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ASPIRANTS SEASON 2 Story, Cast & Review
ASPIRANTS SEASON 2: यह तीन यूपीएससी उम्मीदवारों की यात्रा और सभी बाधाओं के बावजूद उनकी दोस्ती की कहानी है। ASPIRANTS SEASON 2 Cast: नवीन कस्तूरिया, शिवांकित सिंह परिहार, अभिलाष थपलियाल, सनी हिंदुजा, नमिता दुबे, तेंगम सेलीन और कलाकार। ASPIRANTS SEASON 2 Story: ‘ASPIRANTS SEASON 2’ रामपुर के डीएम के रूप में अभिलाष की पहली पोस्टिंग, गुरी की वित्तीय परेशानियों और सरकारी अनुबंध हासिल करने के उनके…
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#aspirants season 1#aspirants season 1 all episodes#aspirants season 2#Aspirants Season 2 - Official Trailer#ASPIRANTS SEASON 2 Cast#ASPIRANTS SEASON 2 Review#ASPIRANTS SEASON 2 Story#aspirants season 3#aspirants season 4#aspirants season 5#aspirants season 6#the aspirants anime season 1
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Arcane Season 2- No Spoilers
God, I love the writing and everything else in Arcane, but sometimes I wish we had an alternate universe spin off series, because my heart can't handle all of the heartbreak and masterfully woven tragedies. I just want for all (almost all) of the characters to be happy, remain friends with each other, and there to be no nuanced writing aside from the power of friendship and sparkles.
Anyways, go watch Arcane season 2, Act 1, maybe write a fix-it-everything-is-fine-fanfiction, marvel at the animation & writing, and go rewatch season 1 to be even more depressed while waiting for Act 2.
#arcane league of legends#arcane textposts#arcane s2#arcane season 2#arcane season two#arcane#jayvik#jayce talis#viktor arcane#caitlyn kiramman#vi arcane#vi x caitlyn#heimerdinger#ambessa medarda#mel medarda#oh my god#Arcane is amazing#The level of writing and depression I aspire to be#Well I already got depression so I am half way there#The animation is astonishing#ekko arcane#Cant forget him too#Anyways gotta go rewatch Act 1 of Arcane and cry#ramblings#I cant this show makes me hyperfixate#No spoilers just aesthetics of my feelings#this is getting out of hand#this is getting ridiculous
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he still has his tonsils. by the way if you even care
#sorry this is fucking UNINTELLIGIBLE but unfortunately i’m still on my bullshit about dr. daddyissues. yeah it’s gonna be all month#i am rotating episode 2.8 ‘the mistake’ in my head at breakneck speed. i am gnawing on it i want to swallow it#oh he’s such a lying liar who lies. charming little bastard. would rather die/lose his license than express one wholly unaffected emotion#‘he thinks not giving a crap makes him like house. like it’s something to aspire to’ quick question HOW serious do the daddy issues have to#be before you start latching on to fucking GREGORY HOUSE as a paternal figure and role model. really#even cameron is not down this bad. even WILSON is not down this bad.#the daddy issues of it all are very understandable though because even setting aside whatever went down back in childhood that shit his#father did to him in seasons 1-2 is SO messed up. jesus#imagine traveling all the way across the world to the hospital your son works in for a consult which confirms what you already knew: you’re#going to die of cancer in like 2 months. making a whole point out of stopping by to visit your son. not telling him what’s going on.#letting him spend a whole episode’s worth of time gradually coming to terms with his complicated feelings towards you (complicated on#account of a whole childhood of objectively awful parenting). the kid finally is able to try reaching back out to you. after YOU initiated#the contact in the first place. how do you react? well obviously by telling him ‘oh sorry i actually have to get in a taxi right now’ and#fucking back off to the other side of the world without giving him a chance to actually talk to you at all and resolve any of the emotions#you just dredged up. oh by the way you still haven’t fucking told him you’re about to die and in fact actively mislead him into thinking#he’s going to have the chance to try meeting with you again next time he visits your home country.#especially fucked up given that the whole reason it DID take your son so long to come around THIS time is that he feels like every time#he’s tried reaching out to you in the past you’ve just disappointed him by refusing to put in the effort to meet him there.#And Now Here We Are Again.#rowan what the FUCK is wrong with you. i want to dig you up and kill you again#house md#robert chase#caseyposting
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Year 1 - Spring - Bouldre (Peasant Miners)
After his daughter passed away, Harald Bouldre has been a nervous wreck. He's trying to keep it together for his grandchildren, but it's not been easy. Luckily he has his brother, Thori, around to help out.
Thori was always the better miner of the two of them, and he's taken Nigel under his wing now the boy's old enough to start working. He's a strong, healthy lad with a knack for finding interesting shiny things, and he gets along well with his great uncle Thori. They're like two peas in a pod!
Nigel's also been very close to a certain Finley Dowrick, a peasant fisherman. His granddad wants him to spend more time with girls, find himself a future wife, but Nigel's not so sure about girls or marriage. Why not stay a bachelor, like his cool uncle?
His younger sister Leofe got plenty of attention. She actually learned all of her toddler skills before aging up at the end of the season, which I almost never manage. She's got the eccentric and insane traits, so should be quite a character...
Between the three of them, they were able to dig up plenty of ore, although they had trouble finding buyers. Those snooty Mondegreens seem to be the only family in the village wth any real coin! Well, the other peasants will earn some more money once I play them. For now, most of the goods got sold to "merchants overseas". At least they had no trouble meeting their tax requirements!
#Driftwood MCC#harald was in aspiration failure the whole time. being illiterate as a knowledge sim is rough#the world in my imagination isn't homophobic to the extreme but if you're a family's heir you'd be expected to marry etc etc#Driftwood - Year 1 - Spring#Driftwood Season 1
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George managing to turn the majority of the F1 community against him in a day after improving his image these past few weekends with good results. Definitely did not anticipate him becoming the main character these last couple of races
#my opinion on george has changed over this season#i don't care if he does good or bad#he delusionally thinks he can get a podium every weekend which is what i think most f1 drivers should aspire to do#it's their job to think that they're the best of the best. is it arrogance? of course!#what i did not like was his comments about beating lewis in his first season in merc#lewis was doing all of that experimenting so that the car could function. that's why he didn't score as many points as he should#it's disingenuous to say you beat lewis without mentioning what really happened that season#anyway i do not have to care about what he does. some self-awareness could benefit him#i just hope he goes into next season being aware that his words could come back to haunt him#f1#formula 1#george russell
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i love my kids so much
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four years for this show...
#IM SORRY. ITS JUST. IM SO. HHHHHRGN#its fine. its good. its entertaining to say the least#but from a writing perspective......#im not an anti i am the worlds biggest helluva boss enjoyer the hellaverse is SO SPECIAL TO ME#but.. the more i see about hazbin s1......#how in over four years was this what you came up with. how is the pacing this insane. how is this character treatment ok.... PLEASE#my sorta toxic trait is that as someone obsessed with media analysis; narrative devices; and story structure -#as well as just. someone who is an aspiring showrunner/creator working on my own huge projects -#is that every time i come across a movie or show that i think is done in a really lacking way. all i can think about is how i would#have done it instead#(this happens in a non-critical way too tbf if i really enjoy a book or game i'll be like they should let me make a based on film)#but hazbin. hazbin. all i have right now is 'i could fix her' in my head#I WOULD TREAT THESE CHARACTERS RIGHT I WOULD GIVE THEM THE NARRATIVE THEY DESERVE#there is. so much potential here. how is the execution so lacking#mine#good ideas!!!! good moments!!!!!!!! THE OVERALL CONSISTENT NARRATIVE IS NOT DOING SO HOT#as a side note though i really think this is why helluva is doing so much better in terms of pacing and writing. the structure of that show#is so much more accommodating to a long intricate story WHILE weaving in a billion different character stories#8 episodes for hazbin is insane season 1 needed twice as much#nyx crit tag
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Love/hate relationship with being in multiple fandoms rn ngl
#i am.#having a TIME of it.#bc im actively watching three different shows#and im SO close to finishing season 1 of one#but instead i am reading fic????#for a ship that i had jokingly shipped before#but now im not joking anymore#girl help???????#and thats not even to MENTION#the multiple fics that i am actively not writing rn#girl help#im having fandom aspirations beyond my energy levels#(again)
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Changing the Game
platonic!Fernando Alonso x mentee!Reader
Oscar Piastri x Reader
Summary: motorsport can be cruel, especially for young women aspiring to make it to Formula 1, but when Fernando notices a driver who deserves more than the unjust cards fate handed her, he decides to do something about it … and your life will never be the same
The roar of engines fills the air, blending with the faint scent of gasoline that clings to the paddock like a memory. Fernando walks through the chaos of the Formula 3 circuit, hands in his pockets, sunglasses firmly in place.
His presence is a subtle disruption, not loud, but noticeable. Drivers and engineers glance his way, some nodding in respect, others too focused on their tasks to do more than acknowledge him with a brief flicker of recognition.
He’s been watching the race, the sun high overhead, a burning reminder that summer has a way of dragging things out. Yet, time has felt elastic today, stretched out by the tension of the track and the surprising twist that caught his attention.
A young driver — no, more than just young — barely seventeen, the only female on the grid, had sliced through the competition with precision and ferocity. Her car, marked by the number on the side, had danced on the edge of control, flirting with danger at every turn but never losing its rhythm. When the chequered flag waved, she’d crossed the line in a solid third, inches from second, and not far from the top spot.
He’d seen talent before, of course. It’s part of his world, spotting it, nurturing it, sometimes crushing it under the weight of competition. But something about you caught his eye. There’s a sharpness in your driving, a clarity of purpose that’s rare. He wonders where you’ve been hiding.
As the cars pull into the pit lane, the usual bustle takes over. Engineers swarm around their drivers, debriefs start, and helmets are tugged off with a mix of relief and frustration. Fernando watches from a distance, scanning the crowd until he finds you. You’re standing by your car, tugging at your gloves with a sharp motion, frustration etched in the tightness of your jaw. There’s a fleeting moment where you pull off your helmet, shaking out your hair, and Fernando notices the absence of something.
Sponsors.
Your race suit is practically bare. The car too, minimal branding, the kind that signals a driver struggling to make ends meet rather than one who’s just claimed a podium finish. He frowns, tilting his head slightly as he watches you. It doesn’t make sense. A driver that good should be swimming in offers, drowning in endorsements.
He catches the eye of a paddock official nearby, someone he’s vaguely familiar with — one of those types who always seem to know more than they let on. Fernando strides over, casual but direct. The official straightens up, clearly surprised to have Fernando Alonso approaching.
“Who’s the girl?” Fernando asks, nodding in your direction, though he doesn’t really need to. You’re the only one who fits the description.
The official glances your way, then back at Fernando. “Y/N Y/L/N. She’s been turning heads all season.”
“Not enough, apparently.” Fernando gestures vaguely at your race suit, his tone making it clear he’s talking about the lack of sponsorship. “What’s going on there?”
The official hesitates, glancing around as if to make sure no one’s listening. He lowers his voice slightly, a conspiratorial tone creeping in. “She’s good, real good. But, you know … she’s a girl.”
Fernando’s eyebrows shoot up, a sharp flash of irritation sparking in his eyes. “So?”
“So,” the official continues, shifting his weight uncomfortably, “sponsors and academies, they’re … cautious. Not sure if she’s got the staying power. And you know how it is, they’re more willing to take a risk on a kid who fits the mold.”
“The mold,” Fernando repeats, his voice flat, incredulous. He lets out a breath, shaking his head slightly. It’s 2019, and this is still happening. It shouldn’t surprise him, but somehow, it does.
His gaze returns to you, still standing by your car, now deep in conversation with your race engineer. There’s a fierceness in the way you talk, the way you move your hands as if trying to will the universe to bend to your will. Fernando recognizes that fire — it’s the same one he’s carried in himself for years.
But there’s more than just frustration in your eyes. There’s something else — determination, maybe, but tinged with something darker, something that’s been carved out of too many disappointments. He knows that look too. It’s the one you get when you’re tired of proving yourself over and over, and yet, you keep doing it because there’s no other choice.
Fernando’s decision is made in an instant. He doesn’t overthink it; he never has. That’s not his style. He approaches you with the same casual confidence that’s defined his career, weaving through the bustle of the paddock until he’s close enough to catch the tail end of your conversation.
“... could’ve pushed harder into turn four,” you’re saying to your engineer, frustration coloring your voice. “But the grip just wasn’t there.”
Your engineer nods, making a note on his tablet, but before he can respond, Fernando steps into the space between you.
“Grip’s one thing,” he says, his voice cutting through the noise around you, “but timing’s everything.”
You turn, eyes widening just a fraction as you realize who’s standing there. Fernando catches the flicker of surprise that you quickly mask with a polite, if guarded, smile.
“Fernando Alonso,” you say, your voice a careful mix of respect and curiosity.
“In the flesh,” he replies, a hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He glances at your car, then back at you. “Nice drive today.”
“Thanks.” The word comes out clipped, like you’re not entirely sure what to make of him yet. He can tell you’re used to being judged, sized up and dismissed by those who think they know better. But Fernando’s not here to judge.
“Third place,” he continues, as if he’s thinking out loud. “But you had the pace for second.”
Your eyebrows lift slightly, and for the first time, a hint of a real smile breaks through. “Yeah, I did. But things don’t always go as planned.”
“No,” he agrees, “they don’t. But you’ve got talent. Real talent.”
You study him for a moment, your expression shifting from guarded to something more open, more curious. “Thanks,” you say again, but this time it’s softer, more genuine.
There’s a pause, the noise of the paddock fading slightly as you both stand there, sizing each other up. Fernando knows this is the moment where most people would make some kind of offer — advice, mentorship, maybe even a contract. But he’s never been one to do things by the book.
Instead, he tilts his head slightly, a playful glint in his eyes. “Do you like ice cream?”
You blink, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. “What?”
“Ice cream,” he repeats, his tone light, almost teasing. “Do you like it?”
“Uh … yeah?” You sound more confused than anything, but there’s a hint of amusement creeping into your voice.
“Great,” Fernando says, as if that settles everything. He steps back, gesturing for you to follow him. “Let’s go get some. My treat.”
You stare at him for a moment, clearly trying to figure out if he’s serious. But when you see that he is, a slow smile spreads across your face, and you can’t help but laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.
“Okay,” you say, still laughing a little as you start to walk beside him. “Why not?”
And just like that, the tension that had been hanging over the paddock seems to dissipate, replaced by something lighter, something that feels almost like hope.
***
The ice cream shop is a short walk from the circuit, tucked into a corner of the small town that’s hosting the weekend’s race. It’s the kind of place Fernando imagines has been around for decades, unchanged except for maybe a new coat of paint every few years. The neon sign in the window buzzes faintly, its pink light reflecting off the glass as he pushes the door open, holding it for you as you follow him inside.
The cool air is a welcome relief from the heat outside, carrying with it the sweet, unmistakable scent of sugar and cream. The shop is quiet, just a couple of kids sitting by the window, licking at cones that seem far too big for them. Behind the counter, a bored-looking teenager perks up as the door chimes, her gaze sharpening as she recognizes Fernando.
“Can I help you?” She asks, her voice brightening as she tries to act casual, though it’s clear she’s a little starstruck.
Fernando nods toward you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Ladies first.”
You hesitate for a moment, then step up to the counter, glancing at the array of ice cream flavors displayed behind the glass. The choices are written in chalk on a board above, but your eyes are immediately drawn to the rich, golden brown of the dulce de leche. You point to it, giving the girl behind the counter a quick smile.
“Two scoops of that, please,” you say, and then, after a beat, “with as many toppings as will fit.”
Fernando raises an eyebrow, amused as he watches you. The girl behind the counter doesn’t question it, scooping generous portions of the creamy ice cream into a cup before moving over to the toppings bar. You lean over the counter slightly, studying the options with a critical eye before making your selections — caramel drizzle, chocolate chips, a handful of crushed cookies, a sprinkle of nuts, and a final flourish of whipped cream on top.
When the girl hands you the cup, it’s practically overflowing, a masterpiece of indulgence that’s almost as impressive as your driving. You turn to Fernando, already reaching for your wallet.
“I can pay for mine,” you say quickly, but Fernando waves you off, already pulling out his own wallet.
“It’s on me,” he insists, his tone making it clear there’s no room for argument.
You open your mouth to protest, but the look he gives you stops you in your tracks. There’s something gentle in his eyes, an unexpected warmth that makes you pause. You let out a small sigh, putting your wallet away as you give in.
“Fine,” you mutter, though there’s no real annoyance in your voice. “But I’m getting you back for this.”
Fernando chuckles as he orders a simple vanilla cone for himself. “We’ll see about that.”
Once he’s paid, the two of you find a small table near the back of the shop, away from the kids and the counter. It’s quiet, almost private, with the hum of the freezers and the distant chatter of the other customers filling the silence. You sit across from him, carefully balancing your cup of ice cream as you take your first bite.
The first taste of dulce de leche is heavenly, the caramel sweetness melting on your tongue as the toppings add layers of texture and flavor. For a moment, it’s easy to forget about everything else — the race, the frustration, the uncertainty of it all. There’s just the ice cream, the coolness of it on your tongue, and the rare sensation of simply enjoying something without a care.
Fernando watches you with a faint smile, his own ice cream barely touched as he leans back in his chair. He doesn’t rush to fill the silence, letting you savor the moment before he finally speaks.
“So,” he says, breaking the quiet, “tell me about your situation.”
You glance up at him, the spoon pausing halfway to your mouth. There’s something in his tone, something gentle but probing, that tells you this isn’t just small talk. You lower the spoon, setting the cup down on the table as you consider how to respond.
“It’s … complicated,” you begin, though that word hardly covers it. You let out a small sigh, your shoulders slumping slightly as you lean back in your chair. “I mean, I’m doing everything I can on the track. My results speak for themselves, right? But it’s like … it’s like none of that matters.”
Fernando nods, encouraging you to continue. There’s no judgment in his eyes, just a quiet understanding, and that makes it easier to keep talking.
“Every race, I’m out there giving it everything I’ve got,” you say, your voice growing more animated as you go on. “I’m right up there with the best of them — sometimes even better. But then I look around, and I see these other drivers, guys who are barely scraping into the points, and they’ve got major sponsors backing them. They’re signed to F1 teams’ academies, they’ve got a clear path to the top. And me? I’ve got nothing. No sponsors, no academy, no security.”
You pick up your spoon again, stirring your ice cream absentmindedly as your frustration bubbles to the surface. “It’s not like I haven’t tried. My team’s tried too, but no one wants to take the risk on me. They all say the same thing — ‘You’re good, but we’re just not sure if you’re what we’re looking for.’ Which is just code for ‘You’re a girl, and we’re not willing to bet on you.’”
Fernando doesn’t interrupt, letting you vent. He’s heard stories like this before, but it never gets any easier to listen to. The sport has its issues, and while things have improved over the years, the barriers you’re facing are still all too real.
You sigh, running a hand through your hair as you shake your head. “It’s so frustrating, you know? I’m out there proving myself every single weekend, but it’s like I have to work twice as hard just to get noticed, and even then, it’s not enough. My parents — they believe in me, but they’re practically killing themselves to keep me racing. They had to take a second mortgage on the house just to get me into F3 this season. And every time I don’t get a sponsor, every time another academy passes on me, it’s like … it’s like I’m letting them down.”
Your voice cracks slightly at the end, and you quickly take another bite of ice cream, as if that can somehow keep your emotions in check. But Fernando sees the way your hand trembles just a little, the way your eyes have lost some of their fire, replaced by a weary resignation.
“It shouldn’t be this hard,” you say softly, almost to yourself. “I know the sport is tough, but it feels like I’m fighting a battle that’s rigged from the start.”
Fernando takes a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “It’s not fair,” he says, his voice steady, grounding. “You’re right, it shouldn’t be this hard. But sometimes, the fight isn’t just about winning on the track. It’s about changing the game entirely.”
You look at him, your eyes narrowing slightly as you try to gauge what he means by that. There’s something in his tone, something determined and unyielding, that makes you believe he understands more than he’s letting on.
“Changing the game?” You repeat, the words feeling heavy in your mouth.
Fernando nods, leaning forward slightly. “Yeah. Look, I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. But if anyone can do it, it’s you. You’ve got the talent, you’ve got the drive, and you’ve got something most people don’t — resilience. You’re still here, still fighting, even when the odds are against you. That says a lot.”
You bite your lip, absorbing his words. There’s a part of you that wants to believe him, that wants to hold on to that hope, but there’s also a part that’s tired — so tired of fighting an uphill battle, of always having to prove yourself over and over again.
“I just don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “What if it’s not enough? What if I’m not enough?”
Fernando’s gaze softens, and for a moment, he sees a reflection of his younger self in you, back when he was first starting out, hungry and determined but unsure of how far he could really go. The difference is, he had the backing, the opportunities that you’ve been denied.
“You are enough,” he says, his tone firm, leaving no room for doubt. “The problem isn’t with you. It’s with the system, with the people who are too scared to see things differently. But that doesn’t mean you stop. You keep pushing, keep showing them what they’re missing. And if they can’t see it, then we’ll make them see it.”
You blink, surprised by the intensity in his voice. There’s a conviction there that’s hard to ignore, a belief in you that you’ve been struggling to find in yourself.
“We?” You ask, your voice tinged with cautious hope.
Fernando smiles, a small, determined curve of his lips. “We. You’re not alone in this. I’ve been where you are, in a different way, but I know what it’s like to have to fight for everything. And I know what it’s like to have someone in your corner who believes in you.”
You stare at him, processing his words, the implications of what he’s offering. There’s a warmth in your chest, a spark of something that feels dangerously close to hope.
“So what now?” You ask, your voice steadier.
Fernando leans back in his chair, his gaze never leaving yours as he takes a thoughtful bite of his ice cream. There's a moment of silence, the weight of everything unspoken hanging between you, before he finally speaks, his voice calm but resolute.
"Now?" He sets his cone down on the table, his expression sharpening with purpose. "I make some calls."
***
It’s been a few weeks since that day at the ice cream shop, and Fernando hasn’t been able to shake the conversation from his mind. He’s been in the sport long enough to know how things work, but hearing it from you, seeing how the system has worn you down despite your undeniable talent, it struck a nerve. It’s been a whirlwind of phone calls, favors cashed in, and quiet meetings behind closed doors. But now, standing at the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport, Fernando knows it’s all been worth it.
You come into view, wheeling your carry-on behind you, your eyes scanning the crowd until they land on him. A look of surprise crosses your face, quickly replaced by a hesitant smile as you make your way over.
“Hey,” you greet him, a mix of confusion and curiosity in your voice as you pull your suitcase to a stop beside him. “So … what’s this all about?”
Fernando just grins, taking the handle of your suitcase from you with a casualness that leaves no room for argument. “You’ll see,” he says, cryptic as ever. “Come on, the car’s this way.”
You follow him out to the parking garage, throwing him sideways glances, clearly trying to piece together what he’s up to. Fernando’s only response is an amused smile as he opens the door for you, waiting until you’re settled in the passenger seat before loading your luggage in the trunk.
As he pulls out of the airport and merges onto the highway, the silence between you is comfortable but charged with anticipation. You keep glancing over at him, your curiosity growing with every mile.
“You’re not going to tell me where we’re going, are you?” You finally ask, your tone hovering between teasing and exasperation.
Fernando chuckles, shaking his head. “Nope.”
You sigh, leaning back in your seat, but there’s a glimmer of excitement in your eyes that wasn’t there before. “I’m trusting you, you know,” you say, half-joking, half-serious.
“And you won’t regret it,” he promises, the confidence in his voice almost contagious.
The drive is longer than you expected, taking you out of London and into the countryside. The scenery shifts from the urban sprawl to green fields and quaint villages, the roads becoming narrower and winding as they head deeper into the heart of England. It’s not until Fernando takes a turn down a private road, leading to a sleek, modern complex surrounded by high fences, that you begin to piece it together.
“This can’t be …” you start, your voice trailing off as the full realization hits you. “Is this-”
“Mercedes HQ,” Fernando confirms with a grin as he pulls up to the security gate. He rolls down the window, exchanging a few words with the guard, who quickly waves them through.
You’re silent as he drives into the parking lot, your eyes wide as you take in the sight of the Mercedes-AMG F1 Factory. It’s one thing to see it on TV or in photos, but to be here, in person, is something else entirely. Fernando parks the car and turns to you, catching the look on your face.
“Nervous?” He asks, though he already knows the answer.
“A little,” you admit, swallowing hard as you unbuckle your seatbelt. “Okay, a lot.”
He chuckles, getting out of the car and coming around to your side to open the door for you. “Don’t be. You belong here.”
You hesitate, still processing everything, before nodding and stepping out of the car. Fernando grabs your suitcase from the trunk, but you barely notice, too busy taking in your surroundings as he leads you toward the entrance.
The interior of the building is just as impressive as the outside — modern, sleek, and buzzing with energy. Everywhere you look, there are people in team gear, some hurrying between offices, others deep in conversation. And then, as if the situation couldn’t get more surreal, Lewis Hamilton appears in the lobby, flanked by Toto Wolff.
Your breath catches in your throat, and you stop dead in your tracks. Fernando pauses beside you, a knowing smile on his face as he watches your reaction.
“Fernando,” Lewis greets, his smile widening when he sees you standing next to him. “And you must be the young driver I’ve been hearing so much about.”
You manage a nod, but words seem to have escaped you entirely. It’s not every day that you come face-to-face with a five-time world champion and the team principal of the most successful F1 team of the modern era.
Lewis chuckles at your speechlessness, his demeanor as relaxed and approachable as ever. “Don’t worry, we don’t bite,” he says, extending his hand. “It’s good to finally meet you.”
You shake his hand, your own grip slightly shaky. “I … It’s an honor,” you stammer, your voice finally finding its way back to you.
Toto steps forward next, offering his hand as well. “Welcome to Brackley,” he says, his tone warm but with the same underlying intensity that’s made him such a formidable figure in the sport. “Fernando’s told us a lot about you.”
You glance over at Fernando, a mix of gratitude and disbelief in your eyes. This is so far beyond anything you could have imagined when you first got his call.
Lewis gestures for you to follow him down a hallway, with Toto and Fernando close behind. “When Fernando reached out to me,” Lewis begins, his tone casual but sincere, “and told me about your situation, I knew we had to do something. Talent like yours shouldn’t be held back by anything, least of all by something as ridiculous as a lack of sponsorship.”
You’re still reeling from the fact that Lewis Hamilton knows who you are, let alone that he’s gone out of his way to help you. “I … I don’t even know what to say,” you admit, your voice soft with emotion.
“Don’t worry about that just yet,” Toto says from behind you, his tone light. “Let’s get you settled in first.”
You follow them through the labyrinth of hallways, trying to absorb everything at once. Fernando stays close, a steady presence as you make your way deeper into the facility. There’s a sense of purpose in the air, a kind of quiet determination that’s palpable even as people move around with the calm efficiency of a well-oiled machine.
Eventually, Lewis stops outside a conference room, holding the door open for you to enter first. You step inside, the space cool and sleek, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the meticulously kept grounds outside. A large table dominates the center of the room, and as you approach, you notice a folder sitting at one end, the Mercedes logo embossed on the cover.
You hover near the table, not daring to sit until someone tells you to. Fernando catches your hesitation, nudging you gently in the direction of a chair. “Go on,” he says softly. “This is for you.”
You sink into the chair, your heart pounding as you look at the folder in front of you. Lewis and Toto take seats across from you, with Fernando settling in beside you. The atmosphere in the room shifts slightly, becoming more formal but no less supportive.
Toto reaches for the folder, sliding it across the table to you. “This,” he begins, his voice calm and measured, “is an offer to join the Mercedes Junior Team.”
You blink, sure you must have misheard him. “The … Mercedes Junior Team?”
Lewis smiles, nodding. “We believe in your potential,” he says simply. “And we want to give you the opportunity to develop that potential to the fullest.”
Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for the folder, your mind racing. This is it. This is the chance you’ve been fighting for, the one you never thought would come, at least not like this. You open the folder, your eyes scanning the first few lines of the contract inside. It’s all real — your name, the terms, everything.
“We know it’s a big decision,” Toto continues, his gaze steady on you. “Take your time to go through everything, ask any questions you have. But know that we’re serious about this. We want you on our team.”
You’re overwhelmed, the weight of the moment pressing down on you, but it’s a good kind of pressure, the kind that comes from knowing you’re on the verge of something life-changing. You look up at Fernando, who’s been watching you quietly, and there’s a look of pride in his eyes that makes your chest tighten.
“I don’t … I don’t even know where to start,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.
Lewis leans forward slightly, his expression gentle but serious. “Start by believing that you deserve this,” he says. “Because you do. And we’re here to help you every step of the way.”
There’s a long silence as you let his words sink in, your fingers tracing the edge of the folder. This is everything you’ve been working toward, everything you’ve sacrificed for, and now that it’s here in front of you, it feels almost too good to be true.
But as you look around the table — at Lewis, Toto, and Fernando — you realize that this isn’t just a dream. It’s real. They’re offering you a future, a chance to prove yourself at the highest level, and they believe in you enough to make it happen.
You take a deep breath, steadying yourself before meeting their gazes again. “I … I don’t know how to thank you,” you say, your voice thick with emotion.
“There’s no need for thanks,” Toto says with a small smile. “Just show us what you can do.”
Fernando places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his voice low and encouraging. “You’ve already done the hard part. Now, it’s just time to make it official.”
You nod, the weight of the contract in your hands feeling lighter now. “I’m ready,” you say, your voice steadying with newfound resolve.
Lewis grins. “Welcome to the team.”
***
The months following your signing with Mercedes have been a whirlwind. Every day brings something new — testing, meetings, media obligations, training sessions — but through it all, Fernando remains a constant presence. He’s there for every debrief, every important conversation, and when he’s not by your side, he’s only a phone call away. The mentorship he offers is invaluable, not just because of his experience but because of his belief in you.
Today, though, feels different. The season is winding down, and you’ve been expecting a bit of a lull, maybe even some time to catch your breath. But when Fernando calls you to meet him at a quiet café on the outskirts of town, there’s a certain energy in his voice that you can’t quite place.
You arrive at the café to find Fernando already seated at a table near the window, his sunglasses pushed up onto his head and a cup of coffee in front of him. He looks up as you approach, a small, almost secretive smile playing on his lips.
“Morning,” you greet him, sliding into the seat opposite. “You’re up to something, I can tell.”
Fernando chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee before setting the cup down. “Maybe I am,” he says, his tone teasing but warm. “How are you feeling about next season?”
The question catches you off guard. “Next season? I mean, I haven’t really thought that far ahead yet. There’s still so much to do now.”
He nods, leaning back in his chair as he studies you, a hint of something more serious in his gaze. “Well, it’s time to start thinking about it,” he says, pulling an envelope from his jacket pocket and sliding it across the table to you.
You raise an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued as you reach for the envelope. “What’s this?”
“Open it,” Fernando encourages, his eyes never leaving yours.
You do as he says, your fingers careful as you tear open the envelope. Inside is a single sheet of paper, neatly folded. You unfold it slowly, your eyes scanning the top of the page.
Carlin Motorsport — Formula 2 Contract Offer.
Your breath catches, and you look up at Fernando, disbelief written all over your face. “Is this … real?”
“Very real,” he confirms, his smile widening. “They want you for next season. Full-time seat, competitive car, the whole package.”
You’re speechless for a moment, the weight of the offer sinking in. Carlin is one of the top teams in Formula 2, a proven stepping stone to Formula 1, and they want you. It’s everything you’ve been working toward, but the reality of it is almost overwhelming.
“This is …” you start, your voice trailing off as you try to find the right words. “I don’t even know what to say.”
He reaches across the table, placing his hand over yours, his expression softening. “You’ve earned this,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “You’ve worked hard, proven yourself, and now it’s time to take the next step.”
You nod, still trying to wrap your head around it all. “But how? I mean, why would they choose me over anyone else? There are so many talented drivers out there …”
Fernando squeezes your hand, drawing your attention back to him. “Because you’re one of the best,” he says simply. “They see it, just like I do. And they know you’re going places.”
You take a deep breath, the reality of it finally starting to settle in. “Carlin … Formula 2 … It’s really happening.”
“It is,” Fernando confirms with a smile. “And you’re ready for it.”
There’s a long pause as you sit there, the contract still in your hands. Fernando watches you carefully, his gaze thoughtful. Then, as if sensing that there’s something more to discuss, he leans in slightly, lowering his voice.
“There’s something else I need to tell you,” he says, his tone shifting to something more serious.
You look up, your heart skipping a beat at the sudden change in his demeanor. “What is it?”
He hesitates for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “I’m planning to return to Formula 1 in 2021.”
The news hits you like a bolt of lightning, your eyes widening in shock. “You’re … coming back? To F1?”
Fernando nods, his expression unreadable. “Yes. I’ve been in talks with a few teams, and it looks like everything is lining up for a comeback.”
You’re stunned, your mind racing to catch up with what he’s just said. Fernando Alonso, returning to Formula 1 … it’s huge, and the implications of it start to sink in. “That’s incredible,” you say, a mix of excitement and apprehension in your voice. “But what does that mean for … us? For everything we’ve been working on?”
He’s silent for a moment, his gaze intense as he considers your question. “It means that while I’ll still be around to support you, I won’t be able to be as hands-on as I’ve been. I won’t be able to be your full-time manager anymore.”
The words hit you hard, and you feel a pang of anxiety start to creep in. Fernando’s been your rock, the one who’s guided you through every step of this journey, and the thought of losing that constant presence is unsettling.
“But,” he continues, his tone reassuring, “I’m not leaving you in the lurch. I’ve already started talking to some people, and I’m going to make sure you get a manager who’s the best of the best. Someone who knows the sport inside and out, who can give you everything you need to succeed.”
You nod slowly, trying to process everything he’s telling you. It’s a lot to take in— the offer from Carlin, Fernando’s return to F1, the changes that will come with it — but there’s a part of you that understands. This is the nature of the sport, constantly evolving, constantly moving forward.
“I’m happy for you,” you finally say, your voice sincere. “Really, I am. You deserve to be back in F1, where you belong.”
Fernando smiles, a genuine warmth in his eyes. “Thank you. And you deserve to be in F2, racing at the front, showing everyone what you’re capable of.”
There’s a pause, the weight of the moment settling over both of you. Then, Fernando’s smile turns a bit more mischievous as he leans back in his chair.
“But don’t think this means I’m going to go easy on you,” he says, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I’ll still be watching, making sure you’re giving it your all.”
You laugh, the tension breaking slightly at his words. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
He nods, satisfied, before finishing off his coffee. “Good. Because the hard work isn’t over yet. If anything, it’s just beginning.”
You take a deep breath, feeling a renewed sense of determination settling over you. Fernando’s right — this is just the beginning. The road ahead will be challenging, but you’re ready for it. And with his support, even if it’s from a distance, you know you can handle whatever comes your way.
“Thank you,” you say again, your voice full of gratitude. “For everything.”
Fernando just smiles, standing up from the table and offering you his hand. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get out of here. We’ve got a lot to prepare for.”
You take his hand, rising from your seat, and together you leave the café, the future stretching out before you, full of possibilities.
***
The hum of the F2 paddock is a mix of nerves and excitement, a constant undercurrent of energy that seems to electrify the air. It’s the first race of the season, and you can feel it. The mechanics are moving with purpose, checking and double-checking every detail of the car. Engineers are glued to their screens, analyzing data with furrowed brows. And you, in the midst of it all, are the picture of focus — calm on the outside but with a fire in your eyes that tells Fernando you’re ready for this.
He stands a few feet away, leaning casually against the garage wall, but his eyes are on you. Always on you. He’s seen you grow over these past months, watched as you’ve taken every challenge head-on, and now, as you prepare for your first F2 race, he can’t help but feel a surge of pride.
Yuki Tsunoda, your teammate, walks over, helmet in hand. He’s grinning, but there’s a trace of awe in his expression as he glances between you and Fernando. “I still can’t believe it,” Yuki says, shaking his head slightly. “Fernando Alonso, here in our garage, supporting you. It’s surreal.”
You chuckle, giving Yuki a playful nudge with your elbow. “Believe it. He’s stuck with me now.”
Fernando smirks, pushing off the wall and walking over to the two of you. “Yuki, how are you feeling about today?” He asks, his tone friendly but professional.
Yuki straightens up, clearly wanting to impress. “I’m ready. I’ve been looking forward to this all off-season. Just want to get out there and race.”
“Good,” Fernando nods, his eyes sharp as he assesses Yuki. “Remember, the first race sets the tone. Keep your head down, focus on your own performance, and the results will come.”
Yuki nods, absorbing the advice. “And you?” He asks, turning back to you. “First F2 race … How are you feeling?”
You shrug, but there’s a determined glint in your eyes. “Excited. Nervous. Ready. All of it.”
Fernando can’t help but smile at that. He’s seen that look in countless drivers — right before they go on to do something special. “You’ve got this,” he says, his voice low but full of conviction. “Just do what you do best.”
You give him a small, appreciative smile before turning back to the car, where the final preparations are being made. Fernando watches you for a moment longer, feeling the weight of the day. This is a big moment, not just for you, but for him too. He’s invested so much in you, not just as a driver but as a person, and now he’s about to see the fruits of that labor on one of the biggest stages.
Yuki eventually heads back to his side of the garage, leaving you and Fernando in a comfortable silence. He steps closer to you, lowering his voice so only you can hear. “Remember, it’s just another race. Don’t let the pressure get to you. You’ve done this a hundred times before.”
You nod, your expression set with determination. “I know. I just need to stay focused.”
“Exactly,” Fernando agrees, his hand resting briefly on your shoulder. “And remember, I’m here. You’re not doing this alone.”
There’s a brief moment of silence between you, the noise of the paddock fading slightly as you take in his words. It’s a reassurance, a reminder that no matter what happens out there, you have someone in your corner who believes in you completely.
The minutes tick by, and soon it’s time for the drivers to head to the grid. The mechanics push your car out of the garage, and you follow, helmet in hand, Fernando right by your side. As you walk, he gives you last-minute reminders, his tone calm but firm, designed to keep you centered.
“Trust your instincts,” he says. “You know the car, you know the track. Let the race come to you.”
You nod, absorbing every word as you approach your car on the grid. The other teams and drivers are milling about, final checks being made before the start. Fernando stands with you by the car, watching as you put on your helmet and climb into the cockpit. There’s a buzz of activity all around, but for a moment, it feels like it’s just the two of you.
He leans in close, his voice carrying over the sound of the grid. “Remember why you’re here. Show them what you’re made of.”
You glance up at him, your visor reflecting the intense determination in your eyes. “I will.”
And with that, the crew steps back, and it’s just you in the car, the engine roaring to life around you. Fernando takes a few steps back, watching as you complete the formation lap. His heart pounds in his chest, a mix of nerves and anticipation. He’s been in this position countless times, but it’s different when it’s someone you’ve invested so much in.
As the cars line up on the grid, the tension mounts. Fernando’s eyes never leave your car, his mind running through every possible scenario. He knows how unpredictable these races can be, how one small mistake can change everything. But he also knows that you’re ready. He’s seen it in your training, in your focus, in the way you’ve handled every challenge thrown at you.
The lights go out, and the roar of engines fills the air. The race is on, and Fernando’s eyes are locked on the screen, watching as you navigate the chaos of the first few corners. It’s a tight pack, cars jostling for position, but you hold your ground, staying calm and composed even as the pressure builds.
Fernando barely breathes as the laps tick by, his focus entirely on you. There are moments where his heart leaps into his throat — close calls, tight overtakes — but you handle them all with the skill and precision of a seasoned driver. You’re pushing, but not too hard, balancing aggression with caution in a way that impresses even him.
Midway through the race, you find yourself in a battle for position with one of the more experienced drivers. Fernando can see the tension in your driving, the way you’re pushing the car to its limits. But he also sees the intelligence in your approach, the way you’re sizing up your opponent, waiting for the right moment.
“Come on,” he mutters under his breath, his eyes glued to the screen as you make your move. It’s a daring pass, squeezing through a gap that’s barely there, but you make it stick. Fernando lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“You’re doing it,” he whispers to himself, pride swelling in his chest.
The race continues, the intensity never letting up. There are moments of sheer brilliance, and moments where Fernando’s nerves are stretched to their limits, but through it all, you remain unshaken. Every lap, every corner, you’re proving exactly why you belong here, why Carlin chose you, and why Fernando believes in you so much.
As the race nears its end, you find yourself in a strong position, battling for a spot on the podium. Fernando’s heart pounds in his chest, his hands clenched into fists as he watches the final laps unfold. It’s a nail-biter, the cars ahead of you just within reach, and he can see you pushing, giving it everything you’ve got.
“Come on, come on,” he murmurs, his eyes never leaving the screen. “You’ve got this.”
The final lap is a blur of speed and adrenaline, but you’re right there, closing in on the car ahead. Fernando can feel the tension in the air, the entire Carlin garage on edge as they watch you make your move. It’s a daring overtake, one that requires absolute precision, but you nail it, sliding into third place just before the final corner.
Fernando’s heart leaps as you cross the finish line, securing a podium in your very first F2 race. The garage erupts in cheers, but he’s already moving, heading out to meet you as you bring the car back to the pits.
When you climb out of the car, the smile on your face is all he needs to see. You did it. You proved yourself, and in a big way. Fernando is the first to reach you, pulling you into a tight hug, his voice full of pride.
“You were incredible out there,” he says, his words muffled slightly by the cheers around you. “Absolutely incredible.”
You pull back, your eyes shining with excitement. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
He shakes his head, his smile wide. “You did this. You took everything you’ve learned and you made it happen. This is just the beginning.”
Yuki comes over, grinning from ear to ear as he claps you on the back. “Third place in your first race? You’re making the rest of us look bad!”
You laugh, the tension of the race finally melting away as you share the moment with your teammate and mentor. But even as you celebrate, Fernando’s mind is already thinking ahead, planning for the future. This is just the first step, and he knows there are many more to come. But for now, he’s content to stand here with you, knowing that you’ve just taken a huge leap forward in your career.
As the celebrations continue around you, Fernando steps back, watching you with a mixture of pride and anticipation. He’s seen something special in you from the start, and today, you proved him right. But he knows this is just the beginning, and he can’t wait to see where this journey takes you
***
Fernando sits at the head of a sleek conference table in a high-rise office overlooking a bustling cityscape. The room is all glass and steel, exuding an air of professionalism and success. It’s the kind of setting where big decisions are made, the kind of setting where lives are changed. He glances at his watch — just a few minutes before you’re supposed to arrive.
To his left is a man in his late forties, dressed in a sharp suit that screams old money and prestige. This is Carlos Mendes, a veteran in the world of motorsport management. Carlos has a reputation for being ruthless when it comes to getting his clients the best deals.
He’s represented world champions, negotiated multimillion-dollar contracts, and navigated the treacherous waters of sponsorships with the skill of a seasoned general. Fernando had carefully chosen Carlos, knowing that you would need someone who could not only protect your interests but also push for the best opportunities.
On Fernando’s right is Sophie Duclair, a high-powered talent agent whose client list reads like a who’s who of global sports and entertainment icons. Sophie, with her sleek bob and impeccably tailored outfit, is known for her ability to secure top-tier endorsement deals that go beyond the traditional boundaries of sports.
Luxury brands, fashion houses, and even Hollywood producers trust her judgment implicitly. She’s the one who can take your rising star and catapult it into a whole different stratosphere.
The door to the conference room opens, and you walk in, dressed casually but with an unmistakable air of confidence. It’s clear you’ve grown more comfortable in these kinds of environments, but there’s still a trace of curiosity in your eyes as you take in the room and the people seated at the table.
“Good to see you,” Fernando says, rising to greet you with a warm smile. He motions to the empty chair next to him. “Take a seat. We’ve got a lot to discuss.”
You sit down, glancing at Carlos and Sophie with polite curiosity. Fernando leans back in his chair, folding his hands on the table. “Let me introduce you to Carlos Mendes,” he says, gesturing to the man on his left. “Carlos is one of the top managers in the business. He’s going to help guide your career from here on out, making sure you get the best opportunities on and off the track.”
Carlos nods, his expression serious but welcoming. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says in a deep, authoritative voice. “Fernando has told me a lot about you, and I’ve been following your progress. You’ve got a bright future ahead, and I’m here to make sure you reach your full potential.”
You smile, a mix of gratitude and anticipation in your eyes. “Thank you. I’m looking forward to working with you.”
Fernando continues, turning to Sophie. “And this is Sophie Duclair, one of the best talent agents in the industry. Sophie has a knack for securing deals that align perfectly with her clients’ personal brands. She’s here to help you navigate the world of endorsements and partnerships.”
Sophie smiles, her demeanor warm yet professional. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” she says, her voice smooth and confident. “I’ve been keeping an eye on your rise in F2, and I have to say, the opportunities are endless. There are brands out there who are going to want to associate themselves with your story, your talent, and your image.”
You nod, clearly intrigued but still processing the magnitude of what’s happening. Fernando notices the slight furrow in your brow and steps in to guide the conversation.
“Here’s the thing,” Fernando begins, his tone serious but encouraging. “You’ve been fighting against the odds, and that’s what’s made your story so compelling. A lot of people might have seen your gender as an obstacle, but we’re turning it into an asset. You’ve already proven you belong in F2, and with the right guidance, we’re going to show the world that you’re not just a great driver — you’re a game-changer.”
Carlos leans forward slightly, his eyes focused on you. “Exactly. The motorsport world is evolving, and brands want to be associated with that evolution. They want to be seen as forward-thinking, inclusive, and ahead of the curve. You’re in a unique position to offer them that opportunity.”
Sophie picks up the thread seamlessly. “But it’s not just about slapping a logo on your car or your race suit. It’s about aligning with brands that resonate with who you are and where you want to go. That’s where I come in. I’ve been in talks with several companies that are very interested in working with you.”
You look at Fernando, and he gives you an encouraging nod, urging you to speak your mind. “It sounds … amazing,” you begin, your voice steady but thoughtful. “But I want to make sure that whatever deals we make, they’re the right ones. I don’t want to just be a face on an ad — I want to represent something real.”
Carlos smiles, clearly impressed by your maturity. “That’s the right approach. And that’s exactly why we’re here — to make sure that every move we make is strategic and meaningful. You’ve got the talent and the story, and now it’s about building the brand that reflects that.”
Sophie leans back in her chair, crossing her legs as she regards you with a calculating but friendly gaze. “We’ve already secured two deals that I think you’re going to be very happy with,” she says, a hint of excitement in her voice. “The first is with Cartier. They’re looking to expand their presence in the sports world, and they see you as the perfect ambassador for their brand — strong, elegant, and determined.”
Your eyes widen slightly, clearly surprised. “Cartier?” You echo, the name alone carrying a weight of prestige and luxury.
Sophie nods, smiling at your reaction. “That’s right. They want to work with you on a campaign that’s going to be centered around breaking barriers and redefining what it means to be successful. It’s not just about jewelry — it’s about the story you tell when you wear it.”
Fernando watches as you process this, seeing the mix of excitement and caution in your expression. He knows how big this is, and he also knows how important it is for you to feel comfortable with every step of this journey.
“And the second deal?” You ask, your voice steady but tinged with curiosity.
Sophie’s smile widens. “That would be with Chanel. They’re launching a new line of sportswear, and they want you to be the face of it. It’s a bold move for them, branching out into a market that’s traditionally been dominated by other brands. But they believe in you, and they believe that you can help them make a statement.”
You lean back in your chair, clearly taking a moment to absorb the magnitude of what’s being offered. Fernando can see the wheels turning in your mind, the careful consideration you’re giving to each opportunity.
“I … I didn’t expect anything like this,” you admit, looking around the table. “It’s incredible, but it’s also a lot to take in.”
Carlos nods, his expression understanding. “It is. But you’re not in this alone. We’re here to guide you, to make sure that every decision you make is the right one for you and your career.”
Fernando leans forward slightly, his voice low and reassuring. “You’ve worked hard to get here. You deserve these opportunities. But like Carlos said, we’re going to make sure that every step you take is the right one. We’re not rushing into anything. We’re building something that’s going to last.”
You look at him, and he can see the trust in your eyes. It’s a trust he’s earned over the months, through every piece of advice, every word of encouragement, every push to make you better. And now, as you sit here on the brink of something huge, he feels a deep sense of pride.
“These are just the first steps,” Sophie says, her tone confident and poised. “There’s so much more we can do. But it’s all going to be on your terms. You’re in control of your image, your brand. We’re just here to help you shape it.”
You take a deep breath, your gaze sweeping over the table, taking in the faces of the people who are now part of your team. “I want to do this right,” you say finally, your voice strong. “I want to be someone people can look up to, someone who represents more than just winning races.”
Fernando smiles, feeling a swell of pride at your words. “And that’s exactly what you’re going to do. We’re just getting started.”
The meeting continues, the conversation shifting to the details of the contracts, the timelines for the campaigns, and the strategies for maximizing your visibility. Throughout it all, Fernando watches you closely, noting the way you handle the discussions with a mix of humility and confidence. It’s clear you’re taking everything in, asking the right questions, making sure you understand every aspect of what’s being presented.
By the time the meeting wraps up, there’s a palpable sense of excitement in the room. The deals with Cartier and Chanel are just the beginning, and everyone knows it. There are more opportunities on the horizon, more doors that are about to open. But for now, it’s about taking the first steps, setting the foundation for what’s to come.
As you rise to leave, Fernando walks you to the door, Carlos and Sophie following close behind. “We’ll be in touch with the final details,” Sophie says, her tone professional but warm. “I’m excited to see where this journey takes us.”
Carlos nods in agreement. “You’ve got a bright future ahead. Let’s make the most of it.”
You thank them both, turning to Fernando with a smile that holds a mix of gratitude and determination. "I couldn’t have done this without you," you say softly.
Fernando shakes his head, his smile reflecting the pride he feels. "You’ve earned every bit of this. Now, let's show the world what you’re capable of."
***
The sun dips low over the suburban skyline, casting a warm golden hue over the backyard where laughter mingles with the clinking of glasses and the low hum of conversation. String lights hang from the trees, swaying gently in the evening breeze, and the faint scent of barbecue lingers in the air. You’re surrounded by familiar faces — family, childhood friends, and the newer ones you’ve made in F2. The mix of old and new feels right, like the pieces of your life are finally coming together.
Fernando stands near the edge of the crowd, leaning casually against a tree as he watches you. He’s been here for hours, blending in with the celebration, though he’s always slightly apart, his presence comforting but never overbearing. He’s wearing one of those half-smiles, the kind that makes it hard to tell if he’s deep in thought or just quietly enjoying the moment.
You catch his eye, and he raises his glass — a silent toast that you return with a small grin before getting pulled back into a conversation with one of your childhood friends. They’re reminiscing about old times, laughing about things that seem so far removed from the high-speed world you now inhabit. It’s nice, grounding even, to remember that you had a life before all of this — a simpler one where the biggest concern was which video game to play after school.
As the night wears on, the crowd begins to thin. Your parents are still mingling, clearly proud of the party they’ve thrown. Your mom’s voice carries across the yard as she gushes to someone about how happy she is that you’ve managed to pay off the second mortgage. It was a weight that they never let you see, but you knew it was there, and being able to lift it was one of the proudest moments you’ve had since stepping into a race car.
Fernando, ever observant, notices the moment your shoulders relax as you hear your mom’s words. He takes a small step forward, knowing that the night is winding down, and he’s been waiting for just the right moment.
Eventually, as the last of your friends hug you goodbye and head out, you find yourself standing near the fire pit, the glow from the dying embers illuminating your face. Fernando approaches, his hands casually tucked into his pockets.
“Enjoying your birthday?” He asks, his voice low and warm, like the crackling fire beside you.
You nod, a content smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Yeah, it’s been really great. I didn’t expect so many people to show up.”
“People care about you,” Fernando says simply. “You’ve made quite an impact.”
You shrug, clearly a little shy about the praise. “I’m just glad to have a night to relax with everyone. It’s been a whirlwind.”
Fernando’s smile deepens. He knows how hard you’ve worked, how much you’ve sacrificed, and how rare these moments of peace are for you. “You deserve it. You’ve earned it.”
There’s a beat of silence, comfortable and familiar, before Fernando clears his throat. “I, uh, have something for you.”
You turn to look at him, your brow furrowing slightly. “Fernando, you didn’t have to get me anything. You’ve already done so much.”
“I know,” he says, his tone a little softer now, as if he’s stepping into more vulnerable territory. “But I wanted to.”
He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small box, wrapped in simple but elegant paper. You hesitate for a moment, then take it from his hands, the weight of it feeling heavier than it should.
Curiosity piques as you carefully unwrap the paper and open the box. Inside is a delicate necklace, the pendant a tiny, intricate race helmet studded with a single diamond where the visor would be. It’s not overly flashy, but it’s beautiful and unmistakably meaningful.
You stare at it, speechless, before looking up at Fernando, your eyes wide with surprise and something deeper — something like awe. “Fernando … this is …”
He cuts you off with a gentle shake of his head. “You don’t have to say anything. I just … wanted you to have something that reminds you of where you’re headed. You’ve got a bright future, and I wanted to give you something to keep close as you chase it.”
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them away, focusing on the necklace instead. You’re not sure what to say — how do you thank someone for something that goes beyond just a gift?
Fernando steps closer, his voice lowering as he continues, “I’ve come to see you as … well, like a daughter, I suppose. Watching you grow, seeing how far you’ve come, it’s been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. I just wanted to show you how much you mean to me.”
Your heart swells with emotion, and before you can stop yourself, you step forward and wrap your arms around him, pressing your face into his chest. The necklace is still clutched in your hand, but all you can focus on is the steady beat of Fernando’s heart against your ear.
“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice muffled but sincere. “For everything.”
Fernando’s arms come around you, holding you close in a way that’s both protective and comforting. “You don’t have to thank me,” he murmurs. “Just keep doing what you’re doing. That’s all the thanks I need.”
You stay like that for a moment longer, taking in the warmth and security of the embrace, before finally pulling back. You look up at Fernando, and there’s a connection between you now that goes beyond mentor and protégé — it’s something familial, something lasting.
He gestures to the necklace, a small smile playing on his lips. “Do you want some help putting that on?”
You nod, unable to find the words, and hand it to him. He carefully fastens it around your neck, his fingers steady and sure, and when he’s done, you reach up to touch the pendant, feeling its cool metal against your skin.
“Perfect,” Fernando says, stepping back to admire it. “Just like you.”
You laugh softly, shaking your head. “You’re too kind.”
“No,” he replies, his voice firm but gentle. “Just honest.”
As the fire continues to crackle beside you, the night wrapping around you both like a blanket, you realize that this birthday, this moment, will be one you remember for the rest of your life. Not because of the party or the people, but because of the man standing beside you — the one who believed in you when no one else did, who gave you the push you needed to keep going.
And as you walk back towards the house, the pendant resting against your chest, you know that no matter what happens in the future, you’ll always have this — this connection, this bond, this family you’ve found in the most unexpected place.
***
The noise is deafening as you cross the finish line, but it’s the silence that follows in your mind that makes it real. The world blurs around you; the roar of the engine fades, the cheers from the grandstands become a distant echo. It’s just you and the knowledge that you’ve done it. The chequered flag waves in the distance, a confirmation that you’ve won the F2 championship.
In your rookie season.
The last lap plays on a loop in your mind: the battle with your teammate, the wheel-to-wheel tension that stretched until the final corner, the moment you finally saw a gap and took it. The entire year has been leading up to this, every race, every struggle, every doubt. And now, you’re here. A champion.
The car slows as you pull into the pit lane, your hands shaking on the steering wheel. The radio crackles with voices — your engineer shouting congratulations, the team cheering, but there’s only one voice you really want to hear.
“You did it,” Fernando comes through, calm but with a hint of emotion that he rarely shows. “I knew you could do it.”
A smile breaks across your face, one that you couldn’t suppress even if you tried. “We did it,” you correct him, because it’s true. You’ve always been a team, even when he wasn’t on the track with you.
As you roll into the Carlin garage, the world around you explodes into celebration. Mechanics, engineers, and team members swarm the car, cheering and clapping as they pull you out of the cockpit. You’re immediately wrapped in a dozen hugs, people shouting your name, lifting you off the ground in their excitement.
But even in the chaos, you’re searching for him. And when you finally spot Fernando standing just outside the crowd, his expression is one of pure pride. He doesn’t rush in to join the others, instead, he stays back, letting you have your moment. That’s Fernando, always understanding, always knowing exactly what you need.
You finally push through the throng of well-wishers and make your way over to him. For a moment, the two of you just look at each other, and in that look, there’s a thousand words unspoken.
“Not bad for a rookie,” he finally says, his smile widening.
You laugh, still breathless from the race. “Not bad at all.”
He pulls you into a hug, and this time, you don’t hold back. You cling to him, letting the emotion of the moment wash over you. “Thank you,” you whisper, and you know he understands. This victory is as much his as it is yours.
When you pull back, you see someone else approaching from the corner of your eye. It’s Toto Wolff, towering and imposing as always, but there’s a warmth in his expression that’s almost fatherly. Next to him, Williams Racing team principal Jost Capito, stands with a smile that’s equally as proud.
“Toto?” You ask, surprised. It’s not every day he shows up in the F2 paddock, let alone after a race.
He steps forward, offering his hand. “Congratulations,” he says, his voice steady. “That was an incredible race.”
You shake his hand, still trying to process the fact that he’s here. “Thank you,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady.
Jost steps forward, nodding in agreement. “You’ve had an outstanding season. You’ve shown everyone what you’re capable of.”
There’s something in their tone, something that makes your heart race with more than just post-race adrenaline. Fernando catches your eye, giving you a slight nod, as if to say, this is it.
Toto exchanges a look with Jost before continuing, “We’ve been following your progress closely, and we believe you’re ready for the next step.”
Your breath catches in your throat. The next step. It’s what every F2 driver dreams of, but it’s never guaranteed, not even with a championship under your belt. “The next step?” You echo, almost afraid to hope.
Jost steps in, his smile widening. “We want you to race for Williams in Formula 1 next season.”
For a moment, the world stops. You blink, trying to process the words, to make sure you heard him right. Formula 1. They want you to race in F1.
“Next season?” You manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.
Toto nods, his expression serious but encouraging. “Yes. We’ve been in discussions with Williams, and we believe you’re the perfect fit for their team. You’ve proven that you can handle the pressure, and now it’s time to see what you can do on the biggest stage.”
You feel like you’re floating, like this is a dream that you might wake up from at any moment. You turn to Fernando, searching his face for confirmation that this is real. He’s smiling, but there’s a look in his eyes that tells you he’s known about this for a while. He’s always known.
“You’ll be racing in F1,” Fernando says, his voice steady. “You deserve it.”
It’s then that the full weight of what’s happening hits you. F1. The pinnacle of motorsport. And not just racing in F1, but racing alongside the very best in the world. You’ll be on the grid with drivers you’ve looked up to your entire life. Drivers like Lewis Hamilton. And …
Your eyes widen as the realization dawns. Fernando is making his comeback next year. He’s going to be on that grid, too.
“I’ll be racing … with you,” you say, the words barely escaping your lips.
Fernando’s smile is knowing, almost amused. “Yes, you will.”
The thought is almost overwhelming. Not only will you be in F1, but you’ll be competing alongside Fernando, the man who has been your mentor, your guide, your biggest supporter. The man who helped you get to this very moment.
You shake your head, still trying to process it all. “I don’t know what to say.”
Toto places a hand on your shoulder, his grip reassuring. “You don’t need to say anything. Just be ready to show the world what you’re capable of. We’ll handle the rest.”
Jost nods in agreement. “We believe in you. You’ve already proven that you can handle anything that comes your way.”
You glance back at Fernando, and the pride in his eyes is unmistakable. This has been his goal all along — to get you to the top, to see you succeed where so many doubted you could. And now, here you are, about to step into the world of F1.
“I’ll be ready,” you say, your voice stronger now, filled with the determination that’s carried you this far.
Fernando nods, satisfied. “I know you will.”
As Toto and Jost step away to discuss the finer details with the Carlin team, you stand there with Fernando, the enormity of what just happened settling in.
“You knew this was coming, didn’t you?” You ask, giving him a sideways glance.
Fernando shrugs, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “I had a feeling. But it was always up to you to make it happen.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”
He grins. “And you’re an F1 driver now. Better get used to it.”
The two of you stand there for a moment longer, taking in the victory, the announcement, the future that’s unfolding right before your eyes. It’s been a long road, full of challenges and doubts, but you’ve made it. And now, you’re about to step onto the biggest stage in motorsport, with Fernando right there alongside you.
As you look out at the garage, the Carlin team still buzzing with excitement, you can’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude. For the team, for the journey, and most of all, for Fernando — the man who believed in you when no one else did, and who continues to believe in you now.
“Thank you, Fernando,” you say quietly, but with all the sincerity you can muster. “For everything.”
He simply nods, his expression softening. “You’ve earned it.”
And as you stand there, the future stretching out before you, one thing is certain: this is just the beginning.
***
The winter sun hangs low in the sky as you walk along the rocky path that leads to Fernando’s private track in northern Spain. The air is crisp, carrying the scent of pine trees and the distant murmur of the sea. It’s a world away from the chaos of the paddock, a place where the outside noise fades, leaving only the hum of your thoughts and the weight of what’s to come. The off-season is supposed to be a time to rest, to recharge, but this year, it’s different. There’s no time to lose — not with your first Formula 1 season looming on the horizon.
Fernando walks beside you, his stride as confident and unhurried as ever. His presence is steadying, a reminder that you’re not alone on this journey. He’s been here before, countless times, and now he’s passing on everything he knows to you. This winter isn’t just about physical training; it’s about mastering the mental side of the sport — the side that can make or break a career in F1.
He stops at the edge of the track, the silence between you stretching out as you both take in the view. The asphalt is cold and unyielding, winding through the landscape like a dark ribbon, a challenge waiting to be conquered.
“You know the driving part,” Fernando says, breaking the silence. His voice is calm, measured, but there’s an intensity to it that commands attention. “You’ve proven that you can handle the car, the speed, the competition. But F1 is more than just driving. It’s a mental game. It’s about being the predator, not the prey.”
You nod, knowing he’s right. The physical demands of F1 are immense, but the mental demands are even greater. The pressure, the mind games, the need to be perfect in a sport where perfection is almost impossible — it’s all part of what makes F1 the pinnacle of motorsport.
“Today, we start with the basics,” Fernando continues, his gaze fixed on the track. “How to be a track terror.”
A track terror. The words hang in the air, heavy with meaning. To be feared on the track, to have your competitors second-guessing themselves before they even line up on the grid — that’s what Fernando is talking about. It’s not just about being fast; it’s about being relentless, unyielding, the kind of driver who forces others into mistakes.
“You don’t have to be the fastest in every session,” Fernando explains, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. “You just have to make them think you are. Get in their heads. Make them question their own pace, their own decisions.”
He starts to walk along the edge of the track, and you follow, listening closely. “Every driver has a breaking point,” he says. “You need to learn how to find it. Sometimes it’s in their driving — how they react under pressure, how they handle wheel-to-wheel combat. Sometimes it’s off the track — in how they deal with the media, how they cope with setbacks. Your job is to figure out what that breaking point is and use it.”
You absorb his words, understanding that this is the difference between good drivers and great ones. It’s not just about talent; it’s about psychology, about knowing how to manipulate a situation to your advantage.
“And once you find that breaking point?” You ask, wanting to hear it from him.
Fernando stops and turns to face you, his eyes sharp, calculating. “You exploit it,” he says simply. “You push them until they crack. But you have to be smart about it. There’s a fine line between pushing them to the edge and pushing yourself over it.”
His words are blunt, but you know there’s truth in them. F1 isn’t just a sport, it’s a battle, a war of wills as much as it is a test of speed.
“Take the first corner,” Fernando says, pointing to the sharp turn at the end of the straight. “It’s where a lot of races are won or lost. You need to establish yourself early. Show them that you’re not afraid to fight for position, but also that you’re in control. That’s key — being aggressive, but controlled.”
You nod, envisioning the scenarios he’s describing. You’ve raced at high levels before, but F1 is different. The stakes are higher, the margins narrower. There’s no room for error, but there’s also no room for hesitation.
“How do you know when to cross the line?” You ask, thinking back to the times when Fernando has pushed the limits, often to the point where others questioned his tactics.
He gives a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You learn,” he says. “Sometimes by making mistakes. But the key is to learn from them quickly. You have to know when to back off and when to push harder. It’s about balance, about knowing your own limits as much as theirs.”
He pauses, his gaze locking with yours. “And sometimes, you have to cross the line. But when you do, you do it with intent, and you don’t get caught. You make sure it looks like a mistake, something that just happened in the heat of the moment. And you never apologize for it.”
There’s a chill in the air, but you barely notice it, your mind focused on every word. This is what you’ve needed, what you’ve been missing. The edge that will set you apart in a field of the best drivers in the world.
“What about mind games?” You ask, curious to know more about how to handle the psychological warfare that comes with F1.
Fernando chuckles, a sound that’s both amused and knowing. “Mind games are everything,” he says. “They start long before you even get in the car. It’s about how you carry yourself, how you interact with the other drivers, with the media. You have to control the narrative, make them think what you want them to think.”
He starts walking again, this time towards the small building at the edge of the track where the team usually sets up. “The media is a powerful tool,” he continues. “You can use them to your advantage, but you have to be careful. Give them just enough to create doubt in your competitors’ minds, but not enough to give anything away.”
You think back to the countless press conferences you’ve watched, where drivers like Fernando have used their words as weapons, creating stories that unsettle their rivals. It’s a game within a game, and you’re starting to see how deep it goes.
“Never let them see you sweat,” Fernando adds, his tone more serious now. “Even when things aren’t going your way, you have to project confidence. Make them think you have everything under control, even when you don’t. And when they stumble, when they show weakness, you pounce.”
The building looms ahead, the door slightly ajar. Fernando pushes it open, revealing a small, sparsely furnished room with a table, a few chairs, and a whiteboard covered in notes and diagrams. It’s a war room, a place where strategies are formed, where victories are planned.
Fernando gestures for you to sit, and you do, feeling the weight of what’s to come. He takes a seat across from you, his expression now all business.
“Let’s talk about racecraft,” he says, leaning forward. “You need to understand that F1 isn’t just about speed. It’s about strategy, about thinking two, three steps ahead of everyone else. You need to know when to attack and when to hold back, when to take risks and when to play it safe.”
He starts sketching out scenarios on the whiteboard, explaining different race strategies, how to read your competitors, how to manage your tires, your fuel, your energy. It’s a crash course in F1 tactics, and you absorb every detail, knowing that this knowledge could be the difference between winning and losing.
“You’ll have a team behind you,” Fernando says, his eyes never leaving the board as he continues to write. “But you’re the one in the car. You’re the one who has to make the decisions in real-time. Trust your instincts, but also trust your preparation. The more you know, the better equipped you’ll be to handle whatever comes your way.”
He turns back to you, his expression serious. “And remember, F1 is a long game. It’s not just about one race, or even one season. It’s about building a career, about consistently performing at a high level. You have to pace yourself, know when to push and when to hold back. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.”
You nod, the enormity of what he’s saying sinking in. This isn’t just about your rookie season; it’s about laying the foundation for a long and successful career. And with Fernando guiding you, you know you’re in the best possible hands.
The session goes on, the hours slipping away as you discuss everything from race strategies to media tactics, from how to handle pressure to how to deal with setbacks. Fernando doesn’t sugarcoat anything; he tells you the harsh realities of the sport, the challenges you’ll face, the sacrifices you’ll have to make. But he also gives you the tools to overcome them, to not just survive in F1, but to thrive.
By the time the sun starts to set, casting long shadows across the track, you feel a mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration. It’s been an intense day, but you know it’s exactly what you needed. Fernando has pushed you, challenged you, but he’s also given you the confidence to believe that you belong in this world, that you can succeed.
As you walk back towards the main house, the sky now a deep orange, Fernando falls into step beside you. There’s a comfortable silence between you, the kind that comes from a shared understanding, a mutual respect that has grown over time.
After a while, Fernando breaks the silence with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know,” he begins, his tone light but with a glint of mischief in his eyes, “I’ve been called many things in my career. Champion, legend … war criminal.”
You look at him, caught between a laugh and a raised eyebrow. “War criminal?”
He chuckles, shrugging casually. “Not literally, of course. But some of my tactics, let’s say, weren’t always appreciated by everyone. I was willing to do whatever it took to win — sometimes crossing lines that others wouldn’t dare touch.”
You smile, catching on to his meaning. “And you think I’m ready to follow in your footsteps?”
Fernando’s smirk widens. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t. F1 isn’t a game for the faint-hearted. It’s for those who aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty when it counts. Just remember … there’s no shame in doing what it takes to survive. And thrive.”
His words hang in the cool evening air, and as you both continue walking, you feel a sense of resolve settle within you. Fernando must notice it too because he gives you a sideways glance, the glint still in his eyes. “Just don’t forget who taught you all this when they start throwing accusations your way.”
***
The Bahrain night sky looms overhead, blanketing the circuit in a velvety darkness punctuated by the glaring lights of the paddock. The roar of engines rumbles through the air as teams buzz with last-minute preparations. Mechanics scramble, engineers analyze data, and drivers slip into their zones. The first race of the season carries a unique kind of tension, a palpable energy that’s almost electric. But amidst all the chaos, Fernando moves with calm confidence as he weaves through the pit lane, eyes scanning for one person.
He finds you standing by the Williams garage, helmet in hand, gaze fixed on the distant horizon as if trying to absorb the magnitude of the moment. It’s your first F1 race, and the weight of it all is evident in the slight furrow of your brow, the focused set of your jaw.
Fernando walks up to you, placing a hand on your shoulder, drawing you out of your thoughts. “Hey,” he says, his voice cutting through the noise like a sharp blade. “Nervous?”
You turn to face him, a mix of emotions swirling in your eyes — excitement, determination, and yes, a hint of nerves. “A little,” you admit. “It’s different from F2. Bigger.”
Fernando nods, understanding all too well. “It is bigger. The stakes are higher, the pressure’s heavier. But you’ve got this.”
You nod, though your grip on the helmet tightens. “I know. I just need to keep my head in the right place.”
Fernando’s eyes narrow, the glint of the night’s floodlights reflecting in them as he leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “Remember what we talked about in Spain. You’re not here to play nice. You’re here to win. You’re here to make them regret ever doubting you.”
A smile tugs at the corner of your lips as his words sink in. This is the Fernando you’ve come to know so well — the ruthless competitor who sees racing as a battlefield, where only the most cunning and unrelenting survive. He’s drilled that mentality into you, reminding you time and time again that the track is no place for mercy.
“You’re not just a driver,” he continues, his tone growing more intense. “You’re a track terror. Make them fear you. Take every opportunity, even if it means forcing them into a mistake. Be aggressive. Be relentless. And if they try to intimidate you-”
“I intimidate them back,” you finish for him, the determination in your voice now matching his.
Fernando’s lips curl into a smirk, clearly pleased. “Exactly. Make them question if they even belong out there with you.”
As he speaks, Nicholas Latifi, your teammate, walks by on his way to his side of the garage. His steps falter when he overhears the tail end of Fernando’s words.
“… If you see an opening, take it. Don’t give them a second to breathe. Push them out of their comfort zone, and when they’re scrambling, that’s when you strike. Hard.”
Latifi’s eyes widen in alarm as he processes what Fernando is saying. He hesitates, clearly debating whether he should approach or back away slowly. Ultimately, he chooses the latter, retreating with a hurried, nervous glance over his shoulder.
You notice Latifi’s reaction and can’t help but laugh. “I think you might’ve scared him off.”
Fernando chuckles, a low, almost devious sound. “Good. Less competition for you.” Then, with a more serious edge, he adds, “He’s not your concern. You’re here for the big players. And don’t forget, every race is an opportunity to show them what you’re made of. Especially the ones who think you don’t deserve to be here.”
You nod, the nerves from earlier replaced by a rising sense of purpose. Fernando’s words have a way of lighting a fire inside you, a fire that burns hotter with every passing second. The crowd noise, the hum of engines, the flashing lights — all of it fades away until there’s only the track and the promise of what lies ahead.
Fernando steps back, giving you space but keeping his gaze locked on yours. “Tonight, you’re going to prove that you’re not just another rookie. You’re a force to be reckoned with. And you’re going to do it with style.”
You smirk, the corners of your mouth curving upward as confidence surges through you. “With style?”
“Absolutely,” Fernando replies, his own smirk widening. “Remember, there’s a fine line between genius and insanity on the track. And you’re going to walk it like it’s a tightrope.”
You slip your helmet on, the visor clicking into place as Fernando’s words echo in your mind. The world outside may be chaotic, but inside your helmet, it’s a sanctuary — a place where you can focus, where every piece of advice, every lesson Fernando has drilled into you, comes together.
He watches you for a moment, pride evident in his eyes. He’s seen your growth, your transformation from a talented driver into something much more formidable. He knows you’re ready for this.
“Now go out there,” he says, voice clear and commanding, “and make them remember your name.”
With a final nod, you turn towards your car, the sleek Williams machine waiting for you. The pit crew is already in position, and the clock is ticking down. But before you step in, Fernando adds one last thing.
“Oh, and one more thing,” he says, catching your attention. You look back at him, and there’s a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Terrorize everyone out there … except me.”
You laugh, the sound muffled by your helmet, but the sentiment is clear. “No promises.”
Fernando grins, crossing his arms as he watches you settle into the cockpit. The familiar sounds of the car coming to life fill the air, and the anticipation builds. The lights above the pit lane begin their countdown, and you take a deep breath, centering yourself for what’s to come.
As you drive out onto the track for the formation lap, Fernando steps back, his eyes following your car as it weaves between the other machines, each one a potential target, each one a stepping stone towards the top. He knows you’re ready, knows that tonight is just the beginning of what promises to be an incredible journey.
He’s proud of you, not just as a driver, but as the competitor you’ve become under his guidance. And as you line up on the grid, the lights glowing red above, Fernando’s final words echo in your mind.
Make them remember your name.
The lights go out, and the race begins.
***
The Bahrain circuit is still buzzing with energy even after the race has ended. The floodlights cast a bright, artificial glow over the paddock as drivers, engineers, and media personnel move about, some celebrating, others reflecting on the night’s events. The humid night air is thick with the scent of burning rubber and engine exhaust, a familiar and oddly comforting smell to those who live and breathe motorsport.
Fernando stands in the media pen, his eyes fixed on you as you field questions from a group of eager reporters. He’s barely listening to the reporter in front of him, who’s rattling off questions about his own race. He finished just outside the points, but it doesn’t bother him much. Tonight, his focus isn’t on his own performance but on yours.
You’re animated, your eyes bright, still riding the adrenaline high from the race. You finished ninth — an impressive debut for any rookie, especially in a Williams. Fernando watches as you handle the questions with ease, a slight smile playing on his lips. The way you stand, the way you speak, there’s a confidence there that wasn’t present when he first met you. He sees in you a reflection of his younger self, and it fills him with a quiet pride.
“Fernando,” the reporter in front of him says, trying to regain his attention. “Can you tell us about your strategy today?”
Fernando barely hears the question, his attention still on you. You’re laughing at something a reporter just asked, and he catches a glimpse of that mischievous glint in your eyes — the same one he’s seen countless times in his own reflection. He can tell you’re about to say something memorable, and he doesn’t want to miss it.
“Fernando?” the reporter prompts again, sounding slightly annoyed now.
“Hmm?” Fernando finally acknowledges the reporter, but his gaze doesn’t leave you. “What was that?”
“Your strategy today — what was the thinking behind it?”
“Strategy? Oh, yes, the strategy,” Fernando replies absentmindedly, waving his hand dismissively. “You know, just the usual. Push when you can, hold back when you must.” His answers are automatic, but his mind is elsewhere.
The reporter blinks, clearly unimpressed with the vague response, but before he can ask a follow-up question, Fernando’s attention is fully captured by what you’re saying.
A journalist standing in front of you, wearing a press lanyard and holding a recorder close to your face, asks, “Can you walk us through that incredible overtake on Sebastian Vettel? It looked like you had no fear going up against a four-time world champion.”
You smile, a knowing look in your eyes, and then you glance over at Fernando.
“I knew he would hit the brakes,” you say, loud enough for him to hear. You pause for dramatic effect, and then with a wink in Fernando’s direction, you continue, “Because he has a wife and three kids waiting for him at home.”
The words hang in the air for a moment before the reporters around you burst into laughter. The reference to Fernando’s famous quip about Michael Schumacher years ago is unmistakable, and it’s clear that the media eats it up. But more importantly, Fernando hears it, and his chest swells with pride.
The reporter in front of Fernando raises an eyebrow, curious now about what’s just been said. “Looks like she’s learned a thing or two from you,” he comments.
Fernando finally turns to the reporter, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Yes, she has. More than she knows.”
He watches as you continue the interview, your demeanor composed, yet playful. The way you handle the press is impressive — calm, confident, but with just the right amount of charm to keep them on your side. You’re not just a racer; you’re a showman, someone who understands that Formula 1 is as much about performance off the track as it is on it.
Fernando catches snippets of your conversation, listening as you describe the overtake in more detail. “Seb’s a great driver, no doubt about it. But in that moment, I knew I had him. I could see it in his body language. He was playing it safe, so I took my chance.”
“And what was going through your mind when you made the move?” Another journalist asks.
You pause for a moment, considering the question. Then, with a smirk, you say, “I was thinking, ‘What would Fernando do?’ And then I went for it.”
Fernando chuckles to himself, shaking his head slightly. He can’t help but feel a surge of pride. Not because you’ve imitated him, but because you’ve made the decision to be bold, to take risks, and to trust your instincts. That’s what separates the good drivers from the great ones — the willingness to seize the moment, to act decisively.
You finish up your interview, the reporters gradually dispersing to chase down other drivers. Fernando finally gives his full attention to the reporter in front of him, who’s still trying to get something meaningful out of him.
“Fernando, about your race …” the reporter begins again.
But Fernando is already moving, stepping around the man with a polite but firm nod. “Excuse me,” he says, cutting the interview short. There’s someone far more important he needs to talk to right now.
He strides over to you, your helmet now tucked under your arm as you chat casually with one of the team engineers. You spot him approaching and flash him a smile.
“Hey,” you say as he reaches you. “Did you hear what I said?”
“I did,” Fernando replies, unable to keep the pride out of his voice. “You’ve got quite the sense of humor.”
“Learned from the best,” you quip, giving him a playful nudge.
Fernando laughs, shaking his head. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually use that line, but I’m glad you did. The media loves a good story, and you just gave them one.”
You shrug, your smile widening. “Figured I’d give them something to talk about. Plus, it’s not every day you get to pass a guy like Seb.”
“And you did it with style,” Fernando adds, his voice filled with admiration. “You handled yourself perfectly out there, both on track and with the press. You’re making your mark.”
The engineer standing next to you clears his throat, clearly not wanting to interrupt but feeling the need to acknowledge Fernando’s presence. “Great job out there today,” he says, offering a handshake.
“Thanks,” Fernando replies, shaking the man’s hand. “But today’s all about her,” he adds, nodding in your direction.
The engineer nods in agreement before excusing himself, leaving you and Fernando alone in the now quieter part of the paddock. The sounds of celebration and interviews still echo in the background, but here, in this moment, it feels like it’s just the two of you.
“You know,” Fernando says after a beat, “I’ve never been prouder.”
You look at him, surprised by the raw emotion in his voice. “Really?”
“Really,” he confirms. “Seeing you out there today … it reminded me why I fell in love with racing in the first place. The passion, the drive, the thrill of the fight. You have all of that, and more.”
Your smile softens, touched by his words. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“You did it because you’re a damn good driver,” Fernando corrects, though there’s a warmth in his tone. “But I’m glad I could be a part of your journey.”
You both stand there for a moment, the enormity of what you’ve achieved settling in. Ninth place in your first race is no small feat, especially in a car that everyone had written off as uncompetitive. But you’ve proven them wrong, and you’ve done it in a way that’s uniquely your own.
“Next time, though,” Fernando says, a teasing lilt in his voice, “let’s aim for top five.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “No pressure, right?”
“Never,” he replies with a grin. “Just a challenge.”
***
Fernando leans casually against the side of the Alpine motorhome, arms crossed, eyes scanning the paddock. The next season’s first race is in a few days, and the energy around the circuit is electric, buzzing with the anticipation of new beginnings. He’s just finished an interview, the usual media rounds, when he spots you approaching, your new Mercedes gear a stark contrast to the sea of blues and pinks around you.
“Ah, there you are,” Fernando greets with a grin as you draw closer. “I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”
You tilt your head slightly, curious. “Who?”
Fernando pushes off the motorhome, beckoning you to follow as he leads you around to the back, where a young reserve driver is checking his phone, leaning casually against the wall. The kid looks up as you approach, his expression polite, maybe a touch reserved, but there’s an unmistakable spark of intelligence in his eyes.
“Oscar,” Fernando calls out, “this is her.”
Oscar Piastri straightens up, tucking his phone into his pocket. “Nice to meet you,” he says, extending a hand with a shy but confident smile. He’s calm, almost too calm for someone his age, but there’s a warmth there, something genuine. You can’t help but notice how composed he is, how his eyes seem to study you without making you feel scrutinized.
You shake his hand, offering a cool smile in return. “Likewise. I’ve heard good things.”
Oscar chuckles softly, scratching the back of his head. “Hopefully, I can live up to them.”
The three of you chat for a while, exchanging pleasantries about the upcoming season, racing, the usual stuff. Oscar is polite, measured in his responses, but there’s a softness to him that you hadn’t expected. It’s like he’s quietly confident, but without the brashness that usually comes with it. Fernando watches the interaction closely, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he notes the way your demeanor shifts ever so slightly around Oscar — more guarded, maybe, but intrigued.
Eventually, Oscar glances at his watch and excuses himself, mentioning something about a debrief he needs to attend. You nod, maintaining your composed exterior, and watch him walk back towards the Alpine motorhome before turning to Fernando.
“Polite cat vibes,” you murmur almost to yourself, a hint of amusement in your voice. Fernando raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.
“What was that?” He asks, although there’s a knowing look in his eyes. He’s been around long enough to pick up on these things.
You roll your eyes playfully, but there’s a lightness in your expression that wasn’t there before. “I said, polite cat vibes. You know, like when a cat is super well-behaved, but you just know there’s something more going on behind those eyes?”
Fernando laughs, a genuine, hearty sound that makes a few heads turn in your direction. “So, you think Oscar is a cat?”
“Well, not literally,” you reply, grinning. “It’s just … he’s got this thing, you know? Like he’s really nice, but you can tell he’s got claws if he needs them. And he’s so … calm. I just want to pinch his cheeks and cuddle him.”
Fernando’s laugh turns into a full-blown chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re smitten, aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” you say, feigning nonchalance as you fold your arms across your chest. “But it’s just … he’s different. Not in a bad way, just-”
“Different,” Fernando finishes for you, nodding thoughtfully. “Yeah, I get it. But don’t let that cloud your judgment on track.”
You shoot him a look. “Please. I’m not a rookie, and besides, I’m at Mercedes now. I’ve got bigger things to focus on than cute cats.”
Fernando smiles, but there’s a serious undertone to his next words. “Just remember, this is Formula 1. There’s no room for distractions, no matter how polite or cute they might be.”
You nod, understanding the weight behind his words, but there’s still a twinkle in your eye as you glance back in the direction Oscar disappeared. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”
“Good,” Fernando replies, clapping you on the back. “Because I’m not going to let you slack off, not even for a second.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” you retort, smirking. There’s a comfortable silence that falls between the two of you, the kind that only comes from mutual respect and understanding.
But Fernando can’t resist one last jab. “Don’t go soft on him, okay? I’ve got my eye on you.”
You roll your eyes again but with a fond smile. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“Of course,” Fernando grins. “It’s part of my charm.”
You laugh, the sound bright and clear in the busy paddock, and Fernando can’t help but feel a swell of pride. You’ve come so far, and he’s been there every step of the way, watching you grow not just as a driver but as a person. There’s a part of him that’s protective, sure, but there’s also a part that’s thrilled to see you standing on your own two feet, ready to take on whatever comes your wa— even if it’s an Australian polite cat.
“Let’s get out of here,” Fernando says finally, leading the way back to the Mercedes motorhome. “We’ve got a race to win this weekend, and I don’t want any distractions.”
You follow him, but there’s a spring in your step that wasn’t there before, and Fernando notices. He doesn’t say anything, though, just smiles to himself. You’re going to be just fine, he thinks, more than fine.
As you walk together, side by side, you can’t help but glance back once more, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Maybe, just maybe, this season is going to be full of surprises. And Fernando? Well, he’s ready for whatever comes next, as long as you are too.
***
The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the vineyard where the ceremony is taking place. Rows of chairs are lined up neatly on the manicured lawn, all facing a simple yet elegant archway draped in white fabric and adorned with soft blush roses. The air is filled with the quiet murmur of guests settling in, the occasional laugh breaking through the serene atmosphere.
Fernando adjusts his tie, glancing around with a mixture of pride and disbelief. How did they get here? It seems like only yesterday he was meeting you for the first time, a determined young driver who refused to be underestimated. Now, here you are, standing at the altar, poised to marry the man you’ve chosen to spend your life with.
Fernando is seated in the front row, just to the left of the aisle, with Mark Webber by his side. The two exchange knowing smiles as the ceremony begins, each lost in their own thoughts. Mark has watched Oscar grow from a promising young talent into a man of integrity and strength, much like Fernando has done with you. There’s a quiet understanding between them, a mutual respect that goes beyond words.
As the officiant begins to speak, Fernando leans over slightly, catching Mark’s eye. “I guess this makes us in-laws,” he whispers, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Mark chuckles softly, nodding. “Seems like it. Didn’t see this coming back when we were racing, did we?”
“Not at all,” Fernando replies with a smile, glancing back at the altar where you and Oscar stand, hand-in-hand. “But I’m glad it did.”
The vows are simple, heartfelt, and deeply personal. Oscar goes first, his voice steady but filled with emotion.
“From the moment I met you,” Oscar begins, his eyes locked on yours, “I knew you were different. You challenged me, inspired me, and made me want to be a better person. In a world that often felt overwhelming, you were my calm, my constant. Today, I promise to stand by your side, through every victory and every defeat. I promise to support your dreams as if they were my own, to lift you up when you’re down, and to love you unconditionally, now and forever.”
There’s a brief pause, the weight of his words hanging in the air. You squeeze his hand, your heart swelling with the depth of his sincerity. When it’s your turn, you take a deep breath, steadying yourself.
“Oscar,” you begin, your voice clear and strong, “You were the unexpected surprise in my life, the calm in my storm. From the moment we met, I knew you were special. You’ve been my partner on and off the track, my biggest supporter, and my best friend. Today, I promise to cherish every moment we have together, to grow with you, and to always be there for you, no matter what. I promise to love you with all that I am, and all that I will ever be. You are my heart, my soul, and my everything.”
Fernando feels a lump in his throat as you finish. He’s never been one to get emotional, but today, sitting here, listening to you pour your heart out, he can’t help but feel a surge of pride and love. He remembers the teenage girl who had to fight for every opportunity, the young woman who never gave up, and now, the bride standing before him, ready to take on the next chapter of her life.
The officiant speaks again, guiding you and Oscar through the final steps of the ceremony. When it’s time for the rings, Mark reaches into his pocket, retrieving Oscar’s band with a small, proud smile. Fernando does the same for you, his hands steady as he hands over the ring you will soon place on Oscar’s finger.
“With this ring, I thee wed,” you both say, sliding the rings onto each other’s fingers. The moment is profound, sealing your commitment not just in words, but in action.
“You may kiss the bride,” the officiant finally announces, and there’s a collective sigh of happiness from the gathered crowd as Oscar leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s both tender and full of promise.
Applause erupts, and as you and Oscar turn to face your family and friends, hands still entwined, Fernando catches your eye. There’s something unspoken between you, a bond that goes beyond blood, beyond words. You smile at him, and he nods in return, his chest swelling with emotion.
The ceremony concludes, and guests begin to make their way to the reception area, where a beautifully decorated marquee awaits. The air is filled with laughter and the clinking of glasses as everyone mingles, basking in the joy of the occasion.
The second dance is a traditional one with your father. You sway gently in his arms as he whispers words of wisdom, of pride, and of love. The moment is touching, a reminder of the family that has always stood behind you, even when the road was hard.
When the song ends, you hug your father tightly, thanking him for everything. But as the music transitions into something new, you catch Fernando’s eye across the room. There’s a moment of hesitation, but then you make your way towards him, your heart pounding in your chest.
“Nando,” you say softly as you reach him, “would you join me for a dance?”
For a brief moment, Fernando is taken aback. He’s always seen you as a strong, independent force — someone who has always forged their own path. But in this moment, he realizes just how much you’ve come to mean to him, how deeply intertwined your lives have become.
“Are you sure?” He asks, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.
You nod, your eyes shining with emotion. “You’ve been like a father to me. I couldn’t imagine today without sharing this moment with you.”
Fernando swallows hard, nodding as he takes your hand. The two of you move to the center of the dance floor, the music soft and slow. As you begin to dance, there’s a sense of calm that settles over you both, a quiet understanding that needs no words.
“I’ve watched you grow,” Fernando says after a few moments, his voice low so only you can hear, “into one of the best drivers I’ve ever known, but more than that … into an incredible person. I’m so proud of you, more than I can ever say.”
Tears prick at your eyes, but you blink them back, smiling up at him. “Thank you. For everything. I wouldn’t be here without you.”
“You would’ve found your way,” he replies, his tone firm. “You always had it in you. I just gave you a little push.”
“A little?” You tease, and he laughs, the sound filled with warmth.
As the song comes to an end, Fernando pulls you into a tight hug, his hand resting protectively on the back of your head. “Remember, I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”
“I know,” you whisper, your voice choked with emotion. “And I’ll always be here for you too.”
***
The antiseptic scent of the hospital hits Fernando the moment he steps into the delivery wing, mingling with the distant beeps of monitors and the hushed whispers of medical staff. It’s a familiar environment, yet so foreign to him. He’s used to the adrenaline rush of the pit lane, the roar of engines, the calculated chaos of racing — but this, this is something entirely different. He’s been in countless high-pressure situations, but none have ever felt like this.
As he makes his way down the hallway, his heart beats just a little faster than usual, his mind racing with thoughts of you, of Oscar, and of the tiny new life that’s just come into the world. When he reaches the door of your room, he hesitates for the briefest of moments, his hand hovering over the door handle.
It’s not that he’s nervous — Fernando Alonso doesn’t get nervous — but there’s something about this moment that feels monumental, like the start of a new chapter in a book he didn’t even realize he was writing.
He pushes the door open slowly, stepping into the room with a soft smile. The room is bathed in a warm, gentle light, far removed from the harsh brightness of the hallway. It’s quiet, peaceful, with only the faint hum of machinery and the soft breaths of the newborn breaking the silence.
You’re lying in the bed, looking tired but radiant, with a tiny bundle cradled in your arms. Oscar is beside you, his hand resting protectively on your shoulder, his eyes filled with awe and love. When you see Fernando, your face lights up, and despite the exhaustion etched into your features, there’s a warmth in your smile that makes his heart swell.
“Fernando,” you say softly, your voice hoarse but filled with joy. “Come meet him.”
He steps closer, his eyes drawn to the small figure in your arms. The baby is tiny, impossibly so, wrapped in a soft blue blanket, with a tuft of dark hair peeking out. Fernando’s breath catches in his throat as he looks down at the baby, his heart pounding in a way that’s both unfamiliar and entirely overwhelming.
“He’s perfect,” Fernando murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.
Oscar grins, nodding in agreement. “We think so too.”
You shift slightly, holding the baby out toward Fernando. “Would you like to hold him?”
For a moment, Fernando hesitates. He’s held championship trophies, gripped the steering wheel at speeds that would make others blanch, but this? This is different. This is fragile, delicate, something that requires a gentleness he’s not sure he possesses. But when he sees the trust in your eyes, he nods, carefully taking the baby into his arms.
The weight is nothing — featherlight, almost — but it’s enough to make his hands tremble just the slightest bit. He cradles the baby close, his eyes wide as he studies the tiny features: the small nose, the delicate eyelids, the impossibly small fingers curled into little fists. The baby stirs slightly, his mouth opening in a silent yawn before settling back into a peaceful sleep.
“What’s his name?” Fernando asks, his voice thick with emotion.
You exchange a glance with Oscar before looking back at Fernando, your smile widening. “His name is Theodore,” you say softly, “Theodore Fernando Piastri.”
Fernando’s breath catches, his eyes snapping up to meet yours. For a moment, he’s speechless, his mind struggling to process what he’s just heard.
“Fernando?” He repeats, his voice barely audible.
You nod, your eyes shining with unshed tears. “We wanted to honor you. You’ve been like a father to me, and now … now you’re going to be a part of his life too. It just felt right.”
Fernando stares at you, his heart swelling with a mixture of pride, love, and something else — something deeper, something he’s never quite felt before. He looks down at Theodore, his namesake, and for the first time in a long while, he feels his eyes prick with tears.
“You … you didn’t have to do that,” he says, his voice choked with emotion.
“But we wanted to,” Oscar says, his voice firm but kind. “You’ve done so much for us, for Y/N. It’s our way of saying thank you.”
Fernando swallows hard, nodding as he blinks back the tears threatening to spill over. He’s always prided himself on his control, on his ability to keep his emotions in check, but this — this is something else entirely. This is a depth of feeling he wasn’t prepared for.
“Thank you,” he finally says, his voice thick. “It means … it means more to me than you can ever know.”
He looks back down at Theodore, his heart full to bursting. The baby stirs again, his tiny fingers twitching, and Fernando smiles, the tears finally spilling over as he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
“Grandpa Nando,” you say suddenly, your voice filled with affection. “That’s what we’re going to call you. How do you feel about that?”
Fernando lets out a laugh, the sound watery and full of joy. “I think I can get used to that,” he says, his voice trembling with emotion. “Grandpa Nando. I like it.”
You smile at him, your eyes soft with affection. “I’m glad. You’ve been a father figure to me, and now … now you get to be a grandfather to him.”
The room falls into a comfortable silence, the weight of the moment settling over all of you. Fernando can’t stop staring at Theodore, can’t stop marveling at the tiny life in his arms. He’s held many titles in his life — champion, driver, mentor — but this, this feels different. This feels like the most important role he’s ever played.
As he stands there, cradling the tiny life in his arms, he feels a sense of peace settle over him. This is where he’s meant to be, here with you, with Oscar, with Theodore. He’s not just a mentor anymore; he’s family. And that, more than anything, is the greatest victory he’s ever achieved.
Finally, after what feels like both an eternity and no time at all, Fernando carefully hands Theodore back to you, his heart heavy with emotion. You take your son into your arms, holding him close as you smile up at Fernando, your eyes filled with gratitude.
“Thank you,” you say softly. “For everything. For being there for me, for guiding me, for … for being a part of our lives.”
Fernando shakes his head, a small, tearful smile on his lips. “No, thank you. You’ve given me more than I ever could have imagined. You — you and Oscar, and now Theodore — you’re my family. And there’s nothing more important to me than that.”
You reach out, taking his hand in yours, and for a moment, the two of you just stand there, connected by something deeper than words, deeper than racing, deeper than anything Fernando has ever known.
This is what it means to be family, he realizes. This is what it means to love, to care, to be there for each other, no matter what. And as he stands there, his heart full to bursting, he knows that this, more than any championship, more than any victory on the track, is what truly matters.
This is his greatest achievement.
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#fernando alonso imagine#fernando alonso x reader#fernando alonso fic#fernando alonso fluff#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri fic#oscar piastri fluff#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 x y/n#f1 drabble#f1 fandom#f1blr#f1 x female reader#fernando alonso fanfic#oscar piastri fanfic#fernando alonso x you#oscar piastri x you#fernando alonso#oscar piastri
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Through The Years : ̗̀➛ Lewis Hamilton
summary: you've been with lewis since day one, and you've got the instagram posts still saved to show just how much you guys have been through over the years
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liked ynusername, mercedesamgf1 and 2,419,593 others
lewishamilton: WORLD CHAMPION BABY 🏆🏎️
291,492 comments
username1: always knew you were destined for greatness
username2: congrats champ 🏆
ynusername: pretty cool to say I’m not dating a world champ 💕
lewishamilton: @/ynusername you’re welcome 😂
username3: IM SO PROUD OF YOU LEWIS!!
nicorosberg: I’ll get you next year 😂
kimimatiasraikkonen: amazing season lewis, congratulations 👏🏻
username4: my world champ 🌍🏆
username5: we always knew that you’d get there…first of many 🫶🏻
jensonbutton: nice to see the trophy coming back to british seas 🎉
username6: cannot wait for you to be world champion for the next twenty thousand seasons 🥺
aussiegrit: amazing season, great racing with you this year!!
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liked by lewishamilton, nicorosberg and 992,138 others
ynusername: apparently i'm a mercedes girl now, 2012 season incoming and i'm here for it, wishing you all the luck in the world my love
32,103 comments
username7: five years on and I’m still so thankful that lewis has you in his corner yn ❤️
jensonbutton: mercedes is the best team anyway 💙🏎️
username8: it’s taken years but she’s finally convinced 😂
username9: if you ever change your mind I’ll come and be a mercedes girl instead
lewishamilton: thank you for always being my biggest fan my love 💞
ynusername: @/lewishamilton always on your side 😘
username10: another world title pending…
username11: lewis doesn’t need luck, the title is his yn!!
nicorosberg: still can’t believe you’re not wearing my shirt around the paddock 🙄
ynusername: @/nicorosberg last time I checked I wasn’t dating you 🤷🏻♀️
username12: this is the level of girlfriend I aspire to be
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liked by charles_leclerc, danielricciardo and 1,982,503 others
lewishamilton: yn said we weren't allowed to have children yet so i went and got the next best thing, introducing roscoe 🐶❤️
148,580 comments
username13: omg roscoe is just the cutest 😭😭
ynusername: I already deal with a child every day living with you 😂😂
lewishamilton: @/ynusername stop exposing me like this!!
schecoperez: can’t wait to meet roscoe at the paddock soon!
username14: proudest dog dad ever!
username15: can I also be adopted by lewis and yn like roscoe please???
aussiegrit: how much are you paying poor yn to dogsit during race weekends 🤔
lewishamilton: @/aussiegrit she’s paid in love and affection don’t you worry 😂
username16: YET…there’s hope for the future still!!
valtteribottas: how have you adopted a dog and only just told me now? 😡
username17: roscoe is already my best friend and no one else’s
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liked by maxverstappen1, valtteribottas and 3,491,508 others
lewishamilton: still just as sweet to win all these years on, thank you mercedes fans for your continued support
104,592 comments
username18: true legend of formula 1 🤩
valtteribottas: congratulations, so proud to be your teammate 🏎️
username19: a decade on and still your number one fan!!
maxverstappen1: let someone else have a win for one will you? 😂
ynusername: and I’m still just as proud to see you on the podium as I was all those years ago 💕💕
username20: it’s unfair how talented one man can be 😭
username21: just tell us your secrets pls 😂
username22: all the other drivers wishing that they could be as talented as you!!
kimimatiasraikkonen: couldn’t think of a better guy to be p2 behind ☺️
danielricciardo: can you just retire already and leave us alone??
lewishamilton: @/danielricciardo: you’re stuck with me a little while longer yet
username23: no one else will ever compare to you…
hulkhulkenberg: teach me how to overtake like you 🙏🏻
username24: I’m not prepared for the day we experience f1 without this man 😭
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liked by landonorris, lewishamilton and 859,182 others
ynusername: oh yeah...did i mention that i have a husband now?? 🥺
47,620 comments
username25: my two favourite people in the world are married…I can’t cope 😭
danielricciardo: congratulations, couldn’t be happier for the two of you 🥂
valtteribottas: we had the best time celebrating you guys ❤️
username26: how did they manage to get married and keep it an entire secret from the world???
username27: I want to see all the photos asap
landonorris: okay and my invite was where exactly??
ynusername: @/landonorris whoops must’ve got lost in the post somewhere 🤷🏻♀️
username28: the ultimate boyfriend material just became ultimate husband material
charles_leclerc: couldn’t have happened to two nicer people 🫶🏻
username29: my heart just skipped a beat with pure happiness for this 🥺
lewishamilton: have I mentioned how proud I am to be your husband? 💞
ynusername: @/lewishamilton I bet not as proud as I am to be your wife!
username30: why do I feel like I’ve been betrayed by not being told this news sooner??
georgerussell63: fyi best wedding I’ve ever been too!!
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liked by maxverstappen1, georgerussell63 and 2,492,608 others
lewishamilton: our greatest blessing is yet to come, yn and i are so happy to share that we are expecting our very own little one just before christmas...i could not be any happier as we start this new chapter ❤️❤️❤️
149,528 comments
landonorris: ah I’m so happy for you two!!
username31: omg this is just the best news ever!!
username32: my two faves are having a baby 🤯
schecoperez: I’ll make sure to pass all my tips onto you 😂
lewishamilton: @/schecoperez I’ll be needing all of them
username33: I’ve never been happier then I am right now 😭
ynusername: I can’t wait for this next adventure with you 💕
lewishamilton: @/ynusername no one else I’d rather do this with!!
charles_leclerc: cannot wait to meet your little one at the paddock soon!
jensonbutton: being a parent is the best feeling in the world ❤️
username34: I’ve waited so long to see this post and now it’s finally happening 🎉
username35: nobody speak to me for the next nine months
valtteribottas: uncle duties pending…
username36: they’re going to be the best parents I can already tell
carlossainz55: I know how much this means to you two…congratulations!
username37: THIS IS EVERYTHING 🥺
nicorosberg: simply couldn’t be happier, the biggest congratulations 👏🏻
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liked by carmenmmundt, alexandrasaintmleux and 729,501 others
ynusername: the best daddy i could ever dream of our little girl having, on cloud nine right now ⛅️
33,495 comments
lewishamilton: thank you for giving me the greatest gift ever 💞💞
username38: dad lewis is just something else 😭
carmenmmundt: I can’t wait for all the cuddles asap!!!!
ynusername: @/carmenmmundt I cannot wait to introduce you as soon as were at a race 😭
username39: my heart can’t cope with how adorable these photos are
georgerussell63: well these are just a little bit cute eh??
username40: thank you yn for blessing my timeline like this
username41: it’s not fair how one baby can be so cute 🤩
landonorris: this kid is too cute to be lewis’ surely 😂😂
username42: you can just tell she’s already got lewis wrapped right around her finger 😂
charles_leclerc: stop rubbing it in how cute your daughter is 😂
username43: ultimate daddy’s girl right here 🥺🥺
sebastianvettel: these photos are adorable yn, so happy for you guys!
˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*
liked by ynusername, charles_leclerc and 1,492,043 others
lewishamilton: everything in life i do for these guys, everything i've ever wanted and more
42,291 comments
˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*
˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗
#f1#f1 imagine#formula 1#lewis hamilton#lewis hamilton imagine#formula 1 x reader#lewis hamilton smau#f1 x reader#formula 1 imagine#f1 fanfic#f1 reaction#formula 1 x you#formula 1 fanfic#lewis hamilton x you#lewis hamilton x reader#formula 1 smau#formula one x you#formula 1 social media#formula one x reader#formula one imagine#formula 1 fic#formula one#f1 smau#f1 fluff#f1 drabble#f1 x you
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ménage à trois - pierre gasly & kika gomes
pairing: pierre gasly x kika gomes x fem!engineer
genre: smau
faceclaim(s): madison beer, pinterest girls
f1gossip just posted
liked by user4, user10 and 130,000 others
Trouble in paradise for our favourite Frenchman?🚗💨Spotted after the Brazilian GP getting cosy with a mystery brunette who is not his girlfriend 👀 Sources say the two were all over each other in the club and left together later that night
user1: I feel so bad for Kika, she was there supporting him! 💔
user2: Messy, messy, messy. I need to see how he explains this 👀
user3: I can’t believe he’d do this while she’s right there! She deserves better
user4: Can't believe he'd cheat on a baddie like Kika
user5: Someone find out who she is, we need answers ASAP!
->user6: maybe it's just me but it kind of looks like yn ln!
user5: his engineer? nurse she's out again
twitter
yourusername just posted!
liked by pierregasly, fransisca.cgomes, alpinef1team and 93,547 others
Te amo Brasil! So proud of Pierre and our first podium together! 🏆 Here’s to many more 🫶✨
pierregasly: Merci, Yn!! Best engineer around 👏🏆 I couldn’t have done it without you!
->yourusername: all you mon ami, can't wait to do it again
->user45: are we all seeing this right now? kika get behind me
user12: You’re seriously posting this after the rumours??
user 20: She really has no shame...posting kika as well like she didn't get with her man
francisca.cgomes: Proud of you both!! Well deserved
->yourusername: thank you my love
->user13: this is insane HELLO? not her acting like kika's bsf when she hooked up with pierre
user37: This is messy but I kinda live for it 😳
user17: I'm so disappointed in yn for this! She was such an icon for us aspiring girls in motorsports and then she does this
user2: Imagine being Kika and seeing this post after the gossip 😭
user5: Girl… you know we all caught you on f1gossip, right? 😬
user29: Homewrecker
messages
fransisca.cgomes posted a story!
[image 1: ☺️ ] [image 2: gorgeous @yourusername]
yourusername replied: te amooo kiks missing you both so much
->francisca.cgomes: we miss you more angel
yourusername posted a story!
[image1: cute date kinda nervous] [image2: ❤️]
Fanbehaviour pod just uploaded:
Yn Ln on Working in F1, Engineering and her relationship with Pierre Gasly and Kika Gomes
twitter
pierregasly just posted!
liked by yourusername, francisca.cgomes, charlesleclerc and 530,987 others
guess the rumours are true...just not in the way you thought they're both my girls
yourusername: love youuu
->pierregasly: my smart girl je t'aime
francisca.cgomes: love you and our girl so much
->pierregasly: And I’m the luckiest to have you both. ❤️👑 Mon coeur et mon amour
charlesleclerc: mate how did you end up with two girls out of your league
->pierregasly: obviously my charm and good lucks
->yourusername: nah it was the tripod😋
->francisca,cgomes: agreed
user20: THROUPLE HARD LAUNCH. I’m screaming, they really did that!
user23: Wait, I love this for them?
user19: Kika the ultimate wag
user 35: I didn’t expect this but… I support it. As long as you’re all happy!
francsica.cgomes just posted!
liked by pierregasly, yourusername, alexandrasaintmleux and 123,746 others
the ultimate wag
yourusername: te amo lindaaa🤤
->francisca.cgomes: lindinha🥰
pierregasly: my girls
->francisca.cgomes: forever yours meu amor
alexandrasaintmleux: the cutest couple!
user42: obsessed with this hard launch
user35: this is so wholesome 😭
user93: I did not expect this season to give me my new favourite relationship, but here we are
user16: what a plot twist but i stan this power trio
user67: How is it possible for one couple to be THIS perfect?
user48: sleeping on the motorway tonight when is it my turn😫
yourusername just posted!
liked by pierregasly, francisca.cgomes, yourbsf and 59,870 others
Three’s a crowd? Only if you’re not invited. 😉❤️
pierregasly: love you!! even if i can't keep my hands off you ever
->yourusername: i'd go through it again to have you and kiks💗
francisca,cgomes: that's my wifey🤭
->yourusername: put a ring on it baby💋
yourbsf: Finally i couldn't go much longer without fighting someone on your behalf
->yourusername: i adore you
user89: Now THIS is what we call a power move
user76: f1gossip found dead in a ditch
#abby's writing#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 smau#poly f1 fic#poly f1#pierre gasly x reader#pierre gasly#pg10#kika gomes#kika gomes x reader#pierre x kika x reader
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Meet and greet 📫⚽️ pt.1
Alexia Putellas x Reader
warning : fluffy 💭💗
Summary :
A simple meet-and-greet turns into an unexpected connection when you meet your football idol, Alexia Putellas.
You stood in the queue, heart racing as the line moved slowly forward. The meet-and-greet with the Barcelona women’s team had been on your calendar for weeks now, but no amount of preparation could have readied you for this moment. Ahead of you, one by one, people chatted, posed for photos, and got autographs from the players. But there was only one person you truly cared about meeting today: Alexia Putellas.
From the first time you saw her play, something about her had captivated you. It wasn’t just her skill on the ball, or her leadership on the field. It was the way she seemed to carry herself with confidence and humility at the same time. She was everything you aspired to be.
The line inched forward, and you could now see her clearly, sitting at the table, chatting with the fans in front of you. Your palms felt clammy, and you wiped them on your jeans, trying to keep your cool. You weren’t sure if it was from the anticipation or the fact that your heart had been pounding in your chest since you arrived.
Finally, it was your turn. You took a deep breath and stepped forward.
“Hola,” Alexia said, smiling up at you with those kind, warm eyes you’d seen countless times on TV. She had that natural confidence that made you feel both in awe and, somehow, comfortable at the same time. “What’s your name?”
You stammered, unable to stop the nerves creeping into your voice.
She nodded and reached for the poster you had brought with you, ready to sign it. "Nice to meet you. Have you been a fan for long?"
You laughed nervously. “Yeah, for a while now. Since you started playing with Barça, actually.”
Alexia paused, looking up from the poster, clearly impressed. “Really? That’s amazing. You’ve been here through the highs and lows, then.”
You nodded, the nerves starting to ease as you found yourself in an actual conversation with her. “It’s been incredible watching the team grow over the years. Especially you, you’ve been such an inspiration.”
Alexia’s eyes softened at your words. “That means a lot. Thank you.” She paused for a second, then added, “It’s fans like you who make all the hard work worth it.”
You felt a flutter in your chest at her sincerity. It wasn’t just a generic response, it felt genuine. She finished signing your poster and handed it back to you, but instead of moving on to the next fan, she tilted her head slightly, studying you for a moment.
“Have I seen you at games before?” she asked, her tone thoughtful. “You seem familiar.”
Your breath caught in your throat. “Uh, yeah, I’ve been to a few matches this season.”
She smiled, a bit brighter now, and it felt like she had somehow remembered you. It was impossible, right? There were thousands of fans at every game, and yet…
“That’s great,” she said, her voice warmer now, more personal. “I always try to spot familiar faces in the crowd.”
You couldn’t believe what was happening. Was she saying she had noticed you?
Before you could respond, one of the event staff stepped in, reminding you that the meet-and-greet needed to keep moving. But Alexia didn’t seem in a rush. She glanced over at them, nodded, and then looked back at you with a small smile.
“Hey,” she said, her voice a little quieter now, just for you. “Thank you for your support. I mean it.”
You swallowed, your heart racing again. “Of course. You’re… incredible.”
Alexia chuckled softly, and then, in a move that left you completely stunned, she reached out and placed her hand on your arm for a brief moment, a small gesture, but it sent a wave of warmth through you. “I hope I’ll see you at more games,” she said, her eyes lingering on yours just a little longer than they needed to.
You nodded, speechless again. “I’ll definitely be there.”
She smiled, a real, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat. As you were getting up, Alexia stopped you in your tracks. She hesitated for a moment. “Actually… do you mind if I ask something?” Her tone was casual, but there was something curious in her eyes.
“Of course,” you said, barely containing your nerves.
“Would it be okay if I got your number?” she asked, catching you completely off guard. “I know it’s not the usual thing at these events, but… I’d love to chat sometime, outside of all the noise.”
Your heart nearly stopped. Alexia Putellas was asking for your number? You blinked, trying to make sure you weren’t dreaming. “Yeah, sure! I mean… yes, I’d love that.”
Alexia pulled out her phone and handed it to you, and your fingers trembled slightly as you typed your number in. “Here you go,” you said, handing it back, your face flushed with disbelief. She looked at the screen, gave a small nod, and flashed you a smile that made your heart flutter. “Great. I’ll text you soon, and maybe we can grab a coffee or something?”
“Yeah, that sounds perfect,” you replied, somehow managing to keep your voice steady.
You walked away in a daze, the signed poster clutched in your hand like it was a lifeline. As you stood off to the side, watching the rest of the event, you couldn’t stop replaying the conversation in your head.
As you were about to leave, Alexia caught your eye from across the room. For a brief second, your gazes locked, and she gave you a small, knowing smile before returning to the fans still waiting in line. Your heart raced as you walked out of the meet-and-greet. That smile.
Later that evening, as you sat on your bed staring at the poster she had signed, your phone buzzed. You opened it to see an unfamiliar number with a message that read:
Hi (Y/N), it’s Alexia. I hope this is the right number. I really enjoyed meeting you today. Would you like to grab coffee sometime? No pressure, just thought it might be nice to chat without the crowd :) – Alexia
You blinked, your heart leaping into your throat as you read the message again, just to make sure it was real.
Alexia Putellas had just asked you out for coffee.
You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, and then typed out a reply.
I’d love that.
pt.2 ; pt.3
#barca x reader#woso x reader#barca femeni#barca femini x reader#fc barcelona#alexia putellas x y/n#alexia putellas x reader#alexia x reader#alexia putellas#fc barca
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🪦Pick a Picture: 🩻🦇Your mystical beauty🦇🩻
•Pile 1 •Pile 2 •Pile 3
🔮Hi guys! I love Halloween and i wish you all a happy and spooky time this season🔮
❗️This is a collective reading, take what resonates and leave the rest❗️
✨️Paid Services ✨️ (Natal charts and tarot readings) Open!
⚰️If you like my work you can support me through Ko-fi. Thank you!⚰️
🦇Masterlist🦇
🔮Pile 1: The Hanged man, 3 of cups and queen of Wands.
Hi pile 1! You have fairy energy for sure. Your mysticism and uniqueness make you stand out from the crowd, and your innovative ideas are a reflection of your innate creativity. You likely possess several artistic talents, especially in the realm of design, which could open many doors for you if you decide to put them into practice. The way you see the world is unique, and that translates into your work.
Additionally, you seem to have a special connection with nature and animals. You may feel a deep affinity for them, and receive messages or signals through their presence. This particular group has remarkable psychic sensitivity, allowing them to perceive things that others cannot. Your intuition is strong, and that helps you understand the world in a deeper, more meaningful way. Your beauty is not only reflected in your appearance, but also in your way of being and how you interact with others. There is no denying that you possess an enchanting and pure beauty, which is truly captivating pile 1!
🔮Song:
🌌Pile 2: The Moon, Queen of Cups and 6 of Swords.
Hi pile 2! You have Siren energy. You have a fascinating personality and an air of mystery surrounding you, which can make some people feel a little intimidated by the intensity of your presence. Still, your ability to connect with people is remarkable; you seem to know exactly how to approach them and make them feel comfortable, which is a gift that can transform not only your life, but also the lives of those around you. There is an almost magical component to your being that could spark your interest in the esoteric, such as witchcraft or similar practices. You may have a natural inclination towards these areas, which would allow you to explore and develop skills that others might consider unusual. This interest could open doors to new experiences and knowledge, taking you on a journey of self-discovery that would enrich your life in unexpected ways.
Your uniqueness is what truly sets you apart; you know how to win the hearts of those around you with that very special energy that you emanate. It's as if your essence has a magnetism that attracts people, making them feel intrigued and captivated at the same time.
🌌Song:
🩻Pile 3: Queen of Wands, The Emperor and 6 of Wands.
Hi pile 3! You have Goddess energy. You have a brilliant mind and a free spirit that sets you apart from the rest. You likely have great aspirations and are determined to achieve them, regardless of the opinions of those around you. That very autonomous energy that you radiate not only attracts people to you, but also arouses admiration in many. Some may even feel a little envious of the way you present yourself to the world. Your ability to dream big and your courage to show it are qualities that drive you towards success. You don't stop at obstacles, and your determination is something that really stands out. Plus, you have a natural charisma that allows you to connect with others, regardless of their background or personality. That ability to relate to people is a gift that opens many doors for you and helps you build meaningful relationships.
Your authenticity and your way of being make those around you feel attracted to you. You shine not only for your achievements, but also for the way you face life.
🩻Song:
🔮🦇Thanks for reading and tell me if it resonated🦇🔮
#Spotify#astrology placements#zodiac#astro community#astrology#astro blog#astro notes#astro news#astro observations#tarot reading#tarot cards#tarot and astrology#tarot witch#tarot spread#tarotblr#tarot tumblr#tarot#pick a picture#pick a pile#pick a card#pick an image#pac readings#pac tarot#paid tarot readings#paid services#tarot tips#pic a card reading#pick one#monster high#draculaura
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Comfort Person | LN4
Pairing: Lando Norris x reader (she/her)
Author's note: I'm trying something a little bit different with shorter form fics, so please send through any requests or feedback. These one shots will likely not have a second part unless it really speaks to me to continue with it. Thank you!
Masterlist
Attending the McLaren gala marked a significant step forward in their relationship. For a whole year, they had carefully cultivated their love away from the prying eyes of the public, choosing to keep their affection shielded from the spotlight. Their social media presence, though scant, hinted at a deeper connection, evident through the occasional birthday mentions and celebratory nods to his triumphs on the racetrack.
But this gala was different. It was a statement, a declaration of their commitment, and a subtle unveiling of their love to the world. While their relationship had been an open secret among close friends and those within the inner circle of the Formula 1 world, this event would bring it to a broader audience.
For her, agreeing to attend the gala was both exciting and nerve-wracking. Stepping into the glamorous world of Formula 1, filled with its high-profile personalities and dazzling events, was a departure from her usual realm. She had only dipped her toes into this world on three occasions, each time experiencing the thrill of the races in Monaco, Belgium, and Silverstone. Yet, despite her limited exposure to the paddock, she found herself drawn to the adrenaline-fueled atmosphere and the magnetic pull of his passion for the sport.
Her demanding career imposed limitations on her ability to accompany him to every race and event, forcing her to carefully select which ones she could attend. Despite the constraints of her professional obligations, she was determined to be there for him in whatever capacity she could manage.
For him, her unwavering support transcended physical presence. Knowing that she would wake up in the early hours of the morning or stay up late into the night to watch his races brought him immense comfort and strength. Her dedication, even from afar, served as a source of motivation during the most gruelling moments on the track.
In the midst of the frenetic pace of the Formula 1 season, her steadfast encouragement provided him with a sense of grounding and reassurance. Whether she was cheering him on from the stands or sending him words of encouragement through late-night texts, her presence loomed large in his heart and mind.
Their relationship was built on a foundation of understanding and compromise, with each of them making sacrifices to support the other's dreams and aspirations. While her absence at certain events weighed heavily on her, she took solace in the knowledge that her love and support transcended geographical boundaries.
The day was a canvas of intimacy, each moment painted with tenderness and shared anticipation. As they lingered in her apartment, the world outside faded into insignificance, leaving only the two of them enveloped in a cocoon of affection.
Showering together was a dance of intimacy, the warm water cascading over their bodies like a gentle caress. He tenderly washed her hair, his fingers massaging her scalp with care and devotion. In that shared moment of vulnerability, their connection deepened, each touch speaking volumes of their love for one another.
As she dried her hair, she watched him with a soft smile as he meticulously shaved away the stray stubble, his concentration mirrored in the steady strokes of his razor. Even the simplest of tasks became moments to be savoured in each other's presence, the ordinary transformed into something extraordinary by the power of their love.
For him, the mundane rituals of getting ready took on new significance with her by his side. Every glance exchanged, every shared laugh, was a reminder of the profound joy he felt in having her as his partner. Her presence infused even the simplest moments with an electric energy, sparking excitement in his heart and a smile on his lips.
As he stood poised with the razor in hand, ready to rid himself of the faint traces of stubble that adorned his face, she intervened, her voice soft but determined.
“No, leave it. It looks hot, my love,” she said, her gaze lingering on him with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. He paused, caught off guard by her unexpected request.
“But I thought you hated facial hair,” he replied, a hint of confusion tingling his words. A playful smile curved her lips as she stepped closer, her fingers tracing the outline of his jaw.
“I've grown to love it because it's on you,” she confessed, her eyes sparkling with affection. He couldn't help but chuckle at her response, his heart swelling with warmth at her words.
“You're special, you know that,” he murmured, his voice laced with genuine admiration.
“Uh, huh. That's why you keep me around,” A mischievous glint danced in her eyes as she teased him. He pulled her into his arms, unable to resist the urge to shower her with kisses.
Lando couldn't help but chuckle as he left her in the bathroom to put the finishing touches on her makeup. With a playful grin, he made his way to the kitchen to retrieve some snacks before the event.
After a few minutes, he heard the soft tapping of her heels against the hardwood floors, signalling her emergence from the bedroom. He turned, almost instinctively, his curiosity piqued by the sound of her approach.
His breath caught in his throat as she sauntered past him, the fabric of her dark orange dress flowing around her like molten lava, casting a mesmerising glow in the dim light of the apartment. She looked radiant, her beauty captivating him in a way that never failed to leave him breathless.
As she disappeared into the kitchen, he couldn't tear his gaze away, his jaw dropping slightly in awe. She was stunning, more breathtaking than he had ever seen her before.
When she finally turned to face him, their eyes locked in an unspoken exchange of admiration and affection. In that moment, words seemed unnecessary as the intensity of their connection spoke volumes, filling the space between them with an electric energy that crackled with anticipation.
“Are you just going to sit there and gawk at me?” She asked, her tone light but teasing.
“Yes,” he replied without missing a beat, his gaze lingering on her with unapologetic admiration. A mock scowl crossed her features as she shook her head, a hint of laughter dancing in her eyes.
“Well, stop it. You look stupid. Go put on your suit before we're late,” she instructed, her voice tinged with playful admonishment.
After dutifully adhering to her request and donning his suit, Lando returned to the kitchen to find her engrossed in replying to a few messages. With a tender smile, he approached her from behind, his footsteps silent against the floor.
Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pressed a gentle kiss to her neck, the warmth of his lips sending a shiver down her spine. She leaned back into his embrace, a contented sigh escaping her lips as she tilted her head to the side, allowing him better access.
In that moment, the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them cocooned in a bubble of affection. His touch was a soothing balm against the chaos of the day, grounding her in the present and reminding her of the love they shared. As he lingered against her, his arms holding her close, she felt a sense of peace wash over her. In his embrace, she found solace and reassurance
“I can't wait to do this with you for the rest of my life,” Lando whispered, his voice filled with sincerity as he gazed into her eyes. A soft smile graced her lips as she met his gaze, her heart swelling with love for him.
“Me too,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper but resounding with a depth of emotion that echoed his own.
In that fleeting moment, the weight of their words hung in the air, binding them together in a promise of forever. It was a declaration of their love, a pledge to stand by each other through every twist and turn that life may bring.
#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#f1 imagine#formula 1#mclaren#mclaren f1#lando norris#lando norris fanfic#lando norris fic#lando norris smut#lando norris imagine#formula one#mclaren racing#lando norris x oc#lando norris x reader#f1 driver x reader#f1 x reader#ln4 x reader#lando x you#lando norris x you#lando norris fluff#lando x reader#ln4#ln4 imagine#ln4 fic#ln4 fluff
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Autumn Core Challenge | The Sims 4
don’t click me
With my favorite season being fall, I wanted to create a mini cozy challenge to do a let's play with! This "challenge" will take you through an autumn bucket list, and all the cozy aesthetics ~ meant to be played during the rainy fall season (at least where I'm from).
Required Packs: Seasons, Discover University, Spooky Stuff.
Extra Packs: Get to Work, Cats & Dogs, Paranormal Stuff, High School Years, Movie Hangout Stuff, Get Together.
~ Not a must have but required for some objectives.
Aspiration: Best Selling Author
Traits: Bookworm, Creative, and 1 free trait.
Sim Likes: Rain, baking, sweaters, candles, baths, movies, lofi, reading, cafes.
Skills: Baking, writing.
Season: Fall
~ Options Menu > Game Options > Environment > Seasons _ Seasons Length > 28 Days
Mods (Optional): Shorter University Degrees by The Peridot Project.
~ Not required but makes it easier ~ since the normal 12 credits takes up so much time.
Assets: Small cozy home, a cat, a small bakery.
Business: Bakery (Optional)
~ If you'd like an extra challenge, own a bakery on the side!
Education: Major - Communications or Language & Literature, Elective - Baking
Holiday: Spookyfest
~ (Open the seasons calendar, and create a holiday - add Spooky Spirit, Trick or Treat, and Wear Costumes.
Your sim LOVES to read, write, and bake, she also has a small furry companion. Growing up she always loved reading books which led her to majoring in language and literature, with dreams of one day being a best-selling author. She loves all things fall and cozy, and thrives during the season. But not without conditions, she must drink at least one cup of coffee a day and loves visiting new cafes.
Objectives:
Master the baking skill. (Get to Work)
Graduate with at least a 3.8 GPA. (Discover University)
Own a 4-star bakery. (Get to Work) (Optional)
Publish 3 successful books.
Finish reading 4 books.
Become companions with your cat. (Cats & Dogs)
Drink one cup of coffee a day.
Have a 3 sim friend group.
~~~
Go to a cafe at least once a week. (Get Together)
Host a Spooky Party and get gold reward. (Spooky Stuff)
Go to a pumpkin patch (you can download one from the gallery). (Spooky Stuff)
Carve pumpkins (pumpkin carving station). (Spooky Stuff)
Go to a haunted house. (Next to the ferris wheel in Copperdale ~ High School Years.)
Befriend a ghost.
Play in a pile of leaves. (Seasons)
Watch Sims of the Dead. (Movie Hangout Stuff)
Go to a movie theater.
Stay the night in a haunted house residential. (Paranormal Stuff)
Commune with the departed. (Séance Table) (Paranormal Stuff)
Have a picnic.
Find a partner to go skating with. (Seasons)
Harvest an apple tree.
episode 1
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competitor - training season pt. 1
natasha romanoff masterlist | series masterlist | navigation
summary: you were a fierce competitor who aspired to be the top female tennis player in the world, and there is no way you can compete with the famous natasha romanoff on the tennis court. every time she volunteered to coach you, there was a condition: to sleep with her. with this routine, both of you grew closer than ever. however, another woman had already taken her place in court before you could even see her. game, set, match. who will you choose? natasha weakens you, but louise jones revives you.
warnings: natasha being extremely seductive, mentions of sex, and manipulative natasha - minors dni
notes: this story is probably my favorite since i could say it's very well written but enjoy x
Whoosh!
That was the initial sound that sparked my passion for tennis. It is all about the way players approach the game and their level of enthusiasm when hitting the ball. It captivates me to the point where I could sit and watch tennis matches all day if I had to. I lean back with a Coke in one hand and inhale deeply, taking in the scent of the outdoors. Then, following a brief interval, an additional whoosh! was produced. With every missed shot, MJ's grip on the racket tightened as she stood on the tennis court. She stared at the net, frustration written all over her face as sweat glistened on her forehead. Usually she was so calm, but tonight she felt like she was being betrayed with every serve and return. I sympathized with the other players as I watched from the sidelines. Something was obviously wrong since her movements had become stiff and jerky, replacing her customary grace. Today, the game served as more than simply a pastime; it served as a battlefield for whatever was bothering her.
“Thirty, love.”
“Fuck!” I felt a chill run down my spine as I overheard MJ furiously hurling her racket across the court. When I think of MJ, I picture an optimistic, self-assured, and cheerful person who uses very few profanity words. I suppose she did not hit the ball properly because this is the first time I have heard it.
MJ was defeated when her last serve went slightly outside the line. As the umpire's call resounded throughout the quiet court, Michael Jackson's shoulders lowered in surrender. With a fake smile, she approached the net and held out her hand to her opponent. Her expression of sportsmanship was masking the annoyance and despair I could see in her eyes from where I was standing on the sidelines. It was hard to see as her once-bubbly confidence crumbled and was replaced with a worn-out acceptance of her loss. I wanted to soothe her as she turned away from the net, but I didn't know how to say it.
MJ didn’t win.
“30, 40.”
I got up and went over to MJ, who was slumped over on the bench after the game, because he looked beat. As she chugging away with all her might, she grabbed the water bottle from my hand and gave it to her. "Something is not right," I said.
“Damn right,” she said as she threw the bottle out of the way. “Fuckin’ Garcia did it all. I was close, so close!”
“I think there’s something wrong with your leg.”
She slowly shifted her gaze to me and emitted a fake laugh. “If there was something wrong with my leg, then I wouldn’t play in the first place.”
As we sat down next to her on the bench, I let out a sigh and watched as the court became increasingly silent as everyone left. After that, I told her the truth while turning to look her in the eyes. Denying it while continuing to wipe off her perspiration, she shakes her head. One thing that should be known about MJ is that she possesses an unwavering sense of pride, particularly when it comes to tennis. So it was; she was supposedly one of New York's top young female players. Perhaps she was feeling overwhelmed by her family's expectations that she excel as a player or that her argument with Jason had a negative impact on her mood today. She refuses to acknowledge that there is a problem with her. Like her, I aspired to be the best at what I do; she is confident in her abilities.
“Are you coming later at my place?” I asked.
“I don’t know; Jason wants to have dinner with me. He said that he got me a new coach.”
“Oh?” As I observed her rise to her feet, an arch formed in my eyebrow. “It must be nice to finally get a new one. Clint wasn’t so great, I assume?”
MJ shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know; yeah, maybe.”
“Is there something wrong? I hate to push your buttons—”
“It’s just embarrassing, Y/N,” she says with a loud groan. “My parents were watching me! Now they’re going to tell me that I need to do better, I have to be better.”
After a brief moment of silence, MJ spun around to give me a mischievous smile. “What about you, Ms. Rogers? Aren’t you going to train for today?”
I shook my head. “No, I don’t have a coach. Besides, I’m too tired for today. I’ll probably do some drills tomorrow morning.”
"Well, if you need anything, just send me a message. You know I’m just one call away, Y/N. I can hire you a coach if that’s what you want.”
"You have been there for me through thick and thin; I am doing fine," I told her, burying my nose in her neck and embracing her tightly. “Let me know what happens with Jason.”
I parked the car by the curb and silenced the radio, squinting as I thought about the game from earlier in the day. If I have to be the best, I have to do more training, I thought to myself with a loud sigh coming out of my mouth. I was a huge tennis fanatic as a kid and used to binge-watch matches on TV. In particular, the tennis legend Natasha Romanoff, who was a friend of my father's. I climbed out of the vehicle, secured the door, and made my way inside my home. Just as I was about to make my way to the kitchen, I heard the patio door open. I peeked out of the picture and saw my dad and his friend Natasha enjoying some orange juice and sandwiches. Seeing her makes my heart race; it is almost a wake-up call.
Whenever I saw her on TV, I felt an instant crush on her. I mean, who could resist Natasha Romanoff's allure?
Just as I was ready to leave, my father's voice reached my ears. “Y/N, you’re home! Why don’t you join me and Natasha for some snacks?”
I walked out of the house and waved to Natasha, who looked even more menacing despite her calm demeanor. I can feel her stare crawl against my skin, tightening my throat. “Hi, Nat.”
With a deep, rough voice, she says, "Hello, darling," and removes the cigarette from her full lips. “Did you train today?”
“No, I just watched MJ’s game today.”
"MJ, Mj," she muttered to herself, possibly trying to recall who MJ actually is. Her words trailed off after that. She grinned and turned her head back to face me. “Carter Jones’ daughter? I’m surprised that she plays.”
“She’s a huge fan of you,” I said with a giddy voice. And so am I. “Have you been visiting Carter?” She took a drag from her cigarette as I poured myself a glass of orange juice and took a seat next to my father.
“No, I haven’t. We’re sort of in a thin line right now.”
“Is that so?” my father asked.
She comments, "Susan and I were not going to work in the first place," bringing up Carter's spouse. She and Susan were a couple in the past, as my father told me. I must have been so young to have forgotten that she was with Susan. “How’s MJ? Still hotheaded?”
I nodded with a small smile on my face. “Still very hotheaded.”
She blew the smoke from her mouth and looked at me silently. The atmosphere grew more intense the longer she stared at me. “I see. How old are you now, hon?”
“I just turned 22.”
“In college, I assume?”
“Yes, I study at Standford.”
With a devilish smile, Natasha gives my father a wink. “She’s following your footsteps.”
He pats on my shoulder as he lets out a squeezed laugh. “I didn’t force her to go there, for your information. She even begged me to let her in!”
“Dad, stop—”
“Have you gotten yourself a coach, Y/N?” My throat was getting even drier, and Natasha asked, licking her teeth and pushing her used cigarette into the ashtray. Given that I have not been able to locate a suitable coach in London, this was one of the more difficult questions. In addition, I am not even sure if tennis is the sport I want to play. To be honest, I was only intelligent in terms of academics. Apart from that, though, who am I really meant to be? I was obsessed with tennis; it was my life. But if I am not good enough, how can I love tennis?
“Uh, no. I haven’t.”
Leaning back against the chair, she smacked her lips after finishing her glass of orange juice. “I would want to coach you, but I’ve been very busy these days.”
As she extended her hand to hold my hand, I felt my cheeks flushed—not literally. I laughed nervously and scratched my arm.
“T-that’s fine, Natasha. I know how busy you are.”
“I’m only here for a couple of weeks. I’d stay here even more if I’m not being called back to New York.”
I got up, kissed my father's cheek, and said in a hushed voice that I was going to bed early. I smiled courteously at Natasha as I turned to face her again, and he nodded and squeezed my arm. “I’ll take a nap, see you guys later.”
Before I left the garden, she gave me one last smile. The more I hear my footsteps, the more my heart races, and I return to my room as if nothing had happened. Is she aware that she is forcing me? She has always drew me in, even as a young girl. She seemed like a sister to me at first, but as I kept seeing her on magazine covers, my admiration for her beauty grew. As the coach I used to have before said, love means zero.
Love means nothing.
When I woke up, it was already late at night. At the moment, I sighed and headed for the kitchen, grabbing my bottle of water. As I poured myself a cold glass of water, I opened the refrigerator and discovered a container of food that they had most likely eaten at dinner. I put it on the counter. I started to consider asking MJ to find me a coach before the next week began while I was eating there by myself. However, I was astounded to see Natasha emerge from her room and make her way to the kitchen.
“Oh, I didn’t realize you were up.” After Natasha brought it up, she grabbed my glass and drank nearly half of it.
“I must’ve been so tired that I forgot dinner,” I chuckled to myself. “Sorry if I disturbed you.”
“You didn’t.”
She took a big breath and peered at me with her dark green eyes, observing that my red polka-dot shorts were paired with simply a tank top. Grinning, she moved on, opening the refrigerator and filling my glass with water. “Sorry, I was thirsty.”
“It’s okay.”
I caught her wearing a tight black shirt and gray leg-hugging jogging pants as we stood there silently. Even at night, her appearance was ethereal. For fifteen years, I was younger than her; in fact, I was practically two decades younger. Maybe she would give me a chance if I were older or if she were younger.
But I can’t look at her that way; I just can’t.
"It is cold," she remarks once more in that deep voice, glancing out the large window in front of us. “Why are you wearing that?”
“I prefer the cold,” I replied.
“Well, I think you should wear something more... Less revealing.”
Was she critiquing my choice of dress? Though I was confused, I refrained from showing her my feelings for fear that she would take offense. I definitely did not want to witness Natasha becoming enraged. When I was younger, I recall witnessing an argument between my father and her regarding tennis. She threatened him by stomping her foot on the ground and hurling her glass, causing her to grab his neck. They never talked about what had happened that day, so I have no idea.
“Do you not like the way I dress?”
She took a breath and shook her head. “I think if you wore something like that in public, I’d be angry.”
“Excuse me?”
“You know, if you haven’t been aware, I’ve been protective when it comes to you. You are Steve’s daughter, after all. Of course, I have the right,” She leaned in closer to me, shrugging her shoulders. I could feel my head being tickled by her breath. “Have you gotten yourself a coach?”
“I-I was supposed to call MJ, but you distracted me.”
“Is that so, darling?”
I took another swallow and found myself drawn to her once more. This was wrong, I thought to myself. This is just so wrong.
“I actually have a proposal for you, Y/N. But you can turn it down if you’d like.”
My heart skipped a beat as I felt her hand slide the strand of hair behind my ear and smile. I tried to look away as quickly as possible, but I was unable to. I simply could not stop staring at her, absorbing every second of it into my being.
Was she attracted to me too?
“I would coach you to be one of the best players out there if you return something.”
I furrowed my eyebrows, trying not to smile from the excitement. “W-what is it?”
Natasha licked her bottom lip and cocked her head slightly to the side, as though she was tempted to kiss me. But she leaned closer until I could feel her breath on my ear.
“I will coach you if you agree to sleep with me.”
What?
“Huh—”
“That’s right,” she says again, but this time it becomes more devious. “You heard me.”
My whole body tensed up, and my cheeks flushed. It is unbelievable that someone of her caliber, Natasha Romanoff, would ask me to have a sexual relationship if I would just allow her to mentor me. Though I was aware of my desperation, was this really what I wanted? I stepped back, trying to get my bearings. If I were to sleep with her, on the off-hand basis, I would also get to train under one of the greatest female tennis players of all time. She was aware of the way in which she was treating me; she could discern that I harbored feelings for her.
“But my dad would know—”
“He will never know, sweetheart.” With a cooing voice, she interrupts me and puts both her hands on my waist. “We only get to know this. No one will know that you’re whoring yourself out for me, baby girl—I mean, no one will know that we’re sleeping together if ever.”
“Whoring? Myself?” I let out a tiny laugh as I shook my head in response, as if this were all a joke to me. “You’re kidding, Nat. Right?”
“Do you want to be the best?” Natasha asked in a demeaning way, and I quickly felt the need to stop talking. It was best if I had said nothing at all first. “Then if I were you, you should take this as an opportunity.”
“How is this an opportunity if I’m going to let you use me?”
“My, my, raising your voice at me, are you now?” With a quiet giggle, she made a threat, her gaze fixed on mine. She put her hand on my forearm and brought it up to her navel. “I’d shut that mouth if I was going to sleep with you tonight. But you know what, I’ll let you have time to think about it.”
Natasha took my arm and walked away, whispering, “Goodnight, darling. I need an immediate answer starting tomorrow.”
Something was leaking out of my core as soon as she left me in the kitchen by myself. I was so mad at myself and that she would turned me on that I squeezed my eyes shut. Maybe I would be a normal girl if she were not enticing me with her tonight. However, the truth is that I would like to open up to her. I’d do anything for her.
It was Natasha Romanoff; who could compete?
#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff x you#natasha romanoff fanfic#tasha bear:(#natasha x reader
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