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waterlilydrops · 17 days

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Fortune Favors the Ambitious (1/?) - Second Driver

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x fem!driver!reader

summary: your first step into the F1 world: becoming the second driver for Mercedes. This is the part 1 of a female racer’s story, encompassing her victories, failures, pain, weaknesses, and love.

word count: 6k

warning: mentions of brocedes, mentions of sexism, descriptions of crash scenes, screw with some race results

note: this is my very first try of a series story, suggestions are appreciated! This fanfic contains a lot of roasts about drivers, cars and the sport itself, if it offends you, I apologize.

You joined Mercedes AMG in your first year to step into the seat unexpectedly vacated by Nico Rosberg, who had just staged a feud with Lewis Hamilton. After four years of intense and ruthless competition, Rosberg finally won his first and only WDC this year. Then he chose to retire and took a seat in the media box.

This passionate friendship story between a pair of childhood friends and prodigies did not end well in the end. Instead, it became another dismal footnote to F1’s primeval law: there are no true friends in the paddock, vividly proving that the best way for two drivers to remain good friends is to stay away from each other, to not become teammates.

After races, drivers from different teams could still complain to each other, saying things like “my poor understeercar” and “oh, don’t even mention it, my team took 13.4 seconds to pit”; They could console each other, saying, “Hey, it was tough for everyone, but I felt like if…, you would definitely make it to the podium, bro”, “Of course you would too, I knew you were awesome”and so on. Comforting each other with this kind of contradictory exchange, satisfyingly smoothing over any discomfort caused by competition, forgetting moments like “he almost hit me and caused me DNF” and reassuring themselves with “there’s a difference between on and off the track, it wasn’t his fault, I would have done the same thing”.

It was indeed hard to accept when two drivers, despite having the same performance cars and theoretically receiving equal support, one of them was harshly differentiated, forced to do the dirty work, give positions to their teammates, only to be simply comforted with phrases like “Oh, we treated them fairly, it was just that one performed a bit better”, “Drivers needed to establish team spirit and help each other”.

What? Why did it always seem like one was helping the other?

F1 was not essentially a team sport. 20 drivers competed for one championship.

However, it was really a team sport. A team of thousands of people surrounded the two drivers in the team to serve, not out of charity, but for real returns like money and impression. Therefore, it was inevitable that the team was eager to maximize the group’s interests. The necessary sacrifice spirit for the team and the endless selfish desire of the individual to win formed an eternal contradiction in the paddock.

This blunt competitive pressure, the often unfair team environment, and the resulting jealousy, anxiety, and uneasiness could make even a saint sitting in a cockpit at temperatures reaching 70 degrees explode mentally, hurtling at over 320 kilometers per hour towards their teammate's wheels, sidepods, or any other position. And then being retaliated against with the same hatred by the other party.

As the curtain fell on the drama, no matter what, Mercedes had to find a new recruit.

The opportunity to enter F1 is by no means easily within reach.

You were the lucky one. Not only were you naturally talented, but you also came from a rich family who could support your move to the UK for karting training. You had parents who unconditionally helped you chase your dreams, and in lower-level racing, you had hardly faced any financial difficulties. It was well known that kids from the slums could gather to play football made by newspapers, but the road for a racing driver was paved with gold. Thanks to your parents’ connections, the process of finding sponsorship for higher-level racing surprisingly went smoothly: half of the interested sponsors backed out the moment they saw you were a woman, while the other half chose to take a gamble.

You’re unlucky. Being female is your natural disadvantage in this male-dominated sport. When you started to shine in GP3 races, you felt deeply powerless knowing that as a woman, you had to do better than boys just to get the same opportunities — boys only need to showcase talent and skills to be considered by higher-level teams, while you get questioned about “whether emotions will affect your stability” and “will your period affect your performance”. It's absurd. You even couldn’t possibly get the same chances as boys in big team future programs. Let alone testing in old model F1 cars, you had very few opportunities to even test on F1 simulators. You chose to grab the lifeline thrown by Marussia and become their reserve driver.

From blockbuster rookie to seasoned driver, you dominated GP2 for two years. You and the boys used the same engine and the same frame,You didn’t have a driver dad, so there is no F1 team engineers to adjust the car for you. you relied solely on your talent and determination. You won 9 races, stood on the podium more than ten times, and became the champion with the highest points in the history of GP2.

A brilliant result that forced F1 teams to seriously consider their driver lineup.

“Who will fill the empty the seat at Mercedes?”

“Why Y/N Y/LN is the next big name?”

“Is she the first female F1 driver of 21 century?”

Indeed, why not? Why not have given a deserving female driver, who had already proven her mettle, a chance to shine on the world stage? Offer her a one-year contract — allow her to break barriers and challenge norms in a traditionally male-dominated sport. With her presence alone, she brought invaluable media exposure to the team, each stride she took destined to be immortalized in the annals of history alongside the illustrious name of her team.

After testing in simulator, you sat in front of Toto Wolff and several executives. Only you knew that there are six or seven GP2 drivers vying for this seat, not to mention F1 drivers who want to drive the Silver Arrows.

“If your teammate — I’m not specifically referring to Lewis Hamilton, this is just a hypothetical scenario — if your teammate, he is in the state of competing for the championship, and due to some accidents in a key game, he unfortunately falls behind you and another rival from another team, what would you do?” Toto asked, his gaze seeming to pierce through the soul.

You remained unexpectedly calm. Without hesitation, you answered, “I’ll push the first-place car away, allowing Hamilton, who’s in third, to directly take the lead and win the championship.”

After the interview, during the debrief with your team manager, she sighed at your answer. “You should have played it safe,” she said, “You should have said something conventional. Talk about helping him defend, giving him room, and if necessary, try to fight for the title yourself. That’s the standard answer. Don’t let them perceive your aggression and ambition.”

You couldn’t agree with that.

You knew Mercedes just want a driver for Lewis Hamilton who won’t tear the team relationship and the car to pieces.

But if winning hadn’t been your ultimate goal, you wouldn‘t have chosen the path of racing. You should go get an MBA to help with the family business, and from then on, your biggest connection to racing will be attending hometown races as a sponsor.

And the word “ambitious” described you perfectly. You certainly had an insatiable, oversized desire. In a paddock where victory had long been claimed by men, you boldly stepped forward to stake your claim, ready to seize what was once exclusively theirs and make it your own.

You might always remembered that cold autumn day in London.

The basement was filled with dry warm air and the smell of sweat, each breath feeling like burning hot coals in your lungs. Your sweat melded with the rough wooden floorboards. Your breath echoed in the empty room, accompanied by the dull thud of dumbbells hitting the ground, like a lonely symphony.

The phone rang just as you stepped onto ground.

You stared at the blinking name of your agent on the screen, your heartbeat quickening, your fingers trembling slightly. What would this call bring? Fifty-fifty, your confidence and self-doubt intertwined: you were the best young driver of your generation, bar none—if you didn’t get the seat, no one would. Yet, reality also coldly reminded you that perhaps no team would be willing to take a chance on a female driver, right?

You answered the phone, your agent's voice urgent on the other end, like a mother scolding a child who had caused worry: “Y/N, you finally picked up! I've called you twenty times! I thought something happened to you!”

“Sorry, I just finished training. What’s going on?” You tried to keep your voice calm, but inside, it felt like countless hands were squeezing you, making it almost impossible to breathe. Countless possibilities flashed through your mind, and you were even afraid to know the outcome, fearing it would shatter your hopes. If you missed the next season, you didn’t know if you’d ever have such a good opportunity again.

She took a deep breath, the one-second pause feeling like an eternity to you.

Thankfully, her voice regained excitement.

“Y/N, you’re driving in F1 next season.”

Despite the chaotic emotions swirling within, your voice was much calmer than expected. “So, which team decided to take the risk?” Just a week ago, you had met with Williams team, who had a precedent of accepting women as reserve drivers. You had tried so hard to control the slight trembling of your fingers due to nerves and sound nonchalant. Entering F1 had already been a dream come true, but the thought of driving for the Silver Arrows — waves of excitement surged through your mind, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might leap out of your chest.

There was almost an uncontrollable smile in her voice as she responded, as if every word was pulsating with joy. “Mercedes. You’ll be the second driver for the team.” You could almost feel her excitement transmitting through the signal.

Your mind went blank for a moment, your heart racing, as if all the voices in the world had disappeared in that moment. Only that word echoed incessantly in your mind. Mercedes.

“Is this... is this real?” Your voice trembled slightly.

“Of course it is real!” Her laughter held a hint of pride. “Mercedes has already sent a draft contract, we discussed some details, and we could announce it before the awards ceremony.”

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your emotions. “Thank you, thank you for all your support and help.”

“You deserved this, Y/N. Go celebrate tonight.”

In just two minutes, the rain in London had soaked your hair, droplets sliding down your cheeks, blending with your clothes. But you didn’t feel uneasy about it; instead, you felt a sense of joy blending with nature. You even felt like this ordinary rain was celebrating for you, baptizing you for your mission.

You knew you were ready to face the storms and rainbows of the racing world.

“Mercedes AMG F1team: Y/N Y/LN will line up alongside Lewis Hamilton in 2017”

“There is no doubt about Y/N’s skill and determination. Although F1 is extremely demanding on physical strength, she has proved that she is fully capable of meeting challenges.”

“Can women truly compete with men in extreme sports like F1? I have my doubts. Is this just a gimmick by the teams to attract attention and sponsors? Can she really make results? While gender equality is a noble idea, F1 requires the best drivers, regardless of gender. Is she truly capable, or is she merely a symbolic choice?”

Perhaps your unnormal answer touched the executives, and you had been granted a one-year, highly demanding contract—although they may have been satisfied with your willingness to be a second driver, whether you could be a consistent and unwavering second driver, that was still a cruel, untested new question for the team.

The first winter break as an F1 driver was eventful, even more so than you imagined. You had countless forms to sign, filming videos for promotional content was a daily task, and there were endless meetings with engineers. You met your race engineer — a talented woman full of potential. You couldn’t wait to see how your performance together would unfold in real races. Meanwhile, the media swarmed, eager for exclusive interviews, and even Vogue wanted to feature you on their cover before you had ever sat in the W08.

Your first meeting with your teammate was for simulator testing. You’ve crossed paths with him on various occasions several times — during a race, at FIA awards ceremony — but this marks the first time you met Lewis Hamilton as his teammate.

You shouldn’t have been fixated on this, but you felt Lewis Hamilton had far more charm than any video or picture could capture.

You still remembered the moment he pulled you into a hug. His black eyes shimmered with warmth, and despite his muscular arms, his embrace made you feel comfortable and secure. It was hard not to gaze at the tattoos on his smooth skin as his voice, gentle yet magnetic, with a slight British accent, said, “Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“Hello, Lewis. I’m so glad to be your teammate.”

“The honor is mine. Perfect GP2 season, huh? Highest-scoring champion.”

For some reason, you were glad he noticed your achievements — not as a female driver, but as a driver. Not with labels like the first female F1 driver of the 21st century.

“Thank you, Lewis.” You tried to remain as calm as possible, masking the subtle excitement within.

Lewis lightly patted your shoulder. “We’ll do a mega job together this season.”

You nodded. “We will, I’ll give it my all.”

You didn’t disappoint anyone.

On March 26th, your first race in your F1 career took place in Melbourne, Australia, and you smoothly made it onto the podium, not at all like a rookie. In the following four races, you secured three second places, making people to cry out about how damn fast the W08 was. Some even said that even the rocket car would seem reserved compared to a car could turn a rookie into a podium driver like that.

Of course, the fans who watched the race didn’t attribute your performance solely to the car’s speed.

You had abandoned your aggressive driving style, making your car flow smoothly like water along perfect lines, calmly following Lewis Hamilton. Anyone attempting to overtake you found themselves ensnared in your relentless defense.

Whether it was starts, tire saving, or long runs — things rookies often struggled with — you performed exceptionally well. Your only technical weakness seemed to be overtaking, but this flaw was completely offset by the W08’s superior performance. And to the team, being bad at overtaking was an advantage. After all, the only car usually ahead of you was Lewis’s. Why bother being good at overtaking?

Mercedes could only rejoice at your precise and forceful defense and your unwavering support in driving and escorting.

Lewis’s viewpoint evolved over time. At first, he might have entertained thoughts like “two more races and she will demand more chances”, but as he witnessed your performance on the track, his sentiment transformed to “damn, she’s really something special”. It was a gradual realization, punctuated by moments like when you quietly secured yet another victory for him.

Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, Lewis finally broached the subject in cooling room. “You had fresher tires. Why didn’t you ever try to overtake me?”

“My contract states that without team orders, I can’t overtake you.” You couldn’t help but notice the slight embarrassment in Lewis’s expression.

“Besides,” you continued, offering a smile, “I’m not that good at overtaking anyway.”

Your first victory came in the first GP after the summer break, at your home race. With such an outstanding and eye-catching local rookie driver, it was undoubtedly the biggest event of the year for fans.

The stands were packed, every corner filled with enthusiastic supporters waving flags, cheering, and shouting encouragement for you. It was more than just a race; it was a celebration, with the entire city immersed in joy and pride.

Your path to victory, however, was full of surprises.

Initially, Mercedes executed back-to-back pitstop strategy perfectly. Kimi's second pitstop should have put him between you and Lewis or right behind you, where you could block him. But the Mercedes pit crew had an unusual difficulty; they struggled with the left front tyre, leaving Lewis in the pits for a staggering 11.4 seconds. By then, his chance for the win had disappeared. He dropped to 7th place and took 13 laps to fight back to fourth, eventually getting stuck battling Sebastian for third.

Meanwhile, you and Kimi were locked in a wheel-to-wheel duel for a full five minutes.

Since you entered the pits right after Kimi, you were behind him when you came out. Your tires were in exactly the same condition. Even though theoretically this year Mercedes’car had more advantages, you were not good at overtaking, and you were stuck in a stalemate despite your best efforts.

At this moment, your race engineer on the radio confirmed that Lewis had no chance of winning and encouraged you to push for the win.

You bit your lower lip as you looked at Kimi ahead of you.

For the first time all season, a burning emotion surfaced clearly and definitively in your mind: you felt you could do it. Not with your usual rational judgment, but with an adrenaline-fueled belief. You could prove that you were not just a reliable team driver but one of the best in the sport. This time, you were destined to stand on the top podium and become a champion.

Your fierce competition elicited constant gasps from commentators and audiences.

“Y/LN is now the sharpest blade of the Silver Arrows — just two laps to go! Turn 2!

Räikkönen cuts inside perfectly! It’s useless! Y/LN remains calm, anticipating as if living in his mind!”

You knew your home track inside out —Turns 1 to 3 is a combination of gradually tightening corners, and Turn 15 at the end of the back straight connected the highest speed on the circuit to the slowest turn — ideal for overtaking.

Your head ached as if a blood vessel might burst, but your mind was excited. You tried to breathe calmly, reporting speed, tire condition, balance to the team with a steady voice. On the final straight, you and Kimi both opened the DRS, crossing the line under the checkered flag.

The next thing you remembered was the fireworks whistling through the sky. Lewis pulled you out of the car, hugging you excitedly, jumping up and down with congratulations — finish line footage and speed checks had confirmed you won, just 0.05 seconds.

The crowd erupted, celebrating the first home championship in history. You sat on top your car, waving to the fans and staffs.

Waiting, stepping onto the podium, spraying champagne.….. Kimi and Lewis both aimed their first sprays at your face. You closed your eyes, letting the champagne flow down your cheeks as if they were your own tears. The crowd’s celebration roared through the night, with every face radiating pride and excitement because of you. Your rookie season, your home race, your first victory. It felt like no moment could ever be more perfect.

“Y/N Y/LN to Make Herstory as First F1 Female Race Winner”

“From Rookie to Champion: Y/N Y/LN’s Epic Battle with Kimi Räikkönen for Victory”

“Yes, it’s been a rollercoaster ride. We made mistakes but did a great job of fixing them and finished with 1-3 podium.

The duel with Kimi was intense; I have to give him credit for pushing me to my limits.

I want to thank the fans who came out today and those who sat in front of their TVs to support me. Winning in home means a lot to me.

No, I won’t overemphasize the meaning of this winning. It’s just one of many in my F1 career. Soon, everyone will get used to a female driver winning races. I believe that.”

Your performance gradually stabilized in the following races. Even if you didn't become a race winner again, you consistently finished in the points. While your peers were still vying to be the team’s core, you miraculously silenced the haters by winning third place in the WDC, earning a three-year, higher-paying contract with Mercedes.

In such a friendly atmosphere, it was hard for your relationship with Lewis not to warm up.

On the track, he would wholeheartedly defend you when he was behind, and off the track, he acted as your mentor, helping you get rid of the bad mood caused by self-doubt. He always skillfully handled awkward questions from journalists for you and knew the best restaurants in every race city.

After you declined Lewis’s invitation to go skydiving during the winter break, he invited you to his home. There, you met his family, who gave you warm hugs just like his. His nephew brought out a bunch of your merch for you to autograph, saying he supported you in every race.

In the 2018 season, although Mercedes maintained a dominant position, they encountered formidable competition from other teams, most notably Ferrari. This rivalry intensified throughout the season, reaching a climax at the German Grand Prix, where fans were treated to a spectacular and dramatic spectacle.

Mercedes’ race strategy was essentially centered around you — Lewis’s car had a mechanical failure in qualifying, starting from 14th in Hockenheimring.

Even though the W09 was fast enough, starting from the back made it easy to get caught in traffic jams. Lewis needed to overtake as many cars as possible before the rain starts, and you needed to push hard to challenge Seb, aiming for the win if possible. At the very least, avoided crashing into the barriers. This increased your pressure, as Mercedes was 20 points behind Ferrari in the Constructors‘ Championship, and today’s points would likely depend mainly on your performance.

Started in the front, you found yourself locked in a tense battle with Sebastian’s Ferrari, the red car a formidable obstacle in your quest for victory. Today Ferrari was incredibly fast on Seb's home track.

In between two prancing horse, you feel quite passive, all you could do was patiently wait for their mistakes. The good news was that Lewis was climbing up, and there were soon two Mercedes among the front runners.

The sky started to rain, making the track slippery and driving more difficult, leading to a flurry of activity in the pit lane as teams scrambled to switch to wet tires. You weren’t particularly good in the rain, now was also not a good pit stop window for you. So you had to move the brake bias during the race to deal with the tricky conditions, keeping your W09 on the race line.

“I got a bit of a tankslapper on, but I managed to get it back.” The race was a bit challenging for your soft tyre.

“Good job, Y/N.”

However, when the rain got worse and more widespread, Seb lost control at Turn 11 and crashed into the barriers — the turning point. The safety car was deployed.

The team radio crackled to life, the voice of your race engineer guiding you through the chaos. “Y/N, Box, box, box.” you made pit stop for new tires under team orders during the safety car period, while Lewis decided to stay out on track at the last moment.

What a genius decision. During the 20 seconds the pit crew was searching for the tires, your only thought was being glad that Lewis didn’t came into the pits, with a mix of sadness and relief. Otherwise, a double podium would have turned into a double disaster.

Thankfully Kimi pitted on the following lap. Amidst the chaos of the race, there was a dramatic and rapid reversal of fortune. As the rain shower began, what initially looked like a dominant 1-2 finish for Ferrari was swiftly transformed into a commanding 1-2 lead for Mercedes.

“Now Lewis Hamilton is back in his faithful P1, Y/N Y/LN has exited the pit. Let’s see if she will challenge her teammate with those fresh tires—”

“What position am I?”

“P2, Lewis is ahead, Kimi is behind.”

“Copy. Tell Lewis I am backing Kimi; he can pull out the gap.”

In the post-race media pen, it was no surprise that Natalie Pinkham asked you about not attacking Hamilton in the final stages of the race.

“Y/N, congrats on your P2,” she began, “today’s race was very exciting, especially your performance in the rain. But I have a straightforward question—why didn’t you try to attack Hamilton in the last stint? Your tires were much fresher, and you could have won the race. From aiming for the win to defending for Hamilton, do you feel any disappointment?”

“Thank you for asking what every fan wants to know,” the surrounding journalists chuckled in unison. “Firstly, I’d like to say all decisions were in the best interest of the team.”

You paused for a moment and continued, “The track was still very slippery at that time, and I think under those conditions, only Ferrari fans would want to see me attacking Lewis.”

You emphasized, “I didn’t want to risk the team’s success for my personal victory. We were 20 points behind Ferrari before the race; now we’re leading by 23 points. That’s the best outcome.”

Before interviewing the next driver, Natalie turned off the microphone and gave you a hug. “Y/N, you did great. You are too good to be a second driver.”

Even Lewis came to talk to you after the race.

Mercedes rented an entire club to celebrate the 1-2 finish. You could enjoy free from the worry of tomorrow’s potential gossip about your dance partners. It was a relatively relaxed atmosphere until Lewis approached you.

You repeatedly assured him that his win was his own achievement — P14 to P1, mega job. Even if you hadn’t defended Kimi in the last few laps, he would have won because Seb had already retired. No matter how stupid Ferrari might be, they wouldn’t risk a double DNFs.

Lewis might not have been so careful in the past, but perhaps the constant arguments with Rosberg and the millions of euros in car damage over the past few years have taught him something.

A common misconception people had was, with the team’s favoritism, good cars, and a second driver assisting, even a dog could win WDC with such treatment. The flaw in this logic was, why would a team favor a backmarker?

A driver’s success was not solely based on team strategy or car performance. While these elements were crucial, the driver’s skill, determination, and ability to execute under pressure are what truly made the difference.

While theoretically any racer driving a Silver Arrows rocket had a chance at the title, but Mercedes didn’t pour over 400 million euros into the F1 team each year to nurture rookie drivers. Champion drivers didn't win because of good treatment; they earned the best treatment by first becoming champions. Lewis performed exceptionally well, so the team rallied around him.

Of course you understood it.

You had so much to improve, you had to wait patiently, knowing that opportunities might be scarce for a long time. You needed the most resilient determination, the keenest judgment and insight — neither slipping into inertia and fatigue due to the former, nor becoming anxious and impatient due to the latter. Like a leopard in hiding, you had to wait for the right moment to strike, with the sharpest claws and the fiercest gaze.

After the German Grand Prix, the chatter among fans about Mercedes’ unshakable dominance and the remarkably close bond between you and Lewis became the talk of the internet. The media eagerly fueled the flames, dubbing you both the paddock’s “power couple”while some fans affectionately joked that you were Lewis’s housewife on the track, who helped him clean up opponents on the track. It was certainly preferable to the spiteful remarks from haters who accused you of being nothing more than Lewis’s doormat.

As you shared the amusing sarcastic comments from fans at Lewis’s home in Monaco, your “son” Roscoe circled your feet, while your “husband” was casually dressed with his hair down, making fresh juice, trying to persuade you to move to Monte-Carlo.

“My husband definitely wouldn't be your type.”

Lewis paused his work, ready to hear your grand declaration. “I need a trophy husband — beautiful, hot, who loves me wholeheartedly but isn’t too needy. The season is long, and I'm very busy. But when I need him, he has to show up at the paddock immediately, so he can’t have a job or be in school.”

A hearty laugh escaped Lewis’s lips, “When I retire, I might meet those standards.”

“No way, I’m not letting you retire. I’m a knight defending your WDC titles.”

He was nearly crying with laughter, “So, I’m Princess Lewis now?”

You thought Roscoe barked in agreement.

Obviously even the most seemingly perfect couples have their arguments.

As the red lights went out, Lewis Hamilton, fueled by his desire to win and yesterday’s pole position, launched into the lead, dominating the track.

Starting from 4th, you made a smooth start and stealthily slid into third, effectively sandwiching Max Verstappen between the two Mercedes.

The Australian Grand Prix was nothing short of spectacular. In the final three laps, Max relying on Red Bull’s brilliant strategy decisions, continued to close the gap to Lewis. No one could tell if he would overtake at the last moment.

“Hamilton is still leading, but the tire wear is too fast. If nothing changed, he might be caught in the last lap and a half.”

Mercedes’ strategy team was in overdrive, their headsets buzzing with a cacophony of contrasting tones.

On one side, Lewis was calmly asking, “How many seconds is Max behind me?” On the other, you were rambled concerns, “These tyres are dead at the rear, and please give me Max’s speed—”

Alternating between the two drivers, it was enough to make the engineers’ brains, which had been operating at high speed for over an hour, overheat and crash.

Bono was heavily reporting to Lewis about the worsen tire conditions, preparing him mentally to be overtaken, while on your end, you received information about the lap times of Charles Leclerc, who was closely chasing behind. You were also comforted with an assurance that you should hold on and most likely secure third place.

You didn’t understand: “Hey girl, I didn’t ask about Leclerc.”

Then, he must be fourth. With three laps to go, was the team giving up on the champion? You felt this wasn’t right.

“Please tell me Max and Lewis’ lap times,” you calmly inquired again.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, you won’t overtake Verstappen, the tires—”

“Lap time.” you forcefully interrupted. Because with the tires heavily worn, it was unlikely for you to overtake Verstappen and take second place, but causing trouble for him and allowing Lewis to get to first place was a different story.

Let’s hope you wouldn’t fly off the track.

But the racetrack wasn’t exactly God’s territory, as most drivers’ prayers rarely got answered. So, the worst-case scenario happened.

In the second-to-last lap, you were side by side with Verstappen in Turn 4, and two seconds later of wheel-to-wheel competition, your left rear tire finally couldn’t hold on, causing the car to lose balance and fly off the track at over 300km/h, dragging the Red Bull alongside it.

Charles Leclerc, miraculously jumping from fourth to second, was startled, sliding on the track and looking in disbelief at the disappearing Mercedes of Lewis Hamilton, reporting in shock over the radio, “They’re both out! Are they okay?”

“Plan B, Plan B!” The engineer screamed frantically, signaling Leclerc to focus and cross the finish line. Suddenly aware of his miraculous rise to second place, Monegasque sweetheart quickly stepped on the pedal, preventing Magnussen from overtaking him from behind.

In the grandstands, team pits, and commentator boxes, screams of excitement erupted uncontrollably. But amidst the sand and stones where Max and your cars had sunk, you felt like even the air was quiet, as if the thundering engine sounds couldn’t penetrate the helmets and cockpits.

Your only thought was that you had indeed fulfilled the promise you made in the interview, to push Lewis’s competitor out.

Lewis celebrated for five minutes before realizing what had happened behind him. Then, the joy of victory disappeared completely.

He remained silent, his expression turning cold, after confirming that the podium ceremony wouldn’t start for some time, he returned to the garage.

You slouched on the couch, a soft pillow under your head, but you still couldn’t control the dizziness, nausea, and urge to vomit. Fortunately, you could still count fingers and remember everything, so it was probably just a mild concussion.

You felt a little sad. Maybe this was where you differed from male drivers. You couldn’t train the most aesthetically pleasing thick necks admired in the paddock, so your ability to resist g forces was weaker that you got a concussion with just a slight bump.

You raised your head and saw Lewis’ stormy expression. His anger was evident, with a cold face and tightly pursed lips.

“Listen, Y/N, I don’t need you to do this, I can—”

“Please give us a few minutes alone, please,”you looked at the staff in the room, and they tactfully left, leaving the room quiet again.

He continued to shout at you loudly, “I can win on my own, and if I can’t win, it’s my own damn fault. I don’t want to use these methods, and I don’t t care about how your f*cking second driver contract—”

You looked quietly at his excited face, patiently listening to his volcanic eruption. When he finally stopped, you extended a hand to signal that you also wanted to say something.

He crouched in front of you, you wanted to touch his shoulder, but your hand trembled and ended up on his neck. Well, damn. You were too weak to resist.

So you gently touched Lewis’ neck and jaw, softly saying like petting Roscoe, “I swear to you, Lewis, this was really an accident. I didn’t mean to crash, just wanted to buy some time... but the tire still blew. You know, these things happen all the time, it’s just this time... it’s a bit dramatic.”

You could see Lewis was uncomfortable with your hand. After a few seconds, he also apologized in your gentle touch, “Hey, you make me feel guilty. I probably couldn’t win anyway, which is annoying —but I can win next time. I don’t want you to get a concussion just because I want to win.”

“So are we good?” you tried to force a smile,

“Only you promise me you won’t do anything dangerous next time.”

You nodded, locking eyes with him.

“Pinky promise?”

You raised your trembling hand, a physiological reaction from your brain losing control. But soon Lewis’ hand came over, giving your hand something to lean on, so it stopped shaking.

Contracts written in black and white often protect the cost of betrayal, while Ineffective childish promises always encourage true feelings and trust. You stared quietly at each other for a moment, then Lewis held your hand and gently kissed it.

His voice was a little hoarse, “Just trust me a little more, okay?”

to be continued

#lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 imagine

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f0point5 · 5 months

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You know, I love Seb (he’s the person who got me into F1) and I respect Lewis and his accomplishments but one thing I’ll never forgive them (and a lot of the older drivers, most already retired now) for is how they treated Max when he came into F1.

Yes, he might have been their rival but he was also a teenager, a literal child and gosh… I know Max probably doesn’t really care anymore but I still hurt for him sometimes.

Especially when you consider that he was the one paving the way for his generation. When Charles and Lando and George and everyone else came up a few years later they were welcomed as the youth, the future of the sport. Older drivers talking about their talent and how great it is to see them come up.

Max didn’t get that. He got shouts of “too young”, “too reckless”, “too… too much”.

So no, to me the only real grid dad (or maybe grid uncle is more fitting, idk) will be Fernando Alonso who said that some people are simply ready earlier than others and that Max should be judged on his performance in the races, not his age (paraphrased).

Fernando who has been an idol a lot of the younger generation growing up but also exchanged helmets with Oscar and Zhou, joked with Lando on instagram, talks Le Mans with Max and probably many more moments I’m forgetting about rn.

THIS.

Honestly, I don’t really get the Seb hype. He just has never given me good vibes. I didn’t watch during the RB days so maybe if I’d seen his golden era I’d have gotten attached but he has just always seemed…not likeable. Clearly a very driven, straightforward, intelligent guy, but something about him doesn’t sit well with me. Anyway rant over.

I’m not even going to talk about LH because…par for the course.

Yes, they were all mean to him. As grown men, too, how are you not absolutely embarrassed?! I get that he’s a kid and maybe you don’t want to hang out with him or confront the fact that you’re not the hotshots anymore but omg it’s a CHILD. (And Seb who made a bit of a meal out of being a bullying victim as a kid…I see you.)

No one else of Max’s generation would have survived the way they treated him, I stand by that. They all needed the support they got, and Max had none of it from his peers. I can’t see Max being the type who cared per se, because he was probably already used to being…not ostracised, but like…observed? And also because of how he grew up I don’t think anyone’s words could rattle him. But even if he didn’t care the grown men should have known better.

If I were Max I’d still be laughing about how bitter I made men in their 30s. Like “I couldn’t grow facial hair and y’all were running scared”. But I still think it must have been a pretty lonely few years until others his age started catching up.

I think Max was really lucky to have such a tight team (Christian, Helmut, Jos, Ray, GP) around him to insulate him a bit and stop him getting pushed around but the way these men tried it. (Toto I’m looking at your for the Jos phonecall.)

Yeah Fernando is the only one who I think was ready to embrace the new frontier as it were. But he is just kind of like that. I feel like he doesn’t feel his age is the disadvantage that most do, and that’s why he’s not so afraid of younger drivers. Like, his relationship with Max, Carlos, lando, George (nye buddies lol) and Zhou (literally just today saw a quote of him talking about how nice Alonso was to him, even Lance, he treats them as much as peers as he does his own generation, it’s cute.

Also, this is kinda random but I swear Nico and Max were kind of friendly in the early years? Max has known Nico a long time, despite the age difference (he said he remembered glasses Nico used to wear at like 7, and Nico once went out with his mum?), Nico was on the jet with Max on his birthday in…2017? And I think there’s a picture of Max having flown with some guys (including both Nicos in 2016) and for some reason I’ve always had the idea that Hulkenberg was his link to that whole crew? (Idk if this whole friendship is a headcanon but for some reason I feel like these two are/were kinda connected)

But yeah, agree. Grown men acting like little bitches. That generation I think was the last generation with real bitterness between the drivers, though. Idk you wouldn’t catch me being a jerk to a kid but I’ve never been terrified of a kid before so 🤷‍♀️

#max verstappen #f1 #formula 1 #sebastian vettel #fernando alonso

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yonemurishiroku · 2 years

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I like it when Nico falls out of the Seven’s circle. Yes, I know he isn’t part of the Seven. Yes, I’m perfectly aware that at least half of us are fond of grouping him in as well. Too bad I don’t care.

But I love it when Nico finds his new life away from the past. I don’t—It’s hard to tell—But I mean that I take immense joy in watching Nico thrive in his own way - another path no one treads, not the Seven and not anyone else.

His boyfriend is a minor character throughout more than ten out of fifteen books. He only started settling down in Camp Halfblood when all-the-others have left (Percy, Annabeth, Leo, Piper). After the War, he barely holds connection to the Seven: he keeps in touch with Hazel because she’s his sister, I refuse to count Percy and Annabeth, Jason was a true, precious friend until he’s gone. Perhaps if he was still alive, things would have been different. But the thread has been severed.

They’ve gone through so much together, yet at the end, it feels almost like there’s nothing connecting Nico to them.

And that’s okay - because I love it, more than I should, actually. Nico paves a new path for himself, I’d wholeheartedly support.

I know people love it when there’s a big gathering and they cheer together bla bla all of that. Yeah it sounds nice too.

But I have an unhealthy guilty pleasure that I’d happily indulge. I love it when Nico only appears like one or two scenes. I love it when he’s happy on his own. I love it when he stands alone and there’s a beauty in his solitude.

#nico di angelo #fanfic talk again bc what’s new anw?#yone rambling #solitude #the seven #jason grace #platonic jasico #nico and hazel #solangelo #pjo #hoo #toa #percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus #trials of apollo #nico healing #nico headcanon

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ladylooch · 5 months

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Did timo or Nico get their wives push presents and if so what did they buy them

They both get similar necklaces with the kids initials on them.

Emma gets rings and expensive jewelry which she loves. Also fancy hang bags and maybe even a condo in Mexico after the twins. "So we can escape the children we made." Timo jokes.

Lexi really wants Nico's time, which he knows. So I think Nico helps pave the way for parental leave in the NHL after Mack is born, and takes two weeks off to be with her at home. Like they really bully him against doing it ( the league/ NHLPA) and Nico just stands firm. He says "Fine me, suspend me without pay, I don't care. I'm giving my wife 14 days."

But I had a thought that after Sophie is born, Nico gets the initials of Lexi and the girls around his left ring finger.

#tm: loving & leaving #what my world spins around au

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nicolesainz · 2 years

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Can I ask you a question? (LH44)

Lewis Hamilton x reader

Warnings! Angst, bit smutish, enemies to lovers, it’s 16+!!

“Oh and Y/N is out! Her first DNF of the season. But who was it Martin? Did you see? Who crashed onto her”

“I think it may have been Hamilton. Or Norris”

“Let’s see the replay. AND IT WAS INDEED HER TEAMMATE THAT TOOK HER OUT! Ouch! First Mercedes DNF of the season. Don’t know how happy Toto will be after this” Crofty commented

“At least she wasn’t hurt. It seemed like a pretty bad crash. She spun all the way to the barriers”

Hamilton Radio 📻

L: Is Y/N okay? She didn’t leave the space and I couldn’t break! Verstappen was behind me

B: she’s out of the car and seems fine. Focus on the race Lewis and prepare for a penalty.

A lap later

B: Lewis you have a 5 seconds penalty. Gonna serve it at the pit stop, okay?

L: Got it. Is Y/N? back at her motorhome?

B: she’s okay. She’s with Toto

————————————————————————

“Lewis Hamilton wins the British Grand Prix and secures the championship gap between Max Verstappen!”

Asshole! I was praying for a slow pitstop besides the penalty but they were more than prepared to put the tyres in under 2.5 seconds. Thanks to Lewis, Checo is now P3 in the Drivers Championship. Fucking hell.

Ever since I was signed for Mercedes is like he hates me. I get that after 2016 he’s been having a rough patch, but that doesn’t mean he should bottle all my chances of doing well in the championship too!

Now I know why Nico and Valtteri gave up so soon.

Of course I went to see the podium. Charles was P3 and I was very proud of him. And for Max too. We were childhood friends and I’m glad for all of their successes. When they saw me under the podium, both of them rushed to wash me with champagne and check out to see if I am doing well.

————————————————————————

“He is a great guy! There’s no doubt to that, but due to the pressure Mercedes puts on his back, it’s like he becomes a whole lot of different person on track. I’m sure he didn’t do it on purpose” Valtteri tries to reassure me but I don’t seem to calm down.

I could feel my heart breaking when I felt my car going on the gravel and into the barriers. I was more scared about my career at that point, than my own self. I was so close to winning and in a glimpse, it was taken away from me.

“I don’t know Valtteri. He is a nice guy but I feel like he does it on purpose, so Toto won’t take me seriously and kick me from the team. And I don’t wanna mess up my chance. I don’t know which team is willing to take me in if I get sent out.”

Before Valtteri could finish his sentence, a flash figure appeared right next to me, slowly approaching. It was Lewis.

“Hey Valtteri. Uhm, do you mind if I steal Y/N for a moment? Can we talk in private?”

He look at me then at Bottas with a worrying look as if I would say no. That was my intention at first, until Valtteri gave me a look to go and talk to him.

“Yes, sure Lewis! Also Congratulations on the win!” Bottas flashed him a smile and paves his way back to the Alfa Romeo garage.

Lewis kept looking at me while I was looking at every other driver being interviewed, and alongside them Toto talking with George. Oh no! My heart sunk for a moment. Was I going to lose my seat to Russell? All because of an accident that I wasn’t to blame? I hoped to god this didn’t happen.

“Can we talk please? Y/N?” He softly grabbed my arm and I flinched at his touch. But why did I though?

“Ok, speak!” I finally faced him. His eyes were filled with sadness and disappointment. That’s definitely not the look a winner should have.

“Can we go somewhere more privately? I don’t want to be here. I promise I won’t waste your time” he almost seemed as if he was begging

“My time as it seems is over, so why not give my remains to you. Let’s go” I followed him back to his motorhome. There, Lewis locked his door and put the ‘Do not disturb’ sign outside. Weird. Really odd

“So what’s up? What did you wanted to talk about?”

“I wanted to talk about the crash”

“What about the crash?”

“I want to apologize. I panicked. You barely left any space and with Max pressuring me from behind, I didn’t think clearly. If I had pulled back, there was a possibility all three of us would end up on the wall or crash to each other”

“So you decided to just throw me in the wall? Your teammate?”

“Instead of being crashed my both Max and me, I’d be easier to lead you towards the gravel. That would ease your way to the barriers and wouldn’t get hurt as much as you would have”

“You could have gone outside of the track and overtake me from there. Would have been a penalty, but still a double podium for the team. Or do you truly not care about the team and just yourself?”

“You know it firsthand that being in a position like this, inside a car, going at 300 speed is risky and decisions aren’t easily made under pressure.”

“Still you benefited-“ before I could finish my sentence

“I couldn’t give less of a shit about the championship. I don’t care about the race nor me winning. At that moment and every given moment whenever we race I think about you and how I want you to finish the race in a good position. I’m always hoping it’s first or at least on the podium. Whether I had 7 or no championships, I would still care about you”

The words that came out of Lewis’s mouth, left me truly speechless. Is he seriously thinking about me during the race? When everyone else is thinking about the win or a decent finish?

“If you don’t believe me, ask Bono how many times I’ve asked about you on the radio after your crash or every other time during the past races. Go ahead”

“No no, I-I- I can believe it. I’m just curious about the why? Why care about me? Teammates should obviously care about each other but not think about the other during the race or generally ask about them on the team radio”

It seemed like Lewis was struggling to find an answer for my question. He was trying to say something but simply couldn’t. As if a wall had been lifted that was preventing him from saying it.

“Because I am actually mad for you! I would lose all my races just to see you succeed and smile on top of the podium, than be on the podium and not smile because you’re second”

Lewis came closer to me with us being inches apart from one another. We had never been so close. His hands cupped my cheeks, while mine were unable to move. I didn’t move away from him. I felt the softness of him surrounding me.

“Do you have any idea how mad I was when I saw you hugging the other guys after the podium and not me? I would have died to be at their shoes that moment. And almost every time you hug another driver after the celebration”

His lips were mere centimeters away from mine slowly closing the gap, on what made it our first kiss. His smooth and soft moves made me feel as if I was in heaven. My heart and brain were shocked. Suddenly, the kiss became hungrier, which led Lewis’s tongue interact with mine. That lead to me letting a soft groan come out of my mouth. He picked me up and lead us to his small bed on the motorhome. I was placed on his lap and kept on kissing one another. His mouth begun leaving my lips and following a path down to my neck. My nails dug deep into his back, removing the shirt he was wearing, revealing his multiple tattoos on his tinned chest. Sweet lord. His fingers were caressing my womanhood hardly, until I felt the wetness underneath me. Was I actually doing this with my teammate, who I had sworn he hated me?

“That will teach the others a lesson”

“What lesson?”

“Never steal my teammate”

————————————————————————

#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #formula 1 #mercedes #lewis hamilton one shot

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snekthedemonnoodle · 8 months

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SAI theory

We all know Scaled And Icy, right? Okay. So, I saw this theory about it that I wanted to share. (I found this on Reddit and copied a lot of it and sorry if this has been posted before.)

So, in SAI, the Bishops brainwashed Tyler and made him write happy songs about all the Bishops. That is why it sounds happier and is more upbeat than anything TØP has done before. Each Bishop is named after a song on Blurryface. So, if you really think about it, there will always be one Blurryface song that matches a SAI song.

Polarize and Good Day

Polarize is about anxiety and Tyler's inability to separate himself from Blurryface. It's a bad realization, and that's what Lisden represents. Good Day is about life drastically changing for the worse. Good Day is Tyler singing in kind of a shocked deny, deny, denial.

Heavydirtysoul and Choker

Both of these songs have a fear of the unknown. HDS is kind of a meltdown, comparing Blurryface to an internal demon. But the last line of Choker, 'The rear view only blinds you', means to just keep running and you'll never see Blurryface. (I was also thinking that it could have something to do with the HDS music video.)

Doubt and Shy Away

Doubt is about being stuck in a toxic cycle about self confidence. Reisdro is the Bishop of cycles about mental health. The only thing that can break the loop is Shy Away, which is about encouraging people to try new things and forget about who they are. Shy Away has tons of metaphors and euphemisms about 'breaking the cycle'.

Lane Boy and The Outside

Even on a surface level, both songs are unhappy with the music industry. Vetomo is the Bishop from Lane Boy, and he represents a dislike for conformity in general. The Outside is also unhappy, but from the other side. It's complaining about conforming being a difficult task due to an always changing mainstream.

Stressed Out and Saturday

Stressed Out has themes of dissatisfaction about every day life, which is what Nico represents in that song: your depression that paves the rest of the way for Dema. But Saturday, on a surface level, sounds like one of the least depressing Twenty One Pilots songs. But if you look at the themes of drug use by the phrase 'medicating in the afternoon' references to the vast ocean and a tight fishbowl, and implied seasonal depression if the days of the week mentioned in the chorus represent time periods longer than days suggest that the disjointed, chaotic but happy life in Saturday isn't so happy at all. Honestly, chances are that Tyler is probably dissociating in Saturday, which also means that the good feels in Saturday don't exist, and that it's just Nico's propaganda track about how depression does not exist if you forget about it.

Fairly Local and Never Take It

Never Take It and Fairly Local is probably the most direct match. In Fairly Local, Tyler tells a story about not listening to himself out of fear that Blurryface might show up. Andre represents a fear of minds that aren't yours and a fear of manipulation, and in Never Take It this is taken literally, where Tyler sings about ignoring people who are not yourself and listening to everything your mind has to say. Every pre-SAI TØP song is the complete opposite of that, but none more so than Fairly Local.

Ride and Mulberry Street

Like Lane Boy and The Outside, these songs are opposites on the issue of fear of life changing that Listo represents. Ride is about how life moves way too fast for Tyler, and that he is moving slowly in life. Overthinking kind of causes this entire song. In Mulberry Street, the same feeling of isolation because of life changing is there. Except in Mulberry Street, it is stated that ignoring it and embracing the moment isn't so bad.

Tear in My Heart and Formidable

Both of these songs are the 'love songs' of Blurryface and SAI, dedicated to the closest people in Tyler's life. Tear in My Heart is one of the most heartfelt songs about Jenna. Tear in My Heart introduces Sacarver and Formidable is his propaganda track, but Formidable is also a subtle encouragement to suppress feelings from Dema. Formidable is quite a sweet song, but the line 'my loyalty will bore you' suggests that Sacarver and the rest of Dema is most alive when Tyler is in his head alone.

Goner and Bounce Man

These songs are, again, opposite takes on a problem. Goner is about the final standoff between Tyler and Blurryface, to search for an outcome. Bounce Man's outcome is no outcome- the entire songs is a cue to run or escape from someone or something. Nills, the Bishop representing conclusions, and his SAI propaganda track is completely contradicting his Blurryface song. Bounce Man is telling people to just keep running from their own Blurryfaces. A lifelong run away from your own head. Both of these songs are running, but one to Blurryface, the other away.

What can we take away from all that?

Well, SAI is definitely propaganda and fits in with the Trench and Dema lore. This also means that Good Day, Choker, Shy Away, The Outside, Saturday, Never Take It, Mulberry Street, Formidable, and Bounce Man are against TØP's true beliefs somehow.

But wait, what about No Chances and Redecorate?

If the rest of the tracks on SAI are Tyler being controlled by Dema, then No Chances and Redecorate are what is really going on inside Dema.

A theory I saw and really liked about No Chances is it comes directly after the end of Trench, and Tyler is in an argument with the Bishops and the Banditos. Tyler wants to leave Dema and is ready to die trying, but the Banditos are telling him to wait and that they will come rescue him. Meanwhile the Bishops are telling Tyler that he doesn't stand a chance leaving Dema and that they will always come back for him.

In the beginning of Redecorate, there's a little 'Oh, oh, oh', but it kind of sounds like laughing. It could be the Bishops laughing at Tyler and/or Clancy's pain and they (the Bishops) are enjoying it. Redecorate could be Clancy's last letter.

Wow. That was a lot. If you've made it this far, kid, thank you for reading. Stay alive |-/

#twenty one pilots #dema #sai is propaganda #tyler joseph #josh dun #trench #blurryface #sai #scaled and icy #twenty øne piløts

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insomniamamma · 2 years

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Nautical Twilight: Nico (House Comes With A Bird) x f!reader

A/N: for @writer-wednesday. I missed these two. Torrey Pines is indeed a real place and one of the few things I actually miss about California. Stargazer's is not. I've taken some license with the trails at Torrey Pines. There's only so much memory and Google maps can manage. Nautical twilight refers to sailors being able to take reliable readings via well known stars because the horizon is still visible, even under moonless conditions. Same reader as Ephemera.

Warnings: Angst. Class/Power dynamics. Mentions of death. I turned Nico into a tragic prince OK? Suffer. Oh boy the idiots actually have a conversation about feelings. Financial difficulties. Lots of food mentions. Eating.

I-5 is blessedly empty this time of morning, a few semis rolling on through the dark, rush hour won't kick up for another couple hours. For now all is dim and muffled and quiet, monotonous paving punctuated by arc-sodium lights, shining out their baleful glow. There is fog, the only concession to the seasons that this part of the word makes. Meet me at the park, and by the park, Nico means Torrey Pines State Park, the place you first met him. Of all the places he's taken you, of all the places you've been with him, this is still his favorite and yours, the trails and cliffs and shimmering beach. The early morning chill and rising light. You park and walk to the trailhead. You know exactly where you'll find him. The path glimmers in the predawn murk, sandy soil crunching under your sneakers, bordered by dark snarls of fragrant sagebrush, splurges of dry grasses, sea breeze stirring through all of it, soft whisper of leaves moving overlapping bug-sounds and birdsong compete with your whirling thoughts as you walk. This thing you have with Nico, when he's not around you worry at it like a scab. Can't last. Can't. This thing you have with Nico has an expiration date, you're sure of it, you'll run out of money, out of patience with this God-forsaken state, he'll run out of interest. Nico has an eye for the beautiful and transient and when you are alone with your own mind you are convinced that he will find someone else to hold his attention. That he'll cast you aside, like a pretty shell tossed back into the surf because you don't feel like carrying it in your pocket all day. You don't know what you are to each other, even after all this time. You won't ask and he won't say.

You come to a fork and take it, breath coming hard, it's a bit of an incline and then you see him, sitting on a blanket, broad back and unruly curls dark against the velvet blue of twilight sky. He turns and smiles, and whenever he smiles at you, its like something inside you squeezes and lets go, he is radiant even in this tricksy pre-dawn light. You barely manage to say 'hi' before he enfolds you, pulls you tight against him. You tuck your face into the warm juncture of his neck and shoulder and he cups the back of your head, his palm a soothing weight. You feel yourself relax against him. "Missed you, Osita," "It's only been a week." "A week is too long," he murmurs, his breath warm in your hair, "A week is forever." He is solid and strong and the two of you sway for a moment, a gentle rocking back and forth before he draws back so he can kiss you, soft press of his lips against yours, hands sliding down your arms to clasp yours. "Come sit with me," he says, "I brought us some pastries!" You plop down on the blanket next to him and feel your own smile mirroring his. "Coffee?" He says and presses a paper cup in a cardboard sleeve into your waiting hands. "Oh thank fuck," and take a big sip. Extra cream and extra sugar. Just the way you like it. Nico giggles. "I know how you are without your morning coffee, Osita." He unzips a soft sided, insulated grocery bag and hands you a waxed paper wrapped parcel. You set your cup in the loose dirt and twist it, a makeshift holder in the sand. "Is this what I think it is?" Nico just smiles. There's a little coffee shop Nico takes you to sometimes, Stargazer's it's called, and sure enough he's brought you one of their croissants, still warm from the oven. You take a bite and your eyes close your eyes in pleasure. "Good?" He asks. "You don't even know." "I got myself an apple fritter," he says, around a mouthful of said fritter, "I think I have some idea." "How did we end up convincing ourselves that carbs are bad for you? Like, as a culture? How the fuck did we get here?" Nico laughs. A big one that rocks him back and forth, eyes screwed shut in mirth. "I'm serious! People would rather drink, I don't know, kale smoothies than have a nice warm croissant," You take another bite, relishing the slight crunch of the outer layer, and the tenderness of the insides, "Sometimes I think people just don't know how to live." "But we do, Osita, don't we?" "Yeah, Nico, I think we do. You do. I'm learning. I think," You laugh, "How did you manage this? I didn't think Stargazer's opened till six." "Do you know Julietta?" "Yeah," you say, "She's the owner, right?" "Co-owner," says Nico, "Francesca is her wife. She comes in around midnight to do the day's baking. I walk down there sometimes when I can't sleep. She takes pity on me and lets me in. She told me once I looked like a stray cat, peeking in through the window." "You have trouble sleeping." This is news to you. The times you've stayed over with Nico he slept like a stone, curled around you, pressed to your back like a protective wall, his face tucked against your neck. "Sometimes," he says, and his eyes slide away briefly, "Francesca likes to use me as a test subject. I have a hard time saying no. Which explains some of this." Nico squeezes at his belly through his sweater, and it hurts your heart a little. Because for all Nico's charm, for the way he seems to glide effortlessly through the world, you know there is a fragility to him, insecurity behind those lovely, dark eyes. "Oh! Speaking of which, this is Frannie's latest," he pulls two wrapped pastries from his bag, "Apricot hand-pies with a dark chocolate glaze." He frowns. "They got a little melty--" "Dude." You say around a mouthful of sweet and tart and perfect crust, "This is so good. If she doesn't add this to the menu she is out of her mind." Nico doesn't speak, just makes a contented sound. He is beautiful in the gradually rising light, a rare overcast day, the ocean a cold mirror for the sky, grey reflected on grey. Pastries consumed, you burrow against him, chilled even with your coffee clasped between your hands. "Here," says Nico, drapes a blanket around the two of you and you lean into him, and his arm wraps around your shoulders. He is warm and solid and you feel anchored by his breath, the rise and fall of his chest pressed against yours. I could love this man, you think, not for the first time, and that thought comes with it's own raft of anxieties. I want to love this man, you think. But you don't know where you stand. You don't know what you are to him. A lover? A project? A charity case? The decreasing circle of people you still listen to are telling you to run, telling you that there's no way someone as wealthy and well connected as Nico could possibly want you as anything other than a distraction, a dalliance. And yet here he is. He's held you while you cried. He's taken care of you when you're sick. He calls you Osita, his little bear. And he hugs you so tight whenever he sees you. Like he might never get the chance again. "Marra's moving back home," you say. You don't even mean to, you've tried to compartmentalize, to just be in the moment like he is, to not think too far down the road, but here tucked against his side it just comes falling out of you. "At the end of the month. That means it'll just me and Lu. I don't--we can't swing it. I think I'm gonna have to go back to Ohio." The light is rising now, no sharp shadows, not this morning, gradual shift in definition, color slowly leaching back into the world. Nico is silent, pressed against you, staring out over the ocean. He worries at his lower lip with his teeth. "I was married for a time," he says, "Did you know that?" "No," you say. You googled him. Of course you did. And found nothing but mentions in dry financial publications, nothing that raised any red flags. You've never seen a ring, or a line of pale skin where one should be. There are photographs tastefully displayed around his house but none of them are of people. "We were very young," he says, "Very much in love. It was like being on fire. We did everything together, yes? Everything seemed so clear then. We would have a life together, get old and grey. I could see it. It seemed so certain. Inevitable." He smiles out over the slate grey water and blank sky, but it doesn't touch his eyes at all, and his arm around your shoulders tightens, fingers press into the flesh of your upper arm, as if you are his anchor and not the other way around. You slide your arm around his back and squeeze. "What happened?" "She died." He taps a finger against his temple. "Brain aneurysm. She was twenty three." "Jesus, Nico, I'm so sorry." And he laughs, a bitter huff of air and falls silent. The light rises, a gradual shift and the Pacific turns from sky-reflected gray to its own deep foam laced green. You sit like that for a moment, clinging to each other, leaning against each other. His hand draws up your arm and rests around the nape of your neck, kneading the tense muscles there, needing to soothe even when wrapped in his own thoughts. "Her passing has made me a coward." "What? How do you mean?" Nico exudes confidence. There is nowhere he is not welcome. Everywhere you've been with him he seems perfectly at ease, as if he is meant to slip through the world without resistance. "There are so many things I would say to you if I were brave, Osita," And here he turns to face you, his eyes limned in tears that don't quite fall, "But I am not brave. I never have been. You deserve someone who is not so afraid, you--" You reach for him, your hands cradling his face, smoothing your thumbs over his cheeks and he leans into your touch, his eyes falling closed. "What would you tell me if you were brave?" "I would tell you that I don't want you to leave," he says, and you feel him tremble beneath your hands, "I would tell you that I love you. But I am so scared. I'm so scared, Osita--" "I'm scared too." "You are?" "Yeah. I'm scared. I love you and it scares me."

#nico x f!reader #nico (house comes with a bird) x f!reader #ephemera AU #pedro pascal #house comes with a bird #writer wednesday #i don't think my tags are working

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