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clara-a7 · 27 days ago

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Ｆ１ＲＯＯＫＩＥＳＧＲＩＤ | 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙖 dnf

彡CONTAINS ; jack doohan, isack hadjar, gabriel bortoleto, ollie bearman, kimi antonelli

彡WARNINGS ; crying, crash

彡RESQUESTED? ; No~ (requests are open!)

彡DISCLAIMER ; Everything written here is FICTITIOUS.

A/N ; Sorry if here are any mistakes, english isn't my first language, not my best writing

⤷Jack Doohan

It was a big day, Jack’s home race in Australia. You stood in his garage, watching anxiously as the race began. But not even a lap in, everything fell apart.

Jack lost control. His car spun out and slammed into the wall. The collective gasp of the crowd echoed through the air, but all you could hear was your own heartbeat hammering in your chest. A DNF. His first home race, and it ended before it even truly began.

When he finally stepped into the garage, his eyes found yours instantly. His heart was already heavy, weighed down by disappointment and frustration, but seeing the tears streaking your cheeks made it even worse. He hadn’t just let down his team, he had let down the people who loved him.

Ignoring the pit crew, the engineers, and even the team director’s piercing gaze, Jack walked straight to you. His only concern was you.

Wordlessly, he cupped your face, resting his forehead against yours. His touch was warm, grounding despite the storm raging inside him.

“Babe…” he murmured, his voice laced with sorrow. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his sad eyes searching yours.

You tried to blink away the tears, tried to stay strong for him. “Please don’t be sad, babe. What matters most is that you’re okay.”

Your hands found his, squeezing them gently, trying to pour every ounce of comfort you could into your touch. “Please don’t be too hard on yourself. I’m still so proud of you.”

A faint, bittersweet smile tugged at his lips. “Babe… I’m so glad to have you.”

He gave you one last lingering kiss on your cheek before he was pulled away by his team, their expressions serious, their words already forming reprimands. But for just a moment, none of that mattered because in his lowest moment, he had you.

⤷Isack Hadjar

Today was supposed to be everything he had dreamed of his first Formula 1 race. After a strong qualifying session, he had placed as the best rookie on the grid. He was ready. A little nervous about the rain, but still eager to prove himself to the team.

But before he even had the chance, it all went wrong.

During the formation lap, he lost control. The car spun, slamming into the wall. Just like that, his debut ended before it even began.

Isaac entered his driver’s room, shoulders tense, avoiding the worried glances from you and his parents. Silently, he pulled off his helmet and gloves, placing them on the table beside you.

“I don’t want to talk about it…” he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else.

You exchanged worried looks with his parents, but his mother was the first to respond.

“That’s okay, mon cœur. Take your time,” she said softly, wrapping him in a gentle hug as his father stood beside them, offering quiet support.

After a few moments, they gave him space, leaving the room so the two of you could be alone.

You hesitated before stepping closer, trying to meet his gaze, but he wouldn’t look at you. Your heart clenched at the sight his eyes red, tears drying on his cheeks. You knew Isaac well. He wasn’t one to talk when he was hurting, and no words of reassurance would reach him right now.

So, without warning, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

At first, he didn’t react. He just stood there, tense and unresponsive. But then, as the familiar scent of your perfume surrounded him, something in him eased. His arms came around you, holding you even tighter, his chin resting on your shoulder as he exhaled shakily.

“I just want to go back to the hotel…” he whispered against your ear.

You nodded, pressing a soft kiss to his neck.

“Okay, love. Let’s go.”

For now, you didn’t need words just each other.

⤷Gabriel Bortoleto

His first F1 race. The atmosphere was electric, but tension weighed heavily in the air. After multiple crashes throughout the race, your hands were clammy, gripping onto the fabric of your jacket as you watched anxiously. Ten laps to go. Gabriel was holding onto P14 not where he wanted to be, but still pushing, still fighting.

Then, disaster struck.

Lap 47. He lost control in the Mouillier turn. The car snapped out from under him, skidding across the track before slamming into the wall and coming to a halt in the gravel trap. Your breath hitched. The seconds dragged as you waited for a sign any sign that he was okay. Then, finally, his voice crackled over the radio.

“I’m okay.”

Relief flooded through you, but it didn’t erase the sinking feeling in your chest. You knew how much this meant to him. His first race, and it ended like this.

By the time he finished the post-race interviews and debrief with his team, you were already waiting for him in the paddock, arms crossed tightly, trying to keep your emotions in check. A gentle pressure on your shoulder made you turn around.

Gabriel stood there, his face calm, a small reassuring smile tugging at his lips. But you could see the sadness beneath it the way his eyes lacked their usual spark, the way his shoulders sagged just slightly.

“I’m okay, don’t worry, babe,” he said softly.

You didn’t reply right away. Instead, you reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers. His grip tightened just a little, like he needed something to ground him.

“I know you are,” you murmured, stepping closer. “But you don’t have to pretend with me.”

His breath wavered for a moment, his façade cracking. You lifted a hand to his face, your fingers grazing over his jaw before settling on his cheek. He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a second, as if letting himself rest—just for a moment.

“It wasn’t supposed to end like this…” he whispered, frustration laced in his voice.

You shook your head, your thumb brushing over his skin. “One race doesn’t define you, Gabriel. You belong here. And you’ll prove it—not just to them, but to yourself.”

He exhaled deeply, pressing his forehead against yours. “How do you always know what to say?”

You smiled softly. “Because I know you.”

A silence settled between you, but it wasn’t heavy it was comforting. Gabriel gave your hand one last squeeze before whispering, “I love you”

⤷Ollie Bearman

This was supposed to be his moment.

His first full season as an F1 driver something he had fought so hard for. After replacing a driver for two races last year, he had proved himself, shown the world that he belonged here. And now, with a seat of his own, he was determined to show them why he deserved it.

But then came the crashes.

FP1: A mistake. A miscalculation. He braked just slightly too late, his tires clipped the damp grass, and in an instant, the car slid out of his control. He hit the wall hard.

FP3: The same mistake. The same grass. The same outcome. Except this time, after hitting the first barrier, the car spun and slammed into the opposite wall.

Two crashes in one weekend.

By the time he made it back to the hospitality suite, the weight of it all came crashing down on him. He barely acknowledged the team’s reassurances, their forced smiles and murmured, “It happens, don’t worry.” He knew they were trying to ease the sting, but it didn’t matter.

When he saw you, the last bit of composure he had shattered.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he stepped toward you, his breathing uneven, his body tense with frustration and disappointment. He didn’t say anything he didn’t need to. He just reached for you, wrapping his arms around you as if holding on for dear life.

You immediately embraced him, your hands running soothingly up and down his back. “It’s okay,” you whispered. “I’ve got you.”

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his shoulders shaking slightly as the adrenaline, the fear, the frustration all of it poured out of him.

“I messed up,” he choked out. “Twice. I—I don’t even know if I deserve to be here.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands cupping his face. His eyes were glassy, his lips trembling slightly as he tried to keep it together.

“Hey,” you murmured softly. “You do deserve to be here. One bad day doesn’t change that.”

His fingers gripped the fabric of your shirt as if afraid to let go. “I just… I don’t want to disappoint everyone.”

“You’re not a disappointment,” you assured him, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “You’re human. And you’re learning. No one expects perfection.”

He let out a shaky breath, nodding slightly, though you could tell he wasn’t fully convinced yet. That was okay. You would remind him as many times as he needed.

For now, you just held him, letting him take the comfort he needed. Because tomorrow was a new day, and no matter what, you would always be right there with him.

⤷Kimi Antonelli

It was his first F1 race. His dream finally realized. The youngest driver on the grid praised for his talent, adored like a younger brother by the other drivers, carrying the weight of a thousand expectations on his shoulders.

But then, the rain came.

The track was treacherous, the visibility near impossible, and in the chaos, Kimi lost control. His car spun out violently before slamming into the barriers, ending his race in heartbreak.

As soon as you heard his voice over the radio shaky but confirming he was okay you exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. But relief quickly turned into urgency as you searched for him across the paddock.

You moved through the crowd, your heart pounding, until your eyes landed on a small circle of drivers gathered tightly in one spot. Their race suits, soaked from the rain, formed a protective barrier around someone. And then you saw him light brown curls damp against his forehead, his head slightly lowered as the others murmured words of reassurance.

Max was the first to notice you. With a small nod in your direction, he spoke gently, “Your girlfriend is here.”

At those words, Kimi’s head snapped up. His eyes, still clouded with disappointment and frustration, softened the moment he saw you. A small, almost hesitant smile flickered across his face before he pushed past the drivers without a second thought, heading straight for you.

Before you could even ask if he was okay, his arms were already around you tight, desperate, as if grounding himself in your presence. You felt his body tremble slightly against yours, whether from the cold or the emotions threatening to overwhelm him, you weren’t sure.

You held him just as tightly, your hands gently running over his back in slow, soothing motions. “I’m here,” you whispered against his damp race suit, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

For a moment, he just breathed.

The paddock was still noisy, the rain still falling, but in that embrace, the world seemed to slow.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to cup his face, your thumbs brushing lightly over his cold skin. “You will,” you reassured him. “This is just the beginning, Kimi. One race doesn’t define you.”

He searched your eyes, as if trying to find the belief in them for himself. And then, with a deep breath, he nodded.

Max and the others stood back, watching quietly, knowing he was in good hands.

“Come on,” you whispered. “Let’s get you warmed up.”

And with his fingers still laced tightly with yours, you led him away because no matter how tough the race, he would never have to face it alone.

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astonmartinii · 3 months ago

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other side of the moon: interlude - a tango in barcelona | formula one imagine

interlude: a tango in barcelona

pairing: fem retired formula one driver reader x ??? fem retired formula one driver reader x platonic!kimi antonelli

dancing around her teammate on and off track, y/n looks to boogie her troubles away.

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR | PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

may 2020, spain.

life at mclaren hadn’t started the way y/n had hoped. the days were long and surprisingly quiet, the latter mostly due to her teammate and his aversion to acknowledging her existence. she was tired already this weekend and they hadn’t even raced yet.

the barcelona heat was making her race suit stick to her already just walking to the grid for the national anthem. “it’s hot as balls” y/n whined as she slipped between max and george while the choir set up ahead of them.

“oh my sweet summer child, we haven’t even gotten to singapore yet,” max said taking off his ice vest and fastening it to y/n.

“ugh don’t remind me,” y/n wiped more sweat off of her brow, “i think singapore might kill me.”

george laughed, moving his umbrella to the left so it covered y/n as well, “singapore is a baptism by fire, but you’ve done well so far this season so i don’t think you’ll have too hard a time.”

y/n smiled up at the taller brit, “thanks georgie, maybe if you’re such an expert in singapore you’ll be able to catch me.” she punctuated it with a wink, george nearly dropping the umbrella in response.

“do you mind? you nearly took my eye out with this thing!” max hissed at george, flicking the umbrella. george lifted the umbrella to get it out of eye range of the dutchman, who in turn saw it as an invitation to seek refuge in the shade.

“no way verstappen, this umbrella is for pretty people only,” george grabbed y/n’s hand and moved them a couple steps away.

“if that was so, only y/n would be allowed under it beanstalk.”

“if my height is the only thing you can think to insult me about, i can live.”

“oh believe me there’s a lot more stored up, i just wouldn’t want to give you any inspiration for when you take out a backmarker and blame everyone but yourself.”

y/n sighed dramatically, “already? i thought you two were going to cool it down this season. i don’t even understand how you have a rivalry, you’re nowhere near him on track george…” george let out a scandalised squeal, “oh my bad george, you know what i meant.”

“i think what y/n means is that she doesn’t rate you ‘mr saturday’”.

as george went to bite back but the loud horns of the national anthem cut their quarrel off early. y/n fought to keep her laugh in throughout the national anthem, seeing george seething in her peripheral vision. he was so easy to rattle it was practically a pastime of half the grid at this point.

before george could get a dig back in, y/n and max were back in deep conversation, discussing their approach to turn two with just minutes until the formation lap. he yearned to be the one that y/n spilled her tips, tricks and secrets to but like most of his life, the dutchman had beaten him to that honour. now he knew how lando felt.

lando, george and alex had bonded long before 2018, but their three-way title fight in formula two brought them closer rather than forcing them apart. george cherished that friendship, he found it invaluable to have two of his closest friends with him as they entered the cutthroat world of formula one - he just wished he could’ve been that person for y/n.

lando didn’t often articulate it well, but george understood his curly-haired friend’s struggles. lando had gushed all off season about having y/n as his teammate, chatting animatedly about potential roadtrips, shared flights and sleepovers before it was all snuffed out in a moment. george always suspected that lando felt more about their friend than he let on (or thought he let on). once he had thought it was a victim of circumstance, teenage boys discovering what these new hormones were doing to their body did tend to fixate on the one girl in their midst. but as they grew up, that puppy love crush didn’t seem to wain, not that anyone else around them seemed to notice.

a single comment from one max verstappen crushed that. a late night discord call between the rookie trio and max had naturally seen the topic of y/n arise. lando, as usual, started to wax lyrical about the season ahead, with his vision for their teammate relationship constructed in his head.

“mate, we’ve already started.”

“huh?” lando’s voice stuttered over the call, he cleared his throat, “what do you mean?”

“y/n and i,” max continued, “we’ve already started doing sim runs together, watching onboards and all that jazz.” the dutchman said it so casually, unaware of lando’s imminent heartbreak - george’s too, he just hid it better.

“but why? i’m going to be her teammate, not you? why would she even use your sim, she’s racing for mclaren next year not red bull.”

not noticing the path they were hurtling down, max dug his foot in, “no offence lando, but if y/n wants my tips, i’m going to give it to her. it’s noble for you to want to look out for her, but realistically what tips could you give her that are better than mine… i am the only one here who has actually won a race.”

alex loudly coughed, stopping max before he could continue. “it’s getting late, maybe we should call it a night?”

“it’s nine o’clock?” max questioned.

“no, i’m tired,” lando let out an undoubtedly fake yawn, “i think it’s time for bed.”

“okay suit yourselves,” max said, going back to his iracing, “lando, don’t take it too personally that she chose me. we’ve been friends for so long, we don’t know anything but each other.”

“i’ve known her just as long as you!”

it was starting to get a little heated and despite alex and george trying to interject, the two kept going.

“you may have known her just as long, but you don’t know her. we’ve been there for each other at our lowest and our highest. it’s not a competition. i honestly hope she comes to you next season, i don’t trust your team as far i can throw them. it will be good to have someone in her corner.”

“oh well if you’re that magnificent then why can’t you be her white knight all the way from red bull, huh?”

“you know what lando, we’ll talk about this again once you’ve shaken off this weird primal urge you have to ‘claim’ her. a piece of advice, she won’t like that.”

“oh you insufferable little shit-”

“goodbye everyone!” alex interjected, kicking max out of the call.

“what the fuck was that lando?”

“you heard him, posterising, peacocking and then having the gall to say that i’m being territorial over y/n.”

george sighed, his affection for the same girl was going to have to be buried even deeper after this. “max wasn’t peacocking about y/n, lando. if anything he was showing off his wins rather than her,” alex tried to reason.

“no! he can’t let us - can’t let me have anything. it’s always been this way and with y/n it’s like he knows deep down that i want her so he has to have her instead. he’s clinging on to her and shoving it in my face - it’s not my fault he has a shit dad and he attached himself to her because she was the only one not afraid of him - so why am i being punished for it?”

lando’s outburst rendered alex and george silent. the older one was horrified to say the least, the season hadn’t even started and lando’s jealousy was already out of hand.

“lando, that was too far…” alex said softly.

“no! he thinks that because he has a shitty sob story that he can just claim her? she’s her own person!”

“right. i’m going to stop you there before you say something that’ll make me hate you for real. you need to get over what ever the fuck this is so you can be a normal fucking human being next season,” alex tried to reason with lando.

“i am in love with her!”

“are you? or are you in love with the thought of what could happen? have you actually stopped and wondered whether y/n likes you or even likes men? for someone so protective over her, you haven’t considered her feelings too much.”

lando has the foresight to look a little guilty. george stayed silent, he knows alex is suspicious of him too, but that can of worms can wait until another day.

“you need to get a life and calm down. max is one of your best friends and i know deep down you didn’t mean a word you said tonight but you need to get a grip before you say any of that in front of him or y/n because i’m sorry but i won’t be stopping them if they try to hit you.”

lando doesn’t say anything, but the guilty look on his face says enough.

“goodnight.”

the call ended there and was never brought up again. george watched y/n waltz back towards the mclaren garage, a big gap between her and lando. there had been no more outbursts since that night but if what george overheard from daniel, lando had still managed to completely screw himself. was george that angry at that news? not really.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

the race was pretty uneventful, barcelona usually was. y/n started in sixth and managed to pip charles to fifth after ferrari screwed up his pitstop once again. despite her deep love for sangria, y/n didn’t really feel like leaving her hotel room after she had scrubbed all of the sweat and grime off in the shower.

she was pleased with her points haul, smiling to herself in debrief as they analysed lando’s first lap incident with pierre gasly that lando just insisted was no fault of his own…

her ring tone invaded her peaceful evening, the name ‘albono’ flashing up on her phone. pressing accept,

“how can i help you on this fine evening, mr albon?”

“well i find myself in this fine dancing establishment, looked around and thought it was crying out for a little y/n y/ln action.”

“dancing you say?”

“i’m 100% serious, sebastian of all people has dragged also to a bar where they’re attempting to teach us the tango…”

“oh i love the tango! it’s my favourite dance on strictly…”

“so what i’m hearing is that i should get a tequila sunrise in preparation for your arrival?”

y/n sighed, “yes you may.”

“score! i’ll send you the address and an uber. see you soon.”

so there goes her quiet night in, but who wouldn’t love the chance to tango with your close friends in under the stars? and she had packed her little red number… maybe the y/n who packed that suitcase all those days knew something current y/n didn’t.

y/n elected to skip most of her makeup routine, her skin sensitive from all the sweat in her balaclava, swiping on some mascara, lip gloss and a healthy dose of blush. like alex said, the uber was waiting for her outside the lobby.

the outside of the bar looked closer to a college dive bar than somewhere you’d expect to find a group of formula one drivers, but she suspects that’s why sebastian chose it.

“buenes noches senorita,” fernando alonso gave her a spin on entry.

“gracias nando,” she curtsied in front of the spaniard, drawing a laugh out of the elder driver, “i am sorry to cut this short, but i am tired and i fear i have already promised my one dance to another.”

“how will i ever recover?”

“i think you’ll find a way old man.”

“you wound me, but alex is waiting for you by the bar.”

y/n made her way through the bar, spotting several drivers caught up in their dancing lessons from the locals. she tapped alex on the shoulder, with the tall driver turning, wielding her tequila sunrise.

“nice of you to turn up at last,” alex teased, handing her the drink.

“i’ll have you know i was snuggled up ready for some netflix action before you called.”

“you came all this way for a dance with little ol’ me?”

“of course, alex. i have missed you.”

“i have missed you too, the red bull stuff is piling up and i have been neglecting my big brother duties, i’m sorry. not that it seems to be effecting your rookie season too much.”

“don’t worry about me alex, i’m proud of you and what you’re doing at red bull, even if they’re being unreasonably hard on you.”

alex led her to the middle of the dance floor and put one hand on her hip, the other on her shoulder. they started to move to the music,

“i just miss when it was more laidback. i barely have time to stop between sim sessions and media duties and performance meetings. i miss sitting in your driver room laughing at your instagram private messages and watching stupid adam sandler movies.”

alex spun her and as she came back to him she said, “we can still do that alex! you don’t have to be alone, we can still watch adam sandler movies and ignore calls from helmut.”

alex smiled at her as the music slowed down.

“i wish i was here for you more in your rookie season,” alex laments but y/n interjects, “it’s only the fourth race. you’re focused on you and i wouldn’t want anything else. there’s time for us to find our way back to each other. you're a brother to me, like blood, there’s nothing that can destroy that bond.”

“i’m sorry lando is being a prick.”

“it is what it is.”

“no it’s not. we had each other last year, he should be there for you.”

“it’s whatever, i have max, i have you, i’ll survive.”

the music came to an end. the two embraced but when they broke apart y/n started heading for the exit, picking up max on the way through, the dutchman having already booked them an uber. y/n turned and waved to alex, she meant it when she said it was just one dance. she made a ‘call me sign’ and mouthed ‘adam sandler’ before rushing out of the bar with max.

alex turned and made his way to george who was still nursing his first drink at the bar. george didn’t respond when alex prompted him. the thai man nudged george laughing about how ‘y/n knows how to make a short and sweet appearance’ but still got nothing.

“you’re not seriously angry about a tango are you george?”

“no.”

“you’re a terrible liar,” alex whispered, “not as bad as lando but terrible nonetheless.”

“at least i’m not taking it out on her like lando.”

“no, you just use max as target pratice on your dart board for shits and giggles.”

“whatever.”

“fine, deal with it how you wanna big boy, but if you turn out like lando right now, i’ll be down two best friends and up two murder charges.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

fin.

note: my first interlude! @deviltsunoda and i came up with these ideas so i could write shorter things while i have work and you guys still get fed! so enjoy this lil exploration into y/n and alex's friendship (they are so precious to me!) and why lando is being such an asshole... enjoy! the weekend should bring chapter four.

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