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↳ Writer. Dreamer. Professional overthinker.
Hi! My Love,
My name is Amelia, but you can call me Lia.
I am a student based in South Africa, who uses writing as a way to stay sane. Writing is one of my love languages and I am so honoured to be sharing that with you. I am a Fernando Alonso, Checo Perez and Max Verstappen fan who supports the teams of said driver. I have been a fan since Silverstone 2022 and have been writing F1 fanfiction ever since. I am a big gear head in my personal life following a bunch of different motorsports. Including, but not limited to; F2, F1 Academy, Moto GP, Indy Car, Dakar, and WEC.
I am so glad you are here and I can't wait to interact with you all ♡
⋆｡°✩ About My Blog ✩°｡⋆
↳ Character wounds, complicated love, and the spaces in-between.
This blog is for the romantics, the overthinkers, and anyone who’s ever felt too much about a someone. Here you’ll find wip teasers, one-shots, behind-the-scenes rambles, and long, lingering love stories full of age gaps, quiet comfort, and summer silences all based on F1 drivers. . There’s hurt, healing, and a lot of emotion. I write mainly for Fernando Alonso, but am not closed off to other drivers. Please stay as long as you’d like ♡
Main/personal blog: solunaames
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My inbox is always open to requests and anything you may like. Whether it is a oneshot, headcanon, trope, or just idea that is stuck in your head. My inbox is always open for requests, and I'd love to chat. This space is as much mine as it is yours. I can write for all drivers, current or retired, and almost anything you'd like. With discretion, of course. If I don't feel comfortable writing it, I won't. But otherwise, I'm all ears, no judgment ♡
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⋆｡°✩ DISCLAIMER ✩°｡⋆
↳ a gentle warning before we begin
It would be irresponsible of me to not note that while I do write of real people, I have taken their image and fictionalized it so that who they are in these stories is purely fictional. I respect all the individuals I write about and encourage others to do the same no matter how much you may like or dislike a driver. This is a space of kindness and respect, there is no room for hate here. This is a safe space for all genders, sexualities, and ethnicities ♡
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↳ All my writing, in one place
✩ Speed and Sparks Standalones Series ✩
⋆ The Driver's Seat || Fernando Alonso - Master List
✩ Asficdiary Short Stories ✩
⋆ All That's Left || LN4 VS FA14 - Master List
⋆ Another Cruel Summer || Fernando Alonso - Master List
⋆ Between The Sheets || Fernando Alonso - Master List
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⋆｡ the drivers seat \\ fernando alonso \\ chapter thirty-eight｡⋆
✩ WORD COUNT ✩
↳ 2.8K
✩ PAIRING ✩
↳ Fernando Alonso X female!driver OC (Athena Jacobs Alvarez)
✩ STORY SYNOPSIS ✩
↳ End of Chapter
✩ MASTERLISTS ✩
↳ Asficdiary || The Driver's Seat || Fernando Alonso
✩ CHAPTER SYNOPSIS ✩
↳ George and Athena have a chat before she's set to film with Arvid, ending with a Conversation with the #1 Redbull driver and Derando
✩ NOTES AND RECOGNITION ✩
↳ I finally finished this chapter. It's almost been two months since my last drivers seat update, let's not talk about it.
The rest of the drivers are called in for the second interview except George and I. He immediately takes the chance to find a spot next to me. “Athena” He smiles. “Welcome officially”
“Thanks George” I smile. “Happy to be here”. He studies me, almost as if he’s trying to sort through information in his head. “Whatever you want to know, Russell, just ask it”
“I didn’t say anything” He says and I playfully roll my eyes.
“Your reputation precedes you” I tell him. “What gossip do you want?”
George lets out a quiet laugh, the kind that sits somewhere between amused and impressed, and leans back slightly in his chair, turning his body toward me fully. “I don’t deal in gossip,” he says, a little too cleanly.
I raise a brow. “That’s a lie.”
He grins at that, not even bothering to deny it this time. “Fine. I prefer information.”
“Same thing,” I shrug. “Just dressed nicer.”
There’s a beat where he studies me again, more openly now. Less calculating, more curious.
“You’re not what I expected,” he admits.
“Yeah?” I tilt my head. “And what exactly were you expecting?”
He hesitates for half a second, like he’s deciding how honest to be. “Someone… harder, I think. You’ve had a lot of eyes on you before even getting here. Usually that does something to a person, I’ve seen the way it’s affected some of last year's rookies. I thought you’d be more rough around the edges.”
My lips twitch, not quite a smile. “Who says I’m not?”
That catches him off guard. I can tell, it’s subtle, but it’s there. A flicker. “Fair,” he nods slowly.
I shift in my seat, tucking one leg slightly under myself, more relaxed than the situation probably calls for. “So go on, Russell. Ask your questions.”
He exhales through his nose, amused again. “Alright then… What's the real story? Because no one just shows up here without something behind them.”
I hold his gaze this time, not dodging it. “There isn’t some dramatic, secret backstory if that’s what you’re hoping for,” I say lightly. “I worked. I got noticed. I got lucky in the right moments.”
There’s a pause, short, but deliberate. And then he tilts his head slightly, shifting gears. “I heard you’ve got dirt on Wright.”
I don’t react immediately. Just enough of a delay to show I heard him. Not enough to give anything away. “People hear a lot of things,” I reply evenly.
“Should I be concerned it could become a problem?” He asks, his eyes locked on my expression.
I smirk and tilt my head. “Wright and I have an unspoken agreement. He doesn’t step close to the line I’ve drawn and his career goes on as it currently is”
“Anything you feel I should know about that?” He asks with a softness that is opposite of my rough edges.
“Your sister is Toto’s assistant, right? She's 17? 18?” I ask and his eyebrows contort in confusion, and he nods. “Keep her as far from him as humanly possible.” I say my voice steady.
I see how his brain takes in the information, confusion turning to understanding, turning to anger on my behalf. “Athena -I”
I put my hand up, silencing before he starts. “This stays between us, George.” I say firmly and he nods.
“I would never.” He nods and a look of understanding passes through both of us.
“And the GPDA?” he continues, watching me a little closer now, obviously trying to change the subject. “Are you planning on keeping your head down or… getting involved?”
“Are you asking as a driver,” you say, “or as someone who likes knowing where people stand?”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “Both.”
I hum softly, considering him for a second longer than necessary. “I will be a part of it, with who I am, It would be against my morals otherwise. However, I’ll speak when I have something worth saying. I’m not going to pretend I don’t want changes when it comes to the censoring of our speech, but that’s not something you have to worry about too much this year. I need to find my feet first before I start throwing punches” I answer. “I don’t speak to just hear my own voice”
He nods, once. Thoughtful. “And the other thing?” he adds, almost casually. “About who you are? The rumours.”
I don’t bite right away, rather I let him sit in it. “Which ones?” I ask, tilting my head. “There seem to be a few.”
His expression doesn’t change much, but there’s a glint of something, curiosity, maybe respect for the deflection. “The ones about you,” he says. “And who you might, or might not, be interested in.”
There it is. I let out a quiet breath through my nose, something almost like a laugh. “Is that relevant to my lap times?” you ask.
“No,” he admits.
“Then I’m not sure it’s relevant to you.”
Another pause. This one is heavier, but not uncomfortable. Just… clear. “I don’t believe love should have labels or boxes, nor should someone be judged on it”
And then he nods again, slower this time. “Alright,” he says. “I can respect that.”
“Good,” I reply. “Because this chat is probably the most about my personal life you’ll learn this year. At least I hope”
That earns me a proper laugh this time, his head dipping slightly. “I think you’re going to be interesting to have around,” he says.
I lean back, mirroring him now. “I think you’re going to be exactly as nosy as everyone warned me you’d be.”
“Observant,” he corrects.
“Nosy,” I repeat.
Before he can argue, one of the crew members calls out for both of us, our names echoing slightly through the space. I glance over, then back at him, already standing.
“Try not to spill everything you think about me to Netflix next interview, after last season, we all know you have a mouth on you.” I joke and he laughs loudly.
“See you around, Athena” He smiles and I nod.
“See you around, Russell” I reply as we’re taken to separate rooms.
The next interview goes by faster than I had expected. Radio messages some printed, some played, all having to be guessed who they belong to, bonus points with what races. I’m surprisingly good at it, ending the video with a 80% success rate, Meredith noting that I got all the Vettel and Alonso radios being correct.
Afterwards we’re all given lunch, of which I sit beside Max and we chat. He tells me if I ever need help to reach out to him, and that he’s wishing nothing but the best for me for this year. George comes and joins us eventually, and it's not long until all 6 of us drivers are sitting at the table and laughing, joking about all the activities they made us do for the videos.
Eventually Meredith pulls me aside, saying she wants to speak to me. Arvid tells me to put in a good word as I leave the table.
She introduces me to the producer of Netflix’s Drive to Survive and he tells me that they are already planning to have an entire episode dedicated to me and as such they would like me to have a longer interview on a different day, and ask if I’d be comfortable doing a private recording session later in the season. I agree, giving them my fathers number, before Meredith tells Arvid and I that we will do the rookie episode earlier, seeming as Arvid had already done his filming with Netflix.
When lunch is done we are told to change back into a team-kit, and taken across the Barcelona paddock to a separate filming location. We walk into what seemed like an office block and were given access to the 2nd floor. As the elevator doors open, there's a couch in front of a big tv screen, an air hockey table and a pool table.
“Alright, guys, before we start the games, we’re doing a quick ‘Meet the Rookies’ segment.”
That makes more sense. We’re guided toward the couch, both of us sitting, just far enough apart to look natural, just close enough to stay in frame. A camera shifts slightly in front of us, another off to the side.
“Keep it relaxed,” someone says. “Think of it as a conversation.”
Arvid glances at me. “That sounds dangerous.”
“For you, maybe.”
There’s a quiet laugh from behind the camera.
“Alright, rolling,” a voice calls.
A beat of silence flies through the air.
“So,” the interviewer starts, “we’ve got two of the newest faces on the grid. Arvid, Athena, how does it feel to finally be here?”
Arvid answers first, leaning back slightly. “It’s what you work for your whole life, right? So… yeah. It feels good. A bit surreal, but good.”
I nod slightly. “Yeah. It hasn’t fully sunk in yet. I think it will once we’re actually racing.”
“Who’s been the most welcoming so far?” the interviewer asks.
“Max and Fernando, ” I answered easily. “Both told me to reach out if I needed anything.”
Arvid hums beside me. “Yeah, Max definitely. A few of the guys have been good.”
“Anyone you’re looking forward to racing against?”
I glance sideways at him for half a second before answering. “All of them.”
“That’s a safe answer,” Arvid mutters.
“It’s a smart one.”
“I’ll say her,” he adds, nodding toward me.
I look at him properly now. “Already?”
“Yeah,” he shrugs. “I want to see if the confidence is real.”
I smile slightly. “You’ll find out.”
The interviewer seems to pick up on the teasing immediately.
“Would you say there’s already a rivalry forming?”
“No,” I say at the same time he says, “Yes.”
We both pause, with a look at each other. Then, he grins.
I shake my head slightly. “It’s too early for that.”
“It’s never too early,” he counters.
“I have whooped your ass in every game we’ve ever played, be careful who you start fights with.” I warn, and it gets a laugh from the crew.
“Alright,” the interviewer continues, clearly entertained. “Last one, how would you describe each other in one word?”
Arvid doesn’t even hesitate. “Confident.”
I glance at him. “That was nice.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
I look back at the camera. “Competitive.”
He nods slightly at that. “Accurate.”
“Perfect,” someone calls. “That’s great.”
The cameras don’t cut immediately, but the tone shifts, looser now, less structured.
Arvid leans back into the couch again, glancing over at me. “You played that very safe.”
“I don’t need to try that hard,” I reply.
He lets out a quiet laugh. “We’ll see about that.”
There’s a pause as the crew resets around us, moving equipment, swapping out props, energy picking up again.
Something more chaotic this time.
I glance at the table being set up, buzzers, cards, random objects. Then back at him.
“Ready to get your ass whooped again?” I ask.
“Yea, yea, all bark no bite” He tells me before we’re called to continue with the other games.
An hour recording turns into an hour and a half, Arvid and I immediately slotting back into our old humor and sibling dynamic that we’d developed years ago. It’s all lighthearted shit talking, and laughter, with each of us dramatically acting out when we lose to the other. We answer questions throughout the games. Meredith tells us that we were everything she was hoping for and more. And says after how good this one recording was, they might try to turn it into a series of videos.
Arvid tries going to flirt with Meredeth when her phone rings and she excuses herself saying it was her husband.His face drops when she walks away. I laugh at him when he turns back to me. We eventually walk out of the office building and one of the VCARB members gives Arvid a skateboard and I laugh.
“You still skateboard” I ask him and he nods.
“I would never stop” He tells me, kicking his board up to grab it. He holds it out to me. “You remember?” He asks and I smirk.
I take the board. “It’s been a while” I lie getting on the board. “If I die I’m sending you the medical bills” I laugh and he nods. I kick off gaining speed before attempting a kick flip. It works well and he whistles and laughs.
Max and Fernando come around a corner as I fly past them, almost hitting them. “Watch Out!” I shout as I ollie onto the stairs hand rail and board slide down. Arvid runs after me shouting hello at the two as he follows me, screaming about wanting his board back and not killing myself. When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I powerslide to a stop.
“Jesus Athena!” Arvid shouts climbing down the stairs. “It’s been a while my ass.” He says getting to the bottom.
I smile, kicking up the board and handing it back to him. “Just another thing I’m better at than you” I smirk and he rolls his eyes.
“You are such a pain in the ass, oh my god” he says playfully.
“Hey! Can you please not hurt yourself before the season even starts!” Fernando shouts at the top of the stairs as he and Max start making their way down.
“I can assure you, I will not” I smile covering my eyes from the Spanish sun as I look up at the two as they start their descent down the stairs.
“Redbull should have signed you, you fit their vibe more than I do” makes a joke and I laugh.
“Hey, you don’t know” I shrug with a smirk and Fernando’s head snaps to me. “I don’t like the idea of being a second driver though” I joke to Max to get under Fernando’s skin, making the dutch man laugh.
“I’m right here.” Fernando tells me and I laugh.
“I’m kidding” I put my hands up before dropping them with a shrug, “for the most part” I wink at Fernando.
He shakes his head and I look at Max who has an unreadable look on his face. “You alright?” I ask and he nods.
“Yea, just, you remind me of a younger version of myself, I guess.” He says. “Cocky before even getting in the car” He adds.
I nod, "Unfortunately, I have to be”. His eyebrows furrow in confusion then, even Arvid gives me a confused look. “You guys won’t get it” I shrug. “You are men in a male-dominated sport, it’s different for you” The minute I say it the air changes.
Fernando nods beside me and realization rushes over the other two faces. “But, unlike some of you, I have to skills to back up my shit talking”
Arvid groans covering his face. “That’s so uncalled for. You literally cheated on the tiebreaker”
“Um, excuse you” I put my finger up. “I listened to the rules, you were too busy checking out a married woman”
“That’s uncalled for, I didn’t know she was married. Plus you can’t blame me” He defends and I laugh.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket and I pull it out to a message from my dad. “Okay well, Redbull boys, I will chat to you later, I have places to be” I said out loud while reading the text in my head. “Fernando, Walk with me?” I ask looking back up at the group.
Fernando nods and everyone says goodbye before Fernando and myself start our walk towards the Aston Martin Hospitality. “Sorry, If I cut your conversation short or anything back there” I tell him and he shakes his head.
“Not at all, you are fine” He tells me with a smile.
“Cool, um my dad wanted to know if you wanted to uh, know if you wanted to leave this afternoon instead of tomorrow morning? Obviously, you’ll have to discuss it with Amaya, but yeah, he wanted me to ask.” I tell him, that’s what the text had been about after all.
“We can leave this afternoon, I don’t have a problem. Also, I assume your dad didn’t tell you Amaya isn’t joining us anymore?” Fernando asks and I take in a deep breath with a nod.
“He did not, but then again, I haven’t had a second to speak to him today yet. It’s been an early morning” I say and he nods.
“Tell me about it, but yea, tell me when and where and I will be there” He says as we get back to the Aston Martin Hospitality.
“Perfect, I will” I tell him as we step into the building and go our separate ways.
✩ STORY SYNOPSIS ✩
↳ Making history in the male-dominated world of Formula One, Twenty-four year old junior series champion, Athena Jacobs Alverez signs a year long contract with Aston Martin Aramco Formula One Team after an Impressive debut the year before. As the first woman to race for a formula one team since 1992, she needs to do everything in her power to keep her seat. But in the fast paced world of F1, that's proven hard. Especially when her friendship with Teammate, Fernando Alonso, turns into something more.
Fernando Alonso is no stranger to younger teammates or romantic relationships, but when Athena Crashes into his life, he starts questioning himself and all the rules he had once set for himself. Having always been critical of his friends' relationships with younger women, he hates how the blonde in green has him wrapped around her finger. He wasn't superman so why was she his kryptonite?
What could possibly go wrong with a mutually beneficial agreement with someone you deny your feelings for? (Book Three in the asficdiary Standalone Series)
Nothing hurts more than having a physical disconnect with your writing/story that you want nothing more than to write but just can't, and then having one of the songs that inspired it play before you're about to go sleep. Athena, Fernando, I miss you. I'm so incredibly sorry.
Pairing -> trans!Fernando Alonso x trans!reader (both ftm btw)
wordcount -> 2005
Tw -> mentions of dysphoria, transphobia, the name Daniel (for some of us)
A/N: Hihi, it's been a while but I decided to write a t4t oneshot and since it's pridemonth (happy pridemonth to those who celebrate) I decided to upload!!
It’s a quiet Friday afternoon, three weeks after the start of your second year at university and everything has been going well for now. The start of this year has been so much easier than the last so far since you don’t have to adjust to a new living situation nor a completely different curriculum and way of attending classes.
Class had ended at midday which means you got home just before half past twelve since the apartment where you live is a 20 minute walk from campus. You’d made yourself a sandwich before going straight into studying, needing to be at least a bit productive before the weekend actually starts.
The living room is quiet as you study, you look up from your laptop with a smile on your face as you look around the place. It’s a comfortable living room, with a balcony just outside the glass door, overlooking the street you live in. The quiet, however, doesn’t last any longer since your roommate, who’s been your best friend for 6, almost 7 years, steps into their shared apartment.
“¡Hola, mi amigo!” Fernando chirps with a happy singsong voice as he drops his bag by the door.
The sound of Fernando shuffling through the apartment is quiet and comfortable. “Hi, Fernando.” You reply the moment the couch dips next to you.
Fernando closes your laptop and cuddles up to you for your weekly cuddles and TV time together.
After half an hour of watching TV, on which FRIENDS is playing, Fernando speaks up. “My mates are coming over later.” You hear him say with that soft murmur that makes you feel things in your chest that you shouldn’t be feeling.
“For the football?” You ask since you know the team Fernando and his friends support is playing later today. You don’t mind Fernando’s friends, even if you have heard them, especially Daniel, make comments which weren’t very kind.
A soft rustling of fabric is heard as Fernando nods his head in confirmation to your question. You feel the warm weight of Fernando’s arm settling around your waist, his fingers fidgeting with your shirt as you trace patterns on his arm like you’d been doing for years.
–
Soon enough, evening rolls around which means Fernando’s friends could be coming over any moment now. The football match only starts in half an hour. You’d only just finished dinner, and still busy cleaning up the kitchen together, when the doorbell rings. Fernando leaves you in the kitchen, going to open the door for his friends.
Once you finish with the dishes you decide to head to your room, not wanting to bother the guys watching the football match. You hear the lively chatter between Fernando and his friends, though the sound is muffled through the thin walls of the apartment. You put on your headphones and sit down at your desk, deciding to work a little on one of the projects for your English Literature course.
–
A little later in the evening you head out of your room, entering the kitchen to grab a snack and a drink. You catch a few words of the ongoing conversation. As you peek your head into the living room to get a look at the score, Fernando’s team is currently winning, one of the guys makes quite a nasty comment about trans people and how they don’t belong in sports. Fernando’s eyes lock on you, your eyes lock on his. He’s not out to his friends, though he shut down after the comment and no one seems to notice.
“Oi, what do you think you’re doing?” One of Fernando’s mates speaks up, clearly targeted at you.
You open your mouth to answer, though you get cut off before you can speak. “Leave the man alone, Daniel.”
“Oh come on, Fernando.” Daniel’s eyes roam over you in an invading way, seemingly picking you apart. “That’s no fucking man.”
Your eyes drop to the floor and before you know it you’re back in your room, trying to calm your heavy panicked breaths and your racing heart. The noise canceling headphones prevent you from hearing Fernando’s defence of you, how he lashes out at Daniel and kicks him out of the apartment, the other remaining friends completely supporting Fernando, agreeing that what Daniel said was absolutely wrong.
The knock on your door goes unnoticed since the headphones really cancel all noise. You’ve buried your face in your pillow and you've curled up a little on your bed. What you don’t expect is a warm body to press against your back.
“Hey…” A soft whisper as your headphones get taken off by him. You know it’s easier for him, he’s had top surgery and all while you haven’t even started with hormone replacement therapy.
You push Fernando back, not happy at all. “Why do you even have friends like that? I don’t get you, mate.” You say with a very agitated tone.
Fernando blinks in confusion at the loss of contact. “I- look, I kicked him out. We won’t be seeing that prick anytime soon.” You hear him state, his hand finding your shoulder. “Lucas kicked him from the groupchat..”
“Go back to watching your stupid game.” your voice dipping a bit lower in frustration, not wanting Fernando’s company right now.
–
The sound of the front door closing echoes through the apartment, you’re still in bed, trying to fall asleep. You hear noises of someone cleaning the livingroom, Fernando’s footsteps sounding through the place and eventually reaching your door. A silence falls before you hear a knock on your door.
“Hey, you up?” Fernando’s voice sounds, merely a whisper, as the door creaks open and closes again.
The bed dips behind you, though you ignore it, ignore him. You pretend to be asleep but you assume Fernando knows you’re awake since he starts speaking. “Look, what Daniel said.. It was stupid. I froze and I’m sorry I didn’t stand up for you when you were there.” Fernando whispers with that softness that makes your chest feel tight.
Fernando presses up against your back and his arm wraps around your waist, like before. However, this time you don’t push him away, you just let him be. Finally you manage to fall asleep, quickly and comfortably, an effect Fernando’s had on you since you met years ago.
–
Sunlight streams through the slightly parted curtains as you stir awake. A warmth presses against your back. Warm breath on your neck and that arm is still wrapped around your waist.
A soft sigh escapes you as you bask in the warmth and comfort of Fernando’s embrace, something you’ve been doing more and more.
“Morning, mister.” You hear Fernando whisper which causes you to laugh a little. That laughter, however, dies when the words from last night replay in your head.
A soft ruffle sounds as you turn. “Does it get easier?” You ask Fernando. “Not feeling man enough..”
Those last words seem to grab Fernando’s attention, and suddenly he is fully awake. “You don’t feel man enough?” Fernando asks as he searches your face.
“I mean, it’s true what Daniel said, right?” A pause. “I’m no man, right? That’s what he said.”
Your eyes are shut closed when you feel his hands on your cheeks. “You’re a man. We both are.” Fernando whispers softly, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. “It’s slow.. But when you start T, god it gets so much better. And before you know it you’ll have top surgery.”
“I’m so jealous of you.” You manage to laugh softly, reading your hand to rest on Fernando’s chest, feeling how flat it is despite the muscles that are present. “You’re handsome, you have nice facial hair,” a soft confession. “And your chest is nice and.. so are you.”
“You’re man enough.” Fernando states as he wraps his arms tighter around you. Your breath hitches as you feel a press of lips against your temple, Fernando’s body going rigid as he realises what he just did.
You blink your eyes open, holding on to the other tighter than before. “Fernando?” You whisper softly, leaning in closer to feel his breath on your lips, and before you can process it his lips are on yours.
The kiss is soft, trusting, like you’ve been doing this for years though in reality you haven’t. You sigh against Fernando’s mouth, nipping at his bottom lip as you slide your hand in his hair.
The bedsheets ruffle as both of you shift, pressing closer together as you kiss. You deepen the kiss, gently forcing your tongue into his mouth as you try to sit on his lap just to get pushed down against the bed.
“Boy.” Fernando whispers as he pulls back, a cheeky grin on his face. “Stop that.” He adds with that teasing tone when you put your hand flat against his chest, feeling the pec he has built back up since his top surgery all those months back.
You pause and actually pull back, earning a pout from Fernando in response. “No… Don’t stop, I liked that.” Fernando almost whines, something you haven't heard from him besides from the times he’s ill. The look in your eyes is quite serious, a little nervous too.
“You okay?” Fernando asks, a hint of worry shooting through him at the thought of you possibly feeling dysphoric.
Your face breaks into a smile and you peck Fernando’s lips. “I’m a-okay.” You whisper with a happy tone to your voice, pulling Fernando in for another deep kiss.
–
By mid-morning, after an hour more of cuddling and making out, you’re finally out of bed, leaving Fernando behind in the bedroom. Despite it being a weekend day you go through your usual morning routine, which as always ends with a self-made flat white.
This morning you’re on the balcony, overlooking the quiet street below, an occasional car passing by. You lean against the railing of the balcony, the sun just about hitting your face. The rays of the sun on your face feel nice and warm despite the cool morning temperature. You sip your coffee, replaying the events of earlier until you feel a warm body pressing against your back. “Finally decided to get up, lazy?” You ask with a soft laugh, tilting your head a little to the side as you feel Fernando’s kisses against the side of your neck.
Fernando chuckles in response. “Yeah and you didn’t even get me coffee.” He complains when the smell of your flat white hits his nose. “Oh wouw, look at that.” You hear him say as he points out an expensive looking car driving into the street below.
A soft hum escapes your lips as you watch the car drive by and you take another sip of your coffee, finishing the drink. You lean back against Fernando, feeling at peace with this new dynamic between you.
“You know..” You start as you push Fernando back just a little. “I think we’ll be just fine,” you turn around before finishing your sentence “boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend.” Fernando nods in agreement, pulling you in for a sweet kiss. “And you know…” He whispers against your lips, pulling back slightly. “I came out..”
You freeze ever so slightly. Fernando hasn’t told anyone he’s trans ever since starting uni. “Lucas and-”
“Yep,” Fernando cuts you off. “They were even more angry at Daniel after I came out. They were really chill about.. Everything.” He murmurs, pecking your lips again. “And turns out Lucas is bi too.”
“Could’ve seen that coming” You smile against Fernando’s lips, feeling happy and relieved that his boyfriend dared to come out to two of his closest friends. “And I’m proud of your stupid ass.” You laugh, insulting him a little like you’d done since you first met.
“I know,” Fernando says as he starts to pull you back into your shared apartment. “Now go on, I still want coffee.” He says as he gently nudges you back towards the kitchen, staying by your side the entire time.
↳ footballer!Fernando Alonso x male!journalist!reader
⋆ Summary
↳ Being an intern for one of the most well-known publications in Spain has proven to be hard, but after you are sent to a game no one else wants to attend, and meet one of your favourite footballers, you start standing up for yourself. What you don't expect when doing so is that your favourite footballer may just have a little crush on you
⋆ Word Count
↳ 8.4K
⋆ Authors Note:
↳ I don't even know what to say genuinely... Although in South Africa Pride month isn't celebrated till October, the rest of the world celebrates it today. So, to say Happy Pride to my Non-South African readers, enjoy this mlm fernando fic, that I definitely didn't black out writing. No one ask about the 8.4k word count, I don't know man. Also it hurts to call it football when I grew up calling it soccer but I was bullied into saying otherwise by @jamesiesposts
If there was one thing you had learned during your internship, it was that nobody respected an intern. Not really. They smiled at you. They asked you to fetch coffee. They handed you equipment and told you to "shadow" the actual journalists.
But respect?
That was reserved for people with experience, people with names, people who didn't have "Master's Student" written at the top of every work application.
Which was exactly how you had ended up covering Real Oviedo versus Mirandés. Not because you were the best person for the job. Because nobody else wanted it.
"Seriously?" one of the senior reporters had said, walking past your desk to your bosses office. "Are you really going to send me all the way out there for that?"
Your boss had shrugged. "We need coverage."
"Are you going?" the reporter had asked and your boss gave him a look that said he was above it.
"God, no. It’s one of the most boring matches every year, nothing good comes from it. The only thing that is remotely interesting is it being Alonso’s territory. The stadium he grew up in and all that. We’ve done five different stories based on that already. Not like there’ll be anything new. " He had told the journalist with that uninterested tone, the one that he used whenever you tried to tell him any ideas you had for articles.
“I don’t wanna go for those exact reasons, Kender. What do I gotta do to get out of this?” He’d asked, sitting down in the chair across from Jose Kender, your boss.
You hadn’t meant to be listening to their conversation, but your ears had perked up at the mention of Fernando Alonso, your favourite footballer. The one that had been making waves in the world of football the past five years after joining, professionally, Real Oviedo. The player who was rumored to be making moves next year to a much bigger team. Names like Real Madrid CF, FC Barcelona, and Atlético de Madrid, some of the biggest clubs in Spanish football.
As the journalist finished talking, the leg of the chair you’d been leaning back on, in order to hear the conversation, had snapped and you’d gone tumbling to the floor. You cursed before standing up, and looking back at the two men staring at you.
Your boss calls you by your surname, and you start apologizing, before he cuts you off. “Get in here”. When you’d looked up at him again you saw that look in his eye and knew exactly what was coming. "The kid can do it. He's always trying to convince me to give him an article, anyways"
And just like that. The assignment had been dropped into your lap because everyone else had considered it beneath them. However, you’d known otherwise, you’d wanted to go to the match because this year felt different. Especially because of Fernando, the fact this could be the last match he played on home turf with his first professional team.
You already knew what you wanted to do the article on, it’s something you’d tried elevator pitching to your boss the other day, and he’d answered a phone call a minute in. You knew something that they didn’t care to understand. The supporters cared. The city cared. Football wasn't just football there. It was a community with history, and an identity connected to it. They were a village with pride, a pride accelerated by their star player.
The fact that your colleagues couldn't see that said more about them than it did about the match.
Yet, being right didn't stop you from being nervous. Especially as you adjusted the press pass hanging around your neck as you entered the stadium. Your camera bag dug into your shoulder with your notebook tucked beneath your arm.
The stands were already beginning to fill despite kickoff still being over an hour away. Blue scarves. Blue jerseys. Blue flags. Everywhere. You couldn't help smiling. This was exactly why you'd gone into journalism. Not for the celebrity interviews or the television appearances, but for stories.
And there was a story here. You just had to find it. A supporter walking past laughed, and you’d smiled too, before taking a sip of the coffee you’d made sure to grab before the stands got full, and headed toward the media area.
The match itself was incredible. Fast. Physical. Loud. The kind of game that reminded you why people fell in love with football in the first place. By the final whistle your notebook was overflowing with observations.The same as your SD card in the camera you’d used to take pictures of everything. The atmosphere. The goals. The reactions. The supporters singing themselves hoarse.
But then came the hard part. The media zone. You hated the media zone. The two small rooms, packed with too many journalists, photographers, all screaming and shouting at the players as they filtered through. The second players started filtering through, every journalist in the room transformed into a predator.
Questions flew. Bodies shifted and pressed together. Everyone fought for attention. And everyone seemed significantly better at it than you. Three separate times you tried asking a question. Three separate times somebody talked over you. One journalist physically stepped in front of you without so much as an apology.
You ended up squeezed against a barrier, notebook in hand, wondering if journalism school had neglected to teach an entire module on professional elbowing. A burst of movement near the entrance drew your attention. And again the crowd immediately shifted.
Journalists straightened. Microphones lifted. Fernando had been the last to arrive. You recognized him instantly. Not just because he was one of Oviedo's biggest players. But because everyone recognized Fernando.
Supporters adored him. Sponsors loved him. Reporters practically fought over opportunities to speak to him. Which explained why half the room suddenly surged forward. You sighed.
There was no chance of getting a quote from him, for the story you wanted. Yet still, you listened, hoping maybe something he responded with would somehow fit your article. Fernando moved through question after question with practiced ease.
Tactics. Performance. The season. Future fixtures. The usual things. Eventually the crowd began to thin. Some journalists already moving on to file their reports. Fernando started toward the exit.
And before your brain could stop you, "Fernando!" The word escaped. Loud enough to make several reporters turn, including Fernando himself. Your stomach immediately dropped. Fernando stopped, and looked directly at you.
Waiting.
You swallowed, and raised your recorder, "Just one question."
The room fell a little quieter. Not silent, but quieter. A few people looked annoyed, one reporter outright rolled his eyes, because all the questions had been asked, what else could possibly be said.
Yet, Fernando ignored them, and gave you our chance to speak. "Go ahead."
You took a breath. Then asked the question you'd been thinking about since kickoff. "What would a promotion to La Liga mean for the people of Oviedo?"
For the first time all evening, Fernando looked genuinely surprised. Not shocked, just caught off guard. He’d clearly expected something else. Perhaps, a question about football, but instead you were asking about the city. The supporters. The people who filled the stands every week.
Something warm flickered across his expression. Then he smiled, not the polished media smile he'd been giving reporters all evening. A real one. The kind that reached his eyes. "Everything," he said simply.
The room grew quieter, and you sucked in a breath, instinct taking over. "When people look at football from the outside, they see ninety minutes." His gaze drifted briefly toward the stadium beyond the walls. "But that's never what it's really been." You nodded furiously as he spoke. "For some families this club has been passed down for generations. Grandparents bring their children. Those children then bring their children."
A few reporters nearby had stopped packing up, and stood listening. "If a promotion happens, people will celebrate, obviously, but it goes beyond that."
He paused. Choosing his words carefully. "The city feels it." Your mind barely kept up. "The businesses around the stadium feel it. The supporters feel it. The people who spend all week working and save money just to come here every weekend feel it."
You looked up briefly. Fernando wasn't looking at the journalists anymore. He was looking through the media door toward the pitch. Like he could still see the supporters out there. "The club belongs to them before it belongs to anyone else."
The answer hung in the air for a moment. Long enough that nobody immediately spoke. Then someone else jumped in with a question, the spell between you two now broken. Fernando answered a few more. Before eventually the club's media officer began ushering him toward the exit.
You glanced at your notes, then to the recorder you’d just pressed paused on and sighed contently. It had taken you a few seconds more to recalibrate yourself before you’d found your footing again and walked away. You had found your way to the pitch, sitting down on one of the game benches as all the cleaning staff started filtering out from the rafters.
You knew you wouldn’t be allowed to stay much longer but you wanted to start your article in the place that gave it its meaning. You pulled your laptop out and started furiously typing away, cursor moving a million miles a minute as the words poured out of you, in the way they always did when you were passionate about the topic.
It was as you got to the point of Fernando’s quote that a shadow appeared beside you. "Did you get everything?"
You looked up, and if an angel, Fernando stared down at you with curiosity written all over his face.
For a second your brain forgot how to function. "Oh." Very eloquent, you told yourself. Excellent journalism.
Fernando's mouth twitched. "That's not what I asked."
You cleared your throat. "Yeah." You held up your laptop. "I think so."
"You think so?" He asked, sitting down beside you. He was still in his blue team kit.
"I haven’t been able to stop typing yet so, yea, I think so."
"Good answer."
You laughed. Fernando glanced toward your laptop screen. "Are you writing the match report?"
“Not really” You say slightly shy at showing too much care for the article you’re writing.
"What’s the article about then?"
"Supporter reactions."
His eyebrows rose slightly. "Interesting."
"You sound surprised." You say slightly surprised yourself at his reaction.
"Most people only care about the football." he says with a half smile.
You shrug, "Football is the supporters." The response left your mouth automatically, without thought, without calculation.
Fernando stared at you for a second. Something unreadable passed across his face, then he nodded once. "Exactly." Heat crawled up your neck. “Off the record, it’s probably why I’ve stayed with the team so long. I grew up apart of their club, supporter and player.” You suddenly became very interested in putting your laptop away. "Which publication are you with?" He asks, suddenly trying to change the subject.
You told him, and recognition flashed across his face. "Ah, not normally a fan of you guys. Especially the editor who's always shouting at his staff?"
You barked out a laugh, Fernando grinned. "Internship?"
You sighed dramatically. "Is it really that obvious?"
"Master's student?"
You narrowed your eyes. "Now you're just profiling me."
"Am I wrong?"
"...no."
"I thought so."
You shook your head. "I don't know whether to be impressed or offended."
"I'm choosing impressed." He’d said and you’d dropped your head with a smile.
For a moment neither of you spoke. The empty stadium stretching around you. The distant hum of staff packing things away.Then Fernando turned slightly so he could see you. You were close enough to talk, but far enough that it didn't feel strange.
"So." Fernando leaned back against the bench slightly. "Are you covering the charity match next month?"
You laughed. "My publication is."
"But not you." The certainty in his voice made you blink.
"No."
"Why not?"
You shrugged. "Because apparently that's for the real journalists." The second the words left your mouth, you regretted them. Not because they weren't true, but because saying them aloud sounded ridiculous.
Fernando frowned. "What does that mean?"
"The experienced ones."
"You mean older."
"Usually."
Silence fell between you before Fernando scoffed, "That's stupid."
The bluntness caught you off guard. You laughed. "I'll be sure to pass that feedback along."
"I'm serious."
"I know."
Fernando looked genuinely annoyed by the concept. Which was oddly endearing. "You've got to start somewhere."
"Tell my editor that."
"Maybe I will."
You snorted. "Please don't."
"I'm considering it."
"You absolutely should not."
His grin returned. "I'll think about it."
You shook your head. A smile pulling at your lips despite yourself, then Fernando glanced out toward the pitch.
"That's a shame." Fernando said and you looked over.
"What is?"
His gaze shifted back to you. "I would've liked to read your coverage, more than just what you write about tonight."
For a second you forgot how to respond, because nobody had ever said that before. Not a professor. Not an editor. Not another journalist. Not even your family and certainly not a professional footballer.
The words settled somewhere deep in your chest. Uncomfortable only because they felt nice. Dangerously nice.You looked away first.
"Well." Your voice came out softer than intended. "Unless they suddenly start believing in me, I don't think that'll happen."
Fernando was quiet. Thoughtful. Studying you. Then he nodded once. As though filing the information away. "Never know."
You laughed. "That sounds suspicious."
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "It wasn't meant to."
You didn't believe him for a second, and looked back to your now auto turned off screen. "You don't have to stay, you know." You glanced up from your laptop and closed it, deciding to slip it back into its bag. When you look up again, Fernando’s watching you.
"What?"
"The stadium." He gestured around at it. The floodlights that painted everything silver. You looked out across the pitch. The grass looked almost unreal. Perfect.
"I like it." Fernando said, looking back at you.
"The empty stadium?" You asked
"The quiet." A small smile tugged at your lips.
"You don't really get that during a match."
"No." His voice softened. "You don't."
For a moment neither of you spoke. Then Fernando suddenly stood. You frowned.
"What are you doing?"
"Come on." He started walking to the bag he had dropped at the edge of the bench you hadn’t even noticed till now.
You blinked."Come on where?"
"The field." He said pulling out a football.
"What?"
"The field." He repeated.
"We can't just go onto the pitch."
Fernando stopped halfway down the field and looked back at you.
"You know I'm a player, right?"
"...unfortunately."
His grin widened. "Then come on."
You stared at him, then at the field, then back at him. "No."
"No?"
"No."
Fernando looked offended. Genuinely offended. "You don't want to play against me?"
"I don't want to embarrass myself."
"By standing on grass?"
"By whatever weird thing you're planning."
"I'm not planning anything."
That was a lie, you could tell immediately. Fernando looked exactly like somebody planning something, then again, maybe that was just him.
"You are absolutely planning something."
He shrugged. "Maybe."
"There it is."
"Come on."
You remained firmly seated. Fernando sighed dramatically. Then folded his arms.
"Coward."
You narrowed your eyes. "Oh, fuck off."
"That's not a denial."
"I'm not a coward."
"Prove it."
You stared at him. Fernando stared back. Waiting. The worst part? He looked entirely too pleased with himself.
"Oh, I hate you."
"You don't."
You stood. Fernando's grin became insufferable. "See?"
"I still hate you."
"Sure."
By the time you reached the middle of the field, Fernando bounced the ball once against his foot, then tossed it toward you.
You caught it with your foot and automatically bounced it from foot to foot. Only to immediately regret it, because now there was no pretending you didn't know how to play. No reason for excuses.
Fernando noticed. Of course he noticed. His eyebrows shot upward. "Oh?"
You groaned.
"You play." He asked gleefully.
"I played." You say through gritted teeth.
Fernando pointed at the ball. "That's not beginner control."
"It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
You rolled your eyes. "You're a professional footballer."
"And?"
"And you're going to destroy me."
Fernando's grin turned dangerous. "You think very highly of me."
"I think exactly highly enough of you."
"One-on-one."
"No."
"One-on-one."
"Absolutely not."
"Scared?"
You sighed, long and suffering, kicking the ball to your chest before dropping it to the ground and kicking it towards him, "Fine."
Fernando immediately looked delighted. Which should have concerned you more than it did. The first few minutes were exactly what you'd expected. Fernando teasing. Fernando showing off. Fernando somehow manages to remain annoyingly attractive while doing both.
Then the ball landed at your feet, and instinct took over. You feinted left. Cut right.
Fernando blinked. The opening appeared. You took it. The ball rolled through his legs, barely giving him time to react, before you were collecting it again behind him.
"Oi!" You burst out laughing. Fernando whipped around, "Did you just nutmeg me?"
"Pfft." Your grin widened. "No."
His eyes narrowed. "You absolutely did."
"No evidence."
"There's literally evidence."
"No witnesses."
"We're the witnesses."
You laughed harder. Fernando stared, then started laughing too. And suddenly it wasn't Fernando the footballer. It was just Fernando. A guy playing football under floodlights. A guy who looked happiest with grass stains on his socks and a ball at his feet. The game continued. And to your horror, you found yourself enjoying it. Really enjoying it.
You chased every loose ball. Argued every call. Demanded rematches. Twice you nearly scored. Once Fernando had to actually work to stop you.
By the end both of you were breathing heavily. Your lungs burned, and your legs ached.
You collapsed onto the grass. Staring up at the night sky. A few seconds later Fernando dropped down beside you. Close enough that your shoulders almost touched. "You know." His breathing was still uneven. "I wasn't expecting that."
You laughed. "What?"
"You."
You turned your head, Fernando was looking at you. Not teasing or smiling this time. Just looking, studying your face.
"What does that mean?"
"It means you're good."
You snorted. "I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm really not."
"You nearly scored."
"Nearly."
"You nutmegged me."
"Allegedly."
Fernando barked out a laugh, then the amusement faded. Replaced by something more thoughtful. "Can I ask you something?"
You hesitated. "Depends."
"Why don't you fight for yourself?"
The question hit so suddenly you almost missed it. "What?"
Fernando sat up slightly. Resting his forearms on his knees. "Why don't you fight for yourself?"
You frowned. "I do."
"No."
He shook his head. "You don't."
Your stomach tightened. "Fernando-"
"I'm serious." He gestured toward the pitch. "Look at tonight."
"What about it?"
"You spent twenty minutes trying to embarrass me."
A laugh escaped you. "I did not."
"You absolutely did."
"I nearly scored."
"Exactly."
Fernando pointed at you, the movement is sharp. Certain. "You went after every ball." His voice softened. "You didn't hesitate."
You looked away, suddenly very interested in the grass.
"You didn't second-guess yourself." Silence. "You just played."
The words settled heavily between you, because you knew where this was going, and you hated that he was right. Fernando looked out toward the empty stands. Then back at you.
"You should fight for yourself with the same hunger you just played with."
Your throat tightened. "You think it's that simple?"
"No." The answer came immediately. "No, I think it's hard." His expression softened.
"But I also think you've already got it in you."
You didn't know what to say to that. Nobody had ever looked at you the way Fernando was looking at you now. Like he genuinely believed what he was saying. Like he wasn't just being kind. Like he knew.
After a moment Fernando stood, offering you a hand.
You stared at it, then took it. His grip was warm, strong, steady.
"Come on, journalist."
You let him pull you to your feet. "What now?"
Fernando smiled. The kind of smile that made your stomach do unfortunate things. "Now you go convince your editor he's an idiot." And for the first time since starting your internship, that almost sounded possible.
The charity match assignment list went up on a Tuesday. You knew exactly where to find it. You also knew exactly what you were going to see. Which somehow didn't stop the disappointment. Three names. None of them yours. You stared at the notice board for a few seconds longer than necessary. Maybe there'd been a mistake. Maybe there was a second page.Maybe- No. Just three names. One senior reporter, your boss, and a photographer.
You should have expected it. You did expect it, but it still sucked. "Looking for your name?" You glanced over, one of the senior journalists was collecting his equipment.
You forced a smile. "Something like that."
He gave the list a quick glance. "Big assignment."
You hummed. "Yeah."
"Maybe next year.” He wasn't being cruel, like you would have expected. He genuinely thought he was being encouraging. And that somehow made it worse. You nodded politely and walked away before he could say anything else.
By the time you reached your desk, your mood had cratered. The logical part of your brain immediately started making excuses. It made sense. You were still technically an intern, still studying. The senior journalists had more experience. More contacts. More credibility.
It wasn't personal. It was practical. Reasonable. Expected.
Even if your boss had been impressed by your article and it was currently doing better than any of the articles currently being pushed out about the game.
You opened your laptop. Pulled up a draft article, stared at it, and closed it again. For some reason all you could hear was Fernando's voice. "You should fight for yourself with the same hunger you just played with."
You groaned. "No." The memory remained. Persistent. Annoying. "Go convince your editor he's an idiot."
You dropped your head onto your desk. "This is your fault." The footballer, unfortunately, was not present to defend himself. A minute passed, then another. You looked into his office where he sat looking at photo options for the next issues front page.
"Oh, for fuck's sake." You stood, before you could talk yourself out of it.
He looked up when you knocked on his office door. "Something on fire?"
"Can I come to the charity match?"
The words came out faster than intended. Direct. No easing into it.
Your boss blinked. Then leaned back in his chair. "No."
You'd expected that. Still. The rejection stung. "Why?"
His eyebrows rose. Normally, you would accept the answer, nod and leave. Apparently today was different. "Because we've already assigned people."
"I can help, and I know the company always gets four press badges."
"We don't need help."
"I won't get in the way."
"You'll absolutely get in the way."
You narrowed your eyes, and folded your arms.
"Give me one reason."
He stared. "One reason?"
"One reason I shouldn't go."
Your boss laughed, actually laughed. "Since when do you argue?"
"Since I feel it’s deserved. My article is one of the best on the site at the moment and has brought significant good reactions to the publishing house, even after you thought it was a lost cause. I have proved my worth, let me show you that I can continue."
The answer surprised both of you. His expression shifted slightly. Studying you. Assessing. You pressed forward before your courage disappeared.
“I've covered every assignment you've given me. I've never missed a deadline. I've written extra pieces when nobody asked. You keep saying I need experience. That is why you won’t give me big pieces, yet you do not give me the chance to gain those experiences. Instead I’m a glorified assistant who gets told no at any chance to grow"
Your editor nodded slowly, leaving you in silence as your rant finished. Your pulse hammered in your ears. You hated this. Hated asking. Hated putting yourself out there. Hated the possibility of hearing no. Again. Like you always did
Your editor sighed, like you were personally inconveniencing him. Which, to be fair, you probably were. "You really want this."
It wasn't a question. You nodded. "Yes."
"Why?"
Because Fernando would be there. The thought flashed through your head instantly. You immediately buried it. That was not the answer. Not even close. "Because it's a good story for a good cause."
Your editor watched you carefully. "That's a dangerous answer."
You frowned. "Why?"
"Because after what you showed, putting humanity at the front of your article instead of the game like every sheep out there last week. I fear you could be what we need for this match."
A pause, then another sigh as he rubbed at his jaw, thinking. Which was infinitely worse than being told no. At least no was quick.
"You carry the same equipment you did last week. You work closely with our team but not a part of them. You fight for your own quotes, ask your own questions. I want your article to be the first thing I see in my email on Monday morning."
Your brain short-circuited. "What?"
"You are going" You stared mouth agape, he stared back. "Is that a yes?"
You nodded as the realization hit all at once. You were going, actually going, not officially a part of their project but by yourself, a one man team. But you were going. You couldn't stop the grin, and your editor immediately regretted his decision. "Thank you."
Your editor pointed toward the door. "Get out."
"Gladly."
The charity match felt nothing like a normal football match. For one thing, nobody seemed particularly interested in acting professionally. The stadium had sold out weeks ago. Every ticket purchased went directly toward local children's hospitals and community sports programs, which meant supporters had arrived in force.
Scarves waved from every section. Children leaned over railings clutching shirts and markers. Entire families packed the stands. The atmosphere felt lighter than any football match you'd ever attended. More festivals than fixtures. More celebration than competition. And somehow that made it louder. You stood near the touchline balancing the same equipment you’d had weeks earlier. A bag with your laptop, a camera, a recorder, your notebook, two pens and your phone.
You tried figuring out the angle of your next article but it was hard because standing thirty feet away was a collection of footballers that looked less like a squad and more like somebody's Football Manager save file.
Current stars. Retired legends. Players from different leagues. Different countries. Different generations. People who should never realistically be standing beside each other. Yet somehow they were. One goalkeeper was taking selfies with supporters. A retired striker was trying to convince a defender he could still outrun him. Two midfielders were arguing over who had scored the better goal ten years ago. Nobody appeared interested in behaving themselves.
The crowd loved every second of it. A cheer erupted from one side of the pitch. You looked up, as Fernando emerged from the tunnel. Immediately greeted by three different players shouting insults at him. He responded by blowing them a kiss. The abuse only intensified. You laughed despite yourself.
"Careful." Your boss appeared beside you. "If anyone notices you're having fun, we'll have to fire you."
You nearly dropped the camera. "Jesus Christ."
"Try looking less excited."
Your eyes drifted back toward the players. One of the most recognizable footballers in Europe was currently attempting to nutmeg a retired goalkeeper during warmups.
"You brought me to a football fever dream."
Your boss sighed. "Yeah." Even he looked impressed.
The pre-match introductions somehow made everything worse. Or better. Depending on perspective. Each player was announced individually. Every name earning its own reaction. Some cheers. Some laughter. Some playful boos from rival supporters. The loudest response came whenever former teammates appeared together. The crowd immediately demanded old celebrations be recreated. Most of them happily obliged.
By kickoff the entire stadium buzzed with energy. Nobody cared who won. That was obvious from the first whistle. The football itself was surprisingly good, not serious, but good. Players attempted ridiculous passes they would never risk during actual league matches. Defenders wandered forward just because they could. Goalkeepers occasionally joined attacks. At one point a centre-back attempted a bicycle kick. He missed entirely, and somehow still received a standing ovation.
The crowd treated every moment like theatre, because that's exactly what it was. Entertainment. Joy. Football stripped back to its simplest form. You found yourself forgetting to take notes several times. Too busy watching. Too busy listening. The laughter from the pitch. The reactions from the stands. The way rival players became teammates for ninety minutes. The entire event felt like a reminder of why people loved the sport in the first place. Then came Fernando's goal.
And suddenly the atmosphere shifted. Not because the score mattered, but because the crowd adored him. A quick one-two near the edge of the box. A clever run. Then a finish curled perfectly into the far corner. The stadium exploded. Fernando immediately sprinted toward the supporters. Arms spread wide. Grinning like an idiot. Three teammates tackled him before he reached the advertising boards.
The celebration became a pile-up. Nobody seemed interested in stopping it. You found yourself laughing while trying to write down what happened. By the time the match entered its final minutes, the scoreline had become almost irrelevant. Children waved signs. Players swapped shirts. Supporters sang. The entire evening felt warm. Hopeful. Human. And standing there behind the cameras, surrounded by some of football's biggest names, you couldn't help thinking that maybe you had been right to fight for it, because this wasn't just a charity match. This was a story, and stories were exactly why you'd become a journalist in the first place.
By the time the final whistle blew, your feet were killing you. You had spent most of the game running around the stands trying to get the right photos, both on field and off it, And the other half making notes on the game and the players. Which, admittedly, wasn't much different from what you’d done last week, but it felt heavier this time.
The crowd remained loud even after the match ended. Players wandered around the pitch signing shirts, taking photos with fans, handing merch to children in the front rows. Nobody seemed in a hurry to leave. Not the supporters. Not the players. Not even the journalists.
Eventually your boss jerked his head toward the media area, "Come on, you gotta show me what you’re worth." You grabbed your recorder, and flipped to your notes in your book that you’d wanted to ask about. You followed him through the stadium corridors.
The atmosphere backstage was somehow even more chaotic. Players drifted through hallways still laughing about moments from the match. Media officers hurried between rooms. Cameramen adjusted equipment. Reporters prepared questions. It felt less like a football event and more like a controlled disaster.
"Put that down." Your editor pointed at your notebook. “A real journalist, lets intuition guide them”
You obeyed, putting your notebook back in your bag., with a nod. “And if that intuition makes you say something stupid?”
He laughed at that, “Then at least you’ve made an impression, but listen kid. One of the best things about your first article is you didn’t make it quote heavy, you watched. Don’t change that now. Watch.”
He was right of course. You had a handful of quotes, yes, but you’d described everything apart from just the game and it was part of why your article had, even now, been doing the best out of any other article.
You thought that perhaps that was your specialty. To watch, to feel, and articulate that into words. The press room slowly filled, rows of chairs. Camera setups. Microphones. Journalists arranging themselves according to seniority and reputation. You found a place behind the main camera line. Close enough to observe, far enough not to get in anyone's way. Your boss going back to the main journalist.
The first interviews started, a retired defender, then a former goalkeeper. Then one of the event organizers. You listened carefully. Taking notes despite not being told not to. Old habits die hard and all that.
Most interviews blurred together after a while. Questions about the charity. Questions about fundraising. Questions about memorable moments. You were halfway through writing down a quote when movement near the doorway caught your attention.
Fernando.
The room visibly reacted. Reporters straightened. Microphones lifted. A few people immediately shuffled positions. You hated how quickly your own attention snapped toward him. Fernando looked exactly the same as he had on the pitch. Still smiling. Still relaxed. Still somehow making everyone around him seem more comfortable.
The interview began. Questions flowed. Fundraising totals. The atmosphere. The supporters. The event itself. Fernando answered easily, professional, confident. Comfortable in front of cameras. You found yourself writing down several answers despite knowing you probably wouldn't need them.
Across the room your editor noticed, with a smirk, and you immediately looked away. A few minutes later after Fernando had left the room someone entered through a side door. One of the event's media coordinators. She approached your boss directly. Leaning down to whisper something in his ear, at first your editor simply nodded with an enthusiastic smile, before it fell into a frown.
The coordinator said something else, and your boss’s eyebrows shot upward. "What?" You saw him mouth his eyes landing on you. The coordinator repeated herself, yet you couldn't hear any of it. Only see mouths moving and your boss’s face visibly darken. No one else in the room noticed the conversation continuing quietly.
Your editor shook his head, the coordinator persisted. Another exchange, then another pause.
Finally your boss rubbed a hand down his face, the universal gesture of someone being inconvenienced. "Fine." you saw him say with a nod and the coordinator smiled. Your boss looked significantly less pleased, as the coordinator disappeared.
You returned your attention to your notebook. Not your circus, not your monkeys right?
At least that was what you thought until your boss popped up next to you. "Kid.” You looked up and your editor was staring directly at you.
"...yeah?"
"Get your shit together, you have been given the opportunity of a lifetime."
Your stomach dropped “What?"
"Interview." The word hit like a truck. You blinked.
"No."
Your editor frowned, "No?"
"I mean yes."
You stood so quickly your chair nearly toppled over. Earning an annoyed look from a couple other journalists.
"Try that sentence again."
Your mouth opened. Closed. It opened again. "I haven't prepared."
Your boss looked unimpressed, "Considering none of us knew this was happening till seconds ago, no one did. Come, prepare while walking." He said turning and walking out the room.
Your heartbeat immediately doubled. "Walking where?"
"Interview room."
"What do you mean interview room? Why do we need an interview room?"
He stopped halfway down the corridor, "A player has decided to announce a move for next season, and for some reason, he wants you to write about the announcement."
You stared at him in shock, He stared back. Neither of you moved. He turned and continued walking and after your legs finally remembered how to function, you followed. Every horrible possibility immediately entered your brain. A current international player. A club legend. Someone famous. Someone important. Someone whose entire career you should probably know inside and out. You were going to embarrass yourself. You were definitely going to embarrass yourself.
"Who am I interviewing?" You asked and your editor shook his head, without giving you an answer. You looked at your editor, "Can you at least give me a name?"
"No." It was final, yet you didn’t care.
"What?" You pushed.
"You're a journalist, you want experience, no learning experience quite like going in blind. "
You hated him so much. The hallway suddenly felt too warm. Your palms were sweating, and your recorder felt slippery as you pulled it out of your bag. This was a disaster. A complete disaster. The media coordinator was standing outside a door, and you took a breath before she took a deep breath and opened it, with a gesture inside.
"Good luck." She told you, and that was somehow more terrifying.
You stepped through, heart hammering, already rehearsing apologies. Then froze because sitting casually in a chair on the opposite side of the room was Fernando.
One ankle resting over the opposite knee. A bottle of water in one hand, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
The second your eyes met, he grinned, wide, unapologetic
"Oh." The word escaped before you could stop it.
Fernando laughed, the sound warm and familiar, and suddenly all the panic evaporated. Not completely, but enough to not make a fool of yourself. You’d already done that at his home stadium a couple weeks ago.
"Hello, journalist."
You stared at him, then narrowed your eyes, slowly, slightly suspicious. Fernando's grin only grew. And somehow, despite the nerves still twisting in your stomach, you found yourself smiling. Because for the first time all day, maybe for the first time since starting your internship, you actually felt confident for an interview.
"You look suspicious."
Fernando leaned back in his chair. "You look nervous."
"I am nervous."
"Good."
You blinked. "Good?"
"It means you care about what I’m about to tell you."
You stared at him, then at the recorder in your hand, then back at him.
Fernando looked entirely too relaxed for someone who had apparently reduced your life expectancy by several years. "You realize I nearly had a heart attack walking here."
"You survived."
"Barely."
"Still counts."
A laugh escaped despite yourself and Fernando smiled. There it was again, that strange ability he had to make everything feel easier. The nerves didn't disappear completely, but they settled. Enough for you to think, for you to work.
You sat down opposite him, pulled out your notebook, set your recorder between you. Fernando watched the entire process with visible amusement.
"Very professional."
"I am a professional."
Fernando raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"
You groaned, and Fernando laughed. And just like that, the tension disappeared. "Alright."
You clicked on the recorder. The red light blinked, immediately your posture changed. Instinct, training, that journalist in you taking over.
Fernando noticed, you could tell he noticed because his expression shifted too. He became more attentive, more focused. The interview began.
At first he spoke about the match you were currently at, what it meant, not only for the charity but for the children, the communities around the event, before he dropped the one liner that had your heart leaping out your chest.
“You wrote about my home match with so much love and care, you captured how I felt about them, and it’s why I want you to be the first to write about my move.”
And although you had softened and smiled at him, at that you still did your job. Asking a question piggybacking off that, then one question became two. Two became five and five became ten.
Before you realized it, you weren't thinking about being nervous anymore, you were listening, following threads, building on answers, finding stories, exactly the way your professors always told you good interviews should work.
Fernando helped, not obviously, not in a way anyone else would notice, but every time he spotted an interesting angle, he expanded. Every time you stumbled slightly, he gave you room to recover. Every answer opened another door. You found yourself asking better questions because of it. The conversation flowed naturally.
At one point you glanced up from your notes. Fernando was already looking at you, listening just as carefully as you were. Something in your chest tightened, and you quickly looked back down.
Coward, you told yourself.
The interview continued. Questions about football. Questions about community. Questions about supporters. The city. The importance of the angle you would give him in reporting it.
The conversation felt less like an interview and more like the two of you talking, which was dangerous, because good interviews weren't supposed to feel this enjoyable. Eventually you reached the final page of your notebook. Not any place for more than a single question. You hesitated.
Then looked up. You sighed. Then decided to ask anyway. The question that had been sitting in the back of your mind for weeks. "Why did you stop that night?"
Fernando tilted his head. "Which night?"
"After the Oviedo match."
Understanding flashed immediately. "The media room?"
You nodded. "There were dozens of journalists there." His expression softened. "So why me?"
The room suddenly felt quieter, smaller. Fernando looked at you for a long moment, long enough that you almost regretted asking.
"Because you cared." The answer came without hesitation. You blinked, and Fernando shrugged lightly. "You asked about supporters. Asked about the city." He leaned forward slightly. “Not many people care about the stories behind the game, they don’t care that the supporters are what make this sport worth showing up for everytime" His eyes met yours. "But you are the exception."
Heat crawled up your neck, you looked away first. Of course you did, because your stomach did something deeply unhelpful. You hated that. A lot.
The silence stretched. Comfortable. Dangerous. Then a knock interrupted everything. The door opened. One of the media staff poked their head inside. "Fifteen minutes." Fernando nodded.
The door closed again. Reality returning. The interview ended. You glanced down at your notebook, at the pages filled with notes.Then ended the recorder, filled with answers. The evidence sitting right in front of you. You'd done it. You hadn't embarrassed yourself.
You hadn't frozen. You'd actually done it. A ridiculous amount of relief flooded your chest. Fernando noticed immediately. "See?"
You narrowed your eyes. "See what?"
"You survived."
"I hate that you were right."
His grin returned, the familiar one, the same one from laying beside each other on that field. The one that usually meant trouble. "I know."
You stood then trying to remain professional. You were being professional, definitely, absolutely.
Then Fernando spoke again, quieter this time. "You did well."
The words hit harder than they should have. Maybe because your editor had never said them. Maybe because your professors rarely did. But maybe it was actually because coming from Fernando, they felt earned.
You swallowed. "Thanks."
His gaze held yours, steady, certain. "No." A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I mean it." And somehow that felt even worse.
"Well." You cleared your throat. "Thank you for the interview."
Fernando stood too, taller than you remembered, far too close now. "Any time, journalist." He winked. Your pulse immediately betrayed you. Fantastic. You moved toward the door. Desperate for fresh air. Desperate to regain control of your brain. You reached for the handle.
Then paused, turning back. "Fernando?"
"Hm?"
"You didn't have to do that."
His expression softened immediately, because he knew exactly what you meant. The interview, the opportunity, the chance, All of it. "You deserved it."
You laughed quietly. "You barely know me." Fernando held your gaze, and for the first time since you'd met him, there wasn't even a trace of teasing in his expression. "I didn't need to know you for long."
The room suddenly felt very small. "What does that mean?"
Fernando stepped closer, not by much, but just enough to make your breath hitch. "It means they spent five minutes with you and decided what you were worth."
Your breath caught. "And?"
His smile returned, this time small and certain. "I spent five minutes with you and decided they were wrong."
For a moment neither of you moved. The words hung between you heavily, far more dangerous than anything that had been said during the interview.
You stared at Fernando and he stared right back. Completely unbothered. As though he hadn't just casually altered your brain chemistry. Your throat felt suspiciously dry. "That's..." You cleared it. "That's awfully sweet of you."
Fernando's smile widened. "Good."
You frowned. "Good?"
"Yeah." He shoved his hands into his pockets. Looking entirely too pleased with himself. "I was hoping it would be." Something warm unfurled low in your stomach.
You knew exactly where this was heading. Which was unfortunate. Because your brain seemed to have stopped functioning somewhere around I spent five minutes with you and decided they were wrong. "What are you doing?"
Fernando blinked. "Standing."
"You know what I mean."
"Not really."
"You absolutely do."
A laugh escaped him. The sound bouncing off the walls of the room corridor, the sound of people leaving the main interview room and filling the hallway outside. Staff members moving equipment, Journalists filing stories, everyone busy with their own lives. Completely oblivious to the fact that your own had suddenly become very complicated.
Fernando looked at you for a moment. Then shrugged. "Trying to impress you."
Your mouth fell open slightly, the honesty caught you off guard. "No normal person says that out loud."
"I've never claimed to be normal."
"Clearly."
His grin deepened, You hated how attractive that grin was. You hated it even more because he knew it. "Impress me enough for what?" The question slipped out before you could stop it.
Fernando's eyebrows lifted, as though he was surprised you'd asked. "Dinner."
Oh.
Oh.
Your brain immediately blue-screened. Fernando waited. Patient, far too patient. You simply stared, because surely you had misunderstood. There was no way.
"You are asking me out." It wasn't a question.
Fernando tilted his head slightly. "That was what I asked."
You laughed, a short, disbelieving sound, because what else were you supposed to do? This wasn't happening. You were a master's student. An intern. A guy whose biggest achievement this month had been convincing his editor not to leave him behind.
Fernando was...
Fernando.
"You look shocked."
"I am shocked."
"Why?"
You stared at him, actually stared. "Do you want the list alphabetically or chronologically?" That finally earned a genuine laugh, the kind that made his shoulders shake.
God. That should not have been as attractive as it was.
Then another thought struck you, and immediately escaped your mouth, as quick as it had come. "I didn't realize you..." You trailed off. Suddenly aware that there was absolutely no graceful way to finish that sentence.
Fernando saved you from yourself. "Swung that way?"
Heat immediately flooded your face. "I wasn't going to phrase it like that."
"No?"
"No."
"What were you going to say?"
"I don't know."
"You definitely had something."
You groaned. Fernando looked entirely too entertained. "Fine." You folded your arms. "I didn't realize you liked men."
There. Better. Marginally. Fernando's expression softened. The teasing nature fading slightly. "Surprises a few people."
You nodded slowly. That was probably the understatement of the century. There had been rumours. Of course there had. There were always rumours. But rumours and reality weren't the same thing. Fernando seemed to read the thought on your face. "Not exactly public information."
"I gathered."
A beat passed. Then he pointed a finger at you. "Which means."
You narrowed your eyes. "Which means?"
"Just don't go telling your boss."
You laughed, a genuine laugh. The tension finally cracking. "Your secret's safe with me."
"Good."
Silence settled again, but different this time. It was lighter and almost warmer. The kind of silence that felt comfortable. Fernando shifted his weight, watching you, nervous, waiting. Not pushing, just waiting.
Which somehow made everything worse. Because now the decision sat entirely with you. The invitation. The possibility. The terrifying reality that Fernando actually wanted to spend time with you.
Not because of an interview. Not because of work, because he wanted to. You looked down briefly. Then back up.
Fernando's gaze never left yours. Your heart did something deeply irritating. "Although."
Fernando's eyebrows lifted. "Although?"
You smiled despite yourself. "I might have a better idea."
Interest flashed immediately across his face. "Oh?"
"Instead of telling my boss." You took a small step closer, not enough to be obvious.
Fernando noticed, of course he noticed. The corner of his mouth lifted. "Yeah?"
Your pulse hammered in your chest, so fast you could hear it. You could also feel it, every nerve suddenly wide awake. "I could just accept the invitation."
For a second Fernando didn't move. Almost like he wasn't sure he'd heard you correctly. Then his smile appeared. The sort of smile that made it impossible not to smile back. "I was hoping you'd say that." Neither of you looked away, neither of you stepped back, the space between you shrinking naturally. Gradually, like gravity, like something inevitable.
Your heart was trying to escape your chest, Fernando looked briefly at your mouth, then back at your eyes. Giving you every opportunity to change your mind, to stop this, but you didn't, you wouldn’t, and apparently neither did he.
The kiss was soft, unexpectedly soft. It wasn’t rushed or desperate. Just warm, gentle, certain. The kind of kiss that felt less like a beginning and more like an answer. When you finally pulled apart, both of you were smiling.
Which was embarrassing, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. Fernando rested his forehead briefly against yours. Still smiling. "So."
You laughed breathlessly. "So?"
"Dinner." You rolled your eyes.
"Dinner." His grin widened.
"Good." Then, because apparently he couldn't help himself: "Told you I could impress you."
You groaned immediately. "There he is."
"Who?"
"The most annoying man in Spain." Fernando looked delighted by the accusation, and somehow that only made you like him more.
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↳ Fernando ends up fighting a man in a parking lot for you, and you end up at your apartment together.
⋆ Warning and Tags
NSFW. Second Chance, Past Hook-up, Protective!Fernando, Possessive!Fernando, Mutual Pining, Smut, Dom!Fernando, Breath play, Choking Kink, Protected Sex, Light praise kink, light degradation, Violence, Harassment, both characters are in their 40s. Reader is written as non-described, but may lean into female energy.
⋆ Word Count
↳ 5.5K
⋆ Request
↳ Nope
⋆ Authors Note:
↳ I've been going through drafts and found this unfinished. I did some editing and finished it, I thought I might as well upload it. You can probably tell I had writers block in the beginning, as it feels so unbelievably repetitive. Anyways, enjoy
You hadn’t wanted to go out, a long hard week at work had taken a lot out of you. A handful of risky surgeries, almost a 60 hour work week, and rouge interns that seemed to never listen to you. You had wanted nothing then to go home and crash on your bed, and not be seen till Monday Morning. However, it was a friend's birthday party, the big 4-0, and if you were known for anything, it was always showing up. No matter what, when work allowed it.
The celebrations were taking place at a bar on the outskirts of the city, the one she had met her cowboy husband almost two decades ago. The bar where all the country men from the farms outside the city spent their nights. All rough hands, dangerous smirks, and whiskey induced laughter.
It was the type of place you’d spent your childhood, always in the furthest back booth asleep or with your head in a book, while your father served drink after drink. The place you’d worked when you were old enough to, the reality of split parents and different pathways. You’d grown up on the gravel roads, with rodeos and creek swimming for fun, opposite from your brother, the boy who your mother had paraded around the world. All in the hopes of chasing a dream full of glitz and glamour. An impossible dream that had him risking his life every weekend going at hundreds of kilometers an hour.
But just like your brother had forged his way into formula one, you’d forged your way into a future you would be proud of. You’d spent a decade and a half studying for your degrees and diplomas, all in with the goal of being a general surgeon, the routine of positively affecting someone's life always having been appealing. Although it hadn’t come with its own sacrifices. A failed marriage and a kid you only saw two weekends a month, if that.
But none of that mattered, as you pulled on your favorite pair of jeans, the ones that made your ass look good. You’d felt that familiar glimmer of excitement in your stomach, the one that said you needed this. You hadn’t been out in a couple months, work had made sure of that, and it was why you decided to book an uber. You didn’t trust yourself to be sober enough to drive your Porsche home at the end of the night, and you’d seen too many bad accidents and traumas to dare risk it.
The bar had been exactly what it had been for the past twenty-years. Wooden walls, broody cowboys, speakers playing Morgan Wallen while girls in leather boots danced a two step and guys played pool. It hadn’t taken long to find your friends, the balloons and plastic confetti around one of the booths, stuck out like a sore thumb. You’d greeted them all, paying special attention to the birthday girl. She was your best friend who you’d made in the 8th grade, the girl who’d been like a sister to you. She was a stunning woman with ginger curls, ivory skin and emerald green eyes, the living breathing depiction of Joelene, minus the homewrecker aspect.
Conversation had immediately flowed, Work, life, romance, kids. Everything that would come natural to people your age, to people at this point in life. Yet you always felt like the odd one out. You had thought your ex-husband was the only one who understood you, but even that had ended in disaster. Mostly your fault, you’d admit, but you had come to accept how you were different from those around you. How you were much more career focused and driven, unlike those who were family orientated. It had never really been a problem you’d admit, but still, it always made you feel like the odd one out.
The night had flowed, with drinks, laughter, story telling, and you’d admit a happiness you hadn’t felt in a while. But as the night ended and most of the party had left with the goal of getting their baby sitter home before midnight, you’d strived over to the bar, in order to pay the tab you’d probably spent way too much on, buying everyone drinks, simply because you had the means too.
Your eyes had caught him then, at the end of the bar, black button up with the sleeves rolled up, black cowboy hat, soft curls sticking out like they were trying to tell you secrets, tipped in a way as to hide half his face, the bushy beard hiding the rest. He had a glass in his hand, and you watched as he tipped it, the Cruz de Asturias as plain as day. You’d looked away immediately then, knowing who the man was, and wanting very much not to have to talk to him.
It was then that a blonde guy sat down next to you, introducing himself. He was pale, with blue eyes that glowed more than shined, with an air around him that screamed, I just brought these boots to seem cool. His physic wasn’t the worst but it was one that screamed he went to the gym not to build muscle but to tone. He’d tried talking to you, calling you Darlin’, the accent forced. He’d asked if you were heading home, if you’d wanted company, very bluntly. Very rude. The way that screamed he wasn’t from around here. You’d thanked him for the offer, saying you were not looking for company and wishing him well.
He’d got defensive then, saying he was just tryna be nice, and that you weren’t good looking enough to reject him. He’d tried to grab your arm, but another hand had wrapped around his wrist before he could touch you. The hand was bigger compared to the blonde, with warm olive skin. “I don’t have to teach you how to be a gentleman, now do I?” he’d said, that accent rough and grumbly, but so distinctly Fernando's.
The blonde dude rolled his eyes and walked away. Muttering rude comments about you. Fernando had looked back at you then, “You alright?” He asked, lifting his head, his eyes immediately landing on yours. When they do you feel that body reaction he always tore from you. The one that was low and hot, a pressure not many could achieve. His eyes were a dark hazel, with golden flecks reflecting the light from the room, and the way they studied you felt intrusive.
You nod, “I could have handled myself,” you state, and he huffs. Not a laugh. Not even close. More like he doesn’t believe you, but isn’t surprised either.
“Yeah,” he mutters, dragging his thumb along the edge of his glass. “You’ve always thought that.”
You turn then, properly this time, leaning one hip against the bar as you look at him. “Because it’s true.”
His gaze lifts, slowly. Deliberate. It lands on your face like he’s checking for something, not damage, not distress. Something deeper. Something older. “Didn’t look like it.”
You let out a small breath through your nose, something between a laugh and a scoff. “And you’ve always had a problem minding your own business.”
“I know how to mind my business,” he corrects, just as easily. “You just happen to be a part of it.”
There it is. That same tone he used years ago when you’d first met. Like you were a problem he’d never quite solved. Like you were something that required managing.
Your jaw tightens, but you don’t look away. “Funny,” you say lightly, “I don’t remember asking to be.”
“Didn’t have to,” he replies. It’s immediate. Certain. You tilt your head slightly, studying him the same way he’s studying you now. The hat tipped low, the beard hiding half his expression, but not enough. Never enough.
“You always do that,” you say.
“Do what?”
“Decide things for me,” you answer. “Step in like you’ve got some kind of authority.”
His mouth shifts, not quite a smile. “Someone has to.”
You let out a short laugh at that, shaking your head. “God, you’re still insufferable.”
“And you are still…” He stops. Not because he doesn’t have something to say. Because he’s choosing not to.
Your brows lift. “Am still what?”
His eyes flick back to yours, sharper now. There’s something there, something he reins in just as quickly.
“Exactly,” you cut in before he can answer, pushing off the bar. “That’s what I thought.” You reach for your card just as the bartender slides it back, slipping it into your wallet with more focus than necessary.
“Your brother would love this,” he says.
You still. It’s subtle. Barely anything. But you feel it. “Don’t,” you say, not turning around.
“Walking into a place like this,” he continues anyway, voice quieter now, closer, “acting like you’ve got everything handled, like it doesn’t scare the fuck out of you. Same as always.”
You turn your head just enough to look at him, your expression flat. “Don’t talk about him.”
“Why not? I know him better than anyone.”
That lands. You straighten, squaring your shoulders as you face him fully now.
Regret washes over his face as he sighs, “Look I didn’t mean to-”
“You don’t know me,” you state. It’s not dramatic. Not loud. His eyes drag over you then, slow, assessing, taking in the jeans, the confidence, the woman you’ve built yourself into.
“I know enough,” he says.
You scoff, but it’s quieter this time. “You think you know me,” you correct. “There’s a difference.”
A beat passes. He doesn’t argue that, doesn’t agree either. He just watches you like he’s trying to decide which version of you is standing in front of him. You hate that he still looks at you like that. Like he remembers things you’ve worked very hard to outgrow.
You slip your bag over your shoulder, done with the conversation before it can turn into something worse. It always does with him. Always has. “Try not to make a habit of jumping in,” you say, glancing at him one last time. “It’s unnecessary.”
His head tilts slightly. “It seemed like it did.”
You hold his gaze for a second longer than you should. “Goodnight, Fernando.”
You don’t wait for a reply. And you don’t look back. Even when you can feel it, that same, steady, knowing look, the one you’d thought about for years after your first meeting. The one that follows you all the way out.
The night air hits cooler than you expect, the bass from inside the bar dulling the second the door swings shut behind you. You take a few steps forward, gravel crunching under your boots as you pull your phone out, already opening your ride app. Your shoulders drop slightly, the tension from inside still sitting under your skin.
“Leaving already, darlin’?”
You close your eyes for half a second. Of course. You turn slowly, already unimpressed. “I thought we established I’m not interested.”
He’s leaning against a truck now, same smirk, just stripped of whatever charm it thought it had earlier. There’s something sharper in it this time. Bitter.
“Yeah,” he shrugs, pushing off it. “Figured you were just putting on a show in there.”
You don’t move as he gets closer. “No show. Just not interested.”
“Because of him?” he asks, jerking his chin toward the bar. “Didn’t seem like your type.”
Your jaw tightens. “You’re really not listening, are you?”
He steps closer. Too close. “C’mon,” he says, voice dropping like that’s supposed to make it better. “You don’t gotta pretend with me.”
You take a step back. “Back off.” He doesn’t.
“Come on, pretty darlin’. Make this easy for me?” He lifts his hand to cup your face, before he’s yanked back so fast his boots scrape against the gravel.
It happens quickly. Faster than your brain catches up. A hand fists the back of his shirt, dragging him away from you with enough force to throw him off balance and the first punch lands.
Solid.
You flinch at the sound of it, sharp and ugly as it echoes off the side of the building. “Fernando!” You shout as the blur of him comes into focus, but he doesn’t even look at you.
The guy stumbles, barely catching himself before Fernando’s on him again. Not clean, not practiced, just angry. Controlled enough to aim, but not enough to stop.
“Thought I told you,” he says, voice low, rough, grabbing the guy by the front of his shirt and slamming him back against the hood of a car, “you keep your hands to yourself.”
The guy swings back this time, wild, uncoordinated, but it lands.
You suck in a breath as Fernando’s head snaps slightly to the side, the impact dull but real.
“Hey!” You try, hoping it stops them, but not stepping close enough to get caught in the crosshairs.
Fernando barely reacts beyond it. Just wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, blood from his nose covering the back of it, eyes darker now. “Bad idea,” he mutters.
The next hit he throws is harder. But the guy’s not done. He shoves back, managing to get a grip on Fernando’s jacket, dragging him forward just enough to land another punch, this one catching his cheek.
You feel your stomach twist, a mix of anxiety, alcohol, and greasy bar food. They continue fighting, a blur of motion, grunts and huffs. It’s not a drawn-out fight. It’s messy. Close. More shoving than skill, more anger than technique. Gravel shifts under their boots, breath turning sharp and uneven, fists landing where they can.
Fernando takes another hit to the ribs, this one makes him grunt, not out of pain but out of annoyance. It's the one that does it. The one that causes something in him to snap. He drives forward, forcing the guy back against the truck he leaned against moments ago, harder this time, forearm pressing across his chest to pin him there.
“Next time,” he says, breath heavy, voice dropping into something that cuts straight through the chaos, “you decide you’re entitled to someone after they’ve said no-” He shoves him harder, the truck rocking slightly under the force.“-make sure you’re ready to lose more than just your pride.”
The guy goes still. Really still. Fernando holds him there for a second longer, jaw tight, chest rising and falling before finally shoving him off. It gives you a chance to look at him. His eye is already swollen, his blonde hair a mix of blood and dirt. He huffs, his body half limp. He looks up at you and nods. “I’m sorry” He tries taking a step towards you.
Fernando launches to stop him from getting close. His hand on the other man's chest, he pushes him back, voice raising. “Get out of here!”
There’s no fight left in him now. The guy stumbles back, one hand going to his face, eyes flicking between the two of you like he’s weighing his chances. He decides quickly with a nod. He turns and leaves. Fast.
Silence settles, thick and heavy. You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding, your pulse still loud in your ears. Fernando stands there for a moment, shoulders tense, head slightly bowed as he breathes through it. Then he spits to the side, rolling his shoulder like he’s trying to shake something off.
You step closer before you can stop yourself. “You’re bleeding.”
He glances at his knuckles like it’s an inconvenience more than anything, then swipes at his lip with his thumb. There’s a faint smear of red there. “I’ve had worse,” he says, picking up his hat that had gotten thrown off in the fight. He dusts it off, before placing it back on his head
“That’s not exactly comforting,” you mutter.
He huffs, quieter this time, and finally looks at you.
“Did he touch you?” he asks. The question is immediate. Low. Controlled. Like he’s trying to hide his worry.
You shake your head. “No.”
Something in his shoulders eases. Not completely, but enough for you to notice. He nods, before silence falls between you. The adrenaline starts to dip, leaving something else in its place. Something heavier. Quieter.
You cross your arms, eyeing him. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“When you gonna get it in your head, mi Corazón, I do.” He states and you swallow.
“I think you don’t know how to stay out of things that don’t concern you.” You try, more defensive than is probably needed.
“When are you going to get it through your head, You concern me.” That stops you. Completely. You blink, thrown off just enough to hate it. Before you can respond, he pushes off the car, straightening despite the obvious hit he took to his ribs.
“You calling that ride?” he asks, nodding toward your phone.
You hesitate. “I was.”
He shakes his head once. “No.”
Your brows knit. “No?”
“I’ll take you,” he says. “You’re not waiting out here alone.”
You open your mouth to argue, automatic, instinctive, but your eyes flick back to the blood on his knuckles, the forming bruise along his cheek, the way he’s holding himself just a little too stiff on one side.
You sigh. “Fine, but only if you come inside and let me patch you up” You bargain.
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah,” you shoot back, stepping closer, your voice quieter now but firmer. “And I’m a terrible surgeon.”
That almost earns something from him. Almost. You meet his eyes. He studies you for a second. Then nods.
“Alright.”
Your apartment is quiet when you step inside, the familiar stillness settling around you like something you didn’t realise you needed. You drop your bag by the door, toeing your shoes off before turning back to him. He lingers just inside, like he’s not sure if he should be there.
You don’t give him the chance to reconsider. “Sit,” you say, nodding toward the kitchen counter.
He raises a brow slightly. “That’s how you talk to all your patients?”
“Only the difficult ones.”
The corner of his mouth twists as he moves, stepping further in and leaning back against the counter instead of sitting. You watch his eyes as he takes in your apartment. It’s more of a penthouse near the hospital, with windows on 80% of the exterior walls. Across from the kitchen where you were sure a dining table was supposed to be, sat a black wood pool table with red velvet felt. It watches the rest of your dark and moody interior, almost that of an 80s rockstar. With red leather couches, black furniture, animal patterns and lamps everywhere.
It was an apartment that had taken shape naturally. Facebook Market finds, mixed with high end decor you’d paid good money for. There were items from your fathers old bar you’d taken before selling, like the dark wood jukebox, and the kitchen island chairs that were once barstools. It wasn’t what people expected when they saw you and that brought you comfort.
You move past him, grabbing what you need, antiseptic, gauze, something for the swelling. The routine settles into your hands easily, muscle memory taking over.
When you turn back, he’s watching you. Not subtly. You decide to ignore it.
“Give me your hand.” He does, without argument this time. The second your fingers wrap around his wrist, something in his posture changes. Not dramatic, most people wouldn’t notice it. But you do. Always have.
You tilt his hand slightly, inspecting the damage. “You’re going to have a lovely set of bruises tomorrow.”
“I’ll survive.”
“Mm,” you hum, reaching for the antiseptic. “Big, strong, very brave.”
He exhales something that almost sounds like a quiet laugh. You don’t look at him as you press the cotton to his knuckles. He flinches.
“Hold still.”
“It stings.”
You pause, glancing up at him flatly. “That tends to happen when you punch people.”
His mouth twitches again, but he stills his hand. You focus again, more careful this time. Slower. The silence stretches again, but it’s different now. Softer. Closer.
“You always do that,” you say after a moment, more to yourself than to him, but he catches it anyway. The almost nonexistent space between you makes it hard to hide from each other.
“Do what?”
“Jump in,” you reply. “Decide something’s your problem when it’s not.”
His gaze drops to where your hands are on his. “I felt l had too.”
You shake your head slightly, wrapping the gauze around his knuckles. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
You tighten the wrap just slightly more than necessary. He lets in a small sharp breath. “The point is,” you say, finally looking up at him, “I didn’t ask you to.” You felt like you were playing cat and mouse with him. Like you both knew there was more yet weren’t letting on.
His eyes meet yours, watching your every move and expression “You shouldn’t have too.”
There it is again. That certainty. Like he knows you better than you know yourself. It grates more now than it did earlier. “And you shouldn’t have to step in,” you say.
“I do.”
You let out a small, disbelieving breath, stepping back just enough to reach for the ice pack. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re predictable.”
That makes you look at him again. There’s no bite in it. Not like before. Just… something quieter. Something that feels less like a fight and more like a fact he’s been holding onto. You hand him the ice. “Hold that to your face.”
He takes it, but doesn’t lift it immediately. Instead he just watches you. He lifts his hat off putting it on the counter beside him. “You’ve changed,” he says.
You roll your eyes lightly, turning away to clean up. “You said that already.”
“I meant it.”
You pause. For a fraction of a second, then keep moving. “People do that. It’s called growing up.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs. There’s something in the way he says it that makes you glance back at him. His eyes are still on you.Heavy. Intent. Like he’s trying to place something. “But not all of it,” he adds.
You lean back against the counter across from him, folding your arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
His gaze flicks over you again, slower this time, less guarded. “You still hate being helped.”
You scoff. “I don’t hate it. I just don’t need it.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
You hold his gaze. Then shrug, turning to put the med kit back. Silence falls between you, it's charged like there's something to be said but is being held back. He’s the one that fails. “You let him get too close,” he says, and you immediately know he’s talking about the guy at the bar.
Your expression hardens instantly. “Don’t.”
“I’m not-” You cut him off. “You don’t get to turn this into that,” you cut in, sharper now. “I said no. That should’ve been enough.”
“It should’ve been,” he agrees, just as quickly. That stops you, because there’s no argument in it. No correction. Just agreement. You blink, thrown off for half a second. His jaw tightens slightly. “Doesn’t mean I’m gonna stand there and watch it happen.”
The room feels smaller suddenly. Quieter. You look at him for a long moment, something shifting under your ribs that you don’t quite want to name.
“You always show up,” you say, softer now. His brows pull together slightly, a silent question. you add. “At the worst possible time.”
He looks at you again, studying the way the light dances across your face. “Are you sure it’s always the wrong time?”
Your breath catches. Just slightly. And you hate that he notices, because of course he does. His hand drops from his face, ice forgotten somewhere between the two of you as he steps a fraction closer.
Not enough to crowd you. Just enough to change the space. “You think I don’t try not to?” he says.
Your throat feels tighter than it should. “Try not to what?”
His eyes don’t leave yours. “Care.”
That lands harder than anything else tonight, harder than the fight, harder than the shouting. You swallow, your voice quieter when you speak. “You have a funny way of showing it.”
“Yeah,” he breathes. “You don’t make it easy.”
You let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, shaking your head. “That’s not on me.”
“Isn’t it?”
You look at him then, and for the first time tonight, neither of you is fighting.The air feels dangerous, like the space between the two of you isn’t sharp, it’s not defensive. It’s something else entirely.
Something that’s been sitting there for years, Unsaid, Unfinished, and a lot harder to ignore when you’re standing this close. You look at him then, that boy you’d met once in your twenties, when he was a world champion and you were a med student. The boy your brother was best friends with, the one who’d been your first time, not that you ever would admit that to anyone. There was history between the two of you, from a time long ago. The kind where you’d known each other's bodies but not each other's hearts. The type that started with too many drinks and ended with you leaving before he woke the next morning. The one neither of you ever spoke about because all it was ever meant to be was one night, a secret neither of you would spill.
But it had been more, for you at least. A night you often thought back on, tried to relive, when you were in bed alone. It had gotten worse when he’d moved to your city, the place where you’d found solitude. And that first time you’d seen him again. Bushy beard, biceps bigger than your head, looking like he’d been crafted by the gods. You’d find him always on your mind when the hundreds of patients and their cases didn’t fill it. And then your brother had moved into town as well. Insisted on Sunday night dinners, saying it was something you’d both missed out on in your childhood. Something he wanted to relive.
Sunday nights spent discretely watching Fernando. His lips on his bottle as he swigged beer. The smirk, the laughter, the look in his eye when he looked at you. The way he’d call you corazón, just to grind your gears.
You look up at him, and your eyes meet. “You know I still think of it” He states and you lift an eyebrow. “That night”
You step back, away, walking to the pool table, looking out the window. “It’s been twenty years, Fernando” You state and you listen as he moves behind you.
His hand snakes onto your waist as his head moves to your shoulder, lips near your ear. You close your eyes and take in a deep breath. “That doesn’t mean I’ve stopped thinking about it.” He whispers and your body shivers.
You turn your head to face him, your lips close enough to feel his breath cascade past your own. His hand that had wrapped around your waist found its way into your shirt, reaching up, sliding up your stomach. His touch leaves a lingering warmth on your skin that tingles as it reaches higher. “Tell me you don’t think about it? That every time you look at me, you don’t think about that night”
You open your mouth to speak, but get cut off by a gasp as his hand cups your chest. “Yes” you breathe, your eyes raising from his lips to his eyes. There’s a hunger in them that screams he’s being gentle.
He smirks, his hand moving up to your neck. “I still remember the things that make you go crazy,” he says, squeezing ever so slightly. You feel the restraint, you feel how he’s holding back. You swallow letting the lump in your throat graze past his fingers.
“Fernando” you whisper, a warning without bite, your eyes still locked. There’s a hunger in his eyes.
“Tell me yes, Corazón” He begs, “tell me you want me again”
You nod, his hand still around your neck. “Yes”
He moves behind you then his freehand finding your jean button and zip. He undoes them and your hands move from bracing against the pool table to helping him pull down the denim and the cotton underwear beneath. He removes his hand from your throat as he pulls your shirt off, and pushes you down, your chest against the red velvet felt.
You hear him behind you then as he pushes down his own pants. You hear as the heavy brass buckle hits your wooden flooring and feel as that slow hum in you burns. He throws his wallet onto the table beside you, and it's quickly followed by an empty condom packet.
A second later his hand comes around to your mouth, “Spit” he instructs you. You put your tongue to the roof, and suck, your mouth almost immediately filling with spit. You spit into his hand, “good, baby” he ushers, as his hand disappears from your view.
“Okay, take a deep breath for me, Corazón” He directs, and you feel as his hand, laced with spit, comes to your hole preparing you. You take the breath and feel as he nudges against you. He thrusts and you feel him enter you.
You feel your walls stretch, a mix of pleasure and pain taking over your body. He pushes himself slowly to the hilt, till you can feel him against that place of pleasure. You feel as the friction of him glides against your walls, stimulating your nerves. You try to take a deep breath as he pulls out slowly, making the feeling intensify, when he slams into you hard.
A moan slips from your lips as a groan leaves his. “Fuck, I’ve missed you” He says punctuating each word with a thrust. It earns sounds of pleasure from you. His hand snakes back to your neck, squeezing hard enough that the mix of pleasure and shortness of breath makes your vision swim. He rocks against you, as sounds leave your mouth.
“Careful baby. Wouldn’t want the neighbours to hear now would we?” He says, and you take in a hard gasp of air. He continues moving behind you, as that almost forgotten heat coils in your stomach, a tight warmth making itself known.
You gasp his name, and it makes him go faster, harder, pulling out till just the tip and then slamming back into you. Your hands find the other side of the pool table, and you grip the wood there, trying to hold on, as he fucks you.
It’s right after the pool table slowly starts screeching from being pushed that his movements get sloppy, “Tell me how good I make you feel” he says moving his hand from your throat to the arch of your back.
You don’t hold back your voice, moans and cries, coming out of you. You start trying to push away from him as you get to the edge. “Come for me, Corazón” he tells you, his voice hoarse.
And you do, his name on your lips. Your body is overwhelmed with pleasure that makes your toes curl and your head fall forward. Fernando moves behind you a couple more times before he grips your hips hard enough to bruise before spilling into the rubber. You feel as he pulses inside you.
You milk him, pulling the last of his release out of him. It makes him moan, “Jesus, baby, I can’t.” He groans. He pulls out of you then, with a groan and flips you back around. You look down at the condom filled with his seed, your hand going to it, pulling it off and tying it. He watches you in awe, his dick pulsing at the sight.
You tilt your head, your eyes lifting to the hat still on him. “I didn’t even get to ride the cowboy” You joke, recalling the first time you’d slept with him.
It had been in 2006, in Indianapolis, the night your brother had a country themed birthday party after the Grand Prix. You’d gone home with Fernando, after teasing him about looking like a cowboy, and subsequently using a line you’d only ever seen in movies. “Save a horse, ride a cowboy”
You were both young, and maybe a bit inexperienced, but careful enough to care for each other.
“You are still that little minx you were all those years ago” he says and you push past him, to throw the used condom in the bin.
“I just know how to keep up now” you smirk walking toward your bedroom, body on display, “You coming?” You smirk slipping into the bedroom.
Over the past couple hours, since I made the update on where I've been, I've received a few messages from people wishing me the best and saying they hope I post again soon. I just want to express how loved I feel by this support. You as my readers and mutuals and oomfs are genuinely what makes me love writing and posting in the first place. I just want to say I love you all so much and I hope to start posting again soon!!
Lots and Lots of Love,
-lia
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It’s a little difficult to write this, but I wanted to just come on here and be honest with you.
For the past five years, Formula One has been one of my biggest inspirations and escapes. Every character and every story I’ve shared here means more to me than I can properly put into words. Which is why it’s been so hard to admit that, lately, I just haven’t been able to connect to it in the way I always have. Maybe its the new regulations, or the multiple long breaks, or just growing pains, but I haven't been able to connect with Formula One the way I have been able too over the past couple seasons.
The updates you’ve seen over the past while have been drafts I had saved, and I’ve now reached a point where I can’t continue posting because I've run out of drafts. Which honestly hurts more than I can admit.
I don’t think this is goodbye. I think I just need time to find my way back to these stories, because Athena, Fernando, and Lucia still mean everything to me. The words just aren’t coming right now, no matter how much I want them to. I so badly want to share their stories, but no matter how many draft I open and try to make, it feels like I physically can't.
The truth is, I am still writing, just not Formula One at the moment. Recently, I’ve found myself pulled into a new fandom and writing for Dr. Michael Robinavitch from a TV show called, The Pitt. If you’re interested in that, I’ve been sharing those works over on @scarletmaroonsecrets.
I don’t know how long this break will last. I hope it’s not for too long. But for now, I didn’t want to disappear without saying something.
Thank you for all the love you’ve given me and these stories. It means more than you know, and it always will.
⋆｡ the drivers seat \\ fernando alonso \\ Chapter thirty-seven｡⋆
✩ WORD COUNT ✩
↳ 2.4K
✩ PAIRING ✩
↳ Fernando Alonso X female!driver OC (Athena Jacobs Alvarez)
✩ STORY SYNOPSIS ✩
↳ End of Chapter
✩ MASTERLISTS ✩
↳ Asficdiary || The Driver's Seat || Fernando Alonso
✩ CHAPTER SYNOPSIS ✩
↳ A filming day with both heavy and light-hearted moments
✩ NOTES AND RECOGNITION ✩
↳ Aston Martin finished a race so I brought Merch
I might be Gen Z and chronically online, but 7 a.m. filming call times should be illegal. It’s why I walk into the paddock on Monday morning with a coffee from a local coffee shop in hand, a hoodie over my head and jeans I know I won’t spend the day in. When I first get to the location, Amaya had told me to be at 7:30, for the first set of filming, I am questioning if getting a fine is worth it. I could just climb back in my car and go to sleep.
But when I’m greeted with a chip ginger woman who greets me with a smile, I’m immediately at attention. She’s the kind of pretty that wakes you up faster than caffeine, green eyes, freckles, and something about her that screams she should’ve been cast as Merida in a live-action remake. She speaks with an accent I can’t quite place, but one that has me hanging onto every word. Merideth, the social media manager for all the official F1 accounts, is how she introduces herself, before handing me my race suit. I’m guided to the changing room, and told where to go afterwards before being left alone.
The suit is slightly smaller in places it wouldn’t be while driving, and I remember how the boys had talked about the filming suits being slightly smaller than the race suits so as to not look weird. When I exit again, I go to where she’s told me to. A handful of drivers sit in the room, Perez, Lindblad, Russell, Verstappen, Alonso and myself. We all sit in a row of chairs with our names marked in Alphabetical order.
Meredith clears her throat standing before us. “Okay, hello everyone. I’m sure by now you all know me. I apologize for the early morning. There’s a lot to get done today. So everyone will be split into 3 videos for the day. Except for Athena and Arvid, you have 4 sessions. You will be split into different rooms. One room will be filming for a video introducing all the fans to who you are. It’s just a bunch of basic and random questions to sort of grasp your personality. The next one will be for a video called Guess the Driver, where we will give you quotes, radio messages, photographs and such and you will guess the driver from who it belongs. You will then do your final recording for the day with Netflix for this season's Drive to Survive. You will be split between different rooms and rotate but we will handle that, alright?”
All the drivers agree and I feel like I’m suddenly back in school with the chorus of yeses.
“Okay, Lindblad and Jacobs, Your fourth recording is going to be with each other. Just like we did with the rookies last year we will be introducing you both together just so that fans can grasp the dynamic and such, this will be done through a series of games, questions and what have you. Okay, Drivers who’ve already changed into your suits, will you please join one of the three people here with their hands up.” She calls and Myself, Arvid, And Checo stand walking to the group of people who introduce us while Merideth gives commands to Russell, Verstappen and Alonso. We’re all directed into different rooms, and the set up shocks me.
It’s a black room with two bright lights shining towards where I assume I must stand as there's a little red cross on the floor. There’s red details on the walls where led lights shine. It’s impressive. The sound guy introduces himself and he helps me put on the mic I’ll be using.
“Okay Athena, hi again” Meredith says coming through the door. “Please stand on the tapped red cross and try to keep on it for a majority of filming.” She says sitting down beside a guy behind the camera and the sound guy. “Any questions before we start?”
“Not really, just stand on the mark and answer questions?” I ask and she nods.
“Precisely, just be yourself, show your personality whatever” I smile at her before going and standing on the spot. She writes something on the film board before snapping it in front of the camera.
“Please state your name, and what team you drive for” Meredith says and I nod.
“I’m Athena Jacobs Alvarez, and I drive for Aston Martin Aramco Formula One Team” I wink at the camera and she smiles back.
“All great drivers have their origin story, why did you decide you wanted to be a racer?” She asks.
“Grew up with a brother a couple years older than me who used to race go-karts every weekend and a dad who owned a karting track, and later on a race track. Watching F1 was a family tradition as well. Button, Alonso, Vettel, I’d say nothing interested me more than wanting to be fast, fearless, and a little reckless like them” I smile with a shrug.
She nods looking down at her notes. “Who from the F1 grid would you like to be stuck in a lift with?”
I give a forced smile, “Uh, Is none an option?” I joke. “I mean Lawson and I are friends, so probably him, but also my teammate Alonso, I’m sure we’d survive. Although not both of them at the same time, I already see enough men fighting in WWE, I do not need to see it from drivers” I joke and the camera man chuckles.
“What’s your favourite trick to winding down after a race?”
My mind immediately goes to the bubble baths I can’t resist after a tiring race. I pull my face. “I don’t want to put that image in peoples minds” I say outloud before immediately catching myself. “Oh my word, that makes it sound even worse than what my first thought was. No, I, ugh, I just,” I sigh and the crew chuckles. I drop my head before lifting it again.
“I like to listen to some music, sleep definitely. If it’s off season or I’m at home, I like working on cars. Like restoring them” I try to move on so as not to dwell on my mishap.
“You restore cars?” The camera man asks and I smile.
“Yea, I mean. I just finished restoring a 1969 dodge Charger before Christmas and then started on a 1988 BMW i333. It's part of the M30 series, but they're rare. I think they only ever produced them in south africa"
“Do you do all the mechanics yourself?” Meridith asks.
I nod, “Yea, most of it at least, Electrics and stuff I send in, rather not be electrocuted. As well as the engineering, and wheel alignment. All the stuff I don’t really have the machinery to do myself” I say smiling.
“Okay perfect next question, If you could instantly master any hobby, what would it be?”
“I mean… I’m pretty much a natural at everything.” I say pretty bluntly.
“That’s it?” The camera man asks, his eyebrows furrowed in disbelief
“That’s it.” I confirm., with a cocky smile.
The questions go on from there. Basics that don’t require a lot of thought.
What super power would you have? Teleportation.
What’s something you’ve always wanted to do but never had the chance too? Win in F1.
Biggest fear or ick? Being ordinary
Current Obsession? Bridgeton, Francesca and Micheala mentioned. Fun fact of Michealas actress being south african.
If you could adopt a loyal animal, mythical or not, what would you get? Something that can gather information for me and revert it all back without being caught.
“What is a language you would like to learn in the future?” Meredith asks and I think for a second.
“Well… South Africa has 11 official languages, and I speak a majority of them… and then some European ones. So I guess I’d say… maybe the rest of the eleven.”
"How many languages do you speak?"
"Ten always open to make it 11"
“Ten languages?” Meredith stops. “Which ones?”
“Gosh okay uh, English, Spanish, Afrikaans, South African Sign Language, I'm fluent in. IsiZulu, IsiXhosa, Italian, Dutch, German, Sesotho, I can hold my own in a basic conversation.”
“How many of those are Official languages in South Africa?”
“English, Afrikaans, SASL, Zulu, Xhosa, and Sesotho, so 5”
“How?” The audio guy says flabbergasted and I laugh. “Like I said, I'm a natural at hobbies. I’m just a very fast learner.” I laugh.
“I’m still stuck on Sign Language” The camera guy says.
“Oh yea, I use it all the time honestly. A lot of times when I’m talking my hands move around. A lot of people think it's like gestures but it’s actually just me practising”
“The more you know.” She laughs.
“The more you know” I smile.
“I guess this one follows that nicely, um, favourite family tradition?”
“I’m going to do this in the most Afrikaans way ever maar; Brandewyn, rugby, ‘n braai met baie vleis en braaibrotjies, bietjie biltong, um… peppermint tart, n lekker jol… you know just, live. Maybe a bit of Bobby Van Jarsveld or Lianie May playing in the background. Like, that was every Friday night growing up. Falling asleep on one of those plastic chairs and waking up to your dad and mom sokkieing, and your uncle building flame throwers with your brother. Let me capture that moment, put it in a bottle and let me get high off it when I’m missing home” I say and all three crew members laugh.
“I think that’s the perfect place to leave it, Athena. Thank you” Meredith says to me.
“Of course” I smiled, shaking her hand. “It’s part of the job description, rather do it happy then annoyed right?”
“If only all the drivers thought that way” She jokes before guiding me out the room.”Please sit, have something to drink, we’ll come get you for the next video in a couple minutes.” She says as she takes me back to the room everyone was in earlier.
I’m the only one there so I go over to the coffee machine and start brewing another cup when checo joins me. “Athena, Hey, I don’t think we’ve had the chance to meet.” Checo says, putting his hand out. I take it and smile.
“Checo, It’s always been a wish to meet you” I smile.
“It has?” He asks, confused. An almost worried look flickering through his eyes.
“Yea, I just mean after the redbull fiasco, I didn’t know if you’d come back, but I’m glad you did. You’re a good driver, I hope we have the chance to fight a couple times this year” I tell him and he smiles.
“Yeah, me too. I’ll be honest I don’t know much about you except that you did well last year on debut, well and some other stuff” He tells me as he grabs a muffin and unwraps it.
I study him for a second questioning what he knows. “Well, we ought to do something together sometime. I’d love to learn more about you, get some good tips of wisdom” I joke, brushing it away, and he laughs.
“Yeah, I’d love that. I assume that would be okay?”
“Yea, why wouldn’t it be?”
“I just, I thought you were friends with Lawson?” he says, the word “friends” sounding testing as he studies me.
“I am, but he doesn’t control who I’m allowed to build relationships with? We're friends.” I say slightly confused.
“Oh, okay. Sorry I must have bad information. I was under the impression you two were dating” Checo says wearily.
I almost see my brain with how far back my eyes roll. No matter what I do, this stupid rumor will follow me no matter what. “God, no. That would never happen.” I tell him, my voice slightly harsh, he gives me a smile and nods.
“Perfect well, I’ll see you around then?” He asks as he spots Max walking back into the room.
“Yea, of course” I smile and he nods. I watch him walk away before turning back to my coffee. As I watch the Cadillac logo on his back get smaller I rethink the conversation. Why did everyone think Liam and I were more than friends? Was I too harsh in my response? I liked Checo. Vi and I used to be his biggest fans when I was away from racing. Had I just blown a possible friendship with him?
I sigh, turning back to my coffee and the sugar I was stirring. I jump slightly, the coffee spilling out the cup and burning my hands, seeing Arvid standing with his arms crossed leaning against the wall by the machine. When did he get there?
“Jesus dude, You scared the shit out of me” I tell him, putting the cup down, shaking my hand, the hot liquid stinging.
He puts his hands up in defense, looking at my hands with a worried expression. I lowered it, inspecting it before shaking it again. “It’s fine, be grateful I had a cup in my hand otherwise you may just have ended up with a black eye.” I warn. grabbing a rag and cleaning where the coffee had spilt.
“You’ve always been violent” He snarks and I shake my head, my tongue brushing against my lower lip.
“I am not violent” I tell him and he nods, with a mhm, as I put my milk in my coffee. Once my coffee cup has a protective cover and I am sure not to hurt myself with it again, we go sit down at one of the tables opposite the rest of the drivers.
“I heard Fernando switched with Gabriel for filming today because of you or something” Arvid wastes no time telling me. I shake my head watching as the man we speak about enters the room and sits down next to Checo and Max.
“My dad” I tell Arvid. “Not me.”
“Why?” Arvid asks and I bite my cheek questioning how much I’m allowed to say. .
“We aren’t needed at the track till Late Wednesday, probably Thursday, so my dad has decided to take a trip down to their home town of Oviedo. It’s stupid really. I don’t really want to go, but it's the least I can do for my dad.” I tell him, as I take a sip of my coffee. I didn’t like that Fernando and I kept finding ourselves together. We were teammates, and perhaps I had been a bit delusional in thinking that’s all we’d ever be.
I had grown up with Alonso looming over me. I hadn’t met him growing up, not until I was fifteen. Even then I couldn’t remember him at all, I didn’t remember meeting him, I didn’t remember go-karting with him. Then again I didn’t remember a lot from that year. Except what had happened, and the crushing feeling I had lived with ever since. I couldn’t remember Christmas, or Birthdays, or even wins from that year. And although I had tried and therapy had brought out a few of them, everything was still a blur.
We had met fleetingly when I had joined Aston Martin. And only saw each other at events and a couple photoshoots, but we didn’t have a relationship. That was until last year, and this series. We’d agreed to become friends, but I refused to acknowledge that publicly. I refused to admit how being in his hotel room a couple nights ago hadn’t blurred lines that I wanted to put down. I refused to admit how he had already found a piece of my heart and started painting the black walls with color. I refused to admit that aside from Kayla and Sofia, I hadn’t properly smiled until him. I didn’t want to name it, to define it, because I didn’t have a place for it.
I had so much that needed to be done this year, both with my professional and personal life. Vivian and I had started talking again, and were discussing meeting up in Japan for my birthday. Liam and I had to figure out how to keep our friendship steady while racing in the same series. I needed to figure out how I would escape to New York on off weekends while still proving to the team I was needed.
It would be easy to define it as friends and move on, but there was something that felt different about it. A friend wasn’t ingrained in your family. A friend didn’t help your father through the death of his wife. A friend didn’t look at you like you were a puzzle they needed to figure out. A friend didn’t make you feel like you needed walls, much less ones that they broke down without even trying. A friend didn’t have you overthinking every interaction.
“Huh?” Arvid sounds bringing me back to reality, away from my thoughts, away from him. “But it’s testing aren’t you…” He trails off and his face turns to pity as it dawns on him. “What’s wrong with your cars?” He asks, trying to be empathetic.
“Nothing, there fine I suppose just, stuck in a logistics war. I don’t know half the Aston Equipment hasn’t arrived and neither have the cars so like, kinda crazy.” I tell him, trying to sound nonchalant, with a shrug.
“Shit man, I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do” Arivd tells me tilting his head with a half smile.
“You just focus on yourself. Figure out the car. Figure out how to drive it and get the most out of it. I want you in the points in Australia” I tell him and he smiles.
“Okay, George is having a ball with Netflix guys, we’re going to have the rest of you go in for second interviews in five” Meredith announces and I give her a thumbs up.
“Okay mom” He jokes with a wide smile and I laugh.
“She’s pretty,” Arvid says.
“Yea and probably way too old for you” I tell him and he shrugs.
“Hypocritical coming from you? Aren’t age gaps like your thing?” Arvid asks and I cringe as the room suddenly goes quiet.
“I’ve had my fair share” I whisper and he laughs before suddenly going quiet.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking but after my sister, I mean, I know you were engaged to Wright, which still confuses me, but I mean, were there any others?” He asks.
“Other what?”
“Girls?” he swallows, his voice hush, and I roll my eyes.
“A couple, why?”
“I think Amaira regrets what happened between the two of you, I just, I don’t know. I wanted to make sure that she didn’t hurt you too badly, I guess?” He says fiddling with his hands.
I put my hands in his and move so he can fully see my face. “Listen Kid, don’t ever put what happened between your sister and I on your shoulders. I’ve moved on, healed, grown. Yea, at the time it seemed like the world would end, but I’m still here. There are people who come into your life, who are meant to give you a love so precious that it’ll never last. Amaira taught me what real love can feel like, and that’s all I could have ever asked for. I know she’s moved on too, and I know what happened between us wasn’t what it should have been, but don’t ever, ever, put that on yourself. You do not deserve too, okay?” I reassure him, and he gives me a half smile, before hugging me on surprise.
“I’ve missed you in my life Athena, I know it's been years, but you were my favourite person for a long time” He says, his voice muffled against my shoulder.
I look up at the ceiling forcing the tears away. “I know Kid, I know”
He pulls away and tries acting it off, clearing his throat. “Uh, hm, yeah” He says roughly and I laugh.
“You are still the same 13 year old I taught how to play fortnite" I laugh.
“I’m much better than you now though” He says and I push him lightly.
“I very much doubt that” I say and he stands, putting his hand out.
“I challenge you”
“You challenge me?”
“There’s a Playstation in the VCARB hospitality, We can split screen. Friday after testing, If you have a car by then” He jokes and I scoff standing up.
“You are on, kid. Just make sure you have your stuffy for when I beat you”
His jaw drops. “You just made an enemy of yourself” he says playfully and I laugh.
“Alright big guy, sit down” I joke and he laughs sitting back down next to me. I smile looking out the window of the room we’re in, before my eyes connect with Fernando. There’s a look in his eyes I can’t quite explain, like he’s inquisitive yet nurturing. He gives me a small smile, and I send one back before George walks back into the room.
“What’s all this then?” He says in that unmistakable British accent.
.
✩ STORY SYNOPSIS ✩
↳ Making history in the male-dominated world of Formula One, Twenty-four year old junior series champion, Athena Jacobs Alverez signs a year long contract with Aston Martin Aramco Formula One Team after an Impressive debut the year before. As the first woman to race for a formula one team since 1992, she needs to do everything in her power to keep her seat. But in the fast paced world of F1, that's proven hard. Especially when her friendship with Teammate, Fernando Alonso, turns into something more.
Fernando Alonso is no stranger to younger teammates or romantic relationships, but when Athena Crashes into his life, he starts questioning himself and all the rules he had once set for himself. Having always been critical of his friends' relationships with younger women, he hates how the blonde in green has him wrapped around her finger. He wasn't superman so why was she his kryptonite?
What could possibly go wrong with a mutually beneficial agreement with someone you deny your feelings for? (Book Three in the asficdiary Standalone Series)
⋆｡ the drivers seat \\ fernando alonso \\ Chapter thirty-six｡⋆
✩ WORD COUNT ✩
↳ 2.4K
✩ PAIRING ✩
↳ Fernando Alonso X female!driver OC (Athena Jacobs Alvarez)
✩ STORY SYNOPSIS ✩
↳ End of Chapter
✩ MASTERLISTS ✩
↳ Asficdiary || The Driver's Seat || Fernando Alonso
✩ CHAPTER SYNOPSIS ✩
↳ Lunch at the tema principals house and plans for a getaway
✩ NOTES AND RECOGNITION ✩
↳ Genuine question not story related, What the hell is happening with Aston Martin guys??
I’m getting something to drink when I see Johnathan run a hand through his hair before stepping outside onto the slightly elevated patio. I put my empty glass down and follow him. He’s leaned against the metal railing of the classic Spanish Villa, watching his girls and…Athena.
I plant myself next to him in silence. He nods at me as he watches the girls. “This lunch isn’t all happy go lucky, Fernando” He sighs and I look at him. “We have problems, ones I should have planned for.” He sighs again and drops his head.
“Johnathan, I think you ought to cut yourself some slack. It might not be your first season in F1, but it’s your first season in this role. You are used to engines, data, and everything technical. You’ve made a huge step up, you have to remember that. No one is perfect in their first year” I say to him but my eyes track Athena, almost if my words were meant for her.
“You don’t even know the problem” he says and I shrug.
“True, but I know you. You aren’t the type to not do something to the absolute limit. It’s why I think we get along. If there is a problem you don’t know how to solve, I know you’ve tried a million and one other options before you got there” I tell him. I had worked closely with Johnathan in Ferrari, we’d left at the same time destined to different futures, but I knew how he worked.
He didn’t give up easily, and wouldn’t give up even when everyone else might have. He wasn’t one to rule with an iron thumb except he worked with transparency, if there was a problem you would know sooner rather than later, but only when he had either fixed that problem or didn’t know how to fix it.
He sighs, straightening. “I see why you own a management team” He jokes but it’s not full of life. His eyes track the three lifeforms on the grass and he opens his mouth to say something before thinking better of it and closing it again. I look at my hands then.
“Do you think I made the right choice? I mean the data and results say yes but..” He trails off and I look to see he’s watching Athena again. It dawns on me then his real question. Was Athena the right choice?
“I do. It was between her and Jack, but just like I said to Lawrence sometime ago. Athena is a team player, I can assure you. You don’t find that anymore, not in this sport, unless it’s charles and that ferrari” I joke and he chuckles. “Perhaps I’m biased, she helped me get my 33rd, but I think she’s what we need. We had a good start to 2023, but since then, our team is fundamentally broken. It’s been tense, and I know my drama with Lance added to that. But our morale is low.”
“And you think she’ll help fix it?”
“I think there's certain benefits that come from having someone like her on the team. She has energy, obviously, but she also has drive. Again, biased opinion, but Gabi moving to Stake, Audi, whatever they're called now, brought life into that team again. Sure Hulkenberg had some hand in it. But you can see it in other teams with rookies, haas, merc.... alpine is a different story. But they are a good bet PR wise, plus as much as I hate to say it, her being a woman makes it even better with PR.”
“I understand you but it’s not PR I’m worried about. You know she has the nickname reputation with the junior series teams as a fire ball. Bad results anger her, she throws her toys out of the cot if it's a bad race. I worry we’ve perhaps brought her up too quickly as a team and sponsor. F3 to F1 Academy, to F2, to now F1, in a handful of years. I worry we’ll burn her out too quickly”
I dwell on his words for a second, and perhaps yes he's right. It’s risky bringing someone up so fast, but compared to the rookies of last year, she’s not that young.
“I don’t think that’ll happen. I’ve spoken to her more than a couple times. She’s smart, annoyingly so. She’s done courses and learnt the ins and outs of F1, in strategy, engineering, mechanics, all of it. It might be her first season, but she’s done her homework. I think there’s at least a handful of drivers that right now as we stand here, she is better than.”
“You really think of her in such high regards?”
“She’s earned it in my books. Plus she makes me feel young again, takes me back to simpler times. When the whole world was ahead of me and I had nothing but potential and opportunities. Reminds me of myself before my championships”
“You think she’s championship winning material?”
“She has been in the junior series, I don't think that would change now. But, I guess we’ll have to see this year. She knows how to put on a show. I always watch the younger series, having management kids in it and all, and there’s another nickname you might know of; Freddy, for Freddy Krueger. She knows how to fight, knows how to make a return. She’ll give us good results, just like she did last year, possibly better"
He chuckles then, “Well, you don’t praise easily so I guess she must be something special”
“I could be proven wrong, but given a good car, I doubt we’ll be playing midfield” I tell him and his smile falters. My stomach twists and I connect the dots, the car is his real problem, something with it. And that makes me anxious, makes me wonder what could possibly be happening that Johanthan hasn’t told us.
But before I have a chance to ask, Athena comes to speak to us and Jonathan signs me up for a job I hadn’t applied to, but I don’t mind it. The laughter makes up for it. The smiles. The moment that had felt like yet another secret we’d keep. And by the time Santi calls us in for lunch, I feel re-energized, in a way no caffeine would ever achieve.
By the time lunch is served, I can tell the thing that was worrying Johnathan has made everyone else nervous. It pisses me off. The way top engineers look at each other and senior mechanics sigh. Although on the surface you wouldn’t suspect a thing. With Jonathan’s garden stretching out behind us, sunlight filtering through the olive trees and casting moving shadows across the long wooden table. Plates of grilled vegetables, bread, salads and roasted chicken spread down the middle. It looks more like a relaxed family lunch than a meeting between the people responsible for running a Formula One team.
Athena sits across from me, Amaya beside her, Santi beside me. And for a few minutes things feel normal. Cutlery clinks. Someone asks about preseason testing. One of the mechanics makes a joke about how none of them have slept since January.
Athena laughs easily, leaning forward to grab bread from the middle of the table.
She has a piece of grass in her hair, blending effortlessly with the shades.
I notice that, but also I notice that Jonathan doesn’t eat much. He mostly moves food around his plate. Eventually he sets his fork down.
The change in the atmosphere is immediate. Not dramatic, just… quiet. The kind of quiet that happens in the garage when we’ve had a bad race and everyone knows it could have been prevented. He folds his hands together.
“Alright,” he says. “Before this turns into an afternoon barbecue, there’s something I need to address.” A few of the engineers exchange looks. Some of them must already know. Some must suspect.
Jonathan exhales slowly. “We aren’t ready for Barcelona testing. We don’t have cars”
For a moment nobody says anything.
Then chairs shift.
“I’m going to be direct,” he says. “We have a logistics problem.”
A few engineers glance at each other. That wasn’t the rumor they were expecting.
“Our freight for testing hasn’t arrived in Barcelona.” Jonathan says and the mechanics react.
One of them leans forward. “What do you mean it hasn’t arrived?”
Jonathan exhales slowly. “As some of you know, over the winter we terminated our contract with our previous logistics provider and signed a new team. The transition has not gone the way it was supposed to.”
“That’s one way to put it,” someone mutters.
“The cars, the garage equipment, half the pit wall electronics, most of it is still sitting in transit.”
Across the table Athena frowns slightly. “So we have cars,” she says carefully. “They’re just… not here.”
Jonathan nods. “That is the short version.”
I lean back in my chair. “We had the car at launch last night.”
“That,” Jonathan replies dryly, “was the show car.”
A few people groan. The head of engineering finally speaks. “When are we expecting the freight?”
Jonathan rubs the back of his neck. “Best case scenario? Late Wednesday.”
A low wave of disbelief moves down the table.One of the mechanics laughs. “You’re telling me we brought the entire team to Barcelona with nothing to work with?”
“We have some equipment,” Jonathan says. “Just not the equipment required to run a Formula One car, or the car for that matter.”
Amaya looks at him. “So what’s the plan?”
“For tomorrow, nothing changes for the drivers,” Jonathan says. “The filming day is going ahead. That’s separate equipment and already here, that's the f1 brands problem. You and I will sit later and draft a statement” He tells Amaya. Sponsor obligations never wait.
“After that,” he continues, “unless the freight situation resolves faster than expected, most of you won’t need to be at the circuit until Thursday.”
Athena tilts her head slightly. “And until then?”
Jonathan spreads his hands. “Enjoy Barcelona?”
My eyes catch Athenas and I can see the disbelief mixed with Anger in them. Our eyes connect and she rolls hers. I give her a small smile. A secret language of disappointment and worry, between us again.
Lunch is strained after that, with everyone leaving early, trying to hide their disappointment and otherwise dampened mood. I help Deirdre in the kitchen, help tidy up, and place everything aside for the cleaners she insists are coming the next day. When she goes to get the girls settled in for the evening I walk back outside, looking at my watch wondering how much longer Amaya will be. I look at how the sky is slowly painting itself in gold.
“It’s bullshit, It really is.” Athena is speaking in Spanish and I pause in the doorway, taken off guard by the harshness of the words. “I just, I hate to think that this is how this season starts. With shit I can’t control. It feels like a cruel twist of fate, I’m so close to this dream, but am I really? Maybe it’s a sign” Santi and Athena are sitting on the patio steps. Athena’s head in her hands and Santi’s hand rubbing her back.
“Maybe, but it doesn’t have to be a bad sign, Athena. It could be that you need more time to prepare, or that you just need to breathe or get away?” Santi tries speaking sense into her.
“Even if I wanted to run away, I might still need to be here on Thursday, where would I go?”
“Home” he says to her. “Well, my home”
“Oviedo?” She says with a physical shock that confuses me. I knew Oviedo wasn’t the most exciting place in the world, but it’s still a good home, one where memories can be made. So the way she reacts as if it’s personally offended her confuses me.
“Yes” Santi says, weary.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, dad. I had to close that chapter a long time ago.” She says and my brows furrow.
“It could help Athena. I know it’s hard. But just visiting, it could be something good, with new memories.” He says and she sighs.
“I don’t know if I can stay in that house with all that history.” She tells him.
“Then we get you a room at the bnb around the corner.” He tells her and she sighs.
“We have different feelings towards Oviedo dad, but I wouldn’t want you to go home alone. So if you want me with you, we can go. I just, not that house” She says and I think it’s the best point for me to insert myself into the conversation.
“What are you guys up to?” I ask pretending to walk onto the patio and not have heard their conversation.
“Why don’t you join us, Fernando? I’m sure your parents would be thrilled for you to visit?” Santiago says standing up.
“What’s this?” I ask, faking confusion.
“Going back to Oviedo. Just until Wednesday.” Santi tells me and I give him a half smile.
“I don’t know man. Oviedo has so much history, good and bad, I’m not sure it’s smart so close to the beginning of the season.” I tell him and he groans. “But it could be nice. Maybe see if we can have dinner at home, get my mom to make her speciality paella?”
“Yes! Now we’re talking. And there’s so many friends I’d love to visit, catch up with” Santi says and Athena stands.
“I guess we’re going to Oviedo,” She says, trying to sound enthusiastic, but I can hear how she forces it. “I’ll see if I can get a booking later tonight, we’ll have to leave after all the filming tomorrow” She tells her dad and he nods.
He kisses her cheek and smiles. “Thank you sweetheart, you are the best” He says standing up announcing he needs the bathroom and then leaving the two of us alone. Something that seems to keep happening more than I thought I’d ever like.
However, for some reason, Athena didn’t make me hate it like I always had. I smile at her. “Why don’t you want to go?” I ask and she gives me a dry laugh, shaking her head.
“Nothing good ever happened in that town for me” She says and it’s where the conversation ends as Amaya calls us after her discussion with Jonathan. We grab Santi and leave.
✩ STORY SYNOPSIS ✩
↳ Making history in the male-dominated world of Formula One, Twenty-four year old junior series champion, Athena Jacobs Alverez signs a year long contract with Aston Martin Aramco Formula One Team after an Impressive debut the year before. As the first woman to race for a formula one team since 1992, she needs to do everything in her power to keep her seat. But in the fast paced world of F1, that's proven hard. Especially when her friendship with Teammate, Fernando Alonso, turns into something more.
Fernando Alonso is no stranger to younger teammates or romantic relationships, but when Athena Crashes into his life, he starts questioning himself and all the rules he had once set for himself. Having always been critical of his friends' relationships with younger women, he hates how the blonde in green has him wrapped around her finger. He wasn't superman so why was she his kryptonite?
What could possibly go wrong with a mutually beneficial agreement with someone you deny your feelings for?
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⋆｡ between the sheets \\ fernando alonso \\ chapter two: come in from the cold ｡⋆
✩WORD COUNT✩
↳ 1.7K
✩ PAIRING ✩
↳ Young!Fernando Alonso X Female OC (Lucia Martinez)
✩ STORY SYNOPSIS✩
↳ END OF CHAPTER
✩ CHAPTER SYNOPSIS ✩
↳ Fernando goes shopping and gets invited to a party
✩ NOTES AND RECOGNITION ✩
↳ I can't wait for you to learn more about these characters and see their growing dynamic!!
✩ TAGLIST AND MASTERLISTS ✩
↳ Taglist at end of story. Comment asking to join.
↳ ASFICDIARY || FERNANDO ALONSO
PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER || ALL CHAPTERS
December 19th, 2000:
I’m in my bedroom training with my music blasting when my mom pops her head into the room. I stand up, from my push-up and turn the music down to hear her. “I’m going to the shops with Aunt Lucia to get some stuff for dinner tonight, would you like to join me?” She asks with a small smile.
“I don’t know mom, I’m training.” I say and I see her smile falter. She’s quick to put it back on with a nod. “Okay love, I’ll see you later then” She tells me and leaves the room. I let out a heavy sigh, the guilt turning in my stomach.
My mom and I used to be very close, from the moment I was born until about 16 when I had gone through that “I hate my parents phase”. We were different, had practically nothing in common, but I knew she loved me, and I know she missed me. I stare at the closed door she’d just exited through and sigh. I turn and grab my deodorant, spraying enough to kill a small Victorian child and mask the smell of my sweat. I grab my sneakers and pull them on. I hear the sound of Lucia's hooter and my mom shouts that she is leaving. I grab my jacket and pull open my door.
“Wait! Mom!” I shouted running down the stairs. When I reach the lower level landing she’s standing there with the door half open, eyes wide. “I want to come with you. You guys always have lunch out. I’m hungry” I lie stepping past her. I see Aunt Lucia's Ruby Red 1998 Opel Astra that Santiago had brought for her a couple years ago in the driveway and wave at her in the front seat.
I look back at my mom, “You coming?” I ask before running down the driveway to the car. I climb into the back seat leaning over to hug Aunt Lucia with a kiss on the cheek. “Hi, Aunty”
“Hello, Fernando. Are you joining us?” She asks and I nod.
“Mom asked me too,” I smile.
“You must take it in, Nandino” She says as my mom gets in the car. “Soon you’ll be a national treasure that can’t go anywhere without being recognized” She says before we start driving.
“How’s Santi and Jo doing?” I ask and she sighs.
“They are settling in alright. Have the nursery painted and everything. Much more prepared then I was at 6 months” She laughs. “Santi was telling me if you do the F1 next year he might fly out. Says he can’t miss his favourite kids first F1 race. But with Australia being a month before the birth, I’m not sure he will. That last month can be horrors, especially with a boy. Complications and Braxton Hicks, you know all those wonderful things” She laughs and nudges my mom. “Isn’t that right? Your mom’s last month with you was hell, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her all so angry with your father before”
“That’s not entirely true, Lucia,” my mom smiles.
“You couldn’t stand the sound of his breathing, much less his smell” Lucia jokes and I smile.
“He smelt like expired fish and cleaning bleach” My mom defends.
“That only you could smell!” The two girls laugh before swopping stories about having a boy.
“Aunty, If you don’t mind me asking, why didn’t you ever have another kid? I mean Santi always spoke about wishing he had a sibling?” I ask and she thinks for a second.
“Being a single mother to one kid was looked down on enough, much less for two. And after Santi's dad, finding another man never really crossed my mind. I had your mom, and my parents and support from the people around me. And I didn’t want to put Santi through what I grew up with” She tells me and I nod.
We pull up to the small shopping center and I follow the two women from the bookstore to the hair salon to the grocery store. I linger behind, carrying the bags and pushing the trolley. We’re going past the fruit section when an old friend from school calls my name. I turn and look at where the call came from with a smile.
“Jordan” I say, giving him a half hug.
“Alonso. In the flesh. I never thought I’d see you again. Thought you were too good for us now”
“Nah, man, never” I smile.
Some girl calls his name and he looks back saying he’s coming. “Look I’ve got to go but listen, I’m having a couple friends over this evening. Games evening, bring whoever, maybe your hot sister.” He nudges me in the side. “But it would be good to catch up again. We start at 8” He tells me and I nod.
“Yea, yea, of course. I’ll see you there. Your house?”
“As always” He smiles before telling me again how good it was to see me and running away. I turn back to see my mom and aunt Lucia on their way out the fruit section. I quickly push my trolley back in their direction.
I’m back in my room reading a magazine when my parents call me down for dinner. I walk towards the kitchen, the smell of spices and aromas guiding me. When I walk into the kitchen, my eyes roll back and I groan. On the kitchen island lays a big pot of Paella Valencia, beside it two types of homemade pizza, one a three cheese and the other a meaty style with mozzarella.
“I love you” I say to my mom as she pulls plates from the cupboard.
“Well, I thought since I’m making your sister's favourite meal tomorrow when she gets home, I should make yours tonight. Plus I don’t know what the Martinez’s eat and this felt like a safe bet.” She says putting the plates down beside all the food.
“Oh, um, about that.” I start and she whips her head back with that look that even as an adult made me regret my life choices.
“You aren’t getting out of this, Fernando.” She warns and I smile.
“I’m not trying too, I just, When we were out I bumped into some school friends and they invited me to a party tonight. I was thinking I’d leave after dinner, maybe before dessert?” I say and she furrows her brows.
“I guess that’s fine,” she sighs. “Now will you please go get dressed. They will be here any minute” She says gesturing to my shorts and crewneck, with mismatched socks and sandals.
“Okayyyy” I groaned, turning back to walk upstairs.
Twenty minutes later and a shower so warm it was hard to leave, I’m trudging down the staircase trying not to trip on my baggy jeans. I’m pulling on a red zip-up hoodie, my one arm fighting the tucked in sleeve, over my plain white t-shirt. The door bell rings and I immediately hear my moms voice ring through the house softer now then when I was a kid. “Fernando!”she calls from the kitchen. “Can you get that? My hands are full!”
I roll my eyes lightly staring at the door I was about to open anyway. My eyes dart up to the clock next to the door, noting that they were ten minutes late. I take the last two steps running a hand through my slightly messy hair, hoping to look at least a bit presentable. As I open the door, I expect to see Lucia and her father, our guests for the evening, but instead there is a single soul outside our door.
I blink at her for a few seconds, taking her in. Her hair looks as though it’s been tamed into waves that frame her face, and she has the lightest dust of make-up that matches her full black outfit. A long black skirt, boots, a big black coat covering the upper half of her body. Her hands are shoved deep into the pockets, as the winter air curls around her, biting and sharp.
Her eyes look a little red. I notice it immediately, the faint shine along her lower lashes, the way the tip of her nose is flushed. For a moment I wonder if she’s been crying, but I push the thought away, as quick as it had come. It’s freezing outside. Anyone’s eyes would water in this cold.
“I thought your dad was joining,” I say, leaning lightly against the doorframe.
Lucia stiffens, just slightly. The reaction is quick enough that most people probably wouldn’t notice it. “He is,” she says almost immediately. The words come out sharp, defensive. She shifts her weight on the step, looking past me for a second before adding, a little more evenly, “He’s working late. I didn’t want to keep your mom waiting. She’s being kind after all.”
I nod, stepping back and holding the door open wider. “Don’t worry, my mom has me in the house, food won’t go to waste here” I joke, flexing my arms. “Growing man and all that” I add.
She doesn’t react, instead Lucia hesitates only a moment before stepping inside. “My dad will be late,” she adds quickly, pulling off her gloves. “But he’s still coming.” I glance at her.
“He promised me.” she whispers, but there’s something in the way she says it, too firm, like she’s trying to convince herself more than me.
“Well,” I say lightly, gesturing toward the kitchen where the sounds of pots and my mother’s voice drift down the hallway, “my mom’s going to be thrilled you’re here. She’s been pacing around the kitchen for an hour waiting.”
Lucia exhales through her nose, something close to a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.“Lucky me.”
I grin slightly. “Come on, then. Before she decides I scared you off.”
She follows me down the hallway, though as we walk I catch her glancing briefly toward the front door behind us. As if she’s expecting someone else to walk in any second.
✩ STORY SYNOPSIS✩
↳ Trying to run from her past Lucia Martinez moves with her father to Oviedo after he lands a job at a local mine, in the year 2000. While trying to prepare for her final year of high school and dealing with the grief of her past she meets a local boy who's chasing a dream of Formula One. Lucia swore she'd never let anyone get close again, but the boy with the upside-down smile, and geeky knowledge, finds a place for himself in her heart.
Fernando Alonso has one goal after finishing High School, Prove himself in Formula One. A full season promised with Minardi has him doing everything to prepare, but when he meets Lucia by chance during December, things change. He's immediately infatuated with the dark haired, girl who carries an air of sadness to her. Swearing not to let himself get caught up in something on the brink of his career, he fights his feelings for her.
First Loves are sweet, until their not, until forces you can't control tear you apart. They promised they wouldn't turn out like that, but when it's time to go, it's time to go. What could possibly go wrong falling in love so young?
✩ NOTES AND RECOGNITION ✩
↳ So Lucia's character may very much be based off Fine-Line by harry styles. I am just beginning to realise this.
⋆｡ the drivers seat \\ fernando alonso \\ Chapter thirty-five｡⋆
✩ WORD COUNT ✩
↳ 3k words
✩ PAIRING ✩
↳ Fernando Alonso X female!driver OC (Athena Jacobs Alvarez)
✩ STORY SYNOPSIS ✩
↳ End of Chapter
✩ MASTERLISTS ✩
↳ Asficdiary || The Driver's Seat || Fernando Alonso
✩ CHAPTER SYNOPSIS ✩
↳ the "RBJnrs + Athena" Group chat and meeting the bosses kids
✩ NOTES AND RECOGNITION ✩
↳ If you haven't seen my latest update, lifes hit me with a very byumpy road so i appologize for the SUPER Late chapter, but I have gotten a couple chapters of drivers seat done for the next couple weeks so hopefully you'll still get updates. (Also for the photos in this chapter just like assume who you think is who)
I don’t remember walking to my hotel room, much less getting into bed, but I remember him, the way he woke me up. His hand on my cheek, that look in his eye. I had told him more than I had ever planned too, but I was starting to come to terms with the fact he was going to be a part of my life whether I liked it or not. And of all the people in this industry Fernando was probably one of the best to have in your corner.
My phone buzzed and I groaned, stretching and pulling it off charge. Something hard and sharp pokes into my lower stomach and I shift, pulling the Carabiner off my jeans. I chuck it on the side table as I swipe past the wallpaper of Kayla and I this off season blowing kisses at Sofia.
I opened whatsapp to a notification of being added to a group chat called “RBJnrs + Athena” seeing Arvid was the one to have added me.
Liam: How do you have her number, @/arvidlindblad
Arvid: F2 groupchat from last year?
Isack: Are yall dumb? Welcome Athena
Liam: Oh right! Welcome!!
Arvid: Welcome Athena
Arvid: Who has the photo from last night?
Isack: I do
Liam: Send please, We need a new chat photo now
Isack:
Liam: Why is the quality so shit?
Isack: My cameras a crack in it
Liam: Why don’t you fix it
Isack: Why should I?
Nikola: Why wasn’t I invited?
Liam: Oh shit, I forgot you existed
Isack: LIAM!
Arvid: Dude, you can’t say that.
Nikola: I know I’m new to the crew but still, damn.
Arvid: We thought it was past your bedtime.
Nikola: I AM LITERALLY OLDER THAN YOU.
Nikola: Also Hi Athena.
Nikola: Welcome
Isack: I will make sure Liam invites you next time Nikola
Nikola: Thx
Liam:
Arvid: What is that photo??
Arvid: I’m dead.
Arvid: I need this as a sticker.
Nikola: Oh Piss off Arvid
Arvid: BIG BOMBACLATT
I chuckle looking through the messages and Smile.
Athena: Well, good morning...I guess.
Liam: Athena!!
Arvid: Athena!!
Nikola: Hi Athena
Isack: You guys are like kids when they see their mom, Hello Athena.
Athena: Hi lol.
Athena: Isack will you please send me that photo you took on request last night?
Isack: Coming right up
Isack:
Isack: Sorry It’s blurry
Athena: No worries, It’s perfect.
Liam: @ Athena, any chance I can get you to join me for brunch?
Athena: Sorry Kiwi, I got lunch at the principal's house.
Liam: Sadness. I’ll see you on Monday
Athena: Hopefully
Arvid: Hopefully? What does hopefully mean?
I shift in the bed, onto my back and groan with a stretch, my back clicking. My phone buzzes and I see a private message chat from Liam.
Liam: Hey, what happened last night?
Athena: What do you mean?
Liam: I mean, you messaged me that you were home and an hour later your dad messaged looking for you.
Athena: What did you tell him?
Liam: I told him you were with me. Your location said you were at the hotel.
Liam: Are you seeing someone inside the team? D
Athena: No, Liam, I am not seeing anyone. Not that it’s any of your business. I just had a night cap at the bar.
Liam: Ok.
Liam: Do you seriously have brunch at the TP today?
Athena: Yea, said last night he wants to have a talk with us. Myself, Dad, Fernando, and I think Amaya is going to be there. Said some other team members were probably going to be there too. I'm Gonna meet his kids.
Liam: Let me know how it goes afterwards and if you wanna do something.
Athena: Yea, I will.
The hotel room door opens and my dad in workout gear jogs on the spot looking at his watch. I was my fathers daughter. Yes, I had taken my mom’s looks, just with slightly darker skin. But otherwise my dad and I were quite similar.
But looking at the stark difference between us now, you wouldn’t think that. My eyeliner had smudged and my hair looked ratty, and I was still wearing my clothes from last night, whereas he was as chipper as a bird, with sweat dripping down him, and a cheerful smile on his face.
“Come on kiddo, we have an hour before we need to be at Johnathan and it's a fifteen minute drive. Come, up and at em. I’m going to shower, when I get out you better be prepared to go next.” He says grabbing stuff out of his suitcase and walking into the bathroom.
I force myself out of bed then, stretching and walking towards the cupboard I had put my stuff in. I pull out a white tank and blue jeans, before opening my bag of endless accessories, I decide on a tie and green cap. My dad leaves the bathroom a handful of minutes later and I’m in and out of the shower.
I use the tie as a makeshift belt and run my straightener through my hair a couple times to fight the humidity. Before just throwing the cap backwards over it. I put mascara on before reaching for my eye liner.
“Athena, We’re going to meet the Alonso’s come on” My father says knocking on the bathroom door. I throw the mascara back in the bag opening the door.
“The Alonso’s?” I ask grabbing sneakers and pulling them on over my pride flag socks.
“We’re driving as a group. I offered Fernando last night when you went to get drinks.” He tells me and I nod.
“Alright, let’s go then.” I say grabbing, my locket and a shorter chained necklace with star charms. Putting them on as I walk out the hotel room. My dad’s more casual with chino shorts and a black T-shirt he’s probably had for years.
We walk down to the Hotel Lobby and when Amaya sees me she smiles. “Athena! Over here” She’s wearing a white dress that stops just above her knees with a small Denim Vest over it. I walk towards her with a smile, but from the corner of my eye I see his eyes run over my outfit, stopping on my locket.
He’s wearing a black pair of shorts and a white t-shirt with the Adidas logo on it, on brand for him. His eyes linger on the locket for a moment before he looks back up at me, that familiar half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Good Morning Athena, you look well-rested,” he says, and I roll my eyes knowing he’s the reason it’s actually the opposite.
I scoff softly. “You too, Alonso.”
Amaya laughs beside me, looping her arm through mine. “Ignore him. You look cute.”
“Thank you,” I say, nudging her shoulder.
Fernando tilts his head slightly, studying me the way he does when he’s trying to read between lines that no one else even notices are there.
“Sleep well?” he asks both of us.
My dad looks between us then gives me an unimpressed look. “As good as one can when his daughter is out gallivanting till all hours of the morning”
I feel heat creep up my neck. Fernando’s expression doesn’t change much, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “At least I came home in one piece?” I try.
“Barely,” my dad mutters.
Amaya, who's been looking at her phone, smiles and squeezes my arm. “Well, now that everyone is caught up on the events of the evening, we should go, our cars here. Doubt Johnathan will be impressed if we’re late to lunch”
We all agree and my dad asks Amaya a question as we start walking toward the doors together, the early morning sun spilling through the glass and warming the marble floor. My dad and Amaya drift ahead, already talking about something logistics related.
Fernando slows slightly beside me.
“Sorry for keeping you out so late. Didn’t mean to get you in trouble ,” he says quietly.
I glance at him. “Trouble?”
He nods towards my dad a couple strides ahead of us still in deep conversation with Amaya.
“Oh.” My fingers instinctively curl around my locket. “Yeah, it’s nothing. He knows I can handle myself. I’m a grown-up”
For a second he doesn’t say anything, just watches the movement.
“I’m beginning to realize this,” he says eventually.
I don’t fight a small smile from finding rest on my face.
The heat hits properly once we step outside. Barcelona in the late morning is already loud, with scooters buzzing past, someone dragging chairs across a café patio, the smell of coffee and something sweet drifting from a bakery down the street.
Amaya heads straight for the car parked at the curb.
“Karin is already messaging me,” she groans, holding up her phone. “One would think being chief of staff would teach her not to be so dramatic.”
“Five minutes early is five minutes late in her books,” I mutter.
My dad chuckles as he opens the passenger door. “You should have seen when she was my assistant.”
Fernando hangs back a moment, letting the others get in first. It leaves the two of us standing by the car for half a second longer than necessary.
His eyes flick briefly to my face. “You look less tired than you should.”
“Talking to you doesn’t drain as much battery as you’d think. Plus there is an nespresso in our room, and I have been testing all flavors this morning .”
One corner of his mouth lifts.
“One way to deflect that first sentence.” He chuckles. I start to climb into the back seat when he says quietly,“You’re okay?”
The question isn’t casual. It lands heavier than the words suggest.
I glance at him. For a second I see the same look from earlier that morning, the one from when he woke me up. Careful. Observing. The one that says there’s more between us then there was a week ago and there’s something both terrifying and comforting about that.
I shrug lightly. “Yeah.”
A beat passes.
He nods once, like he expected that answer but asked anyway.
“Good.”
We both get into the car then, Amaya immediately launching into a story about her ideas for the team's socials for the year that has my dad laughing within thirty seconds.
Fernando drives, one hand loose on the wheel. Every now and then I catch his eyes in the rearview mirror. Not staring. Just checking. Like he’s making sure I’m still there.
My dad beside him and Amaya beside me. It was weird, even in a car with other people, it felt like we were in our own bubble, like we were sharing a secret we couldn’t keep.
But that bubble disappears when we get to our destination. Jonathan’s house sits just outside the city, tucked behind a tall hedge and a wrought iron gate that opens onto a long gravel drive. It feels less like a team principal’s home and more like the sort of place where someone hides from the world on purpose.
The garden out back is enormous.
Olive trees throw patches of shade across the grass, and somewhere nearby someone has lit a grill. The air smells like citrus and charcoal.
By the time we arrive, a handful of people are already there. Engineers mostly, faces I recognize from the garage even if I don’t know all their names. The head of engineering is standing near the patio with a glass of sparkling water, deep in conversation with another senior mechanic.
Everyone is immediately pulled in different directions, and after a brief talk with Johanthans wife, Deirdre, I found my way outside, to a swing set where two blonde little girls were fighting.
“It’s my turn” The taller one is saying to the much younger one.
“My Turn!” The younger one, who can’t be more than two screams, in that incoherent babbling all toddlers have.
I find myself walking towards the girls and when they spot me I smile, with a small wave of my hand.
“You’re Athena right? Mom and Dad talk about you all the time," the older one says.
I nod bending down to their height. “I am and you must be Maria?” I ask and she nods.
"Ria"
“Melissa! My name's Melissa” The younger one says and I smile.
“Well, It’s wonderful to meet you girls. I’ve heard so much about you. Although I have to ask, I’m curious, why are you two fighting?”
“Please don’t tell our parents. We promised we’d behave. They said they really needed us too” Maria tells me and I put my hand to my lips and seal them, before locking and throwing away the key.
“Not a word” I promise and she sighs.
“We only have one swing and Melissa wasn’t giving me a chance”
“I was!”
“Okay, Okay. Well, you can’t both swing so why don’t you find something you can do together?”
They look at each other and nod.
“Play with us?” Melissa asks and I smile nodding.
“Of course!” I say and the two girls decide tag is the best game to play. So I start running around with them. We run around the yard trying to tag eachother. We're probably about fifteen minutes in when I’m running and trip laughing. The two girls come sit down beside me.
“You are really fast” Maria tells me and I laugh.
“Not as fast as you two” I disagree and they laugh.
“Do you have kids?” Maria asks and I shake my head.
“No I do not, but, I have the coolest niece ever. She’s almost six” I tell them.
“I’m five” Ria says. “We could be friends!”
“You could very well be. If I can, I will definitely introduce the two of you”
“And me?” Melissa asks and I chuckle.
“Yes, and you as well” She gives me a satisfied smile standing. She touches my arm and giggles.
“Tag” she laughs, running away. I turn to Rea and she screams running away from me. I’m back on my feet, pulling my hat back on, beforeb chasing them.
I'm running after Melissa when I see Johnathan and Fernando standing on the patio watching us. I walk over to them looking up.
“Your daughters are my new favourite team members” I tell Johnathan and he laughs.
“Thank you for playing with them” He says and I shrug.
“I’m aunty Tina for a reason”
“Tina?”
“My niece can’t say the ‘th’ in Athena, so I’ve always been Aunty Tina”
“That’s sweet” He tells me and I smile.
“You should join us” I tell him and he laughs, straightening.
“I have visitors to entertain, but Fernando here” He puts his hand on Fernando’s shoulders. “Would be more than happy to join”
“Oh no, I’m not-”
“What happened to feeling young again?” Jonathan says and my eyes narrow trying to piece together whatever conversation they were having.
“Alright, Why not?” He says and turns to walk down the steps.
“Maria! Melissa! Come here quickly. Time out” I call the girls and they follow. “Someone is joining our game. This is Fernando.” I introduce him and they both wave. “Can he play?” I ask the girls and they nod enthusiastically. “Good, because tag-” I touch Fernandos arm. “-you’re it”. I immediately start running and the girls follow. Fernando curses in Spanish before running after Maria.
We play for a few more rounds with me getting touched a couple more times, each passing it back to the girls, when Megan catches me the final time the closest person to me is Fernando and I run after him. I touch his shoulder before doing a 180 and running in the opposite direction. He follows shouting at me, but the backyard is big and I dart between trees before running across the yard.
He’s hot on my tail and when he gets close enough, his arms find my waist and he picks me up. I let out a yelp before giggling, as he spins me and my legs kick. He puts me on the ground and I’m laughing so hard my stomach pains.
“Got you” He whispers and I look back at him with a smile on my face, before I step forward, turning back to look at him.
“You got me” I say with a smile, our eyes connected.
I fall dramatically then and he’s taken off guard, his body movements identical to a human screenshot. I dramatically act as though I’m dying. “No! My time has come! I’ve been tagged!” The girls giggles as they walk closer.
“No! Don’t die!” Maria giggles and I reach my hand out to her before falling back onto the ground dramatically.
The girls giggle more before I whip my hair back out of my face and sit up slightly. “Thank you for playing with me girls” I tell them and they smile.
“Thank you, Athena” They say that same ‘tina’ tinge to their pronunciation. They turn to each other then decide to go play barbies inside before running away.
Fernando puts his hand out and I take it, using it to stand. “Thank you as well, Alonso, for joining us” I adjust my hat yet again
“Of course”
“Although, I have to admit I wonder what you and Jonathan were saying about me before I interrupted.”
“How did you know it was about you”
“A-ha, I was right” I say and he rolls his eyes and smile on his face.
“He was asking If I think he made the right choice signing you” Fernando Admits.
“And?”
“I told him he did. We might not be driving in the season yet but I think you are going to be good for the team. Make us feel younger, more energetic” He tells me. “And even though we have new regulations, I’m sure you will give us as good, if not better performances then the ones we’ve already seen”
“Talking very highly of me then?” I ask and he softens ever so slightly.
“Always” He winks and I smile.
“Athena! Fernando! Food!” My dad calls out from the patio and we both call back that we’re coming before looking back at each other.
Fernando steps back and bows. “Ladies first”
I chuckle, with a pirouette, and walk ahead of him.
✩ STORY SYNOPSIS ✩
↳ Making history in the male-dominated world of Formula One, Twenty-four year old junior series champion, Athena Jacobs Alverez signs a year long contract with Aston Martin Aramco Formula One Team after an Impressive debut the year before. As the first woman to race for a formula one team since 1992, she needs to do everything in her power to keep her seat. But in the fast paced world of F1, that's proven hard. Especially when her friendship with Teammate, Fernando Alonso, turns into something more.
Fernando Alonso is no stranger to younger teammates or romantic relationships, but when Athena Crashes into his life, he starts questioning himself and all the rules he had once set for himself. Having always been critical of his friends' relationships with younger women, he hates how the blonde in green has him wrapped around her finger. He wasn't superman so why was she his kryptonite?
What could possibly go wrong with a mutually beneficial agreement with someone you deny your feelings for?
