Love And Tattoos (kaz Brekker X Reader)
love and tattoos (kaz brekker x reader)
summary: in which jesper has a theory and kaz might be the matching tattoos kind of guy.
or
it’s two small words, a raven and a crow, a broken lock and a key, and a band around their ring finger.
or
“He has to be drunk, or high, or something, because there is absolutely no way he’s just seen a band of ink around Kaz’s ring finger.”
warnings: brief panic attack (not detailed), mentions of wounds and blood (not detailed, canon typical), set in the future, kaz has worked on his touch aversion
kaz taglist: @the-tpd-bau @ellievickstar @thestudiouswanderer | soc taglist: @ancientbeing10 (if you want to be added or removed from the taglist just dm me!)
a/n: here i am, once again, because apparently im incapable of stopping myself from writing for kaz brekker. i have so many wips but kaz always calls to me😭😭 this one was so much fun to write, it just flowed, and i hope you enjoy it just as much as i did!!
i. a band of ink around his ring finger, part one.
Jesper must be hallucinating, he has to be. He blinks once, twice, looks down at the drink in his hand, briefly wonders if it’s been laced with some sort of drug powerful enough to have his brain imagining things— because Jesper does not have the imagination to be making this up, he wishes he did —and then looks back up. The ink remains in place. Nope, no way. He shakes his head, presses his eyes shut. He has to be drunk, or high, or something, because there is absolutely no way he’s just seen a band of ink around Kaz’s ring finger.
It’s not the tattoo itself that shocks Jesper. Although, maybe it does freak him out a bit, a band around the ring finger can only mean one thing, and Jesper has never believed Kaz to be the marrying type. (Then again, he never thought him to be the matching tattoos kind of guy, and the last couple of months have had him discovering that Kaz very much could be.) No, what makes Jesper spiral is that he’s seen that exact same tattoo on (Y/N)’s own ring finger.
ii. you break, i mend.
Jesper has seen the tattoo on the inside of (Y/N)’s left wrist more times than he can count.
The word ‘mend’ in all lowercase, the typography delicate and elegant, the font somewhat rounded. Jesper has never asked what it means— because everyone in the Barrel has been branded, either by choice or against their will, and Jesper knows the black ink carries memories, promises and pain, he knows better than to ask —but he thinks it’s fitting for her, both the word and the style. Because (Y/N) is a gentle force, someone who provides emotional care to those close to her, a fixer. She loves proudly and deeply, and Jesper has never met someone in this wretched place that is so unafraid to be kind. He doesn’t know what she does to remain untainted, to keep her soul so pure in spite of their line of work. He envies it, sometimes. But then he’ll hear muted sobs through the thin walls, wake up at the sound of screams caused by nightmares, and he’ll wonder if feeling and caring that much is even worth it.
Jesper doesn’t think much about (Y/N)’s tattoo— it’s pretty and it suits her, and, yeah, he gets the desperate need to ask for a backstory whenever he catches a glimpse of it, but never does. There’s nothing more to it. That is until he spies a word on Kaz’s own wrist.
He only sees the tattoo because Kaz takes his gloves off. That doesn’t happen very often, if at all. But it’s the hottest day of summer they’ve had in Ketterdam in years, and they’ve been out in the sun all day, so Jesper is only mildly surprised when they reach Kaz’s office and he takes the black gloves off. What does take him completely off guard, however, is the inked word on his right wrist, partially hidden by the sleeves of his shirt.
‘BREAK’. In uppercase, with jagged and fragmented lettering. Jesper only catches a glimpse before Kaz twists away and the ink is completely sheltered by his clothes, but he’s almost sure the tattoo has some sort of optical effect, makes it seem like the words have been shattered, all sharp and angular lines.
Kaz is saying something and Inej is responding, and it’s probably important and he definitely should be paying attention, but Jesper’s mind is elsewhere because (Y/N)’s delicate tattoo suddenly comes to mind. The similarities are just right there and now all Jesper can think about is how odd of a coincidence it is that (Y/N) and Kaz have mirror tattoos. Same place, but opposite wrist. A single word, one neat and elegant, the other harsh and precise. Jesper does not believe in coincidences, but it can’t be anything else— because believing it to be something else would mean believing Kaz to be a matching tattoos type of person and Jesper would bet his guns against that —so he simply ponders over the possible coincidence, just for a quick second, before Kaz is directing questions towards him and Jesper is forced to shove the information in the back of his mind.
He ends up forgetting about it. Not forgetting forgetting, more so in the way he forgets his debts until there are collectors knocking on his door. The information is there, stored in some corner of his brain, ready to be brought back into his consciousness with just the right push.
The right push comes a Saturday night, two months after he first notices Kaz’s tattoo.
(Y/N) is out on a job. Jesper doesn’t know any of the details— not the target, nor the entry and exit routes, nothing at all —but he knows something is wrong because Kaz has been pacing for the last half hour.
“She should be back by now,” is all Kaz says when he asks. He doesn’t really need to say more. Jesper feels the way his chest constricts, panic slowly building. (Y/N) is never late.
Just as Jesper feels like he’s about to start pacing himself, the door of the Slat opens. She’s got her hood on, doesn’t look up from the floor when she walks in. There’s a certain drag in her limbs, something that tells Jesper that something is wrong, wrong, wrong.
“Where the fuck were you?” The words aren’t directed towards him, but Jesper cannot help but flinch. Kaz doesn’t get like this often, cold and harsh because he’s worried, so the job must’ve been important, high stakes, the type where survival isn’t assured.
(Y/N) looks up, and it’s only then that Jesper notices the blood. It’s everywhere. It drips down the slope of her nose, it trails down her lips. She walks closer and with the change of light he notices that it’s also embedded in her clothes. The most disturbing thing, however, are her eyes. Glassy, distant, unseeing. She’s shaking. Full body tremors.
By his side, Kaz deflates completely at the sight of her. He’s already moving towards her when she whispers brokenly, “I’m sorry.”
The apology goes ignored, “Where are you hurt?” Kaz asks. He reins his panic well enough, but Jesper can still taste the traces of it, they float around in the air.
(Y/N) doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge Kaz as he comes to stand right in front of her, trying his best to assess for injuries. It’s hard when all there is to see is blood.
“I’m not hurt,” she responds, and it’s like she’s in a trance, capable of responding but not truly present. Jesper furrows his brows, catches the concerned look on Kaz face. Does she not realize she’s covered in blood? She raises her hand to gesture at herself, and it’s only when she does so that Jesper notices the blade. She waves it around. It’s stained red, all the way to the handle. “Blood’s not mine.”
Jesper freezes. Kaz stops dead on his tracks, too.
Kaz looks back at him and understanding passes through them. She snapped. Something made her snap.
It seems like she’s just processing it, too, because a second after she mutters those words the knife falls from her hand and her knees wobble. It’s like Kaz had been expecting the sudden crash, because he’s quick to help her down. He grabs her by the sleeves of her tunic and sits her on the floor, back against the wall.
Her breathing begins to come out hard and labored, she clutches at her chest, hard.
“Look at me,” Kaz instructs, but she’s not here anymore. Jesper cannot help the way fear courses through him at the sight of her faraway eyes and the sound of her disordered breaths. He’s only ever seen (Y/N) like this once before, and even then, it hadn’t been this bad, she’d been responsive to Kaz, and very much able to breathe properly. Right now, not even Kaz’s words are cutting through the haze.
The wheezing becomes louder, more intense. The more she panics, the less she breathes, the more Jesper feels like he, himself, isn’t capable of getting air into his lungs. Kaz keeps talking, but she doesn’t seem to hear him.
“I can’t—” Her lips are slowly losing color.
Jesper is still frozen in place, and he can tell that Kaz is also beginning to panic by the way he grabs her clothed hand and presses it against his own chest.
“Breathe,” he orders. Insistent, firm. Kaz’s words leave no room for argument and (Y/N) reacts accordingly. Like it’s instinct to do as Kaz says, she takes in a deep breath, ragged.
“Good girl.” Kaz’s hand, the one that isn’t on top of (Y/N)’s own, pressed against his chest, hovers over her cheek. He ends up grabbing the end of the hood that still partially covers her face. “One more time.”
She repeats the action, another deep breath, interrupted by a brief coughing fit.
“You’re okay, match my breaths.” She nods weakly and does as best she can, eyes shut. The hand that is on Kaz’s chest has become a fist, rumpling his shirt. She holds onto him like a lifeline.
“I’ll get her water,” he finds himself saying.
Kaz doesn’t turn to look at him, “Bring a wet cloth, too.”
Jesper nods and slips out of the room and into the kitchen. He feels like he’s having an out of body experience, his body working automatically on pouring tap water in a glass, on finding a clean cloth. His mind is miles away.
Saints.
It’s disconcerting to see someone as serene and put together as (Y/N) so rattled and distraught. He feels disoriented, like the world has shifted off his feet. He’s never seen her snap so badly that she ends up spiraling into a panic attack. Jesper doesn’t know much about her past, but Kaz had once mentioned something about a complicated upbringing, about being raised as a weapon not a child. He doesn’t want to begin to imagine what he’d meant.
The soft murmur of words brings him back to reality, grounds him and guides him once again into his body.
“Are you with me?”
No response, but Jesper imagines that she must’ve nodded because he hears the soft sigh of relief that Kaz lets out.
It’s quiet for a little while, Jesper focuses on the sound of water flowing through the cloth in his hands, the feeling of it getting damper.
“I’m sorry.” The words come out soft, filled with emotion and embarrassment.
“None of that.”
“I didn’t mean to…”
“I know. It’s okay.”
The silence lingers before being filled by quiet noises. Jesper has heard her sobs through his wall enough times to identify them. His heart tightens painfully.
“It’s okay,” Kaz repeats, softer this time. It’s a tone Jesper has never heard him use with anyone else.
“There were children, Kaz,” Jesper has to strain to make out the words, they’re muffled by something, “little kids. And it just reminded me of… I couldn’t...”
“I know.”
A sniffle, “I’m sorry,” followed by a broken laugh, soft and sad. “I’m a mess.”
Jesper turns off the faucet, twists the cloths to remove any excess of water. He grabs the glass of water with one hand and the cloth with the other and then, just, waits. He knows this conversation is not one he should be present for, he doesn’t want to be present.
It’s a good thing, too, that he doesn’t make his way towards them, because he’s pretty sure he would’ve stumbled and dropped everything at the next words that fall out of Kaz’s mouth.
“If you break, I mend, remember?”
(mend
BREAK)
Jesper places the glass of water on the kitchen counter and blinks once, twice.
Saints be damned.
Kaz might be the matching tattoos type of person.
iii. a raven and a crow
The matching tattoo theory, as Jesper likes to refer to it, remains just that, a theory. Because Jesper has no real way of proving it, not unless he finds the will to ask (Y/N)— which he just can’t do, she’s so open about everything that prodding just feels unfair —or unless he brings his curiosity to Kaz— which might just end up with him losing a finger, and Jesper likes his limbs just as they are, thank you very much. So, for now, it’s merely speculation, something that could be played off as a coincidence. And he thinks it must be a coincidence, right? Matching tattoos are too sentimental for someone like Kaz. (Then again, he has always been different when it comes to (Y/N), so maybe Jesper shouldn’t be that surprised.) And they aren’t matching tattoos, not really, they are more like, well, mirror ones. It’s different. Probably nothing. He might be connecting dots where there’s absolutely nothing to connect.
He can’t help the way he begins to observe more, trying to find anything to sustain or disprove his theory. It’s only natural, he tells himself, Jesper is nothing if not a curious man.
It’s only because he becomes so attuned to them, and whatever that thing is that they have going on, that Jesper notices little things.
“Inej?”
“Good.”
Kaz keeps on making roll call, making sure all of them are there and unharmed.
“Jes?”
“Very much alive,” he grunts in response, letting himself flop into the haystack. His heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest, but at least it’s still beating. He cannot believe a blizzard of all things is what saved their lives.
He looks to his left. Even Inej looks slightly winded. She pats the pocket of her coat, sags in relief immediately after. Jesper does the same, touches his inner pocket, feels the edges of the glass key, and sighs.
The goods are safe.
“Nina?”
“Here.” Her cheeks are rosy. Jesper isn’t sure if it’s because of the dreadful cold or the exertion.
There’s silence after, the room filled by only harsh breaths. Jesper snaps up, looking around frantically, because Kaz is not calling (Y/N)’s name and that can only mean that she’s not there or she’s…
His mind quiets down when he takes in the sight in front of him.
Kaz is not calling (Y/N)’s name because he already has eyes on her. Probably always did.
And that’s when Jesper sees it, a little thing, something that tilts the scales in favor of his theory; the softness in (Y/N)’s face as she listens to Kaz.
(Y/N) is always kind— with battered gang members and hungry street urchins, with the loud customers and even with those who dare gamble against her —but Jesper is just now realizing that there’s a different gentleness when it comes to the way she takes Kaz in. The look in her eyes becomes quieter, more intimate, delicate. She says something, much too quiet for Jesper to hear, and smiles. Kaz shakes his head fondly, responds with a hushed whisper. It’s tender, precious, private. It makes Jesper feel like he’s intruding.
And then something Jesper has never seen before happens. Kaz takes (Y/N)’s chin with his gloved hand, thumb and index fingers holding her. He moves her face around, looking for any visible injury.
There goes another detail in favor of the matching tattoo theory.
Jesper thinks he might’ve just entered some sort of altered reality because what is he even looking at right now. He looks around but Inej and Nina aren’t paying them any mind, too engrossed in their own conversation.
Great, he’s all alone in trying to figure this thing out.
“I’m okay,” he hears (Y/N) reassure.
For the most part, Jesper thinks to himself, because he doesn’t miss the way she’s pressing her hand to her abdomen. Apparently, it hasn’t slipped past Kaz either, because he hums and raises his eyebrows, eyes pointedly trailing down to the wound.
She rolls her eyes at him, even that action looks fond, “It’s not deep.”
Kaz is more tactile with her, Jesper realizes with a start. It’s not a word he would ever use to describe Dirtyhands, but it’s the only one that comes to mind. (And Kaz has gotten better over the years, he has. It’s been gradual, and Jesper has no clue as to how or what he’s done, but he hasn’t missed the way Kaz doesn’t cringe away from the Crows anymore, how he doesn’t pale when someone brushes against him. He doesn’t seek touch, but he doesn’t lose all semblance of control at it either. Still, tactile is farther from what Kaz is, and this? This is huge. This is the greatest display of touch Jesper has ever seen him do.)
“You’ve got it?”
“Yeah, I’ll stitch it.”
His gloved thumb brushes her skin, briefly, before he taps the bottom of her chin gently, in approval, and lets her go.
“I can help you with that,” Nina pipes up.
Jesper turns around, immediately catches the look in the Heartrender’s eyes. Seems like he might not be the only one noticing things.
(Y/N) nods in agreement and Nina follows after her. Jesper decides, after taking only two seconds to ponder on the thought, to trail behind them. He wants to listen in— because he knows Nina won’t be able to keep herself from commenting or questioning and he’s aching to know —but he’s also hoping the Heartrender will take pity on him and heal some of his bruises.
“What do you want?” Nina asks him as they settle on a small corner of the stable. (Y/N) leans against a wooden post as she begins to undress, untucking her shirt.
Jesper simply points at the bruise he can already feel forming on his cheekbone, offering a cheeky smile.
“I’m not a nurse, Fahey.”
“You’re gonna stitch her up!” (Y/N) is watching with amusement and when Jesper points at her she raises one hand in surrender, the other still pressed against her wound.
“Yeah, well,” Nina shrugs, needle and thread in hand, “She’s my favorite.”
(Y/N) chuckles. There’s a broken-down iron chest and she sits on it as well as she can, leaning back so that Nina can work. She winks at him, “Privileges, Jes.”
He pouts.
“Saints,” Nina mutters when she catches a look of him. She’s decided that kneeling by (Y/N) side will be the most comfortable position for her to work. She cleans the wound, pours water over it, and doesn’t turn to him as she says, “If you stop doing that face I’ll see what I can do about the bruise.”
He smirks to himself, “You’ve got it, boss.”
Jesper can’t see it, but he’s sure she rolls her eyes at him.
“Try not to move,” she instructs (Y/N), voice gaining a softer, less teasing edge. The needle pricks the skin.
It’s not a deep wound, (Y/N) had been right about that. It bleeds, but the flow seems to be slowing down. It’s a little bit over her hipbone, but not quite on her abdomen. Judging by the injury, if Jesper had to guess, he would say it was probably caused by a straight back blade.
He had sort of expected Nina to immediately fire away, to start unabashedly questioning, but she doesn’t. She moves her hands in a repetitive motion, closing the skin. Then, she casually comments, “That’s not a crow.”
It’s only then that Jesper notices the ink; just over (Y/N)'s hipbone, only visible because she’d pulled her trousers a bit down to give Nina more skin to maneuver around.
“No, it isn’t,” (Y/N) confirms. She’s got her eyes closed, looks a lot more like she’s sleeping and not like she’s having her skin stitched back together. Either Nina has an amazing ability or she’s somehow managing to dissociate from the pain.
“A raven?”
“Yeah.”
Jesper leans away from the wall to get a better look at it. It’s small, simple, just the silhouette done in thin black lines. He has no idea how Nina managed to identify the bird.
Nina stays quiet for a split second, musing. She keeps her hands steady, thread pulling skin. Apparently, she decides she does not care about decorum— just like Jesper had expected —because she ends up stating, matter-of-factly, “Kaz calls you that.”
Jesper sort of forgets how to breathe. That’s why Nina hadn’t gone on a tangent regarding the touches and the glances, he realizes in that moment. She’d been distracted by something much more interesting.
And she hadn’t identified the bird, she’d just made an informed assumption. Because Kaz does call her that, raven, and sometimes, when he's feeling particularly fond, little raven. He uses it interchangeably with her name and often enough that when Jesper had initially joined the Dregs, all those years back, he’d assumed it to be her name. He’s not quite sure how Nina, who’s been with them for a shorter period of time, managed to make that connection quicker than him.
(Y/N) lets out a breathy laugh, “That he does.”
Instead of further grilling (Y/N) about the tattoo, as Jesper had expected, Nina changes the line of inquiry.
“Why?” She stops sewing and looks up at (Y/N), eyes filled with curiosity.
Oh, she’s insane, Jesper thinks to himself. He sort of wishes he’d have the audacity to ask such direct questions.
(Y/N) doesn’t seem bothered by the prodding, only mildly amused. She chuckles, “You would have to ask him that.”
Not even Nina is insane enough to dare do that. Probably. Nina is sort of a wild card, Jesper can never get a complete read on her.
She proves her sanity by taking the easier route, she whines and pouts, “C’mon. Tell us.”
(Y/N) laughs, louder this time. The reaction is immediate, the wound oozes more blood, and she flinches, moving her hand towards the injury and managing to stop herself millimeters before touching it. It makes Nina get back to stitching.
“You’re bold,” (Y/N) opens her eyes and looks straight at Jesper. There’s something in her eyes, a glimmer that passes quickly, like she knows something that Jesper doesn’t and it amuses her. “Jes would never dare ask.”
“Hey!” He pretends to be offended but isn’t really. She knows him too well.
“You know it’s true.”
He only grumbles in response, hates that she’s right.
Nina is suddenly tense, as if she isn’t quite sure if (Y/N)’s words are meant as a compliment or a reprimand. (Y/N) closes her eyes again, rests her head against the wall and reassures her, “I like that. Your boldness.”
And Nina preens, subtly, but she does. Jesper understands. (Y/N)’s approval somehow comes to mean everything to those around her. She’s like an older sister you’re always trying to impress.
Jesper thinks she won’t be saying anything more, but (Y/N) does.
“Ravens are softer than crows, more playful,” she mumbles quietly. Jesper, who isn’t even far from her, strains to hear, “Gentler, too.” And it’s like she knows exactly where the ink lays on her skin, like she has it memorized, because she manages to avoid Nina and the needle and trace the outline of the tattoo, eyes still closed, “And yet they manage to survive in the same brutal world that crows do.”
The words sink in. Jesper blinks once, twice, shifts on his feet, somewhat uncomfortable. It feels like he’s just gained insight on something much too private, into the feelings and thoughts of Kaz Brekker. Because what she just explained, vaguely and in simple words, has a much deeper meaning, and Jesper doesn’t miss that. It’s how Kaz sees her, an equal. Someone as strong as a crow, as fierce and resourceful and capable, but softer, gentler. That’s (Y/N) to him.
“That’s it?” Nina sounds perpetually unimpressed, but she doesn’t get it. She hasn’t been with the Crows long enough to understand.
(Y/N) smirks, like she knew the words wouldn’t mean much to her, and that tells Jesper something. There’s even more to the meaning of the nickname and she won’t be sharing.
“If you want more you can just ask Kaz.”
Nina huffs and pouts, pulls at the thread a bit harsher than necessary in retaliation. It probably doesn’t even sting, but (Y/N) plays along.
“Ow!?” The smirk remains on her face.
“Sorry,” Nina says, not sounding the least apologetic.
(Y/N) only chuckles, “I really do like your boldness.”
It isn’t until later that night, as Jesper sleeps in the haystack and shivers from the cold, hoping to the Saints that the smell of horse can be removed from his clothes, that realization strikes him. His eyes snap wide open.
The image of a letter R inked in Kaz’s forearm flashes through his mind.
R.
A Raven.
No fucking way.
He has no evidence of it, no evidence that those tattoos might be complementary, but something in his gut tells him they are, and he decides to listen to his instincts.
Great, that’s yet another circumstantial piece of evidence in favor of his theory.
(Jesper doesn’t know, will never know, but he gets it both wrong and right. The letter R that is permanently etched on Kaz’s skin means something else entirely, but he does have the small silhouette of a crow, different from the one on his arm, over his ribs.)
iv. a broken lock and a key
Jesper and (Y/N) stay behind. It’s Jesper’s fault, he’d landed wrong when they jumped off the cliff, too busy on firing his guns to focus on the landing, and the resulting sprained ankle made it hard to keep up with the rest. (Maybe it was sort of Kaz’s fault, too, because who even decides on an exit route that includes free falling off a cliff. Jesper should be used to Kaz’s antics by now, but the man keeps on outdoing himself.)
(Y/N) had quickly offered to match his pace, to keep him company while the rest went ahead.
After a quick discussion Kaz had agreed to it. Jesper hadn’t missed the way they’d said goodbye. Their pinky fingers interlacing with one another.
He might not be completely sure about his matching tattoo theory— denial, really, he’s in denial, and he’s man enough to admit that to himself —but he has absolutely no doubt there is something going on between them. Jesper hasn’t put a name on it yet, he’s not even sure they have, but one would have to be blind to deny it.
Wylan had volunteered too, but Kaz needed him for the next phase of the plan, so he wasn’t really an option. A shame, really, Jesper would’ve enjoyed some alone time with his boyfriend, but he can’t complain, (Y/N) is good company. She doesn’t whine about how slow they’re going, doesn’t mention the fact that, by now, they’re probably two days behind. She keeps the air between them filled with light chatter and that makes it more bearable, makes him feel less of a burden.
On the third day of their journey Jesper wakes up alone. He’s not immediately filled by dread because he’s a light sleeper, he’s sure he would’ve woken up at the sound of any commotion, and he’s even more certain that (Y/N) would’ve had any attacker down on the floor with a gun to their temple before they even had the chance to breathe too close to them.
So, he’s not worried, but there’s something about not having (Y/N) within his line of sight that feels wrong, partly because he’s got no idea where she is, and mainly because Kaz had given him a cautionary glare when they’d ventured ahead, an easily interpreted warning to keep her safe or else.
It’s only when he begins to look around that Jesper notices her knapsack is also missing. He closes his eyes and focuses. Somewhere in the distance he can hear running water. He follows the sound before he can think too much, limping along the way.
Jesper finds her easily. He sort of wishes he hadn’t found her. Because she is showering in the lake and she is completely naked.
“Saints!” It’s a knee-jerk reaction to turn around, eyes screwed shut. “I am so sorry.”
(Y/N) snickers, unbothered, “Relax, Jes. It’s okay.”
And she’s saying that, but Jesper is pretty sure Kaz would gauge his eyes off is he found out he’s just seen her completely nude.
He shakes his head, over and over. Ah, Kaz is going to kill him. He is a dead man walking.
She must be watching him because she lets out a laugh.
“Oh, please.” There’s amusement in her tone, “Nothing you haven’t seen before,” she teases, and Jesper regrets every single thing he’s ever told her about his sexual encounters.
He huffs out a laugh. It’s got nothing to do with that, Jesper isn’t a prude, he’s just trying to process the fact that if Kaz ever finds out he will more than likely lose a finger, or his life. But he can’t say that, that’s a conversation he’s not ready to have, so he settles for, “You’re like my sister, it’s not the same.”
“Fair enough,” she responds. Jesper catches the affection in her voice. He doesn’t think he’s ever told her how she sees her as family and she must’ve known, their bond runs deep, it goes unspoken, but maybe it’s different to hear it out loud.
“It’s my fault anyways, I shouldn’t have left without telling you where I was going,” she disrupts his thoughts. “But you were finally sleeping.”
“Yeah,” he mumbles. Obviously it wouldn’t slip past her that in between the pain on his ankle and the cold of the night he’s been having a hard time falling asleep.
“You shouldn’t be standing for long,” she points out, and Jesper agrees. His leg is beginning to ache and if they’re going to travel long today, he must rest as much as he can. But the idea of walking back to camp and leaving her alone doesn’t sit right with him— even if he knows she’s capable of defending herself, she would probably do a better job than him, given his state —so he limps towards a big rock, back still towards her, and sits.
“You’re gonna keep me company?”
Jesper hums in response, “Talk so I know you haven’t suddenly been kidnapped.”
She doesn’t talk, instead she sings. It’s an old Kerch song, Jesper knows because of the mournful feel. It builds up slow and steady, flows with the morning air. She's got a nice voice. Jesper never gets tired of hearing her.
It’s as he listens, slowly being lulled into a peaceful mindset, that the memory of the ink flows through his mind. It’d been the thing his eyes had zeroed in, the black mark on the back of her neck.
Maybe it’s the soothing music, or maybe he’s slowly becoming more daring, but the words slip out of his mouth without thought, “Is it a key?”
(Y/N) stops midway through the bridge of the song.
“What?” she asks, confusion permeating the lone word.
“On the back of your neck,” Jesper clarifies, gesturing to his own neck.
There’s silence, long enough for Jesper to start thinking that maybe this wasn’t the best idea, before the air is filled with laughter. She chuckles as if he's just said the funniest thing.
She’s still giggling when she says, “I can’t believe you caught sight of it.”
He’s confused by her reaction and settles for responding with a teasing, “I’ve got a great vision.”
“That you do,” she replies. "It is a key," she confirms and then the singing starts again, more of a humming this time around, a much brighter song.
And Jesper must be really really losing the filter between his mouth and his brain— he blames the pain and the lack of sleep —because he finds himself asking, “Does Kaz have a lock, by any chance?”
He’s teasing, but not really. It’s a good enough question, not truly invasive. It gives her room to answer as she wishes.
To his surprise, she says, “Yes, he does.”
His head snaps towards her, momentarily forgetting that she’s naked and that Kaz will definitely kill him for seeing her naked twice. To his luck, (Y/N) is already getting dressed, water dripping down her hair and staining her shirt.
“What?”
There’s a sharp glint in her eyes, knowing, almost playful. A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, just enough hint of mischief to make Jesper doubt the truthfulness of her words.
“Yeah,” she repeats in mock seriousness, “he’s got a small lock around here,” she points the area around her collarbone, close to where her heart is. “It’s very pretty.”
“You’re fucking with me.”
(Y/N) snickers, “Maybe I am.” She ruffles his hair as she walks past him.
Weeks later Jesper realizes that she had been fucking with him, but not lying. Kaz’s shirt rips during a heist and Jesper catches the briefest glimpse of the image of a broken lock, inked right above his heart.
v. a band of ink around his ring finger, part two.
As if summoned by his thoughts, (Y/N) materializes by his side. She takes a look at his face, follows his line of sight, and snickers.
“Did you finally figure it out?”
He turns to her. Blinks once, twice.
“What?”
She looks highly entertained by the evident confusion on his face.
“I caught you staring at my tattoo sometimes,” Jesper follows the movement of her fingers, watches as she rubs the mend on her wrist absentmindedly. “And then you would get this constipated look on your face.”
Jesper sputters, “I do not look constipated.”
“Only when you’re thinking too hard,” she teases, her smile bright. “So, I figured, well…”
“That I might be losing my mind trying to figure out if Kaz is the matching tattoo kind of person?”
“Yep, something like that,” she takes a sip of her drink. “He is, by the way.” (Y/N)’s not looking at him anymore, her eyes have drifted. He follows her sight and isn’t surprised to find her looking at Kaz. She softens immediately. “All the tattoos were his idea.”
Jesper feels like he’s really entered some other reality. He can’t believe she’s just telling him all this. Does this mean that he could’ve known months ago if he’d just asked?
“And,” he dares ask, because apparently (Y/N) is in a sharing mood, and apparently he's grown bolder. It must be the alcohol. “You’re married?”
He doesn’t miss the way she rubs her thumb against her ring finger, the one that contains the exact same band of ink as Kaz’s.
“Yeah.”
“Actually?”
She pulls her necklace. A wedding band lies there. It’s anything but traditional. Black, probably forged from oxidized steel. Sleek, unadorned and somehow still elegant. There’s something engraved on the inside. Jesper just catches the letter R.
“Got the documents to prove it, too.”
Jesper sighs, astounded, “You never said a thing.”
“We didn’t really keep it a secret, just private.” It sounds like an apology somehow. “It's just, in a place like this," she gestures around, "some things you have to keep to yourself."
Jesper understands.
He shakes his head, still somehow feeling like he’s drugged.
Kaz Brekker, a matching tattoo and marriage type of person. Who would’ve guessed.
“Lovers, huh?”
(Y/N) smiles, before she slips away and makes her way towards Kaz, Jesper hears her whisper.
“‘Lovers’ feels too small a word for what we are.”
More Posts from That-jax and Others
nap time
Dionysus represents much more than the God of Madness and Frenzy; he embodies the essence of mental health. Dedicating time and effort to healing your mind can be seen as an act of devotion to Dionysus. This is why advocating for, discussing, and learning about mental illness and your experiences can be so beneficial.
He is more than just the God of Wine; he also embodies sobriety and restraint. He teaches us moderation, guiding us not to overindulge in what our bodies cannot handle. Choosing to abstain from alcohol or maintaining sobriety can be a profound act of devotion as well.
Excessive consumption, whether it's alcohol, negative thoughts, or anything else, can be harmful. Dionysus serves as a reminder that healing from such excesses is possible.
While he embodies the spirit of fun, enjoyment, and hedonism, I don't believe he would want you to indulge for the wrong reasons. Whenever I felt too serious or caught in a downward spiral, he would remind me that it's okay to let loose, but also to stay attuned to my feelings. I don't think he would shun you if you're not having too much fun. If you're not feeling okay, then you're not feeling okay. There's nothing wrong with that.
If anything, Dionysus seems like the ultimate god of self-care. Taking your medication, staying hydrated or drinking other beverages (I personally find that hot chocolate boosts my mood), spending time with friends, or even enjoying a solitary walk in nature—all these activities can feel like acts of devotion. He is love and full of love. A god of duality and balance.
He can embody the warmth of summer and the freshness of spring, just as he can evoke the chill of winter. He's complex and multifaceted. He is a god of rebirth, death and immortality. He to me, resembles a phoenix. He means so much to me and my practice. My heart has so much room for him. He has shown me that regardless what I've experience, it is possible to change and heal. His own love feels poetic.
Hi! Whenever you get time can I request hcs for what makes albedo, kazuha and diluc crazy flustered? Like, what makes them go char.exe has stopped working, and their whole face has flushed red.
Also, may I marry the how to fluster the chief alchemist fic pls?
<3
how to fluster them.
▸ includes . . . albedo. diluc ragnvindr. kaedehara kazuha.
▸ synopsis . . . you've managed to make ___ so incredibly flustered that he seems at a loss for words, a vibrant blush on his cheeks!
▸ warnings . . . gn! reader. mentions of marriage and children (kazuha's).
▸ ve's note . . . !! you may absolutely marry 'how to fluster the chief alchemist' hehe i hope i get invited to the wedding though! also thank u for the request it has my entire heart just flustering these cutie pies!! please enjoy!
♡ ៸៸ albedo ⸻
genuine affectionate words.
"i'm so in love with you," you mumble, eyes scanning over him as he simply eats some dinner- although now he's choking and you're much more alert than lovesick, sitting up and making sure he's okay after he stops choking and instead intakes some air. "a-are you okay?"
"i'm... i'm alright," he clears his throat, not meeting your gaze, an intense blush taking over his cheeks. "i just wasn't expecting your words, that's all." he eats some more food, not wanting to talk more on the matter however it's piqued your interest now.
"well, i mean it! i don't know how i managed to get so lucky- meeting you was hands down one of the best days of my life. i love you, albedo." albedo really can't process why and how you're managing to make his heart flutter so quickly, but he can't handle much more of it!
"i... i love you, too." he says in a quiet voice, glancing at you from the corner of his eye to see you smiling brightly. he hopes you know how much he means it, even if he can't express it as outwardly as you do.
staring lovingly at him whilst he works.
he could feel your eyes on him as he worked, so an intense gaze that he could barely focus. he glances at you before looking back at his work, before frowning as he stares at the painting. "is everything alright?" he finally asks, setting down the paintbrush and looking over at you fully- just why were you staring so intensely at him?
it isn't until he turns to look at you that he notices the loving look in your eyes. "sorry!" you chuckle and look away, "you just look really pretty when you're focused, i didn't realize i was staring." albedo's eyes widened a fraction, a shaky breath leaving him.
"ah, i see..." he quickly faces his canvas again, hoping you think the redness on his ears and cheeks is from the cold of dragonspine rather than the bashfulness he sudden feels. your staring at him again, in such a loving, intense way that he can't focus anymore.
it seems this painting is going to take a little while longer, for your stares are too much for poor albedo's heart.
sudden acts of dominance (kabedonning).
"hey," your arms suddenly cage albedo against the wall, catching him off guard completely. "you free this saturday?" you ask, tilting your head to the side with a small grin. albedo blinks, trying to grasp what just happened but his mind is running to fast for him to understand anything.
"u-uhm, i-... what?" he looks up at you, face warming to a beautiful pink. your chuckle makes his stomach grow butterflies and he wonders if you can hear how hard his heart is beating.
"i was wondering if you're free this saturday?" your eyes look over albedo, finding it adorable how flustered he grew from simply kabedonning him. "albedo, pay attention to me~" you tease him, enjoying how for once the composed alchemist was a flustered mess. "so, saturday, yes or no?"
"oh! yes. yes, i'm free." you hum, pulling away from him and giving him a little wink that once again sends his mind in a frenzy.
"see you saturday, then."
♡ ៸៸ diluc ragnvindr ⸻
calling his name oh-so-sweetly.
you frown, diluc could be so stubborn, but you knew a way to get him to pay attention to you. you sigh, lingering around him and clasping your hands together, batting your lashes. "oh, diluc~" you coo, "diluc, i'm sorry, please forgive me. won't you, diluc?" his face flushes and he covers his face with his hand.
"w-what do you need?" he manages to get out, and if you peek around his shoulder you can see a blush dusting across his cheeks and ears. when you stay silent, he glances over at you and his breath hitches- why, why do you have to be like this when he's trying to be mad.
"diluc," you call, wrapping your arms around him and nuzzling into him. "please don't be mad at me anymore," in all honesty, from the way you're calling his name, so saccharine, his mind grows fuzzy and the little argument from earlier fades away.
"fine, i forgive you." he huffs, looking off to the side, but glancing at you from the corner of his eye- your victorious small making his heart skip a beat as well.
sudden physical contact/affection.
"ah! there you are!" you rush the rest of the way over to him, nearly sliding thanks to your socks on the hardwood floor of his home office. "how dare you leave me without a kiss," you scoff, remembering the time he get upset due to you not giving him a kiss. so, wrapping your arms around his neck, you pepper a few kisses to his cheek.
diluc is too stunned to speak, your sudden affection welcomed but very much a shock. he can't help the way he blushes, your touch always affects him as such. "can't even say good morning?" you pout, peering at his face and noticing the blush that adorns his face. you can't help but coo and poke his warm cheeks.
"aw, did my kisses fluster you, oh mighty diluc ragnvindr?" he catches your wrist and stops you from poking him, looking at you with furrowed brows and blushy cheeks. you chuckle, pressing one last swift kiss to his lips. "alright, i'll stop messing with you."
"thank you." he sighs, placing a hand over his heart and watching you walk away to attend to your own work. he relaxes in his seat, closing his eyes and the places you kisses him feeling warm. "the things you do to my heart," he mumbles, before continuing his work.
fixing his clothes/hair.
"i know you just got back from your nightly duties, but at least try and look presentable here." you grumble, "you are the host of this party after all." sure he was being the darknight hero, which you admired, but he was the one to throw this party so he could get better connections, the least he could do was make sure his tie was straight.
you straighten out his tie, and brush off the dirt on his jacket, tsking and tugging, making him look more presentable. "why are you so quiet? no excuse, no exclamation of how important your duties are?" you tease, looking up at him and noticing for the first time how red he was in the face.
"s... sorry," he mumbles, looking up at the ceiling. you quirk a brow, what's got him so flustered? all you were doing was fixing his clothes and scolding him! you sigh, grabbing his face and making him look at you. "y/n?" he looked like he was expecting a kiss. too bad.
"even your hair!" you chide, quickly running your fingers through his hair and trying to make it look less of a mess. diluc sighs dejectedly, upset he didn't get a kiss after you made his heart race like that.
♡ ៸៸ kaedehara kazuha ⸻
complimenting him.
kazuha isn't a stranger when it comes to compliments, so you didn't think it would affect him so greatly yet there he was, a vibrant red blush on his cheeks and tongue tied all due to your sweet and genuine compliment!
"kazuha, you're amazing." it was that simple, just your words complimenting his instrumental skills and quickness with words. why was he so stunned? he can't even manage out a 'thank you' despite desperately wanting to. he just likes you so much, and he can't help but feel this way every time you compliment him— although his composure is much less sturdy than usual.
"are you alright? should i get you some water?" you ask when he still hasn't responded. kazuha, perhaps a little too into the dramatics, looks up at you with a lovestruck look, grasping your hand and finally managing to speak.
"i'm alright," he smiles gently, "your words just seem to have quite the affect on me, please allow me some time to recuperate." with that kazuha stands, and excuses himself to his dorm, because if he's with you for one more second he might start composing love songs that instant!
picking him up/carrying him around.
kazuha was growing tired, you could tell by the way he swayed and stumbled over his steps every now and then. you, on the other hand, felt quite lively, and so, to help out, you swiftly and easily pick up kazuha, carrying him bridal style.
"i'll carry you the rest of the way, okay?" kazuha can't breath, whether from being in such close proximity to you, or realizing just how strong you are, he can't tell. were you always able to pick him up with such ease? it makes his entire face flush and mind race- could you hear his heart?
"are you comfortable, kazu?" he looks up at you, blush growing darker- he's thankful that it's night time and you can't see how red his cheeks are. he just nods, resting his head against your shoulder and closing his eyes, trying to calm his racing heart. oh, the things you do to his heart and mind.
seeing you with children.
"roar!" you chased after the children, pretending to be a monster, whilst they pretend to be fearless pirates. kazuha watched from afar, a smile on his lips at the lovely sight before him- you playing with children was always a sight to see, it would set anybody's heart aglow.
however, unlike most, kazuha's ever restless began to come up with scenarios similar to this in the future- where perhaps you two would be married with your own kids to chase after. after thinking thoughts like that, kazuha's face always grew a lovely shade of pink and he'd grow unusually quiet.
you notice his intensive face, staring out at the sea whilst lost in thought. you wonder what he's thinking, and after the kids leave, you approach him, noticing the blush the closer you get to him. "kazuha?" he jumps a bit, looking down at you. kazuha not noticing your presence was definitely something unusual. "what's got you so lost in thought you didn't even notice me?"
"ah, it's nothing!" he waves his hand dismissively, looking anywhere but your eyes. you swear his blush grew down his neck and likely to his chest from how flustered he grew- it was quite the sight to see!
A - Z *Domestic Aizawa Shouta X Reader *
Back from the dead and with a long fic to make up for the time I was gone
A Christmas special!!!
D.- DECORATE (part 1)
Christmas and New year were just around the corner
It was all so new and bright for little Eri. She had never seen so many lights all over the city, happy people walking down the streets greeting each other and singing along music, it was all like magic. Burning questions invaded her mind and, as it was expected of her age, questions were pouring down on (Y/N) “Mommy why are they buying a tree?, mommy I heard auntie midnight talk about magic eggnog, can I have some too?, mommy who is Santa, is his quirk flying?”
(Y/N) was more than happy to answer all of them. So many firsts in such a little amount of time was a thing she couldn’t believe, their first Halloween, day of school and now Christmas...
People all over Japan were smiling around and buying presents and certainly, it was no different at the UA.
Students were preparing gifts for their beloved ones, making Christmas cards and preparing their bags to go home for the holidays.
Eri and (Y/N) were helping class 1-A packing their bags and cleaning their rooms. (Y/N)’s sweet personality couldn’t say no when adorable teenagers begged for help to finish early so they could go home soon, how could she say no to her adopted teenagers.
Ever since Shouta’s students found out (to their surprise ) that their homeroom teacher (“DAD” as they liked to call him in secret) was married to a cheerful, kind and gorgeous woman, (Y/N) took the title of “MOM” (much to shouta’s distaste).
Little Eri was walking down the common area when she spotted him, Bakugou, sitting down, watching the TV. She already knew he wouldn’t harm her, still his face always so angry didn’t exactly help when trying to talk to him.
“Uh.... aren’t you.... mmm.... are you....”
“Don’t stumble around your words girl!!” Bakugou yelled in that loud voice of his, for Eri, it felt like the end of the world, she knew she shouldn’t be afraid... still, bad memories plagued her mind.
Bakugou was really tiring to change, he was truly trying to be more gentle. he knew that he would never be a true hero with such an explosive attitude, he never meant bad... “only losers and extras do that, you have to be sure of what you are gonna say ok? If you want to be a hero you have to be brave. Do it again, go on”
“Aren’t you going home for Christmas?”
“Tch... no, I’m staying. I don’t want to fight with the old lady... besides, I don’t really miss her.... I don’t care about this stupid holiday anyway”
Eri knew better, she had no idea why but she knew he was lying, his face didn’t had his usual cocky smirk ... he looked sad and down. His face.. was the same face she had before her new family came along.
Eri only looked at him, turned around and said nothing... still, the small conversation plagued her mind, could she help him somehow?
Hours passed, most of the 1-A class had finished and when dinner time came around,Eri still had the conversation inside her head, deep down she knew she had to say something and maybe at dinner time, her parents would help her; they were heroes right? They had to help, it was their job. ... maybe interrupt them and speak out her mind could help somehow to ease her worries.
“You shouldn’t be helping them, you are too kind for your own good” said Shouta, not really angry at his wife, he couldn’t be angry at her even if he tried.
“You are not better, Shouta you are becoming soft”
“That’s not true, I don’t have a soft spot for any of them”
“Whatever you say Mr. but I know you and I know...” (Y/N) fell into a silence as soon as Eri, in a soft voice, spoke up.
“Mo...mommy... mmm”
“Yes, sweetheart”
“Bakugou is sad... he said he is not going home...”
“I noticed he is not packing his stuff, Shinsou and Todoroki aren’t either..but I don’t think Bakugou is sad, maybe his parents are busy or..”
“I know he is sad mommy.. we have to help him please... I... I would like to help him”
“Hmm.. what do you think Shouta? Should we do something about it?”(y/n) said with a soft smile, a smile shouta couldn’t really resist.
-There they go again,this girls will be the death of me- Shouta thought, how could he resist the looks both girls were giving him? He just couldn’t say no to Eri’s dream of helping people and to his wife who had such an enormous heart... it would destroy Eri and crush (Y/N)s heart. “We could try something...” was all he gave back to the ladies.
“Thank you daddy!! I’ll look for candy and maybe we can hide some eggs around the garden”
“Eri, hiding eggs is an easter tradition sweetheart, how about we decorate a tree?”
“Yes!! I’ll go and get a jacket so we can go for one mommy, we have to hurry!”Eri answered and ran to her room as fast as she could.
“I told you, you are becoming soft” (Y/N) whispered to Shouta; to say that she adored him was not enough to express her emotions.
“Is that a bad thing kitten?”
“I like this new side of you... being a father really suits you”
“Motherhood also suits you kitten... I always said it and I’ll always say it. You are the only woman I can see myself having a family with”
When the next day came, Shouta had already prepared his speech, now, it was only a matter of calling for the 3 students and hope for a positive answer. After a few minutes of waiting, the three students were outside the professors room, nervous and hoping not to get a detention note
“Shinsou, Bakugou, Todoroki.. I won’t be going in circles, so I’ll just say it as it is, Eri and my wife noticed you are not going home this year for winter vacations... but we would really appreciate if you joined us for the celebrations, I know that this doesn’t sound rational at all, but the girls and I are hoping that you can come” the three students looked surprised, none of them were expecting such invitation “I know is not the same as to spend it with your family, and probably it’s out of place but I’d break my wife’s and Eri’s heart to know that you are spending this time of the year alone; please, consider the offer and I hope you join us”
“Yes Sr.” Answer d the students in unison, the tremble in their legs showed how nervous this situation was for them, but there was no way they were turning down not only their teacher, but sweet Eri and (y/n) also.
Part 2 will be updated soon (later today or early tomorrow)
HI! Hope you are well! I have no clue if you are taking requests or not, but if you are, could you maybe do a smau with carlos sainz x ferrari!reader? Where the reader is part of the ferrari family, and when her father passes away, she will take on the company? And like, all of the tifosi love her loads, bcs she's just lovely to them all no matter what, and they see carlos slowly 'fall in love' with her then soft launch their relationship, and it turns out they had been dating for ages? If you can, ty!!
are you going to be my girl? | carlos sainz social media au
pairing: carlos sainz x ferrari!reader
it's not a HR violation if you were dating before she became your boss and it's not nepotism if it's her company.
yournameferrari
liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc and 872,309 others
yournameferrari: first race weekend, let's go girls 🏁
view all comments
user1: i am SCARED i am weirdly optimistic 🤔
user2: i have faith, the article about her and the whole new team... she's cooking
carlossainz55: excited to take her out for a spin
yournameferrari: lets keep all the spinning for the doughnuts at the end of the season please
carlossainz55: i'll try my best, no promises though
yournameferrari: okay stop commenting on my post and get ready to drive, you're wearing my name
carlossainz55: let me know when you want to wear mine
user3: yall it's not even been one race and carlos is flirting with his boss, they weren't lying f1 drivers really are fearless
sebastianvettel: feels like just the other day when you first visted the garage, you'll smash it!
yournameferrari: thanks seb! can't wait to see you again, give hanna and the kids my love
user4: i love that she's 23 but literally talks like a grandma
user5: the stress of ferrari does tend to age a person
charles_leclerc: forza ferrari ❤️ we'll make you proud
yournameferrari: i have all the faith in the world in you boys
user6: a ferarri owner who actually publicly supports the drivers? i've prayed for times like this
user7: ahhh i met her this weekend and she really loves the tifosi like she spent so long with us and signed as much as she could
carlossainz55
liked by yournameferrari, landonorris and 893,209 others
carlossainz55: great weekend all round, happy to be back on the podium - thank you to y/n and all the team for building us a car we can win in !!
view all comments
user9: don't shoot me but did we all see the way carlos was looking at y/n on the podium
user10: bestie i hate to tell you but there was like 100 ferrari workers at that podium he could've been looking at literally any of them
yournameferrari: you boys made the ferrari name proud this weekend ❤️
carlossainz55: couldn't have done it without you and the team
yournameferrari: you're too kind, take pride in your own achievements
carlossainz55: only if you celebrate with me
user11: are we witnessing the smooth operator in real time?
user12: it's like seeing a unicorn in the woods
landonorris: congrats chilli 🌶️ are we all celebrating or is it just you two?
carlossainz55: all of us? why wouldn't it be everyone?
landonorris: no reason ....
user13: maybe it's because carlos' eyes pop out of his head like a looney tunes whenever he's around y/n ferrari
liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc
carlossainz55: you realise i get the notifications when you guys like comments, right?
landonorris: well my PR team wouldn't like it if i commented it myself
carlossainz55: i wonder if there is a reason for that 🤔
user14: carlando domestics in the comment section we are so back
scuderiaferrari
liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc and 803,451 others
tagged: yournameferrari
scuderiaferrari: no race this weekend? we'll give you a #️⃣ asky/n to give you your ferrari content this weekend!
view all comments
user15: what is your favourite race?
yournameferrari: besides the obvious choices of imola and monza, i really enjoy suzuka and spa !
user16: who is a driver you would've loved to have managed?
yournameferrari: the obvious answer is michael schumacher, but i also would've loved to work with seb and kimi and jean alesi!
user17: how do you feel about taking over ferrari so young?
yournameferrari: it's definitely daunting, especially when no one really knew i existed. i was scared when it came to the staff overhaul as they had been there for so long and i was scared that it would massively backfire, but so far so good.
user18: tbf it's been a long time coming
user19: what would you do if you weren't owning ferrari?
yournameferrari: to be honest, ferrari and motorsport is all i have ever known, but, i also enjoy most other sports like football, ice skating and golf. but outside of sport i would've loved to pursue writing, i love poetry and essays!
user20: GOLF? cue carlos sainz in 3...2...1
carlossainz55: let's go for a round after my next sim session ⛳️
yournameferrari: only if you're ready to lose
user21: i am having ... feelings about this pairing
user22: how do you feel about charles' music?
yournameferrari: i always think it is good to have another passion, especially with how all-consuming formula one can become. i personally love charles' music and will often put it on when i do yoga or read (though my favourite is AUS23)
charles_leclerc: thank you y/n !!!
user23: is this *rubs eyes* an owner with a good relationship with the drivers???
f1gossipgirl
liked by user28, user29 and 4,130 others
tagged: yournameferrari, pierregasly
f1gossipgirl: AWKWARD MOMENT ALERT 🚨 y/n ferrari had harsh word for pierre gasly when they crossed paths in the paddock. gasly, whose dangerous driving put carlos sainz in the medical centre, seemed shocked that ferrari would have a problem with him. sources in the paddock said that ferrari admonished the frenchman, "you have a lot of gall in the media gasly, everyone saw how dangerous that was, you can't blame your own shortcomings on alpha tauri or adrian newey now. keep your car away from my drivers or we'll have a real problem." oop. allegedly gasly only replied with a wink and a "anything for you sweetheart" which caused y/n to storm off and knock his shoulder on the way past. who is in the right?
view all comments
user30: THAT'S MY OWNER RIGHT THERE
user31: y/n owned gasly
user32: not only was he dangerous on track he's also super disrespectful off, y/n is expressing her concerns over her driver who could've been seriously injured and he just flirts with her ???
user33: pierre is super in the wrong here but also it's so refreshing to see someone in management actually have the drivers back
user34: gone were the days of begging ferrari to even appeal penalties
user35: my friend was in the paddock and apparently vasseur had to hold sainz back after he was told about what pierre had done
user36: the way he's more mad that pierre disrespected y/n than nearly killing him
user37: idk why she's getting involved, no need to talk to the drivers like that, you're the owner, know your place
liked by pierregasly
user38: something insidious about the man liking a comment telling a woman to know her place 🤨
user39: he acts the victim in every situation and yet HE is the common denominator
user40: after ^^^ this whole mess i need carlos to scrap pierre
user41: i feel like he actually would that man is in love with y/n lol
yournameferrari
liked by carlossainz55, scuderiaferrari and 903,451 others
yournameferrari: happy summer break everyone !! going into the break leading the constructor's championship lead is amazing but we aim to finish the season with both trophies back in maranello. see you in zandvoort x
view all comments
user42: A MAN?
user43: i was delusional to think that a young successful and smart woman wasn't cuffed :(
sebastianvettel: are you still planning to swing by switzerland?
yournameferrari: we'll be there!
this comment was deleted
yournameferrari: i'll be there!
user44: girl we saw that
user45: the way she posts her soft launch but deletes a comment that says she might bring him to visit seb?
user46: visiting seb is a big deal tbf
user47: the way carlos HAS to have her notifications on mans was here after 30 seconds
user48: has better reaction time for y/n's instagram post than a race start 😭
carlossainz55: working on my swing, ready for our round of golf
yournameferrari: get ready to be humbled
carlossainz55: if you're as pro as you say i may have to upgrade us to crazy golf
yournameferrari: as long as i get the red ball
carlossainz55: deal
user49: are we FLIRTING 👀 ???????
carlossainz55
liked by landonorris, yournameferrari and 703,458 others
tagged: yournameferrari
carlossainz55: took a break from swimming to get my ass whooped by my boss on the golf course
view all comments
user50: oh the fit - Y/N CAME TO PLAY
landonorris: just how bad was the whopping? before i propose a paddock golf tournament
carlossainz55: she'll ruin the sport for you it's not fair
landonorris: you didn't put up any sort of fight?
carlossainz55: i TRIED but as soon as i saw the custom clubs i knew it was over
yournameferrari: i have a confession, i was literally on my college golf team, i had a lot of practice sorry x
carlossainz55: so you're basically a professional? that's comforting
yournameferrari: not really a professional but a very dedicated amateur
user51: babe you literally won the national championship at stanford stop playing with this man
yournameferrari: oops? 😬
user52: right, i don't mean to sound crazy, but i have a theory. the third pic looks very familiar to me, is it a lake in switzerland? the switzerland one SEBASTIAN VETTEL lives in and that y/n ferrari said she was going to visit this summer with someone?
user53: i fear you've made a point
user54: as much as they'd be literally the hottest couple in the world ... is it not a bit weird for carlos to date his boss? like... also what does this mean for potential favouritism?
user55: i get those concerns but we've already seen this season that decisions have been made both ways. unlike the binotto era ferrari actually are making the two first drivers thing work
user56: based on what y/n has said in the past i don't think she'd favour carlos because of a relationship, i think she's too ruthless to potentially sacrifice points to benefit her potential boyfriend
f1
liked by landonorris, carlossainz55 and 1,239,861 others
tagged: carlossainz55
f1: the smooth operator is back to winning ways with his win under the singapore lights. it was a double podium for ferrari and a DNF for sergio perez means that ferrari are constructors champions once again!
view all comments
user60: Y/N FERRARI THE WOMAN YOU ARE AND HOLY SHIT HER AND CARLOS KISSING DID SOMETHING TO ME
user61: we really went from xavi and not having any tyres to proper professionals and the WCC trust the WDC will be coming back home soon
carlossainz55: tifosi, we'll get the big one next year ❤️
user62: CONSTRUCTOR CHAMPIONS AND YOU BAGGED Y/N FERRARI U WON AT LIFE
landonorris: so you made me find out with everyone else? i see how it is
carlossainz55: sorry landito, didn't intend for anyone to find out just yet but i guess i got a little carried away..
yournameferrari: a little?
carlossainz55: sorry but i've been good all year and finally got the win and the championship i couldn't help myself (you also looked so good sorry)
yournameferrari: i guess i can give you that (you're also very sexy post-race)
charles_leclerc: well i for one am super happy that i never opened the door when i heard a suspicious sound coming from y/n's office
yournameferrari: omg delete please i stubbed my toe i swear !!!!
charles_leclerc: no one is believing that i'm sorry
carlossainz55: we've never done anything untoward on ferrari property
landonorris: untoward? who are you?
carlossainz55: my gf is super duper college educated and it's rubbing off on me
landonorris: AHAHAHA RUBBING OFF
yournameferrari: 🤨
landonorris: sorry.
carlossainz55
liked by landonorris, yournameferrari and 1,034,510 others
tagged: yournameferrari
carlossainz55: suprise ! i guess it wasn't to be just ours forever, but i love you y/n and will give everything to you and your name x
view all comments
user62: boyfriend in the first slide and girlfriend in the others he's so real
yournameferrari: i know this secret was hard for you to keep so i'm proud of you regardless, i love you 🫶
carlossainz55: honestly any time anyone in the paddock flirted with you i thought i would explode
yournameferrari: i've seen your dm requests, spare me
carlossainz55: but now they know, i can unleash all of my pictures of you and i can flex on everyone
user63: dream threesome list just got a new update
landonorris: first slide for me i know that's right
carlossainz55: i am forgiven for not telling you about my relationship? the two years were tough
landonorris: TWO YEARS?
carlossainz55: your tone sounds kinda off
landonorris: you can shove your first slide up your ass 👍 TWO YEARS?????
carlossainz55: tbf i couldn't really announce to the world that i was dating the woman who would someday become the owner of my team
landonorris: give me three business days and i'll be okay
scuderiaferrari: parents ❤️
charles_leclerc: happy for you guys but never ask me to take pictures of you again x
yournameferrari: you did such a good job though!
charles_leclerc: unless i see a photographer bonus in my contract i will not be third wheeling for free
yournameferrari: noted (you're not getting the bonus)
charles_leclerc: it was worth the try
yournameferrari
liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55 and 1,035,556 others
tagged: carlossainz55
yournameferrari: what a crazy first season. i am unbelievably proud of the boys and the team, we'll bring both championships back to maranello next season ❤️
view all comments
user64: she is everything i want to be
user65: tbf after last season i never thought we would win a race this season and her overhaul and ruthlessness has actually changed the game. also her and carlos are super cute
carlossainz55: i love you and thank you for our season. here's to the best winter break with you
yournameferrari: finally you can spend christmas the ferrari way
user66: how do we also get an invite to this christmas.. do you have any brothers? cousins? uncles?
carlossainz55: you're so so so beautiful, pretty, bewitching, ravishing, stunning and irresistible
yournameferrari: i love you too handsome
carlossainz55: can you also humble my dad at golf please and thank you
yournameferrari: we'll go doubles for the sainz golf tournament and have NO MERCY
user67: someone tell y/n the season is over and that she doesn't need to ruin sainz snr's christmas on the golf course
yournameferrari: the ferrari name never rests sorry not sorry
user68: yeah yeah the constructor championship finally came back to ferrari but this relationship is the real win from this season
user69: carlos finally found someone as old money as him
user70: and is actually old money, babes has that ferrari money
carlossainz55: i can retire early and be the house husband
yournameferrari: you will not retire early i expect you to be kicking it in that car until you're at least alonso's age
carlossainz55: but after that i can be the house husband a HAB?
yournameferrari: to your hearts content :) no one prettier i'd want on my arm x
note: hope you enjoyed i was BATTLING the writers block on this one lol. but i hope this is what you were looking for
Favorite mystery animes
1. Mouryou no Hako
2. Death Note
3. Monster
4. Boogiepop wa Warawanai
5. Boku Dake ga Inai Machi
6. Mononoke
7. Hyouka
8. Another
9. ID:INVADED
10. Kara no Kyoukai
s.kiyoomi + gf moments
☆— fem reader, crack, fluff
☆— a/n; i don't know what this is, i just had a thought and felt like writing it.. it could become a serie of events until the Sakusa Kiyoomi finally admits he loves y/n (?) idk, let me know if you like the idea😊
You have been best friends with Bokuto since you were young. Your friendship was so fun and purely like brother and sister that you even decided to move together once high school was over and your University period of life began. Even if you were very different in personalities, somehow you both worked together and couldn't imagine a life without him as your bestie-almost brother.
After some time living together, you got very used to seeing some people around the house almost everyday, his volleyball teammates.
First, it was Miya Atsumu and Sakusa Kiyoomi. Atsumu was the biggest flirt you have ever encountered in your life, almost to the point in which sometimes it annoyed you. In a good way though. He was a cutie.
While Kiyoomi was very chill and shy, he mostly kept to himself if no one bothered him; but he had the most snarky and filled with sarcasm answers for whatever antics Boo and 'Tsumu could come up with. You loved it.
Then Hinata Shouyo joined the team, and it was like a whirlwind uprooted everything in his path. He was the most outgoing and sociable and kind human being you have ever met.
And it all became like a routine. Everyday after practice, all of them would come to have dinner at yours and Boo's apartment. By this time, you already know all of them and how they all liked things and their meals. Especially Omi. He was a particular, rare especimen.
Bokuto had warned you before introducing him, how he did not like physical contact or how he wouldn't take off his mask if he wasn’t playing in a match or eating. He warned you not to feel offended or take it personal if he bluntly commented on how things were not clean enough or whatever.
But surprisingly, he had never looked down on anything in your apartment or even commented anything in front of you.
There was even one time he did comment in the middle of dinner, "I'm surprised how you maintain everything this clean and organized considering you live with Bokuto…"
"Hey!" Boo complained, mouth full of food, while everyone laughed.
That same night, Boo had pestered you about how the Sakusa Kiyoomi liked you. Of course, you couldn't believe it. The man barely spoke to you outside of those moments the team was present at your apartment.
It was until one night, when everyone came of course after practice to have dinner you were already cooking, when he did something you never thought he would do.
Of course, the amount of noise they made even before getting inside the apartment was a clear sign they were almost there. Shouyo and Boo always came straight to hug, picking you up and squishing you hard as a greeting. Atsumu would fist pump and wink at you before throwing himself on the sofa, of course putting some other volleyball's team match on the TV. While Omi would simply bow slightly with his head, not even getting too close to you, standing on the entrance of the kitchen.
By this time, you already knew and respected each one of them and their ways to show how much they appreciated you.
"It smells so good, Y/N," whined Shouyo as he entered the kitchen and made his way to the fridge to pick something to drink.
Omi was so quiet you have not realized he had followed the red-mostly orange-head and was standing at the door of the kitchen.
"I'm glad you think that," you smiled happily.
"He says that about almost everything. He would eat a bug and say exactly the same thing if he's hungry enough."
To say that you were surprised to hear his deep voice speak that amount of words was small. Yet, you couldn't avoid finding it funny how he always got the cleverest answers and dark humor. So you laughed, while Shouyo pouted, drinking from the beer he took from the fridge–it was Friday night after all.
You kept cooking, smiling and listening to how Shouyo complained to his teammate how evil he was with him when he was all nice to him.
"Alright you two…" you meddled, smiling happily at the incessant noise from everyone around, "If you're gonna keep arguing, you could at least help on setting the table, right?"
They both nodded while moving around to find what they needed, still arguing, but now about something else which sounded like Shouyo's height. Omi loved getting on Shouyo's nerves when it came to his height.
"What's that, Y/N?" Shouyo suddenly asked, signaling to a set of a plate, forks, a glass and a mug that were separated in a corner of the cupboard.
"Oh. That's Omi's," you said, your attention anywhere but said man.
"I don't remember leaving my stuff here," he commented, with no mean intention in his voice towards you.
"No, I mean… I know you don't like your stuff mixed with everyone's, so I picked a set I always clean twice and kept it separated from everything else. No one touches or uses that but you," you answered him, still looking at the food you were cooking over the oven.
Oh, God, kill me now, was all you thought as silence reigned in the kitchen.
But then, you felt a tall, warm presence behind you. You knew it was Omi, Shouyou was not that tall–he was only a head over yours, while you knew Omi was much taller.
It was the first time the Sakusa Kiyoomi got that close to you and it shocked you to the core. But what surprised you the most was when you felt his chin rest on your head comfortably.
"Thank you, Y/N," you could feel the vibrations of his deep voice and the rumble of his chest on your back saying your name, his entire dark but comfy aura so close to you, all you could think was how good it felt.
If you would have turned a bit to Shouyo's direction, you would have seen him with his eyes open wide, like those funny cartoons where their eyes popped off their face to express shock. Thankfully, he didn't say anything, he simply turned on his feet and flew from the kitchen to the living room where Tsumu and Boo were.
"You're welcome," was all you could say, almost a whisper, as he comfortably stayed there, barely a centimeter of distance between his body and yours.
If you weren't shocked enough by that, you definitely almost collapsed when you felt one of his fingers timidly caress your hand that was not holding the spoon you were cooking with, resting next to your hip. It had been barely a touch, yet the warmth and little tingling it provoked made you take a deep breath to gather your mind straight.
If you hadn't before, now you definitely were falling for this rare specimen.
misunderstood hero with a heart of gold - mv1
summary: max verstappen has never been one to read books, but everything changes when he comes across a pretty booktuber who describes him better than anyone else did before
word count: 8.2k + social media posts
folkie radio: another one of my babies finally sees the light of day 🥹 this fic is really special and i was lowkey gatekeeping it but i feel ready to share it, plss take care of it <3 i hope you like it
MASTERLIST | MY PATREON
Max Verstappen was bored.
It was late and he was alone in his hotel room. He had a race the following day and he knew better than staying up late. His team was already on his ass for sim racing at ungodly hours of the night when he had a race, but nevertheless, he was bored and not sleepy yet.
He scrolled through his phone, not really paying attention to what popped up on his Instagram feed, Tiktok for you page or Twitter timeline.
After a few minutes, his finger landed on the YouTube app, one that he barely used if he was completely honest, but for some reason he never deleted it.
A bunch of videos showed up on his main page, most of them about F1, gaming, fitness or cats. He scrolled through the thumbnails absentmindedly until one title caught his eye: "Formula 1 Drivers as Romance Book Character Tropes."
Max had no idea how that video ended up in his suggestions page. He wasn't much of a reader—he had only read two books in his entire life, for crying out loud— but curiosity got the better of him. He clicked on the video.
The screen shifted to a bright and lively setup, where a young woman with vibrant energy and a contagious smile greeted her viewers. "Hey everyone! Welcome back to my channel. Today, we have a fun video where I'll be pairing Formula 1 drivers with romance book tropes!"
Max found himself smiling for some reason, he thought she was really engaging and funny — and really pretty—. He leaned back against his pillows, more intrigued by the second.
"As some of you might already know, books are not my only passion, I'm also a huge Formula 1 fan since I was a little kid thanks to my dad, so I thought it would be fun to do a little crossover of my two obsessions."
Max grinned again, finding himself oddly invested in this unexpected combination of romance literature and Formula 1. Or maybe just mesmerized by the pretty girl who was talking on his screen.
"Let's begin with Mercedes," she said, clapping her hands together, "Lewis Hamilton is definitely our 'Charming Prince Charming.' He's got the looks, the talent, and that air of royalty about him."
Max chuckled, thinking it was a fitting description for his rival.
"Now for George Russell," she continued, "I'm going with 'The Boy Next Door Who Grew Up Hot.' I mean, have you seen his glow-up?"
Max chuckled again, nodding in agreement. George had indeed transformed quite a bit since his Williams days.
"Moving on to Ferrari," she continued enthusiastically. Max wondered if that was her favorite team on the grid, "Charles Leclerc is our classic 'Childhood Best Friend You've Always Had a Crush On.' He's got that sweet, familiar charm, but with a spark that makes your heart race every time you see him."
Max raised an eyebrow, surprised by the change in description. He had to admit, it fit Charles quite well.
"And for Carlos Sainz," she paused dramatically, "he's either our 'Older Brother's Best Friend' or the 'Bad Guy Who's Mean to Everyone but His Sweetheart', just think about it, he's got that rugged exterior, but you just know he's a total sweetheart deep down."
Max laughed, realizing she had Carlos pegged perfectly. He watched with growing interest as she continued.
"Now, let's talk about McLaren," she said with a sparkle in her eye. "Lando Norris is our 'Adorkable Comedian Who Steals Your Heart.' He's funny, relatable, and has a way of making you fall for him before you even realize it," Max grinned at the description of his good friend, "And Oscar Piastri... he's 'The Shy Genius.' Quiet, reserved, but incredibly talented and intelligent. He might not be the loudest in the room, but he's someone you'd definitely want on your side."
Max nodded in agreement, thinking of how Oscar had impressed everyone since joining McLaren. She continued pairing each driver with a character trope, she described Daniel as the "Life of the Party with a Sensitive Soul," highlighting his infectious energy and hidden depths. Pierre was dubbed the "Resilient Underdog," emphasizing his ability to bounce back from setbacks. Yuki was described as the "Fiery Spitfire with a Soft Center" and Logan was labeled the "Rookie with Untapped Potential," suggesting a character arc of growth and discovery.
With each driver's description, Max's anticipation grew. He found himself eagerly awaiting his own characterization, both curious and slightly apprehensive about how the pretty girl with an obsession with books and Formula 1 would describe him.
When she finally got to Red Bull, he sat up a little straighter, his interest piqued.
"Now for Sergio Perez," she said, "he's our 'Loyal Wingman Who Deserves His Own Happy Ending.' Always there to support, but with a story of his own waiting to be told."
Max nodded, thinking it was a pretty accurate description of his teammate.
"And finally, saved the best for last," she said, her eyes twinkling, "we have Max Verstappen."
Max held his breath, oddly nervous about how this stranger would categorize him.
"Max is our 'Misunderstood Hero with a Heart of Gold,'" she said with a warm smile. "Often perceived as cold or distant, but actually deeply caring and protective of those close to him. He's the type who shows his love through actions rather than words."
Max felt his cheeks warm significantly. This description caught him completely off guard. It wasn't the usual 'aggressive driver' or 'arrogant champion' narrative he was used to hearing. Instead, it felt... true. Uncomfortably true. He wasn't sure how to feel about being seen so accurately by a stranger.
As the video ended after she said her goodbyes, Max found himself staring at his phone screen, replaying her words in his mind, his thumb hovering over the comment section. He had never left a comment on a YouTube video before, but something about this one compelled him to break that habit.
After a moment's hesitation, he tapped the comment box and began typing, Once he was done, he paused, reading over his words. It felt strange, almost vulnerable, to acknowledge her characterization of him. But there was also something liberating about it. He added a thumbs-up emoji at the end and hit 'Post' before he could second-guess himself.
As Max set his phone down and settled into bed, a small smile played on his lips. He had a important race the following day, but all he wanted to think and dream about was the pretty stranger who had somehow seen through his carefully crafted public persona.
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
liked by username1, username2 and 10,725 others
f1gossip “I went to bed early last night. Just listened to the team’s orders, you know?”
Max Verstappen for media day today, however he left a comment on a YouTube video around 2:46 am 😭
view all comments
username1 HES SOOOOO
username2 the fact that he left a comment on a BOOKTUBER’S channel MAX VERSTAPPEN YOU DONT EVEN READ BOOKS 😭
username3 he looks so pretty tho
username4 MAX WE ALL SAW YOU
username5 max was actually checking which romance trope is him according to booktubers
username6 HES SO RANDOM
username7 max’s search history: lestappen as fictional couples
liked by username1, username2 and 102,438 others
ynreadsbooks in honor of max verstappen x3 world champion commenting on my latest video (which is insane to say out loud wtf) should i do another f1 themed video?? any suggestions?
view all comments
username1 YES QUEEN
username2 that max comment was so random but so real
username3 max verstappen, the man who has read two books in 27 years watching booktubers was not on my bingo card
username4 @/maxverstappen1 you favorite youtuber will do another video about you
username5 BOOKS WITH RACING THEMES
username6 books inspired by f1 circuits would be fun
username7 @/maxverstappen drop a suggestion
maxverstappen1 started following ynreadsbooks
liked by username1, username2 and 15,836 others
f1gossip Max Verstappen was seen outside of a bookshop in Monaco today !
view all comments
username1 BABYYYY
username2 max ??? bookshop ????
username3 WHAT SHIFTED
username4 he thought it was jimmyz
username5 HEELPP what is he doing there
username6 hello i work there. he arrived with a list of books in hand that he wanted, he bought around 15 action and fantasy books
↳ username1 FOR REAL???
↳ username2 max said book girl summer
↳ username3 this is so random
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
If someone had told Max that this year he would spend his summer break reading, he would've laughed at their faces. Yet here he was, lounging by the pool in his Monaco house, a book in his hands and a smile on his face.
As he turned the page of "The Martian," the latest sci-fi recommendation from YN, Max couldn't help but reflect on how different this summer break was.
Usually, his days off were filled with lavish yacht parties, exclusive clubs, or intense training sessions and hours of sim racing to stay sharp for the second half of the season. But now, he found himself eagerly devouring books and spending hours chatting with YN about plots, characters, and everything in between.
As the weeks passed, Max found himself growing increasingly close to YN, despite never having met her in person. Their text conversations flowed effortlessly, ranging from in-depth discussions about the books they were reading to playful banter about racing and life in general.
Max was surprised by how much he enjoyed her company, even in this digital form. Her wit, intelligence, and genuine interest in his thoughts beyond his racing persona were refreshing. He found himself sharing things he rarely discussed with others, and looking forward to her messages became a highlight of his day.
He also thought she was absolutely gorgeous.
As if on cue, his phone buzzed with a new message from her.
Max chuckled, about to reply when he heard the doorbell. He remembered Lando and Daniel were coming over for dinner. As he got up to let them in, he quickly typed a response, telling her that he would talk to her later.
"Well, well, well," Daniel's voice boomed as Max opened the door. "If it isn't the newly minted bookworm of Formula 1!"
Lando peered around Daniel's shoulder, "I half expected to find you wearing glasses and a sweater vest, mate."
"Very funny, guys. Come in," Max rolled his eyes as he stepped away from the door.
Ever since his friends noticed his brand new habit, they took it upon themselves to tease him whenever they could. As they made their way to the backyard, Daniel spotted the book on the lounger.
"The Martian?" he read, picking it up. "Isn't this a bit advanced for your reading level, Maxy?"
"Ha ha," Max deadpanned, snatching the book back. "It's actually really good. It's about this astronaut who gets stranded on Mars and has to use science and engineering to survive-"
"Whoa, whoa," Lando interrupted, holding up his hands. "Who are you and what have you done with Max Verstappen?"
Daniel draped an arm around Max's shoulders. "I think our boy here is trying to impress a certain bookish YouTuber. What was her name again? YN?"
Max felt his cheeks warm. "It's not like that. We just... talk about books and stuff."
"And stuff," Daniel repeated, wiggling his eyebrows. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"
Max rolled his eyes, trying to brush off their teasing. "Seriously, it's not like that. We just have a lot in common."
Daniel and Lando exchanged knowing glances before bursting into laughter.
"Sure, mate," Daniel said, patting Max on the back. "Whatever you say."
They settled by the pool, beers in hand, and started chatting about the upcoming races and their plans for the rest of the summer. Despite the playful ribbing, Max found himself genuinely enjoying their company. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed his friends.
As the evening wore on, the conversation eventually circled back to Max's books and his little friend on his phone.
"So, Max," Lando started, a mischievous glint in his eye, "have you color-coded your bookshelf yet? Or are you more of a chronological order kind of guy?"
"Nah, mate. I bet he organizes them by how many times YN has mentioned them," Daniel chimed in, "Top shelf is probably her favorites, right Maxy?"
Max felt his cheeks flush, but he couldn't help grinning. "You two are impossible."
"When are you finally going to meet her in person anyway?" Lando said, sipping from his beer.
Max shrugged nonchalantly, trying to hide the slight flutter in his chest. "I don't know. That's not something I've really thought about,"
He lied. In truth, the thought of meeting YN had crossed his mind countless times. The idea of finally seeing the girl who had captivated him with her intelligence, humor, and beauty made his heart race. He'd catch himself daydreaming about her smile, wondering if it was as warm and infectious in person as it seemed in her videos. But he wasn't ready to admit that to his friends just yet.
Lando and Daniel exchanged a look, clearly not buying Max's nonchalant act.
"Oh come on," Lando scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. "You expect us to believe that? You've been glued to your phone for weeks, mate."
"I bet he's already planned their first date," Daniel leaned in, "What'll it be, Max? A romantic book reading by candlelight? Or maybe a visit to the library?"
Max felt his cheeks heating up again. "It's not like that, guys. We're just friends."
"Friends who talk every day and have you blushing like a schoolgirl," Lando teased, nudging Max with his elbow.
"I do not blush like a schoolgirl," Max protested, knowing full well that his face was probably bright red by now.
"Sure, sure," Daniel said with a wink. "Just friends. So, have you at least thought about inviting her to a race? You know, show her what you do when you're not reading about Mars?"
"Why would I invite her to a race, that would be weird," Max protested again, "And she already knows what I do, she's a fan of the sport."
"Man, you're so stubborn sometimes," Lando rolled his eyes at him, "If you like this girl, why don't you invite her to a race? It could be a great way to finally meet in person."
"And who said that I liked her," once again, Max's defensive self came through.
Daniel and Lando shared an exasperated look before turning back to Max.
"Come on, mate," Daniel said, his tone gentler now. "It's pretty obvious. We've never seen you this invested in someone before. Not to mention, you're reading books voluntarily for the first time since... well, ever."
"It's written all over your face," Lando said, shaking his head. "You like her, and there's no shame in that. You light up every time your phone buzzes. It's kind of adorable, actually."
Max sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew his friends were right, but admitting it out loud felt like a big step. "Okay, fine. Maybe I do like her. But it's complicated, you know? We've never even met in person."
"That's exactly why you should invite her to a race," Lando insisted. "It's the perfect opportunity. She gets to see you in your element, and you get to finally meet face-to-face."
"Plus," Daniel added with a mischievous grin, "if things go well, you can always show her your trophy collection. I hear that's a great way to impress the ladies."
Max couldn't help but laugh at that. "You're ridiculous, you know that?"
"Maybe," Daniel shrugged, "but I'm also right. What have you got to lose?"
Max pondered this for a moment. The idea of meeting YN in person both thrilled and terrified him. What if they didn't click in real life the way they did over text? But then again, what if they did?
"I'll think about it," Max finally conceded.
Lando and Daniel exchanged triumphant grins.
"That's our boy," Lando said, patting his back.
After a few more beers and food, Lando and Daniel left.
As the night deepened, Max found himself lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. The conversation with Lando and Daniel kept replaying in his mind. His phone sat on the nightstand, silent but somehow still demanding his attention.
Max's thoughts raced. Should he text YN? Invite her to Zandvoort? The idea made his heart beat faster. He imagined seeing her in person for the first time, wondering if her smile would be as pretty as it was in her videos. But doubt crept in too. What if things were awkward? What if the chemistry they had online didn't translate to real life?
He rolled onto his side, eyeing his phone. The urge to reach out to her was strong, as it always was. Max realized that Lando and Daniel were right - he did like her. A lot. The thought of meeting her filled him with equal parts excitement and nervousness.
Taking a deep breath, Max grabbed his phone. Before he could overthink it, he started typing.
Hey YN, hope I'm not messaging too late. I was wondering if you'd like to come to the Dutch GP at Zandvoort? It's the first race after the summer break, and my home race. Thought it might be fun if you could make it.
He hit send before he could second-guess himself. The wait for her response felt eternal. When his phone finally buzzed, Max's heart leapt.
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing and 286,375 others
ynreadsbooks this week’s video will be delayed for some ~personal reasons ☺️
view all comments
username1 GIRL
username2 ARE YOU GOING WHERE I THINK YOU’RE GOING
username3 f1 x books this is literally me
username4 hot girls support max verstappen
username5 ahh if she’s going to the gp i’ll be so happy bc she’s a huge fan
username6 the way roles reversed and now max is his fan 😭
redbullracing We can’t wait 💙
↳ username1 REDBULL???
↳ username2 AHHH THEY PROBABLY INVITED HER
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
As Max headed to Zandvoort Circuit for the Dutch Grand Prix, he felt the familiar weight of expectations settling on his shoulders.
The second half of the season loomed ahead, and the pressure to maintain his championship lead was on. He knew the team was counting on him to deliver strong results, especially at his home race where the orange-clad fans would be out in full force.
But amidst the pressure and responsibility, there was another emotion bubbling up inside him - a giddy excitement that he couldn't quite contain.
The thought of finally meeting YN in person after months of texts, calls, and shared book recommendations made his heart race in a way that had nothing to do with driving at a car at a very fast speed.
As he drove to the track, Max found himself smiling at random moments, his mind drifting to imagine what it would be like to see her smile in person, to hear her laugh without the filter of a phone call.
Max realized that for the first time in a long while, he was looking forward to a race weekend for reasons that extended beyond the track.
Unfortunately, his busy schedule kept them from meeting right away. Media commitments, team briefings, and practice sessions consumed his time, leaving him feeling frustrated and guilty for not being able to see her sooner. He sent her a quick message apologizing for the delay, promising they'd meet after qualifying.
As he made his way to the garage, a familiar voice called out behind him.
"Oi, Max! Ready for the big day?"
Max turned to see Daniel jogging up to him, his trademark grin in place.
"Yeah, should be a good quali," Max replied, trying to sound nonchalant.
Daniel raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't talking about qualifying, mate. Your special guest arrives today, right?"
Max felt his cheeks warm. "How did you even remember that?"
"Please," Daniel scoffed. "It's all you've been talking about for weeks. So, have you met her yet?"
"No, my schedule's been packed. We're supposed to meet after quali."
"Ah, saving the best for last, eh?" Daniel's grin widened, "Smart move. Nothing like the adrenaline of a good qualifying session to make a great first impression."
"Or to completely mess it up," Max muttered.
"Hey, none of that," Daniel clapped him on the shoulder. "You'll be fine. Just be yourself. She already likes you for who you are, remember?"
Max nodded, feeling a bit reassured. "Thanks, Dan."
With a deep breath, Max headed into the garage, Daniel's words echoing in his mind.
Qualifying went smoothly, with Max securing a front row start to the delight of the Dutch fans. The cheers of the home crowd were deafening as he climbed out of the car, but his mind was elsewhere.
After the post-qualifying interviews, Max sent YN a quick text letting her know that he was free now and she let him know that she was around the hospitality area.
As he walked towards there, Max spotted YN standing near one of the motorhomes, looking around with wide eyes. She hadn't seen him yet, and for a moment, Max just watched her, taking in the sight of the girl who had been on his mind for months now.
She was even more gorgeous in person than he had imagined.
Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she took in the bustling paddock around her. The way the sunlight caught her hair, the gentle curve of her smile as she observed everything with wonder - it all took Max's breath away.
He noticed little details he couldn't have seen through a screen: the way her eyes sparkled, the subtle freckles across her nose, the graceful way she moved as she looked around.
Taking a deep breath, Max walked over, his heart pounding. "YN?"
She turned, her face lighting up with a radiant smile that made Max's breath catch. "Max! Finally!"
They moved toward each other, and without hesitation, Max pulled her into a hug. The embrace felt natural, as if they'd done this a hundred times before. He was aware of how perfectly she fit in his arms, the subtle scent of her perfume, and the warmth of her body against his.
"It's so good to finally meet you," he murmured into her hair. "I'm so sorry it took so long, this weekend's been crazy."
She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with understanding in her eyes. "It's okay, Max. That qualifying was amazing! I've never experienced anything like it."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it. Come on, let me show you around."
He took her hand and he was struck by how natural it felt. Her fingers intertwined with his perfectly, and a warm sensation spread from their joined hands throughout his body.
They strolled through the paddock, Max pointing out the various team motorhomes, the garages, and the media center. YN was all wide-eyed fascination, asking questions and soaking in every detail. As they walked, Max found himself relaxing more and more, his previous nerves about their chemistry being gone fading away.
As they rounded a corner, they nearly bumped into Lando Norris. Who couldn't help but smirk at the sight of their hands intertwined.
"You guys met already!" he cheerfully said, "You must be YN."
Her cheeks flushed, clearly surprised that Max had mentioned her to his friends. Max felt a warmth spread through his chest at her reaction.
"Yeah, this is YN," Max said, unable to keep the smile off his face, "Meet Lando, the perpetual pain in my ass."
"Nice to finally meet the girl who's got Max reading," YN laughed, and Lando extended his hand, "Quite the accomplishment."
"Nice to meet you too, Lando," YN said, shaking his hand. "I've enjoyed watching you race, I'm a big fan. Congrats on the pole position."
"Cheers," Lando replied, then turned to Max with a mischievous glint in his eye. "So, has he bored you with car talk yet, or has he actually remembered how to discuss books?"
Max rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Shouldn't you be preparing for tomorrow, Lando?"
"Alright, alright, I can take a hint," Lando chuckled. "Enjoy your tour, lovebirds!"
As Lando walked away, Max felt a mix of embarrassment and pleasure. He glanced at YN, relieved to see her smiling.
"Sorry about him," Max said, shaking his head with a chuckle. "Lando has a way of making everything awkward."
YN laughed softly, her eyes twinkling. "It's fine. He seems like fun."
They continued their walk, finally making their way to the rooftop terrace of the Red Bull hospitality area. The view was stunning, offering a panoramic look at the circuit and the sea of orange-clad fans below.
"This is incredible," YN said, leaning against the railing and taking it all in. "Thank you for showing me around, Max."
"Of course," Max said, standing beside her. "I'm really glad you could come."
They stood there for a moment, enjoying the view and each other's company. Max felt a sense of contentment wash over him, the stress of the weekend melting away in her presence.
"Max," YN said softly, turning to face him. "I know this weekend is important for you, and I don't want to be a distraction. But I'm really happy to be here and to finally meet you."
"You're not a distraction," Max replied, reaching out to take her hand again. "You're the best part of this weekend, honestly."
They shared a smile, Max was well aware of the butterflies that fluttered on his stomach and the high school girl blush his friends teased him about, but he didn't care. He felt happy with the pretty girl who had been his source of comfort for months, finally face to face.
"You know," YN said softly, "when I made that video calling you a misunderstood hero with a heart of gold, I never imagined I'd get to see it firsthand. But being here, seeing how you are with your team, with the fans… I was right about you, Max Verstappen."
Max felt a warmth spread through his chest at her words. He had always been guarded about his public image, but hearing her perspective meant more than he could ever imagine.
"I'm glad you think so," he said softly, his voice filled with sincerity. "You know, that video... it changed things for me. Not just because it led to us talking, but because it made me reflect on a lot of things."
"Who would've thought," YN said with a smile, "When I recorded that video, I never thought you would ever see it, let alone have an impact on you and let alone lead us to talking and me being here."
"Everything happens for a reason, right?"
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo and 301,257 others
ynreadsbooks best experience ever. thank you, thank you, THANK YOU 🥺💙
view all comments
username1 OMFGGGG
username2 no one deserved this more than her for real
username3 SHE MET MAX TOO?? DESERVED
redbullracing Come back soon! 😉
username4 red bull finally inviting people who actually love the sport
username5 GIRL WE NEED A VLOGGGG
username6 omg how did this happen spiiiill
↳ ynreadsbooks let's say i got invited by the world champion
↳ username1 WTF
↳ username2 so MAX invited her not redbull help he really did become a fan after that video
danielricciardo Hope to see you around soon, love ! 👀
↳ username3 how do i sign up for this
username7 THAT PIC OF MAX IS SO BOYFRIEND CODED
maxversteppen1 Thank you so much for coming and making this day special ☺️
↳ username1 OMG MAX
↳ username2 i'd be screaming if i was her
liked by charles_leclerc, ynreadsbooks and 1,028,479 others
maxverstappen1 Enjoyed every moment in Zandvoort with this amazing atmosphere and the best company 🧡
view all comments
username1 KIIING
username2 how can a man be so babygirl
username3 all smiles even tho he finished p2
danielricciardo 🦁🦁
landonorris Simply lovely
↳ username1 menace
username4 bro who got you smiling like that
ynreadsbooks ❤️
↳ username2 biggest max girlie
↳ username3 WE NEED THAT VLOG
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
When it came time for YN to leave the Netherlands, Max insisted on driving her to the airport himself. The car ride was filled with comfortable silence and soft conversation, both of them trying to stretch out their remaining time together.
Despite their short time together, Max found himself completely smitten, captivated by YN's intelligence, humor, and the way her eyes lit up when she talked about books or reacted to the thrill of the race.
He didn't want to admit it to himself, but he was head over heels for her.
As they stood in the departure terminal, Max felt an overwhelming urge to kiss her. He hesitated, his heart racing, but ultimately settled for a long, warm hug, breathing in her scent and committing it to memory. As he watched her walk through security, he already found himself missing her presence.
Now, a week later, Max was in Monza for the Italian Grand Prix. The day had been busy with media commitments and team meetings. Finally back in the quiet of his motorhome, Max flopped onto the couch, feeling drained but content. Without thinking, he reached for his phone and hit the FaceTime button next to YN's name.
Her smiling face appeared on the screen, and Max felt an immediate surge of warmth.
"Hey, you," she said, her voice soft and welcoming even through the phone's speakers.
"Hey," Max replied, unable to keep the grin off his face. "How's your day been?"
"Oh, you know, the usual. Editing videos, reading, missing the excitement of the paddock," YN teased. "How about you? Surviving the media circus?"
"Barely," Max groaned dramatically, "I swear, if I have to answer one more question about RedBull and their big mess, I might go mad."
YN laughed, the sound making Max's heart skip a beat. "Poor Max. Whatever shall we do to take your mind off your beloved team?"
"Well," Max said, shifting to get more comfortable, "I've been reading that new sci-fi book you recommended. 'The Martian-like Odyssey to Titan,' or whatever it's called."
"'Project Hail Mary,'" she corrected, "And? What do you think so far?"
"It's incredible!" Max's eyes lit up, "I mean, the science is fascinating, and the way the main character problem-solves is just... I don't know, it reminds me a bit of what we do in racing, you know? Constantly adapting, finding solutions on the fly."
"That's exactly why I thought you'd like it! The way Andy Weir writes about scientific problem-solving is so engaging."
They dove into an animated discussion about the book, Max marveling at how easily conversation flowed between them, how YN's passion for books was infectious. As they talked, a thought that had been brewing in Max's mind for days suddenly surfaced.
"YN," Max said, his voice softer than before. "There's actually something I've been wanting to ask you."
"Oh? What is it, Max?" she tilted her head, curiosity evident in her expression.
Max took a deep breath, suddenly feeling like he was about to qualify for a crucial race. "Well, I was wondering... have you ever been to Monaco?"
"No, actually, I haven't," YN's eyebrows raised in surprise, "It's always been on my travel wish list, though. Why do you ask?"
Max felt his heart rate pick up. He'd rehearsed this moment in his head countless times over the past few days, but now that it was here, he found himself fumbling for words.
"Well, you see, I have a two-week break coming up before the Baku GP, and I was thinking... maybe... if you're free, of course, and if you'd like to... you could come visit me in Monaco?"
The words tumbled out faster than he intended, and Max felt a blush creeping up his neck. He watched YN's face carefully, trying to gauge her reaction. His mind raced with possibilities - what if she said no? What if this was too forward?
YN's eyes widened, and for a moment, she seemed at a loss for words. "Oh, Max, that's... wow. That's really sweet of you to offer."
Max, sensing a hint of hesitation, quickly added, "You could stay at my place. I have plenty of room, and it would be great to have you around. Plus I have two adorable cats that I'm sure you'd love."
YN's expression softened, a mix of excitement and uncertainty in her eyes. "That sounds amazing, Max. But… are you sure? I wouldn't want to impose on your personal space or your time off."
Truth was, Max wanted to spent every free moment he had with her, but he wasn't sure how to let her know without sounding too forward or like a creep, so he just pressed on.
"You wouldn't be imposing at all, I promise. I really want us to spend more time together, away from the craziness of the race weekends. And I'd love to show you around Monaco."
He watched as YN bit her lip, considering his offer. The silence stretched for a moment, and Max found himself holding his breath.
"If you're not comfortable staying at my place," he added quickly, "I could book you a hotel room, or there are some great Airbnbs with amazing views of the harbor. Whatever makes you feel most at ease. I just… I really want to see you again."
As he spoke, Max realized just how true his words were. The thought of having YN in his space, sharing meals, exploring the city together - it filled him with a warmth he couldn't quite describe. It was more than just attraction; there was a comfort in her presence that he craved.
YN smiled, a warm look in her eyes. "You really mean that, don't you?"
"I do. Look, I know it might seem like a big ask, but I just... I can't stop thinking about how much fun we have together. And Monaco is beautiful this time of year. We could go for drives along the coast, have dinner at some amazing restaurants, or just relax by the pool if you prefer. No pressure, just... us. And well, the cats."
Max held his breath, waiting for her response. The thought of having YN in Monaco, of being able to spend uninterrupted time with her away from the pressures of the race weekend, made his heart soar. He imagined showing her his favorite spots in the city, maybe taking her out on his boat, or just lounging by the pool and talking for hours.
"Alright, Verstappen, you've convinced me. But I have one condition."
"Name it." Max grinned, relief and excitement washing over him.
"If I'm staying at your place, you have to let me cook my infamous waffles for breakfast. They're a secret family recipe, and I guarantee they'll be the best you've ever tasted."
"Deal," Max's smile widened, a burst of joy exploding in his chest. "But I warn you, I take my waffles very seriously. They better live up to the hype."
"Oh, they will. And I can't wait to meet the cats."
As they continued to chat and make plans for YN's visit, Max felt a warmth spreading through his chest. The prospect of having YN in his home, of waking up and knowing she was just in the next room, of being able to spend lazy mornings together over homemade waffles - it all seemed almost too good to be true.
He found himself imagining what it would be like to have her there. Would she curl up on his couch with a book? Would they watch the sunset from his terrace? Would he finally get the courage to kiss her?
The thought made his heart race. He remembered the moment at the airport when he had wanted so badly to kiss her goodbye. This time, he promised himself, he wouldn't let the opportunity pass by.
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
ynreadsbooks has added to their stories
maxverstappen1 replied to your story
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
The day of YN's arrival in Monaco had finally come, and Max felt like a giddy teenager preparing for his first date.
In the days leading up to YN's visit, Max had found himself unusually preoccupied with preparations. He wanted everything to be perfect for YN's stay. He'd bought new sheets for the guest bedroom, making sure they were the softest he could find. He'd stocked the fridge with an array of foods, unsure of her preferences but making sure to have options. He'd even gone so far as to buy a small collection of books he thought she might enjoy, arranging them carefully on the nightstand in her room.
The morning of her arrival, Max woke up early, his stomach a knot of excitement and nerves. He double-checked everything one last time - fresh towels in the bathroom, extra toiletries in case she forgot anything, a vase of fresh flowers on the kitchen counter to brighten up the space. He felt almost silly with how much effort he was putting in, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted everything to be perfect for the girl he was smitten with.
As the time to leave for the airport approached, Max found himself pacing, checking his watch every few minutes. He'd planned the route to the airport meticulously, factoring in potential traffic to make sure he'd be there in plenty of time. Just as he was about to grab his keys and head out, the doorbell rang.
Confused, Max paused. He wasn't expecting anyone - he'd made sure to clear his schedule completely for YN's visit. Frowning slightly, he opened the door to find Lando standing there, a wide grin on his face.
"Lando? What are you doing here?" Max asked, glancing at his watch.
"What, can't a mate drop by for a visit?" Lando replied, trying to peer past Max into the apartment. "Thought we could hang out, maybe play some FIFA."
Max shifted awkwardly, blocking the doorway. "Lando, mate, I'm actually just about to head out. I can't hang out right now."
"Oh, come on," Lando's grin faltered slightly, "Just for a bit? We haven't had a proper catch-up in ages."
"I'm sorry, I really can't," Max insisted, glancing at his watch nervously. "I have to pick up a friend from the airport."
Lando's eyes narrowed suspiciously, a mischievous glint appearing. "A friend, huh? Is it that your book dream girl? You're flying her out over here?"
Max felt his face heat up, a blush creeping up his neck. He tried to deny it, but his reaction gave him away.
"It is! Oh man, this is brilliant," Lando's eyes widened in delight, "Max Verstappen, blushing like a schoolboy over a girl."
"Shut up," Max grumbled, but there was no real annoyance in his voice. He couldn't help but smile.
"So, YN is finally gracing Monaco with her presence," Lando teased. "No wonder you've been so distracted lately. When do I get to hang out with her?"
"You don't," Max rolled his eyes, "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go."
"Alright, alright," Lando stepped aside, still grinning. "But I want details later, yeah? And tell YN I said hi."
Max waved him off, hurrying to his car. Despite Lando's teasing, he couldn't wipe the smile off his face. The excitement was bubbling up inside him again as he drove to the airport.
As he parked and made his way to the arrivals area, Max felt his nerves almost making him want to throw up. He found himself fidgeting, alternating between pacing and sitting, his eyes glued to the arrivals board.
Finally, he saw that YN's flight had landed. His heart rate picked up as he watched the doors, scanning the crowd for her familiar face. And then, suddenly, there she was.
YN emerged from the arrivals gate, looking a bit tired from the journey but still radiant. Her eyes scanned the crowd, and when they landed on Max, her face lit up with a brilliant smile.
Max felt his breath catch in his throat. He raised his hand in a small wave, a grin spreading across his face as he walked towards her.
"Hey, Max," she said as she reached him, her voice warm and slightly breathless.
"Hey," he replied, suddenly feeling shy. "How was your flight?"
Without thinking, he pulled her into a hug. As he wrapped his arms around her, breathing in the scent of her hair, he felt a sense of rightness wash over him. It was as if all the pieces were falling into place.
"It was good, just long," she hugged him back tightly. "I'm so glad to be here though."
As they pulled apart, Max found himself reluctant to let go completely. He kept one hand on her back as he reached for her suitcase with the other. "Here, let me get that for you."
"Always the gentleman," YN teased, but her smile was soft and appreciative.
As they walked towards the exit, Max found himself stealing glances at her, still hardly believing she was really here. "So, um, I thought we could grab some lunch if you're hungry? Or if you're tired, we can head straight to my place so you can rest."
YN considered for a moment. "Lunch sounds great, actually. I'm starving, and I'm too excited to sleep just yet. I want to see Monaco."
Max chuckled, feeling a warmth spread through his chest at her enthusiasm. "Lunch it is then. I know just the place – it has a great view of the harbor."
As they made their way to Max's car, chatting easily about YN's flight and Max's plans for her visit, Max felt a sense of contentment he hadn't experienced in a long time. The nervousness from earlier had melted away, replaced by pure happiness.
Loading YN's suitcase into the trunk, Max caught her eye and smiled. "I'm really glad you're here, YN."
She returned his smile, her eyes sparkling. "Me too, Max. Me too."
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 276,488 others
ynreadsbooks roomates for the week 🥺
view all comments
username1 AWEEE
username2 those are cute kittens
username3 those look like max verstappen's cats
username4 JIMMY AND SASSY VERSTAPPEN??
↳ username1 how CRAZY would it be
danielricciardo Don't hesitate to shout if he's much trouble
↳ username2 HOLD ON??
↳ ynreadsbooks he's just fine don't worry 😅
↳ username3 IS SHE REALLY WITH MAX??
↳ maxverstappen1 I'm not trouble...
↳ username1 OMFGGG
↳ username4 THIS PLOT TWIST
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
Three days had passed since YN's arrival in Monaco, and Max couldn't remember a time when he'd been happier.
True to her word, YN had cooked her infamous waffles for breakfast on the second morning of her stay. As Max had taken his first bite, his eyes had widened in surprise and delight. The waffles were light and crispy on the outside, yet fluffy on the inside, with a perfect balance of sweetness and a hint of vanilla. He'd declared them the best he'd ever tasted, earning a proud smile from her.
The days that followed had been filled with laughter, conversation, and exploration. They'd spent hours by Max's pool, talking about everything and nothing. YN would often bring a book, reading aloud passages that she found particularly interesting or amusing, while Max listened, content to hear her voice and watch the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about something she loved.
They'd explored Monaco together, with Max showing YN his favorite spots and discovering new ones together. He'd taken her to the Monte Carlo Casino, where they'd marveled at the architecture and people-watched. They'd strolled through the streets of Monaco-Ville, the old town, where YN had been enchanted by the colorful buildings. They'd even spent an afternoon at the Oceanographic Museum, where YN's enthusiasm for learning had been infectious, and Max had found himself just as excited as she was about the marine life exhibits.
Throughout it all, Max felt himself falling deeper for her. It wasn't just her beauty or her intelligence that captivated him, but the way she saw the world. Her curiosity, her kindness, her ability to find joy in the smallest things - it all made Max see his surroundings through new eyes. He found himself noticing details he'd never paid attention to before, appreciating moments he might have otherwise overlooked.
What struck Max most was how easy and right it all felt. There was no pressure, no awkwardness. Being with YN was as natural as breathing. They could talk for hours without running out of things to say, but they were also comfortable in silence, simply enjoying each other's presence.
As they returned from another long day of exploring the city, both Max and YN retreated to their respective rooms to change into more comfortable clothing. Max opted for a soft t-shirt and sweatpants, relishing the feeling of being relaxed and at ease in his own home.
When he emerged from his room, he found YN already settled on his couch, her legs tucked under her, a book in her hands and one of his cats curling beside her. She was wearing one the t-shirt she picked the night she arrived when she realized she forgot to pack pajamas. It was too big for her frame but Max felt like melting knowing she was wearing his shirt.
The sight made Max's heart skip a beat. There was something so intimate and domestic about the scene - YN looking completely at home in his space, in his clothes, absorbed in a book as if she'd always been there.
Max couldn't help but smile, a warmth spreading through his chest. He found himself wanting this view in his life every day - coming home to find YN there, comfortable and content. The thought both thrilled and terrified him. He'd never felt this way about anyone before, never wanted to intertwine his life so completely with another person's.
YN looked up from her book, catching Max's gaze. Her lips curved into a soft smile. "Hey. Want to join me?"
Without hesitation, Max crossed the room. Instead of sitting next to her, he surprised both of them by lying down on the couch and resting his head in her lap. He looked up at her, his eyes vulnerable. "Would you read to me?"
YN's expression softened, her eyes twinkling with affection. "Of course," she said, her free hand moving to gently run her fingers through his hair.
Max closed his eyes, reveling in the sensation. He felt her shift slightly, getting comfortable, and then her voice filled the air, soft and melodious as she began to read.
Max's lips curved into a smile. "Emma," he murmured. "I remember you mentioning it was one of your favorites."
YN paused her reading, looking down at him with surprise and pleasure. "You remembered that?"
"Of course," Max opened his eyes, meeting her gaze. "I remember everything you tell me."
A huge grin appeared in YN's face, and she bent down to press a soft kiss to Max's forehead. The gesture was so natural, so tender, that it made Max's heart flutter.
As she continued to read, her fingers still combing through his hair, Max found himself only half-listening to the words. Instead, he was acutely aware of every point of contact between them - the warmth of her lap under his head, the gentle touch of her fingers, the soft cadence of her voice washing over him.
In that moment, Max realized with startling clarity that this was what he wanted for the rest of his life. Not just the glamour of racing or the thrill of victory, but this - quiet moments of intimacy, the comfort of being with someone who understood him, who made him want to be better.
He reached up, gently taking YN's free hand in his own, intertwining their fingers. She paused in her reading, looking down at him with a question in her eyes.
"YN," Max said softly, his voice filled with emotion. "I'm really glad you're here."
She squeezed his hand, her smile radiant. "So am I, Max. So am I."
As she resumed reading, her voice mixing with the soft sound of the Mediterranean breeze outside, Max closed his eyes again, a sense of peace settling over him. Whatever the future held, he knew that this moment, this feeling, was something he'd cherish forever.
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo and 302,479 others
ynreadsbooks monaco you're the dream 🤍
view all comments
username1 GIRL
username2 THIS ESCALATED QUICKLY
username3 how do you go from max randomly commenting one of your videos to this
username4 girl we can tell that's max dw 😭😭
username5 YOU OWE US A TWO HOUR STORYTIME VIDEO
username6 anything you want to tell us best friend?
username7 she just had a book and a dream fr
landonorris Has he bored you yet?
↳ username1 IM DYING
↳ username2 she really masterminded her way into the f1 circle
↳ ynreadsbooks he's nice, makes good smoothies 😉
↳ maxverstappen1 Good to know that ❤️
↳ landonorris I'm disgusted
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
As the final day of YN's stay in Monaco dawned, Max found himself feeling so many bittersweet emotions. The past week had been nothing short of magical, and the thought of it coming to an end left a hollow feeling in his chest. She hadn't even left yet, and already he missed her.
For their final day, Max had decided to take YN out on his yacht. He wanted their last hours together to be special, just the two of them away from the bustling streets of Monaco. As they prepared for the day, packing a picnic and gathering sunscreen and towels, Max couldn't help but reflect on the past week.
Daniel and Lando had teased him mercilessly about his sudden disappearance from their usual hangouts. They'd made jokes about Max being "whipped" and how he'd fallen hard for his "YouTube dream girl." But Max didn't care. He was too happy, too caught up in the bubble of joy that surrounded him and YN.
As they boarded the yacht, the Mediterranean stretching out before them in shades of turquoise, Max felt a pang in his chest. This perfect week was coming to an end, and he wasn't sure he was ready to face reality again.
Once they were out on the open water. YN leaned over the railing, a look of wonder on her face.
"This is incredible, Max," she said, turning to him with a dazzling smile. "I can't believe I'm here, experiencing all of this."
Max moved to stand beside her, their shoulders brushing. "I'm going to miss you," he said softly, "This week has been… I don't even have words for it."
"I'm going to miss you too, Max. So much. But you know I have to go back home. I have videos to make for my channel, work stuff to catch up on…"
Max nodded, understanding but not liking it. "Maybe you could make a video about 'A Week with an F1 Driver'? I'm sure your subscribers would love that."
YN laughed, playfully shoving his shoulder. "Oh yes, I'm sure that would go over well. 'Day 3: Watched Max eat his bodyweight in pasta. Day 5: Learned that F1 drivers are actually big babies when they lose at Mario Kart.'"
"I am not a baby!" Max gasped in mock offense. "I'm just… competitive."
"Uh-huh, sure," she teased, her eyes twinkling. "Is that why you pouted for an hour after I beat you?"
"I did not pout," Max protested, but he was grinning.
"You know, it's still surreal to me that a random video I published got us here. If someone had told me a year ago that I'd be spending a week in Monaco with Max Verstappen, I would have laughed in their face."
Max reached out, caressing her cheek softly. "I'm glad you made that video," he said softly. "I'm glad I stumbled across it. I can't imagine not knowing you now."
As they stood together on the boat, the gentle rocking of the waves mirroring the tumultuous emotions within them, Max found his gaze drawn to YN's lips. They were slightly parted, soft and inviting. His heart raced as he lifted his eyes to meet hers, a silent question in his gaze.
YN's eyes, warm and full of affection, met his. A small, knowing smile played at the corners of her mouth, and in that moment, it was all the permission Max needed.
With a gentle tug, he pulled her closer, one hand coming to rest on the small of her back while the other cupped her cheek. Time seemed to slow as he leaned in, their breaths mingling in the space between them. And then, finally, their lips met.
The kiss was tender at first, a soft exploration. But as YN's arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers threading through his hair, it deepened into something more passionate. Max poured all of his pent-up emotions into the kiss - his joy, his longing, his hope for what they could be.
When they finally parted, YN's eyes were sparkling. "You know," she said, a playful tone to her voice, "I've been waiting for you to do that all week."
Max couldn't help but laugh, a mixture of relief and happiness bubbling up inside him. "Really? All week, huh?"
"Mmhmm," she nodded, her smile widening. "I was starting to think I'd have to make the first move myself."
"Well," Max said, his voice low and teasing, "allow me to make up for lost time."
With that, he pulled her in for another kiss. This one was different from the first - more confident, more passionate. His hands roamed her back, pulling her flush against him as her fingers tangled in his hair. The world around them faded away until there was nothing but the two of them, the taste of salt on their lips, and the warmth of the setting sun on their skin.
When they broke apart this time, both were slightly dazed. Max rested his forehead against YN's, unwilling to put any distance between them.
"I really like you," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "More than I've ever liked anyone before. This week with you… it's been incredible. I don't want it to end."
YN's hand came up to cup his cheek, her thumb gently stroking his skin. "I really like you too, Max," she replied, her voice equally soft. "These past few days have been like a dream."
Max pulled back slightly, just enough to meet her eyes. "I know you have to go back, but… I want to make this work. Us, I mean. If that's something you want too."
"I do want that. Very much. It might not be easy with our schedules and the distance, but I think you're worth it."
"We'll figure it out," he said, determination clear in his voice. "I'll come visit you when I can, and you can come to some of my races. We'll make time for video calls, and I'll text you so much you'll get sick of me."
YN laughed, the sound like music to Max's ears. "I don't think I could ever get sick of you," she said, her eyes twinkling. "But I'm holding you to that promise about the races. I expect VIP treatment, Mr. Verstappen."
Max grinned, pulling her close again. "For you? Always," he murmured, before capturing her lips in another kiss.
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
ynreadsbooks has added to their stories
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
The month following YN's stay in Monaco had been blissful happiness for both YN and Max. Their parting at the airport had been bittersweet, filled with lingering kisses and tight embraces. They had spent a good hour cuddling in Max's car in the airport parking lot, neither wanting to let go.
"I'm going to miss you so much," YN had whispered, her face buried in the crook of Max's neck.
Max had tightened his arms around her, breathing in her scent. "I'll miss you too. But we'll see each other soon, I promise."
When they finally managed to separate, their goodbye kiss had been passionate and filled with promise. As Max watched her disappear into the airport, he already felt a piece of his heart leaving with her.
In the weeks that followed, they took every opportunity to be together. Max would fly to YN's home during his breaks between races, often arriving exhausted but immediately revitalized by her presence.
Their reunions were always intense, filled with desperate kisses and roaming hands as they made up for lost time. But it was the quiet moments that Max treasured most - waking up with YN in his arms, her sleepy smile the first thing he saw; cooking breakfast together, stealing kisses between flipping pancakes; or simply sitting in comfortable silence, each lost in their own tasks but finding comfort in the other's presence.
Now, as they walked hand in hand through the paddock in Austin for the USA Grand Prix, Max felt a sense of pride and joy unlike anything he'd experienced before. Having YN by his side at a race weekend, this time as more than just a friend, felt right in a way he couldn't fully express.
"This is incredible, Max," YN breathed, squeezing his hand. "I don't think I'll ever get used to it."
Max grinned, his heart swelling with affection. He loved seeing the paddock through her eyes, rediscovering the magic that he sometimes took for granted.
"Wait until you see the track," he said, pulling her closer. "And the sound when all the cars start up… there's nothing like it."
They paused for a moment, watching as a group of mechanics wheeled a set of tires past them. Max took the opportunity to really look at his girl. She was radiant in the sunlight, her hair catching the light and her eyes sparkling with excitement. He couldn't resist leaning in to place a soft kiss on her cheek.
YN turned to him, a playful smile on her lips. "What was that for?"
"Do I need a reason to kiss my girl?" Max replied, his voice low and teasing.
She laughed, the sound music to his ears. "I suppose not. But maybe save some for later? We are in public, after all."
"You're killing me," Max groaned dramatically. "How am I supposed to focus on racing when you look like that?"
"Oh, I'm sure you'll manage," YN teased, patting his chest. "After all, I hear you're quite good at this driving thing."
Their playful banter was interrupted by a familiar voice calling out. "Oi, Verstappen! Finally decided to grace us with your presence?"
Max turned to see Daniel approaching, his trademark grin in place. Lando was close behind, an equally mischievous look on his face.
"Hey guys," Max greeted, unconsciously pulling YN closer. "You remember YN, right?"
"Ah yes," Daniel's grin widened. "Nice to see you again, love."
"It's great to see you too, Daniel," she smiled warmly. "And you, Lando."
Lando's eyes darted between Max and YN, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "So, Max, finally managed to seal the deal, huh?"
Max felt his cheeks heat up, but before he could respond, YN jumped in.
"Oh, he did more than that," she said, her tone light but with a hint of something that made Max's pulse quicken. "He's been quite… impressive."
Daniel let out a low whistle while Lando burst into laughter. Max couldn't help but join in, marveling at how effortlessly YN fit into his world.
As they chatted, Max couldn't keep his hands off YN. He found himself constantly touching her - a hand on the small of her back, playing with her fingers, rubbing her arm softly. Each touch was like a spark, reminding him of their passionate reunions over the past month.
He thought back to their last meeting, just a week ago. He had flown to her place straight after he was done with some meetings in Monaco, exhausted but desperate to see her. The moment he stepped through her door, all fatigue had vanished. They had barely made it to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes in their wake. The memory of her skin against his, the taste of her lips, the sound of her gasps and moans… it was enough to make him want to whisk her away to his motorhome right now.
Max was pulled from his thoughts by the approach of another familiar face. Charles Leclerc was walking towards them, his trademark charming smile in place.
"Max! Good to see you, man," Charles said, clapping Max on the shoulder before turning his attention to YN. "And who might this lovely lady be?"
Without hesitation, the words tumbled from Max's lips: "This is YN, my girlfriend."
He felt the girl stiffen slightly beside him, and for a moment, panic flared in his chest. Had he overstepped? They hadn't explicitly discussed labels yet. But when he glanced at YN, she was smiling warmly at Charles, her hand still firmly in Max's.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Charles," YN said, shaking his hand.
Charles raised an eyebrow at Max, a hint of surprise in his expression. "The pleasure is all mine. I hope you're enjoying your time in the paddock."
After exchanging a few more pleasantries, they parted ways. Max led YN towards his driver's room. Once inside the relative privacy of the small space, YN turned to him, a playful glint in her eye.
"Girlfriend, huh?" she said, her tone light but with an undercurrent of something Max couldn't quite identify.
Max felt a flutter of nervousness in his stomach. "I… yeah. I mean, if that's okay? I know we haven't really talked about it, but…"
YN stepped closer, her fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. "It's more than okay, Max. I was just surprised. We've been in this beautiful bubble, and hearing you say it out loud… it made it feel real in a way it hasn't before."
Max let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. His hands found their way to YN's waist, pulling her closer. "It is real," he said softly. "I've never felt this way about anyone before. Feels like you're everything."
Her eyes softened, her hand coming up to cup his cheek. "You're everything to me too, Max. I love you."
The words hung in the air between them for a moment, both realizing it was the first time either had said it. Then Max surged forward, capturing YN's lips in a kiss that was equal parts tender and passionate.
When they broke apart. Max rested his forehead against YN's, his eyes closed as he savored the moment.
"I love you too," he whispered. "God, YN, I love you so much."
YN's answering smile was radiant and she pulled him in for another kiss.
"So," he said, his voice husky, "ready to watch your boyfriend win a race?"
YN laughed, the sound filling the small space and Max's heart. "Always," she replied. "My misunderstood hero with a heart of gold."
Astarion | High Elf | Rogue | Vampire Spawn
Changing the Game
platonic!Fernando Alonso x mentee!Reader
Oscar Piastri x Reader
Summary: motorsport can be cruel, especially for young women aspiring to make it to Formula 1, but when Fernando notices a driver who deserves more than the unjust cards fate handed her, he decides to do something about it … and your life will never be the same
The roar of engines fills the air, blending with the faint scent of gasoline that clings to the paddock like a memory. Fernando walks through the chaos of the Formula 3 circuit, hands in his pockets, sunglasses firmly in place.
His presence is a subtle disruption, not loud, but noticeable. Drivers and engineers glance his way, some nodding in respect, others too focused on their tasks to do more than acknowledge him with a brief flicker of recognition.
He’s been watching the race, the sun high overhead, a burning reminder that summer has a way of dragging things out. Yet, time has felt elastic today, stretched out by the tension of the track and the surprising twist that caught his attention.
A young driver — no, more than just young — barely seventeen, the only female on the grid, had sliced through the competition with precision and ferocity. Her car, marked by the number on the side, had danced on the edge of control, flirting with danger at every turn but never losing its rhythm. When the chequered flag waved, she’d crossed the line in a solid third, inches from second, and not far from the top spot.
He’d seen talent before, of course. It’s part of his world, spotting it, nurturing it, sometimes crushing it under the weight of competition. But something about you caught his eye. There’s a sharpness in your driving, a clarity of purpose that’s rare. He wonders where you’ve been hiding.
As the cars pull into the pit lane, the usual bustle takes over. Engineers swarm around their drivers, debriefs start, and helmets are tugged off with a mix of relief and frustration. Fernando watches from a distance, scanning the crowd until he finds you. You’re standing by your car, tugging at your gloves with a sharp motion, frustration etched in the tightness of your jaw. There’s a fleeting moment where you pull off your helmet, shaking out your hair, and Fernando notices the absence of something.
Sponsors.
Your race suit is practically bare. The car too, minimal branding, the kind that signals a driver struggling to make ends meet rather than one who’s just claimed a podium finish. He frowns, tilting his head slightly as he watches you. It doesn’t make sense. A driver that good should be swimming in offers, drowning in endorsements.
He catches the eye of a paddock official nearby, someone he’s vaguely familiar with — one of those types who always seem to know more than they let on. Fernando strides over, casual but direct. The official straightens up, clearly surprised to have Fernando Alonso approaching.
“Who’s the girl?” Fernando asks, nodding in your direction, though he doesn’t really need to. You’re the only one who fits the description.
The official glances your way, then back at Fernando. “Y/N Y/L/N. She’s been turning heads all season.”
“Not enough, apparently.” Fernando gestures vaguely at your race suit, his tone making it clear he’s talking about the lack of sponsorship. “What’s going on there?”
The official hesitates, glancing around as if to make sure no one’s listening. He lowers his voice slightly, a conspiratorial tone creeping in. “She’s good, real good. But, you know … she’s a girl.”
Fernando’s eyebrows shoot up, a sharp flash of irritation sparking in his eyes. “So?”
“So,” the official continues, shifting his weight uncomfortably, “sponsors and academies, they’re … cautious. Not sure if she’s got the staying power. And you know how it is, they’re more willing to take a risk on a kid who fits the mold.”
“The mold,” Fernando repeats, his voice flat, incredulous. He lets out a breath, shaking his head slightly. It’s 2019, and this is still happening. It shouldn’t surprise him, but somehow, it does.
His gaze returns to you, still standing by your car, now deep in conversation with your race engineer. There’s a fierceness in the way you talk, the way you move your hands as if trying to will the universe to bend to your will. Fernando recognizes that fire — it’s the same one he’s carried in himself for years.
But there’s more than just frustration in your eyes. There’s something else — determination, maybe, but tinged with something darker, something that’s been carved out of too many disappointments. He knows that look too. It’s the one you get when you’re tired of proving yourself over and over, and yet, you keep doing it because there’s no other choice.
Fernando’s decision is made in an instant. He doesn’t overthink it; he never has. That’s not his style. He approaches you with the same casual confidence that’s defined his career, weaving through the bustle of the paddock until he’s close enough to catch the tail end of your conversation.
“... could’ve pushed harder into turn four,” you’re saying to your engineer, frustration coloring your voice. “But the grip just wasn’t there.”
Your engineer nods, making a note on his tablet, but before he can respond, Fernando steps into the space between you.
“Grip’s one thing,” he says, his voice cutting through the noise around you, “but timing’s everything.”
You turn, eyes widening just a fraction as you realize who’s standing there. Fernando catches the flicker of surprise that you quickly mask with a polite, if guarded, smile.
“Fernando Alonso,” you say, your voice a careful mix of respect and curiosity.
“In the flesh,” he replies, a hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He glances at your car, then back at you. “Nice drive today.”
“Thanks.” The word comes out clipped, like you’re not entirely sure what to make of him yet. He can tell you’re used to being judged, sized up and dismissed by those who think they know better. But Fernando’s not here to judge.
“Third place,” he continues, as if he’s thinking out loud. “But you had the pace for second.”
Your eyebrows lift slightly, and for the first time, a hint of a real smile breaks through. “Yeah, I did. But things don’t always go as planned.”
“No,” he agrees, “they don’t. But you’ve got talent. Real talent.”
You study him for a moment, your expression shifting from guarded to something more open, more curious. “Thanks,” you say again, but this time it’s softer, more genuine.
There’s a pause, the noise of the paddock fading slightly as you both stand there, sizing each other up. Fernando knows this is the moment where most people would make some kind of offer — advice, mentorship, maybe even a contract. But he’s never been one to do things by the book.
Instead, he tilts his head slightly, a playful glint in his eyes. “Do you like ice cream?”
You blink, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. “What?”
“Ice cream,” he repeats, his tone light, almost teasing. “Do you like it?”
“Uh … yeah?” You sound more confused than anything, but there’s a hint of amusement creeping into your voice.
“Great,” Fernando says, as if that settles everything. He steps back, gesturing for you to follow him. “Let’s go get some. My treat.”
You stare at him for a moment, clearly trying to figure out if he’s serious. But when you see that he is, a slow smile spreads across your face, and you can’t help but laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.
“Okay,” you say, still laughing a little as you start to walk beside him. “Why not?”
And just like that, the tension that had been hanging over the paddock seems to dissipate, replaced by something lighter, something that feels almost like hope.
***
The ice cream shop is a short walk from the circuit, tucked into a corner of the small town that’s hosting the weekend’s race. It’s the kind of place Fernando imagines has been around for decades, unchanged except for maybe a new coat of paint every few years. The neon sign in the window buzzes faintly, its pink light reflecting off the glass as he pushes the door open, holding it for you as you follow him inside.
The cool air is a welcome relief from the heat outside, carrying with it the sweet, unmistakable scent of sugar and cream. The shop is quiet, just a couple of kids sitting by the window, licking at cones that seem far too big for them. Behind the counter, a bored-looking teenager perks up as the door chimes, her gaze sharpening as she recognizes Fernando.
“Can I help you?” She asks, her voice brightening as she tries to act casual, though it’s clear she’s a little starstruck.
Fernando nods toward you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Ladies first.”
You hesitate for a moment, then step up to the counter, glancing at the array of ice cream flavors displayed behind the glass. The choices are written in chalk on a board above, but your eyes are immediately drawn to the rich, golden brown of the dulce de leche. You point to it, giving the girl behind the counter a quick smile.
“Two scoops of that, please,” you say, and then, after a beat, “with as many toppings as will fit.”
Fernando raises an eyebrow, amused as he watches you. The girl behind the counter doesn’t question it, scooping generous portions of the creamy ice cream into a cup before moving over to the toppings bar. You lean over the counter slightly, studying the options with a critical eye before making your selections — caramel drizzle, chocolate chips, a handful of crushed cookies, a sprinkle of nuts, and a final flourish of whipped cream on top.
When the girl hands you the cup, it’s practically overflowing, a masterpiece of indulgence that’s almost as impressive as your driving. You turn to Fernando, already reaching for your wallet.
“I can pay for mine,” you say quickly, but Fernando waves you off, already pulling out his own wallet.
“It’s on me,” he insists, his tone making it clear there’s no room for argument.
You open your mouth to protest, but the look he gives you stops you in your tracks. There’s something gentle in his eyes, an unexpected warmth that makes you pause. You let out a small sigh, putting your wallet away as you give in.
“Fine,” you mutter, though there’s no real annoyance in your voice. “But I’m getting you back for this.”
Fernando chuckles as he orders a simple vanilla cone for himself. “We’ll see about that.”
Once he’s paid, the two of you find a small table near the back of the shop, away from the kids and the counter. It’s quiet, almost private, with the hum of the freezers and the distant chatter of the other customers filling the silence. You sit across from him, carefully balancing your cup of ice cream as you take your first bite.
The first taste of dulce de leche is heavenly, the caramel sweetness melting on your tongue as the toppings add layers of texture and flavor. For a moment, it’s easy to forget about everything else — the race, the frustration, the uncertainty of it all. There’s just the ice cream, the coolness of it on your tongue, and the rare sensation of simply enjoying something without a care.
Fernando watches you with a faint smile, his own ice cream barely touched as he leans back in his chair. He doesn’t rush to fill the silence, letting you savor the moment before he finally speaks.
“So,” he says, breaking the quiet, “tell me about your situation.”
You glance up at him, the spoon pausing halfway to your mouth. There’s something in his tone, something gentle but probing, that tells you this isn’t just small talk. You lower the spoon, setting the cup down on the table as you consider how to respond.
“It’s … complicated,” you begin, though that word hardly covers it. You let out a small sigh, your shoulders slumping slightly as you lean back in your chair. “I mean, I’m doing everything I can on the track. My results speak for themselves, right? But it’s like … it’s like none of that matters.”
Fernando nods, encouraging you to continue. There’s no judgment in his eyes, just a quiet understanding, and that makes it easier to keep talking.
“Every race, I’m out there giving it everything I’ve got,” you say, your voice growing more animated as you go on. “I’m right up there with the best of them — sometimes even better. But then I look around, and I see these other drivers, guys who are barely scraping into the points, and they’ve got major sponsors backing them. They’re signed to F1 teams’ academies, they’ve got a clear path to the top. And me? I’ve got nothing. No sponsors, no academy, no security.”
You pick up your spoon again, stirring your ice cream absentmindedly as your frustration bubbles to the surface. “It’s not like I haven’t tried. My team’s tried too, but no one wants to take the risk on me. They all say the same thing — ‘You’re good, but we’re just not sure if you’re what we’re looking for.’ Which is just code for ‘You’re a girl, and we’re not willing to bet on you.’”
Fernando doesn’t interrupt, letting you vent. He’s heard stories like this before, but it never gets any easier to listen to. The sport has its issues, and while things have improved over the years, the barriers you’re facing are still all too real.
You sigh, running a hand through your hair as you shake your head. “It’s so frustrating, you know? I’m out there proving myself every single weekend, but it’s like I have to work twice as hard just to get noticed, and even then, it’s not enough. My parents — they believe in me, but they’re practically killing themselves to keep me racing. They had to take a second mortgage on the house just to get me into F3 this season. And every time I don’t get a sponsor, every time another academy passes on me, it’s like … it’s like I’m letting them down.”
Your voice cracks slightly at the end, and you quickly take another bite of ice cream, as if that can somehow keep your emotions in check. But Fernando sees the way your hand trembles just a little, the way your eyes have lost some of their fire, replaced by a weary resignation.
“It shouldn’t be this hard,” you say softly, almost to yourself. “I know the sport is tough, but it feels like I’m fighting a battle that’s rigged from the start.”
Fernando takes a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “It’s not fair,” he says, his voice steady, grounding. “You’re right, it shouldn’t be this hard. But sometimes, the fight isn’t just about winning on the track. It’s about changing the game entirely.”
You look at him, your eyes narrowing slightly as you try to gauge what he means by that. There’s something in his tone, something determined and unyielding, that makes you believe he understands more than he’s letting on.
“Changing the game?” You repeat, the words feeling heavy in your mouth.
Fernando nods, leaning forward slightly. “Yeah. Look, I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. But if anyone can do it, it’s you. You’ve got the talent, you’ve got the drive, and you’ve got something most people don’t — resilience. You’re still here, still fighting, even when the odds are against you. That says a lot.”
You bite your lip, absorbing his words. There’s a part of you that wants to believe him, that wants to hold on to that hope, but there’s also a part that’s tired — so tired of fighting an uphill battle, of always having to prove yourself over and over again.
“I just don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “What if it’s not enough? What if I’m not enough?”
Fernando’s gaze softens, and for a moment, he sees a reflection of his younger self in you, back when he was first starting out, hungry and determined but unsure of how far he could really go. The difference is, he had the backing, the opportunities that you’ve been denied.
“You are enough,” he says, his tone firm, leaving no room for doubt. “The problem isn’t with you. It’s with the system, with the people who are too scared to see things differently. But that doesn’t mean you stop. You keep pushing, keep showing them what they’re missing. And if they can’t see it, then we’ll make them see it.”
You blink, surprised by the intensity in his voice. There’s a conviction there that’s hard to ignore, a belief in you that you’ve been struggling to find in yourself.
“We?” You ask, your voice tinged with cautious hope.
Fernando smiles, a small, determined curve of his lips. “We. You’re not alone in this. I’ve been where you are, in a different way, but I know what it’s like to have to fight for everything. And I know what it’s like to have someone in your corner who believes in you.”
You stare at him, processing his words, the implications of what he’s offering. There’s a warmth in your chest, a spark of something that feels dangerously close to hope.
“So what now?” You ask, your voice steadier.
Fernando leans back in his chair, his gaze never leaving yours as he takes a thoughtful bite of his ice cream. There's a moment of silence, the weight of everything unspoken hanging between you, before he finally speaks, his voice calm but resolute.
"Now?" He sets his cone down on the table, his expression sharpening with purpose. "I make some calls."
***
It’s been a few weeks since that day at the ice cream shop, and Fernando hasn’t been able to shake the conversation from his mind. He’s been in the sport long enough to know how things work, but hearing it from you, seeing how the system has worn you down despite your undeniable talent, it struck a nerve. It’s been a whirlwind of phone calls, favors cashed in, and quiet meetings behind closed doors. But now, standing at the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport, Fernando knows it’s all been worth it.
You come into view, wheeling your carry-on behind you, your eyes scanning the crowd until they land on him. A look of surprise crosses your face, quickly replaced by a hesitant smile as you make your way over.
“Hey,” you greet him, a mix of confusion and curiosity in your voice as you pull your suitcase to a stop beside him. “So … what’s this all about?”
Fernando just grins, taking the handle of your suitcase from you with a casualness that leaves no room for argument. “You’ll see,” he says, cryptic as ever. “Come on, the car’s this way.”
You follow him out to the parking garage, throwing him sideways glances, clearly trying to piece together what he’s up to. Fernando’s only response is an amused smile as he opens the door for you, waiting until you’re settled in the passenger seat before loading your luggage in the trunk.
As he pulls out of the airport and merges onto the highway, the silence between you is comfortable but charged with anticipation. You keep glancing over at him, your curiosity growing with every mile.
“You’re not going to tell me where we’re going, are you?” You finally ask, your tone hovering between teasing and exasperation.
Fernando chuckles, shaking his head. “Nope.”
You sigh, leaning back in your seat, but there’s a glimmer of excitement in your eyes that wasn’t there before. “I’m trusting you, you know,” you say, half-joking, half-serious.
“And you won’t regret it,” he promises, the confidence in his voice almost contagious.
The drive is longer than you expected, taking you out of London and into the countryside. The scenery shifts from the urban sprawl to green fields and quaint villages, the roads becoming narrower and winding as they head deeper into the heart of England. It’s not until Fernando takes a turn down a private road, leading to a sleek, modern complex surrounded by high fences, that you begin to piece it together.
“This can’t be …” you start, your voice trailing off as the full realization hits you. “Is this-”
“Mercedes HQ,” Fernando confirms with a grin as he pulls up to the security gate. He rolls down the window, exchanging a few words with the guard, who quickly waves them through.
You’re silent as he drives into the parking lot, your eyes wide as you take in the sight of the Mercedes-AMG F1 Factory. It’s one thing to see it on TV or in photos, but to be here, in person, is something else entirely. Fernando parks the car and turns to you, catching the look on your face.
“Nervous?” He asks, though he already knows the answer.
“A little,” you admit, swallowing hard as you unbuckle your seatbelt. “Okay, a lot.”
He chuckles, getting out of the car and coming around to your side to open the door for you. “Don’t be. You belong here.”
You hesitate, still processing everything, before nodding and stepping out of the car. Fernando grabs your suitcase from the trunk, but you barely notice, too busy taking in your surroundings as he leads you toward the entrance.
The interior of the building is just as impressive as the outside — modern, sleek, and buzzing with energy. Everywhere you look, there are people in team gear, some hurrying between offices, others deep in conversation. And then, as if the situation couldn’t get more surreal, Lewis Hamilton appears in the lobby, flanked by Toto Wolff.
Your breath catches in your throat, and you stop dead in your tracks. Fernando pauses beside you, a knowing smile on his face as he watches your reaction.
“Fernando,” Lewis greets, his smile widening when he sees you standing next to him. “And you must be the young driver I’ve been hearing so much about.”
You manage a nod, but words seem to have escaped you entirely. It’s not every day that you come face-to-face with a five-time world champion and the team principal of the most successful F1 team of the modern era.
Lewis chuckles at your speechlessness, his demeanor as relaxed and approachable as ever. “Don’t worry, we don’t bite,” he says, extending his hand. “It’s good to finally meet you.”
You shake his hand, your own grip slightly shaky. “I … It’s an honor,” you stammer, your voice finally finding its way back to you.
Toto steps forward next, offering his hand as well. “Welcome to Brackley,” he says, his tone warm but with the same underlying intensity that’s made him such a formidable figure in the sport. “Fernando’s told us a lot about you.”
You glance over at Fernando, a mix of gratitude and disbelief in your eyes. This is so far beyond anything you could have imagined when you first got his call.
Lewis gestures for you to follow him down a hallway, with Toto and Fernando close behind. “When Fernando reached out to me,” Lewis begins, his tone casual but sincere, “and told me about your situation, I knew we had to do something. Talent like yours shouldn’t be held back by anything, least of all by something as ridiculous as a lack of sponsorship.”
You’re still reeling from the fact that Lewis Hamilton knows who you are, let alone that he’s gone out of his way to help you. “I … I don’t even know what to say,” you admit, your voice soft with emotion.
“Don’t worry about that just yet,” Toto says from behind you, his tone light. “Let’s get you settled in first.”
You follow them through the labyrinth of hallways, trying to absorb everything at once. Fernando stays close, a steady presence as you make your way deeper into the facility. There’s a sense of purpose in the air, a kind of quiet determination that’s palpable even as people move around with the calm efficiency of a well-oiled machine.
Eventually, Lewis stops outside a conference room, holding the door open for you to enter first. You step inside, the space cool and sleek, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the meticulously kept grounds outside. A large table dominates the center of the room, and as you approach, you notice a folder sitting at one end, the Mercedes logo embossed on the cover.
You hover near the table, not daring to sit until someone tells you to. Fernando catches your hesitation, nudging you gently in the direction of a chair. “Go on,” he says softly. “This is for you.”
You sink into the chair, your heart pounding as you look at the folder in front of you. Lewis and Toto take seats across from you, with Fernando settling in beside you. The atmosphere in the room shifts slightly, becoming more formal but no less supportive.
Toto reaches for the folder, sliding it across the table to you. “This,” he begins, his voice calm and measured, “is an offer to join the Mercedes Junior Team.”
You blink, sure you must have misheard him. “The … Mercedes Junior Team?”
Lewis smiles, nodding. “We believe in your potential,” he says simply. “And we want to give you the opportunity to develop that potential to the fullest.”
Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for the folder, your mind racing. This is it. This is the chance you’ve been fighting for, the one you never thought would come, at least not like this. You open the folder, your eyes scanning the first few lines of the contract inside. It’s all real — your name, the terms, everything.
“We know it’s a big decision,” Toto continues, his gaze steady on you. “Take your time to go through everything, ask any questions you have. But know that we’re serious about this. We want you on our team.”
You’re overwhelmed, the weight of the moment pressing down on you, but it’s a good kind of pressure, the kind that comes from knowing you’re on the verge of something life-changing. You look up at Fernando, who’s been watching you quietly, and there’s a look of pride in his eyes that makes your chest tighten.
“I don’t … I don’t even know where to start,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.
Lewis leans forward slightly, his expression gentle but serious. “Start by believing that you deserve this,” he says. “Because you do. And we’re here to help you every step of the way.”
There’s a long silence as you let his words sink in, your fingers tracing the edge of the folder. This is everything you’ve been working toward, everything you’ve sacrificed for, and now that it’s here in front of you, it feels almost too good to be true.
But as you look around the table — at Lewis, Toto, and Fernando — you realize that this isn’t just a dream. It’s real. They’re offering you a future, a chance to prove yourself at the highest level, and they believe in you enough to make it happen.
You take a deep breath, steadying yourself before meeting their gazes again. “I … I don’t know how to thank you,” you say, your voice thick with emotion.
“There’s no need for thanks,” Toto says with a small smile. “Just show us what you can do.”
Fernando places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his voice low and encouraging. “You’ve already done the hard part. Now, it’s just time to make it official.”
You nod, the weight of the contract in your hands feeling lighter now. “I’m ready,” you say, your voice steadying with newfound resolve.
Lewis grins. “Welcome to the team.”
***
The months following your signing with Mercedes have been a whirlwind. Every day brings something new — testing, meetings, media obligations, training sessions — but through it all, Fernando remains a constant presence. He’s there for every debrief, every important conversation, and when he’s not by your side, he’s only a phone call away. The mentorship he offers is invaluable, not just because of his experience but because of his belief in you.
Today, though, feels different. The season is winding down, and you’ve been expecting a bit of a lull, maybe even some time to catch your breath. But when Fernando calls you to meet him at a quiet café on the outskirts of town, there’s a certain energy in his voice that you can’t quite place.
You arrive at the café to find Fernando already seated at a table near the window, his sunglasses pushed up onto his head and a cup of coffee in front of him. He looks up as you approach, a small, almost secretive smile playing on his lips.
“Morning,” you greet him, sliding into the seat opposite. “You’re up to something, I can tell.”
Fernando chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee before setting the cup down. “Maybe I am,” he says, his tone teasing but warm. “How are you feeling about next season?”
The question catches you off guard. “Next season? I mean, I haven’t really thought that far ahead yet. There’s still so much to do now.”
He nods, leaning back in his chair as he studies you, a hint of something more serious in his gaze. “Well, it’s time to start thinking about it,” he says, pulling an envelope from his jacket pocket and sliding it across the table to you.
You raise an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued as you reach for the envelope. “What’s this?”
“Open it,” Fernando encourages, his eyes never leaving yours.
You do as he says, your fingers careful as you tear open the envelope. Inside is a single sheet of paper, neatly folded. You unfold it slowly, your eyes scanning the top of the page.
Carlin Motorsport — Formula 2 Contract Offer.
Your breath catches, and you look up at Fernando, disbelief written all over your face. “Is this … real?”
“Very real,” he confirms, his smile widening. “They want you for next season. Full-time seat, competitive car, the whole package.”
You’re speechless for a moment, the weight of the offer sinking in. Carlin is one of the top teams in Formula 2, a proven stepping stone to Formula 1, and they want you. It’s everything you’ve been working toward, but the reality of it is almost overwhelming.
“This is …” you start, your voice trailing off as you try to find the right words. “I don’t even know what to say.”
He reaches across the table, placing his hand over yours, his expression softening. “You’ve earned this,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “You’ve worked hard, proven yourself, and now it’s time to take the next step.”
You nod, still trying to wrap your head around it all. “But how? I mean, why would they choose me over anyone else? There are so many talented drivers out there …”
Fernando squeezes your hand, drawing your attention back to him. “Because you’re one of the best,” he says simply. “They see it, just like I do. And they know you’re going places.”
You take a deep breath, the reality of it finally starting to settle in. “Carlin … Formula 2 … It’s really happening.”
“It is,” Fernando confirms with a smile. “And you’re ready for it.”
There’s a long pause as you sit there, the contract still in your hands. Fernando watches you carefully, his gaze thoughtful. Then, as if sensing that there’s something more to discuss, he leans in slightly, lowering his voice.
“There’s something else I need to tell you,” he says, his tone shifting to something more serious.
You look up, your heart skipping a beat at the sudden change in his demeanor. “What is it?”
He hesitates for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “I’m planning to return to Formula 1 in 2021.”
The news hits you like a bolt of lightning, your eyes widening in shock. “You’re … coming back? To F1?”
Fernando nods, his expression unreadable. “Yes. I’ve been in talks with a few teams, and it looks like everything is lining up for a comeback.”
You’re stunned, your mind racing to catch up with what he’s just said. Fernando Alonso, returning to Formula 1 … it’s huge, and the implications of it start to sink in. “That’s incredible,” you say, a mix of excitement and apprehension in your voice. “But what does that mean for … us? For everything we’ve been working on?”
He’s silent for a moment, his gaze intense as he considers your question. “It means that while I’ll still be around to support you, I won’t be able to be as hands-on as I’ve been. I won’t be able to be your full-time manager anymore.”
The words hit you hard, and you feel a pang of anxiety start to creep in. Fernando’s been your rock, the one who’s guided you through every step of this journey, and the thought of losing that constant presence is unsettling.
“But,” he continues, his tone reassuring, “I’m not leaving you in the lurch. I’ve already started talking to some people, and I’m going to make sure you get a manager who’s the best of the best. Someone who knows the sport inside and out, who can give you everything you need to succeed.”
You nod slowly, trying to process everything he’s telling you. It’s a lot to take in— the offer from Carlin, Fernando’s return to F1, the changes that will come with it — but there’s a part of you that understands. This is the nature of the sport, constantly evolving, constantly moving forward.
“I’m happy for you,” you finally say, your voice sincere. “Really, I am. You deserve to be back in F1, where you belong.”
Fernando smiles, a genuine warmth in his eyes. “Thank you. And you deserve to be in F2, racing at the front, showing everyone what you’re capable of.”
There’s a pause, the weight of the moment settling over both of you. Then, Fernando’s smile turns a bit more mischievous as he leans back in his chair.
“But don’t think this means I’m going to go easy on you,” he says, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I’ll still be watching, making sure you’re giving it your all.”
You laugh, the tension breaking slightly at his words. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
He nods, satisfied, before finishing off his coffee. “Good. Because the hard work isn’t over yet. If anything, it’s just beginning.”
You take a deep breath, feeling a renewed sense of determination settling over you. Fernando’s right — this is just the beginning. The road ahead will be challenging, but you’re ready for it. And with his support, even if it’s from a distance, you know you can handle whatever comes your way.
“Thank you,” you say again, your voice full of gratitude. “For everything.”
Fernando just smiles, standing up from the table and offering you his hand. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get out of here. We’ve got a lot to prepare for.”
You take his hand, rising from your seat, and together you leave the café, the future stretching out before you, full of possibilities.
***
The hum of the F2 paddock is a mix of nerves and excitement, a constant undercurrent of energy that seems to electrify the air. It’s the first race of the season, and you can feel it. The mechanics are moving with purpose, checking and double-checking every detail of the car. Engineers are glued to their screens, analyzing data with furrowed brows. And you, in the midst of it all, are the picture of focus — calm on the outside but with a fire in your eyes that tells Fernando you’re ready for this.
He stands a few feet away, leaning casually against the garage wall, but his eyes are on you. Always on you. He’s seen you grow over these past months, watched as you’ve taken every challenge head-on, and now, as you prepare for your first F2 race, he can’t help but feel a surge of pride.
Yuki Tsunoda, your teammate, walks over, helmet in hand. He’s grinning, but there’s a trace of awe in his expression as he glances between you and Fernando. “I still can’t believe it,” Yuki says, shaking his head slightly. “Fernando Alonso, here in our garage, supporting you. It’s surreal.”
You chuckle, giving Yuki a playful nudge with your elbow. “Believe it. He’s stuck with me now.”
Fernando smirks, pushing off the wall and walking over to the two of you. “Yuki, how are you feeling about today?” He asks, his tone friendly but professional.
Yuki straightens up, clearly wanting to impress. “I’m ready. I’ve been looking forward to this all off-season. Just want to get out there and race.”
“Good,” Fernando nods, his eyes sharp as he assesses Yuki. “Remember, the first race sets the tone. Keep your head down, focus on your own performance, and the results will come.”
Yuki nods, absorbing the advice. “And you?” He asks, turning back to you. “First F2 race … How are you feeling?”
You shrug, but there’s a determined glint in your eyes. “Excited. Nervous. Ready. All of it.”
Fernando can’t help but smile at that. He’s seen that look in countless drivers — right before they go on to do something special. “You’ve got this,” he says, his voice low but full of conviction. “Just do what you do best.”
You give him a small, appreciative smile before turning back to the car, where the final preparations are being made. Fernando watches you for a moment longer, feeling the weight of the day. This is a big moment, not just for you, but for him too. He’s invested so much in you, not just as a driver but as a person, and now he’s about to see the fruits of that labor on one of the biggest stages.
Yuki eventually heads back to his side of the garage, leaving you and Fernando in a comfortable silence. He steps closer to you, lowering his voice so only you can hear. “Remember, it’s just another race. Don’t let the pressure get to you. You’ve done this a hundred times before.”
You nod, your expression set with determination. “I know. I just need to stay focused.”
“Exactly,” Fernando agrees, his hand resting briefly on your shoulder. “And remember, I’m here. You’re not doing this alone.”
There’s a brief moment of silence between you, the noise of the paddock fading slightly as you take in his words. It’s a reassurance, a reminder that no matter what happens out there, you have someone in your corner who believes in you completely.
The minutes tick by, and soon it’s time for the drivers to head to the grid. The mechanics push your car out of the garage, and you follow, helmet in hand, Fernando right by your side. As you walk, he gives you last-minute reminders, his tone calm but firm, designed to keep you centered.
“Trust your instincts,” he says. “You know the car, you know the track. Let the race come to you.”
You nod, absorbing every word as you approach your car on the grid. The other teams and drivers are milling about, final checks being made before the start. Fernando stands with you by the car, watching as you put on your helmet and climb into the cockpit. There’s a buzz of activity all around, but for a moment, it feels like it’s just the two of you.
He leans in close, his voice carrying over the sound of the grid. “Remember why you’re here. Show them what you’re made of.”
You glance up at him, your visor reflecting the intense determination in your eyes. “I will.”
And with that, the crew steps back, and it’s just you in the car, the engine roaring to life around you. Fernando takes a few steps back, watching as you complete the formation lap. His heart pounds in his chest, a mix of nerves and anticipation. He’s been in this position countless times, but it’s different when it’s someone you’ve invested so much in.
As the cars line up on the grid, the tension mounts. Fernando’s eyes never leave your car, his mind running through every possible scenario. He knows how unpredictable these races can be, how one small mistake can change everything. But he also knows that you’re ready. He’s seen it in your training, in your focus, in the way you’ve handled every challenge thrown at you.
The lights go out, and the roar of engines fills the air. The race is on, and Fernando’s eyes are locked on the screen, watching as you navigate the chaos of the first few corners. It’s a tight pack, cars jostling for position, but you hold your ground, staying calm and composed even as the pressure builds.
Fernando barely breathes as the laps tick by, his focus entirely on you. There are moments where his heart leaps into his throat — close calls, tight overtakes — but you handle them all with the skill and precision of a seasoned driver. You’re pushing, but not too hard, balancing aggression with caution in a way that impresses even him.
Midway through the race, you find yourself in a battle for position with one of the more experienced drivers. Fernando can see the tension in your driving, the way you’re pushing the car to its limits. But he also sees the intelligence in your approach, the way you’re sizing up your opponent, waiting for the right moment.
“Come on,” he mutters under his breath, his eyes glued to the screen as you make your move. It’s a daring pass, squeezing through a gap that’s barely there, but you make it stick. Fernando lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“You’re doing it,” he whispers to himself, pride swelling in his chest.
The race continues, the intensity never letting up. There are moments of sheer brilliance, and moments where Fernando’s nerves are stretched to their limits, but through it all, you remain unshaken. Every lap, every corner, you’re proving exactly why you belong here, why Carlin chose you, and why Fernando believes in you so much.
As the race nears its end, you find yourself in a strong position, battling for a spot on the podium. Fernando’s heart pounds in his chest, his hands clenched into fists as he watches the final laps unfold. It’s a nail-biter, the cars ahead of you just within reach, and he can see you pushing, giving it everything you’ve got.
“Come on, come on,” he murmurs, his eyes never leaving the screen. “You’ve got this.”
The final lap is a blur of speed and adrenaline, but you’re right there, closing in on the car ahead. Fernando can feel the tension in the air, the entire Carlin garage on edge as they watch you make your move. It’s a daring overtake, one that requires absolute precision, but you nail it, sliding into third place just before the final corner.
Fernando’s heart leaps as you cross the finish line, securing a podium in your very first F2 race. The garage erupts in cheers, but he’s already moving, heading out to meet you as you bring the car back to the pits.
When you climb out of the car, the smile on your face is all he needs to see. You did it. You proved yourself, and in a big way. Fernando is the first to reach you, pulling you into a tight hug, his voice full of pride.
“You were incredible out there,” he says, his words muffled slightly by the cheers around you. “Absolutely incredible.”
You pull back, your eyes shining with excitement. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
He shakes his head, his smile wide. “You did this. You took everything you’ve learned and you made it happen. This is just the beginning.”
Yuki comes over, grinning from ear to ear as he claps you on the back. “Third place in your first race? You’re making the rest of us look bad!”
You laugh, the tension of the race finally melting away as you share the moment with your teammate and mentor. But even as you celebrate, Fernando’s mind is already thinking ahead, planning for the future. This is just the first step, and he knows there are many more to come. But for now, he’s content to stand here with you, knowing that you’ve just taken a huge leap forward in your career.
As the celebrations continue around you, Fernando steps back, watching you with a mixture of pride and anticipation. He’s seen something special in you from the start, and today, you proved him right. But he knows this is just the beginning, and he can’t wait to see where this journey takes you
***
Fernando sits at the head of a sleek conference table in a high-rise office overlooking a bustling cityscape. The room is all glass and steel, exuding an air of professionalism and success. It’s the kind of setting where big decisions are made, the kind of setting where lives are changed. He glances at his watch — just a few minutes before you’re supposed to arrive.
To his left is a man in his late forties, dressed in a sharp suit that screams old money and prestige. This is Carlos Mendes, a veteran in the world of motorsport management. Carlos has a reputation for being ruthless when it comes to getting his clients the best deals.
He’s represented world champions, negotiated multimillion-dollar contracts, and navigated the treacherous waters of sponsorships with the skill of a seasoned general. Fernando had carefully chosen Carlos, knowing that you would need someone who could not only protect your interests but also push for the best opportunities.
On Fernando’s right is Sophie Duclair, a high-powered talent agent whose client list reads like a who’s who of global sports and entertainment icons. Sophie, with her sleek bob and impeccably tailored outfit, is known for her ability to secure top-tier endorsement deals that go beyond the traditional boundaries of sports.
Luxury brands, fashion houses, and even Hollywood producers trust her judgment implicitly. She’s the one who can take your rising star and catapult it into a whole different stratosphere.
The door to the conference room opens, and you walk in, dressed casually but with an unmistakable air of confidence. It’s clear you’ve grown more comfortable in these kinds of environments, but there’s still a trace of curiosity in your eyes as you take in the room and the people seated at the table.
“Good to see you,” Fernando says, rising to greet you with a warm smile. He motions to the empty chair next to him. “Take a seat. We’ve got a lot to discuss.”
You sit down, glancing at Carlos and Sophie with polite curiosity. Fernando leans back in his chair, folding his hands on the table. “Let me introduce you to Carlos Mendes,” he says, gesturing to the man on his left. “Carlos is one of the top managers in the business. He’s going to help guide your career from here on out, making sure you get the best opportunities on and off the track.”
Carlos nods, his expression serious but welcoming. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says in a deep, authoritative voice. “Fernando has told me a lot about you, and I’ve been following your progress. You’ve got a bright future ahead, and I’m here to make sure you reach your full potential.”
You smile, a mix of gratitude and anticipation in your eyes. “Thank you. I’m looking forward to working with you.”
Fernando continues, turning to Sophie. “And this is Sophie Duclair, one of the best talent agents in the industry. Sophie has a knack for securing deals that align perfectly with her clients’ personal brands. She’s here to help you navigate the world of endorsements and partnerships.”
Sophie smiles, her demeanor warm yet professional. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” she says, her voice smooth and confident. “I’ve been keeping an eye on your rise in F2, and I have to say, the opportunities are endless. There are brands out there who are going to want to associate themselves with your story, your talent, and your image.”
You nod, clearly intrigued but still processing the magnitude of what’s happening. Fernando notices the slight furrow in your brow and steps in to guide the conversation.
“Here’s the thing,” Fernando begins, his tone serious but encouraging. “You’ve been fighting against the odds, and that’s what’s made your story so compelling. A lot of people might have seen your gender as an obstacle, but we’re turning it into an asset. You’ve already proven you belong in F2, and with the right guidance, we’re going to show the world that you’re not just a great driver — you’re a game-changer.”
Carlos leans forward slightly, his eyes focused on you. “Exactly. The motorsport world is evolving, and brands want to be associated with that evolution. They want to be seen as forward-thinking, inclusive, and ahead of the curve. You’re in a unique position to offer them that opportunity.”
Sophie picks up the thread seamlessly. “But it’s not just about slapping a logo on your car or your race suit. It’s about aligning with brands that resonate with who you are and where you want to go. That’s where I come in. I’ve been in talks with several companies that are very interested in working with you.”
You look at Fernando, and he gives you an encouraging nod, urging you to speak your mind. “It sounds … amazing,” you begin, your voice steady but thoughtful. “But I want to make sure that whatever deals we make, they’re the right ones. I don’t want to just be a face on an ad — I want to represent something real.”
Carlos smiles, clearly impressed by your maturity. “That’s the right approach. And that’s exactly why we’re here — to make sure that every move we make is strategic and meaningful. You’ve got the talent and the story, and now it’s about building the brand that reflects that.”
Sophie leans back in her chair, crossing her legs as she regards you with a calculating but friendly gaze. “We’ve already secured two deals that I think you’re going to be very happy with,” she says, a hint of excitement in her voice. “The first is with Cartier. They’re looking to expand their presence in the sports world, and they see you as the perfect ambassador for their brand — strong, elegant, and determined.”
Your eyes widen slightly, clearly surprised. “Cartier?” You echo, the name alone carrying a weight of prestige and luxury.
Sophie nods, smiling at your reaction. “That’s right. They want to work with you on a campaign that’s going to be centered around breaking barriers and redefining what it means to be successful. It’s not just about jewelry — it’s about the story you tell when you wear it.”
Fernando watches as you process this, seeing the mix of excitement and caution in your expression. He knows how big this is, and he also knows how important it is for you to feel comfortable with every step of this journey.
“And the second deal?” You ask, your voice steady but tinged with curiosity.
Sophie’s smile widens. “That would be with Chanel. They’re launching a new line of sportswear, and they want you to be the face of it. It’s a bold move for them, branching out into a market that’s traditionally been dominated by other brands. But they believe in you, and they believe that you can help them make a statement.”
You lean back in your chair, clearly taking a moment to absorb the magnitude of what’s being offered. Fernando can see the wheels turning in your mind, the careful consideration you’re giving to each opportunity.
“I … I didn’t expect anything like this,” you admit, looking around the table. “It’s incredible, but it’s also a lot to take in.”
Carlos nods, his expression understanding. “It is. But you’re not in this alone. We’re here to guide you, to make sure that every decision you make is the right one for you and your career.”
Fernando leans forward slightly, his voice low and reassuring. “You’ve worked hard to get here. You deserve these opportunities. But like Carlos said, we’re going to make sure that every step you take is the right one. We’re not rushing into anything. We’re building something that’s going to last.”
You look at him, and he can see the trust in your eyes. It’s a trust he’s earned over the months, through every piece of advice, every word of encouragement, every push to make you better. And now, as you sit here on the brink of something huge, he feels a deep sense of pride.
“These are just the first steps,” Sophie says, her tone confident and poised. “There’s so much more we can do. But it’s all going to be on your terms. You’re in control of your image, your brand. We’re just here to help you shape it.”
You take a deep breath, your gaze sweeping over the table, taking in the faces of the people who are now part of your team. “I want to do this right,” you say finally, your voice strong. “I want to be someone people can look up to, someone who represents more than just winning races.”
Fernando smiles, feeling a swell of pride at your words. “And that’s exactly what you’re going to do. We’re just getting started.”
The meeting continues, the conversation shifting to the details of the contracts, the timelines for the campaigns, and the strategies for maximizing your visibility. Throughout it all, Fernando watches you closely, noting the way you handle the discussions with a mix of humility and confidence. It’s clear you’re taking everything in, asking the right questions, making sure you understand every aspect of what’s being presented.
By the time the meeting wraps up, there’s a palpable sense of excitement in the room. The deals with Cartier and Chanel are just the beginning, and everyone knows it. There are more opportunities on the horizon, more doors that are about to open. But for now, it’s about taking the first steps, setting the foundation for what’s to come.
As you rise to leave, Fernando walks you to the door, Carlos and Sophie following close behind. “We’ll be in touch with the final details,” Sophie says, her tone professional but warm. “I’m excited to see where this journey takes us.”
Carlos nods in agreement. “You’ve got a bright future ahead. Let’s make the most of it.”
You thank them both, turning to Fernando with a smile that holds a mix of gratitude and determination. "I couldn’t have done this without you," you say softly.
Fernando shakes his head, his smile reflecting the pride he feels. "You’ve earned every bit of this. Now, let's show the world what you’re capable of."
***
The sun dips low over the suburban skyline, casting a warm golden hue over the backyard where laughter mingles with the clinking of glasses and the low hum of conversation. String lights hang from the trees, swaying gently in the evening breeze, and the faint scent of barbecue lingers in the air. You’re surrounded by familiar faces — family, childhood friends, and the newer ones you’ve made in F2. The mix of old and new feels right, like the pieces of your life are finally coming together.
Fernando stands near the edge of the crowd, leaning casually against a tree as he watches you. He’s been here for hours, blending in with the celebration, though he’s always slightly apart, his presence comforting but never overbearing. He’s wearing one of those half-smiles, the kind that makes it hard to tell if he’s deep in thought or just quietly enjoying the moment.
You catch his eye, and he raises his glass — a silent toast that you return with a small grin before getting pulled back into a conversation with one of your childhood friends. They’re reminiscing about old times, laughing about things that seem so far removed from the high-speed world you now inhabit. It’s nice, grounding even, to remember that you had a life before all of this — a simpler one where the biggest concern was which video game to play after school.
As the night wears on, the crowd begins to thin. Your parents are still mingling, clearly proud of the party they’ve thrown. Your mom’s voice carries across the yard as she gushes to someone about how happy she is that you’ve managed to pay off the second mortgage. It was a weight that they never let you see, but you knew it was there, and being able to lift it was one of the proudest moments you’ve had since stepping into a race car.
Fernando, ever observant, notices the moment your shoulders relax as you hear your mom’s words. He takes a small step forward, knowing that the night is winding down, and he’s been waiting for just the right moment.
Eventually, as the last of your friends hug you goodbye and head out, you find yourself standing near the fire pit, the glow from the dying embers illuminating your face. Fernando approaches, his hands casually tucked into his pockets.
“Enjoying your birthday?” He asks, his voice low and warm, like the crackling fire beside you.
You nod, a content smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Yeah, it’s been really great. I didn’t expect so many people to show up.”
“People care about you,” Fernando says simply. “You’ve made quite an impact.”
You shrug, clearly a little shy about the praise. “I’m just glad to have a night to relax with everyone. It’s been a whirlwind.”
Fernando’s smile deepens. He knows how hard you’ve worked, how much you’ve sacrificed, and how rare these moments of peace are for you. “You deserve it. You’ve earned it.”
There’s a beat of silence, comfortable and familiar, before Fernando clears his throat. “I, uh, have something for you.”
You turn to look at him, your brow furrowing slightly. “Fernando, you didn’t have to get me anything. You’ve already done so much.”
“I know,” he says, his tone a little softer now, as if he’s stepping into more vulnerable territory. “But I wanted to.”
He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small box, wrapped in simple but elegant paper. You hesitate for a moment, then take it from his hands, the weight of it feeling heavier than it should.
Curiosity piques as you carefully unwrap the paper and open the box. Inside is a delicate necklace, the pendant a tiny, intricate race helmet studded with a single diamond where the visor would be. It’s not overly flashy, but it’s beautiful and unmistakably meaningful.
You stare at it, speechless, before looking up at Fernando, your eyes wide with surprise and something deeper — something like awe. “Fernando … this is …”
He cuts you off with a gentle shake of his head. “You don’t have to say anything. I just … wanted you to have something that reminds you of where you’re headed. You’ve got a bright future, and I wanted to give you something to keep close as you chase it.”
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them away, focusing on the necklace instead. You’re not sure what to say — how do you thank someone for something that goes beyond just a gift?
Fernando steps closer, his voice lowering as he continues, “I’ve come to see you as … well, like a daughter, I suppose. Watching you grow, seeing how far you’ve come, it’s been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. I just wanted to show you how much you mean to me.”
Your heart swells with emotion, and before you can stop yourself, you step forward and wrap your arms around him, pressing your face into his chest. The necklace is still clutched in your hand, but all you can focus on is the steady beat of Fernando’s heart against your ear.
“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice muffled but sincere. “For everything.”
Fernando’s arms come around you, holding you close in a way that’s both protective and comforting. “You don’t have to thank me,” he murmurs. “Just keep doing what you’re doing. That’s all the thanks I need.”
You stay like that for a moment longer, taking in the warmth and security of the embrace, before finally pulling back. You look up at Fernando, and there’s a connection between you now that goes beyond mentor and protégé — it’s something familial, something lasting.
He gestures to the necklace, a small smile playing on his lips. “Do you want some help putting that on?”
You nod, unable to find the words, and hand it to him. He carefully fastens it around your neck, his fingers steady and sure, and when he’s done, you reach up to touch the pendant, feeling its cool metal against your skin.
“Perfect,” Fernando says, stepping back to admire it. “Just like you.”
You laugh softly, shaking your head. “You’re too kind.”
“No,” he replies, his voice firm but gentle. “Just honest.”
As the fire continues to crackle beside you, the night wrapping around you both like a blanket, you realize that this birthday, this moment, will be one you remember for the rest of your life. Not because of the party or the people, but because of the man standing beside you — the one who believed in you when no one else did, who gave you the push you needed to keep going.
And as you walk back towards the house, the pendant resting against your chest, you know that no matter what happens in the future, you’ll always have this — this connection, this bond, this family you’ve found in the most unexpected place.
***
The noise is deafening as you cross the finish line, but it’s the silence that follows in your mind that makes it real. The world blurs around you; the roar of the engine fades, the cheers from the grandstands become a distant echo. It’s just you and the knowledge that you’ve done it. The chequered flag waves in the distance, a confirmation that you’ve won the F2 championship.
In your rookie season.
The last lap plays on a loop in your mind: the battle with your teammate, the wheel-to-wheel tension that stretched until the final corner, the moment you finally saw a gap and took it. The entire year has been leading up to this, every race, every struggle, every doubt. And now, you’re here. A champion.
The car slows as you pull into the pit lane, your hands shaking on the steering wheel. The radio crackles with voices — your engineer shouting congratulations, the team cheering, but there’s only one voice you really want to hear.
“You did it,” Fernando comes through, calm but with a hint of emotion that he rarely shows. “I knew you could do it.”
A smile breaks across your face, one that you couldn’t suppress even if you tried. “We did it,” you correct him, because it’s true. You’ve always been a team, even when he wasn’t on the track with you.
As you roll into the Carlin garage, the world around you explodes into celebration. Mechanics, engineers, and team members swarm the car, cheering and clapping as they pull you out of the cockpit. You’re immediately wrapped in a dozen hugs, people shouting your name, lifting you off the ground in their excitement.
But even in the chaos, you’re searching for him. And when you finally spot Fernando standing just outside the crowd, his expression is one of pure pride. He doesn’t rush in to join the others, instead, he stays back, letting you have your moment. That’s Fernando, always understanding, always knowing exactly what you need.
You finally push through the throng of well-wishers and make your way over to him. For a moment, the two of you just look at each other, and in that look, there’s a thousand words unspoken.
“Not bad for a rookie,” he finally says, his smile widening.
You laugh, still breathless from the race. “Not bad at all.”
He pulls you into a hug, and this time, you don’t hold back. You cling to him, letting the emotion of the moment wash over you. “Thank you,” you whisper, and you know he understands. This victory is as much his as it is yours.
When you pull back, you see someone else approaching from the corner of your eye. It’s Toto Wolff, towering and imposing as always, but there’s a warmth in his expression that’s almost fatherly. Next to him, Williams Racing team principal Jost Capito, stands with a smile that’s equally as proud.
“Toto?” You ask, surprised. It’s not every day he shows up in the F2 paddock, let alone after a race.
He steps forward, offering his hand. “Congratulations,” he says, his voice steady. “That was an incredible race.”
You shake his hand, still trying to process the fact that he’s here. “Thank you,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady.
Jost steps forward, nodding in agreement. “You’ve had an outstanding season. You’ve shown everyone what you’re capable of.”
There’s something in their tone, something that makes your heart race with more than just post-race adrenaline. Fernando catches your eye, giving you a slight nod, as if to say, this is it.
Toto exchanges a look with Jost before continuing, “We’ve been following your progress closely, and we believe you’re ready for the next step.”
Your breath catches in your throat. The next step. It’s what every F2 driver dreams of, but it’s never guaranteed, not even with a championship under your belt. “The next step?” You echo, almost afraid to hope.
Jost steps in, his smile widening. “We want you to race for Williams in Formula 1 next season.”
For a moment, the world stops. You blink, trying to process the words, to make sure you heard him right. Formula 1. They want you to race in F1.
“Next season?” You manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.
Toto nods, his expression serious but encouraging. “Yes. We’ve been in discussions with Williams, and we believe you’re the perfect fit for their team. You’ve proven that you can handle the pressure, and now it’s time to see what you can do on the biggest stage.”
You feel like you’re floating, like this is a dream that you might wake up from at any moment. You turn to Fernando, searching his face for confirmation that this is real. He’s smiling, but there’s a look in his eyes that tells you he’s known about this for a while. He’s always known.
“You’ll be racing in F1,” Fernando says, his voice steady. “You deserve it.”
It’s then that the full weight of what’s happening hits you. F1. The pinnacle of motorsport. And not just racing in F1, but racing alongside the very best in the world. You’ll be on the grid with drivers you’ve looked up to your entire life. Drivers like Lewis Hamilton. And …
Your eyes widen as the realization dawns. Fernando is making his comeback next year. He’s going to be on that grid, too.
“I’ll be racing … with you,” you say, the words barely escaping your lips.
Fernando’s smile is knowing, almost amused. “Yes, you will.”
The thought is almost overwhelming. Not only will you be in F1, but you’ll be competing alongside Fernando, the man who has been your mentor, your guide, your biggest supporter. The man who helped you get to this very moment.
You shake your head, still trying to process it all. “I don’t know what to say.”
Toto places a hand on your shoulder, his grip reassuring. “You don’t need to say anything. Just be ready to show the world what you’re capable of. We’ll handle the rest.”
Jost nods in agreement. “We believe in you. You’ve already proven that you can handle anything that comes your way.”
You glance back at Fernando, and the pride in his eyes is unmistakable. This has been his goal all along — to get you to the top, to see you succeed where so many doubted you could. And now, here you are, about to step into the world of F1.
“I’ll be ready,” you say, your voice stronger now, filled with the determination that’s carried you this far.
Fernando nods, satisfied. “I know you will.”
As Toto and Jost step away to discuss the finer details with the Carlin team, you stand there with Fernando, the enormity of what just happened settling in.
“You knew this was coming, didn’t you?” You ask, giving him a sideways glance.
Fernando shrugs, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “I had a feeling. But it was always up to you to make it happen.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”
He grins. “And you’re an F1 driver now. Better get used to it.”
The two of you stand there for a moment longer, taking in the victory, the announcement, the future that’s unfolding right before your eyes. It’s been a long road, full of challenges and doubts, but you’ve made it. And now, you’re about to step onto the biggest stage in motorsport, with Fernando right there alongside you.
As you look out at the garage, the Carlin team still buzzing with excitement, you can’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude. For the team, for the journey, and most of all, for Fernando — the man who believed in you when no one else did, and who continues to believe in you now.
“Thank you, Fernando,” you say quietly, but with all the sincerity you can muster. “For everything.”
He simply nods, his expression softening. “You’ve earned it.”
And as you stand there, the future stretching out before you, one thing is certain: this is just the beginning.
***
The winter sun hangs low in the sky as you walk along the rocky path that leads to Fernando’s private track in northern Spain. The air is crisp, carrying the scent of pine trees and the distant murmur of the sea. It’s a world away from the chaos of the paddock, a place where the outside noise fades, leaving only the hum of your thoughts and the weight of what’s to come. The off-season is supposed to be a time to rest, to recharge, but this year, it’s different. There’s no time to lose — not with your first Formula 1 season looming on the horizon.
Fernando walks beside you, his stride as confident and unhurried as ever. His presence is steadying, a reminder that you’re not alone on this journey. He’s been here before, countless times, and now he’s passing on everything he knows to you. This winter isn’t just about physical training; it’s about mastering the mental side of the sport — the side that can make or break a career in F1.
He stops at the edge of the track, the silence between you stretching out as you both take in the view. The asphalt is cold and unyielding, winding through the landscape like a dark ribbon, a challenge waiting to be conquered.
“You know the driving part,” Fernando says, breaking the silence. His voice is calm, measured, but there’s an intensity to it that commands attention. “You’ve proven that you can handle the car, the speed, the competition. But F1 is more than just driving. It’s a mental game. It’s about being the predator, not the prey.”
You nod, knowing he’s right. The physical demands of F1 are immense, but the mental demands are even greater. The pressure, the mind games, the need to be perfect in a sport where perfection is almost impossible — it’s all part of what makes F1 the pinnacle of motorsport.
“Today, we start with the basics,” Fernando continues, his gaze fixed on the track. “How to be a track terror.”
A track terror. The words hang in the air, heavy with meaning. To be feared on the track, to have your competitors second-guessing themselves before they even line up on the grid — that’s what Fernando is talking about. It’s not just about being fast; it’s about being relentless, unyielding, the kind of driver who forces others into mistakes.
“You don’t have to be the fastest in every session,” Fernando explains, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. “You just have to make them think you are. Get in their heads. Make them question their own pace, their own decisions.”
He starts to walk along the edge of the track, and you follow, listening closely. “Every driver has a breaking point,” he says. “You need to learn how to find it. Sometimes it’s in their driving — how they react under pressure, how they handle wheel-to-wheel combat. Sometimes it’s off the track — in how they deal with the media, how they cope with setbacks. Your job is to figure out what that breaking point is and use it.”
You absorb his words, understanding that this is the difference between good drivers and great ones. It’s not just about talent; it’s about psychology, about knowing how to manipulate a situation to your advantage.
“And once you find that breaking point?” You ask, wanting to hear it from him.
Fernando stops and turns to face you, his eyes sharp, calculating. “You exploit it,” he says simply. “You push them until they crack. But you have to be smart about it. There’s a fine line between pushing them to the edge and pushing yourself over it.”
His words are blunt, but you know there’s truth in them. F1 isn’t just a sport, it’s a battle, a war of wills as much as it is a test of speed.
“Take the first corner,” Fernando says, pointing to the sharp turn at the end of the straight. “It’s where a lot of races are won or lost. You need to establish yourself early. Show them that you’re not afraid to fight for position, but also that you’re in control. That’s key — being aggressive, but controlled.”
You nod, envisioning the scenarios he’s describing. You’ve raced at high levels before, but F1 is different. The stakes are higher, the margins narrower. There’s no room for error, but there’s also no room for hesitation.
“How do you know when to cross the line?” You ask, thinking back to the times when Fernando has pushed the limits, often to the point where others questioned his tactics.
He gives a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You learn,” he says. “Sometimes by making mistakes. But the key is to learn from them quickly. You have to know when to back off and when to push harder. It’s about balance, about knowing your own limits as much as theirs.”
He pauses, his gaze locking with yours. “And sometimes, you have to cross the line. But when you do, you do it with intent, and you don’t get caught. You make sure it looks like a mistake, something that just happened in the heat of the moment. And you never apologize for it.”
There’s a chill in the air, but you barely notice it, your mind focused on every word. This is what you’ve needed, what you’ve been missing. The edge that will set you apart in a field of the best drivers in the world.
“What about mind games?” You ask, curious to know more about how to handle the psychological warfare that comes with F1.
Fernando chuckles, a sound that’s both amused and knowing. “Mind games are everything,” he says. “They start long before you even get in the car. It’s about how you carry yourself, how you interact with the other drivers, with the media. You have to control the narrative, make them think what you want them to think.”
He starts walking again, this time towards the small building at the edge of the track where the team usually sets up. “The media is a powerful tool,” he continues. “You can use them to your advantage, but you have to be careful. Give them just enough to create doubt in your competitors’ minds, but not enough to give anything away.”
You think back to the countless press conferences you’ve watched, where drivers like Fernando have used their words as weapons, creating stories that unsettle their rivals. It’s a game within a game, and you’re starting to see how deep it goes.
“Never let them see you sweat,” Fernando adds, his tone more serious now. “Even when things aren’t going your way, you have to project confidence. Make them think you have everything under control, even when you don’t. And when they stumble, when they show weakness, you pounce.”
The building looms ahead, the door slightly ajar. Fernando pushes it open, revealing a small, sparsely furnished room with a table, a few chairs, and a whiteboard covered in notes and diagrams. It’s a war room, a place where strategies are formed, where victories are planned.
Fernando gestures for you to sit, and you do, feeling the weight of what’s to come. He takes a seat across from you, his expression now all business.
“Let’s talk about racecraft,” he says, leaning forward. “You need to understand that F1 isn’t just about speed. It’s about strategy, about thinking two, three steps ahead of everyone else. You need to know when to attack and when to hold back, when to take risks and when to play it safe.”
He starts sketching out scenarios on the whiteboard, explaining different race strategies, how to read your competitors, how to manage your tires, your fuel, your energy. It’s a crash course in F1 tactics, and you absorb every detail, knowing that this knowledge could be the difference between winning and losing.
“You’ll have a team behind you,” Fernando says, his eyes never leaving the board as he continues to write. “But you’re the one in the car. You’re the one who has to make the decisions in real-time. Trust your instincts, but also trust your preparation. The more you know, the better equipped you’ll be to handle whatever comes your way.”
He turns back to you, his expression serious. “And remember, F1 is a long game. It’s not just about one race, or even one season. It’s about building a career, about consistently performing at a high level. You have to pace yourself, know when to push and when to hold back. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.”
You nod, the enormity of what he’s saying sinking in. This isn’t just about your rookie season; it’s about laying the foundation for a long and successful career. And with Fernando guiding you, you know you’re in the best possible hands.
The session goes on, the hours slipping away as you discuss everything from race strategies to media tactics, from how to handle pressure to how to deal with setbacks. Fernando doesn’t sugarcoat anything; he tells you the harsh realities of the sport, the challenges you’ll face, the sacrifices you’ll have to make. But he also gives you the tools to overcome them, to not just survive in F1, but to thrive.
By the time the sun starts to set, casting long shadows across the track, you feel a mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration. It’s been an intense day, but you know it’s exactly what you needed. Fernando has pushed you, challenged you, but he’s also given you the confidence to believe that you belong in this world, that you can succeed.
As you walk back towards the main house, the sky now a deep orange, Fernando falls into step beside you. There’s a comfortable silence between you, the kind that comes from a shared understanding, a mutual respect that has grown over time.
After a while, Fernando breaks the silence with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know,” he begins, his tone light but with a glint of mischief in his eyes, “I’ve been called many things in my career. Champion, legend … war criminal.”
You look at him, caught between a laugh and a raised eyebrow. “War criminal?”
He chuckles, shrugging casually. “Not literally, of course. But some of my tactics, let’s say, weren’t always appreciated by everyone. I was willing to do whatever it took to win — sometimes crossing lines that others wouldn’t dare touch.”
You smile, catching on to his meaning. “And you think I’m ready to follow in your footsteps?”
Fernando’s smirk widens. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t. F1 isn’t a game for the faint-hearted. It’s for those who aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty when it counts. Just remember … there’s no shame in doing what it takes to survive. And thrive.”
His words hang in the cool evening air, and as you both continue walking, you feel a sense of resolve settle within you. Fernando must notice it too because he gives you a sideways glance, the glint still in his eyes. “Just don’t forget who taught you all this when they start throwing accusations your way.”
***
The Bahrain night sky looms overhead, blanketing the circuit in a velvety darkness punctuated by the glaring lights of the paddock. The roar of engines rumbles through the air as teams buzz with last-minute preparations. Mechanics scramble, engineers analyze data, and drivers slip into their zones. The first race of the season carries a unique kind of tension, a palpable energy that’s almost electric. But amidst all the chaos, Fernando moves with calm confidence as he weaves through the pit lane, eyes scanning for one person.
He finds you standing by the Williams garage, helmet in hand, gaze fixed on the distant horizon as if trying to absorb the magnitude of the moment. It’s your first F1 race, and the weight of it all is evident in the slight furrow of your brow, the focused set of your jaw.
Fernando walks up to you, placing a hand on your shoulder, drawing you out of your thoughts. “Hey,” he says, his voice cutting through the noise like a sharp blade. “Nervous?”
You turn to face him, a mix of emotions swirling in your eyes — excitement, determination, and yes, a hint of nerves. “A little,” you admit. “It’s different from F2. Bigger.”
Fernando nods, understanding all too well. “It is bigger. The stakes are higher, the pressure’s heavier. But you’ve got this.”
You nod, though your grip on the helmet tightens. “I know. I just need to keep my head in the right place.”
Fernando’s eyes narrow, the glint of the night’s floodlights reflecting in them as he leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “Remember what we talked about in Spain. You’re not here to play nice. You’re here to win. You’re here to make them regret ever doubting you.”
A smile tugs at the corner of your lips as his words sink in. This is the Fernando you’ve come to know so well — the ruthless competitor who sees racing as a battlefield, where only the most cunning and unrelenting survive. He’s drilled that mentality into you, reminding you time and time again that the track is no place for mercy.
“You’re not just a driver,” he continues, his tone growing more intense. “You’re a track terror. Make them fear you. Take every opportunity, even if it means forcing them into a mistake. Be aggressive. Be relentless. And if they try to intimidate you-”
“I intimidate them back,” you finish for him, the determination in your voice now matching his.
Fernando’s lips curl into a smirk, clearly pleased. “Exactly. Make them question if they even belong out there with you.”
As he speaks, Nicholas Latifi, your teammate, walks by on his way to his side of the garage. His steps falter when he overhears the tail end of Fernando’s words.
“… If you see an opening, take it. Don’t give them a second to breathe. Push them out of their comfort zone, and when they’re scrambling, that’s when you strike. Hard.”
Latifi’s eyes widen in alarm as he processes what Fernando is saying. He hesitates, clearly debating whether he should approach or back away slowly. Ultimately, he chooses the latter, retreating with a hurried, nervous glance over his shoulder.
You notice Latifi’s reaction and can’t help but laugh. “I think you might’ve scared him off.”
Fernando chuckles, a low, almost devious sound. “Good. Less competition for you.” Then, with a more serious edge, he adds, “He’s not your concern. You’re here for the big players. And don’t forget, every race is an opportunity to show them what you’re made of. Especially the ones who think you don’t deserve to be here.”
You nod, the nerves from earlier replaced by a rising sense of purpose. Fernando’s words have a way of lighting a fire inside you, a fire that burns hotter with every passing second. The crowd noise, the hum of engines, the flashing lights — all of it fades away until there’s only the track and the promise of what lies ahead.
Fernando steps back, giving you space but keeping his gaze locked on yours. “Tonight, you’re going to prove that you’re not just another rookie. You’re a force to be reckoned with. And you’re going to do it with style.”
You smirk, the corners of your mouth curving upward as confidence surges through you. “With style?”
“Absolutely,” Fernando replies, his own smirk widening. “Remember, there’s a fine line between genius and insanity on the track. And you’re going to walk it like it’s a tightrope.”
You slip your helmet on, the visor clicking into place as Fernando’s words echo in your mind. The world outside may be chaotic, but inside your helmet, it’s a sanctuary — a place where you can focus, where every piece of advice, every lesson Fernando has drilled into you, comes together.
He watches you for a moment, pride evident in his eyes. He’s seen your growth, your transformation from a talented driver into something much more formidable. He knows you’re ready for this.
“Now go out there,” he says, voice clear and commanding, “and make them remember your name.”
With a final nod, you turn towards your car, the sleek Williams machine waiting for you. The pit crew is already in position, and the clock is ticking down. But before you step in, Fernando adds one last thing.
“Oh, and one more thing,” he says, catching your attention. You look back at him, and there’s a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Terrorize everyone out there … except me.”
You laugh, the sound muffled by your helmet, but the sentiment is clear. “No promises.”
Fernando grins, crossing his arms as he watches you settle into the cockpit. The familiar sounds of the car coming to life fill the air, and the anticipation builds. The lights above the pit lane begin their countdown, and you take a deep breath, centering yourself for what’s to come.
As you drive out onto the track for the formation lap, Fernando steps back, his eyes following your car as it weaves between the other machines, each one a potential target, each one a stepping stone towards the top. He knows you’re ready, knows that tonight is just the beginning of what promises to be an incredible journey.
He’s proud of you, not just as a driver, but as the competitor you’ve become under his guidance. And as you line up on the grid, the lights glowing red above, Fernando’s final words echo in your mind.
Make them remember your name.
The lights go out, and the race begins.
***
The Bahrain circuit is still buzzing with energy even after the race has ended. The floodlights cast a bright, artificial glow over the paddock as drivers, engineers, and media personnel move about, some celebrating, others reflecting on the night’s events. The humid night air is thick with the scent of burning rubber and engine exhaust, a familiar and oddly comforting smell to those who live and breathe motorsport.
Fernando stands in the media pen, his eyes fixed on you as you field questions from a group of eager reporters. He’s barely listening to the reporter in front of him, who’s rattling off questions about his own race. He finished just outside the points, but it doesn’t bother him much. Tonight, his focus isn’t on his own performance but on yours.
You’re animated, your eyes bright, still riding the adrenaline high from the race. You finished ninth — an impressive debut for any rookie, especially in a Williams. Fernando watches as you handle the questions with ease, a slight smile playing on his lips. The way you stand, the way you speak, there’s a confidence there that wasn’t present when he first met you. He sees in you a reflection of his younger self, and it fills him with a quiet pride.
“Fernando,” the reporter in front of him says, trying to regain his attention. “Can you tell us about your strategy today?”
Fernando barely hears the question, his attention still on you. You’re laughing at something a reporter just asked, and he catches a glimpse of that mischievous glint in your eyes — the same one he’s seen countless times in his own reflection. He can tell you’re about to say something memorable, and he doesn’t want to miss it.
“Fernando?” the reporter prompts again, sounding slightly annoyed now.
“Hmm?” Fernando finally acknowledges the reporter, but his gaze doesn’t leave you. “What was that?”
“Your strategy today — what was the thinking behind it?”
“Strategy? Oh, yes, the strategy,” Fernando replies absentmindedly, waving his hand dismissively. “You know, just the usual. Push when you can, hold back when you must.” His answers are automatic, but his mind is elsewhere.
The reporter blinks, clearly unimpressed with the vague response, but before he can ask a follow-up question, Fernando’s attention is fully captured by what you’re saying.
A journalist standing in front of you, wearing a press lanyard and holding a recorder close to your face, asks, “Can you walk us through that incredible overtake on Sebastian Vettel? It looked like you had no fear going up against a four-time world champion.”
You smile, a knowing look in your eyes, and then you glance over at Fernando.
“I knew he would hit the brakes,” you say, loud enough for him to hear. You pause for dramatic effect, and then with a wink in Fernando’s direction, you continue, “Because he has a wife and three kids waiting for him at home.”
The words hang in the air for a moment before the reporters around you burst into laughter. The reference to Fernando’s famous quip about Michael Schumacher years ago is unmistakable, and it’s clear that the media eats it up. But more importantly, Fernando hears it, and his chest swells with pride.
The reporter in front of Fernando raises an eyebrow, curious now about what’s just been said. “Looks like she’s learned a thing or two from you,” he comments.
Fernando finally turns to the reporter, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Yes, she has. More than she knows.”
He watches as you continue the interview, your demeanor composed, yet playful. The way you handle the press is impressive — calm, confident, but with just the right amount of charm to keep them on your side. You’re not just a racer; you’re a showman, someone who understands that Formula 1 is as much about performance off the track as it is on it.
Fernando catches snippets of your conversation, listening as you describe the overtake in more detail. “Seb’s a great driver, no doubt about it. But in that moment, I knew I had him. I could see it in his body language. He was playing it safe, so I took my chance.”
“And what was going through your mind when you made the move?” Another journalist asks.
You pause for a moment, considering the question. Then, with a smirk, you say, “I was thinking, ‘What would Fernando do?’ And then I went for it.”
Fernando chuckles to himself, shaking his head slightly. He can’t help but feel a surge of pride. Not because you’ve imitated him, but because you’ve made the decision to be bold, to take risks, and to trust your instincts. That’s what separates the good drivers from the great ones — the willingness to seize the moment, to act decisively.
You finish up your interview, the reporters gradually dispersing to chase down other drivers. Fernando finally gives his full attention to the reporter in front of him, who’s still trying to get something meaningful out of him.
“Fernando, about your race …” the reporter begins again.
But Fernando is already moving, stepping around the man with a polite but firm nod. “Excuse me,” he says, cutting the interview short. There’s someone far more important he needs to talk to right now.
He strides over to you, your helmet now tucked under your arm as you chat casually with one of the team engineers. You spot him approaching and flash him a smile.
“Hey,” you say as he reaches you. “Did you hear what I said?”
“I did,” Fernando replies, unable to keep the pride out of his voice. “You’ve got quite the sense of humor.”
“Learned from the best,” you quip, giving him a playful nudge.
Fernando laughs, shaking his head. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually use that line, but I’m glad you did. The media loves a good story, and you just gave them one.”
You shrug, your smile widening. “Figured I’d give them something to talk about. Plus, it’s not every day you get to pass a guy like Seb.”
“And you did it with style,” Fernando adds, his voice filled with admiration. “You handled yourself perfectly out there, both on track and with the press. You’re making your mark.”
The engineer standing next to you clears his throat, clearly not wanting to interrupt but feeling the need to acknowledge Fernando’s presence. “Great job out there today,” he says, offering a handshake.
“Thanks,” Fernando replies, shaking the man’s hand. “But today’s all about her,” he adds, nodding in your direction.
The engineer nods in agreement before excusing himself, leaving you and Fernando alone in the now quieter part of the paddock. The sounds of celebration and interviews still echo in the background, but here, in this moment, it feels like it’s just the two of you.
“You know,” Fernando says after a beat, “I’ve never been prouder.”
You look at him, surprised by the raw emotion in his voice. “Really?”
“Really,” he confirms. “Seeing you out there today … it reminded me why I fell in love with racing in the first place. The passion, the drive, the thrill of the fight. You have all of that, and more.”
Your smile softens, touched by his words. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“You did it because you’re a damn good driver,” Fernando corrects, though there’s a warmth in his tone. “But I’m glad I could be a part of your journey.”
You both stand there for a moment, the enormity of what you’ve achieved settling in. Ninth place in your first race is no small feat, especially in a car that everyone had written off as uncompetitive. But you’ve proven them wrong, and you’ve done it in a way that’s uniquely your own.
“Next time, though,” Fernando says, a teasing lilt in his voice, “let’s aim for top five.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “No pressure, right?”
“Never,” he replies with a grin. “Just a challenge.”
***
Fernando leans casually against the side of the Alpine motorhome, arms crossed, eyes scanning the paddock. The next season’s first race is in a few days, and the energy around the circuit is electric, buzzing with the anticipation of new beginnings. He’s just finished an interview, the usual media rounds, when he spots you approaching, your new Mercedes gear a stark contrast to the sea of blues and pinks around you.
“Ah, there you are,” Fernando greets with a grin as you draw closer. “I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”
You tilt your head slightly, curious. “Who?”
Fernando pushes off the motorhome, beckoning you to follow as he leads you around to the back, where a young reserve driver is checking his phone, leaning casually against the wall. The kid looks up as you approach, his expression polite, maybe a touch reserved, but there’s an unmistakable spark of intelligence in his eyes.
“Oscar,” Fernando calls out, “this is her.”
Oscar Piastri straightens up, tucking his phone into his pocket. “Nice to meet you,” he says, extending a hand with a shy but confident smile. He’s calm, almost too calm for someone his age, but there’s a warmth there, something genuine. You can’t help but notice how composed he is, how his eyes seem to study you without making you feel scrutinized.
You shake his hand, offering a cool smile in return. “Likewise. I’ve heard good things.”
Oscar chuckles softly, scratching the back of his head. “Hopefully, I can live up to them.”
The three of you chat for a while, exchanging pleasantries about the upcoming season, racing, the usual stuff. Oscar is polite, measured in his responses, but there’s a softness to him that you hadn’t expected. It’s like he’s quietly confident, but without the brashness that usually comes with it. Fernando watches the interaction closely, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he notes the way your demeanor shifts ever so slightly around Oscar — more guarded, maybe, but intrigued.
Eventually, Oscar glances at his watch and excuses himself, mentioning something about a debrief he needs to attend. You nod, maintaining your composed exterior, and watch him walk back towards the Alpine motorhome before turning to Fernando.
“Polite cat vibes,” you murmur almost to yourself, a hint of amusement in your voice. Fernando raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.
“What was that?” He asks, although there’s a knowing look in his eyes. He’s been around long enough to pick up on these things.
You roll your eyes playfully, but there’s a lightness in your expression that wasn’t there before. “I said, polite cat vibes. You know, like when a cat is super well-behaved, but you just know there’s something more going on behind those eyes?”
Fernando laughs, a genuine, hearty sound that makes a few heads turn in your direction. “So, you think Oscar is a cat?”
“Well, not literally,” you reply, grinning. “It’s just … he’s got this thing, you know? Like he’s really nice, but you can tell he’s got claws if he needs them. And he’s so … calm. I just want to pinch his cheeks and cuddle him.”
Fernando’s laugh turns into a full-blown chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re smitten, aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” you say, feigning nonchalance as you fold your arms across your chest. “But it’s just … he’s different. Not in a bad way, just-”
“Different,” Fernando finishes for you, nodding thoughtfully. “Yeah, I get it. But don’t let that cloud your judgment on track.”
You shoot him a look. “Please. I’m not a rookie, and besides, I’m at Mercedes now. I’ve got bigger things to focus on than cute cats.”
Fernando smiles, but there’s a serious undertone to his next words. “Just remember, this is Formula 1. There’s no room for distractions, no matter how polite or cute they might be.”
You nod, understanding the weight behind his words, but there’s still a twinkle in your eye as you glance back in the direction Oscar disappeared. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”
“Good,” Fernando replies, clapping you on the back. “Because I’m not going to let you slack off, not even for a second.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” you retort, smirking. There’s a comfortable silence that falls between the two of you, the kind that only comes from mutual respect and understanding.
But Fernando can’t resist one last jab. “Don’t go soft on him, okay? I’ve got my eye on you.”
You roll your eyes again but with a fond smile. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“Of course,” Fernando grins. “It’s part of my charm.”
You laugh, the sound bright and clear in the busy paddock, and Fernando can’t help but feel a swell of pride. You’ve come so far, and he’s been there every step of the way, watching you grow not just as a driver but as a person. There’s a part of him that’s protective, sure, but there’s also a part that’s thrilled to see you standing on your own two feet, ready to take on whatever comes your wa— even if it’s an Australian polite cat.
“Let’s get out of here,” Fernando says finally, leading the way back to the Mercedes motorhome. “We’ve got a race to win this weekend, and I don’t want any distractions.”
You follow him, but there’s a spring in your step that wasn’t there before, and Fernando notices. He doesn’t say anything, though, just smiles to himself. You’re going to be just fine, he thinks, more than fine.
As you walk together, side by side, you can’t help but glance back once more, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Maybe, just maybe, this season is going to be full of surprises. And Fernando? Well, he’s ready for whatever comes next, as long as you are too.
***
The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the vineyard where the ceremony is taking place. Rows of chairs are lined up neatly on the manicured lawn, all facing a simple yet elegant archway draped in white fabric and adorned with soft blush roses. The air is filled with the quiet murmur of guests settling in, the occasional laugh breaking through the serene atmosphere.
Fernando adjusts his tie, glancing around with a mixture of pride and disbelief. How did they get here? It seems like only yesterday he was meeting you for the first time, a determined young driver who refused to be underestimated. Now, here you are, standing at the altar, poised to marry the man you’ve chosen to spend your life with.
Fernando is seated in the front row, just to the left of the aisle, with Mark Webber by his side. The two exchange knowing smiles as the ceremony begins, each lost in their own thoughts. Mark has watched Oscar grow from a promising young talent into a man of integrity and strength, much like Fernando has done with you. There’s a quiet understanding between them, a mutual respect that goes beyond words.
As the officiant begins to speak, Fernando leans over slightly, catching Mark’s eye. “I guess this makes us in-laws,” he whispers, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Mark chuckles softly, nodding. “Seems like it. Didn’t see this coming back when we were racing, did we?”
“Not at all,” Fernando replies with a smile, glancing back at the altar where you and Oscar stand, hand-in-hand. “But I’m glad it did.”
The vows are simple, heartfelt, and deeply personal. Oscar goes first, his voice steady but filled with emotion.
“From the moment I met you,” Oscar begins, his eyes locked on yours, “I knew you were different. You challenged me, inspired me, and made me want to be a better person. In a world that often felt overwhelming, you were my calm, my constant. Today, I promise to stand by your side, through every victory and every defeat. I promise to support your dreams as if they were my own, to lift you up when you’re down, and to love you unconditionally, now and forever.”
There’s a brief pause, the weight of his words hanging in the air. You squeeze his hand, your heart swelling with the depth of his sincerity. When it’s your turn, you take a deep breath, steadying yourself.
“Oscar,” you begin, your voice clear and strong, “You were the unexpected surprise in my life, the calm in my storm. From the moment we met, I knew you were special. You’ve been my partner on and off the track, my biggest supporter, and my best friend. Today, I promise to cherish every moment we have together, to grow with you, and to always be there for you, no matter what. I promise to love you with all that I am, and all that I will ever be. You are my heart, my soul, and my everything.”
Fernando feels a lump in his throat as you finish. He’s never been one to get emotional, but today, sitting here, listening to you pour your heart out, he can’t help but feel a surge of pride and love. He remembers the teenage girl who had to fight for every opportunity, the young woman who never gave up, and now, the bride standing before him, ready to take on the next chapter of her life.
The officiant speaks again, guiding you and Oscar through the final steps of the ceremony. When it’s time for the rings, Mark reaches into his pocket, retrieving Oscar’s band with a small, proud smile. Fernando does the same for you, his hands steady as he hands over the ring you will soon place on Oscar’s finger.
“With this ring, I thee wed,” you both say, sliding the rings onto each other’s fingers. The moment is profound, sealing your commitment not just in words, but in action.
“You may kiss the bride,” the officiant finally announces, and there’s a collective sigh of happiness from the gathered crowd as Oscar leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s both tender and full of promise.
Applause erupts, and as you and Oscar turn to face your family and friends, hands still entwined, Fernando catches your eye. There’s something unspoken between you, a bond that goes beyond blood, beyond words. You smile at him, and he nods in return, his chest swelling with emotion.
The ceremony concludes, and guests begin to make their way to the reception area, where a beautifully decorated marquee awaits. The air is filled with laughter and the clinking of glasses as everyone mingles, basking in the joy of the occasion.
The second dance is a traditional one with your father. You sway gently in his arms as he whispers words of wisdom, of pride, and of love. The moment is touching, a reminder of the family that has always stood behind you, even when the road was hard.
When the song ends, you hug your father tightly, thanking him for everything. But as the music transitions into something new, you catch Fernando’s eye across the room. There’s a moment of hesitation, but then you make your way towards him, your heart pounding in your chest.
“Nando,” you say softly as you reach him, “would you join me for a dance?”
For a brief moment, Fernando is taken aback. He’s always seen you as a strong, independent force — someone who has always forged their own path. But in this moment, he realizes just how much you’ve come to mean to him, how deeply intertwined your lives have become.
“Are you sure?” He asks, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.
You nod, your eyes shining with emotion. “You’ve been like a father to me. I couldn’t imagine today without sharing this moment with you.”
Fernando swallows hard, nodding as he takes your hand. The two of you move to the center of the dance floor, the music soft and slow. As you begin to dance, there’s a sense of calm that settles over you both, a quiet understanding that needs no words.
“I’ve watched you grow,” Fernando says after a few moments, his voice low so only you can hear, “into one of the best drivers I’ve ever known, but more than that … into an incredible person. I’m so proud of you, more than I can ever say.”
Tears prick at your eyes, but you blink them back, smiling up at him. “Thank you. For everything. I wouldn’t be here without you.”
“You would’ve found your way,” he replies, his tone firm. “You always had it in you. I just gave you a little push.”
“A little?” You tease, and he laughs, the sound filled with warmth.
As the song comes to an end, Fernando pulls you into a tight hug, his hand resting protectively on the back of your head. “Remember, I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”
“I know,” you whisper, your voice choked with emotion. “And I’ll always be here for you too.”
***
The antiseptic scent of the hospital hits Fernando the moment he steps into the delivery wing, mingling with the distant beeps of monitors and the hushed whispers of medical staff. It’s a familiar environment, yet so foreign to him. He’s used to the adrenaline rush of the pit lane, the roar of engines, the calculated chaos of racing — but this, this is something entirely different. He’s been in countless high-pressure situations, but none have ever felt like this.
As he makes his way down the hallway, his heart beats just a little faster than usual, his mind racing with thoughts of you, of Oscar, and of the tiny new life that’s just come into the world. When he reaches the door of your room, he hesitates for the briefest of moments, his hand hovering over the door handle.
It’s not that he’s nervous — Fernando Alonso doesn’t get nervous — but there’s something about this moment that feels monumental, like the start of a new chapter in a book he didn’t even realize he was writing.
He pushes the door open slowly, stepping into the room with a soft smile. The room is bathed in a warm, gentle light, far removed from the harsh brightness of the hallway. It’s quiet, peaceful, with only the faint hum of machinery and the soft breaths of the newborn breaking the silence.
You’re lying in the bed, looking tired but radiant, with a tiny bundle cradled in your arms. Oscar is beside you, his hand resting protectively on your shoulder, his eyes filled with awe and love. When you see Fernando, your face lights up, and despite the exhaustion etched into your features, there’s a warmth in your smile that makes his heart swell.
“Fernando,” you say softly, your voice hoarse but filled with joy. “Come meet him.”
He steps closer, his eyes drawn to the small figure in your arms. The baby is tiny, impossibly so, wrapped in a soft blue blanket, with a tuft of dark hair peeking out. Fernando’s breath catches in his throat as he looks down at the baby, his heart pounding in a way that’s both unfamiliar and entirely overwhelming.
“He’s perfect,” Fernando murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.
Oscar grins, nodding in agreement. “We think so too.”
You shift slightly, holding the baby out toward Fernando. “Would you like to hold him?”
For a moment, Fernando hesitates. He’s held championship trophies, gripped the steering wheel at speeds that would make others blanch, but this? This is different. This is fragile, delicate, something that requires a gentleness he’s not sure he possesses. But when he sees the trust in your eyes, he nods, carefully taking the baby into his arms.
The weight is nothing — featherlight, almost — but it’s enough to make his hands tremble just the slightest bit. He cradles the baby close, his eyes wide as he studies the tiny features: the small nose, the delicate eyelids, the impossibly small fingers curled into little fists. The baby stirs slightly, his mouth opening in a silent yawn before settling back into a peaceful sleep.
“What’s his name?” Fernando asks, his voice thick with emotion.
You exchange a glance with Oscar before looking back at Fernando, your smile widening. “His name is Theodore,” you say softly, “Theodore Fernando Piastri.”
Fernando’s breath catches, his eyes snapping up to meet yours. For a moment, he’s speechless, his mind struggling to process what he’s just heard.
“Fernando?” He repeats, his voice barely audible.
You nod, your eyes shining with unshed tears. “We wanted to honor you. You’ve been like a father to me, and now … now you’re going to be a part of his life too. It just felt right.”
Fernando stares at you, his heart swelling with a mixture of pride, love, and something else — something deeper, something he’s never quite felt before. He looks down at Theodore, his namesake, and for the first time in a long while, he feels his eyes prick with tears.
“You … you didn’t have to do that,” he says, his voice choked with emotion.
“But we wanted to,” Oscar says, his voice firm but kind. “You’ve done so much for us, for Y/N. It’s our way of saying thank you.”
Fernando swallows hard, nodding as he blinks back the tears threatening to spill over. He’s always prided himself on his control, on his ability to keep his emotions in check, but this — this is something else entirely. This is a depth of feeling he wasn’t prepared for.
“Thank you,” he finally says, his voice thick. “It means … it means more to me than you can ever know.”
He looks back down at Theodore, his heart full to bursting. The baby stirs again, his tiny fingers twitching, and Fernando smiles, the tears finally spilling over as he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
“Grandpa Nando,” you say suddenly, your voice filled with affection. “That’s what we’re going to call you. How do you feel about that?”
Fernando lets out a laugh, the sound watery and full of joy. “I think I can get used to that,” he says, his voice trembling with emotion. “Grandpa Nando. I like it.”
You smile at him, your eyes soft with affection. “I’m glad. You’ve been a father figure to me, and now … now you get to be a grandfather to him.”
The room falls into a comfortable silence, the weight of the moment settling over all of you. Fernando can’t stop staring at Theodore, can’t stop marveling at the tiny life in his arms. He’s held many titles in his life — champion, driver, mentor — but this, this feels different. This feels like the most important role he’s ever played.
As he stands there, cradling the tiny life in his arms, he feels a sense of peace settle over him. This is where he’s meant to be, here with you, with Oscar, with Theodore. He’s not just a mentor anymore; he’s family. And that, more than anything, is the greatest victory he’s ever achieved.
Finally, after what feels like both an eternity and no time at all, Fernando carefully hands Theodore back to you, his heart heavy with emotion. You take your son into your arms, holding him close as you smile up at Fernando, your eyes filled with gratitude.
“Thank you,” you say softly. “For everything. For being there for me, for guiding me, for … for being a part of our lives.”
Fernando shakes his head, a small, tearful smile on his lips. “No, thank you. You’ve given me more than I ever could have imagined. You — you and Oscar, and now Theodore — you’re my family. And there’s nothing more important to me than that.”
You reach out, taking his hand in yours, and for a moment, the two of you just stand there, connected by something deeper than words, deeper than racing, deeper than anything Fernando has ever known.
This is what it means to be family, he realizes. This is what it means to love, to care, to be there for each other, no matter what. And as he stands there, his heart full to bursting, he knows that this, more than any championship, more than any victory on the track, is what truly matters.
This is his greatest achievement.
-
twopasteleven-blog liked this · 1 week ago -
nasyanastya liked this · 1 week ago -
dearestreadersworld liked this · 1 week ago -
ertaniie liked this · 1 week ago -
dragonlover736 liked this · 1 week ago -
guiuhuu liked this · 1 week ago -
ratgrandma7 liked this · 1 week ago -
velomer liked this · 1 week ago -
hidd-jo liked this · 2 weeks ago -
olioxenexpensiv liked this · 2 weeks ago
-
jennwithobsessions liked this · 2 weeks ago -
vvenuswhcre liked this · 2 weeks ago -
shylahstarzz liked this · 2 weeks ago -
crossfandomslut liked this · 2 weeks ago -
limitedstars liked this · 2 weeks ago -
yestoheaven444 liked this · 2 weeks ago -
laurakells liked this · 2 weeks ago -
hannoahs-third-eyelash liked this · 2 weeks ago -
sarabelllah liked this · 2 weeks ago -
feiverse liked this · 2 weeks ago -
baybee-blu liked this · 2 weeks ago -
mokkechild liked this · 2 weeks ago -
xxemmarldxx reblogged this · 2 weeks ago -
indigosongscribe liked this · 2 weeks ago -
brooklynerster liked this · 2 weeks ago -
lauraa87 liked this · 2 weeks ago
-
art3misa635 liked this · 2 weeks ago -
beelzebabezzz liked this · 2 weeks ago -
msviik liked this · 2 weeks ago -
msviik reblogged this · 2 weeks ago
-
ayo-cowbelly liked this · 2 weeks ago -
foxyfox5512 liked this · 2 weeks ago -
morguequeens liked this · 2 weeks ago -
loony56789 liked this · 2 weeks ago -
chemicalalice liked this · 2 weeks ago -
mrs-dot-kennedy liked this · 2 weeks ago -
cassievile03 liked this · 2 weeks ago -
bridget-tices-opening-monologue liked this · 2 weeks ago -
parkersbliss liked this · 2 weeks ago -
jacyntahreads liked this · 2 weeks ago -
decaffeinated-us liked this · 3 weeks ago -
imaginesidontwannalose reblogged this · 3 weeks ago -
agiscool liked this · 3 weeks ago -
edcrfvtgbyhnujm liked this · 3 weeks ago -
saint-maggs liked this · 3 weeks ago -
characterwh0re liked this · 3 weeks ago -
runningfromthe-whispers liked this · 3 weeks ago -
rosalindneely liked this · 3 weeks ago -
r0bynhood liked this · 3 weeks ago -
maximmee reblogged this · 3 weeks ago
