#✦ and you'd think you were looking into a mirror ; faceclaim

[everythingne]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ➛ looking in a mirror, riptide (op81)

last installment / series masterlist

mark and sebastian have vastly different ideas for how the strategy should go for bahrain. oscar has a mini victory, daisy struggles to adjust from f2 and people learn her politeness is more of a facade than anything.

warnings/notes: hate comments, no injury accidents, lance stroll being bitchy, this took so long to get out i apologize. i changed yns faceclaim to cecilia chancez

Mark and Sebastian had been behaving for the most part. Porsche was using them as trainers alongside the rest of their staff, and so far it had been smooth sailing. Mark was good at keeping to a regimented plan, keeping both drivers with strict meal plans, workout schedules, and media duties, while Sebastian did more of the experimental work. The car had come along beautifully, the uniforms were gorgeous, and everything was sleek and ready to go.

And then it came to team strategy.

It was a bit of a bicker point for the two retired drivers, and while it was clear you had a big strength with overtaking while Oscar had a bigger strength on defense, it was often bickered about who should do what.

The plan for Bahrain, excluding all the minute details, is mostly for you to lead with Oscar defending you from behind. The two of you are to stick together like a pack, trying not to get seperated. It's clear Mark doesn't want Oscar to get pushed to a second drivers position either, not that the younger Aussie minds it, but knows you have a better chance of shooting ahead with overtaking last moment, so it's a weird balance back and forth for Mark alone. Add Sebastian in and it’s a whole mess.

Arriving in Bahrain, you and Oscar are ushered to the hotel to drop your stuff and then immediately to the paddocks. Its been a mix of dread and excitement for the whole eight hour flight, and Oscar's easy to talk to about it. Hence why you both buckle down in your drivers room, snacking and laying back.

"I still haven't spoken to Rhys about the swap." You admit when Oscar asks, causing him to hum as he leans back against the wall he's sitting against while you stretch against the opposite wall.

"I mean, you haven't really been home. We've practically lived in the garage for weeks." Oscar shrugs, "my sisters are getting real impatient with me not answering them, I imagine with Rhys being just as busy its hard."

"And now he's in a new time zone too. It's so weird." You huff, lowering the bar you've been using to stretch out your shoulders and neck absentmindedly while Oscar rolls his wrists out on one of the small pediatric balls you've been given.

And as deadpan as usual, he says, "It'll come up this weekend, probably. Are you still angry about it?"

You shrug. It's a betrayal, for sure. You'd both promised to always stick together, but here you were... left behind. Like all baby sisters were eventually. On the other hand, you understand his desire to chase what may give him the best chance at a strong future. No other team had offered you a contract, but McLaren wanted Rhys. So it made sense to you.

"Being conflicted is better than just hating him, y'know." Sebastian's voice chimes and you turn to the German who smiles softly, welcoming himself in. Not that you or Oscar will complain.

"I don't hate him, I don't think I can." You shrug, handing Oscar the pipe for his shoulders when he asks for it softly. Sebastian just nods, its not like he's told you that Rhys was chasing money rather than a dream.

"Twenty minutes to media," Mark steps in too, giving Sebastian a soft smile and nod in greeting before turning to you and Oscar, "How are you guys feeling?"

"Fine," Oscar hums, "same old, same old."

"A bit nervous." You admit and Seb leans over to nudge you while Mark gives you a sympathetic smile, but allows your strategist to give you a pep talk while he kneels down to talk with Oscar.

"Ay, it's not nothing you haven't already done." Sebastian leans on the wall near you as you stretch a bit, "Just go slow, and we'll be nearby if you need to like get out of a weird situation."

"Its not weird shit I'm worried about, its Rhys." You huff, leaning to pop your head on Sebastian's shoulder, "you know how he gets, and I don't want media getting any crazy ideas that we like.. hate each other or something."

"Do you hate Rhys?"

"I... I'm fucking pissed and right now, in this moment, I hate him a little bit."

Sebastian nods and wraps an arm around you, shrugging as he says, "You think after everything I did, I didn't hate at least one person in the moment? Hell no, it used to be impossible to put Mark and I in a room together."

Mark laughs at that, but nods.

"But, we got over it. Or, more so, I realized it wasn't his fault and that I was being reckless. But we were young, now we're older and we get it."

Mark chimes in, "Look at Lewis and Nico, they hated each other. But now Lewis buys Nico's girls gifts all the damn time."

"It's a rough patch," Oscar says when your expression looks a little too confused, "they're saying, basically, one day it's something you'll look back at and be able to accept. It's nothing set in stone. You and Rhys are two peas in a pod or whatever, just let what happens, happen. He's still your brother."

“I know it’s just… I dunno.” You groan, burying your face in your hands. There's not much more to say at that point, so Sebastian just gives you a hug and soft reassurances before sending you and Oscar off for media day. Oscar takes your wrist to tug you along, before you both get settled in the media pen, Logan's the first to come up to you.

"Why don't you go see Rhys? He's right over there!" Logan cheerily notes, giving you the biggest all-American smile he can muster.

And when you peek behind Logan, Rhys has amassed a small crowd with his flare. He's smiling, definitely chatting it up with one of the McLaren volunteers or interns and you feel a weird sickness settle in your stomach.

"Uhm. No, I don't think he wants to see me." You say, "I'll just stick with the interviews, I'm not used to this yet so I just wanna be in and out, y'know?"

Logan and Oscar share an odd look but simply let you go off on your own. And for the most part, media is kind to you. You doesn't have to worry about any harsh comments about being a woman, or rude assumptions about your relationship with Rhys after the exchange... or questions about your ex. It's surprising. But, that surprise, you mostly equate to Oscar literally glaring daggers at any reporter who even tries.

The best part of your day, however, is meeting Jenson. He happily brings you off to the side a bit more, laughing as he bids away, "your guard dog, Piastri."

But Oscar smiles and steps closer, humming as he says, "Hey, I don't trust half of these media people."

"Oh, neither do I." Jenson smiles, patting Oscar's arm to show the dismissal was in jest. Cameras capturing you laughing at the two, and answering Jenson's simple questions. It takes maybe twenty minutes, purely because you find Jenson hysterical as you both keep going back and forth. It's Sebastian who comes to get you and Oscar, shooing Jenson away as he shouts,

"You're stealing me and Mark's kids!"

"Oh! Are you two married now?" Jenson doesn't miss a beat, grinning and making everyone in the nearby area start laughing. Sebastian kicks at him jokingly, Jenson sticking his tongue out in jest as he dodges and then bids the Porsche drivers farewell.

The rest of media day passes in a blur, and by the time the last event rolls about, you've got Oscar's face squished against your shoulder as he softly snores. You're about the same distance away from completely falling asleep when Oscar's hand shifts from where it's across his stomach to wrap around you, and you smile, snuggling into the warmth that is your black cat of a teammate.

-

porscheracing

liked by f1, rhyspearce, markwebber, and 569k others...

porscheracing: look like our drivers had a long day!! see you tomorrow for our first ever quali!

oscarpiastri: in my defense I was tired ?

landonorris: i told you for two years naps rock, and now that we arent teammates you finally nap??

msdaisypearce: im a comfier pillow <3

landonorris: BETRAYAL OF THE HIGHEST ORDER.

rhyspearce: good luck!

msdaisypearce: the tik tok doom scroll rlly got to us

user1: ok seriously. they are dating.

-

Qualifying went... alright. Oscar ending in P7, with you, even after penalties from other drivers, ending up in P18. Rhys ending up P9.

You try not to let the side eyes and sneered comments over the low placement get to you, but its hard when its just about every damn male reporter. Lissie and Jenson are by the far the only saving graces you find in the absolute shit show that is the post Qualifying interviews, and then you tuck yourself into a corner in the back of your drivers room to hide from the world for a moment--headphones on and blasting something as you keep your head leaned against the wall.

Three knocks rumbling the wall cause you to open your eyes, Sebastian sitting down next to you. He taps his ears and you oblige, sliding the headphones off and pausing the music.

"You had a great drive today, you know that, right?" He hums and you shrug, "c'mon. Don't let the media get to you, it's your first race. A lot of drivers flunk their first race. You're new to the car and everything, just be a bit easier on yourself, okay?"

"I hold more than just my own successes on my shoulders, Seb. I hold the door for every other girl after me. Doriane, Chloe, Amna and Hamda, Maya, Bianca, Abbi-- you get it." You huff. Having come from F1 Academy, you'd spoken to Susie on countless occasions about how she felt like she'd closed the door. Never scoring points, never getting a podium. She made the academy to open it again, and you were the test subject of all of her hard work.

Hooray.

"If I fuck this up, how can any of them get here too?" you try to bite back the btter tone in your voice. It's not Sebastian's fault this all sucks, but hes the only person close enough to take your anger out on, and you grunt, "and Rhys isn't even here."

Sebastian just leans back against the wall a bit more for a few moments before he asks, "but would having Rhys here help?"

You pause, looking up at Sebastian as he watches your vacant expression, watching the way you slowly sink down and shake your head, "I think he would honestly make me feel worse. He's always been the better driver of us. People are gonna compare us a lot as is, but if we were on the same team I think it would be a lot worse."

Sebastian just nods slowly, then stands, offering you his hand so you can get up. He peels you off the floor, bringing you back out now to the much quieter garage. There's a few engineers walking around, and Sebastian brings you up to the monitors and sits you down.

"Look at your statistics." He says, pointing at the screen, then glancing over his shoulder as Mark approaches and leans on a nearby wall, and Sebastian continues, "your marks, overall, are almost just as high as Oscars are. See? In training, you guys are neck and neck. I honestly think you were just in your head about it today, tomorrow you're gonna have the track nailed down, and know how the cars gonna handle, it hopefully it'll be easier for you."

Mark turns to leave then, giving a curt nod in goodbye. You notice the odd bristling along Sebastian's shoulders, but make an effort not to mention it. Not worth digging into years worth of drama this late on a race night.

"Just..." Sebastian sighs when he can tell you arent' fully convinced, "Go out there tomorrow, try your best. There's no real... real danger if you do terribly. Media can say whatever, but what matters most is here in this garage, right?"

"Sure." You sigh, "sure. Thanks, Seb."

"Don't mention it, Dais. Go get some sleep." He smiles, punching your shoulder as he stands, turning to the offices to go collect his items. You get up, moving to the hall where the drivers rooms are and pause. Mark murmurs something to Oscar with crossed arms, and you'd feel rude to interrupt or accidentally eavesdrop. But when Oscar's eyes meet yours, you can't deny the flame of competitiveness you see in them.

Oh boy. Here we go.

-

It's hot. Abnormally hot for Bahrain at night in March, settling around 32 degrees celsius. It's set to drop quickly to somewhere around 15, but you're burning up as you start the race. Hands stay firm on the wheel, your eyes firm on the Alpine ahead of you.

Your engineer, Jovanni, is softly speaking in your ear as you cruise around the first few passes, getting you firmly into P16 within the first five or so laps. You squeeze around Lance, getting some sort of near miss as you force him out of the way in the turn, and confirm your spot ahead of him.

"Keep pushing, you're doing amazing so far." Jovanni says, "uh... adjustment up for rotary, everything else seems good."

"Copy." you take a sip of water, adjusting the rotary in the straight as you come up alongside Alonso. Which is... such a weird feeling when you grew up watching him win as a kid. As you get level with his back wheels with your front, you go around the turn and are forced wide. It knocks you back behind him but you hum, speeding up to take the inside line in the next turn.

You almost make contact, but luckily he eases off to the wide and you manage to get in front of him. A soft laugh leaving your throat as you happily grin at the feeling. It's weird to pass a childhood hero, but you grip your hands tighter on the steering wheel as you press forward.

"Great overtake, keep pace." Jovanni says and you affirm his statement, pushing forward to where Checo's fallen back due to car issues in the first few laps. Glancing ahead in the crowded turn, you see Oscar overtake someone beautifully, and then you maneuver your way to the outside of the curve to try and overtake Checo.

And shit.

"Contact with Perez." You curse as his rear tires hit yours, "not sure of damage."

"Still on the track?"

"Yessir." You push ahead, but Checo blocks you. So, its a comfy P14 for now.

"Copy, box this lap."

You continue driving, keeping yourself firmly behind Checo until it becomes apparent someone is riding your ass a bit too close. Glancing in your rearviews you can see an Aston Martin, but you aren't sure which one. Pressing to keep the racing line as best you can, you force your way closer to Checo until there's a sudden slow. Cursing, you break and weave out of the way of whacking into the back of the Red Bull in front of you, but not of the Aston behind you.

The driver hits you and nails you into the gravel, causing you to spin out. It takes you a moment to recover, but quickly you push yourself back onto the track.

"Whichever Aston hit me needs to be paying better attention, he's being dangerous." You grumble out the complaint, "Definitely have damage."

"Get back in and box, we'll go from there." Jovanni says, but he sounds void of any confidence he might've had prior to this. You let out a string of frustrated curses and continue the drive, not worrying about passing or getting too far up before you have to box. Its a struggle just to keep the car moving at the point, and you can feel dread pooling in your gut. As you pull to the pits, you're disappointed to see Sebastian standing off the pitwall and instead at door of the garage.

"Damage is too extensive to the rear axle, you're going to have to retire the car." Jovanni says softly and you feel your head just fall to hit the steering wheel.

And then you lift your head and slam your hand into the steering wheel, "Motherfucker!"

By the time you're approached by Sebastian, it's been long enough for you to stew in your anger in your drivers room. You'd been taking our your anger on one of the training tennis balls, throwing it at the wall progressively harder until the small green scuff on the wall started to turn into more of a dent. After the last throw, you just batted it down to the ground like a cat and sunk to a ball on the couch in frustrated tears.

"Not yours, but he got a ten second time penalty." Sebastian's voice chimes from the door, you can't even find the strength to look over. He continues, "Oscar had brake issues, ended P10. Honestly, a better start than I was expecting."

Your head perks up at that, narrowing at Sebastian who just shrugs, "two drivers completely new to cars that have never been on the track before, from a brand new team? I expected P20 and P19."

"I had to DNF." You deadpan, "that should count as a shit start."

"Y/n. You got rear-ended because Stroll couldn't keep his eyes focused on one thing at once. It wasn't your fault, it happens." He stays in the doorway, eyes narrow on you, but Sebastian doesn't make a move to come into the room. He can sense you need the space.

When you don't respond he just sighs, "Look. You've got media in twenty. So you have about fifteen minutes to wipe the attitude off, Pearce."

The door clicks shut shortly after and you groan into the air, slowly dragging yourself up. Media. Yay. After ten minutes of pacing to get the last bits of angry energy out, you change into normal team gear and head out to the main bit of the garage to find whichever poor soul from the PR team is going to have to deal with your mood. You get stuck with a just out of highschool girl named Mollie, shes shy and bouncy as you walk, and her excitement rubs off on you a bit.

You ask her a few questions about her work within Porsche and she happily explains how much she adores the media team, and you let her go on and on while you walk because its sweet.

And when you get to the reporters, and she can sense you tense up, she gives a tiny smile.

"Media can be bitches," she murmurs lowly, making you laugh as you wait for the Bahrain reporter to organize his notes, "just give it back to them."

You give her a little fistbump, seeing a friendship forming in front of you, before you start down the wall of reporters. Most are very forgiving of your race result, wishing you better luck for the rest of the season. You make it halfway down, finding yourself in front of Sky News. Jenson is kind, happy to report to you, giving you a hug when you tell him how frustrated you were with your placement. And then you make it to the last ESPN reporter.

He's a lively guy, accent clearly from somewhere in the States. He starts calmly, slowly bringing you in, before you can see the pin is about to drop. Even Mollie sends you a nervous look.

"And, I wanted to avoid bringing it up, but how did you feel after the rear-ending that ended in your retirement from the race?"

You sigh, digging through your head to formulate some sort of classy response, eventually stammering out, "I mean.. it's unfortunate. We all had to slow due to an accident on the track. I tried to swerve out of the way, but Stroll drove into the back of me. He damaged my rear axle enough I had to retire. It's unfortunate but sometimes it happens."

"Yes, it is unfortunate." The reporter nods, looking over to his camera man before saying, "We did speak to Lance about this earlier. And uhm... he said, to quote, 'she's an idiot. You can't just stop in the middle of the race so yeah, I hit her. Maybe she should go back to F1 Academy and learn how to drive, or not have paid for a seat in F1.'"

Your jaw ticks shut. Mollie clears her throat and you glance down as she shows you whatever your PR agent wants you to say and you shake your head at her. She nods softly as you murmur, "no, thats too nice for a dick like Stroll."

Turning back, you lean closer to the mic hissing through your teeth, "Well, for one, Stroll has a lot of room to talk about being a pay driver. He's got a lot of room. And Lance has been driving for how long? He's not a bad driver, never has been particularly awful, but he's got a lot of attitude. I don't need to go anywhere to learn how to drive, and I'll come back next race and show that. Trust me. But what Lance may need to do is hire someone to teach him to not opening his mouth when it should be shut. This isn't the first time, and I know it won't be the last. He wasn't looking, he drove into the back of me, end of story."

The reporter blinks, shocked at the sharpness of your voice as you continue with a rough growl to your tone, "Everyone knows you watch the car in front of you. That's like the cardinal rule of driving. Regardless of if you're on in a road car or on a race track. He put me in danger, and if the accident had been worse, other drivers in danger -- especially with how fast we were going. He should rethink his choices before commenting on my skill and my ability. I got here because I deserve to be here, end of--" you click your tongue to avoid cursing, "end of story."

The reporter just slowly nods, thanking you for your time, and as you leave Mollie grins as she says, "that was kinda badass."

"Thanks," you grin, taking a drink of the Red Bull you snagged off a random table in the garage earlier, "I feel better now."

"Good." Mollie giggles and you smile, moving along with her back to the garage.

liked by sebastianvettel, oscarpiastri, lewishamilton, and 816k others...

msdaisypearce: not the first race i wanted to have in f1. but we keep pushing. see u in saudi <3!

user1: last pic is a whole mood

oscarpiastri: no pic credits :(?

⤷ msadaisypearce: ur so spoiled. (oscar took the last pic)

user2: shes an f1 driver and yet didn't post herself in uniform?

user3: erm. oki girl whtv u say like u didn't slam on the brakes.

rhyspearce: u did ur best !!

⤷ user4: why is this so passive aggressive??

⤷ user5: daisy hasn't even LIKED her brothers posts since he moved to mcl

⤷ user6: that's so conceited of her. like if ur butthurt ur brother got a better team just be better next time?

sebastianvettel: tough start of the season but like i said before, you've got this kid !!

user7: her beef w lance is SOOO good like pop off daisy

user8: just proving f1a hasn't prepared its drivers AT ALL.

( taglist is open ! )

@evie-119

[lizzybeth1986]

Coffee-Brown Eyes

Book: Perfect Match

Pairing: Sloane Washington x Hawthorne Park (black m!MC), Sloane Washington x Alana Kusuma (briefly).

Rating: PG

Summary: A small drabble about Sloane's struggle to look people in the eye.

Word Count: 886 words

Note: My HC for Sloane has always been that she is autistic, and one of the things some autistic people struggle a lot with is eye contact. So this is an exploration of Sloane in that context. The quote in my moodboard for this comes from writer and artist Judy Endow (Here's an article she wrote on Autism and Eye contact, along with her artwork on the same! I highly recommend reading it!)

Tagging @choicesficwriterscreations for Fics of the Week

(Faceclaims:

Hawthorne Park - Daniel Kaluuya

Sloane Washington - Nelly Muse)

"Coffee?"

Their fingers brush as the cup passes from his hands to hers; Sloane allows her touch to linger a second longer on Hawthorne's knuckles. From underneath her lashes, she steals a moment's glance into the laughing warmth of his eyes.

She doesn't notice how fleeting that one look is - she never will - but he does. They've been together long enough for her to feel as comfortable with his touch as she would her own, yet the one thing that remains a constant is the persistent wandering of her eyes.

Sloane sips the brew in front of her with her eyes closed. Black, no sugar. Nothing to mask its sharp, invigorating bitterness. Sloane likes her coffee the way she likes her chocolate, the way she likes Hawthorne's eyes. Dark, sharp, shining. Deeply overwhelming.

She peers in Hawthorne's direction again. He isn't looking, thank God, but she can still see his face from this vantage point. She can still see his eyes. A tiny thrill shimmies its way through her spine.

It's so much easier like this. Eyes are fascinating things to look at, really. All those colours, all the myriad changes in hue when the lighting or mood was slightly different. When she was a child she would stare, enthralled, at pools of limpid blue and sea green, searching for shades she knows she would never find in a mirror. But now she's older, now it's darker colours that hold her attention.

She loves looking into people's eyes.

But only when they aren't looking back.

Not that Sloane had been aware of this trait of hers, not until the last few years. She'd spent almost all her teen years and half her adult life not even thinking about whether she looked at people differently from everyone else.

It's one of the first things I noticed about you, Damien would tell her one night in Indonesia, staring listlessly at a campfire. And it made me wary. Most of the time you'd never look anyone in the eye. Made me wonder what you were hiding.

A corner of Sloane's mouth quirks up a little. She did have plenty to hide when she first met them all, that was true. As for the rest...clearly Damien knows by now that she could be spitting truths while having the same restless, roaming gaze.

Of late she's begun to notice the same restlessness in Zinnia's too. Limpid and sky-blue, they widen and constantly seem in search of something. Sloane has often wondered if, subconsciously, she'd had something to do with that. Could she have passed on a trait she hadn't even noticed in herself, to the Match she helped create?

"Probably," Alana whispered against her curls last night, her curves moulded against Sloane's own, her fingers tracing lazy patterns of fire across her stomach. "When you do try to look someone in the eye, you're painfully obvious about it. And I do mean painful, beb. Because you look like you're in literal pain when you have to do it for that long. Zinnia has that look too."

Sloane was surprised enough to stare at her girlfriend, long enough that she could feel the aching strain at the corners of her eyes, images like whitened nerve-endings dancing around her field of vision.

Alana smiled, her deep brown eyes glistening. In this light, they seemed to possess the texture of velvet. "Twenty seconds."

"What?" The tip of Sloane's tongue nervously touched her bottom lip, forcing Alana's gaze from her eyes to her mouth.

"The longest you've looked into my eyes," she let out a throaty laugh, covering Sloane's lips with her own....

"Earth to Sloane," Hawthorne's deep, rumbling voice takes her out of her reverie. "Drink up, honey, or your coffee will go cold."

Sloane's smile is heart-stoppingly sweet, Hawthorne thinks - especially with how she holds the mug so close to her and casually shrugs her shoulders. "Imagine that, our very own homemade cold brew."

Hawthorne silently raises his own mug, his hand gripping the windowsill. The sunlight streams in from the window, bathing his face - his eyes! - in light.

In the shadows, his eyes are dark, almost black. They're already the colour of the deepest, sharpest coffee. You could almost fool yourself into believing such eyes were incapable of changing colour, of possessing an entire bouquet of hues and shades. Lord knows she'd believed that enough in front of the mirror as a child.

In sunlight they're twin pools of honey, she can almost imagine that colour flowing in thick, cascading waves. In sunlight they're the colour of tiger eye gems - glowing golden. Under her eyelashes, Sloane stares shamelessly, breathlessly, hoping against hope Hawthorne will take at least a little longer to look back. This sight is too beautiful for her to turn her eyes away from now.

Unbeknownst to her, Hawthorne stifles a smile. He has long since trained his eyes to shift their gaze away a little longer. Long since learned to resist the temptation of letting her know he's watching her watching him. Long since allowed his eyes to be the ecstatic twin objects of her admiring gaze, rather than enthusiastic participant.

It's a tiny, worthy sacrifice, for that look of pure pleasure it brings in her own eyes.

Sloane grins as she looks away. Hawthorne's own coffee must be cold now but she suspects he won't care.

Hawthorne grins as he turns towards her. One minute twenty seven seconds.

--

* Beb - Indonesian for "babe".