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holllandtrash · 10 months

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fragile line | daniel ricciardo

pairing: daniel ricciardo x driver!reader

You and I walk a fragile line I have known it all this time But I never thought I'd live to see it break

what happens when the driver daniel falls in love with, ends up being the one who brings his career to a screeching halt? word count: 7.7k (im so sorry) warnings/tags: fluff-ish, plot with implied/very little smut, angst, mclaren danny, zak brown (gross), some incorrect f2 stats but whatever, time jumps, really just a lot of angst, its a rollercoaster

“What do you know?”

“What do you know?” Daniel repeated the question back to you, the emphasis making it clear as day that you both carried the same career-altering information.

His signature grin and comforting optimism were nowhere to be seen. Instead, Daniel’s expression could be described in a variety of ways. Solemn, disappointed, hurt.

“What was I supposed to do?” You asked, going straight to the defensive. You couldn’t be helpful in this scenario, you just needed to explain yourself. He wouldn’t understand it from your perspective, but you had to try.

“Not take the seat,” he offered a solution, as if it was that simple. “My god, I mean, they’re cutting my contract early, Y/N. For you.”

“For the sake of the team,” you corrected. You had no say in this. McLaren had plenty of driver options for the 2023 season. There were rumours of Daniel’s contract coming to an end a year early anyway, everyone heard them, everyone ignored them. The only thing that remained uncertain for a while was who would replace him should the rumours be true.

You.

“You don’t even like McLaren.” You told him, voice raising a little as if that helped get the point across. “You’ve struggled with this team since day one.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to stop racing.”

“McLaren is not the team for you and you know this.”

Daniel scoffed, eyebrows twitching, “Did Zak tell you to say that?”

It was a rhetorical question, but Daniel noticed the way your bottom lip quivered. He caught the way your eyes dropped from his, even just for a split second. There was something unspoken between you, something that weighed on your mind and Daniel stepped forward, wanting to know what exactly it was.

“Zak-” you started, reluctant to even say this. “-he doesn’t know I’m here. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to talk to you or anyone about it, not until your announcement comes out.”

Here meaning Daniel’s flat in Monaco. The place you spent more nights at than your own. You played it off by saying his view was better but that was such a bullshit answer. Daniel’s flat always felt more like home than yours ever did.

You had formally met the Australian driver a few years ago, but god did time fly. It was at a race in Monza. You could pretend you didn’t know the date but of course you did, you had it memorised. September 3rd, 2020. There was no way you could forget the day your life changed for the better.

Or possibly, for the worse. It was up in the air at this point.

You were new to the Formula 2 series. The only female driver on the grid as you raced with Prema alongside Mick Schumacher. F3 proved to be quite a successful stint for you and you had your eyes set on the coveted Formula 1 series. You wanted to be in the big leagues.

Daniel saw that. He saw how determined you were to not only make waves in Motorsport, but to make something of yourself. You trained just as hard, if not harder than the other drivers in the junior series and Daniel had seen that for a while. He was often surprised to see you at the hotel gym, already working up a sweat when he walked in at a little after 6am. He would be even more surprised when he saw you there in the evening when other drivers went and called it a night or even went and celebrated.

Your race weekends were the same as F1 weekends, but you just had limited ones. It was a shorter season, less intense, but whenever you were there. Daniel saw you. He saw you and he paid attention. He even rooted for you, very publicly as well whenever he could, despite the two of you never having exchanged a word.

The first time you heard about Daniel cheering you on was after the Monaco race, quite early on into your first season. You qualified 7th, not ideal for a track like Monaco where the opportunities to overtake were far and few between, but somehow you did it. And then you did it again. And you could say it was luck but it was really smart strategy and an insane amount of driver skill that had you finishing fifth. In Monaco.

Those were Daniel’s words. He was asked pre-race if he watched the F2 run and he said of course. He said he “wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” wanting to see what you could do this weekend.

“It’s not luck, she’s incredibly talented,” Daniel had told the Sky Sports reporter. “She’s doing big things in the series, and I’m rooting for her. Truly. It’s rare a driver comes around with such raw natural talent, where you look at them and you know racing’s just in their blood, but it’s in hers. I would love to see her in Formula 1 one day.”

You watched that interview clip about twenty times. Daniel Ricciardo, the Daniel Ricciardo who had won Monaco a few years back, was complimenting you. He was rooting for you.

It wasn’t until Monza, nearing the end of your season that he finally approached you.

“I want to work with you,” Daniel said, straight to the point. You were in the middle of stretching in the hotel's fitness centre. It was only Thursday, the race weekend itself had barely started but Daniel knew he’d find you in there.

You pulled your airpods out and looked up at him in the mirror, “You what?”

“I want to work with you,” Daniel repeated, this time sitting down on the floor next to you. He kept your stare in the reflection. “I’m not a trainer by any means, but I want to work with you. I want to see you in Formula 1.”

You were flattered, honoured really, but you didn’t know what that entailed. “Work with me how?”

“Well, regular fitness training for starters,” he said. “But managing, really. I want to help you with everything that it takes to move up. Media training, mental preparedness, finding sponsors, getting you in touch with the right people. Let me help you, Y/N.”

You weren’t sure what brought this on. Part of you was convinced it was because he knew this would look good on his behalf. If you did make it to Formula 1 and Daniel’s name was attached to yours, he’d look like a genius. A hero. He would be known as the first person from F1 to publicly support you.

But that wasn’t what it was at all. When you agreed and accepted his help, you soon came to learn that Daniel didn’t want to be in your spotlight at all. He found the opportunities that you needed and then stepped back. He didn’t mention to the media at all that he was helping you, he didn’t see a need to. He saw your potential and he truly wanted to help you make something off.

So there he was during the off season, meeting you in London where you resided. He trained with you, set you up with the right people, did weekly check-ins, he really was like a sort of manager.

He was there during pre-season testing the following year, literally. He stood in the Prema garage like he was just another member of the team. No one really questioned it, not when you said he was acting as a mentor to you. Everyone loved Daniel’s presence there and he was told he was welcome whenever.

He was there during race weekends whenever he could find time in his own busy schedule. He was never there during the actual race, needing that time to prepare for his own, but he always watched from his drivers room or had someone in his ear updating where you were and what was happening.

He was there in Silverstone, when you crashed during Saturday's Sprint Race.

It was one of the last sessions of the day, Daniel had already finished qualifying and he was standing in the back of your garage, arms crossed over his chest, eyes glued to the screen.

He was the first voice you heard when you spun, losing the breaks in mere seconds and all you could do was brace yourself for the impact of the barriers.

“Tell me you’re okay.” Daniel’s voice came through your radio. Not your engineer, not your team principal. Daniel. “Say something, sweets, tell me you're okay.”

Sweets, he called you. But only ever in private, or in front of close friends. What started as a joke when you complained about him not having any sweets in his flat the first time you visited in Monaco, stuck.

But everyone had access to the team radios. It could be heard by other engineers, other teams, fans even and those watching at home should F1TV choose to broadcast it.

Of course they did. They aired the exchange for everyone to hear and it spread like wildfire. It was all anyone on social media could talk about.

“Say something, sweets. Tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” you sputtered out, hands shaking as you unclenched them. It was an instinct to pull them off the steering wheel and tuck your arms to your chest, physically bracing where you could.

“Good,” Daniel breathed out a very obvious sigh of relief. “Good.” He paused, and then with a quiet chuckle added, “What the fuck was that then?”

You laughed in response, needing the humour at such a traumatic time. You had crashed before, but this was a bad one. You didn’t even need to step out of the vehicle to know you were lucky to not feel any immediate injuries, but there was a ringing in your ear and the adrenaline was preventing you from really understanding the damage your body had sustained.

It wouldn’t have helped, though, to have gotten an earful, not like it was your fault anyway. It also wouldn’t have helped if you were asked again and again if you were okay. The more people asked, the more stressed you would grow. Daniel knew you needed a bit of lightheartedness at this time.

“No brakes, Danny,” you answered through a soft laugh.

“That just sounds like an excuse to me,” he muttered, the sarcasm evident even through the crackling radio.

“Are you going to continue to question my driving abilities or are you going to send medical out here to help me?”

That whole interaction went viral. From the radio message, to the clips of Daniel accompanying you to the medical centre, to the photos of the two of you smiling in the paddock despite the bruising on your body, the concussion you were diagnosed with and the instruction from the doctor that you were not stable enough to race on Sunday.

Which sucked, to put it plainly. But you were with Daniel. He made the situation bearable. With his arm around your shoulder, he walked you to the car at the end of the day, having waited with you the whole time.

People speculated, of course. Questions were asked.

Why was Daniel Ricciardo paying such close attention to you? Why did he get over the radio when he crashed? Why did it sound so flirty? Had he been in your garages the whole time and no one noticed? Was he a mentor? A friend? More?

You had put out a statement when you got to the hotel, thanking everyone for the kind words and well wishes. You shared that you would not be driving on Sunday and you also shared that you were thankful for the support of Daniel Ricciardo, your mentor, who reminded you that even the best of the best crash out sometimes.

Mentor, you publicly called him That’s what he was, right? Or trainer. Or Manager. Or friend, really. There were a lot of words to describe his relationship to you.

People online didn’t believe it. They thought there was more because, who looks at each other like that if they’re not fucking?

But you weren’t. Honest to god, that line with Daniel was never crossed. You never even considered it. Always content with his companionship and his advice, you didn’t want anything physical or romantic.

At least, you thought you didn’t.

Daniel dragged you into his room instead of letting you go up to yours because you were under strict instructions to not be left alone for the next twelve hours should the concussion worsen.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, handing you a glass of water. “I know I joked over the radio, but I was worried. It wasn’t a pretty crash.”

“Are any crashes pretty?”

He sat down next to you, closer than normal considering when he rested his arm over the back of the couch, his fingers were within the distance needed to play with the strands of your hair.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, “I guess it depends on the driver. I make the crashes pretty.”

The comedic gasp you let out as you clenched your chest had him laughing.

“Daniel Ricciardo, are you calling me ugly?”

“Don’t twist my words!” He exclaimed, eyes squinting as his smile widened. “I said I was pretty.”

You hummed, “You pretty much said I made the crush ugly.”

“I didn’t say you were ugly,” Daniel playfully tugged on a strand of your hair. “You’re not- I mean, you-”

And then the humour faded. He met your eyes, his hand fell to your shoulder. He was still smiling but it was the sort of gentle smile one wears when they figure out the answer to a question that had been eating at them for a while.

Something clicked for Daniel. At this very moment.

He wasn’t going to let it escape him.

“Pretty doesn’t do you justice,” Daniel told you, voice lowering. “You’re breaktaking, Y/N. On the racetrack, at home, at events, you put everyone around you to shame. And it’s not- it isn’t just your appearance, it’s you. Everything about you. Your heart, your charisma, the way your eyes light up when you smile but only if you’re talking to people you like,” he chuckled, having experienced it first hand and having seen the way you don’t look nearly as pleased when someone you dislike approaches you.

You were speechless, though. Frozen where you sat as this admission came out of seemingly nowhere.

And Daniel was attractive, that was an undeniable fact, he was everything anyone could ever want in a man. But you never allowed yourself to look at him the way other people would. He was your trainer, manager, mentor, friend.

You had no words to explain the way he was staring at you now. Nor could you explain why it made you feel more alive than driving a racecar at inhumane speeds ever could.

Daniel took another breath, eyes never leaving yours. “You are unlike anyone I have ever come across and I know, in my lifetime, I will never find someone who could ever compare to even a fraction of who you are.”

There was no way you could continue to be just friends after those words passed his lips.

You kissed him. You had to. It wasn’t like there was anything you could say that would match what he had already said, nor could you even find the words.

You kissed him and Daniel pulled you onto his laps, your legs moving to straddle either side of his hips. His hands roamed your body, sliding up the Prema shirt you still had on as your tongue roamed every possible inch of his mouth.

His hand gripped your waist, rolling you over top of him so you could feel in a matter of seconds how this conversation had now taken a turn. His cock started to harden, constricted by his pants, but you still felt it underneath you each time he shifted, each time you grinded against him.

When you reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it off, Daniel leaned back, both of you taking that second to catch your breath and question if you were really going to do this.

“Is this a mistake?” You whispered, your thumb gently tracing over his lips. Your working relationship was perfect. This could ruin everything. You had fears, doubts, worries. One night could lead to dozens of complications.

But Daniel shook his head and all of those thoughts vanished.

“No,” he said, sounding so sure of himself with that one syllable. “I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life but you are not one of them.”

That was the only validation you needed. You kissed him again, more lust, more passion, than before as Daniel stood up, carrying you towards the bed at the back of the room. He dropped you down on the edge of it, smiling at the squeal that escaped your lips.

Daniel wanted to worship you every way he could. He was gentle with you, with your body, as he dipped his head between your thighs, making you feel a wave of euphoria that no one had ever brought you too before.

It wasn’t until you were begging for more did Daniel realise he didn’t need to be gentle the entire night. He slid two fingers past your folds, lifting his head and hovering his body over yours, wanting to feel your desperate breaths hit his face as he rapidly thrusted his digits in and out of you, your walls clenching around him.

When he attached his lips to that spot on your neck, his teeth pressing against your skin, you saw stars. Daniel’s motions didn’t let up as you came around his fingers, loving the way your legs shook and how you dragged your hand through the hair on the back of his head.

He was cautious about doing anything else, knowing you were injured, he didn’t want to overstimulate you or cause any more pain.

But you needed him. You reached for the zipper of his pants and tugged it down, telling Daniel you wanted this, as if the way you looked up at him didn’t already make that perfectly clear.

He was careful when he entered you, patient. The tip of his cock slid past your folds slowly and he kissed your collarbone so gently you almost didn’t feel it as you adjusted to his size, quiet moans emitting from the back of your throat.

He had praised you before, but only ever at the race track, so there was something so familiar yet so foreign about the way he whispered against your skin. It lit a fire within you.

“You take me so well, sweets,” he fought back a groan as your walls tightened around him when you clenched your legs. “So good for me.”

It was safe to say the dynamic between you two changed after that night.

Daniel adored you already, admired you greatly for your achievements and growth in the sport. But now he fought with himself every weekend, knowing that he couldn’t touch you how he wanted. He couldn’t show you the attention he so desperately wanted. He couldn’t kiss you when you got that podium in Belgium, despite finding a way to sneak out of the pre-race duties for a second to run to the barrier to be there for you with the rest of the Prema team.

Whatever was going on between you, it was unlabelled and it was private. The rest of the world didn’t need to know you were sleeping with the man you looked up to, the one who helped you become a great athlete in such a short period of time.

People continued to speculate. You were private, sure, but you weren’t overly careful.

You were seen landing in Monaco over the summer. You were spotted hanging out with Daniel on plenty of occasions. Even though you kept your hands off of each other and refused to act like anything more than friends out in public, you were different when you returned after the break. You both were. Everyone noticed.

Daniel was, if it was even possible, happier. And you were less stressed it seemed. While you were still fighting a constant battle of being the only female in F2, it no longer seemed as heavy because the weight of it wasn’t just on your shoulders anymore. Daniel was there too.

It wasn’t just physical, what you had. The emotional connection you shared was undeniable. Daniel was always there for you, and you, him. During the bad days, the good ones, and everyday in between.

When you finished the season 5th in the drivers championship, the only person you wanted to celebrate with was Daniel. He was so proud of you. He watched you go from finishing 13th last year to 5th. He played a huge part in that, but when you tried to tell him that, he only brushed it off, saying that it was all you, he was just happy to be there for the ride.

It was his idea for you to test drive for McLaren at the end of the year, too. ‘We’ll get you in a real F1 car’ he said. And you didn’t question it when the offer was brought forward to participate in a few practice sessions. It was exhilarating and terrifying and you cried tears of joy when you stepped out of his car because this was what you dreamed of. Driving a Formula 1 car.

Now you just needed a permanent seat and Daniel wanted that for you too. He was your biggest supporter, and you only grew closer as the days went on.

You met his family over the holidays. He spent New Years Eve in London with you.

When the season started again, he spent more time with you and Prema. When there were no scheduled F2 races during F1 weekends, you accompanied him in the McLaren garage.

At this point, quite a few people knew you were together, or at least they assumed it.

You didn’t post about it, you didn’t want to, you didn’t need to. Daniel didn’t need to show you off, nor did you feel obligated to let everyone know you were with him. What you had was private, it was sacred, it was only for the two of you.

But of course whenever you had a good performance, whether it be from a practice session, qualifying or a race, he’d share your celebration picture to his Instagram story.

“Would you ever do a shoey?” Daniel asked you one Tuesday night, zooming in on a photo of you, more specifically on the smile on your face as you clenched your second place trophy from Imola on Sunday.

You rolled your eyes but the smile was impossible to hide as he came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, tugging you into his chest.

“Next time you win,” Daniel suggested with a laugh. “I expect a shoey.”

“I’m not Australian.”

“You’re dating one, sweets.”

You never actually discussed what you were. The term boyfriend-girlfriend seemed so childish. Dating was, in a sense, accurate, but again, there were no labels. He had your heart, you had his. That was the only thing that mattered.

“The world doesn’t know that,” you pointed out.

“They kind of do,” Daniel kissed your cheek, giving your side a squeeze as he stepped aside to help you prepare dinner.

You weren’t even sure when you fell into such a domestic lifestyle but there you were, practically moved into Daniel’s place in Monaco at this point and he was at your side, chopping carrots for the salad while you prepared the chicken breasts.

“A shoey would confirm it,” you glanced up at him, but the smile on his face told you he wasn’t completely against the idea.

Daniel stepped behind you, fingers playfully pinching your waist, “Just think about it. If you don’t want to, you don’t have to. I just reckon it would be entertaining for everyone.”

He didn’t bring it up again, not even when you got third in Spain and didn’t do it. It was your first time getting a back to back podium since you started racing and of course it was something to celebrate, but the idea of a shoey made your stomach churn. You weren’t sure if you were ready for the world to know about your commitment to Daniel.

You walked a thin line, being with him. And while you enjoyed every possible minute spent with him, you knew the world was cruel. The second you officially went public, you’d lose respect in the motorsport industry.

The only female F2 driver dating an F1 driver? How scandalous.

Despite the rumours, the correct rumours, you were still in a bubble with him. You could pretend you were just friends, close friends. The tabloids had nothing to go off except your polite interactions and maybe a little too friendly smiles and so what if you were there in the McLaren garage cheering him on?

You were his biggest supporter and he was yours.

But it didn’t help that while your performance was improving, his was rapidly declining. While you had less races than his, already your stats were better. You qualified in the top 5 for the first three races. You finished second in Imola, third in Spain, already better than how you started the season last year.

Monaco was next. Daniel loved Monaco, you both did. Everyone did, it was the pinnacle of Formula 1.

It was unfortunate that your weekends ended up so drastically different.

Daniel qualified 14th and then finished 13th. He wasn’t proud of it, but he did his best to hide his disappointment for you, especially since you were starting on the front row, P2, for the feature race.

And somehow, you won.

After trailing behind Drugovich for the majority of the race, you were starting to believe you would finish behind him too. And you probably would have, had there not been a safety car almost six laps after he boxed for fresh tyres, giving you the advantage of newer tyres and less wasted time. It was a strategy your team was banking on, waiting for a safety car. It was risky, but it paid off. Overtaking was nearly impossible with Formula 1 cars, but you had a better chance in your series and somehow, by the grace of god, you did it. You pulled ahead and swiped the lead from Felipe.

You made history that weekend. The first female F2 driver to not only podium, but to win at Monaco. You gripped that first place trophy so tight your hand turned red.

Usually, F2 didn’t draw nearly as big of a crowd, but this weekend was different. Everyone was a fan of the series after that performance, a fan of you. You saw people in the crowd wearing Red Bull gear, Ferrari merch, McLaren hats, and they were all applauding you.

Of course, you were blown away by the support. Hearing your national anthem play was an incredible sound. There were tears in your eyes and your entire body was trembling, yet somehow you managed to find Daniel. Right in front, with your team.

He was so proud of you.

Despite his shitty qualifying, despite knowing he had such a low shot at earning points at his race that was in just under an hour, he was there for you. You couldn’t tell if he was cheering the loudest, or if you were just so prone to finding him in a crowd that you couldn’t process anything or anyone else.

You weren’t sure what came over you, but once you grabbed the champagne bottle, you found yourself taking your shoe off as well. As Felipe and Théo started spraying their bottles in celebration, you poured the bubbly liquid into the sole of your racing shoe and lifted it up to your lips, pointing directly at Daniel who couldn’t believe what he was watching.

It was rancid, as you figured it would. It was champagne out of a sweaty shoe, you knew it wouldn’t taste good, but it was a shoey and it was for Daniel. Felipe patted your back, laughing at your reaction and muttering something about how Daniel would get a kick out of that.

He was right, but Daniel wasn’t the only one who found it entertaining.

Your name was once again trending following the Monaco Grand Prix. Not Checo’s, even though he won the F1 race. Your name.

Not that you really cared that night. How could you care about what the internet was saying when the man you were with told you that he loved you for the first time? Nothing online mattered, not when Daniel took your face in his hands and told you he was madly in love with you. He was proud, he was happy, he was in love.

And you knew you loved him too. You had known this for a while. Monaco was just the perfect time to say it.

After going about as public as you could without physically coming out and saying you were dating the Australian driver, Monaco was the perfect place to tell him you loved him. You were on cloud 9, you were making history, you were in love.

You continued to deny, or at least ignore, the rumours that followed, still. You both did. You were in love with each other, not the whole world. Things would get complicated if you announced you were dating. You were vying for a Formula 1 seat and you wanted it without Daniels’ influence.

But at the following race in Baku you were asked similar questions.

“Your shoey last week, did that have anything to do with Daniel Ricciardo being there to cheer you on? You two have gotten pretty close in the last few months, he’s one of your mentors, isn’t he?”

You shifted your weight to one leg, wondering what the fuck kind of post-qualifying question that was. You had just completed three back to back podiums, you were on a hot streak now, starting third at this next race and the reporter only cared about what happened at the podium celebration last weekend.

“Sorry, did you have a question about this week's race?” You asked, and when he stammered over his words, you just nodded and walked away, a tight smile on your face.

Daniel’s conversation went a bit differently.

“Y/N’s shoey last week, we all saw it. Was that your influence?”

“Yeah I never thought she’d actually do it, it was sweet,” Daniel laughed. “It was great though, I happily pass the tradition onto her.”

“She’s really come along in Formula 2 since she started back in 2020, do you think she has what it takes to be Formula 1’s first full-time female driver?”

“Absolutely,” there wasn’t a shred of doubt or hesitation. He was happy to talk about you, to explain to the rest of the world why you were up and coming and should be taken seriously as a real contender for a Formula 1 seat. He probably would have continued on if his PR rep hadn’t pulled him away, reminding him of other duties.

The next few races were similar to your first ones. A couple more podiums, some outstanding qualifying sessions, more history being made. Your phone was blowing up weekly, everybody wanted to talk to you now and you knew Daniel had something to do with it. Him constantly sharing the faith he had in you did wonders for your reputation.

You might have been on top of the world, but you were well aware you were alone up there.

Daniels’ performances were anything but newsworthy. He had gotten a few points in Austria and France, but nothing to be extremely proud of, especially when he compared his 9th place finish at the Red Bull Ring to your first place podium, making it your second one this season.

He never let his disappointment for himself and McLaren stand in the way of your achievements. In fact, you didn’t often speak about the races when you were together. You were aware Daniel was having issues with the team, with Zak, with the car, but he didn’t want to weigh you down with his own problems, even though you assured him time and time again you could handle it.

Really, if Daniel had come to you with his struggles, you would have thought twice when Zak Brown approached you prior to the Hungarian Grand Prix. You probably would have slammed the door to your drivers room in his face if you knew how Daniel was being treated at McLaren.

But Daniel held his cards close to his chest while Zak laid his all out on the table.

“If a spot opened up for you,” he said, after spending the last ten minutes talking about the rich history of the team and praising your accolades. “Would you consider it?”

It wasn’t an official contract, just the start of a conversation that could lead to one.

Of course you thought of Daniel. And Lando, having grown close with him simply through Daniel.

“For 2024?” You asked, knowing both of them were set to continue driving through to at least the end of 2023.

“No,” Zak shook his head. You didn’t like how harsh his tone had turned, having no remorse for what he was about to say. “Daniel’s contract would be ending early.”

You leaned back in your chair, fingers tapping the table as you tried to recall Daniel ever telling you that he was leaving McLaren. “Is he- he wants out?”

“It’s mutual,” Zak assured you. “He knows we can’t give him the car he wants and unfortunately, he’s not delivering what we need. We had high hopes with Daniel, but the working relationship isn’t what any of us thought it would be.”

It’s mutual. Those two words was all it took to convince you that Zak Brown and Daniel had already had a conversation about this, about terminating the contract a year early.

It didn’t help that Zak brought up your test sessions in the McLaren from last year, pointing out that you had better times than Lando, even. He went on to praise what you were doing this year at Prema and said, multiple times, that you would be an asset to McLaren should you choose to go that route.

And who were you to turn that down?

A team principal of a Formula 1 team wanted to sign you. Was it unfortunate that it was Daniel’s seat? Yes, obviously this situation was less than ideal, but he wanted out. You were convinced he wanted out, that he was done with McLaren. A 45 minute conversation with Zak Brown convinced you of that.

You should have been wary when at the end of the conversation he said, “Don’t tell anyone about this, yet. You know how the public can be, let’s just keep this to ourselves for the meantime.”

“But I can talk to Dan, right?” You asked.

Zak knew you were dating Daniel, it was a little harder to hide that from his team than it was the rest of the world. Maybe that’s why hesitated before answering, knowing that keeping a secret, something as big as this, from a partner had the potential to cause chaos.

But he shook his head, “Between us, yeah?”

And you listened to him. You wanted that Formula 1 seat so of course you followed orders.

You desperately wanted to talk to Daniel about it, but you knew you couldn’t. And either he sensed that something was off, or he was dealing with his own problems again and wouldn’t share, you really couldn’t tell when the summer break started and things just seemed…different.

You didn’t go to Monaco for starters, even though Daniel invited you to. But there were so many meetings with Zak and the board at McLaren that it made more sense for you to stay in London for the start of the break.

Daniel didn’t call as often and you wanted to give him space, knowing that this break was probably needed for him. You expected he was out with friends, letting loose, getting the weight of a horrible season off his back even if just temporarily.

The plan was to go to Monaco for the last week and a half and then travel to Belgium together. You had to delay that plan, however, when Zak called you and said it was official.

The 2023 seat was yours.

You wanted to celebrate, with Daniel, but how could you celebrate with the person you were replacing?

It was strange that Daniel had said nothing to you about leaving the team during the summer break, especially since Zak had said time and time again they were on the same page, that Daniel was ready to leave. The only thing that crossed your mind was he was given strict instructions to not say anything to anyone either, at least until McLaren went public with the news.

But with it being official, with you having just signed on the dotted line, you were tired of keeping it to yourself. You may not have been able to share the news with anyone else, but you had a right to have a conversation with Daniel about it.

You didn’t know how he would react. Surely he’d be happy for you, right? You were getting a seat in Formula 1, something that both of you desperately wanted to happen. And again, you were under the impression the departure from McLaren was mutual. He would be happy that someone he loved was taking his seat, right?

Right?

You had to tell yourself that the entire ride over to his place. You unlocked the front door to his building and took the elevator up to the fourth level. You didn’t think to knock, knowing he never locked it when he was home so you pushed open the door and stepped in, your suitcase trailing behind you.

You were happy to see him. He was always a breath of fresh air, despite the odd distance between you, you still loved him. You always would. He muted whatever was playing on the screen and stood up from the couch when he heard you walk in.

Usually, Daniel would greet you with a kiss.

Usually, he’d be smiling so hard his jaw would be hurting.

Usually, he was happy to see you.

You left the suitcase by the door and met him halfway, only he stopped walking when there was about a foot of space between your bodies. To you, it felt like you were still miles apart.

“Do you have something you want to tell me?” He asked, arms crossed over his chest.

Your heart sank.

You had convinced yourself, Zak had convinced you, the whole back of house team had convinced you, that Daniel was aware of this upcoming change. That the termination was mutual. You taking his seat might have been a surprise, but it was never supposed to be a blindside.

“What do you know?” you asked.

“What do you know?” Daniel repeated the question back to you.

You were both fully aware of the exact same information. Daniel was leaving. You were taking his seat. Only, you had been informed this much earlier than he had.

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Not take the seat,” he scoffed. “My god, I mean, they’re cutting my contract early, Y/N. For you.”

“For the sake of the team,” you said and then added, “You don’t even like McLaren. You’ve struggled with this team since day one.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to stop racing.”

“McLaren is not the team for you and you know this.”

Daniel scoffed, eyebrows twitching, “Did Zak tell you to say that?”

“Zak-” you started, finding it difficult to hold his stare. This wasn’t the Daniel you knew. “-he doesn’t know I’m here. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to talk to you or anyone about it, not until your announcement comes out.”

He rubbed his hands over his face, taking a few steps away from you. It hurt, watching as he tried to physically distance himself from you. Like being in too close of proximity would set him off.

“I struggled with the team, yes, but I’m not ready to give up racing. You have now left me without a seat.”

It was easy for Daniel to blame you, you were standing right in front of him. You were quite literally the driver set to replace him.

But the real villain was Zak, for not having opened up this line of communication earlier. For making you believe everyone was on the same page. It was Zak’s fault for rushing to end the contract with Daniel instead of putting in the effort to work with him. He saw the shiny new toy that was you, that Daniel helped create, and he wasn’t going to let someone else take it first.

Daniel wanted to blame himself too, but he wouldn’t let himself think about that until much later. He was the one who did everything he could to help you grow in this sport. He was the one who introduced you to Zak and the rest of the McLaren team. He was the one who got you in the car for the practice sessions, his car. Foreshadowing at its finest.

“You are unbelievable,” Daniel spoke quietly, heated with anger but his words were like ice as they sunk deep into you. “After everything I’ve done to help you for you to betray me like this, I just- I don’t think-”

You knew where this was going and you wanted to put a pin in it before he could finish any of his thoughts.

“Don’t finish that sentence, Daniel,” you whispered. “Please. Please, we can figure something out.”

“There’s nothing to figure out,” his mind was made up. “You took my seat.”

“Wouldn’t you rather it me than someone you don’t know? Someone you don’t trust?” You tried to turn this around, have him look at the positives, if there were any. “Daniel, everyone on the grid loves you, you’ll find a new team. One that helps you grow and get to where you want. McLaren isn’t that, we both know it.”

“I think you should go,” was his only response.

“If I hadn’t signed that contact, someone else would have,” you pointed out, grasping at straws here, painfully honest straws, but straws nonetheless. “Piastri, O’Ward…McLaren had options, Dan. Aren’t you at least happy for me that I out-qualified all of those guys?”

Daniel actually laughed, “You want me to be happy for you? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Dan-”

“Leave.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“You need to,” he was stern. He was angry. He was done. With you, with the team, with everything he used to love and cherish. He was done.

You thought you knew Daniel. You thought you knew how this conversation would play out. You figured it would still be rocky, but god you now realised how naive you were to believe you could still make things work.

“I love you,” you told him, because what else could you say except remind him that you were so hopelessly in love with him, that he was all you would ever want in life.

Except, that wasn’t exactly true, was it?

You wanted a seat in Formula 1 too. You just never thought you’d have to sacrifice one dream for the other.

Daniel’s stare was cold. He only looked away for a second to nod his head towards the door behind you, “If you loved me, you wouldn’t have done this.”

You stepped forward, desperate at this point because how could he do this? How could he throw away what you had, over a seat?

Or was it you, who had ultimately thrown away what you had when you sat down with Zak Brown all those weeks ago?

It pained you to think about the strong possibility of that being the case.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, because you were. You were sorry about how this turned out, how he was betrayed, how this was coming to an end. You grabbed hold of your suitcase and nodded, backing up towards the door, “I really am sorry, Dan.”

He didn’t believe you. Why would he? In his eyes, Formula 1 was more important to you than he was. A career decision that benefited you, but ruined him, mattered more than your relationship. It was a bold move, a cold move, one that you didn’t think would lead to this.

Neither of you could have predicted this. On September 3rd, 2020, when Daniel first said he wanted to work with you, neither of you thought it would end like this.

Just as you grabbed the handle of the door, Daniel opened his mouth, wanting to get the final word in. And you really wished he hadn’t because those final words destroyed you.

“I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life, but I never thought you would turn out to be one of them.”

You said nothing. You walked out of that Monaco flat with your head low and your heart even lower. You couldn’t even be excited about the next season, or the remainder of this one where you had the potential to finish in the top three.

You weren't happy, you were empty, you were defeated. And painfully so, you were also still in love.

Despite what was said, you knew it would take a while to get over Daniel. He was your rock for so long, he was always there for you and even though he could disappear without so much as a second thought, your feelings couldn’t, the memories couldn’t. It would take a long time until you felt whole again.

You didn’t know it yet, but the decision to take that McLaren seat would haunt you as you moved forward in your career.

This was not going to be the last time you ever saw Daniel.

part 2 haunted

#daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo one shot #danny ric #dr3 #f1 one shot #f1 fics #formula 1 x you #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo au

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shaarlslec · 1 year

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me and the devil

words: 3564

introduction/part 1 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

warnings/notes: charles leclerc x reader, friends to enemies to lovers?, mentions of alcohol, language;

inspired by: Soap&Skin - Me And The Devil, The Neighborhood - Afraid, The Academic - Why Can’t We Be Friends?, lovelytheband - i like the way, The Wombats - Turn , Wallows - Pleaser

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Fools, fools, fools again – both of you, and now both for the same reason: pretending works until the boiling point, and yours has been long reached but to be exploited still.

You avoided each other for the rest of the evening. Glances were exchanged. Time-consuming and penetrating ones. Charles’ eyes on you when he engaged in chit-chat at the bar while you were dancing and having fun with somebody else within the team or not, and yours on Charles when he will get approached by any of his fans (mostly girls, mostly pretty).

It has not always been exactly like this in between the two of you, except maybe for the unexpressed jealousy only through eyes but never through words. And yet, you two avoiding talking back in the days when you were not teammates nor on each other’s throats was out of the question.

As mentioned, you followed him everywhere and he made time (all the time) to watch over you before your F2 races and to congratulate you after any of your wins.

“You have to be smart.” Charles intoned as you were walking side-by-side on an empty Emilia Romagna circuit at the dusk of sun two days before what was the time and place of your first F2 driver championship catch, “You have the same car as anyone else, therefore you have to be smart about the way you use your tires here, especially when taking turns.” He added, vrooming through the apex as if he was a racing car and you were a mere spectator.

You laughed, back then what Leclerc managed to do to you was only laughter and not hard feelings. He caught your laugh and then warned you with a finger to cut the giggles and to pay attention to him and only him as he was explaining to you the best kind of a set-up you could use for the race.

You closed your mouth shut mimicking a closed zip, being the one to cause the laughter to Charles as he watched you tossing your imaginary key far away from the place you have now stopped.

“Understood?” He then inquired, watching you watch him back with whopping googly eyes and hope flickering in the irises of your eyes partly thinking about the win, mostly thinking about him and how attractive having him advising you was.

If you were to be in school and Charles Leclerc were to be your teacher – you would have been most definitely a teacher’s pet. The thought of that scenario made your blood boil, and the way you looked while picturing that made Charles’ spine shiver in pleasure while your body heated underneath his look.

“If you want to make a pass here, you have to be careful to—” He hesitated, heavily breathing in the process.

“What?” You stopped, watching Leclerc’s words being cut short as well as his steps slowing.

You slowed yours too, wondering what was going in the back of your mentor’s mind with a slight hope that your thoughts were the same. They indeed were, and oh how much anticipation was there for them the become real and not just fantasies hidden in the corners of your minds and extremities of your fingers.

“Nothing.” Charles anxiously gulped, his eyes being fixed anywhere else on the track but not on yours that were examining him attentively, “You just —“ He then stopped again, arms close to his chest almost as if he was frightened of the thought that you might see it lifting up in a sorrowful sigh, “You are looking at me like that again.” He explained, arms falling around him helplessly, fingers snapping his knuckles in nervousness.

You let out a giggle, pretending not to know what he was speaking about. When in all trueness, you knew even since then that looks played a major role into your relationship no matter the status of it.

“What are you talking about?” You asked, proceeding in walking away from him so that he will be the one to follow now — which he refused.

With a hold of your wrist, Charles’ fingers wrapped against your skin. Your eyes widened, there have been little to no chances of him daring to touch you. You looked down for a short while, and then up again meeting his gaze.

“I have a girlfriend, Y/N.” He then suddenly spoke, and your heart dropped into your stomach.

Charles had Charlotte at that time, and you knew for the better not to ask details about their relationships. You saw them in the paddock often, and each time you would say “hello” to them while passing by the two holding hands for the photographers to capture, you would have wished for nothing but the Earth to swallow you whole.

Retracting your wrist from Charles, you adjusted your voice with a short grunt, “I am aware of that.” You muttered before a short smile, “You have to question yourself why you had to reminder me that just now.” You added, stepping away from him while your chest was aching still by that mere touch of barely hands, “I was just listening to what you were saying and I—”

“Looked at me like you never do at any other driver, Y/N.” Charles dared to say with a shake of tone, the shakiness progressively getting softer as he spoke your name, “We need to keep this professional.” He continued, enforcing the truth for himself rather than for you just as mentioning his girlfriend before.

With a smirk crossing your lips, you teased even further as you replied, “You pay attention on how I look like at any other driver?” You inquired with a sly smile hid within the tone of your voice, “My plan is not to steal you from Charlotte, Charles.” You assured him, knowing that scooping through the man’s relationship was the last thing on your to-do list when it came to Charles, “My plan is to steal your knowledge, and one day to beat you at your own game on the track.” You proudly declared, managing to shake the uneasiness on Charles’ face for it to be replaced with the humbled proudness you were used back then.

“Oh,” He mouthed, “I would like to see you try.” Charles mocked in a sarcastic tone, “Just don’t be disappointed if that never happens, tough.” He then cockily continued, clapping both his hands together before you went back to the circuit’s tour and racing advice – both pretending that the talk outside the two never took place.

Fools, fools, fools – both of you. You, for teasing him that much during your mentorship era and him for accepting and playing along, toying not only with your emotions but his too. Two days ahead of your little evening escapade on the track, you won your first major championship and Charles’ arms were fast to grab you into a warm hug once you were on the way of getting back to your garage with the trophy tightly squeezed in between your hands.

“That was amazing, Y/N!” Charles shouted within your ears as your bodies entangled for a short yet intense while, “Taking the turns exactly how I told you they are supposed to be taken, amazing!”

You laughed as you two departed, “Taking all the credits, I see.” You joked with a huge smile spread on your face, “I think I did a great job at executing them.” You proudly spoke for a minute before your smile faded as you switched glare from Leclerc to Charlotte who was standing behind him.

Greeting her shortly with a shy “hello”, your hands fully departed from Charles’ forearms as you picked the trophy back from the ground where you first tossed it for the man to have a full access on you.

“Good luck on your race too.” You spoke, the enthusiasm in your voice slowly fading as well as Charlotte’s hand grabbed back Charles, both on their way to the Ferrari garage for Charles to get ready for what was coming that afternoon.

“Ah yes, yes, yes, thank you.” Charles still frenetic spoke looking at Charlotte before taking another one good look at you and your rosy cheeks, “Send me the details to your party for tonight! You must celebrate!” He added, patting your shoulder in passing as they were hurrying on their way.

You nodded yet said nothing. Of course, there was going to be a party, but would you risk it for him to show with Charlotte as he always had done in the past and ruin your winning mood just because she had something you so foolishly desired at the age of eighteen? No, the answer was no.

You had not texted Charles that evening, although every bone within your body wanted for your mentor to attend the celebrations. Selfish mood driven by an even selfish heart, one that Charles was very much aware of and yet one that he wanted to understand without having to lose in the process. And yet, as young as reckless as you both were – mistakes were made in the form of him showing up at your hotel’s door at midnight without Charlotte or anyone else knowing.

A knock into your door as you were ready to go to sleep startled you. Your scared steps carried your body at the door to slowly open it. Yes, you would have lied if you were not to admit that you wanted for the person behind it to be Charles.

Then, seeing him standing upright with a bottle of champagne in one hands and flowers in the other – your heart sunk even deeper, and you knew that him being this close to you and at that hour will not do go to neither of you.

“I waited.” Charles begun with the same type of shakiness into his tone as the one back at the track, “I know from Carlos that you had your party.” He added, eyes all over you as you almost hid behind the door, “Did I do something wrong?” Charles then pleaded, and you had to restrain all your urges to not invite him into the room.

You declined with a nod, “No, it is just that I –” You gulped, “It was just a small party with people from the Prema Racing team, and some of my non-racing friends.” You almost whispered with a smile, “No big F1 drivers were invited, no huge fuss nor cameras, no drinks nor dances, no fun actually – really.”

You lied stumbling at your own words, avoiding Charles’ look as much as humanely imaginable until your eyes laid on the man’s slowly trembling fingers. You made that; you made him shiver even when your intentions were not to do so.

Charles guzzled as well, “I understand then, yeah – sounds like a boring one.” He then laughed, handing you what was waiting into his hands, “I came here actually wanting to celebrate with you alone, but I think that –”

You nodded even before he stopped his words, taking the bottle and the flowers into your own hands, “I think it is a good idea too.” You added, for you to leave. There was no need for one of you to utter the words, as both of you were tragically thinking the same. “Thank you for stopping by, and thanks for the flowers.” You spoke, sniffing the scent of what were your only and favorite type of flowers that you perhaps mentioned once or twice during some of your interviews but never to him, never to any boy really. And yet, Charles knew – he had documented this moment, the very first time when he bought you flowers.

“Goodnight then.” Charles shyly verbalized, grabbing the back of his neck for you to not notice any further the trembles of his fingers, “You did a great job today, Y/N.” He then added with a soft short smile, “You will do just great in F1.” Charles continued, watching you giving him one last shy smile and a glimpse of your rosy cheeks in the dim lights of the hallway before closing your door once he turned to leave and go back into his hotel room, one in which Charlotte was most definitely soundingly sleeping.

You glued your back to the door once he left, the words “keep it professional” resounded in the back of your mind. With an aching chest, you placed the flowers in one of the random vases that the hotel room had to offer but not before noticing a hand-written note enveloped on the top of the bouquet.

You have one of the best talents I have ever witnessed in this sport and not only, do not waste it – and I cannot wait for us to fight together. I would like to see you try, younger and much ruthless me.

Charles was right back then with quite a few words; you were one of the most talented drivers he had ever seen – one of the most talented drivers everybody ever seen. And yes, you were the younger and much ruthless version of him. But now, oh – Charles Leclerc was not that keen on fighting with you together on the track exactly for those three reasons alone, and for the fact that you were on to get him and slow his process of being the best that there ever was on racing circuits.

The now two-times world champion was watching you leave your own party earlier than everyone else. You wanted some time for yourself the night after your scandalous win against him, therefore you took a car straight to the hotel to ease a little. You were not eighteen anymore, and you found yourself a little too much of an alcohol enthusiast now (although you were bad at holding your liquor).

With your head ponding too much after many of Norris’ gross shots, you quickly get rid of your cloths and showered before limping to the bed. You need to get a good night sleep before tomorrow arrived when you had to take an early flight back home – three weeks without Formula 1 were ahead, and you would have never thought that you wanted a break from it more than you did now during your most successful season so far. You were almost dreaming about time spend with your non-racing friends far away from all the craziness, when a knock into your door blasted you awake.

“What are you doing here?” You awed spoke once you wide opened it, expecting for the knock to come from one of the hotel’s employees or your manager who drove you back to the hotel.

And yet, there someone else stood – the one you opened your door two more than six years ago with nervousness, thrill, and anticipation, “Leclerc, it is past midnight for God’s sake. What are you doing here?” You intoned with the annoyance of repeating the same question after receiving no answers at first try while inviting him in without giving it a second thought as you made him room to pass by you.

Charles was without a girlfriend now, and the idea of you two being in the same room late at night seemed more bearable now knowing that you despised each other rather than being attracted to the other.

Fools, fools, fools again – both of you, and now both for the same reason: pretending works until the boiling point, and yours has been long reached but to be exploited still.

“I saw you leaving.” Charles added, giving you a quick glance from head to toes, “Cute PJs.” Your teammate mockingly spoke, leaning against the wall in front of you as you closed the door, “I told you we need to talk – I am not leaving until we talk.” He demanded as you looked down at your pink and white PJs sprinkled with smiley yet creepy faces that you drunkenly ordered online one time.

“I very much like my PJs, thank you.” You spoke, eyes up now watching Charles crossing his arms at his chest.

Fuck, the training in the past years did its job. You could not help yourself but notice his biceps through the white plain loose t-shirt and the way his clothes fitted on what was now a very sculpted body. And yet, you sighed to act uninterested and even more annoyed that you were by the fact that Charles showed up without letting you know ahead, “I told you that we have nothing to talk about.” You added, glare catching his now.

You were not the only one who pretended within the room, of course not. Charles has been looking at you for the entire night, and he has seen how your body moved close to guys that were not him – and he reminded himself of all the moments he shallowed his urges whole to touch you, to caress the back of your hand with his, to glue his body on top or under yours. Yes, the view he had upon you was very much different than the one he had when you were eighteen or in the years that followed since then and yet, the shivers were the same.

That was the main reason why Charles held his hands so closely gripped to his chest even now, for you to not notice his nervousness around you anymore and for him to tame the pleadings inside of his mind as much as he could. Your dominance over Charles was turning him on more than he had ever guessed, and no one made him feel like this before – that was the trick.

“You need to slow down.” Charles intoned, the words were again spoken more for him to hear rather than for you to listen – and it was very much not about racing anymore. Leclerc’s mind was all over the place, and it has been like that since he decided to knock at your door with no plan whatsoever but just to warn you about your next steps, “This will get quite ugly in the future if you keep acting like this.” He added, eyes never away from yours.

You nervously chuckled, mimicking’s Charles’ body pose now. Younger and much reckless me, “I’ve slowed down for you in the past two years, mate.” You intoned with a very much sarcastic tone, “Are you that scared?”

“Are you that fearless?” Charles added, two steps now made towards you with both arms clasped at his back, “You went through a lot to get your seat next to me – are you planning on losing that?” Leclerc threated with a cunning smile; head titled to the right in trying to intimidate you as inches of the hallway divided in between your bodies.

“You taught me that.” You argued, the slug into your threat toughening as you parted your back from the wall and faced Charles closer, “How to be fearless,” You counted slowly, “How to fight for my seat.” You added, your fingers going up Charles’ cheek just to feel the burning inside his untouched skin, being the one between the two of you to first dare touching the other risking for the walls of your caged unspoken tormenting urges to crack, “Are you really threating me now?” You wondered, watching’s Charles’ eyelids sliding shut as you placed your whole palm on his cheek and part of his neck.

Charles took you in – you and your scent, you and your touch and all that he had been craving even more fervently now than six years ago since the first knock at your door.

And yet, winning seemed to be more important.

“If needed, I will.” Leclerc spoke with his eyes still closed to let himself enjoy the moment of one of your hands on him – although he would have enjoyed for both on him and every single part of his body, “Just a warning for now Y/N, do not stand in my way.” Charles added, stepping back and thus privatizing you of touching his skin no longer.

“What happened to you, Charles?” You breathed slowly as you watched him stating back at you now with one hand on the lock of the door, “You used to be so sweet.” You spoke, eyes on the handle.

“Sweet does not get you championships, darling.”

“So, you do care.” You highlighted, how the others call me, “Sweet might not get you championship, but neither being a dick.” You harshly spoke, placing your hand above him on the handle to stop him from clicking it down, “Look, I get it –” You paused to tame whatever was going inside that aching chest of yours, “You changed, but so did I. You want to win, but so do I.” You enunciated while your fingers gripped his, “Let’s see who wins – fair and square. No games, no threats.”

Charles chuckled, “Does not sound like us.” He spoke, hand hardly pressing the handle down for him to leave, not bearing anymore for you to touch him like that, “What’s the fun in fairness when it comes to us?” Leclerc then added, retracting his hand from underneath yours now that the door has opened, “Goodnight then, see you after the break.” Your teammate spoke, and you have never heard him speaking in such a grave alerting tone before – see you after the break was not a greeting, you had to take it as what Charles was intended for that to be: a warning.

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heliads · 7 months

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Let Me in Your Life (and I Swear I'll Never Leave It)

As one of Lewis Hamilton's oldest friends, you're sure he'll be nothing but happy for you when you're finally offered a Formula One contract. Lewis, however, remembers what competition like that can do to a friendship, and his reaction isn't what you expect.

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You don’t know it’s over until you see him.

That shouldn’t have been enough. It wouldn’t have been enough for anyone else. They would have seen his smile and thought that he was genuinely happy for you when you told him that all of your wildest dreams were finally coming true. So much of you wanted to believe him when he told you that he couldn’t be more proud that you almost convinced yourself of it.

Almost. Unfortunately, the part of you that has known Lewis Hamilton since you were a kid also knows his tells, and you watched the way his fingers twisted in front of him until you couldn’t take it any longer. Until you knew what he wouldn’t say to you on a perfectly good night like this, which is that Lewis was not pleased that you were finally entering Formula One, and no amount of wanting will fix that.

It cuts to the bone. This had been a lovely evening. You only get so many chances to spend time with Lewis outside of the media circus of a Formula One or Two paddock, so you really wanted to make this one count. You had even kept your good news to yourself just in case he wasn’t as thrilled about it as you were, feeling the secret burn against you all through the dinner at the nice restaurant whose menu you double, triple, and quadruple-checked to ensure that there were good vegan options. You withheld the news through wine, through pleasant laughter, even through the check, but you couldn’t keep it back afterwards.

The restaurant was nice enough. Lewis always looked good in expensive places. He fit in quite well in any scenario, but his smile was practiced and he never missed a social cue so long as he could help it. That’s what years of constant scrutiny does to you, you suppose; never again will the two of you be thirteen years old and utterly ignorant of the difference between salad and dessert forks. You miss the boy who could mess up around you. You haven’t seen him in a while, even ignoring both of your hectic travel schedules.

Lewis tends to get antsy after a heavy meal, the product of too much time spent around Mercedes-grade nutritionists and personal trainers, so the two of you went on a walk outside after leaving the restaurant. The air was crisp and cool, and dark enough that you could walk freely without being recognized. You had looked up at the stars overhead and made a wish that nothing would hurt you tonight.

Maybe you whispered the wish aloud as you said it, or maybe Lewis has always been able to read your mind and ruined the magic that way, because it wasn’t even half an hour before that desperate plea to the heavens was shattered along with your peace of mind.

You couldn’t keep it in any longer. All your life, you’ve wanted to make it to the Formula One circuit. Lewis has known this just about as long as you. You met him while karting, and you’ve been best friends ever since. You used to race everywhere– on the track, down the hall, whoever could make it to the door of their hotel room wins bragging rights for the next night at least– but over time, Lewis was able to make it up the Formula One ladder faster than you, and then you weren’t racing together any more but watching each other race in different circuits.

You did your best not to let it sting. Lewis has faced far more than his fair share of roadblocks. Maybe he always wanted it a little more than you, then, because no matter how hard you tried to follow in his path, your feet keep dragging in his dust. It took forever to get to F3, and you never thought you’d ever see the day when you made it to F2.

Now you’re just one good finish away from winning the Formula Two driver’s championship, and better still, you’re about to sign a contract with a Formula One team. After all this time, it’s finally yours. You’re still in talks about the nuances of the legal binding, but it’s basically in the bag.

Your family is aware, but you knew you needed to tell Lewis as well, even before the signing, because he’s basically your other half. You had always assumed that he would take it well, that he’d be just as thrilled for you as Nico was for Lewis when he first signed. When you bring up the subject, though, you can tell from the delicate shuttering of Lewis’ face that you were, for the first time in a long time, completely wrong about him.

The two of you are walking down a moonlit bridge when you finally say it. “I was meeting with an F1 team yesterday,” you tell him, “I think they’re going to sign me. We’ve been going over the contract for a while now and it’s basically all ironed out. The only thing left is to actually shake on it.”

You pause, waiting for the hearty congratulations he doled out when you made it to F3, then F2, but for F1, you’re only greeted with silence. You look at him, heart in your throat, but when you finally bring yourself to meet his eyes, you’re only greeted with– disappointment.

When the silence gets painful, Lewis coughs and looks away. “That’s– that’s great, Y/N. Really.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “Really?”

Lewis has the grace to look ashamed. “I know I might not sound– it’s a fantastic accomplishment. You should be proud of yourself.”

“I am,” you say slowly, “but are you proud of me? Because you certainly don’t look it right now. And it’s not just an accomplishment, Lew, this has been my dream for years. You know that.”

“I do,” Lewis answers you, but his voice is distant and he hasn’t looked you in the eyes since you first brought up the news.

It makes your blood run cold in your veins. In all the scenarios you’d imagined of how he’d react, you pictured his jaw dropping with surprise, his face immediately lighting up, him immediately texting his brother and the rest of his family the news. You never expected that he would actually be unhappy about it.

“Then why are you acting like this?” You gesture at him. “At least fake a smile, Lewis, I know you can.”

He looks at you at last, and you wince at the genuine hurt blinking back at you. “Don’t do it, Y/N,” he says suddenly.

You feel as if the breath has been stolen out of your lungs. “What?”

“Don’t do it,” he repeats, “Go to Indycar or Le Mans or Race of Champions. Do something crazy, something fun. Hell, try them all. Don’t let this be the end-all, be-all of your racing aspirations.”

There’s no way you’re hearing him properly. “You think I shouldn’t join Formula One? After all this time practically killing myself to get in, you want me to just walk away?” You shake your head slowly. “You had better have a good reason for this, because you’re my oldest friend and I know that friends wouldn’t do this to each other. You could have just said you were happy for me.”

Lewis’ gaze turns pleading. “You don’t know what it’s like in there. We go for each other’s throats all the time. I can’t let it destroy us.”

The night is silent. You watch the water lapping at the shores below as if in a dream. All is dark. Even the stars seem burned out overhead. Nothing good has happened here. Nothing worth the light of the moon above.

He says, “I don’t want to lose you. Not like everybody else.”

You say, “If you don’t let me do this, you will have lost me before I even start.”

You give him one last chance to change his mind. When he stays silent, you turn on your heel and leave. The sound of your shoes clicking against the cobblestones is maddeningly loud, drowning out all but the tumultuous beat of your heart. He doesn’t try to stop you. He does not do anything at all.

You call a taxi. The ride is quiet. You have half a mind to direct the driver to a club or something instead so you don’t have to live with that engulfing silence any longer, but instead you just have him drive you to your door and leave you there. You barely make it inside before breaking down in loud sobs that wrack your entire body. He should have told you how much he wanted you there. He should have told you how much he wanted you.

You wait until your tears dry, then call up the team principal of the F1 team and tell him you’re interested in signing the contract as soon as possible. They’re glad to hear it, and pleased enough that they don’t hear the wobble of your voice on the other end.

The rest of the season passes without a hitch. You win the F2 championship and are able to announce your contract not soon afterwards. All of the F1 drivers who cross your path make sure to congratulate you, and every one of their declarations of praise only hurts twice as much when you remember the one man who hasn’t said a word to you yet.

Winter break is eventful, even more than you were expecting. There are a hundred forms to sign and a thousand videos to film, countless mechanics to meet and endless trainings to complete. You’re given enough team kits to clothe a small nation. You officially meet your teammate on your first tour of the team facilities, and he is perfectly civil to you, even kind. He isn’t Lewis, though, and that’s enough for you to be disappointed.

At last, you reach the week before testing starts for the new season. You’re in a hotel room booked under your new team. It’s strange being here now after wanting this for so long. For years, you’ve dreamed of what it would be like to finally be here, and now you’re flopped on your hotel bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering if it’ll look different when you’ve raced in a Formula One car for the first time.

Truth be told, it’s terrifying. You thought you would know what to do by now, having repeated this process in the previous two series, but everything feels different now that you’re at the top. No one expects championships from a rookie in her first season, but you can’t help but feel that eyes are on you.

A knock on your door, and you’re immediately grateful to whoever it is for interrupting your relentless panicked musing on the infinite ways that tomorrow could go wrong. You pad over the door and open it without checking, expecting to be greeted by your teammate or your trainer or any one of the staff of your new team.

Instead, you swing open the door to find Lewis staring at you, hands in his pockets. You immediately jerk to a stop, so surprised that you even forget usual pleasantries like saying hello or asking how he’s been.

Lewis forgets too. The two of you stare at each other for what feels like centuries but could just be a few moments until he coughs, looks briefly at his feet and then back at you, and says, “I remember that you always overthink things the night before a big change. I wanted to see how you were doing.”

You nod a little too quickly. “I’m fine. Just, yeah, overthinking.”

A ghost of a smile flickers over Lewis’ lips, then disappears just as quickly. “Thought so. Do you mind if I come in? There’s actually a lot I need to say.”

An ugly, cruel part of your brain immediately whispers oh, now you have a lot to say? But you manage to shut it up before you say it and wordlessly gesture for him to enter the hotel room. You check the hallway before shutting the door, but no one’s there, no cameras. This isn’t a trap. It’s just a friend visiting a friend, something he used to do all the time before he decided that he would not be able to live with himself if he didn’t stop you from trying to reach your biggest dream.

When you head back inside, Lewis is leaning against the windows, idly peering outside. “You have a good view,” he notes.

You fold your arms across your chest. “You’re not here to discuss the perks of my hotel room.”

“No, I’m not,” Lewis agrees. “I’m here to apologize.”

This takes you by surprise. “You are?”

He nods. “I shouldn’t have tried to stop you. God knows I would have hated it if you had said something like that to me before I joined McLaren.”

Your brow furrows. “Then why did you say it to me?”

Lewis lets out a quiet, horror-struck sigh. “Because I meant part of it. I am terrified of losing you, Y/N. I know how competition can get in between friends. You know how well I know that. Nico’s already– we’re different now, and I can’t take it if I lose you, too.”

He breaks off, lost in thought, and you feel a pang in your heart as if struck by a blade. You and Nico were friends separate from the great doing and undoing of Lewis and Nico, but that was sort of inevitable. It feels as if every kid who was good at karting in your area eventually became friends, but all that did was give you a front row ticket to the so-called Silver War. What a terrible thing, to know someone like a brother and then only be able to speak to them through corporate meetups and scheduled interviews. What a horrific end to something that had once been, well, everything.

Your hands tense at your sides. “I’m not Nico.”

“I know that,” he says, almost frustrated, “I know. Trust me, I know. I have always known you. I know that we’ll be able to make it through anything, but I’m afraid of risking it. I knew at some point you’d get called up here, you’re too fast for them to ignore you, but I was hoping to have at least a little more time.”

You tilt your head to the side, frowning. “I thought you guessed already. Isn’t that why we scheduled that dinner?”

“No,” Lewis murmurs, “I scheduled that dinner because I wanted to tell you that I loved you.”

The ground has been pulled out beneath your feet. No, not just the ground– the very earth itself, every star in the sky and every heavenly body in the cosmos. You are abruptly removed from everything you have ever believed, because you know Lewis better than anyone and so you would have known if he loved you, you would have figured it out a long time ago. There is no way you wouldn’t have been able to tell. No way he could take you by surprise like this.

“No,” you whisper.

“Yes,” Lewis says simply. “I was going to do it after keeping it a secret for so long. And then you told me that we were going to be competitors, and I thought it was all going to be over. And I panicked and told you to leave, and you hated me, and it turns out I didn’t even need us crashing into each other on track to kill our friendship. I did that all by myself.”

“It isn’t dead,” you tell him fiercely. “Not in the slightest.”

He doesn’t seem to believe you. “We fought. We never do that.”

“That’s unrealistic,” you point out. “Everyone fights. Even married couples.”

“We’re not married, and you don’t even love me back,” Lewis argues.

You arch a brow. “How do you know that?”

“I would know,” he says without a trace of suspicion.

God, he’s just as stubborn as you. Just as set in his own ways. Maybe that’s why it has always been the two of you, even after everything. Maybe that’s why you always chose him in every friend group, in every issue, in every race. No one understands you like Lewis, and no one ever will. No one will stand by your side no matter what, no one will say what you need to hear because no one knows exactly how you work like Lewis does.

Still, you can surprise him from time to time. He certainly doesn’t expect it when you cross the room in a few brisk strides, when you reach across the chasm of one fight and one great misunderstanding to kiss him. It takes him a moment to realize what you’re doing and what this means, and then his hands are on your hips, pulling you closer, because Lewis will never give up an advantage when it is offered to him and right now Lewis wants this more than anything. He wants you, more than anything.

“You’re never going to let me hear the end of it when you finish ahead of me in a race, are you?” He asks in a half-mumble against your lips.

You smile, and you can feel his returning grin when he kisses you again. “Absolutely not. You never let me off that easily when we were kids.”

“We’re not kids anymore,” Lewis points out.

“No,” you say slowly, “We’re not, are we?”

It is not a bad thing. In fact, looking at all the years you have, all the races together, all the plane tickets you’ll book side by side, all the hotel rooms you’ll share, you think you like this new era of your life quite a bit better than anything. Lewis would have to agree, if the shine in his eyes means anything at all. Both of you will never be the same, but you will never be like this again, either. We are all different, all the time, but the one thing that will never change is how you do it: together, always together.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy, @juphey

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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meltthefrozenheart · 5 months

Text

FROZEN 3 and FROZEN 4 are both in development, and I can't wait!

The news sounded odd to me initially, I didn't expect anything like this from Disney Animation, but it became immediatly appealing the moment I realized the GREAT potential a double feature could have for the franchise, most importantly when Bob Iger specified “Jenn Lee, who created Frozen, the original Frozen, and Frozen 2 is hard at work with her team at Disney Animation on not one but actually two stories.”, which would mean:

More time to enstablish new elements, new characters, time to explore new lore and new places without the risk to rush everything;

A bigger story that can help flesh out our protagonists in their new roles, their new wants and changes they might face, considering how the F2 ending brought many new possibilities;

A narrative context where the new crysis (whatever it might be) could be explored even better, also allowing to maintain things in a complex prespective just as the Frozen movies like to do, where the matter of "good and evil" not at the center, and things are first of all deeply personal for the characters

It seems to me that Jennifer Lee always wanted to delve deeper into things, this is why the Broadway Musical was a perfect opportunity for her and the Lopez to expand the characters and flesh out things in the story, also adding new elements that would've been useful for F2.

And when they worked on Frozen 2, they built it as the "second part" of the story, reconnecting almost all the aspects of the sequel to the 1st movie, and the story was clearly meant to be BIGGER and longer compared to what we ended up having because of numerous issues and rewrites. J. Lee and C. Buck didn't want to introduce something that would feel just as "a new adventure", and more about the actual characters evolving, see what they left unresolved, breaking the "Happy ending" scenario of F1, which also led them to NOT give the new human characters (Mattias and the Northuldra) the same relevance given to Spirits of Nature, in order to remain focused on Elsa, Anna and the rest of the gang.

Now, Lee will most likely not direct or write these two new movies, but she is still directly involved, because it's both part of her job as CCO of Walt Disney Animation Studio and because Frozen is her (and Chris Buck) baby. It will be curious to discover with what idea Marc Smith came out with, but the fact he worked on the 1st Frozen as a storyboard artist and the became Director of Story for Frozen 2 says a lot about him and why Lee trusts him so much, and I'm sure they will follow the approach used with the 2nd movie and carry it on with 3 and 4. Numerous sagas used the two-parter approach, like the books adaptations of Harry Potter, Twilight and Hunger Games series, or more "original cases" like Pirates of the Carribeans or what we are getting now with the animated Spiderverse movies (Across and Beyond). But I think the best similarity (and probably what led to this ambitious choice) is with Avengers Infinity War/Endgame, where the BIG FINALE gets developed in two movies.

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httpiastri · 1 month

Text

bunny bandaids and forehead kisses – jmm21

your boyfriend is tough when he's out on track – but not as much in real life.

genre: fluff fluff fluff

pairing: reader x pepe marti

warnings: mentions of a scrape and tiny bit of blood but that's it

word count: 1k

requested: hm not really but the ppl have been asking for pepe fics so 🤭

author's note: hello hello!! finallyyy posting this :) loved writing abt him, and will definitely write more of these short types of fics for him again in the future. thanks for all of the love and the pepe asks, giving me so much energy <33 and big shoutout to my fave cutie @norrisgrl for proofreading the spanish 🫶🫶 hope u all enjoy reading !!

‎‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎

"big breaths now, okay?"

your voice is soft and low, eyes following the way the antiseptic pours onto the rag you're holding. pepe nods, inhaling deeply through his nose as you take his wrist on one of your hands, holding his palm up. you think he's prepared, but when the rag meets his still bleeding skin, his eyes squeeze shut and he can't help but hiss. you let out a chuckle – nothing about his injury is funny per se, but there's something so cute about your usually so tough boyfriend acting like this.

when he crashes a car at several hundred kilometers per hour, there's no issue. he'll walk away without even looking back.

but when he falls onto the ground and scrapes his hand on the asphalt while playing with his five-year-old cousin, he's like a baby. he needs your help instantly.

you're both at pepe's grandparents' house for the weekend, for you to get a chance to meet his extended family for the first time. you had been chatting with his mother and aunt out in the sunshine when pepe came over to you, showing off his hand and asking if you could help him out. you obviously couldn't help but agree to clean him up, knowing that he's way too clumsy to fix it by himself.

so here you are in one of the bathrooms of the house, with pepe propped up on the lid of the toilet as you're crouched down next to him with the supplies you've managed to find in the cabinets. you've gotten the tiny rocks and most of the other dirt out of his skin already; now you just need to clean it properly so it doesn't end up infected, since an infection would be a complete nightmare when he needs to be wearing those stuffy racing gloves for hours upon hours.

pepe lets out a small groan when you press too hard on his skin, face twisting in pain. "sorry, baby," you say, your free hand coming up to caress his cheek. "just a little more now…"

just as you're about to brush his cut with the rag again, the sound of the door behind you creaking open meets your ears. when you look over your shoulder, you find pepe's cousin peeking in through the crack in the door.

"marta," you hum, plastering a soft smile onto your lips. "do you want to come in?"

the girl stays quiet and doesn't move an inch, seemingly not daring to even open the door enough to stick her head in through it. pepe lets out a short sigh. "primita, come here."

the little girl would never disobey her favorite cousin, so it doesn't take long before she waddles up to him. "pepe," she whines, a pout prominent on her lips. your boyfriend's hands reach for her sides, lifting her up easily and placing her down sideways on one of his legs.

"what is it, hm?" he asks, eyes soft when he looks down at her. she's staring at the ground, feet swinging in the air, a worried expression on her face.

"i'm sorry for… hurting you..." marta is already teary-eyed when pepe tilts her chin up and makes her look at him. he shakes his head instantly.

"cariño, you didn't hurt me, okay?" his hand moves from her chin to wipe away her tears with his thumb, before wrapping his arm around her back to hold her close. "just like i told you out there, i'm fine. i promise." her pout still hasn't disappeared and she doesn't seem convinced, so your boyfriend holds up his bruised hand to her. "look, it's just a little scrape. and besides, i've got auntie y/n here to help me out."

her gaze darts to you. "are you a doctor?" she asks, seeing the rag and bottle of antiseptic in your hands.

your eyes flicker between marta and the smirk on pepe's lips, and you can't help but nod. "sometimes, yes." anything to ease her mind right now. "i just need to clean him up a little so it... feels better."

the way she bats her eyes up at pepe makes his heart melt. "does it hurt?"

"not if you hold my hand."

the boy holds his uninjured hand out to her, and she instantly places her own much smaller hand in it. he wraps it around hers, giving it a squeeze, before nodding to you that he's ready again. this time, pepe only winces slightly but stays otherwise calm when you clean the little cuts on his palm – the bond between the two of them apparently really is that strong.

when he's finally all cleaned up, you begin looking through the cabinet for some bandaids. "okay, we have..." you start, pulling out three boxes. "regular bandaids, spiderman bandaids, or," you look up at marta with a grin. "bunny bandaids."

"bunnies!"

you've pulled it out and ripped off the wrapper of the bandaid before pepe can even begin to interject, and you hold it out to the little girl. "can you put it on for me?" you ask and she nods, her eyes twinkling as she grabs the bandaid.

you briefly shift your focus to discard the wrapper and put all of your supplies into the cabinet again, and you turn back just in time to see your boyfriend lean down, pressing a sweet kiss to marta's forehead. "thank you, cielo," he says, before glancing up at you. "and thank you."

with his free hand, he reaches forward to the back of your neck, pulling you down to his level. then, he places a kiss to your forehead too, a big smile on his lips when he pulls away and looks between you and marta.

"mis chicas favoritas."

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pitinthelanepages · 10 months

Text

Interwined Fates

summary: oscar and you, two best friends, stumble upon a future you never anticipated, leading you to discover something. that something involving little ones that eerily resembles the two of you.

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

word count: 5.5k

genre: time travel!, fluff, romance

gif credit to @acrosstobear. do make sure to like, reblog the gif!

As you sat together in Oscar's cozy living room, the two of you found yourselves engrossed in a conversation about the plot of a book.

Oscar rested his head on your lap, finding comfort in your presence as you gently caressed his hair, your fingers gliding through the strands with a soothing touch.

"Can you believe the protagonist fell into the same trap for the third time?" you chuckled, your voice filled with amusement. "I mean, come on, haven't they learned anything from the previous encounters?"

Oscar let out a soft laugh, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I guess they have a knack for making questionable life choices," he replied, his voice carrying a playful tone. "But hey, it wouldn't be much of a story if they suddenly became the poster child for common sense, right?"

You grinned. "True, true. But seriously, who walks alone into a dark, creepy forest at midnight? That's just asking for trouble."

Oscar tilted his head slightly, looking up at you with a glint in his eyes. "Well, maybe they have an adventurous spirit that we can't fully understand," he suggested with a smirk. "Or maybe they just have a severe case of bad decision-making skills."

You swatted his arm, your laughter filling the air. "Oh please, I think they're just in desperate need of a good friend who can talk some sense into them."

He chuckled, his head still resting comfortably on your lap. A soft silence settled between you, the only sound being the gentle rustle of pages as you turned the book over, examining the cover.

Oscar's curious eyes soon landed on the pendant dangling from your neck. It glimmered softly in the warm glow of the lamp, catching his attention. He reached out, his fingertips lightly grazing the pendant, his brow furrowed in curiosity.

"What's this?" Oscar asked, his voice filled with genuine intrigue. "I don't remember seeing this pendant before. Is it new?"

You smiled, the pendant's weight resting comfortably against your chest. "Oh, this?" you replied, gently holding the pendant between your fingers. "No, it's not exactly new. I've had it for a while, but I don't always wear it."

Oscar's eyes widened with curiosity. "Is there a story behind it? You know I'm a sucker for stories," he said, his voice laced with a growing enthusiasm.

You chuckled, feeling a twinge of nostalgia. "Well, I do have a story to tell i guess," you began, your voice taking on a storytelling tone. "This pendant belonged to my grandmother. She was a woman of incredible strength and resilience. Whenever I wear it, I feel a connection to her, as if her spirit is still with me."

Oscar leaned in, captivated by your words. "That's beautiful," he murmured, his gaze fixed on the pendant. "It's amazing how objects can hold so much meaning, isn't it?"

You nodded, a soft smile gracing your lips. "Absolutely. It's like a reminder of the love and wisdom passed down through generations. And you know what? It's said that this pendant brings good luck to its wearer."

Oscar raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. "Good luck, huh?" he teased. "Well, I hope some of that luck rubs off on me. Lord knows I could use it."

You laughed, playfully rolling your eyes. "Oh, come on, Oscar. You're doing just fine."

He chuckled, leaning his head back onto your lap, his eyes twinkling with fondness. "I suppose you're right," he admitted, his voice filled with warmth. "But still, that pendant is something special. It's like a piece of your history that I never knew about until now."

The air around you grew quiet, a comfortable silence settling between you until Oscar's mischievous nature sparked an idea in his mind, and a playful glint danced in his eyes as he proposed, "What if this pendant is actually magical?"

You chuckled, shaking your head at his ridiculous suggestion. "Seriously, Oscar. Magic? Don't be ridiculous," you replied, a hint of amusement in your voice. "It's just a sentimental piece of jewellery."

He grinned, undeterred by your skepticism. "But think about it. What harm is there in giving it a try? We could have a little fun, see if anything magical happens," Oscar persisted, his voice laced with harmless insistence.

You found yourself unable to resist his contagious enthusiasm, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Alright, alright. Just for the sake of curiosity," you gave in, your voice filled with playful surrender. "What do you have in mind?"

Oscar's eyes gleamed with excitement as he sat up, his gaze fixed on the pendant. "Let's make a wish," he suggested, his voice barely containing his excitement. "Hold the pendant tight and think of something you'd like to happen. Who knows? Maybe the pendant will surprise us."

You couldn't help but giggle at his childlike enthusiasm, a spark of curiosity ignited within you. "Alright, fine," you agreed, humor lacing your voice. "But don't get upset if nothing magical happens."

You clasped the pendant in your palm, your fingers curling around it, and closed your eyes, allowing yourself to get caught up in the whimsical moment. Thoughts flickered through your mind as you pondered what you should wish for. And then, with a flicker of mischief, you settled on your wish, something that seemed too far-fetched to come true.

"Okay, I'm done," you announced, opening your eyes and sharing a playful glance with Oscar. "Now, what about you?"

Oscar's grin widened, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Well, since we're being ridiculous anyways, let's wish for an extraordinary adventure. Something that takes us to places we've never been before, filled with wonder and excitement."

The air crackled with a sense of possibility as you both sat there, wishing for the improbable, hoping for a hint of magic. Whether it was the pendant or simply the power of imagination, a thrilling energy filled the room, ready to propel you both into the unknown.

A brilliant flash of light erupted behind your closed eyes, momentarily blinding you both. As you cautiously opened your eyes, expecting to see the familiar surroundings of Oscar's living room, you were met with a surprising sight. Instead of the cozy confines of the living room, you found yourselves standing in the midst of a vibrant and bustling children's playground.

Confusion painted your features as you took in the realistic setting around you. The playground was alive with the sounds of laughter and playful chatter, a symphony of youthful energy. A colorful array of swings, slides, and climbing frames adorned the area, each piece of equipment carefully designed for the amusement and delight of children.

Children of various ages scampered about, their excited squeals filling the air. Some played tag, their giggles echoing, while others engaged in imaginative games, their animated expressions painting their faces with joy. Parents sat on benches, watching over their little ones with tender smiles and occasional words of encouragement.

You and Oscar exchanged bewildered glances, attempting to make sense of this inexplicable shift in reality. The atmosphere was anything but fantastical or otherworldly. Instead, it felt grounded and familiar, as if you had been transported to a vivid snapshot of everyday life.

"What just happened?" you questioned, your voice laced with both awe and confusion. "How did we end up here?"

Oscar's brows furrowed, his eyes scanning the surroundings. "I have no idea," he replied, his voice filled with genuine bewilderment. "But one thing's for sure, we're definitely not in my living room anymore."

A mixture of curiosity and trepidation swirled within you both. The unexpected turn of events had brought you to this lively playground, and the possibilities that lay ahead were both intriguing and uncertain.

Before you realize, Oscar dashed off somewhere behind you. Peering out from behind a bush, Oscar's eyes widened in surprise as he noticed a young girl, no older than five, making her way towards you. Her innocent gaze held a hint of familiarity, and it was as if she carried a secret that only you were meant to discover. Oscar urged you to interact with her, his voice barely audible as he whispered from his hiding spot.

Meanwhile, the little girl, with her petite frame and rosy cheeks, exuded an undeniable charm. She wore a simple, pastel-colored dress adorned with tiny floral patterns, the fabric swaying gently with each step. Her dark curls cascaded down in bouncy ringlets, framing her sweet little face. The innocence in her wide, doe-like eyes was paired with a mischievous spark, as if she knew more than she let on.

As she approached you, her tiny hand reaching out, she uttered a single word that pierced the air and left you momentarily stunned. "Mommy."

You gasped, taken aback by her words, and instinctively replied, "You're mistaken, little buddy. I'm not your mommy." But the little girl shook her head, her curls bouncing with the motion. Her voice, sweet and unwavering, insisted, "Yes, you are. You're my mommy."

Confusion swept over you, mingling with a mix of emotions that were difficult to untangle. Before you could gather your thoughts, another woman approached, her features mirroring a sense of familiarity. She wore a warm smile on her face, tinged with a touch of relief.

"Angele's mommy, you're back?" the woman exclaimed, her voice filled with both surprise and joy. You found yourself at a loss for words, your mind struggling to make sense of this inexplicable situation. "I... I guess?" you stammered, your response betraying your confusion.

The woman's eyes lingered on you, taking in your appearance, and she couldn't help but make a remark. "You look different, Angele's mommy," she commented, her tone a mix of astonishment and admiration. "You seem like you aged ten years backward, despite your hectic job."

A jolt of realization coursed through you at her words, an unsettling truth dawning upon you. You couldn't help but ask, your voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and curiosity, "My job...?" The question hung in the air, awaiting the woman's response.

She met your gaze, her eyes filled with understanding. "Yes, aren't you a journalist?" she replied, her voice gentle yet certain. "You travel almost all the time, leaving this sweet angel behind."

Your mind grappled with the realization that you had somehow traveled through time. The innocence and conviction in the little girl's eyes, coupled with the woman's recognition, painted a picture that defied all logic.

"Oh, I see. I should probably take her home," you responded, your voice filled with a mix of uncertainty and responsibility. The woman nodded in agreement. She then posed a question that struck a chord of confusion within you.

"Is he back?" she inquired, her voice carrying a hopeful tone. You hesitated, caught off guard by the mention of a husband whose identity remained a mystery to you. "Is he...? Erm..." you mumbled, your thoughts trailing off into a perplexing haze.

The woman's assumption about the busy nature of your relationship triggered a twinge of annoyance deep within you. How could she make such presumptions without knowing the intricacies of your life? Yet, before you could voice your frustration, you reminded yourself of the bigger puzzle at hand.

"Aww, you both are such a busy couple, barely have time for each other, let alone your child. I'm assuming he is abroad," the woman continued, her words rubbing against your raw nerves. An involuntary twitch of annoyance danced in your eye, momentarily distracting you from the enigma surrounding your husband's whereabouts.

Bidding the woman a hasty farewell, you turned to leave the playground with the child holding your hand, determined to sort out the mess you found yourself in. Oscar, who had been observing the interaction from a distance, swiftly caught up to you, his footsteps echoing your own.

As you walked away, a joyful squeal filled the air, capturing your attention. The little girl had noticed Oscar's presence and excitement erupted within her. "Daddy? You're back?" she exclaimed, her voice brimming with delight and hope.

You paused, a mix of emotions swirling within you. The puzzle pieces were falling into place, revealing a glimpse of the relationships that had been lost in this peculiar time-shift.

Oscar's bewildered gaze met yours, both of you frozen in a state of shock and disbelief. You shared a silent exchange of wide-eyed bewilderment, your jaws hanging open in unison. Oscar mustered a whisper, his voice filled with astonishment, "What...?"

As your attention shifted back to the little girl, you couldn't help but notice the striking resemblance she bore to both you and Oscar. Her plump lips mirrored yours, while her sharp brows and the combination of Oscar's nose and eyes adorned her face. She was a living proof of your shared features.

In a burst of excitement, the little girl leaped towards Oscar, her tiny arms outstretched, gesturing for him to pick her up. Oscar obliged, his heart swelling with warmth as he cradled the child in his arms. The surge of fatherly affection overwhelmed him, mirroring the surge of motherly emotions that welled up within you.

The little girl wrapped her arms around Oscar's neck, her embrace a proof to the depth of their connection. Her voice, filled with longing, reached your ears as she whispered, "Daddy, I missed you so much." Oscar's gaze flickered towards you, a mix of surprise and uncertainty in his eyes, before he composed himself with a fake cough.

"Oh, did you? Have I been really busy?" he inquired, a hint of anticipation in his voice. The little girl nodded emphatically, confirming the void his absence had left in her life. Despite his curiosity about his own occupation and the reasons for his busyness, he refrained from asking the child, instead focusing on their relationship.

"Have I not been giving you enough time? Are you upset with Daddy for that?" he whispered into her ear, his hand gently patting her small back. The little girl's voice, filled with a childlike innocence, responded, "Mommy says you always try your best to make time for us when you can, so it's okay." Oscar's gaze turned to you, his expression unreadable, as if the weight of this unexpected bond settled between you.

Feeling slightly out of place, you cleared your throat to regain their attention. As the little girl shifted her focus towards you, a newfound maternal instinct took hold, guiding your words. "My angel, can you show us where our house is? Do you know where it is?" you cooed, your voice instinctively morphing into that of a mother.

Thankfully, the child nodded, her eyes brimming with confidence. "Yes, it's near," she replied, her small finger pointing in a direction that beckoned you to follow.

As you walked alongside Oscar, the weight of uncertainty still hung in the air, yet the undeniable connection between him, the little girl, and yourself brought a sense of purpose.

When you and Oscar reached the grand house, an air of opulence surrounded its exterior, betraying a life of wealth and prosperity. As your eyes scanned the impressive structure, Oscar couldn't help but whisper, "We must be making banks to own this." Your agreement came in a playful tone, responding with, "We surely have to be..."

Stepping into the house, the sight that greeted you was unexpected. The floor was scattered with small toy cars and an array of other toys, indicating the presence of a child. As you took in the scene, a young woman in her twenties approached you, her eyes filled with relief.

"Mrs. Piastri, you're back. Thank God. Aaron was crying for you," she expressed, her voice tinged with gratitude. Confusion etched itself onto both yours and Oscar's faces until a toddler-like boy, approximately three years old, darted toward you. This time, the child's resemblance to Oscar was striking, a reflection of his features.

For a fleeting moment, the weight of your unexpected journey and the realization that you had time-traveled from a time when your relationship with Oscar was solely platonic faded away. In its place, a touch of annoyance crossed your face, and you turned to Oscar, wearing an expression of playful annoyance.

"You only gave me a year to rest before another one...?" you teased, your tone holding a mix of incredulity and humour. The humour in your remark served as a reminder of the shared history you and Oscar had, even if the circumstances had taken an unforeseen turn.

As Aaron, the young boy who bore an uncanny resemblance to Oscar, stood before you, a genuine smile spread across your face. Crouching down, you extended your arms and scooped up the young boy into a warm embrace. His little frame nestled against your chest, and you marvelled at the familiarity of his features, the reflection of Oscar's unmistakable traits. The connection between you and this child felt surprisingly natural, as if it were meant to be.

As you held him close, you turned your attention to the young woman who had greeted you. With a gentle smile, you deduced that she must be his nanny, entrusted with caring for him during your absence. Gratitude swelled within you for the love and attention she had provided in your stead.

"Thank you for taking care of him," you expressed sincerely, your voice laced with appreciation. "I can see how much he means to you. It's reassuring to know he's been in good hands." The young woman's eyes softened, a mixture of relief and fondness evident in her gaze.

"He's an incredible little boy," she replied warmly. "Full of energy and curiosity. But he's missed having his mommy around. It's good to have you back."

You nodded, a mixture of emotions swirling within you. The pull of this new life, this altered reality, was undeniably strong. The warmth of Aaron's presence and the genuine affection that radiated between you and Oscar tugged at your heartstrings, enticing you to fully immerse yourself in the role of a mother and wife.

As Oscar inquired about his daughter's hunger, the young girl, Angele, nodded eagerly. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation, mirroring the excitement that danced within Oscar's own gaze. It was a beautiful sight to witness, the unspoken bond between father and daughter.

Taking a moment to reflect, you realized that Aaron, too, must be in need of food. After all, it was late in the afternoon. Concerned about his well-being, you turned to the young woman who had been caring for him in your absence. With a gentle smile, you inquired, "Has Aaron had his meal?"

The woman nodded, her face glowing with a sense of reassurance. "Yes, he had his food a little while ago. He's been well taken care of." Her words offered solace, allowing you to focus on the immediate task at hand: feeding your daughter.

With a nurturing instinct taking over, you turned your attention to preparing a meal for your daughter. The kitchen became a haven of comforting aromas as you skillfully concocted a dish that would satiate her hunger. The sound of sizzling pans and the tantalizing scent of home-cooked food filled the air.

Oscar, in the meantime, kept her entertained with stories and playful banter, his infectious laughter ringing through the room. It was heartwarming to witness their bond, a testament to the love and care they had shared in your absence.

As the meal came together, you plated the food, arranging it with care and attention. Angele's eyes widened with anticipation as you presented her with the delicious feast. She dug into the food, her little hands grasping the utensils, a joyful messiness enveloping her.

As the evening progressed, the passing of time brought forth a gentle reminder that bedtime was drawing near. The warmth of the day began to mellow into a tranquil evening, and the soft whispers of fatigue whispered through the air.

Angele, her belly satisfied and eyelids growing heavy, leaned against Oscar, her little body nestled comfortably in his embrace. The playful energy that had filled the room gradually waned, replaced by a soothing calmness as the hour for slumber approached. Oscar gently guided his daughter towards the routine of preparing for bed.

Watching the scene unfold, a sense of tranquility washed over you. It was a testament to the bond you shared, a testament to the loving environment you had created. The roles you now found yourself immersed in, that of a mother and a wife, brought a deep sense of fulfillment. The love that radiated within the walls of this home, built on the foundation of shared experiences and cherished moments, resonated within your soul.

As the time came to settle Aaron into his crib, you cradled him in your arms, allowing the serenity of the moment to envelop you both. The rhythmic rise and fall of his tiny chest mirrored the peace that settled within your own being. Gently, you placed him down, his soft breaths filling the room.

With the children tucked in, sleep beckoning them to dreamland, you found yourself pausing at the threshold of the door. In this moment of stillness, with the soft glow of night casting its gentle embrace, you couldn't help but feel a mixture of emotions.

On one hand, the joy and contentment of this newfound life tugged at your heartstrings, whispering of the love and connection that enveloped you. The familiarity and the profound bond you shared with Oscar and the children sparked a profound sense of belonging.

As you stood at the threshold of the children's room, a flicker of movement caught your eye, drawing your attention to the wall adorned with a series of framed photographs. A gasp escaped your lips, like a breath catching in your throat, as your gaze fixated on the images captured within those frames.

Oscar, sensing your surprise, turned to you with concern etched on his face. "What happened?" he inquired, his voice laced with a mixture of curiosity and worry. You couldn't bring yourself to articulate the profound realization that had swept over you, so instead, you simply tilted your head, gesturing for him to direct his gaze towards the wall.

Together, your eyes traced the lines and contours of the photographs, each frame capturing a milestone in Oscar's journey as an accomplished Formula 1 driver. The vibrant colors and frozen moments of triumph adorned the wall, each image depicting him on the podium, a testament to his skill, determination, and hard-earned victories.

As the weight of the revelation settled upon you both, the realization blossomed in your minds: both of you had achieved your dreams. The photographs were a tangible reminder of the aspirations you had pursued and conquered, the paths that had led you to this very moment.

In the midst of this profound realization, Oscar's hand gently landed upon your shoulder, a comforting touch that spoke volumes without the need for words. It was a gesture that conveyed his support, his pride in your own accomplishments as a journalist, and the shared journey that had brought you to this point.

Silent understanding passed between you, a connection forged not only through friendship but also through the intertwining of dreams fulfilled. At that moment, you knew that despite the lingering mysteries of your past, the present held its own magic: a symphony of love, success, and shared aspirations.

"What do we do now?" you turn to ask Oscar, your voice filled with a mixture of uncertainty and determination. Before he can respond, a subtle noise interrupts the air, sending both of you into a state of alertness. It's the sound of the main door being unlocked.

Wide-eyed, you exchange a quick glance with Oscar, silently agreeing on the need to hide yourselves. In unison, you move swiftly, finding refuge in a concealed spot within the living room. Your breaths become shallow, heartbeats pounding in your ears as the door opens with deliberate caution.

There they are: the older versions of yourselves, stepping into the space you once called home. Their features etched with the weight of experiences yet to come, they move with a sense of purpose. You stole a glance at Oscar beside you, and he whispered urgently, "We must go back to our time."

As the future versions of you and Oscar move through the house, checking on the children's bedrooms and eventually reaching their own, you nodded in agreement with Oscar's suggestion. "I know," you replied, your voice carrying a hint of determination. "Let's do what we did before and see if we can return."

Closing your eyes, you clasped the pendant tightly in your hands, willing the familiar flash of light to transport you back to where you belong. But the first attempt proved unsuccessful, followed by the second and third. Frustration and fatigue started to gnaw at your resolve, casting doubt upon the possibility of going back to your own timeline.

Yet, as you closed your eyes for the fourth time, holding the pendant with a renewed sense of hope, something shifted. Behind your closed eyes, a brilliant burst of light illuminates the darkness, engulfing your senses in a swirling vortex. Time and space converge, carrying you and Oscar along a torrent of energy.

When you finally opened your eyes, you found yourselves back in the familiar living room—the same room where you once mocked the plot of a book, where Oscar rested his head upon your lap as you caressed his hair. Relief coursed through your veins, mingling with a lingering curiosity about the future versions of yourselves you encountered.

"Oh my god, I can't believe this," you gasped, your voice trembling with a mix of astonishment and disbelief. The familiar surroundings of the living room suddenly took on a whole new significance, and your heart races with the weight of the realisation.

Oscar, his eyes searching yours, sensed the depth of your emotions. A flicker of concern crossed his face, but there's also a hint of something else: something vulnerable. He took a step closer and responded, "Is marrying me really that unbelievable?" His voice carried a touch of mild offence, but his eyes betrayed the hope that you understood what he was trying to convey.

Caught off guard by his reaction, you paused, your mind racing to make sense of it all. The pieces started to fall into place, and you realised that his response held a deeper meaning. The unspoken tension between you suddenly became palpable, and you found yourself drawn to his gaze, searching for the truth hidden within.

A surge of realisation flooded through you, mingling with your own suppressed feelings. Memories of shared moments, stolen glances, and unspoken desires rush to the forefront of your mind. It's as if you've been dancing around the truth for years, and now, finally, everything became clear.

Breathlessly, you managed to utter, "Oscar, I... I didn't realise." Your voice wavered, filled with a mixture of surprise and realisation, as you confronted the truth that has been waiting to be acknowledged.

Oscar's expression softened, his eyes brimming with vulnerability and affection. He took another step closer, closing the distance between you, and reached out to gently touch your arm. "I've liked you, more than just a friend, for so long," he admitted, his voice filled with sincerity. "Seeing you here, in this moment, has only made those feelings stronger. I never thought I'd have the chance to tell you."

Your heart raced, the weight of unspoken emotions now laid bare before you. You found the courage to meet his gaze, and you confessed, "Oscar, I... I've liked you too. More than I've ever admitted. I've been pining over you all these years, and I never thought you felt the same way."

A mixture of relief and joy spread across Oscar's face, mirroring the emotions that surge within you. "We've been fools, hiding our feelings for fear of losing what we had," he confessed, his voice filled with regret. "But now, with this glimpse of our potential future, I can't hold back any longer."

As the weight of your shared emotions filled the room, you found yourself irresistibly drawn to Oscar. Step by step, you closed the distance between you until you were standing mere inches apart. The air crackled with anticipation, the atmosphere thick with the unspoken desires that have lingered for far too long.

Without a word, you reached out and gently cupped Oscar's face in your hands, your fingers trembling with a mix of nerves and excitement. His eyes locked onto yours, their depths reflecting the intensity of the moment. And in that fleeting second, the world around you faded into insignificance, leaving only the two of you suspended in time.

A tender smile played at the corners of your lips as you leaned in, closing the final gap between you. Your heart raced with anticipation, every fibre of your being yearning for the connection that has eluded you for so long. And then, finally, your lips met in a soft, passionate kiss.

In that single moment, the world around you ceased to exist. Time stood still as you lost yourselves in the depth of your kiss, the electricity between you intensifying with each passing second.

Wrapped in each other's arms, you experienced an intense sense of belonging. The doubts and uncertainties that once plagued your minds melted away, replaced by a certainty that you've found your soulmate. The taste of this stolen moment lingered on your lips, a promise of a future filled with passion, love, and fulfilled dreams.

When you finally pulled away, a soft glow illuminated both your faces. With a smile that spoke volumes, Oscar brushed a strand of hair behind your ear and whispered, "I've dreamt of this moment for so long, and now it's finally real." His voice was filled with a mixture of tenderness and awe.

With a mischievous glimmer in your eyes, you playfully nudged Oscar's side. "You know what, let's not get all mushy right now. I still want to be able to beat you up and bully you. Best friend privileges are too good to let go."

Oscar grinned, his confusion fading into a knowing smile. "You're right. But how about we add a little extra something to our friendship?"

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his suggestion. "Oh really? And what might that be?"

He leaned in, his voice laced with playful intent. "How about we stay best friends, but with the added benefits of making out and cuddling whenever we want? Taking it slow, you know?"

"Sounds like a plan. Count me in."

And just like that, the weight of romantic expectations lifted, and you both fell back into the comfort of your deep friendship.

Oscar grinned and nudged you playfully. "Hey, how about we hit the gym together? Future formula 1 champions should stay fit, you know."

You rolled your eyes. "Oh, come on. Don't drag me into this, I have studying to do."

Oscar shook his head, a determined smile on his face. "Nuh uh. No more excuses. I'm not taking no for an answer. Time to get those endorphins flowing."

Before you could protest further, Oscar swiftly scooped you up into his arms, effortlessly carrying you. You let out a surprised yelp, your protests drowned out by laughter.

"Oscar, put me down!" you exclaimed, playfully swatting at him.

He chuckled and kept walking towards the gym. "No way. I'm going to the gym, and you're coming with me."

You resigned yourself to the inevitable, knowing there's no escaping Oscar's determination. Besides, a part of you secretly enjoyed his antics. With a playful sigh, you settled into his arms, enjoying the closeness.

Oscar gently set you down, a triumphant grin on his face. "See? That wasn't so bad, was it?"

You playfully pouted and crossed your arms. "Fine, you win. But only this once. Don't expect me to become a gym enthusiast overnight."

Oscar chuckled. "Oh, I won't push you too hard."

As you and Oscar caught your breath after a particularly intense workout, a comfortable silence settled between you. The air was filled with a mix of contentment and unspoken words, and you could feel the shift in the atmosphere.

Oscar's eyes met yours, a glimmer of affection shining through. Without warning, he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against your lips. The unexpected gesture left you momentarily breathless, a blush spreading across your cheeks.

"Oscar," you whispered, your cheeks tinged red. "What was that for?"

He grinned, his gaze filled with warmth. "Well, we have babies in the future, remember?"

You playfully tugged at a strand of his hair, a familiar spark of mischief in your eyes. "Oh, is that how you're going to convince me? Using our future children against me?"

Oscar laughed, the sound that filled the air around you. "Hey, whatever works, right?"

You let out a mock sigh, shaking your head. "Fine, I guess I'll let you off the hook this time. But don't make a habit out of it."

He chuckled and pulled you into a warm embrace, his arms enveloping you. "No promises, sorry baby."

You scrunched your brows, turning to face him in his embrace. "Didn't we literally promise to take it slow like an hour ago?"

"Oops." There wasn't a hint of guilt in his eyes.

You narrowed your eyes. "Oscar… aren't you having too much fun?"

He shrugged. "Can't blame me."

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minkyungseokie · 1 month

Text

Oliver Bearman; OB3/38

Autosports Masterlist | Main Masterlist

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moonysimp · 1 year

Text

my favorite person —felipe drugovich

pov: you're a journalist and you always interview him but one day you're not doing the interviews and he starts worrying about you.

a very chaotic feature race just ended and you were ready to talk to the drivers. you were the one in charge of interviewing the podium sitters. first you talked to frederik vesti who had gotten p3, then to jack doohan who had gotten p2, and eventually it was time for you to talk to your favorite person in the f2 paddock (not that anyone knew that, or at least you thought you weren't that evident in showing it)

felipe drugovich had a very big smile on his face, and little did you know he was as happy to see you as you were to see him. felipe wasn't fond of the cameras and the microphones, in fact he was a rather shy with most reporters, but your interviews were different. you were different. he loved talking to you, it was the only time he really enjoyed getting in front of the cameras.

you matched his big smile. "p1 yesterday and p1 today, barcelona really is the place for you, isn't it?", he laughed and your heart started jumping up and down.

"yeah it has been an incredible weekend. the team didn't make any mistakes and i gave it all out there and we got the best result we could've hoped for", he said. his gaze never left yours. you two talked a bit about the race but like always, it had to end and you both had to be somewhere else.

as quick as your interviews were, he had found himself looking for you at every race weekend. he liked your presence and the way you expressed yourself, always polite but never afraid to ask the real questions. f2 was always a very agitated scenario but those moments that he spotted you around the paddock and got to say hello to you or even just exchange looks was something that he really appreciated.

"congratulations for both wins", you said to him to end the interview. you were truly amazed by him, he was an incredible driver but what you liked the most about him was that he never lost his sweet personality, even after weekends like this when he was on top of everything and everyone.

"thank you very much, y/n", he winked at you and left. you didn't know what you liked more, the way he said your name or his winks. it had become a bit of a habit for felipe to wink at you after the interviews.

he was really unsure about asking you out, because he didn't know if you even saw him that way, and if you didn't then it would be very awkward.

the sixth round of the f2 calendar came and you were not in conditions to interview anyone. you had talked to your boss before friday and told him you had problems with your voice and by the time friday came, you barely had any voice left, so one of your colleagues took your place.

felipe won the feature race yet again, and he hadn't seen you around during the weekend but he was sure he would see you for the post race interview. he was wrong. the person in charge was not you but a guy he had talked to a couple of times.

before he could stop himself he said the first thing that came to his mind, "you're not the person i expected to see", he fidgeted with the collar of his race suit.

the guy laughed, "yes, y/n had a problem with her voice and couldn't be here today. but anyway, another great race for you." felipe quickly wrapped up after a couple of minutes. he kept thinking about you, and he wanted to know if you were okay but didn't know how.

after that he was in the trailer laying in his bed while clément was on his phone. he broke the silence, "clém you know y/n the journalist who always interviews us post race right", he said and turned to his teammate.

"oh i don't know, felipe, maybe i wouldn't remember her if you didn’t always talk about how cute she looks", he said sarcastically and didn't take his eyes off his phone.

"dont know if you noticed but she wasn't here today, and somebody told me she had a problem with her voice and-", he stopped because clém suddenly interrupted him.

"that's why you were so quiet! oh my man you're down bad", he looked at felipe, "you're worried about her"

blood rushed into his cheeks and his hand went to his hair and brushed it, "well yeah i am you fucker, but i don't know how to find out if she's okay or not"

"leading the championship but doesn't know how to talk to a girl. you have to be kidding me", clém chuckled. "dm her on instagram, champ", wiggling his eyebrows he reached out and grabbed felipe's phone, then handed it to him.

felipe wanted to punch himself for not thinking that before. you already followed each other. he searched your user and typed a short message.

heyy y/n it was weird not seeing you around. i heard you had problems with your voice :( is everything ok?

he read it like 10 times before sending it.

if you could have screamed when you got the notification of his message, you would have done it. you certainly weren't expecting him to even notice you hadn't been around. you wasted no time to answer him.

hi felipe :) that's so sweet, thank you for messaging me. to be honest it was weird not being on the paddock haha. im alright! just lost my voice because of the flu. but it's only a matter of time until i come back.

he couldn't help but to smile at his phone and clém started laughing, felipe punched him on the arm and replied to you.

glad to hear that! i hope to see you soon.

i hope to see you soon too! and also congrats on the win ;)

after that you spent the rest of the day sending messages to each other, which was something that both of you were really excited about.

two weeks passed until the seventh round of the calendar and you two hadn't stopped talking. you found it was really easy to talk to felipe, the conversation never felt forced, and you quite enjoyed his sense of humour.

felipe was over the moon. he loved talking to you and he now was seriously thinking about asking you out. he felt very comfortable talking to you.

you were talking to a man holding a camera when he spotted you. felipe went still for a moment, taking in how beautiful you looked and much he had missed your presence, then shaked his head and went over to say hello to you.

the butterflies in your stomach went mad when you saw him approaching. you quickly said goodbye to karl, one of the cameramen who worked with you.

felipe gave you a kiss on the cheek, "hi, happy to see you again", you blushed a little and he found it adorable.

"happy to be back! how are you?" you asked.

"great, excited to be racing again. those two weeks felt like a lot more"

"yeah i get the feelin-", somebody from mp called felipe at that moment. he told them he would be right there in a second and turned to you. you didn't want to waste his time. "go, go, good luck today ", you said.

"thank you, y/n", he said, feeling mad about how little time he had talked to you after waiting two weeks to see you again. "see you later"

dennis won on sunday and all the boys were planning on going out to celebrate. felipe knew it was time to make his move. he texted you to know if you were still in the paddock and when you said yes, he asked you to come to the mp motorhome. he was waiting for you there.

"hey", you said when you saw him, he had changed out of his race suit and was wearing a purple shirt. that colour really suited him, you thought. "what's up?"

"hello, y/n", he greeted you. it was now or never, he thought. "the boys are planning to go out tonight, and i wanted to ask you, i mean- if you aren't too tired, if you wanted to come with me to the party", he said. you could tell he was nervous and you felt the sudden urge to kiss him right there. but you knew better than that.

you pursued your lips and nodded, "alright yeah i'd love to go with you", you said. and you both kinda stayed there smiling at each other for a bit until he snapped back to reality. you said yes. you were going out with him.

"great!", his hand went to the back of his neck, "i'll pick you up at 11"

"perfect", you said feeling like you were floating, "see you tonight, then"

the night went more than amazing. the club was packed when you arrived, so felipe took the opportunity and grabbed your hand and led you to the table where the boys were drinking. dennis, liam, marcus, jehan, and a guy who introduced himself as james were all sitting at the table. they obviously noticed you and felipe where holding hands but thankfully they didn't say a word about it, you were glad of that because well.. at the end of day you worked with all of them every race weekend and the last thing you wanted was them acting weird around you.

after saying hello to all of them, felipe asked you if you wanted to get a drink and you nodded, then both of you headed to the bar. there you found a tipsy clément novalak.

"y/n!", he said the moment he saw you, he gave you a quick hug and shaked hands with felipe, "great to see you around, looking cute as always wouldn't you agree, felipe?"

you smiled and turned to see felipe. the expression on his face was a work of art as he said, "yeah you know i agree, mate marcus was looking for you"

"yeah i'll go straight to our table now, have a lovely night you two", he hugged you again and the hugged felipe and just like that he was gone.

a laugh escaped your lips. "i never heard marcus saying anything about clément".

"oh i didn't either", he smirked at you and ordered some beers for the two of you.

you laughed and you talked and you danced together. felipe didn't strike you as the type of guy that liked to dance, and you were surprised when he asked you dance with him, in reality he was great and you loved every minute of it.

you still couldn't comprehend how you were out in a club with felipe drugovich. the same felipe who winked at you after interviews, the felipe who drove fast cars for a living, the felipe that you had been admiring from afar for quite some time now. your hands around his neck, his hands on your waist, you couldn't stop smiling at him. you were mesmerized by him, by his brown eyes and his soft hair and his pink lips.

your gaze dropped to those pink lips you craved to taste, and he didn't let that go unnoticed. he cut the space that separated you and kissed you as the loud music resonated through the club. he kissed you gently, your hands went to his hair and his grip on your waist tightened. he had waited for this moment, he dreamed of kissing you every time he had to look at your lips while you were holding a microphone.

his tongue traced your bottom lip and you opened your mouth, and the world, the music, everything seemed to stop for a moment. one of his hands went to your cheek and the kiss deepened, he tasted sweet, and you were drowning in him. kissing him felt right. it felt like it was meant to be.

that wasn't the last time you kissed throughout the night and by the time he drove back to the hotel your lips were redder than usual. he walked with you to your room and when you opened the door you turned back to say goodbye to him. as a journalist it was rare to struggle to find the right words to say, but you were feeling so many things you didn't even know what to say. thankfully he broke the silence.

"thank you for coming with me tonight", he said.

"i had a great time", you said, "would love to do it again"

"yeah i'd love that too", he said. he really didn't want to wait a whole ass week just to see you again. "we can have dinner tomorrow if you want", he blurted.

your smile grew bigger, "perfect", you said. "it's a date then"

he hoped there were many more dates to come because he really was crazy about you. he leaned closer and gave you a peck on the lips, "see you tomorrow", he said with a shy smile.

god you were really gonna fall hard for this brazilian boy.

months had passed, and lot had happened. felipe was crowned champion, you two had made your relationship official and many dates had been planned.

it was a cold december night and you two went karting, you were sure you had won fair and square, felipe knew he had let you win.

you laughed as you took your helmet off, you held an imaginary microphone on your hand and went over to where he was taking his helmet off. "talk us through that last lap", you joked as if you were interviewing him, "how does it feel mr formula 2 champion, to be beaten by your girlfriend?"

he shaked his head, his smile growing bigger. he felt it more than ever. there, you with your hair messy from the helmet, pointing towards him what was most likely an imaginary microphone, with a giddy smile and your dimples shining under the lights of the karting track. he opened his mouth and said it for the first time. "i love you"

your heart stopped, you lowered your hand and you watched him very still. his curls moving for the night breeze, his beautiful smile, and you saw it in his eyes. love. you let the words sink in, and you didn’t hesitate to speak the words you felt too. "and i love you", you smiled. you were in love with the sweet boy in front of you, and he was in love with you.

felipe cupped your cheeks with both of his hands and softly kissed you. and right there, under the glowing lights of the track, you knew there were many more 'i love you' to come, and many more first times to go through together.

#felipe drugovich #formula2 #fanfic #formula2fanfic #driver #formula2driver #formula1 #f2 x reader

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