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F1 Grid x Platonic!Toddler!Reader (Fem)
Featuring: Every poor driver on the grid, Toto Wolff, occasional Mercedes engineers
Genre: Crack, Humor, Wholesome Chaos
Warnings: Grid babysitting trauma, FIA side-eye, toddler genius, mild driver humiliation
Word Count: 1,129
A/N: Inspired by the idea of toddler!Y/N Wolff who somehow knows what a turbocharger is and threatens grown men with “engine penalties.”
🔗Part 2
It started in Austria.
The paddock was unusually quiet—well, quiet for a Thursday. FP1 hadn’t started yet, media duties were winding down, and the Mercedes garage had just received a very… small visitor.
Toddling in wearing a tiny black team shirt, oversized headphones, and a frown deeper than Alonso's in 2015, was Y/N Wolff. Age: 3 years and 2 months. Height: approximately one front wing. Vocabulary: Extensive. Fear Factor: 10/10.
“Papa!” she bellowed into the Mercedes garage like a war general.
Everyone froze. Not because she yelled—she did that often—but because she marched right past the PR team and straight to Toto, hands on her hips like she ran the place.
Toto blinked. “Y/N? Maus, did you—how did you even get through security?”
She pointed to Lewis. “Uncle Lewis said I could. He gave me a lanyard.”
Toto turned. “LEWIS.”
Lewis shrugged. “She said she had important data to share, mate. What was I gonna do, say no?”
She turned toward the engineering bay. “I need to see the telemetry.”
George Russell, watching from a corner, choked on his coffee.
“Telemetry?” James Allison repeated slowly.
Y/N nodded solemnly. “I think the downforce setup is all wrong. Papa’s car is draggy. You’ll lose straight-line speed if you don’t adjust the rear wing angle.”
Silence.
Dead silence.
Then—
“Oh my god,” Charles whispered from the Ferrari garage. “She’s a mini Toto.”
“She’s worse,” Carlos muttered. “She has no fear and speaks only facts.”
Toto crouched. “Y/N, who told you about downforce?”
She gave him a look. “Papa. You did. When I was two.”
Toto sighed. He was never going to live this down.
Friday — FP2
Y/N sat cross-legged in the Mercedes garage, surrounded by driver helmets and chaos.
Ollie Bearman, trying to win points with her, crouched and offered a juice box.
“Want apple or orange, tiny boss?”
She squinted at him. “Are you the one who locked the brakes in turn 9 yesterday?”
Ollie blinked. “I—uh—maybe?”
“You need to brake earlier. You’re overheating the fronts.”
Ollie stared, horrified. “She’s a child! How does she know?!”
“Telemetry,” she said, sipping apple juice. “It tells me everything.”
She wandered off to the pit wall like she paid taxes.
Saturday — Qualifying
Y/N had made it her mission to inspect every car in parc fermé. She walked with a clipboard she’d stolen from the FIA, a pacifier in one hand and a serious expression.
Lando tried to sneak past her.
“Driver Norris,” she called sternly, pointing her pen. “You touched the floor of the Red Bull car. That’s a violation.”
Lando froze. “I—what? No, I didn’t!”
“Did too,” she sniffed. “I saw you. You’re gonna get disqualified.”
Toto ran over. “Y/N, you can’t just—” He looked at Lando, dead serious. “Did you touch the floor?”
Lando: 🧍♂️
Y/N: 😡
The FIA: 📝
Lando: “…I want a lawyer.”
By Sunday, she was unstoppable.
She wandered into the McLaren garage mid-strategy meeting.
Oscar: “How did she even get past the sign-in?”
Andrea Stella: “She said she was our new race engineer and then pointed out a power unit leak on the left sidepod… and she was right.”
Oscar: “She’s three!”
Y/N: “I’m three and three-quarters.”
Race Day — Austria GP
The drivers were lined up, tense and quiet. Engines revving, fans roaring.
And then…
“Excuse me.”
A tiny voice.
Max Verstappen turned and nearly screamed.
Y/N had somehow wandered onto the grid.
Wearing a high-vis vest that said Junior FIA, she marched up to his Red Bull, stared at it critically, then pointed.
“Your tire pressures are off.”
Max stared.
Y/N squinted at his engineer.
“I’d fix that if I were you.”
Max’s jaw dropped. “Are you threatening me?”
Y/N blinked. “No. I’m advising you. Papa says I give good advice.”
The Red Bull engineer started triple-checking everything immediately.
The Gridchat was chaos that night.
🟠 Lando Norris: who tf taught toto’s toddler the rules of parc fermé
🔵 George Russell: SHE CITED A REGULATION CODE. BY NUMBER.
🔴 Charles Leclerc: She told me my car was “aerodynamically tragic” and then patted my arm like I was in mourning
🟡 Fernando Alonso: i like her
🟢 Alex Albon: she’s scared Logan so bad he double-checked his pit limiter in the cooldown room
⚫ Lewis Hamilton: she told the FIA “my uncle Lewis said it’s fine” and they ACTUALLY LISTENED
Silverstone — The FIA Strikes Back
At the drivers’ briefing, a bold new rule was added:
“Children under the age of 10 are not permitted to participate in technical meetings, gridwalk inspections, or garage operations unsupervised.”
Toto looked personally attacked.
Y/N looked personally offended.
She held up a hand mid-briefing. “Excuse me. I have thoughts.”
Fred Vasseur whispered to Christian Horner, “She’s going to overthrow us all.”
She wasn’t banned from the paddock—but she was watched.
Which made her new game of hide-and-sabotage especially exciting.
She started sneaking into garages under disguises:
Wore a Ferrari bucket hat and sunglasses to "blend in"
Hid in Kimi Antonelli’s tire stack for 45 minutes to critique his braking data
Crawled under Max’s car and unplugged a laptop “by accident” because it was “overheating”
She said it was “preventative engineering.”
The FIA called it “highly concerning.”
She called them “technically incorrect.”
Monza — The Meltdown
Logan Sargeant’s car wouldn’t start for FP1.
Y/N wandered in, eating fruit snacks. “Try the ignition relay. I think it’s loose.”
The engineer blinked. “We checked that.”
She toddled over, tugged on a wire, and suddenly the dash flickered to life.
Everyone stared.
Toto muttered, “I need to get her into MIT.”
Someone whispered, “You mean exorcism.”
Final Race — Abu Dhabi GP
Y/N was officially barred from all pit walls.
So naturally, she broadcast her own race commentary from an iPad in the hospitality lounge.
"Max is pushing too hard. He’s gonna lose the rears.”
Two laps later: “MAX SPUN!!” the paddock screamed.
Y/N: calmly eats a goldfish cracker. “Told you.”
She fell asleep halfway through lap 38.
With five engineers and two drivers checking her iPad notes for strategy insight.
End-of-Season Awards, unofficial grid votes:
🏆 Best Overtake: Charles on Lando, Singapore
🏆 Biggest Drama King: George
🏆 Chaos Coordinator: Y/N Wolff, Age 3¾
Toto sighed as he read the ballots.
“I’m raising a monster,” he muttered.
“She learned it from watching you,” Lewis grinned.
From the stage, Y/N accepted her glitter glue trophy proudly.
“I’d like to thank the telemetry,” she announced. “And Papa’s access badge.”
The grid cheered.
The FIA wept.
[📸: Final Grid Photo — 2025 Season]
Y/N asleep in her mini Mercedes chair, sunglasses on, surrounded by grown drivers quietly watching Bluey on her iPad and asking each other, “Did she say anything about my gearbox?”
Warning: flirty talk, spicy vibes, and grown-up stuff. When Bakugo finds out she's inexperienced, he doesn’t judge… okay, he does, but he also volunteers real fast
Part two
"Seriously?" Bakugo asked, voice still rough from sleep, like the words scratched his throat from how damn incredulous he was. He propped himself up on one elbow, leaning in just enough to find your face in the shadows of the room, like he needed to see your eyes to actually believe it.
"Never? Like, never never? Not even a little?"
You turned your face away, dodging his gaze like that could somehow save you from the embarrassment. Heat bloomed from your neck to the tips of your ears. You crossed your arms, as if that could shield you from his expression—that dangerous mix of amusement and mischief that always made you feel stupidly vulnerable.
"Why the hell would I lie about that?" you snapped, defensive, curling slightly into yourself. "You think this is funny or what?"
"Nah, nah." Bakugo chuckled low, that raspy tone he used whenever he was about to say something you knew would piss you off. He flopped back onto the couch, head resting beside yours, and his hand—big, warm, sure—slid lazily over your waist, like this conversation wasn't actively setting your brain on fire.
"Shit..." he muttered, still smirking. "You're so fucking pure I feel like a goddamn degenerate just touching you."
You growled at him, like that could erase your existence from the conversation, but he only laughed harder.
"You're telling me you dated three dumbasses and none of them earned a blowjob? I don't know if I should give 'em a medal for being useless or thank 'em for leaving you untouched."
"You're sick," you muttered, a knot forming in your stomach—half nerves, half... something else you really didn't want to name out loud.
"I volunteer as tribute," he said suddenly, with that annoying confidence you hated and loved at the same time, leaning in just enough for his voice to brush against the skin under your ear. His warm breath made your skin prickle. "If you're gonna make your debut, better be with me. I'll train you, grade you, give you a final exam—whatever you need..."
You stared at him, horrified.
"Training?"
He raised an eyebrow, his grin totally out of control now. "Well, if you're gonna bite, better it be me. I’ve got high pain tolerance."
"Katsuki!"
"What? Gotta be ready. First-timers are like puppies—use their teeth for everything."
You covered your face with both hands, half-laughing, half-praying the couch would just open up and swallow you whole.
"No rhythm," he went on, completely unfazed, counting off on his fingers like he was listing groceries. "Forget to use their hands. Swallow air like they're training for a free diving comp. And that's if they don’t gag in the first sixty seconds."
"Shut up!" you laughed.
"You don't have to do it if you don't want to. Ever," he said, his voice dipping into something lower, serious.
You fell silent, caught off guard by the shift. His fingers moved softer now over your waist, more like comfort than teasing. Bakugo could be a dick, yeah. A world-class asshole. But sometimes—with you—he could be sweet, too.
"But if one day you do wanna try..." he smiled again, and his eyebrow arched in that smug way, "you know I’ll take one for the team."
"You're insufferable."
"And yet you’re dying for me."
Content @ghostlycamil4 2025. Do not copy or modify.
