#things happen. (they do. they do. and they do.)

[voidoffline]

I haven’t lost an eye, tho I did go several months not seeing out of one eye (I kept it closed because in a stroke of stupidity I thought it would help me see better since I have double vision. It just made my eyes and that eye specifically a million times worse-)

And I noticed the neck thing so quickly. Like it was pretty easy for me to adjust (just because I’m good at adjusting to shit Idk) and even though I had no pain then, it was crazy noticing how different things were. Like I walked differently, I always kept to one side of people so I could see them better, I kept bumping my hands into things because of how closing my right eye fucked up my hand eye coordination

And when I finally opened my eye again, after so long of keeping it closed - mostly because at that point my eye had weakened and it was difficult to open it - shit got more colorful. Like I could tell the difference between how much color I was seeing. I doubt a character would go through that - but like if you’re writing a character that’s gotten some surgery done or something and had to wear a patch for a while, well, I think I at least would probably include them realizing things are just a bit more colorful after they take the patch off for the first time

Also rip my neck during the time I closed my eye for months. So much soreness and pain. I am so sorry past neck, I apologize. I was stupid

Also for the last thing ‘thehungwizard’ mentioned - it’s really like that for everything. So when your writing a character with any sort of disability or lack of a sense, keep that in mind. Like I don’t have a sense of smell and people constantly forget that I can’t spell things. I know that’s a lot less drastic and technically a lot less important than a whole eye, but still, the basis is that other ppl forget (no hate on others tho)

I’ve also experienced what op said in #6. It’s wild. And a bit annoying

writing advice for characters with a missing eye: dear God does losing an eyes function fuck up your neck. Ever since mine crapped out I've been slowly and unconsciously shifting towards holding my head at an angle to put the good eye closer to the center. and human necks. are not meant to accommodate that sorta thing.

[screampied]

☆ cw. fem! reader, college au, first lesson, dumbification, praise, he's so nerdy, squırting, unprotected, mdni.

nerd! nanami who ends up teaching you a few ‘fundamentals’ of squirting after you end up gushing out by accident.

“oh, my,” he’d huskily croon, taking a short glance at your body that’s laid flat on his timber desk. mousy eyes zero up ‘n down your entire frame before he groans, feeling your legs snake around his slim torso. after another hourly long session of cramming your brain with pounds of boring information, you’d probably forget by the next day, you told nanami that you wanted to try out ‘penetration.’ and now, that came with you gushing straight out with his meaty shaft buried snugly deep inside of you. he grows quiet, smacking his lips as he feels your slobbering cunt dripping wetly like a running never-ending faucet. it’s almost adorable with the way your face scrunches up and you’re clawing at the buckle of his drooping belt with shaky hands. “we haven’t gone over that area yet, sweetheart,” and you’re moaning, feeling your back tickle against the scattered piles of marked papers that laid directly underneath you. “ah, ah. don’t close ‘em,” he purrs, staring as your stick-glossed quavery legs try to snap themselves shut. “let me examine the wet problem a bit closer.”

“w- was that supposed to happen?” you breathe through rushed pants, frantically chewing on your bottom lip as you watch him pull out. he’s slow, feeling your slight muscles tense and spasm as you drenched the entirety of his stilled dick with molasses of your webby slick. “f- fuck,” you whimper, and nanami’s pressing a pointed thumb down against the pearly top part of your tender clit. gradually, he’s swirling a plethora of exaggerated shapes alllll around your tender entrance, lowering his head once his turgid cock’s fully out of you.

with a placid hum, nanami nods. “don’t fret, sweet thing. it’s normal,” and you prepare a deep, heavy breath as you try to peek down, watching nanami re-adjust his clear-framed glasses. “but, do you think you can do that again? i’m . . having a bit of trouble with my vision,” and he softly presses a chaste kiss against your cunt. shortly after, a slimy dewy web of stringy juices merrily glues against his lips. “i believe if my hypothesis is correct . . if ‘m closer like thiiiis,” and you moan, feeling the cold lenses of his glasses press right up against your puffed folds. “you’ll help me solve just how much of a wet girl you can get for me this time.”

openly, nanami eyes at your sopping pussy that’s just pouring from all areas with so many dewdrops of slick. a shimmery stream of your syrupy arousal cascades down the slot of your entrance and oh- it’s so pretty. at least to him.

if you squinted enough, you could see the obscene mirroring reflection of the shiny glossed view that rests between your legs from the clear lenses of his glasses. “clitoral glands,” he starts to ramble, rubbing a thumb near the top bulb-shaped part of your twitching heat. “clitoral body,” and you moan, feeling him swerve his digit down lower. “but let’s skip to . . . her,” nanami coos huskily, and you gasp once his round thumb plugs itself inside you after just a few loose inches. you swallowed that single digit right up oh-so blissfully.

like a hidden trick of a magician—his finger disappears inside of your cunt, and it presses against a particular small texture right above your lower opening. “. . that pretty urethra of yours.”

there - that’s where you felt the exact pressure of yourself gushing out, creaming down his cock with such a vivid risqué spray.

you’re still getting over it as your jaw dangles open—mouth cutely wholly ajar and all. as nanami continues to toy with your slobbering clit, he silently grumbles whatever extra clitoris facts underneath his breath. a single finger that was tucked inside of your gummy orifice gradually transitions into two, and you let off the sweetest moan that rang against his ears.

“such a pretty pussy from an even prettier girl,” and his words smokily deepen as he loudly ‘pops!’ both fingers out of your drenched slit. it’s all puffy now, drooling from each slippery flap. nanami sits up before re-aligning his milky-covered tip against your sobbing cunt.. “mini pop quiz,” he grumbles, letting off a deep sigh once his flushed crownhead languidly slides its way between the split of your folds. you’re laid back against the desk with a pout twisting across both sides of your lips.

pop… quiz?

nanami adjusts his crooked glasses by shoving them slightly back with a middle finger before humming. “riddle me this,” and a sweet moan drags its way past your throat once he’s smearing his bulbous tip across your sticky entrance.

left-to-right and it’s hypnotic. “what is the majorly important gland of the clit that helps lubricate the vagina properly?” and nanami presses a large hand on your tummy, simpering at the cute silence for an answer. with a snicker, he tilts his head at your quirked brow. “oh- c’mon. this is easy, we talked about this two days ago.”

“t . . the um-” you stammer, the throbbing of your clit increasing with each delicious second that passed. with your mind joggling its empty memory, you inhale a moan that was desperately trying to escape from your spit-stained lips. “the clitoral glands?”

“close, but no, dumb girl,” and with a smack, nanami whacks his swollen tip against the front of your weeping pussy. you finally release that moan you were holding onto with heave after heave puffing out your chest. “try again. this time, actually use that brain for me, yeah?”

you pout, and after about four seconds you left off a whiny grump. “is it . . the skene’s glands?”

“good girl,” and you let off a needy mewl once he rubs a palm against your pussy. his personal way of praising you without words, even after calling you a ‘good girl.’

it’s a soft, enticing rub that smears the entirety of your slick around his entire palm, coating it right away.

you’re so wet - pathetically drenched that you stick your candied juices all over the prints of his hand.

“it’s very important that you know about the skene’s glands. just like how important it is for me to teach you how soaked you are,” and you don’t even realize it, but the second he spanks against your cunt once more with his palm, you’re squirting . . again.

it’s a thick shiny geyser that ends up spurting out of you with a loud pssssh! and your toes curled in ecstatic rapture. you’re whining at how sudden and abrupt it was, and nanami just shakes his head with a wry smile. a hand maneuvers in a circular rotation against your pussy as you finish your three-second monumental high. “f- fuuuck, fuck!” you whimper out the same colorful syllables through your lips as your eyelids droop.

as you’re panting, still feeling the scattered bundles of paper rub and prick against the back of your skin, you eye nanami through murky peripherals. pretty ‘n glossed-eyed, you let off a shaky puff before moaning. “did . . did i pass?”

“not quite,” nanami takes his glasses off. they were still a bit soaked from earlier, a bit of your own droplets of literal juices fogging the lenses before he gave it a sweet lick. filthy. nanami squints at your twitching body before slithering a fat thumb down your tender, convulsing pussy for the nth and last time. “think we still have more basics to go over,” and he positions his head right back down between the eagle-spread valley of your legs, whistling riiiight between your driveling, puffy slit.

“besides,” and you whine once he gives your cunt its final, sloppy spank. “my only criticism— is that, we could work on that squirt velocity a little bit more,” and he pats your cunt before staring straight at your pulsating entrance, hungrily licking his lips.

“i wouldn’t mind training her, heh.”

[thebibliosphere]

I’ve had an increase in rainbow aura with my migraines lately (I used to get them once a year, if that. Now, I’ve had it twice in one month) so I’ve become somewhat paranoid whenever something flashes over my vision.

Sometimes, it's just light reflecting off my phone, but it still makes me freeze up in a fear response when it happens because it usually means I’ve got about 20 minutes before I’m in agony.

Apparently, this new paranoia extends into my dreams now, too, because I was running down a long corridor, aware that there was something behind me that I needed to escape, but all of a sudden, in my dream, rainbow zigzags consumed my vision, and I stopped, dead and went, “fuck, migraine.”

That's when I became aware of James Bond/Daniel Craig standing beside me, gun drawn.

“Oh, shit. Do you need to lie down?” he asked while I stared at him.

I said, “What about the thing chasing us?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, darling. If you need to lie down you can lie down. I’ll just kill them.”

I blinked at him for a bit, still winded from running then said, “Sure,” starting to get to my knees, ready to lie down on the cold stone floor beneath us.

“Sure?”

“Yeah. Kill ‘em. I’m just gonna...” I gestured vaguely at the floor. “Be right here, I guess.”

“You can go upstairs, you know,” he said, loading a fresh clip into his gun. “This museum has a hotel on top of it.”

“Oh good,” I said, starting to suspect this was a dream and not Daniel Craig about to murder the people chasing me because I had a migraine. “I’ll do that then.”

So I got back up and started climbing the stairs that looked an awful lot like the stairs in the Kelvin Grove Art Gallery, only to abruptly walk into Deathstroke and Nightwing doing their best to kill each other in the corridor of what was clearly a hotel based on the room service tray Nightwing was using to deflect projectiles.

They froze. I looked at them. They looked at me. “I’ve got a migraine,” I said,

“Shit, sorry,” Nightwing said, putting down his tray as both men stepped back to let me walk down the decimated corridor. “We’ll be more quiet.”

“Room 13 is open,” Deathstroke helpfully informed me.

“Is there a body in it?” I asked, now leaning against the wall, less walking along, more sliding.

“Not anymore.”

“Do you need anything?” Nightwing asked, “pain killers? Ice pack?”

I waved them off and made my way into room 13 where David Jason dressed as Detective Jack Frost looked up at me from the book he was reading on the bed.

“This is a dream,” he informed me.

“No it isn’t,” I said, despite knowing it was as I hobbled over to the bed and flopped down beside him. “And this room was supposed to be empty.”

“Open, not empty,” corrected Jack Banon who had taken David Frost’s place, dressed like young Alfie from Pennyworth as he sat beside me on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. “There’s a very distinct difference between the two. Oh, don’t look at me like that. Who do you think moved the body?”

“I need to sleep,” I said, “if I can fall asleep, the migraine might go away.”

“That's all right,” he said. “You do that. I’ll make sure no one else comes in. Oh, just one thing before you do.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out something I couldn't quite see and held it out to me. “You’ll need this.”

“What is it?” I said, my brain doing the dream thing where it refuses to read books or interpret numbers correctly. “I can’t see, what is it?”

“Oft, sorry. Can’t tell you that. More than my job’s worth.”

“You’re job...”

“Yeah.” and thats when he leaned over, stuck me with a needle and said, “Night night.”

And I woke up to the sound of @mothman-etd getting into the shower and Holly Mop wiggling under thre covers with me.

First words out of my mouth were, “What the fuck?”

And then I immediately pulled up Tumblr to write this down before I forget it because what the fuck.

Didn't wake up with a migraine though so... *knock on wood*

[cherikdogfood]

😭😭

Parents should not be reading your journals

Parents should not be searching through your trash 

Parents should not be snooping on your private social media messages 

Parents should not be taking your bedroom door off 

Parents should not be invading your privacy 

[gaycinema]

cannot get over jayce sprinting down the hall with viktor in his arms and immediately going for the most extreme action to save his life. jayce using the hexcore to save him despite the fact that viktor made him promise to destroy it is sooo so good. of course that’s how it happened! jayce doing whatever it takes to bring his partner back uncaring of the consequences but the viktor that woke up isn’t the person he knew. in saving viktor, jayce killed him and made something new and this new thing does not want him anymore. affection held them together but the thing that saved him tore that affection out. love made the monster and now they both have to live with it. i love you doomed yaoi and gay divorce!!!

[pucksandpower]

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.

[maxfieldparrishes]

One of the things that the creators of Arcane do so insanely well is their attention to small details. It's incredible.

Take the scene where Vi catches Caitlyn as she collapses and cries - this was stunning to me, because look:

(Credit for the gif is this post by @kensatou)

Even though Vi has been so extraordinarily tender with Caitlyn throughout their shared nightmare, she's still a product of what's happened to her. As Caitlyn falls towards her, Vi catches her, because of course she does, but look at her hands. An Enforcer moves at her and her heart says catch her but her gut says fists up. It doesn't matter that it's Caitlyn. It's instinctive. It's ingrained. She continues to do it in other scenes during vulnerable moments.

She is so, so gentle with Caitlyn and she is trying so, so hard but she cannot undo the habits and behaviors that a lifetime of trauma and uncertainty and violence have forced her to develop, not by her own choice or from sheer love for someone else. She's tried that before, it didn't work, and she knows it.

[selenestarmoon]

It should be mentioned that Caitlyn's first contact with Jinx was during the terrorist attack Jinx made in Piltover to steal the hextech gem where Caitlyn almost died and her companions died after falling into the trap Jinx set for them, blowing up the building they were in in the process.

Before fainting as a result of the injuries she suffers from the attack, Caitlyn glimpses Jinx's figure in the distance, which is why Caitlyn fears Jinx and from there every contact Caitlyn has with Jinx goes from bad to worse, making her anger and fear for Jinx grow, with her mother's death being the straw that broke the camel's back and if that wasn't enough she and the other piltovians are attacked at the funeral of her mother and the council members who died and in her worst mental state she becomes head of the Kiramman family, Caitlyn is literally given no time to process everything that has happened and Ambessa takes advantage of her pain to manipulate her.

Caitlyn's actions have no justification but you have to understand that from her point of view Jinx is a terrorist who almost killed her and killed her partners, kidnapped her in her own home, tries to instigate Vi to kill her and kills her mother after Caitlyn was kidnapped. It's obvious that the damage Caitlyn suffers from Jinx's terrorist attack is collateral damage but the other attacks Jinx does to Caitlyn are completely deliberate. She didn't become like that out of nowhere but that she became like this because of the bad circumstances that happened to her and her family.

This is like Guts and Griffith from Berserk in the sense that Guts acts in a violent and amoral way and reacts irrationally when he sees Griffith because Griffith inflicted pain on him and, to top it off, Griffith deliberately targets Guts every chance he gets and someone appears to Guts and Caitlyn (Skullknight and Ambessa) who take advantage of their pain and wrath to manipulate them to achieve their own agendas. Guts and Caitlyn feel this way about Griffith and Jinx not only because of the pain they inflicted on them but also because they are afraid that Griffith and Jinx will hurt them again and they feel that as long as Griffith and Jinx exist, Guts and Caitlyn will never be safe.

ahh caitlyn my beloved.

let's talk about the trauma she has around jinx, in particular, in a way i think is more related to being targeted by jinx than just grief.

don't get me wrong- grief is a huge part of why caitlyn is all over the place this arc (season?). she probably came to the conclusion that her softer, pacifistic attitude from the first season is the reason she ended up hurt. clearly the rocky relationship she had with her mother adds a layer of bitterness and regret caitlyn is feeling regarding her death. alongside a million different reasons, which i might discuss in a different post.

but there's a clear difference between the anger and coldness we see from caitlyn when she discusses catching jinx and bringing her to justice, than when she faces jinx head on. in the latter, she suddenly loses her cool and acts all frantically, so unlike anything we've seen from caitlyn so far.

in her mind, in episode 1, she sees herself as collected and calm, aiming her rifle at jinx. btw, take note of how jinx is depicted here. her eyes are glowing.

but in reality, she's very much NOT cool and collected when she thinks that exact scenario is about to be replicated.

that's caitlyn's pov btw:

again jinx with the glowing eyes- caitlyn had seen what jinx looks like in other circumstances, but THIS is the version of her that she visualizes and then irrationally reacts to.

we see it again when she shoots jinx in the finger

no composure, no deep breathe, no thinking. she just shoots on instinct. it's nothing like she used to.

and then her frantically calling vi to move out of the way as she keeps firing, almost like shes blind to everything but jinx- the kid and vi, who are both in harm's way, don't stop her.

i know it's easy to just paint it as anger and grief here, but there's something about it that strikes me as almost like animalistic fear. she sees jinx and just goes feral mode, but its almost more of a prey instinct than a predator.

and i think it's because whenever she faces jinx, properly, it's not the grief and radicalized anger she's feeling, it just sends her back to this moment

with all the "jinx murdered her mom" talk its easy to forget that jinx also directly, and cruelly, targeted caitlyn, tried to kill her, kidnapped her and held her hostage for who knows how long. it's not just anger that caitlyn feels towards jinx. it's a trauma response. and like, welcome to the club, caitlyn! most of the arcane cast are acting out of trauma. but i better not see people think her trauma is somewhat lesser than some... other.. characters.

[cutielando]

my baby | l.n.

synopsis: in which you bring your son to his daddy’s first ever race

a/n: based on this request!! i changed things up a little and only made it fluffy, hope you like it!!

my masterlist

Ever since your son was born, you and Lando had had multiple talks regarding exposing him to the world and bringing him to the paddock.

He was still so little, being only a few months old, so there was a lot of discussion between the two of you about when would be a good time to finally introduce your son to that part of Lando’s life.

You debated a lot about firstly which race would be the best one for him to attend, finally settling on Silverstone. It was a very special race for the both of you, it was Lando’s favorite race weekend, his whole family would be coming and would be able to eagerly help, should any situations arise during the weekend, you were close to your UK home.

It was honestly the best decision in that aspect.

McLaren had been so kind as to send you some little T-shirts with Lando’s name and number on the back, some headphones so you could protect Noah’s ears. He was all ready to go, all clad in his papaya shirt and little cap.

However, as much as Lando had been looking forward to finally having the both of you in the paddock since Noah’s birth, he was suddenly feeling more anxious as you’re about to leave the house and go to the track.

You noticed the frown he had on his face and how deep in thought he seemed to be, walking over to him with Noah right on your hip, sucking on his pacifier in silence.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” you asked him, putting a hand on his shoulder and rubbing it affectionately.

“You agree this is a good idea, right? We’re not rushing him into this, it’s completely okay and safe to bring him with us” he asked, looking at you with worried eyes.

Looking at him so desperate for reassurance, you remember your first days as a new mom, worrying about every single thing that Noah would do, what you should do with him and what you shouldn’t, calling your mother and Lando’s mother every half an hour with another question.

It’s normal for new parents to be anxious, and Lando was now feeling the protectiveness that came with having a baby of your own and bringing him out into the world.

“Baby, we’ve talked about this. We have it all figured out. Your family is going to be there if anything does happen, we have your whole team there who are more than eager to help with anything. We’ll be fine, this little guy will have the time of his life” you said, smiling at the quiet boy in your arms and bouncing him in your arms, chuckling alongside Noah as he started to giggle and wave his arms in the air.

Lando smiled, looking at Noah like he was the center of his universe, like nothing could ever measure up to how much love he had for his son.

He was ready, so there was no reason why Lando shouldn’t be ready. After all, he had you by his side.

He didn’t need anything else if he had you.

“Alright, let’s get going then” he declared, sitting up and taking Noah’s bag from you, determined to carry everything to the car by himself.

You chuckled, shaking your head as you adjusted little Noah on your hip.

“Let’s go and bring daddy some good luck, shall we?” you cooed at Noah, admiring his little smile and clap when he heard the word “daddy” in a sentence.

Such a daddy’s boy.

♡♡♡♡♡

“Do you want me to turn the car around and just take you guys home? I’m sure nobody would mind” Lando said as soon as he parked the car in his designated spot.

You looked at him confused.

“Why? Did something happen?” you asked, keeping an eye on Noah who was currently too busy playing with his feet to pay attention to the two of you.

Lando sighed, resting his head against the seat and closing his eyes.

“I just think we’re rushing into it. He’s still young and I’m worried that something could happen to him while I’m in the car” he confessed, and you let out a knowing sigh.

“I know you’re stressed out and worried, but you have nothing to worry about. I’m going to be with him the entire time and your entire family is going to be with me. He literally can’t be more taken care of” you said, joking a little at the end to help him breathe a little.

Lando smiled, chuckling a little before twisting around to look at you in the backseat.

His eyes naturally gravitated towards Noah, who was happily playing with his McLaren teddy bear the team had gifted Lando when Noah was born.

“Sometimes I wish we could keep him away from all of this for the rest of his life” he said, his eyes focused on his son.

"I know, but right now, you don't have to worry about him. You know I won't let him out of my sight" you said, making Lando smile at the thought of you going all mama bear on your son.

"Alright then, off we go" Lando unbuckled his seatbelt, exiting the car and opening your door for you.

He made quick work to grab the diaper bag and all of his essentials while you lifted Noah up from his car seat and settled him on your hip, cooing at the smiley little boy.

"Ready?" Lando asked as he came to stand next to you, putting his arm on the small of your back and leaning down to press a kiss on Noah's head.

"Are you ready to see dada race?" you cooed at Noah, tickling his tummy lightly, which prompted him to burst into giggles.

“My lucky charms” Lando whispered, looking at the two of you with so much love.

He truly couldn’t have asked for anything better in his life. The trophies, the wins, the losses, they didn’t compare to this. To you, to your son, nothing could ever compete with how much Lando cared for his family.

As you started walking towards the paddock entrance, your passes clutched in Lando’s hand, you kept Noah close to you, trying to shield his face from the cameras as best as you could.

You softly maneuvered his head so his face was buried into the crook of your neck, which Noah immediately complied with because he loved it when you held him close.

“I’ll do my best to hold them off” Lando whispered as he scanned your passes and already noticed the hoard of paparazzis that were waiting for him to arrive.

You nodded, smiling politely at the cameramen as Lando quickly walked with you towards the McLaren hospitality.

Clicks and flashes could be heard all around you, every single one trying to get a glimpse of your baby boy, but Lando was having none of it.

“Lando! Over here!”

“Is that your son?”

“Can we see him? Just a picture”

Every single word fell on deaf ears as Lando continued to lead the three of you away from them, thankful when the shouts ceased and there was nobody around you anymore.

“They sure know how to try and get what they want” you said, letting out a big breath that you hadn’t realized you had been holding in.

“It’s an invasion of privacy, they should have some respect, especially when they can see I’m with my family” he grumbled, his jaw muscles clenched.

You slowed down your walk until you came to a halt, resting your hand against his cheek.

“Hey, we’re okay. Calm down, we’re both fine, okay?” you said, waiting for an answer as Noah started squirming in your arms.

“Yeah, I’m good” Lando replied after finally feeling himself calm down a tad, resuming your walk towards the hospitality.

When you arrived and entered the building, the first thing that you saw was Lando’s family eagerly chatting amongst themselves, clearly waiting for the 3 of you to finally arrive.

You didn’t even get to think about anything before Noah was taken from your arms by Lando’s sister, Flo, cooing at him and beaming at the smiley boy.

There was nothing more pure and warming than seeing the bond between Lando’s family and your son. He was also the first grandchild on your side of the family, so that little boy was as spoiled as one could be.

“How are you doing, dear?” Cisca snapped you out of your thoughts as she came to stand next to you, Lando having gone to his driver’s room to unpack his things.

“I’m okay, a little tired from the jet-lag, but doing alright. A little nervous to have Noah here with me, but you all being here puts mine and Lando’s mind more at ease” you said, giving your mother-in-law a side hug.

“Was he terrible when you were talking about coming with Noah?” she asked, smiling knowingly.

You laughed, shaking your head affectionately at how well she knew Lando.

“He freaked out about 4 times before we even got out of the car” you said, making the woman laugh.

Lando emerged into the room again, immediately frowning once he saw that Noah was still not back in your arms.

Both you and Cisca watched as his eyes searched the entire room for him, finally settling on the boy happily babbling to his auntie Flo, Lando immediately going over to them.

And as you all sat there with each other, both you and Lando realized what a great support system you had and what a perfect family you have built together.

His win, of course, only solidifying his saying that you were both “his lucky charms”.

comments and re-blogs help us grow!

much appreciated!!

REQUEST HERE

[dreamsteddie]

There is an AITA out there that I can't find but it's been haunting me for weeks with visions of semi-angsty Steddie that I need to release onto the world. (If anyone happens to know what I'm talking about hit me up and I'll link it)

Edit: @jazzathebunny found the original AITA from Reddit linked Here for anyone who wants to read it. I'm definitely not doing exactly the same premise but this was my jumping off point 😊

Part Two! ------

Modern AU, Eddie and the guys are a moderately successful local band in the Chicago area playing gigs on the weekends and doing small tours whenever they all have the time. Gareth and Jeff are both in college while Eddie and Freak are both working part-time at a game store. Eddie managed to lock down that assistant manager position that lets him work 30 hours a week with weekends off for gigs. All in all, it's a pretty sweet deal and they can't complain.

Eddie had sworn off dating after a small handful of disastrous relationship attempts in their first year in the city. He dismisses any advances from people who attend their shows and tries not to think about how much he wants to make a genuine connection with someone and have something real. He's been burned one too many times to try and make something with someone he met in a bar or at work.

He knows the guys talk about it behind his back sometimes, he catches Jeff and Gareth fervently whispering to each other and stopping when they catch him entering the room one time too many to not suspect they're talking about him and he can't think of anything else going on in his life that they would feel the need to whisper about.

The fervent conversations take a slight uptick one day and about a week and a half after they do, Gareth hits him up and tells him he wants to set Eddie up with a guy from one of his classes. At first, Eddie is skeptical and cites all the reasons why he doesn't want to try with anyone right now but eventually, Jeff jumps in to plea the case and Freak jumps in on top of that and under the combined weight of his best friends he agrees to meet up with this Steve guy.

The guys set up the whole thing and before Eddie knows it it's Saturday night and he's wearing his best black jeans and a gray button-down, untucked, to go on an honest to God blind date like his life is some low-budget romcom.

Steve is not at all what Eddie thought he would be. Not the kind of guy he thought his friends would pick out for him given they know he usually goes for other alternatives like himself. Steve, who is shyly waving him over and getting out of his seat to great him, is the very epitome of prep. Well-fitted polo, light blue chinos, and what Eddie assumes this guy thinks are casual loafers. He's handsome to be sure, a 12/10 at least with perfect hair and defined biceps but Eddie is fairly sure he's being punked.

But, Eddie doesn't want to be rude so he goes to meet Steve at the table, confirming just in case that he's actually here to meet with a guy named Eddie. Steve gives him a bit of a confused look, saying that Gareth showed him a couple pictures of Eddie before he agreed to meet and figured he'd done the same for Eddie off Steve's Instagram. Gareth had, in fact, not done anything of the sort but they both dismiss it and get on with their date.

In all honesty, Eddie is expecting it to be a complete wash, but it turns out that even if Steve is not at all what Eddie would have previously said what his type, Steve is damn near perfect. He's funny, kind, a little bitchy, and even though he proves himself to be every bit the sports nerd he looks like he doesn't turn his nose up at Eddie's own much more classically nerdy interests. By the end of the date, Eddie has a new type and that type is Steve Harrington. He's quick to lock down a second date for the next weekend which Steve happily agrees to. They exchange numbers and Steve gives Eddie a chaste kiss on the cheek that has him floating all the way home.

Steve texted him that next morning letting him now he had a great time and is really looking forward to their next date and Eddie thinks this might be the start of something big for him. When he gets to practice he's clearly still floating on cloud nine and in his own little world designing their marriage invitations and matching tombstones so he doesn't notice the sly grins on his bandmates' faces.

"So...how'd it go last night? Everything you dreamed it would be?" Gareth asks, a strange glint in his eyes that Eddie doesn't clock.

Eddie goes on and on about how nice Steve was and how he might be The One, thanking Gareth profusely. Freak looks pleased for him, giving him a hard pat on the shoulder in congratulations but when Eddie finally tunes back into the real world he's greeted by Gareth's livid expression and Jeff's overly concerned one.

He asks the guys what the fuck is up and it turns out that Gareth and Jeff set this whole thing up as a prank of sorts. Eddie was never supposed to hit it off with Steve who Gareth selected specifically because he's a "totally brain-dead prep" and as far away as someone could get from Eddie's previous relationships. He was supposed to be someone Eddie could go on a date with and not form a connection with without getting completely burned at the end like all his previous relationships in the hopes of getting him out of his slump.

Jeff was in on it as well. He wanted to get Eddie back out there, so when Gareth presented the plan he sat in on a couple of Gareth's general credit business class sessions to help pick the guy out.

After Jeff and Gareth finish explaining he does a complete 180 and just...leaves. In any other situation, he would be raging and verbally tearing his friends a new asshole but instead, he completely disengages and walks out the garage door, ignoring his friends' shouts to come back.

He goes back home, socked and hurt and so very confused about how the hell he found himself in this position when his phone lights up.

New Message: Steve H.

Fuck.

-------

Part two coming soon??? Maybe???? We'll see.

[official-olm-posts]

I APPEAR TO HAVE MADE A CRITICAL ERROR. YOU NEED NOT WORRY, KING OLM IS NOT IN DISTRESS.

[savanir]

A sister's love

The justice league hurriedly responds to a call for backup at a little in the middle of nowhere place by the name of Amity Park. 

The situation had seemed so simple. 

A Star Sapphire had suddenly shown up on Earth which isn’t immediately cause for concern but she was unidentified, so a lantern was definitely going to have to look into it if only just to make sure that nothing bad was going on. There are two planet side green lanterns, Simon and Jessica. So they responded to handle the potential situation. 

Things rapidly spun out of control when they realized it wasn't just a Star Sapphire. 

"I hate to say this but we're gonna need backup" Simon tells Cyborg, "the Star Sapphire has brought something with her. My first guess was a white martian but..." The other one can do some manner of density shifting, and he can go invisible, but they know ways around that. Whatever this one is doing isn’t that though.

"Why isn't this working!?!" Comes Jessica's slightly panicked voice in the distance, "he keeps just going through my creations! dammit, think think Jess" She tried to contain him with a flamethrower construct but he just ignored it, like he’s seemingly ignoring everything else she’s throwing at him.

"Our constructs have zero effect on the other one, the alien, meta? man I don’t know he’s human shaped" 

"What is the situation other than the two hostiles?"

"Uh we got some government agents who are retreating because of the Star Sapphire wrecking their stuff. And the civilian people here seem to be falling under her influence, so she must be human. She's from here, she needs emotional connection to pull that stuff off."

The people are furious, the violet glow around them clearly indicates that the girl is using her ring to amp them up but if Simon didn’t know any better he’d say this was red lantern stuff.

Well there are more ways to whip people up into a frenzy, by hurting their loved ones for example.

There is a brief moment where it can be heard that Simon and Jessica try to get into a more advantageous position. 

Simon grunts, "dammit, those agents seemed to have weapons that actually worked on the other guy but the Star Sapphire used her violet constructs to shield him and destroy their guns and we've been struggling since" this whole situation stinks, he has a weird feeling about all of it.

"Simon this is really really bad, i can't keep restraining all these civilians, we're running out of energy fast!"

Cyborg tries to get a visual on the situation from his position in the Watchtower while he’s notifying any league affiliated heroes who are nearby and available. 

But all of a sudden he realizes there is just nothing, just a big lap of void where the two lanterns are supposed to be, there is no cctv footage, no cell towers, no internet connection. Just what the hell is going on here.

Then the audio transmission starts to violently crackle.

A new voice laced with static can suddenly be heard, "There you two are"

"Shit"

"Is the justice league coming yet? Are they finally going to do something?" the staticy voice continues.

"Stay back you-"

"Or maybe they still need more of a reason to act" 

The audio cuts out. 

"Jessica! Simon! Come in!" ... "Shit!" 

Cyborg finally gets a clear picture with the satellite cameras and now sees the entirety of Amity Park has been covered with a crystalized violet dome. It’s then that he remembers the story Hal told quite some time ago now about a Star Sapphire who managed to put a whole planet into love stasis.

They are gonna need more help with this one he thinks.

Meanwhile Jazz is still shakily trying to figure out how her new pink powers work, now that all the fighting is over (for now), the GIW forcefully expelled from Amity, and the two Justice league people captured and restrained.

Everything happened so fast, one moment the GIW had knocked out her brother and were forcefully taking him away and while she saw them drive off (she was pretty sure she was screaming) a pink thing just froze her in place, She was pretty sure someone said something about “great love in her heart” and then she was… well she was flying and- and there wasn’t really any time to question things then so she may have kinda gone and ripped into the van that had Danny.

She’s pretty sure she healed him, and then things just completely spiraled out of control from that point on. and now she’s here.

She’s pretty sure this is crazy villain behavior, she’s going to get put on some sort of watchlist and then she’ll never get to be a psychologist but it’s fine.

Her little brother is safe, that’s all that matters. And she will keep it that way.

[moonstruckme]

Hey angel!! hope ur doing well!!

i was wondering if I could request roommate!marauders where they have crushes on reader buttt she already has a bf but he's just a total jerk.... and u sorta get the idea?? (if u haven't done one like this already)

much love!!! <3333

Thank you for requesting lovely <3

cw: douchebag boyfriend, marauders fancy reader but don't genuinely want her to cheat or end her relationship for them

(poly)roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

It’s heartbreaking how lovely you look first thing in the morning. Sweet, rumpled pajamas, plodding gait, sunlight stretching over features still soft with sleep. You raise your hand to cover a yawn as you enter the kitchen, eyelashes still drooping like they’ve weights sewn into them. 

“Morning,” you say on the tail end. 

“Morning.” James opens one arm to you. You step into the hug automatically, and he drops a kiss to your head, his own private indulgence. You’re eyeing the omelet he’s frying up with his other hand. “Want one?” 

“Mm, wish I could,” your voice is a somnolent mumble, “but Dale’s taking me to breakfast in a bit.” 

James tries not to react, but his hold on you stiffens some. From the living room, he hears Sirius scoff. “Oh.” 

“I’m sure your omelet would be better.” You pat his side, moving out from under his arm to go to the coffee pot. “We’re going to this cafe he likes, and they never have anything I want. Still, I can hardly show up full.” 

James feels himself frown. Typical of your boyfriend to take you somewhere you don’t even like. Perhaps he’s a tad biased, but James thinks you should eat one of his omelets and show up full just to teach him a lesson. 

He plates up the one he’s just finished. You tail him into the living room as he delivers it to Sirius, curling your feet up underneath you on the couch. Remus is sitting in the armchair reading the paper. He and James have already had their breakfasts, but you and Sirius are always the last up on weekends.

“Are you finished with the funnies?” you ask Remus. 

He looks up at you with a tenderness James doesn’t know how you can’t see. “Yeah,” he says, shaking out a page. “Here.” 

Sirius snickers at your choice of reading material as you reach across him for it. You nudge his thigh with your knee. “Bite me.” 

“Anywhere you’d like me to, babe.” He winks. 

You roll your eyes and fold the page to read, well used to Sirius’ flirting. Similarly to how he’d done with Remus, Sirius’ ill-advised tactic for winning you over involves alternating between taunting you relentlessly and acting like his affection for you is all one big joke. It only barely worked on Remus—James’ interference had been required there, and that was before he’d admitted to himself his own feelings for either of the two boys—so James doesn’t understand why Sirius would give it another go with you. 

“Oh.” Remus closes his paper, seeming to remember something. “I was wondering if you might have time to go with me to the farmer’s market this morning. We’re out of eggs, but I can’t haggle with the woman like you do.” 

You give him a sorry sort of smile. “I would, but Dale’s meant to pick me up at ten.”

“Oh, well.” Sirius rolls his eyes, chewing malignantly on a bite of omelet. “If Dale said he’ll be here at ten, then surely that’s what’s happening.” 

You bump his thigh again good naturedly. “Be nice.” 

James bites his tongue, and even Remus reopens his newspaper with a tad more vigor than necessary. Sirius is by far the most vocal with you about your boyfriend’s flaws, but your roommates all hate him. The guy’s a prick. James would never in a million years try to convince you to leave your partner for them—and despite Sirius’ joking, he knows neither of the other boys would want that either—but if you broke up with Dale, he would be very tempted to throw a party. 

James really doesn’t understand how someone like you could end up with someone so holistically unpleasant as your boyfriend. He’s rude, inconsiderate, he doesn’t express any gratitude for the sweet things you do for him, and he is never where he says he’s going to be when he says he’s going to be there. He shows so little regard for anyone but himself. If he told you he was going to pick you up at ten in the morning, he’s just as likely to arrive at three in the afternoon. Even for your half-hearted defense of him, it’s nearly ten and you’ve made no move to change out of your pajamas or get ready, because you know he won’t be here on time. It irks your roommates to no end to see you tolerate such poor treatment. 

“Maybe you can go with Remus to the farmer’s market,” you tell Sirius. “You seem like you could negotiate.” 

“Sirius doesn’t know how much eggs are supposed to cost,” Remus says idly. 

“Oi!” Sirius objects through a mouthful of omelet. “I do so.” 

James smiles at him. “Really. How much do you think eggs cost, love?” 

Sirius manages to take another bite while James is asking, so his mouth is conveniently too full to answer. 

“I can manage it on my own,” Remus says with indulgent fondness. “Dove, do me one favor, though?” 

You lift your coffee. “Sure.” 

“Don’t let him summon you outside with his horn again.” 

There’s a brief but thick silence while you finish swallowing your coffee and all three boys try not to look too obviously judgmental (Sirius trying the least, naturally). The purse of your lips reveals some embarrassment. 

Still, your voice comes out unconcerned. “It’s not a big deal to me. It’s not like we’re in school and I need him to come to the door and meet my parents. It’s a time saver.” 

“It’s rude,” says Remus gently. “You deserve someone who will come to the door for you.” 

James’ thoughts exactly. 

“Sure you don’t want some toast or something while you wait?” James asks, partly to dispel the tension and partly because he really does think you should eat something if Dale isn’t likely to be here until the afternoon. “You could call it an appetizer.” 

You stand with your emptied coffee mug, passing an affectionate hand over James’ hair as you move between his legs and the coffee table. “Thanks,” you say genuinely, “but I’m alright. I’m going to go get ready.” 

However eager James is to avoid the tension that comes from insulting (or, really, just speaking frankly about) your boyfriend, Sirius has no such concerns. “While we’re telling Dale things,” he says after you, “be sure to remind him that our flat has a three-strike roommate tears policy. Next time you come home crying, Jamie and I get to make a house call.” 

Your laughter echoes down the hallway. “Sure, I’ll let him know.” 

Sirius looks at James, perplexed. “Did I sound like I was joking? I was not using my joking voice.” 

James pats his leg consolingly.

[wileys-russo]

filling the void (9) II a.putellas

part of the filling the void universe ft solstråle from @girlgenius1111 family line series filling the void (9) II a.putellas

you twirled a pen between your fingers as your gaze flickered downward, tapping your phone and rolling your eyes seeing another five minutes had passed without a text, solstråle now nearly fifteen minutes late and not any sort of explanation offered.

at first you’d wondered if maybe she got lost, but alexia had already told you that mapi had shown solstråle exactly where the library was. 

your sister herself had locked you in her car and refused to let you out today until you promised to be nice, after insisting on picking you up from work and dropping you off to your little study session to ‘save you a walk, which really you knew was just her way of ensuring you didn’t bail.

not that you had plans to, but you were starting to wonder if solstråle was.

alexia had at least followed through on her part of the study deal, and with some sly timing on your shopping trip inside her closet and olga keeping the blonde distracted during, you’d wound up with more than you were promised, much to alexia’s disdain once she noticed a couple of days later exactly what was missing.

having been raised right you were more than ready to be nice and attempt again to break through solstråle’s awkward interior as you arrived and made your way to the breakout room you’d booked. 

after filling mapi in on what happened at the game and how you were sure solstråle already disliked you, mapi was quick to assure it wasn’t you, ingrids sister was just…quiet. 

so trying to prepare best you could for what was in its entirety a new experience for you, you’d spent the morning sourcing some worksheets online and scouring your room for your old textbooks.

having given most of them away you at least still had a couple of basic ones from your final year of school, but you also just had no idea where the norwegian you’d be tutoring was even up to or what bar her spanish she specifically would want and need help with.

however now, still in your work scrubs with a hoodie tossed over the top and the beginning dull throb of an impending headache settling behind your eyes, your willingness and readiness to be so nice to the clearly time poor norwegian was wagering on paper thin.

tapping your nails against the desk you briefly considered leaving, a quick check showing the next bus you could take home was in five minutes and the stop was right outside, but just as you were preparing to pack up your things there was a knock on the door.

the taller brunette didn’t wait for you to say anything, the knock seeming more to let you know she’d arrived as she closed the door behind her and slumped down in the seat across from you, backpack dumped on the table and not a single word of conversation offered.

“llegas tarde.” you raised an eyebrow and stared her down as she looked right back at you blankly and your eyes rolled. “you are late.” you repeated in english, the norwegian shrugging and mumbling a quiet seemingly unbothered apology.

knowing that holding onto the anger simmering inside you would only make this even less productive you paused to calm yourself, twisting alba’s bracelet on your wrist and counting to five in your head before deciding to just start this all over fresh.

“um i do not really know where to start. do you have homework?” you guessed might be a decent starting point, the girl nodding wordlessly and moving to unzip her bag, pulling out a few loose worksheets as you cringed at the obvious disorganisation hidden within her backpack.

she slid the worksheets across the table as you flipped them around and scanned them, noting some were history and rest spanish language and literature. “do you have one you want to do more?” you questioned, solstråle only shrugging. “vale. or we could work on your spanish?” another silent shrug.

you could feel your patience being tested with each passing moment she remained quiet, trying to remind yourself over and over what mapi said about this taking some time, but this was rapidly seeming much more impossible than you were lead to originally believe.

“is there things you ah, struggle with? with spanish?” you questioned further, another shrug as you inhaled sharply and again counted to five in your head.

“bien. let us work through this then, I think I remember this case study.” you mumbled, scooting your chair around the table so the two of you could both read the worksheet right side up, not missing the way the older girl was fast to tense up and lean right away from you.

you tried not to be offended, subtly sniffing yourself and frowning when all you could smell was the perfume you’d spritzed yourself with, maybe it was too strong or she just had a sensitive sense of smell.

none the less taking your time you read through the first question, trying to speak slowly and clearly, well aware english was not either of your native languages. “did you bring the article?” you asked, checking the papers she’d put down and not able to find it in the small stack. 

“a yes or no would work.” you remanded when once more all you got was a shrug, followed by an eye roll and a hand shoved into the backpack.

“how do you even find the right paper in there?” you asked with a disturbed look, solstråle pausing to glare at you, mumbling something you didn’t understand and assumed was norwegian.

“here.” finally, a word, but you jumped with the force she slammed the paper down onto the desk with. 

“no, this is not it.” you scanned the first few sentences and shook your head. “well you have read it? why do you need it then?” the girl questioned bluntly and you were most taken aback by what was easily the longest sentence you’d heard leave her mouth.

“so we can answer these, because you will need quotes for these first three.” you managed to get out with a hardened jaw, flaring your nostrils as the brunette snatched the paper back and shoved it into her bag.

“solstråle. do you have the paper?” you asked firmly when a minute went by and she made no other move. once more, a muted shrug, and then you realised something you might have been overlooking.

“can you not read this? the spanish?” you asked a little more bluntly than intended, tired from a long day and what felt like a pointless exercise in patience, but it would seem you’d struck a nerve you hadn’t meant to with the taller girl none the less. 

“i can read spanish. i do not know what mapi told you but are you supposed to be helping me? because all you are doing is asking stupid questions. it has been thirty minutes and we have done nothing, this is a waste of time!” the norwegian scoffed as you stopped, sizing her up with narrowed eyes. 

“well you were late so i was already here for fifteen minutes doing nothing anyway, and i have been asking questions so i know what to help you with! but all i get is-” you pulled a face and aggressively shrugged your shoulders a few times clearly mocking the taller girl who gave you a glare. 

“alexia’s super little sister, everyone says you are so smart. can you not see i do not want your help? you want to be a doctor no? so go find someone who does!” solstråle grunted and now you were the one to scoff, pushing your chair back and shooting to your feet, rounding the table and collecting your things.

“eres un maldito idiota!” you spat, your temper well and truly unleashed now as all of your work to minimise the frustrations with the sullen girl across from you melted to nothing as your head was boiling.

“snobbete kjerring.” came the reply she knew you wouldn’t understand, your things all shoved into your bag now as you muttered angry rapid spanish under your breath, having reached the end of your rope you didn’t care if she understood you or not.

“you know i did this as a favour tonta. i have worked all day, i came right here after my shift on time. i have my own studies to do too because yes i want to be a nurse. i am smart and i know what i want to do with my life. maybe if you get your head out of your own ass engen, you might too! and you are right this is a waste of time, my time!” and with that you stormed out of the room, beelining for the bus stop and cursing every foul word you knew under the sun toward the girl you’d left behind.

~

if nobody knew you were in a mood from the way you ignored the family group chat trying to make weekend plans about alexia’s game and a barbeque and left everyone on read, it became glaringly obvious with the way the front door slammed after you as you stomped inside, alba glancing up from her phone as you dropped your bag on the table.

you threw open the refrigerator still muttering angrily under your breath and ignoring her greeting toward you, grabbing out a punnet of strawberries and swinging it harshly closed again. 

then without a word you snatched the unopened can of lemonade your sister had in her hand, flopping yourself down on the couch with a huff and another quiet angry grumble, angrily shoving a strawberry in your mouth with a scowl.

alba whistling under her breath spun around on the stool she was sat on, knowing you’d come from your study session and your current tense mood coupled with the fact you were home an hour earlier than expected was all she needed to know it clearly hadn’t gone well.

“lo que pasó?” she appeared in front of you, arms crossed and eyebrow raised as you took an aggressive sip of lemonade and shook your head.

“no quiero hablar de ello.” you grumbled, not looking at her and instead flicking through the recordings trying to find the latest episode of your favourite reality tv dating show.

“bien.” alba shrugged, taking a seat beside you and counting down in her head as you continued to button mash the poor remote in your hand. three, two, one…

“dios mío solstråle is such an asshole! first she was late without a reason or an apology, then she ignored me and refused to speak, then she would not tell me what the problem she wanted to study was? then all she did was-” once again you aggressively shrugged your shoulders up and down as your sister hid a smile behind her hand, the older girl for once not wanting to wind you up any further and knowing you needed to let this out as you rambled on and on.

“-she belongs in your class, your niños are smarter than she is at least they know how to speak and listen at the same time! imbécil estúpida. i am not doing that again! alexia can…well she can take a hike!” you decided with a snarl, alba now unable to hide the belt of laughter which left her mouth as you shot her a mean glare.

“where did you learn that saying? take a hike? qué significa eso?” your sister laughed as you rolled your eyes.

“one of your american rom coms?” alba mocked making quotations with her finger as you scowled and shoved her, admittedly having quite the fascination for seemingly silly english speaking love movies which was how you’d gotten much better at speaking and understanding it in the first place.

“do you want some advice hermanita?” alba asked after a few moments of tense silence as you shrugged, a slight snicker leaving your sisters mouth as you clocked the gesture would seem slightly hypocritical given your previous rant.

“no? vale! good luck saying no to ale after you stole half her closet diablillo.” alba held her hands up and walked away leaving you to stew in your anger a little while longer. 

though as you sat and thought and stewed, you realised some advice would not go to waste and of all people alba would probably be the most qualified to provide it.

so with a huff you stood to your feet, alba already hearing your footsteps head toward where she was sat out on the back deck soaking up the last few hours of sun before the door slid open and she glanced up.

“advise me por favor.” you sat down beside her and gestured for her to speak as your sister snatched the lemonade from your hand and took a mouthful, placing the can down out of reach and turning to face you properly.

“have you thought about how this feels for solstråle?” alba questioned at first though you could tell from her tone it was rhetorical and didn’t beg an answer.

“she is in a new country, learning a new language, at a new school, where everyone else is years and years and years ahead. then you come along when you are born here, you speak the language, you have finished school. you find things easy, but solstråle will not and maybe she also does not know what she actually needs help with fresa, only that she is struggling.” alba continued as you slowly nodded to show you were listening.

“now imagine if you had to move to norway, you had to learn norwegian but learn it mostly it in english, when spanish is your native language, and all from a girl who you don’t know with a weird accent who thinks she knows everything. then the entire plan is not even your idea but something you feel you need to do because your hermana suggested you need it, so you already go into it thinking your hermana thinks you cannot do it yourself.” alba spoke slowly as again you nodded, feeling your anger slowly melt away as the cogs of your brain ticked over.

“i do not think i know everything.” you grumbled with a huff, fixed with a look of disbelief as you rolled your eyes, maybe you could come across as a know it all sometimes. “you have a god complex fresita and it is alexia’s fault for always telling you that you are perfect.” alba quipped with a snort, silencing you with a raised eyebrow before she continued

“then this girl with a weird accent asks you lots of questions about norwegian but she asks you in english, that you probably do not know the answer to, and she has a short temper, a hot head, not much patience, and gives up after one time when she is not even trying her best. would you not be maybe a little bit frustrated? confused? embarrassed?” alba questioned again and now you knew she expected an answer as your body seemed to sag.

“sí, sería difícil, then i called her an idiota and just stormed off!” you exhaled heavily, things suddenly now a little more in perspective as you dragged your hands down your face. “está bien tonta, not everyone is built for teaching, especially not hot heads.” alba chuckled patting your knee as you peeked out from behind your hands giving her a look of annoyance.

“is there some advice coming soon puta?” “did you not hear what i just said about patience?”

“espere, mapi is calling me.” you felt your phone vibrating in your pocket, still on silent after the work day as you fished it out and clicked accept.

“hola mapi, i do not know what-” you started completely ready for the spaniard to start yelling at you but you were surprised at what followed next.

“fresa have you seen solstråle? her location cut off, she was supposed to already be home and she is not answering her phone. did you see her leave? did she drive?” mapi asked in a tone more serious than you think you’d ever heard, the edge of worry to her voice obvious as you frowned.

“no we finished up early, i did not see her leave i took the bus home about…two hours ago?” you tried to guess, mapi thanking you bluntly and hanging up before you could even say another word.

you tried to brush it off, as a teenager yourself you often made excuses not to have to come home on time, and if you weren’t so scared about driving and had your license you were certain the freedom of a car would be tempting.

but as alba began to try and lay out how you would be better to tackle your next session, you couldn’t shake the weird pin prick of something sitting at the back of your head about the stony norwegian, and just maybe you were a little concerned about if she was okay, and that if god forbid something had happened, was it partially your fault?

~

"fresa valentina putellas segura!" you looked up from your phone and exhaled heavily, wincing at the use of your full name and glaring over your shoulder toward elena who shrugged and sent you a knowing smile, busy on a phone call as you heard the car door close.

"i could have gotten a lift home with elena mami." you mumbled, groaning as another car door shut and both your sisters scrambled out of the car, clearly bickering over something as they pushed and shoved one another in their haste to get over to where you were sat.

"elena is who called me! i had to find out from her that you were at the hospital? hablas en serio?" your mami huffed, smacking the back of your head as you pulled a face and rubbed it with a scowl.

"we should go and yell at the nurses for not calling you sooner mami, she is a baby!" alexia chimed in as she and alba arrived and you closed your eyes and sighed again, looking up to the sky as your face was warmed with sunshine, trying to drown out the three lectures which washed over you from the women stood fussing around you.

"we are not at the hospital, it is a medical centre and i am almost eighteen. once you are over sixteen you can make your own medical decisions, and i am fine." you reminded with another sigh, hearing footsteps and cracking an eye open to watch your mami march away from the bench you were sat on to go and talk to elena who was now off the phone.

"you are still a baby. venga alba, get her crutches." your eldest sister ordered as you sat up properly, sharply smacking the girls hands away as she hissed and narrowed her eyes at you in a glare.

"i can get them myself! i can walk without them but they would not let me leave unless i took them, la doctora era tan dramática." you grumbled in annoyance, only having mildly sprained your ankle and insistent that everyone was over reacting from the moment you fell.

it had been a harmless accident, however it had looked a lot worse than it was.

you'd just finished taking an elderly gentlemens vitals after you'd already collected his blood, the vials labelled and stored properly out back you'd been on your way back to the room to advise the gentlemen could leave, but you'd not been paying attention to the floor.

the clinic currently had a student on for work placement week, a meek and quiet fifteen year old boy who looked terrified anytime someone spoke to him, and with the way he went pale at the sight of blood it had you all wondering just who at his school he'd wronged to end up on placement here of all places.

it would seem he'd somehow dropped and smashed a few vials of someones blood after being asked to carry them back to the storeroom, and while he was busy stumbling through apologies to the nurse he was assigned to shadow for the day, elena, he'd not made any sort of effort to clean up.

so without a warning sign of any kind at least you hadn't looked down to see what you were hurrying toward and before you could blink you'd slipped over with a loud thump and you were covered in someone else’s blood.

of course without knowing the context of what happened the moment your coworkers appeared there had been all sorts of chaos that followed, everyone checking you for wounds and cuts as patients were hurried back into the collection rooms and nobody listened to the student trying to stammer out what had actually happened.

none the less you'd managed to land awkwardly on your ankle and not able to put much pressure on it your boss mateo had insisted you go get it x-rayed to rule it out of being anything serious, shutting down your protests with a firm look and ordering elena to drive you.

so thankfully with spare scrubs always handy you'd been able to change, not able to think of much worse than sitting at the medical centre covered in blood and the looks that would attract when you explained the issue was only your ankle.

you'd managed to charm your way out of anyone at work calling your mami, assuring she would be busy at her own job with her phone in her locker, and you'd just call one of your sisters once you knew what was wrong not wanting to panic anyone without a need.

however elena knowing you all too well knew you'd try to keep this to yourself and as you were being x-rayed it seemed she had slyly called eli to inform her of what had happened. which of course in your family may as well have been a bat signal for everyone to panic and over-react, exactly what you'd wanted to avoid in the first place.

"put your arms around my neck pequeña." alexia instructed as you gave her a look of disbelief. "alexia. eres sordo? i said i can walk myself!" you huffed, trying to stand up as alba pushed you back down onto the bench, snatching your crutches and she was off toward the car.

"cuídate chica, i will let mateo know what happened and i am sure he will give you the rest of the week off to recover. after all we have the student to help out!" elena appeared and squeezed your shoulder, grinning at the glare you gave her as she winked and hurried away to her own car before you could say a word, eli calling out another thank you as she did.

"and you will be taking the time off fresa." your mami’s gaze shifted to you and warned sharply as you groaned, already over all of the fussing yet you knew it had barely begun.

"estoy bien! i can work in reception and sit at the front desk, do admin and stay off my ankle and-" you tried to argue, falling silent at the fierce looks sent your way both by eli and alexia, crossing your arms and scowling.

"sí, me tomaré tiempo libre." you begrudgingly agreed with a sigh, eli nodding happily before she hurried off into the medical centre ignoring your yells after her that you already had everything you needed.

"derecha hermanita, arms around my neck." alexia repeated herself expectantly as she leaned down a little closer and once more you scoffed. "i can walk! aléjate de mí." you growled, trying to stand and grunting as again you were pushed back down.

"alexia!" "you are not walking to the car." "vale, i will sleep on this bench then." you puffed out stubbornly with a shake of your head.

"deja de ser idiota! you can put your arms around my neck and i will carry you, or i will pick you up over my shoulder como un bebé pequeño." your sister threatened seriously and judging by the look on her face you knew she was far from joking.

so mumbling about how embarrassing this was you did as she requested, knowing the alternative was worse, alexias arms wrapping around you as you were picked up and off the bench, were grateful there weren't many people around to see this as your sister carried you fireman style to the car.

"esto es ridículo." you muttered bitterly, alexia going as far as to do your seat belt up for you as alba sat in the front and your mami reappeared, a copy of your x-ray and some other papers in hand as alexia sat in the passenger seat fussing over you and you squeezed your eyes closed.

this was going to be far more painful than your ankle was.

~

"por el amor de dios it is a sprain! a mild sprain! not a break, or a fracture, or a-" but your protests fell on deaf ears as alexia lowered you down onto the sofa and ignored you, chattering away to alba about everything they assumed you needed.

you’d already had to fight them off not to shower and dress you like a child when you’d returned home, both girls settling for hovering right outside the bathroom door like guard dogs.

with eli’s help you utilised the shower chair she’d refused to touch throughout her own recovery to take the pressure off your ankle, sighing in relief as you’d washed the days events off of you.

"elevate and ice!" your mami called out from the kitchen where she was already prepping things for lunch, alba tossing alexia an ice pack, a tea towel already slung over your eldest sisters shoulder as your jaw clenched.

you hissed as alexia grabbed your ankle, lifting your leg to slide a pillow beneath and giving you a look. "mild?" she scoffed as you glared and grumbled something under your breath about how even mild sprains hurt when someones nails dig into them.

"mild, read the papers tonta! mami has about four copies." you muttered with a roll of your eyes, wincing as alexia wrapped a tea towel around your ankle to secure the ice pack to it, apologising quietly as she adjusted your ankle to sit comfortably on the pillow it was propped on.

“this is like when diablillo broke her toe.” alba chuckled at the memory, alexia trying to hide a wince as your eyes locked in on her and narrowed into a glare. “and whose fault was that?”

eli had been enjoying a couple of hours of peace, alba not yet home from school, alexia at training and a much younger you dead asleep in bed after a psychology appointment, pulled out of school at lunch time to attend.

to try and take your mind off of the contents of the appointment, which given you were five years old and learning what grief was in the wake of your papi’s passing were always emotionally taxing, eli had taken you grocery shopping.

big mistake.

you’d always been a very confident, outgoing and sure of yourself child, having to be in order to keep up with your big loud family and especially your strong willed sisters. so it was no surprise that the moment eli pulled out her list you were taking it off of her and charging away.

but you weren’t good at following the list so nearly every second thing you tossed into the cart, your mami took out and put back, sighing at your protests and attempts to rationalise the purchase, list taken out of your possession and an agreement made if you wouldn’t sit in the cart you had to have a hand on it at all times.

but the other part of that agreement, granted you stuck to it which was becoming increasingly hard given everything you wanted was just out of reach with how eli strategically parked the cart in each aisle, was that at the end of it you could choose something as a reward.

your mami already knew what your choice would be so it was no surprise when finally as everything was ticked off the list and you were given the green light you raced right to the produce section, eli lifting you up onto her hip so you could properly survey the punnets and punnets of strawberries in front of you.

however when almost twenty minutes later when you still hadn’t made a choice your mami was starting to lose patience, gently trying to hurry you along as she watched you carefully survey each and every strawberry with narrowed eyes.

finally, one was chosen, and it had seemed the grocery trip coupled with your appointment earlier in the afternoon had wiped you out, falling asleep in the car on the way home as your mami slowly woke you, hand in hers and leading you to your bedroom where you crashed out right on top of the covers, red tightly in hand.

but now a couple of hours later it seemed eli’s peace was about to end as alba came tearing in the door, chattering away on her phone and your mami’s eyes rolled watching her once neatly organised kitchen become anything but as your hormone filled teenage sister piled a plate high with some post school fuel.

alexia was next, flying through the door and bringing jenni with her of course, their chattering filling the house as alba spoke louder in return on the phone, retreating to her room with a slam of her door as the noise jolted you awake.

your mami shook her head, watching your sister and her girlfriend rummage through the refrigerator just as alba had done moments ago, the once fully stocked shelves already beginning to clear out in just a matter of a few minutes.

everyone greeting eli the woman was grateful she was still able to sit and read her book, both your sisters old enough not to need her attention the way you did, but moving to the living room and with her head buried in literature she missed alexia grab out your specially selected strawberries.

however it was the very first thing you noticed as you tiredly padded into the kitchen, rubbing your eyes and blinking to try and clear them of sleep, jenni noticing you first with a grin and bending down to open her arms for a hug. you were more than ready to wander into them however before you could take another step alexia bit into a strawberry and you gasped, suddenly wide awake.

“ale those are mine! volver a ponerlos!” you demanded angrily, stomping on over as your sister chuckled and shook her head, jenni standing again with a defeated sigh that you’d rejected her hug.

“you do not own all the fresones in this house monstruito.” alexia grinned, biting into another one just to wind you up as you huffed and glared up at her, she was always at her most annoying after she’d trained and was full of endorphins as your mami tried to explain to you.

“i own those! they are mine i bought them today at the market with mami!” you tried to explain, attempting to climb up onto the counter to grab them but your little feet wouldn’t grip onto the stone walls of the counter as you watched on uselessly as now jenni took a bite.

“oh do you want one?” alexia smirked, one hand pressed to your forehead holding you off as she held a strawberry down to you but just out of reach, grinning as you reached for it with frustrated little grunts.

alexia nodded for jenni to tip out the rest of the punnet into a small bowl on the counter, grabbing the seemingly empty container they’d once been in and letting you go, putting what appeared to be the last strawberry into her mouth with a content sigh.

“aquí monstruito.” your sister handed you the empty container as your jaw dropped and you looked up at her in disbelief, a smug smile on the older girls face as jenni nudged her in the back that maybe this was taking the teasing a little too far.

letting out a war cry you charged at her but alexia already anticipated the attack, easily holding you off again with a hand covering your face, words muffled against her palm as your arms swung trying to connect with any part of her body.

but when that didn’t work you resorted to plan b, winding your leg up and kicking at her as hard as you could, your foot bouncing off of her bare shin and you felt something crack, stopping your movement all together as alexia’s grin was wiped away watching your face pale.

“hey hey hey hermanita-” but right as she squatted down to try and check in you let out a blood curdling scream, falling to the ground and holding your foot as suddenly the kitchen was full of people, everyone fussing over you as you pushed both of your sisters away, only accepting eli’s arms which scooped you up and sat you on the counter.

“no! te odio!” you screamed at alexia who tried to move in to hug you, the eighteen year old flinching away as if she’d been burned, alba moving in instead as you pushed your face into her stomach and gripped her school shirt in your hands as eli ever so gently moved your leg, dodging the way it kicked out in reflex.

“oh mi nena, i think you might have broken your big toe.”

safe to say your sisters both learned a very valuable lesson about how far to take things when pushing you around and teasing you that day, alexia especially.

"do you not have anything else better to do than fuss and annoy me capitana?" you grumbled sarcastically, eyes rolling yet again as your sister fluffed and prepped the cushions behind your back now, karate chopping them making you snicker with slight amusement at the concentration on her face as she did so.

"tiene razón mija, look at the time you should go, you have that meeting!" eli called out in agreement as alexia hummed. "and don't you have niños to dumb down?" you leaned back and looked up at your middle sister who was stood behind the couches, a brush and tie in hand as she grabbed your hair and started to scrape it up into a bun despite the fact your arms were fine and you could easily do it yourself.

"alba!" you yelped as the flat side of the brush smacked against your forehead. "don't hit her puta she's hurt!" alexia reached over and shoved the younger girl who rolled her eyes and tilted your head back to kiss your forehead in a silent apology as you made an indignant huff and jerked away from her.

"student free day." alexia explained on alba's behalf, seemingly satisfied with how she'd smacked and poked the cushions into order behind you, and you had to admit you were quite comfortable.

"if you need anything you tell mami or alba, do not get up!" your sister warned sternly, giving you the firm captains look you knew struck fear into her teammates but did nothing much for you as you raised your eyebrows in acknowledgement.

"fresa valentina-" "bien i will not move! váyase and stop with the middle name." you groaned shooing your hands for her to leave. "te quiero, do not do anything stupid!" she warned shoving your head to the side as you mocked her under your breath.

"more like anything else stupid." alba chimed in from the kitchen, your middle finger popping up at her as your mami clicked her tongue in disapproval.

"what?" you sighed as still alexia stayed standing in front of you expectantly. "i am not saying it back." you turned on the tv with a shrug, browsing for what to watch as your sister huffed and finally moved out of the way.

overhearing alexia tell eli that she and olga would be back for dinner you groaned, knowing everyone would be fussing over you despite the fact you were fine.

“can olga come and you stay home? your home.” you suggested, your mami clicking her tongue again with a huff as now alexia flipped you off making you grin and return the gesture. 

“dibujar!” alba cried out as she joined in, now all three of you using both your hands to flip one another off with matching grins as eli sighed, having flashbacks to when you were all much younger.

“basta de esto! I raised you three better than this.” your mami smacked a wooden spoon against the counter as all three of you flinched at the memories which came with the sound and immediately dropped your hands as the shorter women nodded, quite pleased that still worked as alexia yelled another goodbye and finally made her way out.

~

“elena you are not taking me to my bedroom, i’m fine.” you huffed a couple days later, your sisters and mami both having been hovering relentlessly all week which was more than starting to grate on you, not even allowed to go and have some peace and quiet in your own room, banished to the sofa like a prisoner all day everyday where someone could have eyes on you at all times.

you knew your mami was perhaps getting the most from this, and though she would never admit it you could tell that after so long of her being the one who was being fussed over and watched like a hawk it was both a relief and a joy for that attention to be diverted elsewhere. 

a bonus that it so happened to be you, the one who was perhaps most guilty of fussing over her since she left hospital given you were the last of your sisters still living at home.

“let me just help you walk there, since you refuse to use the crutches.” elena rolled her eyes, nodding at the crutches in her hand which indeed you’d not touched, insistent that you could walk albeit with a small limp.

it had taken a lot of begging and pleading but with it being one of your friends birthdays you’d been invited out to dinner with them, eli eventually agreeing you could go so long as you promised to let her know when you were on your way back.

you’d done that, sending her a text message as you left the restaurant with elena, but when you hadn’t heard back and given it was nearly eleven thirty at night, you assumed she’d likely fallen asleep.

“because I do not need them, and I do not need help!” you huffed, elena giving up with a sigh and carefully placing your crutches just inside by the front door, hugging you goodbye with a teasing donkey noise, everyone having teased you were ‘stubborn as an ass’ all night as you bit back a smile and gave her a sarcastic wave goodbye.

closing the door after her you exhaled in relief as with your mami seemingly asleep and your sisters at their own homes you finally had a moment of peace to yourself without someone asking if you needed anything, fixing a cushion, getting more ice, checking the swelling.

but still, despite the peace nature called and with a sigh you started to hobble your way to the bathroom, the swelling having gone down but the ankle itself still quite tender despite the fact it could bare a lot more weight now. 

your eyes flickered momentarily toward the crutches sitting abandoned just an arms length away, knowing really you should use them as it would make this whole process a lot faster. however your friends weren’t wrong you were stubborn, and determined to prove even just to yourself that this was only a mild sprain and you were getting better you began an arduous journey toward the bathroom.

you were doing okay at first, grabbing onto things and allowing your body to lean on your dominant foot, able to get all the way to the bathroom all on your own, sitting down on the toilet with a relieved exhale.

but it was getting up that suddenly the situation drastically changed.

when you’d showered earlier you’d left your wet towel on the ground, nothing unusual as given it was only you and eli living here now and she had her own bathroom there was no one to complain about it.

however too focused on hobbling over to the sink you’d failed to notice, and if anything this whole week had just been one huge life lesson to learn to look down a little more often, and with a blink you felt yourself slip, head hitting the ground and back thumping against the tile floor.

but all you were focused on was the way you felt your ankle go snap, pain shooting up your leg as if it was on fire as you groaned loudly, trying to sit up but grunting and collapsing back to the ground.

“mami? mami? mami!” you tried to yell out through gritted teeth, calling out a few more times and groaning as the pain worsened and the room began to spin a little. feeling something digging into your hip you managed to pull your phone out with a hiss, yelling out again for eli but not hearing anything.

so knowing really there wasn’t anything else you could do you clicked on the contact for the one person you thought might answer if you called. 

your heartbeat sounding in your ears and vision a little blurred you hesitated, flashbacks of all the calls you’d made to her where she hadn’t answered, stomach churning with a mix of nausea, worry and rejection, questioning if maybe you were wrong and she wouldn’t answer, leaving you alone again.

but eventually the pain won out and you clicked call, sighing with a grimace as the dial tone sounded once, twice, three times, four times and- 

“hola? pequeña? estás bien?” “ale? por favour por favor i need help, hermana i need you!”

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

I love your work, could you please write a viktor x reader who takes care of him. like makes sure he eats, they make baked goods for him or make him go to bed in time. I think it would be cute

Heyo! Sure I can, even if it’s been a while since I wrote for Viktor (or anything) lmao

Caretaker!Reader

Viktor takes well enough care of himself, to his own standards

So we all know he can use a little more help and a little helping hand

I think Viktor is pretty independent so it takes a lot out of him to even be able to do this kind of intimate thing with you

If he does, it takes a lot of vulnerability as you would see him at his lowest

There have been times where he probably refused and would try and get out of any situation where you found out he needed help and to be taken care of

He doesn’t want to bother you or anything when he deems it able to be done by himself

It takes a while for him to be comfortable enough with you and your relationship to let himself be vulnerable in that way

As he has never done this kind of thing with anyone else before

But once it happens, trust me, you’re golden

I think he does like sweets and baked goods, so to have you bring him any on a whim and not because you have to, but because you care warms his heart absolutely

He often forgets to take care of himself and his basic needs, like eating and stuff like that for his experiments and research

So he relies on you for that a little bit once he knows you will always be there for him

He loves when you cook or bake for him and knowing it’s so he knows he’s taken care of makes each bite better than the last

At first when you attempted to get him on some sort of decent sleep schedule, he resisted

He went to bed whenever, or whenever his research was done or he passed out and often it was in the lab or at his desk or in the middle of his studying at the table

SOO you would often have to bring him to bed yourself

Once you wore him down enough, he acted like you won

You thought you did until you found out he was just waiting till you fell asleep and slipped out off bed, and slipped back in just before you woke up and pretended to wake up beside you

You had to scold him probably, or it was some sort of argument

He realized you just wanted him to be healthy, and for him to be well rested

Reluctantly, he began going to sleep with you and waking up beside you in the mornings

He found he actually did like this habit because sleeping beside you was surprisingly comforting

He loved hearing your breathing pattern as you fell asleep, and it helped him fall asleep to hear and feel your heart beating as you both snuggled to sleep

And he loved watching you wake up slowly in the mornings

It was all worth it

One thing he was very stubborn about you not doing was taking care of his leg I think

Probably because he feels as his sort of disability is a bother enough, he doesn’t want you to be burdened with it

He probably thinks that if you see that part of him, you’ll think he’s not worth it and leave

And that’s not the case

He only finds out on a particularly harsh day when it hurt so bad, and it was so sore all he could do was want to fall asleep and alleviate the pain by any means

You maybe kissed his leg, maybe rubbed out the pain, maybe helped him in any way

But as you did it, he loved the feeling and could only watch you do so and the warm feeling in his chest never left

So, on the hard days, he would drop subtle hints that he wanted to be taken care of

Like subtly saying “oh, it just hurts, I have no clue how to fix it…” and wait for you to offer to rub it

I feel he likes being babied a little bit, but not to much

He doesn’t like being treated as glass or like he is incompetent

But he does love being taken care of by you

Be it food, tending to him or showering or making sure he is fed and clean

He loves showering with you

He loves having you wash his hair and the feelings of your hand in it or feeling you lather the soap on him while he just gets to relax and close his eyes and know your there

And that he’s able to soak in all the love

Obviously he returns it all in his own way but

It’s just all the love you pour in

[smir7]

If 5000 people donated just 1$ each, it can save my career and life

Im an artist and I'll draw everyone who donates to me even if its 1$

Hi guys,

Im smir im an 18 year old University student i live alone and doing art is my only source of income

The past 2 months have been very hard for me and i am now late on all the bills but my biggest problem rn is that i might be expelled from my university if I don't pay the tution fee in 3 days as im already late for it

I know joining a college with weak financial condition was very risky move for me but it was my dream college and i didn't expect all the bad things that happened the past month

For me the college is my last hope for my future career as well because I can't be doing art for my whole life because just like this anything can go wrong and since i live alone college is my last hope for my life

I dont like asking for free money especially on the internet, this is a very tough situation for me so i will draw a sketch of everyone who donates to me 1$

I will draw a quick 10 min sketch to a detailed 90 min sketch depending on the amount

And if you want a sketch like the 1st,4th and 5th images above (sketch with some text on it)

I have created a seperate commision section for it as well

https://ko-fi.com/smir7/commissions

If you want a simple normal potrait like the 3rd image you can donate any amount to me on this link and I'll draw it https://ko-fi.com/smir7

I'll be forever grateful for everyone who donates and I'll make sure to draw a nice sketch for you

Please don't worry that i might not have time for doing your commision , im ready to work hard for a few weeks i can take as many commisions and sketches rn , it will be a busy 2 weeks from now but I'll draw all the requests without any exception

I will send a high resolution printable pic for all the sketches and commisions

Im planning on doing live streaming of drawing and doing personal art journal commisions soon once im free from this situation

Follow me if you're interested in the journey

(watermark to verify its me)