, you hear a notification sound from your phone.

Your eyes widen in shock and your mouth is hanging open as you see the new notification.

Your brain is still processing what you just saw that you didn't realize Emir is standing in front of you. "What do you think?" he asks.

"This is bad."

"Wait, really? I thought this shirt looks good on me," Emir huffs. You blink several times and shake your head. "I'm not talking about your shirt. Wait, I think I'm gonna puke." You cover your mouth as you shut your eyes.

Emir looks at you confused. "Are you okay?" He touches your shoulder. You shake your head and hand him your phone.

"What? Who do you want me to call?"

"No. Look at the notification!" You massage your temple. Now you look completely stressed out.

Emir presses the lock button and immediately his jaw drops.

"What the hell?!" He shrieks. He looks completely flabbergasted. He then looks at you in pity. "Ar... Are... Are you okay?" he asks.

You look up at him, your hands is covering your mouth. You shake your head. "I'm having my second mental breakdown right now. Do you have water?"

Emir sighs and gives you your water bottle that you always bring with you.

"I don't know that he's THAT curious about you, girl. Damn."

"How the hell did he find my account?!" you exclaim, chugging your water.

"Could it be because our friends tagged your account so many times?"

"No... No... They didn't say anything about it, though. All of their tweets didn't say anything about me being that girl, Em."

Emir presses his lips. "Well, you know... People tend to make connections and theories. And it's not that hard to do, you know? Maybe he found a theory and cracked the code."

You groan. You can feel a headache is coming.

"And if I don't accept his follow request, you, as an F1 fan, will you consider me rude?"

"Well, if I don't know you and if I don't love you, I'd say that you just insulted the whole fandom. But since I love you and you're my best friend, I'd say that it's okay, I guess," he answers. You glare at him.

"You're so annoying!"

"Just saying! Anyone would kill to experience this! This is like wattpad stories and tumblr fictions comes true, you know!"

You chuckle at his response and push him. "I need ibuprofen, though. Give me one," you say and stick your hand out at him.

He rolls his eyes and grabs his medicine box. "What will you do without me, huh?"

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

"So George, did you find anything about her? I saw your last tweet. What do you mean by 'noticing'?" Alex asks.

All of them is hanging out in the game room now. Some of them will fly back to Monaco later in the evening, so this is their 'last group meeting' before they go back to their own schedule and before they see each other again in Baku.

George shakes his head. Some of the drivers can't even hide the disappointments in their eyes when they see George shaking his head.

"There are some accounts that kept tagging the same two usernames in my tweet in which I found kind of weird because they tagged them multiple times and their tweets seemed like they're teasing or something. But when I checked—more like stalked, I admit—those account, one is a private account and one is not, one of the account didn't tweet anything about coming to the race. Although it seems like they're a fan, but they didn't tweet anything about being in Monza.

"And as I said, one of the account is private and they don't put their name on the display name. So I found nothing, really," he tells and they sighs as the response.

"What are their usernames?" Yuki asks, pulling his phone from his pocket.

"The one that I stalked is emirnotemir and the private one is oatmilked with -ed at the end."

Some of them, well mostly the rookies, starts typing on their phones, searching the two accounts.

"Wait! The user oatmilked is a fan of Jaehyun! Although, I'm not sure which Jaehyun, since there are a lot of Jaehyuns," Yuki exclaims. The others looks at him with their eyebrows furrowed.

"Yeah... About him, who is Jaehyun?" George asks.

"I believe he is a k-pop idol. But I don't know from which group, because I know there are a lot of them with the same name," Yuki replies and they still stares at him dumbfounded.

Gabriel blinks, still don't get it. "I still don't understand."

Yuki waves his hands. "Aahh, forget it!" He rolls his eyes.

*P.s.: read the tweet from the bottom to the top. Left to right = latest to oldest.

"Well, I just stalked the other one and yes, I can't find anything about the race yesterday. But tweet that says 'Crazy week, indeed' is a bit suspicious now. Especially when he tweet that after retweeting George's tweet," Isack says, still scrolling. "And yes, he and the username oatmilked seems really close," he continues.

"And look at his reply on this tweet! It's kind of weird, no?" Isack shows his screen to George. The others immediately leans in to see it too.

"Yeah, no context and just that," Pierre nods. Everyone also hums, agreeing.

Lewis who's been quiet the whole time suddenly laughs. Everyone turns at him.

"I'm sorry lads, but I just realized that all of us looks like either a group of detective wannabes or a bunch of curious cats," Lewis says, finishing his laugh.

Hearing that makes everyone turns red. They didn't realize that they do sounds like a bunch of teenagers who are curious about this new girl in school or something.

Lando scratches his head, looks embarrassed. "This doesn't make us creepy, right?"

Fernando shakes his head. "Nah... Just completely desperate and a bit pathetic. Which is true, no?" he says, sipping his water.

"Now that you said it, I really can't believe us doing all of this for a random girl in a race yesterday. We are F1 drivers, what are we doing?" Max mutters, sounds completely confused to himself as well.

"I don't know about you guys, but to my defense, she's so pretty and attractive. My curiosity is valid," Charles says while raising his point finger.

"Hermano, I believe that is the only reason why we are all doing this. You're not the only one." Carlos smirks and shakes his head.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

After few hours of shopping—once you calmed down and your short mental breakdown is over, of course—you and Emir decided to take a rest in this restaurant nearby. Lunch time is almost over, so luckily the restaurant is not as packed.

"Where do you think we should go to find Milan's shoes? That Adidas shoes is kinda hard to find," you ask, putting down your sunglasses.

"Mmm, there are some other places we haven't visited yet. Let's go there after this," Emir answers as he opens his phone.

Emir scrolls down his social media while waiting for the foods. "Do you know that people are still looking for you?"

"What is it again?" You groan. You rest your head on the table.

"Nah, they're still talking about you... You know, curious. Some even says that you're probably a hidden WAG."

You pucker your lips and you furrow your eyebrows. "What is a WAG?"

"Wife and Girlfriend."

"Is that an actual term?" You tilt your head.

Emir nods. "Usually for athletes, though."

You roll your eyes and huff. "Seriously? Bruh, this sport is not real."

"Hey, stop it! You've been insulting F1 since yesterday, do not make me insult your k-pop thingy back!" Emir protests, kicking your feet under the table.

"Sorry, okay!" You raise your hands in defeat.

Emir just rolls his eyes and back on his phone.

"HA! Look at this! You're really a celebrity now!" Emir slaps your arm and shoves his phone onto your face.

"Please, not again!" you groan and grab his phone.

"WHAT THE ACTUAL F—"

Emir immediately covers your mouth before you could finish your words. He glares at you. "We're in a restaurant, stupid! Mind your words!" He grits his teeth.

You push his hand away. "Seriously?! That's scary as hell, Em! I feel like I'm being watched!"

"Oh, come on! They didn't mention our specific location and look at her last sentence! They wanted to say hi but they knew you'd be scared. They're actually nice and careful." Emir shrugs his shoulders. "You always love making friends with strangers, remember? You always love it when they compliments your outfit," he adds.

You blow the strands of hair that fell in front of your face. "Well, I do! I still do! But not like this! I love making new friends with people who share the same likings as I do. And in this case? I don't. I don't like F1. And can you imagine what kind of things that people would say once they know that I'm not even an F1 fan but I'm getting all of this attention? And to make it even worse from all the drivers too?"

You take a deep breath and let it out softly.

"It would be unfair, you know? For all of the other fans. I'm a fan too, remember? And I'd be pissed as hell if my bias didn't notice me but they noticed someone who's not even a fan of them."

Emir sighs and smiles softly at you. He ruffles your hair. "You're being worried of things that don't even happen yet, Y/n."

"Yes, that would be totally unfair. But, you didn't ask for all of this. It's out of your control. People are the one who started this. Not you. If they want to blame, they should blame that cameraman. And please, do not compare F1 fandom to k-pop fandom. It's different. Although, I know and I believe there are some annoying and way too obsessed F1 fans out there just like k-pop fans too, but F1 is more... Chill? I guess. Annoying and jealous fans are in every single fandom, they cannot be avoided. But the normal ones? There are a lot too!"

"Ugh... I know... But I'm just scared, because I don't know what F1 fans are like."

"Oh girl, no need to worry about them!"

"But this is still stressing me out."

"I know and that's completely valid. If you're really disturbed by all of this, you should say something still. Like, let them know that you're not a public figure like they think you are and kindly tell them to stop hunting you down."

You nod at his suggestion. "Well, I guess I could do that."

"But you know what? If F1 drivers wants to be your friend or at least be on your mutual list, just let them be."

You raise your eyebrow at him. "Are you crazy?"

"I mean, come on! It wouldn't hurt to be their friends? It's not like as if you guys will meet or whatsoever? Just be mutuals. On social media. Most of them lives in Monaco and none of them live in Edinburgh. So, you're safe."

"That's still a bad idea, you know."

"I say IF. If they're really curious about you and genuinely want to know you."

You nod your head and sigh. "Yeah... If... I hope they don't, though."

Emir just chuckles. "Now, don't be all negative and anxious. You're gonna ruin my vibes!"

You mock him and then both of you laugh together.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

As you and Emir walking down the street while talking about some fashion stuff, you point your fingers to a gelato shop across the street.

"Gelato!" You shout excitedly. You drag Emir to that gelato shop and wait behind a woman with her little daughter.

"What flavor do you want? It says you can pick two." You nudge Emir and point at the menu board.

While you and Emir busy deciding which flavor to choose, suddenly two girls approach you and Emir and stands next to you.

"Hi."

You glance to the side and look at the two girls that you assume is around your age too. Or maybe slightly younger than you.

"Umm... Yeah?" you ask and smile at them.

"I'm sorry if we sound creepy or if we scare you, we don't mean to... But if you don't mind me asking, are you that girl on F1 big screen yesterday?" one of the girl asks. They look nervous and anxious. Your smile slightly fade away.

Emir is holding his laugh, glancing at you and nudges your arm.

You press your lips and scratch the bridge of your nose. You take a deep breath and let it out with a faint chuckle. "Well... That would be me. Hahaha. Hello."

"Oh my gosh! It's really you!" they shrieks happily, slightly jumps in joy.

You flinch a little and blink few times.

"I'm sorry we didn't mean to scare you! And if you're worried, no, we didn't follow you around! We saw you walking across here from that shop," the girl says, pointing at the store right next to the gelato shop.

You just nod your head. Well, this is awkward for you.

"Ummm, what's you name?" one of them asks. You press your lips again, looking hesitant to answer it.

The other girl shakes her head and say, "you know what? You don't have to answer that. We get it if you're uncomfortable. It must be scary to have all of the attention out of the sudden!"

You smile wide. It reach your eyes. You feel relieved.

"I'm sorry. It's just a bit too much, you know. But um, I mean, I can tell you my name, but if you can do me a favor, please do not share it," you say, feeling bad for some reason.

"No, no! It's fine! But umm, can we take a picture with you? I mean, George is looking for you and I believe all of the other drivers too. We just want to mock them for meeting you first. If you don't mind us upload it too, of course!" They stares at you with hope in their eyes like as i you're some kind of their inspiration or something.

You look at Emir, silently asking him. And he just nods his head one time, signaling that it's fine.

You sigh softly and then nod. "Sure. But if you want to upload it or tell people about our meeting, can you do that few hours after this? You know... For safety."

The two girls immediately nods their heads. "Of course! Don't worry about it! I'll upload it later at night!"

"Okay, cool! Thank you for your understanding," you reply. The girls just smiles and nods.

"Here, let me take the pictures of you guys!" Emir says as one of them handed him her phone.

"Thank you... Are you guys couple?" one of them asks.

You look at her in horror. "Me? And him? No, no! He's my best friend and he's gay and happily in love with his boyfriend."

The two girls nods and smiles at Emir. "Oh my gosh! How cute!"

Emir laughs. "Thanks, darling! Now, come on let's take a picture!"

You smile nervously. Oh God.

Here goes nothing!

TO BE CONTINUED! 🩷🏁

Let me know what you guys think! See you in next chapter! <3

Disclaimer: English is NOT my first language. Forgive me for any typo(s), grammatical errors, and such.

This is RAW and not read proof.

It is also my very first fanfiction. So kinda nervous over here. Have some mercy on me, please.

☆ Summary: You're being forced to watch F1 in Italy with your gay best friend who's obsessed with F1. When the camera man filmed you on big screen, everyone was dying to know who you are. And by everyone it means EVERYONE. Yes, including all the drivers and people behind it.

☆ Genre: slice of life, fluff, comedy (maybe?), non f1 fan!reader.

☆ Characters: LH44, CL16, LN4, OP81, CS55, AA23, GR63, KA12, MV1, YT22, LS12, FA18, LL60, IH6, NH27, GB5, EO31, OB87, PG10, FC43 + All TPs!

☆ WARNING: nothing except for my English and grammar, BAD and POOR translation, mention of y/n, female!reader and/or reader is using feminine pronouns, semi headcanons, slightly mention of kpop, and some Original Characters (OC) for the storyline!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Chapters: One | Two | Three

Chapter 4: Respectfully, F1 Drivers Are Not Real.

It's currently 8AM, the sun is out, it seems like it's gonna be another sunny day, which you don't mind at all, and you're sitting on the floor while doing your make up peacefully. As you're applying your blush on, Emir helps you blowing your hair.

"You know, for someone who is going viral right now, you're pretty calm," Emir says.

You sigh and snap your head to face him. "Do you really have to remind me that this early? I'm trying to forget it!"

"Girl, I have to constantly remind you that! What are you going to do about it?"

You furrow your eyebrows, totally confused by his question.

"What do you mean, what I'm gonna do about it? NOTHING! I'm doing NOTHING!"

Emir gasps at your answer. His mouth is wide open like you just insult him. "Excuse you?! All of the F1 drivers knows your existence and you're not doing anything about it?!"

You huff and shake your head.

"Like I said last night, I'm not interested and I couldn't care less," you mutter as you get up.

"But-" you shush him immediately as you pose in front of him. "How do I look? How's my outfit?"

Emir glares at you. "You look beautiful and your outfit is on point. Can we go now? I'm hungry and desperately need my coffee."

"Sure! Let's go!"

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

All of the drivers is staring at George who's sitting and sipping on his cup of tea calmly like he didn't do anything.

"Must be hell to be your PR team," Lewis chuckles and shakes his head in disbelief. George just shrugs his shoulder, clearly do not care at all.

"Toto didn't say anything after you did that?" Max asks him.

George raises his phone in the air. "No message!"

All of them just shakes their head. Some is smiling and giggling, the others just sighs as the leans back.

"If we get her name by the end of this day, you're the MVP, George!" Isack grins at him.

George just smirks. But then the smirk didn't last long.

"But, what if you scare her? The fact that it's the next day and we still don't know her name, it means that she's keeping her identity. What if we scare her?" Ollie says.

And that's when the room fell silent. Everyone is staring at the rookie.

Ollie scratches his head. "I mean like, you know... Well, I was just saying."

Lewis smiles softly. "Nah, you make a good point, buddy. But then again, the buzz hasn't stopped since yesterday, even after the race was over. Also, George's tweet sounds a lot more playful rather than serious. I believe everyone see it as a mere joke."

Ollie nods at his response, so does the others. They seem relieved after hearing Lewis' answer.

"Let's just make a deal, then. If by the end of the day we still don't get her name, we should just accept it and move on. Let's respect her privacy," Fernando says.

The silence fills the air for almost a whole minute as everyone is lost in thought. Lewis then breaks it as the first person to agree.

"Sure. Let's do that," he nods.

George is slightly pouting but then nods. "Okay, I guess."

Although some seem a bit hesitant, but then they're all agree in the end.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

"Tissue, please," you ask Emir. As he sips his iced vanilla latte, he gives you some tissues. You mutter a thank you and wipe your mouth.

"Where do you want to go after this?" you stir your iced matcha latte, eyeing him.

Last night, you told him to make an itinerary for today. It's his trip, so you just let him.

"Yo! What's going on with my notifications? Why is everyone tagging me and you?"

You look at him confused. "What do you mean?"

You grab your phone on the table and when you open it, your mouth is open wide.

"GIRL?!" Emir exclaims and then laughs at you. He touches your chin up. Making your mouth shut.

"Who the hell is George Russell?!"

Emir sighs. "I literally told you about him last night? He's an F1 driver! For Mercedes! Remember?"

You purse your lips into an 'O' and you nod your head. "Oh."

Emir chuckles and shakes his head. "Damn, all of the F1 drivers really want to know who you are."

"Bruh, what is F1 even about? And respectfully? They're all not real. Why are they curious over a random girl?" You tilt your head in confusion.

"Babe, you don't forbid a bunch of hot and talented men to be curious about the prettiest woman in Monza GP yesterday? That's rude!" Emir slaps your hand playfully.

"If they're k-pop idols, the whole world would eat them alive and then their career is done." You shake your head and grab your matcha latte and sip it.

"And that's why they're better than k-pop idols, darling!" Emir winks at you. You roll your eyes.

"Whatever!" you reply lazily. You glance back to your phone and reply some of your friends tweet. Not all of it, because your friends tagged you and Emir a lot and multiple times.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Breakfast time is over. Some of the drivers back to their rooms, some of them are hanging out by the pool, some just roaming around, and the rest are hanging out in a game room, enjoying the air conditioner.

George is sitting on the sofa in the game room, scrolling his notifications tab to see if there's anyone kindly drop your name out of pity to him.

So far? No luck, until his eyes caught some of the tweets that tagged the same two usernames multiple times. In a speed of light, George reads those tweets that tagged user oatmilked and emirnotemir.

And the stalking begins!

TO BE CONTINUED! 🩷🏁

Let me know what you think! 😆

Andddd CONGRATS TO MAX, GEORGE, AND CARLOS in Azerbaijan GP! 🥹🩷

Also, let me know if you want to be put in a tag list! <3

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

So send me your favorite stories of theirs, I want to read ALL of them.