I Would Sell My Soul For Something Like This.

i would sell my soul for something like this.

but then again, he would gladly take mine and give me his.

Malfoy. (DM)

drabble

“Looking good, Malfoy.”

He looked up at you, eyebrow raised. Draco did, in fact, look incredible. Not just the all black suit, not just the expensive jewellery, but the messy hair and the way he casually rested his head on his hand.

He stood up and rounded you, coming to stand behind your back and sliding two arms around your waist. His lips touched your neck and hovered just above skin, his breath hot as he whispered, “I’ve been your husband for four years, and you’re still calling me ‘Malfoy’?”

You tilted your head slightly, biting your lip to suppress a grin as you hummed in amusement. He obliged, and slowly kissed down your neck. He seemed to follow the beat of your pulse, trailing his way down. One. Two. Three. Then your pulse sped up as his touch grew intense.

You felt his hand start to lift from your waist, but before he could go any further you reached up and touched his neck, pulling him gently to look up. Before you stood a full length mirror, where Draco’s reflection frowned at the interruption and yours grinned back at the two of you.

“I was talking to myself.”

Tags

draco malfoy x reader draco malfoy draco fluff draco fanfiction draco malfoy fanfiction draco malfoy fluff

GOOD OMENS. SEASON 3. CONFIRMED!

Can we hear a wahoo?

Tags

good omens crowley aziraphale neil gaiman terry pratchett good omens 3 Amazon prime good omens s3

9K notes View Post

idcbru

2 years ago

.ೃ࿐ 𝐎𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 ´ˎ˗

“you were just so pretty, and his mom always said pretty things were made to be admired.”

—Conrad Fisher x fem!reader

—summary: it's a shitshow of a summer, and Conrad Fisher has the prettiest eyes you've ever seen.

—word count: 10k

— tw: alcohol, abuse, smoking, brief panic attack, attempted sexual assault (nothing happens), homophobia, makeout session, lots of fights and crying, cancer (oop, sorry!!), conrad is conrad and connor is toxic bf, apologies for any confusion but the names contribute to the storyline!! pls lmk if I left anything out, its a long ass fic and there's a chance I'm missing something.

—a/n: this is the longest fic i've ever written, and if you see the word count and decide against it, i urge you to rethink your decision!! i promise, if you're a conrad lover, this fic is WORTH IT!!

═════════════════

You were never one to back down from a party, and this was something everyone in Cousins knew.

You came to Cousins every summer with your family, your summer house being just across the street from the Fisher’s. You grew up alongside Belly, Steven, Conrad, Jeremiah, and your own brother, Tate. Every summer you were constantly at each other’s houses, surfing, swimming, barbecuing, the six of you did everything together. And now that you were all older, you partied together.

Ever since the summer Belly and Jere turned 16, you all looked forward to the first bonfire of the year. You and Belly would get ready together while she gushed about whatever boy she was crushing on and she’d ask you when you and Conrad were going to finally get together. You would always shake your head and blush, insisting that Conrad could never see you that way. Then you’d meet up with the boys, take a couple shots, snap a couple of photos then finally be on your way down to the beach. It was a night you always held dear to your heart.

Until this summer, when you brought your boyfriend to Cousins, and you did everything in your power to turn down the bonfire this year.

“What’s this about the bonfire?” Conrad entered the room and you froze. God, how could you ever forget how fucking pretty he is?

“Y/n’s not coming.” Steven huffed.

Conrad furrowed his eyebrows as he made his way over to you, pulling you in for a side hug and planting a kiss on the top of your head. You hadn’t seen each other since last summer, and he was absent when you and your brother first made your way over to the Fisher’s.

“Probably because she wants to suck face with her new boyfriend.” Tate rolled his eyes before throwing an almond in the air and catching it between his teeth.

Conrad immediately took a step back and the other 2 boys looked at you with wide eyes, “BOYFRIEND?!”

You rolled your eyes and turned on your heels to grab a glass from the cabinet before filling it up with water from the fridge. “Chill out, we’ve only been together for a couple of months.”

“Tell Connor that. Boy’s obsessed with her.” Your brother said.

“Tate-” you warned. If the boys knew how your boyfriend was, this summer wouldn’t end well.

“Literally never lets her go anywhere without him, it’s so-”

You cut him off by throwing an almond at his face, “Quit it.”

“Whatever.”

“Wait, and he’s here?” Jeremiah asked, eyes brightening.

You nodded, sipping on your water. “Bring him!”

“Bring who?” Belly’s voice rang through the kitchen, having missed the conversation because she had to use the restroom.

“Y/n has a boyfriendddd.” Steven sang in a mock tease, making kissy faces while Jeremiah joined in.

Conrad stayed silent.

“Wait what about-”

“Shut, Belly.” You cut off the younger girl, shooting her a glare.

She closed her mouth immediately.

“Yeah, (Y/n/n), bring him.” Conrad finally broke his silence, cocking his head at you with a lopsided smirk.

“I don’t think–”

“Come onnnn, we do this every year! Boy toy can tag along for one night!” Jeremiah pleaded, putting on his puppy dog face again, and how the fuck werw you supposed to say no to that?

“Fine.”

The kitchen erupted into cheers and whoops of victory, both Steven and Jeremiah standing from their seats to throw their arms around you and jostle you back and forth. You smiled, but you couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach, or the way Conrad’s eyes hadn’t left yours.

–

“Connor, they’re practically my family, can you please just be a normal boyfriend for like 2 seconds?!”

The two of you had been at it like this for almost an hour now, ever since you told him you were both going to the bonfire. Of course Connor was insecure about the 3 incredibly handsome boys you considered your best friends, but Connor would be insecure about anyone with two legs touching you with a 10 foot pole.

“Well, I’m sorry if I’m not particularly keen on 3 guys making googly eyes at my girlfriend all night!”

You let out an exasperated grunt, covering your eyes with your hands. “Steven has a girlfriend, Jeremiah’s been seeing someone, Tate is literally my brother and Conrad may as well be my brother too! He’s barely even talked to me all year anyway, probably has some girlfriend that he’s been hiding.”

“None of that means anything, I know how guys are! I am one!”

You laughed, but there was absolutely nothing funny. “Okay, so you’re saying, since you’re a guy, even though you have a girlfriend, if a prettier girl walked onto the beach for the bonfire you wouldn’t care about me?”

Connor shut his mouth, refusing to respond. You nodded, and crossed your arms, chuckling to yourself. “I’m late getting ready with Belly. I’ll see you there, asshole.” You made sure to bump his shoulder with yours as you passed, which you regretted.

He grabbed your wrist in his large hand, “Hey.”

His voice was low, almost a warning, as he squeezed your wrist harder, yanking you towards him, his face dangerously close to yours.

“You’re hurting me.”

“Don’t speak to me like that.”

“Let go.”

“Say you’re sorry.”

“Connor-”

“Say,” He tightened his grip and you whimpered, “You’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry.” You tried to keep your tone even, but the words came out like a broken whisper.

He let go suddenly, causing you to stumble backwards. “Good girl. I’ll see you there.”

–

The walk to the Fisher’s was a quick one, and luckily your tears had dissipated by the time you arrived at the front door. There was never a need to knock, not with you.

“Y/n!”

You turned your head to see two of the most radiant women you’ve ever known, gossipping over their glasses of pinot grigio no doubt, both smiling at you with open arms.

You smiled and made your way over, gladly accepting the embraces of the two women, and thanking the Universe that you wore a long sleeve to hide the marks on your wrist.

“Oh it is so good to see you, baby!” Susannah gushed, planting her hands on the side of your face and planting a big kiss on each cheek.

“You’ve gotten so tall, my goodness!” Laurel said, practically looking up at you since you towered over the much smaller woman.

“I know, we’re all growin’ up!”

Susannah covered her ears, “No, no, no! You’re all still my babies!”

You giggled and pulled the blonde woman in for a side hug, resting your head on her shoulder.

“I just can’t believe it. You, Connie, Steve and Tate are all old enough to buy your own wine now!” Susannah said.

“Yup, we don’t have to fill up your vodka bottles with water anymore!”

Laurel and Susannah gasped and you rolled your eyes, “Like you guys didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well we had a feeling, but Jeremiah and Belly better be staying away from you four while you buy your own now!” Laurel said, waving her finger at you, but you could hear the humor in her voice.

You nodded and saluted her, “Scout’s honor, Laur.”

Of course the two moms knew what you kids got up to when they weren’t around during the summer, but they trusted you, and they knew the babies of the group were in good hands as long as you were around.

“Well, get upstairs! Bell’s been eagerly waiting for you to curl her hair.”

You made your way upstairs, pausing when you heard multiple voices coming from Belly’s room, and you took a deep breath, putting on your best smile before you opened the door.

“Finally!” Belly exasperated as soon as the door creaked open. “I need you to curl my hair, Jere keeps fucking it up.”

Your heart swelled at the sight of poor Jeremiah just trying his best to help out his best friend, curling iron in hand.

Steven laid on the bed, cradling a six pack of Coronas as he handed one to you, but not before popping the top off with his teeth.

“You’re gonna lose all your teeth before you’re 40.” You teased.

“Worth it!”

You rolled your eyes and took a swig from your beer, stepping over the discarded clothes on the floor so you could gently take the curling iron from Jeremiah.

“I’ll take it from here, babe.”

“If you would’ve given me like, 5 more minutes I could’ve gotten it down.”

“Uh-huh.”

Belly giggled as you got to work on her hair, taking a break every couple of minutes to sip your beer or take a hit from Steven’s vape while he wasn’t looking.

“So, where's the boy toy?” Jeremiah asked.

You flopped on the bed as you were done with Belly’s hair. “He’s gonna meet us at the party, I think he wanted to take a nap or something before, he was pretty tired from all the driving.”

“You two drove separately?” Steven asked with a raised eyebrow.

You nodded. “Tate went with my parents.”

“Awee I miss your parents! Why haven’t they been over yet?” Jeremiah asked.

“They went straight into town for groceries and errands, they’ll come by tomorrow I’m sure.”

The curly haired boy nodded and went to reach for another beer.

“We’re out!”

You and Steven locked eyes, “Nose goes!”

Both your fingers whipped to your noses at the speed of light, but you were too slow.

“I don’t wanna go alone!” You complained and Steven situated his hands under his head, getting comfortable. “Well you’re gonna have-”

“I’ll go with you.”

You all looked up at Conrad, who was suddenly in the doorway, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

You nodded and stood, telling everyone you’d meet them there with more drinks.

You smiled at Conrad as you passed by him, but of course he didn’t return it, simply just pushing himself off the wall to follow you down the stairs.

You prepared to pull your keys from your purse but Conrad had already grabbed his keys from the hook by the front door.

“I’ll drive.”

You decided against arguing with Conrad, knowing it wouldn’t do any good, so instead you nodded and gave him a weak smile.

“How’s your mom, Con?” “Better. One year cancer free.” You smiled. You remembered the summer that everyone found out, it wasn’t an easy summer. Conrad had told you early on about what he knew, and made you swear not to tell, and of course you didn’t, which caused a nasty fight between you and Jeremiah. He didn’t speak to you until the next summer.

“That’s really good to hear.”

Conrad nodded.

“So, boyfriend?” You rolled your eyes. “That’s all anyone cares about.”

Conrad looked at you for a moment before fixating his eyes back on the road. “Maybe. Is it so bad we all care about who you’re dating.”

You shrugged.

“What’s his name?”

“Connor.”

Conrad snorted.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged and continued to drive.

You both sat in silence the rest of the very short drive to the liquor store, and both exited his car in sync once you’d arrived.

The bell on the door chimed when you walked in and you smiled, for some reason that chime made you think about how this is only the beginning of the summer. There was so much time left, and you just couldn’t help the small smile that played at your lips.

If Conrad noticed your smile, he didn’t say anything about it, staying quiet, as usual, as he browsed all the beer and seltzer options.

But, of course he noticed the smile. How could he not? That same damn smile that’s made his heart race for his entire goddamn life, the smile that always made him blush and go speechless. Of course he fucking noticed.

Conrad was snapped from his trance when you bumped his shoulder, that captivating smile adorning your face while you held up a bottle of titos and a bag of red solo cups.

Conrad shook his head, “Jesus Christ.”

“Grab the lemonade?” “You tryna get me hammered?” You smirked, “I don’t know. Maybe.”

You readjusted the items in your arms, making your sleeves roll up, and you had completely forgotten about Connor until you saw Conrad’s eyes glued to your wrist.

“What is that?”

“It’s nothing, I- I tripped.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I tripped.”

You tried to walk away, but Conrad stepped in the way.

“Who did that to you?”

“I told you-”

“Who did that to you.” This time the words tumbled past his lips as a statement, not a question. He knew who did this to you, and he wanted you to say it.

Silence.

“Was it Connor?” “I’m not doing this with you right now, Con.” You said, and spun on your heels the opposite direction to pay for the things in your hands, leaving Conrad alone, holding 2 liters of lemonade.

–

As you parked on the beach, alcohol and red cups in hand, you saw Connor reach out to shake Jeremiah’s hand and it almost felt like everything happened in slow motion, and you’ve never gotten out of a car faster in your life.

“Y/n!”

You ignored Conrad calling your name and rushed to where your boyfriend was introducing himself to your friends, panic rising in your chest at what he could’ve said in your absence.

“There she is!” Jeremiah grinned when he saw you, pulling you in for a hug by the waist, lifting you up and spinning you in the air.

You could practically feel the heat from the steam blowing out of Connor’s ears.

“Hey, guys.” You smiled. “I brought the goods!”

“Lemonade and Titos?! Oh man, Y/n/n, you’re gonna kill us.” Tate laughed as he pulled the contents out of the bag.

“That's our girl!” Steven smiled, wrapping a hand around Shayla’s waist.

“Shayla!” You smiled once you noticed her presence.

“Y/n!”

You both laughed as she pulled you in for a hug, rocking you back and forth.

“So good to see you!” She said. Her cute accent had faded more and more over the years, but it was still there.

“You too! This is my boyfriend,” You decided you should acknowledge him, not wanting to deal with the consequences if you didn’t. “Connor.”

Shayla stuck out her hand with a smile, but all she got from Connor was a head nod, before he focused his attention elsewhere. Shayla smiled awkwardly and stepped back into Steven’s embrace, and your cheeks burned red.

“Connor.” You scolded under your breath, but he didn’t acknowledge you, continuing to sip on his beer.

You let your gaze wander when you felt a pair of eyes on you. Conrad was only a few feet away, his blue eyes staring straight through you over his red solo cup tucked between his lips.

The kind of stare that could make any girl's knees buckle and pupils turn to hearts. It felt like you were the only girl on earth, the only girl to ever exist.

And he was looking at you like that.

You looked down after what felt like an eternity of locking eyes with Conrad Fisher, and busied yourself with making a drink, pouring a larger amount of vodka into the red cup than you normally would, only topping it off with lemonade, and immediately downing the cup before quickly pouring yourself another one.

Connor kept a firm grip on you all night, so firm you were sure there were bruises forming on your hips and shoulders, and the drunker you got, the more tired of it you became.

Conrad kept a close eye on you. Physically, he kept his distance, but his eyes never tore away from you. He saw your grimacing, your uncomfortable cringing and the frown that etched itself onto your face anytime you thought no one was looking.

You tried your best to loosen up, especially when Jeremiah brought his new boo over to meet everyone. You fixed your hair and put on your biggest smile as you shook hands with the boy.

“I’m Hayden!” He smiled, “It’s so nice to meet you all! I’ve heard so much about each of you!”

“Trust me, we’ve heard a LOT about you.” Belly teased, earning a sharp look from Jeremiah.

“All good things, Hayden, we promise!” You reassured him, lightly pinching Belly on the arm, but the girl just giggled.

“Wait a second, Y/n, you have the same tattoo as Jere?” Hayden asked, pointing to the small stingray on your side. You forgot since your long sleeve shirt was so cropped, it was visible.

“Oh, yeah! We all do! Got it the summer baby Bells turned 18!” You smiled, gesturing to the rest of the group, who all slowly revealed their own tattoos on their sides.

“Y/n got stung by a stingray and forced us all to spend a whole week with her on the couch instead of, like, actually doing fun stuff.” Tate explained.

“Hey!” You scolded, “It turned out to be a lot of fun! We made margaritas everyday, and we went outside! I sat on the chair while you guys swam in the pool.”

“Oh, yeah!” Steven laughed, “Conrad was basically her nurse for the week, wouldn’t leave her side.”

“Oh, Y/n, does it hurt? Do you need ice? Oh Y/n, don’t walk, let me carry you!” Jeremiah said in a high pitched voice, hands clutched over his heart, pretending to be a lovesick Conrad.

You looked down at the sand as the rest of the group laughed, not daring to look in the direction of Conrad or Connor.

You were starting to understand the humor in their names.

“Anyway, it turned out to be a memorable week for all six of us, we all got a hell of a lot closer, which we all thought was impossible. So we got stingray tattoos a couple summers later, all thanks to our Y/n!” Jere said, trying his best to break the tension that only he seemed to notice.

“We need to talk.” Connor growled, immediately walking away from the circle, kicking sand in the direction of everyone else as he walked and your heart sank.

Belly shot you a concerned look but you shook your head, urging her to stay out of it, before you pushed your drink into Tate’s hands and followed after Connor a ways down the beach, closer to the water.

You missed the way Conrad’s eyes followed you.

“What’s up?” You asked, seemingly nonchalant as you stuck your hands in your pockets.

“What’s up?” Connor scoffed, shaking his head. “What’s up is that I want you to stay away from Conrad, and Jeremiah for that matter.”

“You’re kidding me, Connor.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” His face was hard as stone, his teeth clenched and you thought the red solo cup he was clenching was seconds away from turning into dust.

“No, but-”

“But nothing, Y/n. Conrad is basically eye fucking you and I don’t like the way Jeremiah is touchy with you. You show up, alone with Conrad who is obviously into you, and matching stingray tattoos?! You have to be fucking kidding me, this is all so ridiculous.”

“That’s just Jere! He’s like that with everyone, besides, he’s with someone!”

“Who’s a guy! You really think that’s gonna last? What’s he supposed to be, bisexual? He’s just doing it out of boredom and a need for attention. If you think otherwise you’re an idiot.”

You thanked the Universe that Jeremiah was all the way up the beach, just imagining the look on his face if he heard that broke your heart, but barely a second passed before you were fuming, and all you saw was red.

“How fucking dare you?” You seethed.

“You only defended Jeremiah, why not Conrad?” He asked, completely dodging the blatant homophobia he spewed from his mouth just a second before.

“You need to leave.” You said, your voice low. “You need to go back to my house, pack your things and go home.”

“Like hell I am. You need me. You’re not gonna leave me ‘cause you’re scared, aren’t you, princess?” He spat, and your face fell.

“I hate you.” Your tone faltered as tears began to fall down your face.

“You love Conrad, don’t you?” You didn’t respond, only choosing to wrap your arms around yourself and continue to cry, wishing this was just a nightmare.

“Ungrateful slut!”

Connor pushed you and you stumbled back, losing your footing and falling into the water, lightly gasping at the cold.

Conrad was up in a second, being the only one watching you from the group’s spot on the beach, storming towards the two of you, but not making too much of a scene so the other friends wouldn't follow him, but he knew they were too drunk anyway.

He downed the rest of his drink, crushing it in his fist and throwing it in the opposite direction. He’d pick it up tomorrow.

Before he knew it, he had Connor by the neck of his tee shirt, nearly lifting him off of the ground.

“Touch her again, and you’re fucking dead.”

“Con…” Your small voice shook him, and he let go of Connor, but not without a forceful push, who immediately tried to take steps toward you. “WHAT DID I FUCKING SAY?!” Conrad’s voice boomed and your boyfriend raised his hands in surrender, taking his steps backwards.

“It was an accident-”

“Shut up.” Conrad’s breathing was becoming uneven, and you could tell he was getting angry.

“Connor, just go home, okay? That’s enough.”

Connor grumbled and rolled his eyes but eventually turned away, walking down the beach in the complete opposite direction of your house.

“Come on.” Conrad gestured for you to take his hands, and you did, allowing him to help you up.

“Will you take me home?”

“Mine or yours?” “Yours. Please yours.”

“Always.” –

Everyone decided to just come home with you guys, all of their eyelids heavy with sleep and brains fogged over from the alcohol.

Tate decided to stay over as well, claiming he was too tired to walk all the way back to your house across the street, but you didn’t blame him, it sounded like a pretty far walk to you too.

Belly let you borrow clothes and use her shower and face wash, and when you were done the poor girl was already fast asleep in a starfish position in bed. You smiled and shut the door as lightly as you could before making your way down the stairs, the couch would suffice for one night.

But there he was, Conrad Fisher, in all his glory, sitting on the couch and staring out the window, wide awake.

“Hey, Con-” “I have to tell your family, you know that don’t you?”

Your heart sank.

“Conrad, please-”

The boy turned to look at you, sadness heavy in his ocean eyes.

“Why wouldn’t you want me to?” “That was only the first time something like that’s happened-”

“Y/n-”

“I swear I’m not just some pathetic girl that lets a guy throw her around like a ragdoll-”

“Y/n/n…”

“I just- I can’t breathe, Conrad.”

Conrad was up off the couch in the blink of an eye, immediately in front of you with his hands firmly holding the sides of your face.

“I know.” He whispered, taking deep breaths in hopes that you’d subconsciously copy them.

“You got it.” He praised, his thumb lightly stroking your cheekbone.

You shook your head, eyes wide with fear, but Conrad only nodded.

“Keep following my breaths, you’re halfway there.”

You did as he said, because you’d do just about anything Conrad Fisher said.

“Y/n/n, what is going on?” He asked once you’d calmed down, his hands still not leaving your face.

You sighed and brought your own hands up to hold his wrists closing your eyes.

“Hey.” He said, shaking his hands just slightly so you’d look at him. “I won’t say anything, if you just tell me.”

So, you took a deep breath, and you told him everything.

–

It had only been a couple weeks since the incident, and Conrad kept to his word. You told him everything, trying your best to keep your tears at bay while Conrad wiped the few stray ones that escaped from your eyes. You told him you just needed some time, if you broke up with Connor now, the summer wouldn’t end well, and you were terrified of what he’d do if you left. Conrad tried to convince you that so many people had your back, and there was nothing to be scared of, but you just shook your head. You had to do this on your own time, and eventually, after hours of talking, Conrad agreed to keep your secret.

And Connor had kept it civil since then as well, staying calm for the sake of not getting the shit beat out of him by your brother, and things were almost perfect. It was just like old times, volleyball at the beach, taco night every Tuesday, and of course, Belly’s birthday.

You and Tate helped Laurel, Susannah and Steven set up the kitchen for breakfast and presents, trying your best to be silent as to not wake everyone else in the house, but of course you all ended up giggling a bit too loudly anyway, because Conrad and Jeremiah came trudging down the stairs, rubbing sleep out of their eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry boys! Did we wake you?” Susannah cooed, pinching both of their cheeks, getting the boys to smile.

“Nah, it’s Belly’s birthday! ‘Course we’re awake.” Jeremiah said with a sleepy smile.

You always adored the love the two boys had for Belly. Jeremiah would throw her over his shoulder and exclaim “This is my best friend!” Making other girls go green with envy, but he never cared, she was his best friend, and he wanted the world to know it.

Conrad was more subtle, you always noticed how his eyes searched for her at parties, and once he had eyes on her and saw that she was safe and smiling, he’d visibly relax and get back to whatever conversation he was having.

It was precious.

“There she is!” You beamed when Belly came down the stairs, hair and makeup already done, with a smile on her face.

“Happy birthday Bells!” You bounded over to her and everyone else followed, pulling the birthday girl in for a big hug, swaying her back and forth.

“I just want my pancakes!” She groaned, but you could see the smile and blush that overtook her face.

Laurel rolled her eyes and brought her daughter in for a solo hug, kissing the side of her face, “Alright, alright, missy. Let’s get to it then!”

Belly happily ate her minnie mouse pancakes and opened each present, giggling like a little girl over how much she loved all of them and giving everyone separate hugs, thanking them a thousand times over.

“Where’s Connor?” Susannah asked as the two of you were putting discarded gift wrap and tissue paper into trash bags. Belly and Jeremiah left, going for a morning birthday swim with Hayden, Laurel went to take a nap, and Tate, Steven and Conrad were playing video games in the other room.

“He, uh, wanted to sleep in.” You said, faking a smile.

Susannah paused for a moment, before continuing to pick up trash. “Well, you tell that boy if he wants to be a part of this family then he has to join all the traditions next year.” You laughed and nodded, “I will.”

Susannah set the trash bag on the floor and patted the couch next to her, you obliged.

“You can tell me anything, you know that honey?” You nodded, “Of course.”

The blonde woman kissed your head and smiled. “Alright. Well, this mama needs a nap. Too much excitement for one morning.”

You nodded and bid her a “goodnight”, then went to check and see how the boys were doing with their video game.

“Little sisterrrrr!” Tate exclaimed as you walked into the room, plopping yourself down next to Conrad, who didn’t seem to want to look at you.

“What are you guys up to in here?” “Killin’ zombies.” Steven answered, not moving his focus from the TV screen.

“What’s the plan for today?”

Steven shrugged and you gasped. “It’s your sister’s birthday!”

“Then we’ll do whatever she wants to do when she gets back, jeez!” Steven said, still not moving his gaze from the TV.

The boys got back into the flow of the game, and you took your opportunity to look at Conrad, who, unbeknownst to you, was extremely aware of your eyes on him.

How could he not when he felt like his skin was on fire every time your eyes graced his frame?

He took a chance and looked at you out of the corner of his eye and you could feel your cheeks heat up as you tried to hide a smile, suddenly very interested in whatever was going on in their video game and Conrad could feel his heart swell. He did that.

But his heart only deflated once more when your phone lit up with a text from Connor.

It was gonna be a long fucking summer.

“Uh, Connor just texted me, he wants to know the plans for the day, should I just tell him to meet us here?”

“Hell yeah, tell Con to come on over.” Tate said.

Conrad felt an angry bubble in his stomach, that was his nickname.

Ever since you were little, everyone’s nickname for him was Connie, but you decided to call him Con, you claimed it was different, it set you apart from everyone else. He didn’t have the heart to tell you it really wasn’t that much different, because there weren’t many nicknames for his name, but he liked that it made you happy that you had a special one.

And now Connor was coming in to take that from him.

“Hey guys.” Connor greeted as he entered the room, a small smile on his face that quickly faltered when he made eye contact with Conrad. You told Connor that he was going to keep your secret, but he still felt uneasy in his presence.

Which is exactly what Conrad wanted.

“What’s the plan for today?” Connor asked, taking a seat next to you, throwing an arm over your shoulders.

“There’s a party tonight somewhere, I don’t really remember where, Shayla texted me about it.”

“Sweet.”

After a couple more minutes of awkward silence, the only noise being the sound of zombies dying and guns firing from the TV, the morning swim trio appeared in the living room, all already showered and dressed for the day.

“Hey, happy birthday Belly!” Connor said, digging through his pockets and handing the younger girl a small envelope. You were completely taken back, you hadn’t expected Connor to get her anything, let alone even acknowledge her birthday.

It was a silly card, a giraffe wearing a party hat, and inside was a messily scribbled, “Happy birthday Belly! -Connor” and a $50 bill.

“Connor.” You said, your voice light, impressed by the boy’s actions.

“Wow, thank you, Connor!” Belly said before running up to her room to stash her cash.

“You didn’t have to do that, babe.”

Babe.

“She’s like your little sister, of course I did! I know how special her birthday is around here.” He said before kissing your head and you smiled.

“You’re alright, Con.” Steven said, pointing to him.

Con.

Lord help Conrad Fisher.

The day had gone by agonizingly slow, you had a new found likeness for Connor and were attached to him all day, holding his hand and giggling at his dumb jokes, and Conrad felt like he was going to vomit. By the time the sun went down, and the group decided to head to the party, Conrad was ready for a drink, or 10.

And of course, Connor offered to be the DD.

How nice.

Conrad disappeared upon arrival, looking for the alcohol and a random girl he could at least makeout with to get his mind off of you and Connor. Just drink, makeout and get the fuck out, that was the plan.

But of course, this was summer in Cousins, and it was the Fisher’s, Conklin’s and Y/L/N’s, nothing ever went to fucking plan.

Usually, you never let yourself get too drunk, especially around Belly and Jeremiah, because you swore to their moms you’d always look out for them, but you were feeling especially carefree tonight, and Connor was actually being sweet, so you started chugging.

“So, you all smitten for Con now?” Conrad asked as he approached you from behind at the drink table, and you turned to look at him cocking your head.

“Wha-”

“Come on. You cry to me about how much you hate him and now you’re all up on him.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Yeah, maybe I wanna give the relationship that I have a chance, would that be so bad?”

Conrad clenched his teeth. “He pushed you, Y/n.”

“Like a month ago.”

“It’s been 2 weeks.”

“God, same thing! He was drunk and frustrated, it hasn’t happened since!” “And your wrist.”

“Fuck you, Conrad.”

Conrad laughed, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What did I do? Huh? Fuck that guy-” He pointed to Connor, who was taking a shot with Belly while exclaiming Happy Birthday, “Who put his hands on my girl.”

You raised an eyebrow and Conrad cursed under his breath.

“Your girl? Seriously?”

Own up to it, Con.

“Yeah. Seriously.”

“Forget it.” You spat before walking away, and “accidentally” stepping on his toe, causing Conrad to grimace, but he kept his mouth shut.

You maneuvered your way through the party, double fisting two drinks since one was for Jeremiah but you decided to walk in the opposite direction, desperately needing to cool off before you rejoined your friends.

You felt a hand around your waist and you groaned, quickly whipping around to who you thought would be Conrad.

“Conrad, I swear-”

“Conrad?” The stranger inquired, a playful smirk on his lips. “I’m way more handsome than that punk.”

You swallowed as you stared at the guy, perfectly gelled blond hair, blue eyes, and fucking boat shoes. You were screwed.

“Excuse me.” You said, trying to move past him but he held his grip tight on you.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“I just-”

“Yeah you’re not just anything, sweetheart. Come on.” He said, beginning to pull you up the stairs.

Conrad. You wanted Conrad. No, fuck that, you needed Conrad.

“CON!” You screamed without thinking, and the stranger that had you in his hold groaned and let go of you, he figured you were yelling for Conrad Fisher, and he knew better than to get in that guy’s face.

You were left alone on the stairs, breathing heavily with your hand clutched to your chest, tears threatening to spill when Connor appeared in front of you. “Hey, babe. I’m right here, what happened?”

“That guy-” You pointed in his direction, but you were cut off upon seeing Conrad right behind your boyfriend, out of breath.

Connor thought you’d called for him.

And they both came.

“Let’s get you home, okay?” Connor said and you nodded, not breaking your eye contact with Conrad, who’s pretty blue eyes were piercing right through you.

You let Connor lead you to his car, assuring everyone that you were fine, just didn’t feel good, and after Shayla told Connor she could take everyone home, that she hadn’t been drinking either, you were on your way home.

–

You woke up to what looked like about a million text messages. The first one you saw being from Conrad.

Con: text me when u get home safe.

Con: i’m sorry.

You furrowed your eyebrows and shook your head, you’d deal with him later.

Then you scrolled more.

Tate: Come to the Fisher’s when you wake up.

Mom: Hi honey, call me when you wake up.

Bells: Please come over as soon as you’re awake.

Bells: Don’t bring Connor.

And a million more missed calls from Belly, Steven, Tate, your mom, and Laurel. You were concerned about the lack of notifications from Conrad, Jeremiah and Susannah.

What the actual fuck? You were in a full blown panic now. Ripping the blankets off of your body, not bothering to put on any actual clothes, or shoes, and running straight across the street to your friend’s house, yanking open the door.

You hurried further into the house, rounding the corner into the kitchen, and you were greeted by a very distressed Jeremiah, sitting on a stool at the kitchen island.

“Jere? What the fuck is going on?”

The boy turned to look at you and your heart broke, the pain was written all over his face.

“It’s back.” He said, his voice cracking.

Fuck.

“Oh my god…”

“The cancer’s fucking back.” He broke, his body slumped over the counter and he gripped his hair in his hands so forcefully you were afraid he’d rip it out as his body racked with sobs.

“Fuck, Jere.” You exhaled, moving quickly to pull your best friend off of the kitchen counter and into your arms, which he did willingly, and he held onto you tighter than he ever had.

You stood like that for along time, Jeremiah still sitting with his face buried in your shoulder, heart wrenching cries falling past his lips as your tee shirt started to get so wet it stuck to your skin, but you really didn’t give a fuck.

You weren’t sure how long Susannah had been standing there, you weren’t even sure how long you had been standing there, but when you looked up to see the blonde woman in the doorway, she was smiling sadly, wiping a stray tear.

“Suze…” You said and held an arm out, still holding Jeremiah close, not wanting to be the one to let go of him first.

She joined the embrace, and only then did you allow yourself to cry. You wanted so badly to be strong for Jere, but it was hard when the woman you considered a mother, sometimes even more than your own, was so sick, once again.

“I love you.” You said, trying your best to keep your voice even, even though it was uncontrollably shaking.

“I love you so much more, baby.” She said, kissing the top of your head.

“Let’s go outside with the others, Jere.” She said once she pulled away, helping up her son and smiling when he wrapped an arm around her, assisting her to the backyard.

“Connie’s in his bedroom.” Susannah said, squeezing your hand. “I think he really needs you.”

You nodded and wiped your tears. The last thing you wanted was to let Conrad see your tears, he’d immediately close his emotions off so he could be there for you. That was just who he was.

If you thought Jeremiah had broken your heart, Conrad had completely shattered it.

He was laying sideways in a fetal position on his bed, his head where his feet would normally be, his hand clutching the comforter beneath him as he sobbed and you wasted no time laying down with him and wrapping your arms around him from behind. You replaced the comforter with your hand, letting him squeeze the shit out of it while you held him close, leaving chaste kisses on his shoulder and the back of his neck.

“This is bullshit.” He sobbed, “That’s my fucking mom!”

You tried so hard to resist crying with him, but it was too hard to keep in, and before you knew it the tears were flowing down your cheeks and onto your neck.

“I’m so sorry, Conrad.” You whispered and he didn’t respond. What was he supposed to say? That it’s okay? It wasn’t. It was far from okay. The world was cruel and it was never okay.

“I’m right here, I’m here.” You said, your words were barely even breaths, so gentle against his skin as you tried your best to hide your tears.

When he felt the gentle shake of your body he turned in your arms and wrapped his own around you. Of course, he knew how much his mom meant to you, she’d been there for you since the beginning. The 3 summers that your mom didn’t join because she decided to pack up and leave you, your brother and your dad, Susannah made sure she stepped up for all the mom duties. The first summer your mom rejoined the family and you refused to stay in a house with her, you stayed at the Fisher’s. The summer when your migraines got so bad you could barely leave the house for a week straight, Susannah let you sleep in her bed, because you claimed it was the comfiest one you’d ever been in the summer before.

“I’m so sorry about-” Conrad started, but you immediately shook your head. “Doesn’t matter.”

Conrad nodded, and the two of you held each other for a really long time, so long that you must’ve fallen asleep, because next thing you knew, your eyes shot open, and it was dark outside.

Did you sleep all day?

You were still wrapped up in Conrad’s arms, and your heart melted at the soft breaths that escaped from his lips.

How could you ever even consider working things out with Connor?

After the way he talked about your friends, the things he said about Jeremiah, the way he put his hands on you, how could you ever even have thought about choosing him over the boy whose arms you were currently wrapped up in?

You reached up and ran a finger across his cheekbone, smiling when he nuzzled closer to you under your touch, and placed a soft kiss on his jaw.

The answer was clear, but you could only wish it was that simple.

–

“Yo, Connor! Wanna be my pong partner?!” Jeremiah enthused, running up to you and your boyfriend like a puppy dog.

You nudged Connor, encouraging him to go and he said yes, clapping Jeremiah on the back and calling him “buddy”. It was going to be the two of them, vs Conrad and Tate, the two people that Connor should never fuck with.

It was the 4th of July, and usually, all of the adults were present for the barbecue and fireworks, but apparently Susannah had a new boyfriend, who owned a yacht, and he invited all of them onto his boat for the day.

Go Susannah.

After the news of her cancer coming back, everyone was really shaken, but she assured everyone she was going to fight even harder this time, and no one deserved a tipsy day on a boat with a handsome man more than Susannah did.

You sat on a lawn chair, sipping on a vodka lemonade with Hayden and Belly, giggling at their friendly banter of who they thought was going to win. You glanced at Steven and Shayla across the pool, smiling to yourself as you caught a sweet kiss between the two of them.

Connor would never kiss you like that.

“Earth to Y/n!”

You snapped out of your trance and fixed your eyes on Jere, who was looking at you like he was waiting for an answer.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Jeremiah just giggled, “Who do you think made it in first?? Connor or Conrad?”

You looked between the two boys, contemplating your decision.

“Um, Connor.”

Connor and Jeremiah both yelled in victory, hands up in the air before they hugged, jumping up and down.

You sneaked a glance at Conrad, who was already looking at you. Eyes squinted.

It was gonna be a long fucking summer.

You ended up having to put Connor to bed up in Steven’s room, who told you he wasn’t even going to be staying there tonight anyway while he winked at Shayla.

Your boyfriend had probably had a little bit more than one too many shots, considering the fact that he was mostly taking them by himself, so everyone else still had energy for at least another 5 hours, Connor was down for the count.

You tucked him in and left a glass of water and a bottle of tylenol on the nightstand, and a bucket on the floor just in case, then you turned out the light and shut the door, bounding down the stairs with a grin.

You were more than happy to get rid of Connor for a few hours.

You approached the group, all standing in a circle outside, playfully arguing about something and stood on your tippy toes to wrap an arm around Conrad’s shoulders and rest your chin on his shoulder.

Conrad smiled and gripped your wrist in his hand before leaning forward, bringing you up off of the ground and readjusting you so you were fully wrapped around him, before standing straight again and locking his arms around the back of your knees.

“Hi Y/n/n.” He said, turning his head to try and get even a small glimpse of you.

“Hi, Con.” You whispered, and his legs felt like jello.

For a second, Conrad forgot anybody else was even there, it felt like just the two of you. It was cheesy, of course it was, but sometimes cheesy is just reality. You were the only other person there.

“Looks like Y/n chose the wrong Con!” Tate teased and just like that, the moment was ruined. You frowned and slid off of Conrad’s back, the boy already missing the feeling of you around him, your soft cheek squished on his shoulder.

“Way to make it weird, Tate.” You muttered under your breath and Tate rolled his eyes.

“It was a joke! Come on, the sun hasn’t even set yet. Another round of shots?” Your brother asked, slowly walking backwards towards the kitchen, waiting for everyone to follow him.

Belly was the first, then Shayla, then Steven, then Jeremiah and Hayden, and eventually it was just you and Conrad outside.

“You wanna join them?” Conrad asked and you shrugged.

“Come on.” He encouraged, gesturing his head inside and you rolled your eyes, but still had the ghost of a smile on your list.

“Shots?” He asked.

“Yeah, yeah.” You playfully shoved him and he snatched your wrist, pulling you into his side and throwing his arm over your shoulder.

You did a round of shots, then you did two, then eventually three, and before you knew it everyone was laughing their asses off about some story Jeremiah was telling about how the two of you got hammered last summer and woke up on a random guy’s boat in the middle of the bay.

“I’m pretty sure Jere was still drunk.” You giggled, wiping a tear from your eye that had formed from your laughter.

And surprise, surprise, Conrad couldn't take his eyes off of you the entire time.

You were just so pretty, and his mom always said that pretty things were made to be admired.

“You guys.” Jeremiah said, slamming his hands on the counter, eyes wide, causing everyone to slightly jump.

“Sun’s down.”

You turned your head to look out the french doors, the sun did indeed go down, and you could already see a couple stray fireworks in the distance.

Everyone shared a look then ran out the door to get to the beach and start the fireworks, but before you could make it out the door, someone grabbed your hand, and you turned to see Conrad, his eyes shining.

“Night swim?”

And how could you say no to that face?

You nodded and laced your fingers through his, allowing him to lead the way out to the docks and giggling when he picked up the pace, running like a little kid to jump in the water with his childhood crush.

It was perfect.

As soon as you arrived on the edge you threw off your shorts and tossed your phone on top of them, already in a bikini, and jumped in, Conrad not far behind you.

You emerged from the water and smiled, covering your eyes with your hands to rub out any water that had made its way in, and when you opened your eyes to find Conrad, he was already in front of you, looking at you with those fucking ocean eyes. Fireworks exploding in an extraordinary glow right behind him.

“What?”

“You’re so pretty.” He breathed out, as if the words had been caught in his mouth for so long, and relief washed over his body when he finally released them.

You looked away, shaking your head as you curled your toes into the rough sand below you. You were barely touching the bottom, still having to halfway keep yourself afloat.

“You’re drunk, Con.” You said, looking down at the black water.

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what, Conrad?”

“Use the fact that I’m drunk to deflect. I may be drunk but I have eyes.”

You looked up from the water and sighed. “Really pretty ones.” You said, your voice faltering towards the end of your sentence, trying not to cry.

He really knew how to do it, hi and those pretty blue eyes and pillowy lips.

You were in love with Conrad Fisher.

“Why’re you crying?” He asked, wading closer to you, causing the water around your shoulders to slosh.

“I can’t.”

“You can’t what, pretty girl?” His voice was soft as a feather, and God, his lips were getting dangerously close to yours.

“I can’t love you.”

“You love me?”

“I can’t.” You cried. “I can’t just kiss you and pretend like it means nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.”

You shook your head, biting your lip.

“Y/n, I love you.”

“Conrad-”

He secured his hands on either side of your neck, just below your ears and you wanted to pull away, but you couldn’t. How could you when he’s looking at you like that?

“Please, Y/n.”

“I still have a boyfriend, Con.”

“I don’t care.”

He inched forward just barely, but it was enough to make the butterflies in your stomach erupt, you felt like they were trying to crawl up your throat.

“I just need your lips on mine. Even if I never get them again. Please, just this once. Y/n.” He was begging. He breathed out your name at the end of the sentence like a prayer and before you could even think about it, you nodded. And as fucking cheesy as it was, the firework show finale began,

And his lips were on yours.

You could’ve cried from the feeling of Conrad’s lips on your own.

His hands traveled down to your waist, then your hips and to your thighs before he lifted you up, urging you to wrap your legs around his waist and you did, immediately tangling your fingers in his hair, not once did the two of you disconnect your lips from one another.

It was desperate and messy, but it was perfect. His hands splayed across your back and squeezed your sides, and your hips before he pulled away, not even sparing a glance up at you as he planted kisses down your throat and shoulder, and that little spot right under your ear that made you whimper.

His lips came right back to yours in one last sweet kiss before he lowered you back into the water, his eyes glued to yours.

“I love you, Y/n. Please.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but was immediately interrupted by voices coming from the house.

Fuck.

“Under the dock.” He said, pulling you with him as you both swam underneath the wooden surface.

“Conrad-”

He immediately brought his hand up to cover your mouth, bringing up his other hand to put a finger to his lips, signaling you to be quiet.

“Where the fuck did they go?” Jeremiah’s muffled voice sounded from above you, footsteps pacing back and forth.

“Maybe they’re finally confessing their undying love for each other.” Belly said.

“Don’t think Connor would like that too much.” Steven responded.

“Who cares, that guy’s a dick. I say, ‘dump his ass’!” Hayden joked and everyone laughed, footsteps fading down the dock, giving up on finding the two of you out here.

Once you were sure they were gone, you pulled away from him. “You dummy!”

“What? I just saved our asses.”

“We could’ve just said we decided to go for a night swim, the fact that we’re gonna show up completely soaked with no explanation is going to be way more suspicious!!”

Conrad just smiled and cocked his head as you rambled.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re in love with me.”

“Would that be so bad?” “Yes.”

–

Things had been terrible since the kiss. You could barely look at Conrad or Connor. And your constant bickering with Connor started back up again, he was back to his old self. You should’ve known that sweet facade was going to fade soon. He was just jealous of Conrad, but he couldn’t keep up the act anymore.

It was nearing the end of July, and the whole group was lazing around the Fisher’s house. You all spent the whole day at the beach yesterday, and you were tuckered out, all agreeing to just chill around the house. Laurel and Susannah had been gone all day, doing God knows what (edibles on the beach), so you were able to roam the house freely.

Until Jeremiah suggested a game, which turned into a drinking game, which turned into a mini party outside with just you and your friends. It was honestly nice, some summer beach playlist was playing through the speakers, the boys set up a game of pong (you even got to beat Steven and Jeremiah’s asses in the game with Tate), and half eaten snacks littered the outdoor table.

And of course, everyone was hammered by the time the sun began to set, but all you could focus on was Conrad’s eyes lingering on you.

“Babyyyy…” Connor stumbled over to where you were standing, leaning your weight against the side of the house.

“Hi.” You said, amusement in your tone.

“Let’s go inside.” He slurred, trying to push you towards the french doors.

You looked around, everyone was still partying and having fun. It hadn’t gotten to the point where everyone was breaking off into their respective couples with locked lips yet. Jere, Belly and Tate were having a handstand contest, which Conrad, Hayden and Steven were judging, Shayla was facetiming one of her friends, no doubt gushing to them about Steven.

“Not right now, everyone’s still having fun.”

“But we could be off having more fun.”

You shook your head. “Maybe later, okay?”

“Come onnnn.” He tried to persuade you by leaving kisses down your throat and exposed chest, only barely covered by a black bikini top.

You couldn’t help but close your eyes and sigh a bit, your hand coming up to tangle your fingers in his hair, your mind playing flashes of your kiss with Conrad under the fireworks at the dock. The way his hands explored your body, the way he confessed his love for you with so much passion and emotion–

“Seriously, Conrad…”

Shit.

Connor immediately disconnected from you, pulling back to stare at you with wide eyes.

“The fuck did you just call me?”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Conrad? Are you fucking serious?”

“I- I’m drunk, and your names are so similar.” You panicked, trying to clean up the mess you just made but it was too late, you were pushed up against the wall with Connor’s hand around your throat. Your instinct was to try and pry his hands off of you, but he was so much stronger than you, and fighting wasn’t doing you any good.

He was squeezing hard, and you tried to use your voice to call for your brother, Conrad, Jeremiah, fucking anybody, but you couldn’t. The only sounds coming from you were strangled cries and choking.

“Hey!” You heard a voice call from the pool, and the sounds of water sloshing and panicked screams rang through the air, and suddenly Connor was ripped off of you by Tate and you gasped for air, your hands immediately flying to your throat as wet coughs erupted from your chest.

“That’s my fucking sister!” Tate roared, his fist flying through the air and hitting Connor across the face, sending him flying backwards onto the concrete. He was picked up off of the ground by Steven and Hayden only for them to push him into Jeremiah’s awaiting fist.

“Guys please-” You tried but no one was listening except for Belly and Shayla, who were trying to usher you inside.

Finally Conrad stepped in, grabbing Connor by the collar of his shirt once again as he leaned in, his voice so low and menacing it sent a chill down your spine.

“What did I say would happen if you touched her again?”

His eyes were dark, so dark that if you were looking at them for the first time, you probably wouldn’t even know they were blue, and his chest was heaving so rapidly you were worried he was gonna get dizzy.

You wanted to intervene, but you were so overwhelmed and overcome with panic you couldn’t speak as Conrad slammed your boyfriend into the ground, only to pick him back up and Slam him into the wall, his large hand around his throat, in the exact same position he had you in.

“Doesn’t feel so good, does it?” Conrad all but growled.

“I didn’t mean-”

“Shut up.” His tone was flat as he stared at him, and Belly reached for your hand. You took it and squeezed, pulling her behind you. Steven had already done the same with Shayla.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen.” He said, “You’re gonna go across the street with Tate or Steven or whoever the fuck else, you’re gonna pack up your shit, and you’re gonna leave. Do I make myself clear?”

“She just-”

“DO I make myself clear?!” He barked and you flinched. Conrad was broody and intimidating, sure, but he was gentle. This was a side of him you were sure no one else had ever seen before.

Connor nodded and Conrad let him go, turning to you. His demeanor immediately softened when his eyes met yours, and a wave of relief washed over you so forcefully you began to cry, Belly was quick to pull you into her arms, ushering you inside.

Steven assured Tate and Jermiah that he and Hayden would take Connor across the street to pack his things, and that you probably needed them more than ever now, and they’d be back soon.

“Tate I have to tell you–” “Did you know, Con?” Tate asked slowly, almost as if he didn’t want to ask, because he didn’t want to know the answer.

“‘What did I say would happen if you ever touched her again?’” Tate quoted Conrad’s words to him, and he wanted to throw up.

“You knew that piece of shit was hurting my sister, and you didn’t fucking say anything?!”

“Listen-”

“No, fuck you!” Tate spat. “That’s my sister, man. That’s Y/n.”

“Let him talk, T.” Jeremiah said, placing a hand on Tate’s shoulder but he jerked himself away.

“Fuck that.” He turned to storm away, opposite the direction of the house but Conrad stopped him.

“That’s your sister, Tate. Are you gonna storm off in a fit of rage or are you gonna go inside and hug your sister, who’s scared shitless?”

Tate just looked at him, eyes empty.

“I wanted to tell you. I almost did. She insisted she was going to do it herself, she didn’t want to turn it into something it didn’t need to be, alright? She just took a little longer than expected.”

Tate didn’t respond, only gave Conrad a curt nod before continuing to walk away from the house. “I just need a minute.”

Tate walked out the back and onto the beach, digging his hands in his pockets.

“Is it too soon to ask what you guys were doing during the fireworks?”

Conrad huffed out a laugh and clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“Under the deck, dickhead.”

“Seriously?!”

Conrad nodded and Jeremiah threw his head back, pretending to be disgusted. “Rascals.” The pair stopped right outside the french doors, taking in a deep breath before they entered the house. “Y/n’s a badass.” Jeremiah said, glancing at his older brother, who nodded, before putting his hand on the doorknob and pushing, allowing the two to walk into the house.

You sat at the kitchen island, Belly and Shayla both on the other side of the granite, staring at you with concerned eyes.

Jeremiah moved first, pulling out the stool next to yours and positioning his head so he was eye level with you, a small smile on his face.

“Hey, buddy.”

“Hi.” You rasped and his smile sank.

The curly headed boy brought his hand up to wipe a fleck of dust off of your eyebrow before placing a kiss on the top of your head, and you sank into him.

“That was kinda scary, huh?” Jere asked and you nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

“First of all, I never want you to apologize to me again.”

You giggled.

“And second of all, why?”

You sighed and shrugged. “I feel like an idiot. I ruined everything. I scared you.”

Jeremiah shook his head, wrapping his arms fully around you, resting his cheek on top of your head. “You didn’t ruin anything, alright?”

You nodded and sniffled, a tear rolling down your cheek, which Jeremiah was quick to wipe.

“No tears, alright?” Even though he was blinking back his own. He kissed your head one last time before disconnecting himself to you, and gesturing his head to the stairs, signaling for the girls to follow him upstairs. He couldn’t wait to tell them about the dock.

You and Conrad were left alone, and his presence was not easy to ignore.

He slowly made his way over to the stool Jeremiah had just been in and sat down, his eyes taking over your frame and wincing.

“Can I?” He asked and you nodded. He brought his hand up to brush your hair out of the way and he whined when it revealed the angry bruise covering your neck.

“It hurts.”

“I know, baby. I know.” He said, pulling you off of the stool and picking you up bridal style so he could take you up to his room.

Neither of you missed the hushed whispers from behind Jeremiah’s closed door.

Conrad pulled back the covers and laid you down, quick to follow and pull you close to him.

“I’m really scared, Con.” You said, your voice small as you cuddled impossibly closer.

“You’re safe. I promise you are. I’m right here, okay?” He assured you, his hand cradling the back of your head and the other lightly trailing the skin of your back.

“I love you.” You said, and Conrad visibly relaxed at your confession.

“I love you more, my girl.”

–

Those damn ocean eyes.

Conrad smiled at you from across the bonfire and you blew a kiss back. Which he pretended to catch and put in his pocket.

Conrad Fisher. Catching a kiss and putting it in his pocket. Who would've thought?

It was mid August. The summer was coming to an end, but you still had a couple of weeks left, and you were all soaking up every last second of it.

Conrad had, of course, asked you to be his girlfriend as soon as the water settled, and of course you said yes. Tate and Conrad made up, giving each other a big bro hug, and your brother finally talked to you once he calmed down, giving you that big, comforting, big brother hug as you cried. And of course he swore to kill Connor next time he saw him. Susannah found an amazing program that had a huge success rate, and everyone was hopeful.

Your boyfriend made his way over to you, wrapping a hand around your waist and pulling you into him before he planted a kiss on your lips.

“Pretty girl.” He mumbled, a tipsy smile pulling at his lips.

“My blue eyed boy.” You responded, throwing your arms around his shoulders, an open invitation for him to pick you up and spin you, that melodic laugh of yours that he just adored sang from your lips.

“We’re you callin for me that night at the party?” He asked, a teasing smile on his face.

“Not funny, Con.”

“‘Course it isn’t. Just wonderin’.” His words were slurring and he was just so beautiful.

“Yes.” You admitted, rolling your eyes.

“Knew it.” He said, peppering your face with kisses while you giggled and tangled your fingers through his hair.

He swore he’d never be happier than he was at that moment.

But they had a whole life ahead of them,

And the story of Conrad Fisher and Y/n Y/l/n had just begun.

I love a cheesy ending.

taglist: @colbysbrocks @prettysummerbaby @sortagaysortahigh @hpboysslut2707

Tags

jeremiah fisher tsitp the summer i turned pretty tsitp imagine tsitp fanfic conrad fisher conrad fisher x y/n conrad fisher x reader conrad fisher imagine conrad fisher fanfic jeremiah fisher imagine the summer i turned pretty imagine the summer i turned pretty fanfic conrad fisher fanfiction jeremiah fisher x reader

6K notes View Post

idcbru

2 years ago

"Starstruck"

Original gifs by @kamillahn

Aleksander Morozova x Reader

NSFW

Warnings: Praise kink, size kink, mentions of semi public sex, bit of a choking kink, bit of manipulation (come on guys, this is the darkling here), mild self esteem issues.

After a night of drinks with friends in a strange country, you let a tall, dark and handsome stranger take you home. The next morning, you discover you slept with a super star.

MY MASTERLIST | BUY ME A DRINK

You tried not to make a sound as you scouted the bedroom for your underwear. The early morning glow filtering through the blinds that in your enthusiasm you had failed to close, provided you with barely enough light to find your sparkly dress, but your cream colored panties, so close in shade to the plush carpet under your feet, were another thing completely. Giving up, you sighed, getting up from the floor. It was useless, the panties were probably as ruined as the torn thighs in your hands anyway. Tall, dark and handsome please-call-me-Sasha had been very thorough in his wreckage of you the night before.

Leaving such a path of destruction behind was apparently, exhausting, because said man was currently snoring softly, hugging his pillow, looking far too innocent for someone who had done such wicked things to you in that very same bed -not to mention the elevator, or the ride home, or the bathroom bar before that- not even a handful of hours ago, and far too beautiful for your poor heart. Tearing your eyes away from that angelic sight was almost as hard as tearing yourself from his arms five minutes before, but you forced yourself to do it. He wasn't yours to keep, and though he had been very passionate about you last night, who knew what his reaction to you would be in the harsh light of day.

You told yourself it wasn't cowardice, you simply would rather to keep your memory of him and your perfect one night stand like that, perfect than have it tainted by the regret in his face when he woke up to... well, you. You also told yourself it wasn't a self esteem issue either, you considered yourself an average, moderately attractive woman. The thing was, he wasn’t moderately attractive. He was drop dead, hollywoodesque, carved by the gods cliché level of hot.

Yes, better to save yourself and him the awkwardness of the morning after and leaving before he woke up. Besides, you had a day full of bridesmaid duty ahead of you, the sooner you could get back to your hotel, the better.

If only you could find your other boot...

And maybe a hoodie or something to borrow, you didn't mind (much) the walk home in last night's dress, but you didn't really fancy to freeze in the glaciar air of Ravkan early spring mornings either.

It looked like divine providence when you located both items in the reading nook by the window, all you needed to do was navigate around Sasha's side of the bed without waking him, and the task didn't seem a difficult one, considering all you had to do was walking barefoot on a very plushy rug to the other side of the room. In a couple of seconds, your treasure was within reach and you were bending down to grab your elusive left boot, grey knitted hoodie already in hand, when you saw it.

There, greater than life, staring right back at you through the windowpane from a gigantic billboard across the street, was your one night stand's face. Sure, the hair was longer, darker and the beard was thicker but there was no possible mistake, no chance of it being a simple, if uncanny, resemblance. Not when that face sported the same cupid's bow, the same onix eyes, hell, the same freaking beauty mark under his left eye. And it was really dramatic too, his tall figure, all clad in black in medieval period clothes, huge green characters against a dark background announcing "Aleksandr Morozov is The Dark One". Your limited knowledge of the Cyrillic alphabet prevented you from reading the name of the movie but one thing was clear: This wasn't a small or independent production, this was big, this was mainstream, a lot of money had to be involved for such a massive sized campaign. And for him to be the focus of it, for his name, albeit unknown to you, to be advertised like that, as big as the name of the movie, it could only mean that his name had weight, that it was as important as the movie or show they were promoting.

You had slept with a freaking movie star.

Suddenly, the luxury surrounding you was so conspicuous, so glaringly obvious you wondered how you hadn't noticed before. The soft hoodie in your hands was high quality cashmere, the luscious carpet under your feet probably real fur, the books lining the bookshelves, precious first editions.

Jesus, had the opulent car that had taken you there the night before been his car, his chauffeur instead of an Uber ride like you had originally thought?

You were so stunned, so lost in thought, you didn't even notice your date was awake, until a hand shot through the air, quick as a whip, catching your wrist.

In two movements, you were flat on the bed, sleepy, irresistibly disheveled, completely naked Aleksandr Morozov hovering over you.

"Where do you think you're going, malyshka?"

In complete disconnect from your still short circuiting brain, melting twice over because he was there, so handsome and so close -and had you mentioned, naked?- you opened your mouth.

"You're famous"

A beat of silence. Then two. Until he finally grinned, easy and charming and handsome as the devil.

"I am. Is that a problem?"

He said it casually, smirk still firm on his face, but his eyes betrayed him. There was something guarded, something almost sad about them then, something that made your gut twist with guilt, your cheeks heat with embarrassment.

"No, of course not!" You scoffed, searching for the right words to reassure, to comfort.

But he was already over it, if the way he dived to kiss your neck was any indication, as the hand not braced against the mattress stroked the contours of your body, skimming the side of your breast, caressing the curve of your hip, splaying on the outside of your thigh, down and down until his fingers found your knee, hooking on the back of it to bend your leg around his slim hips as they pushed your thighs apart.

"I- I have to go…" You stammered as his hand found its way to the inside of your thigh.

"Do you, now?" Was that amusement in his voice?

“Yes. Ana, my friend, is getting married the day after tomorrow and I can't just bail on her when-” He swallowed the rest of your sentence, kissing you, open mouthed and slow, managing to make it dirty and sweet at the same time. Sensual.

You couldn't remember anyone kissing you quite like that before, with such artistry, such abandon. As if the kiss wasn't a preamble or a means to an end, but a sexual act in and of itself.

“You taste like my toothpaste” He growled into your mouth, before slipping his tongue past your lips again, chasing the flavor, hips undulating against yours so languidly, so softly, you doubted he was even aware he was doing it.

You hated yourself for ending the kiss even as your lungs burned from lack of oxygen, but as you broke it and let air fill your lungs, so did your head fill with clarity and you remembered the long day of bridesmaid duty you had ahead of you.

“Im sorry, I really am” You lamented, sincerely, “I'd love nothing more than staying and spending the morning with you, but I really have to go”

Aleksander didn't seem to hear it, though, staring intently at you, index finger tracing the line of your brow, the bridge of your nose, your cheekbone, as if trying to commit your face to memory.

“Sasha? Sasha! Are you even listening to me?”

Aleksander shook his head,

“Sorry” He didn't sound sorry at all, “It's just, you are truly beautiful in the daylight”

You felt your cheeks get warm again, so you buried your face against his neck, the way his breath hitched not escaping your notice. So, his neck was sensitive, interesting.

No, you couldn't let yourself get distracted again. You had to return to your life, had to get out of there before things could get any further. It was one thing to sleep with the sexiest man you had ever met under cover of darkness, with alcohol blurring his perception and your inhibitions. To let him fuck you completely sober in broad daylight was an entire different beast.

“I mean it, Sasha, I have to go”

He let his whole body weight fall on you, trapping you under him.

“I'm afraid I can't let you go, malyshka” He replied, not looking at you anymore, focused instead on the place where his hands were pushing up your already short dress till it was indecently bunched around your hips.

“Why not?” You questioned, even as you let his fingers slide between your legs, find the wetness already seeping there for him. He didn't comment on your lack of underwear, which made you suspect he knew exactly what had happened to your panties and their whereabouts.

"Because" He started as his index and middle fingers grazed your slit, coating them on your slick before coming up to rub circles on your clit, a rhythmic, electrifying friction sending sparks up your abdomen in record time, "I'm supposed to be dating my co-star, and as much as I like this pretty little dress of yours, if a paparazzi or a fan sees you leave my house in it, we'll both be in big trouble…"

Your hand was on his wrist in an instant, trying, inefficiently, to halt his movements.

"Wait, you have a girlfriend??"

“It's not real, moya malyshka” He appeased, soothingly petting your head in a deeply patronizing gesture, “it's all make believe, publicity for the show”

Offended by his condescension, you batted the hand still patting your hair away, but he chose that moment to breach your entrance, just barely, only burying his fingers to the first knuckle, yet enough to send a wave of pleasure through your lower belly.

“I'm only asking you to have a little patience,” You tried to focus on his words but it was really hard when he kept teasing your entrance like that, penetrating you less than an inch at a time and withdrawing his fingers again, only to caress your labia, your slit, your clit with a butterfly's wing pressure. “Just wait here until I can call my assistant to bring you some casual clothes, so if someone sees you leave here, at least it won't be so obvious you spent the night…” He rolled your clit between the pads of his fingertips then, making your eyes roll back. “Just a couple of hours, what do you say, pretty girl? I promise I'll make it worth your while…”

It did sound like a logical course of action, you were sure that made sense, or as much sense you could make of something with his hands driving you to distraction like that.

“Just… just a couple of hours?” It was pretty early anyway, your friends would probably sleep till noon, nursing their own hangovers, they wouldn't even notice your absence.

“Just a handful of hours” He brought his thumb to the mix, ghosting it over your most sensitive nub of nerves.

“Oh… ok” You sighed, giving in.

“There's a good girl” You could hear the smirk in his voice but couldn't find it in yourself to care, not when he rewarded you by burying his fingers inside you to the hilt wasting no time in starting to pump them in and out, thumb rubbing at your clit expertly, multiplying your pleasure to eleven right then and there. He seemed to relish in the noises leaving your throat, whispering praises in your ear, sending goosebumps down your spine. “That's it, just like that, let me take care of you. I can make it good for you… let me make it good for you…”

“Yes…”

His strokes changed then, exploring, searching your tight, wet heat for something. You knew the moment he found it because sparks exploded behind your eyelids, making you whimper and moan, and writhe. He pinned your hips to the bed with his other hand, keeping you in place as he intensified his assault, picking up the pace.

It was almost embarrassing, how quickly you had become such a mess in his hands.

"So beautiful… so responsive… God, you're perfect"

You had never been one for praise kink, but his words in that voice, so deliciously husky with desire, was doing something to you. Something that obliterated your brain function better than any drink ever did.

"Yeah, just like that… ride my hand just like that, looks so sexy… Fucking sexiest thing I have ever seen…"

You had no idea when you had started following the movements of his fingers with your hips but you were glad he liked it; you didn't think you could stop if you tried, you were too close, too far gone.

"Wanna see you ride my cock just like that… think you can do that for me, malyshka?"

You nodded not really processing his words, you would have done anything he asked of you at that moment, that was why it was so disorienting to suddenly find your positions reversed, with him laying on the bed on his back, and you manhandled until you were straddling his lap.

"Are you ready for it, malyshka?"

A quick look down told you you weren't. Objectively, you knew you had already managed it the night before, but you hadn't seen it. Now, faced with the dimensions, the sheer girth of the appendage he called his dick, you froze.

Obviously, Aleksander noticed your hesitation.

"I know, printsessa, I know. It's too big for you isn't it?"

You felt yourself nodding, eyes drawn back to where his hand was stroking his length leisurely. You had the distinct impression he was showing off for you. Bastard.

"But you can take it, I know you can. You took it so well last night…" There it was again, that damned praising that made you want to do anything he said, fly yourself to the moon and back, only to get to hear that sinful voice call you a good girl again. So you let him notch the flared head of his cock to your entrance but didnt push inside, letting you take control, take your time, which you were grateful for because the stretch of his tip alone felt like almost too much, soaked and eager as you were.

You lowered yourself slowly, feeling every inch, every ridge and vein, watching in satisfaction as his eyes rolled back inside his head, as his hands flew to your asscheeks like he needed the purchase. Like he was as affected as you were. The little groans leaving his mouth motivated you to keep going whenever the strain threatened to be too much, until you were sat flush to his pelvis. You took a moment, then, as much to get used to him, to the feeling of being filled to the brim by his massive cock, as to center yourself.

When you finally felt ready to start moving, you opened your eyes to find him staring up at you, slack-jawed, as if awestruck, as if he couldn't believe such a tight fit either. Rocking your hips just a little proved enough for his mouth to fall open completely, the most pornographic sound you had ever heard resonating through the room and searing itself onto your brain.

This man was going to be the death of you.

“Just like that… fuck, you feel so good”

You wanted to tell him the same, wanted to tell him how incredible his cock felt inside of you but your voice was stuck in your throat, mouth open, fixed in a silent oh. Your silence didn't deter him though, because he kept whispering dirty nothings as your hips picked up their rhythm, hands grabbing at your thighs, your ass, your hips, everywhere he could reach that was unimpeded by your dress, adding fuel to the fire already burning low on your belly thanks to the maddening friction of his pubic hair scraping your sensitive clit as you rocked on top of him.

It wasn't enough.

To be stuffed full of him, to have his mesmerized attention, his hands on you. No, you were greedy, hungry. You wanted more. You wanted everything.

So you took the hem of your sequined dress and lift it over yourself, revealing all of your body to Aleksanders ravenous gaze.

“Ara, moya malyshka… yes, take it all off!” Aleksanders hands flew immediately to your ribcage, traveling up to seize your breasts, squeezing the handfuls and making your head fall back in pleasure. “I knew youd look beautiful sitting on my cock, krasotka…”

“Sasha…” You managed to plead.

“Do you need something, malyshka?”

You nodded.

“Do you need more? Do you need me to fuck you?”

“Yes” you were not above begging, “Sasha, please…”

He didn't reply with words, instead, he snaked an arm around your back, holding you to him as he sat up and started moving you up and down his cock one handed, the other cupping your face, holding you in place as he devoured your lips. Your own fingers searched, blindly, gripping at his dark locks, trapping him as much as he was trapping you, if only to have something to brace yourself against the slight sting of being stretched almost to your limit, the abrasion of his cock pistoning in and out of you, reaching deep, impossible deeper with every upward thrust.

“Sasha…” You exhaled into his mouth, and he breathed it in, as drunk with passion as you felt, little moans in tandem with yours.

You could feel it building already, every impact of his thighs against your ass, of his pubic bone against your clit hurtling you up higher and higher, a climb that almost frightened you, you weren't sure you would survive the fall.

But there was no stopping it, no way to fight it, not when Aleksander let go of your mouth just to lock his lips around one of your nipples, sucking and nibbling with far less skill, far less self control than he had shown as he fingers you open, biting on your little nub with enough force to hurt, to really send a sharp pang of pain that echoed through your body mixing and blurring with the pleasure until you didn't know which was which, until you didn't know if you wanted to lean into it or get away.

The decision was made for you (or maybe there was never a decision to make) anyway, as his thrusts found that elusive little spot his fingers had already conquered before, and you were falling, abruptly and unprepared, coming with such force you thought you'd might break apart, come undone at the seams, shattered by the force of an orgasm so powerful even Aleksander felt it, hissing at the vice like grip of your cunt strangling his cock as your climax rippled through you.

"Fuck! Just like that, come all over my cock, Malyshka, give it to me, let me feel it…"

You could tell he was close too, his movements faster, more erratic and found that you wanted it, wanted to feel him come inside you, feel him fall apart with you.

So you reach out, wrapping your hands around his neck, and squeezed, crushing his pipeline, until his words were nothing more than an unintelligible wheezing, until his eyes widened and his face went red with lack of oxygen.

Until you felt his cock pulsate inside you and the liquid warmth of his come paint your womb.

You collapsed on the bed in a tangle of limbs, chest to chest, heartbeats pounding in unison, both shipwrecked by the intensity of what had just happened.

"You know," You panted, after a few minutes, "If your evil masterplan was using sex to stop me from leaving… it totally worked, I can't even move my legs''

His only response was a far too self satisfied laugh.

***

"Are you sure, Ivan?"

You were standing naked on the heated tiles of Aleksander's bathroom, tapping away on your phone as he ran a bath for both of you (you had insisted on a shower at first since it would have been quicker, but one glance at his colossal labradorite bathtub had obliterated all your resistance). The entire bridal party had watched you leave the impromptu Bachelorette's with "the Aleksandr Morozov lookalike" and were now demanding details, the dirtier the better.

"... and there isn't anything you can do? Well, can't you ask Alina for help?"

That name you did know: Alina Starkova's face was everywhere, starring in the campaigns of every luxury brand from Bvlgari to Lancome. You simply had thought she was a new supermodel, up until half an hour ago you had no idea she was an actress, let alone Sasha's co-star and fake girlfriend.

That you were absolutely not jealous of. No, if the name made you lift your eyes from your phone screen, it was mere interest. No pang of annoyance or anything else remotely unpleasant. That was ridiculous, you didn't even know the woman.

Aleksander was pacing the bathroom, as naked as you but somehow managing to still look regal af, even as he closed his eyes and pinched at the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"Fine. No, seriously, it's ok…" the rest of his sentence was spoken in a ravkan so fast you had no hope of translating, but when he was done, he put his own phone away and turned to you.

"Was that your assistant?"

"Yeah, Ivan" He confirmed, sighing, "I'm sorry, malyshka, but apparently there's a handful of paparazzi camping on my doorstep, I'll have to ask you to stay a little while longer while we figure out what to do about them" He sounded sincerely apologetic, "You don't have to say yes, of course, and I would never force you to stay, but you would really, really spare me a scandal if you do"

You frowned, and his face fell even further.

"You keep calling me that, but I don't know what it means"

It was his turn to frown a little, in confusion,

"What? Malyshka?"

You nodded. He smiled, just a little bit, taking a step towards you, into your personal space.

"It means 'babygirl'"

You scrunched up your nose,

"So what, I'm supposed to call you 'daddy' in return?"

"Of course not," He replied, wrapping his arms around you, "just call me papa"

"Ugh, no way!" You batted away at his chest, but couldn't disguise the smile trying to break free. If it was a little goofy, well, no one had to know "I'm not calling you that, you dirty old man!"

"We'll see…" He shrugged, noncommittal, before bending to kiss your smirk off your face, "Wait, so, you're not mad?"

You shook your head, rising to your tiptoes to kiss him again.

"Nah, it just means we have more time in the bathtub" He hummed at that, hand on the small of your back traveling lower. "To wash!" You admonished. He didn't look chastised at all. "And after that… you can make me breakfast"

His smile was real this time, big and open.

"Of course, anything you want… Papa will give his malyshka everything she wants"

"Ew, stop!"

His laughter filled the bathroom, and your heart, with warmth.

The end?

Tags

smut modern au shadow and bone ben barnes aleksander morozova x reader aleksander morozova aleksander morozova smut actor!Aleksander Morozova

960 notes View Post

idcbru

2 years ago

I shall be using this, thank you.

“I may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but I am someone’s double shot of tequila.”

— Unknown

Tags

quotes poetry spilled ink go bad bitch

1K notes View Post

idcbru

2 months ago

wow, this is probably the best thing i've read in a while. so talented! loved it sm <3

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.

Tags

oscar piastri x reader f1 fanfic f1blr fernando alonso fic

2K notes View Post

idcbru

2 years ago

quick someone colonize britain while they're weak

127K notes View Post

idcbru

1 year ago

LESSGOOOOOOO‼️