#f2 imagines

For as long as you could remember, you had noticed that love wasn’t always the kindest towards you. From one-sided crushes to having your heart crushed entirely by your ex, you honestly don't understand why the universe could be so cruel. That was until you met Paul.

As one of the social media managers for the Formula 2 grid, you handled posts and updates throughout race weekends. Being around the same age as most of the younger drivers, you got along with them pretty easily.

But none of them caught your attention quite like Paul Aron.

You’ve always noticed Paul. It’s hard not to, really. He’s the kind of person who effortlessly draws attention with his charm, his smile, and the way he carries himself—like he’s not just a talented racer, but someone who genuinely enjoys life, which made him one of the highlights of your first season on the grid as well.

His presence lights up a room, and though you’ve crossed paths a few times during FIA events or networking opportunities, you’ve never had the chance to talk to him. But every time you see him, something about him draws you in, leaving you with a flutter in your chest that you can’t quite explain.

It happens again one evening, at a Porsche networking event. You’re standing near the refreshment table, trying to stay calm as you check your phone, making sure everything’s ok for your blog post the next day. Then you hear a voice, smooth and warm, cutting through the chatter.

“Is the Wi-Fi in this place always this spotty, or is it just tonight?” Paul says, his tone light and friendly.

You glance up, slightly startled. His smile catches you off guard, as if he’s genuinely amused by the moment, not just making small talk. He’s standing a few feet away, holding a drink in one hand, his other hand casually resting on the edge of the table.

You laugh softly, trying to steady your nerves. “Honestly, it might just be this place. I’ve had worse reception at airports.”

He chuckles, a sound that’s easygoing and somehow puts you at ease. “I swear, Wi-Fi is the real race here. Always competing with my connection.”

You can’t help but smile at the way he talks, as though you’re both sharing a private joke. The conversation stays light, but it’s easy. There’s no awkwardness. He listens as much as he speaks, and you feel like, for a few moments, the world narrows down to just the two of you. But then, just as quickly as the moment began, it’s over. 

Paul nods, excusing himself to chat with someone else, leaving you standing there, feeling a strange mix of giddy and disappointed.

Over the next few days, you find yourself replaying that brief encounter in your mind, analyzing every word, every glance. Each time you pass him at the track or at another event, you catch yourself lingering, watching him from the corner of your eye, fascinated by the way he interacts with everyone around him.

He’s effortlessly kind, almost too charismatic for his own good, and you can’t help but be drawn to him even more, though you keep your feelings to yourself.

It’s all so easy for him, and you can’t shake the thought that he’s the kind of person who could make anyone feel special. Even if he doesn’t notice you, you find yourself quietly admiring him from afar.

One evening, you’re idly scrolling through social media, distracted by the usual updates and posts, when something catches your eye. It’s a tag in one of Paul’s photos, leading you to a girl’s account. You hesitate for a moment, but curiosity wins out, and you click on it.

You had seen this girl around and recognized her as the new Hi-Tech GP social media intern.

At first, it’s easy to tell yourself that you’re just browsing. After all, it’s just another account, right? But soon, you find yourself diving deeper—scrolling through the posts, the captions, the shared moments between them.

Each photo feels like a glimpse into a world you’ll never be a part of: the vacations, the inside jokes, the smiles exchanged in private moments.

At first, you brushed it off as nothing more than a friendship, but the more you saw, the more it seemed like there was something more. It’s all perfectly curated, as if everything about their relationship is designed to be seen, to be admired.

Before you even knew it, you find it. A highlight that’s pinned at the top of her profile—a video of Paul looking at her with such tenderness in his eyes.

The way he smiles, so genuine, so in love, sends a sharp pang through your chest. You swallow hard, the weight of the moment settling in. He’s taken. And there’s nothing you can do about it.

As you sat there, staring at more photos of them smiling, traveling, and sharing intimate moments (there were even photos of her with his family and you almost felt like throwing up), the weight of it settled on you.

It hit you all at once—the reality that Paul wasn’t just out of reach, but he was with someone else. And in that moment, the pain was sharper than you expected. You’d been holding onto a hope that was never yours to have, and suddenly you’re reminded of why you never pursued a connection, until now.

Another rush of emotions hit you like a bus—jealousy, sadness, and a crushing sense of inadequacy. You couldn’t help but compare yourself to the girl in the photos, wondering if you were ever enough or if you’d ever measure up to what Paul seemed to have with someone else.

It seemed impossible, especially when you were just a regular girl, whilst Paul’s girlfriend looked like she modeled during the off-season.

It didn’t make sense, you knew that. After all, you had no claim over him. But the feelings didn’t care about logic. The more you thought about it, the more it hurt—you couldn’t shake the sting of seeing them together, knowing you weren’t ever meant to be part of his story.

It felt like a cruel reminder that no matter how much you’d hoped, love was always just out of reach. The realization hits you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you can’t bring yourself to look away.

It is now the present and you feel better, but you haven’t fully healed from the trauma just yet. You were so determined to distract yourself from the pain that you had thrown yourself into work and your blog that you had created as an escape from the world.

The rhythm of curating content helps clear your mind, and you even rediscover hobbies you had set aside for too long in the midst of it all. You hadn't given up on love entirely but forced yourself to keep your mind occupied so that the pain would be the least of your worries.

Whenever the emotions and stress of work start to overwhelm you, you lean on your friends, finding comfort in their support and understanding. It’s not a perfect fix, but it helps you push forward, one step at a time.

Ever since you decided to swamp yourself with work, you started to find new friendships with the other rookies and drivers on the grid.

Pepe Martí is someone you’ve seen around before, but you’ve never really interacted with much. You were always mostly with Paul or Ollie, sometimes Isack, Pepe’s teammate, but you barely crossed each other’s paths unless it came to media or updates regarding the F2 socials.

Unexpectedly, as you start to bump into him more often, you start noticing his presence just a bit more. At first, it’s casual—a quick hello in passing, a smile shared before he goes on his way. But soon, it feels like more.

You start to notice how often your paths cross, as if the universe is aligning in subtle ways, but you digress, since you were way too focused on yourself and work to even think about anything else.

Soon enough, you find yourself hanging around the Campos Racing garage during the next few races. What catches you off guard is how warm and attentive Pepe is whenever you’re there to have a casual chat or just to relax before they get on track.

In every conversation, whether it’s about racing or something completely unrelated, he listens with genuine interest.

There’s no rush, no forced small talk. It’s as if he cares about what you’re saying, and that’s something you didn’t realize you’d been missing.

You first notice it one afternoon when you’re at the F2 paddock, buried in your phone and laptop as you work on a new blog post. A familiar voice interrupts your focus.

“Hey,” Pepe says, leaning against the fence next to you with a casual smile. His presence is relaxed but unwavering, as if he’s just always there. “I saw your latest post about the Monaco Grand Prix. That was pretty solid. You have a real way with words.”

You glance up, a little surprised by the compliment, but you return his smile. “Thanks,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’ve been diving into the details a bit more lately.”

You weren't used to compliments on things like your blog, but when someone notices how much work you put in, you can’t help but feel bashful.

Pepe nods, clearly interested. “I can tell. I didn’t realize you knew so much about the strategy behind it all.”

“F1 is a lot more than just the race itself,” you explain, feeling a spark of excitement. “It’s the stories, the tactics, the behind-the-scenes stuff that gets missed.”

He seems genuinely engaged. “You should do a piece on how the strategy changes with the weather conditions next time. It’d be interesting to see your take on it.”

You blink in surprise, almost speechless. “That’s a great idea, actually,” you admit, a little flustered.

Pepe grins. “Glad you think so. I’ll be reading it when it’s up.” He straightens up, giving you a wink before walking away, leaving you both flattered and puzzled by his sudden interest.

‘Lock in, Y/n. God, now is not the time to be flustered because of a guy,’ you try to shake off the feeling but can’t help but feel a newfound sense of appreciation towards Pepe.

Over the next few days, you notice Pepe around more. It starts with small things—asking for your opinion on the latest race results, asking if you’re going to any of the after-race events, or simply offering a casual “Hey, how’s the blog going?” when he sees you walking between the pits.

Each time, his words are light but thoughtful, as though he’s genuinely interested, not just making small talk. There’s no rush to any of his actions, no pressure—just a quiet confidence that feels both comforting and intriguing.

One evening, after a long day of racing, you find him sitting in the garage and staring out at the grandstand as he is looking up at the sunset. You walk over, hesitant but curious.

“Mind if I join?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He looks up, his smile warm and easy. “Not at all. The view’s better with company, anyway.”

You sit down next to him, and for a few moments, there’s just the hum of the distant engines and the warmth of the setting sun. Then, quietly, Pepe turns toward you.

“I like how you see things,” he says, his voice sincere. “The way you talk about the races, the details... it’s like you bring a whole new perspective to it. Not many people see it the way you do.” You look at him, surprised by his words.

“I’m just... trying to share the side of it people don’t always notice. You know, the stuff that’s hidden.” Pepe nods slowly, as if processing your words. “Yeah, I get that. You have a way of making the unseen things feel important.”

For a moment, you both sit in comfortable silence, the connection between you growing deeper with each passing second. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t rush. He’s just there, a steady presence, showing up when you least expect it.

And slowly, it starts to feel like maybe this quiet, consistent attention is something more than just friendly banter.

It wasn’t noticeable at first—mostly small gestures that you brush off as coincidence.

One morning, after a particularly tough day at the track, you’re buried in your laptop, trying to finish up a blog post, when you hear footsteps behind you.

You look up to find Pepe standing there, holding out a Red Bull can in your direction with a small smile.

“Figured you could use this,” he says, his voice casual but thoughtful. “You looked like you could use a pick-me-up.”

You blink, surprised by the gesture. Energy drinks weren’t exactly your choice of drink when it came to caffeine, but you were grateful for the drink. “Thanks, I really appreciate it.”

Pepe shrugs, a playful glint in his eyes. “No problem. I’ve been there—long days, late nights. Thought a Red Bull might help since I don’t really like coffee.”

You accept the drink and open it, feeling a warmth spread through you—not from the Red Bull, but from the kindness in his eyes.

It’s not the first time he’s done something like this. The more you think about it, the more you realize that, over the past few weeks, he’s been going out of his way to make sure you feel seen—whether it’s checking in on how your day’s going or making sure you’re okay during hectic moments.

As the days pass, he starts sharing stories about his own struggles in racing—how he’s dealt with pressure, the challenges of balancing his personal life with his career (not to mention the shitty luck he’d been having lately).

His openness catches you off guard, and you find yourself listening intently, feeling a connection you didn’t expect.

“You’d be surprised how much racing can mess with your head sometimes,” he says one afternoon, leaning against a wall as he talks. “But you have to push through, even when everything feels off.”

His words linger with you long after the conversation ends. And for the first time, you see him in a new light—not just as someone who’s kind and attentive, but as someone who truly understands the ups and downs of life, someone who knows how to make you feel special without even trying.

Despite Pepe’s kindness lately, you hesitate. Every time he goes out of his way to make you feel special, you can’t help but feel a flutter in your chest, but something pulls you back.

Your mind still lingers on Paul—the way he smiled at her, the way his presence felt so magnetic, even from a distance. It’s like an anchor you can’t shake, a feeling you’re not ready to let go of.

One night, unable to sleep, you find yourself texting your closest friend, Marina. You vent about everything—how much you’re drawn to Pepe’s attention, but how you feel stuck on Paul, unable to move past the crush that was never meant to be.

Your Marina’s reply comes almost immediately. "You’re holding onto something that wasn’t yours to begin with. Paul is in a relationship, and no matter how much you wish it were different, you deserve more than just hoping for a chance."

The words hit harder than you expect, and you feel the truth in them—like a weight lifting off your chest. You pause, staring at the screen, then take a deep breath. "I know," you text back. "I’m just scared to let go."

Your friend’s response is simple but reassuring: "Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting. It just means making space for something that’s actually real."

You close your eyes for a moment, letting those words sink in. And for the first time, you feel the weight of holding onto Paul begin to lift, replaced by a quiet sense of clarity. Maybe you’re ready to move forward.

It’s late one evening, and you find yourself talking to Pepe again, this time in the quiet of a nearly empty garage after a long day of media and racing.

The conversation starts off light, but as the hours pass, something shifts. You’re sitting across from him, both of you exhausted but not ready to call it a night.

Without warning, Pepe looks at you, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something more earnest.

“You know,” he says, his voice softer than usual, “I really admire how you handle everything. I’ve seen the way you juggle work, racing, everything. You’ve got this strength about you that’s... rare. It’s not just about how you push through tough times, but the way you stay true to yourself, even when everything feels impossible.”

You blink, caught off guard by the sincerity in his words. “I... don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he replies, his gaze steady. “I just think you’re incredible. And I don’t think enough people tell you that.”

His words catch you off guard, and something inside you stirs—a warmth, a flutter of something new. The walls you’ve carefully built around yourself begin to crack, just a little.

It’s not just the compliment itself, but the way he says it—without any expectation, no hidden motive. Just pure, honest admiration.

You look at him, really look at him, and for the first time, you begin to see him in a new light. He’s not just kind and attentive—he’s genuine, and that genuineness makes everything about him feel different, something you didn’t expect.

You sit in silence for a moment, letting his words settle in. The weight of the day, the pressure of expectations, and the uncertainty that’s been following you around seem to melt away, if only for a brief second.

You didn’t realize how much you needed to hear that—to be seen, really seen, for who you are and not just what you do.

Pepe shifts a little, his gaze still warm and steady. “I know and understand that it’s not easy. I’ve seen how much effort you put into everything you do. But don’t forget that you deserve to have someone see you for the amazing person you are, not just for what you’re capable of.”

You swallow, blinking away the unexpected emotion. The vulnerability in his words makes your heart ache, but in a way that feels freeing, like a weight lifting off your shoulders. “I... don’t know if I believe that,” you admit, your voice softer than you expected.

“You will,” he says with a smile that makes your chest flutter. “Because you’re worth it. You’ve always been worth it.”

The sincerity in his eyes, the quiet but powerful way he expresses his admiration—it breaks through the last of the walls you’ve built up around yourself.

In that moment, you realize how much he’s not just seen you, but understood you. And maybe, just maybe, it’s time to start seeing him, too, not as someone in the background of your thoughts, but as someone who could be a part of your future.

Suddenly, you realize that this connection with him could be more than just a passing feeling.

As the days pass, you find yourself spending more time with Pepe—whether it's during work events, casual hangouts, or just those quiet moments where the world seems to slow down. And with each interaction, you begin to notice the little things that set him apart.

It’s in the way he listens when you talk, really listens, as if he values every word you say. He doesn't just hear you; he understands you.

When you ramble on about your latest fashion idea or a new post you're planning for your blog, he’s there, nodding along, offering insights or just genuinely interested in what excites you. He makes you feel like your passions are important, even if they seem trivial to others.

And then there’s the way he encourages you, not just with words, but in his actions. When you doubt yourself, he’s there to remind you of your strength, to tell you that you’re capable of so much more than you realize.

It’s the little things—those quiet words of encouragement when you need them most—that make you feel seen in ways you hadn’t expected.

But perhaps most of all, it’s the care he shows for your happiness. It’s the way he asks about your day, not because he feels he has to, but because he genuinely wants to know.

How your day went, if you’re feeling okay, if there's anything he can do to make things better. It’s a kindness you didn’t know you needed, and slowly, you begin to realize that these small acts—these simple gestures—are what make him someone truly special.

When things aren’t going as smoothly for him, you’re there to support him in the same way. You’re with him through the highs and the lows, whether it’s during a frustrating race where he’s forced to retire early or a weekend where things just don’t seem to click.

After a no-finish result in one of the races, you tell him: “You gave it your all. It wasn’t your day, but I know you'll bounce back.” It’s the small, thoughtful words that show him you care, even when he’s at his lowest.

Then comes the Azerbaijan Grand Prix. You’re watching the race unfold, and your stomach drops when you see his car lose control and crash.

You hold your breath, your heart pounding, as the screen cuts away. Your thoughts race until you hear an update confirming that he’s okay, but you can’t help but worry. You know he’s going to be shaken up, even if it doesn’t show.

You’re one of the first people to get to the medical bay after the crash. When you walk in, Pepe is sitting on the bed, his helmet off, his face a mix of frustration and exhaustion.

His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, there's a silence between you. He’s still processing everything that just happened.

“Hey," you say softly, approaching him. "You good?"

He gives a small, tired smile. "Yeah, just... it's frustrating, you know? I thought I had it under control, but... things happen. Not to mention the lock up we had the other day,"

You pull up a chair beside him, sitting down without a second thought. "I saw it. But you’re here, and that’s all that matters." You place a hand on his arm, offering a quiet reassurance. "I’m just glad you're okay."

He meets your eyes, his expression softening. "Thanks for being here," he says, his voice sincere. "It means a lot, more than you know."

For a moment, you just sit there together, the chaos of the race weekend fading into the background. And as you talk about the race, his crash, and what’s next, you realize just how much you care—not just for his career, but for him.

The connection you share feels deeper than ever, something solid and real.

After everything—the highs and lows, the moments of doubt and clarity—you find yourself standing at a crossroads.

You think about all the times you’ve hesitated, the moments you almost pulled away, unsure if you were ready to move on, still clinging to a love that never was. But as you look at Pepe, sitting beside you, as present and steady as he’s always been, something clicks.

It’s not just the way he’s supported you, or how he’s always seen the best in you, even when you couldn’t see it in yourself.

It’s how he makes you feel, not just valued, but cherished for exactly who you are—the messy, complex, imperfect you. In his eyes, you’re enough. And for the first time in a long time, you believe it, too.

Pepe’s kindness, patience, and unwavering support have shown you a kind of love that’s not based on fleeting moments or unattainable ideals. It’s real. It’s grounded. And more than anything, it’s filled with hope—a hope you hadn’t realized you’d lost until now.

So, when he looks at you, his gaze filled with something deeper than friendship, you finally allow yourself to take the leap. You smile, a little unsure, but ready. “Pepe, I think I’m ready for this.”

He grins, his eyes lighting up with a warmth that makes your heart flutter. “Me too,” he says, his voice low and genuine. “I’ve been waiting for you to be ready.”

In that moment, you know, with certainty, that you’ve chosen the right path. You’re not just moving on—you’re moving forward, with someone who will walk beside you every step of the way, supporting you, loving you, and reminding you that you’re worthy of all the happiness you’ve been seeking.

Epilogue:

Months have passed since you and Pepe decided to give love a real shot, and life has never felt brighter. His unwavering presence and quiet strength have become your anchor, and the happiness you’ve found together is undeniable.

The laughter you share, the quiet moments together, and the way he looks at you with so much care and love, it all fills you with a peace you didn’t know was possible.

It’s the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix weekend, and Pepe is in peak form. You’re on the edge of your seat, clutching your puppy’s leash as the race unfolds.

When Pepe crosses the finish line in first place, the roar of the crowd barely registers as you’re too busy cheering alongside his parents with all your might.

Later, you meet him in parc fermé, tears of joy in your eyes as he steps out of the car. He doesn’t hesitate, pulling you into a tight hug, his helmet still tucked under his arm.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he whispers, his words meant just for you despite the bustling celebrations around you.

That evening, you’re by his side as the team celebrates his victory. The champagne flows, and the glow of his achievement lights up the room. But it’s the quiet moments you share—when he leans over to steal a kiss and murmurs how much you mean to him—that remind you how lucky you are.

The next day, as you’re strolling through the paddock together, you catch sight of Paul in the distance.

He’s talking to someone, but his eyes briefly flicker to you and Pepe. His expression shifts for just a second—an unrecognizable look you can’t quite place—but you don’t dwell on it.

Pepe squeezes your hand, and your attention snaps back to him. He’s smiling at you in that way that makes your heart race, the way that reminds you of why you chose him. The life you’ve built together is filled with love, laughter, and hope—and you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“Fine.” Marcus grumbled, however he struggled to hold back the building smile. If there was one thing Marcus sucked at it was hiding his emotions. It didn’t take a genius to work out how he felt about the young woman. From the way his soft golden hazel eyes would sparkle to the small twitches of his upper lip as he tried to bite back a growing grin. “I meant to ask Max during the podcast but I never got around to it, so when and where is your first kiss.” Marcus continued, still slightly kicking himself that he’d forgotten to ask such a juicy question to Max ‘rejected him 26 times’ Fewtrell himself. “We can re-divert!” James stated quickly a smug grin beginning to form, the grin targeted towards the F2 Driver dropped quickly when Clem expertly deflected the question “Actually James when was your first kiss.” The Frenchman asked. “It was in Whangamatā actually in 2013.” The dark blond began setting the scene. “2013?!” Y/N coughed out choking slightly on a sudden giggle. If she did the maths quickly that meant James hadn’t kissed anyone until he was sixteen. This new found knowledge practically obliterated the cool suave Bond-like demeanour James had built up. There wasn’t anything wrong with saving your first kiss, absolutely nothing wrong with going at your own pace. But Y/N had known James since he was 18 and the idea that James could probably have somewhat confidently chugged a weak beer before even locking lips with a girl was mind blowing. Shooting the older man an apologetic smile Y/N continued listening to James retelling of probably one of his most awkward life milestones. “Did you give her a wee pecker.. Or was it a slobbery kiss?” Marcus quizzed his fellow countryman, enjoying the growing bashfulness coming from his mate.

Soon it became clear it was Y/N turn to share her recollection of her first kiss. She wished she could lie and say she simply didn’t remember but knowing Marcus well she knew the Kiwi wouldn’t let it go, especially if he thought it could potentially be a little embarrassing. Groaning Y/N pondered for a second, placing her wine glass down and tucking her legs neatly beneath her. Adjusting her hoodie she racked her brains, the Screaming Meals Trio were some of her closest friends but there were still some things the girl didn’t feel needed to be shared and reliving certain parts of her childhood was one of them. Boy looking back Y/N was embarrassed enough, she didn’t need the trio pissing themselves laughing. So, what about your first kiss Y/N/N ?” the French native asked, his narrowed dark hazel eyes sparkling with mischief. “Marcus didn’t have to share his so why should I?” Y/N frowned, narrowing her eyes playfully at the Kiwi sat directly across from her. “Well firstly mine wasn’t that interesting, secondly it’s my show.” Marcus called out, poking his tongue out a little at his reasoning.  

“Ok first kiss.” Y/N began pausing for a second. “Like first proper kiss when you were aware of what was happening?” Y/N asked slowly hoping for some clarity, her head tilt in slight confusion. 

“Woah woah woah how many guys have you kissed that you ‘weren't aware of?’” Marcus objected loudly shuffling forward from his relaxed position, emphasizing his point with air quotes. Marcus wouldn’t call himself jealous, in fact that’s one of the last words he’d ever associate with himself, but the idea that there could potentially be a list of guys who’d kissed his girlfriend before him was difficult. The Kiwi Driver couldn’t help the surfacing insecurity, I mean what if (god forbid)  they were better kissers than him? “Don’t be gross Marcus… I mean like I don't want to say 4 or 5 mate… I barely remember it other than he’d been nagging me for ages and apparently he was no longer satisfied with my sadistic self only letting him kiss the bottom of my foot…” 

Stifling a giggle at the mixture of reactions from the boys Y/N shrugged as if her statement was beyond normal. “Also sorry Greg if that made you realise you had a foot fetish or something….” The girl added, reaching to collect her previously abandoned glass. “Uh… ok so what about your first proper kiss then?” Clem managed to ask, the Frenchman still slightly frozen in shock. “Um I was in year four so like 8… oh god…” Y/N trailed off cringing at the memory of this relationship. Hell could she even class it as a relationship? It hadn’t lasted that long, but it had been her first real exposure to boys. The boy in question had been the popular boy at school, all the girls had wanted him and he’d picked her. Something young Y/N had been so immensely proud of. 

Perhaps that’s what led to her being sandwiched between two drivers on a compact three-seater sofa donning an oversized Dallas Cowboys team jersey. The successful Screaming Meals podcast was filming yet another episode and despite having Red Bull Junior Jak Crawford as their special guest the y/h/c young woman found herself also roped into discussing racing whilst sampling some wine that Clément Novalak an apparent want to be sommelier would no doubt fawn over. 

Despite having previous history with the Screaming Meals trio, Y/N had not prepared herself to relive the awkward topic of childhood crushes, Clém & James already regularly took the piss out of her regarding her taste in men (Marcus), the ongoing joke wasn’t malicious, more brotherly teasing but it could get tiring extremely quickly. “So, what about you Y/N/N who was your Disney childhood crush?” the French native asked, his narrowed dark hazel eyes sparkling with mischief from beneath his cap. Y/N could curse the goatee wearing f2 Driver to hell and back, a message that was clearly received as the man in question recoiled slightly from the young woman's burning glare. “I mean I wasn’t really a Disney channel kid… I was more of a Doctor Who & Merlin kid to be honest.” the brit replied with a shrug satisfied with her response, before sighing at the looks from the boys surrounding her, the young woman’s original answer clearly not cutting it.  “What did they not have Disney channel in England or something?” Marcus asked in faux ignorance, the microscopic twitch of his upper lip betraying his need to smirk at the girl.  

Groaning Y/N pondered for a second adjusting her position on the sofa as she racked her brains, she really hadn't watched Disney channel as a kid aside from the couple of episodes on hotel tv often in a language she couldn’t speak. The younger girl instead watched things like The Sarah Jane Adventures or more ashamedly Wolfblood. “Fine I guess if I was really pressured it would probably have been Sterling Knight AKA Chad Dylan Cooper.” 

However, you were still insecure about some things. Talking to guys for example, it wasn’t one of your most talented skills, even though you were surrounded by plenty of them at your work. Receiving compliments made you nervous, not knowing what to answer and it could create quite the awkward situation.

But you had a great team to work with, none of them seemed to be too bothered about your gender, unlike the guys at your college. And as you were surrounded by your male co-workers, you quickly became one of them.

They would greet you like they would greet the rest of the team, a strong handshake, which made your hand hurt after greeting your entire team, 20 guys, but it was all worth it. You were doing what you loved the most, and it being at a Formula One team made you love your job even more.

One downfall to being the only girl in the team was the fact the rest of the guys overshadowed you whenever it came to ideas. They were the ones with a louder voice, so you stayed silent and basically handed in your ideas on paper. You knew they would look into them, and it didn’t make you feel less worthy at all. You were confident about your ideas, just a little more insecure about actually defending them in front of this many people.

Monza, Italy, you loved this place so much, not because of the event that happened last year, the collision between Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton, but the environment and the fact you had a week off after the triple header made you enjoy this race so much more.

‘’Y/N, you up for the party tonight?’’ You look up from your phone, smiling at the Dutch driver as he sat down next to you. ‘’Hey Max, not too sure, I think I’ll be quite tired.’’ You mumbled as you grabbed the bottle of water in front of you, taking a sip. ‘’You should come, the guys and girls from Formula Two will be there as well.’’

You eventually agreed, after arguing with the Dutchman for a while, him convincing you more girls would be at the party. ‘’Alright alright, fine, I’ll go.’’ You gave up and got up from your seat. ‘’You should get ready soon, I think the race is almost finished.’’ And with that you walked away from the restaurant, making your way towards the Redbull motorhome to go over some of the data.

You watched as the first driver from the Formula Two series crossed the finish line, smiling to yourself as you heard the F2 Redbull Team cheering. Working at Formula One took a lot of your time, and you didn’t mind it, being able to see different countries and explore different cities. You also enjoyed watching the other races, the non F1 races. Seeing the drivers work their way up to eventually be in Formula One, seeing the drivers make progress made you feel proud. Proud, because you were one of the reasons they would move forward in their career.

It was later in the evening, you just had dinner with your crew and were getting ready for the party. You never really attended parties, mostly because you knew you would be tired at the end of the day and would rather be in bed, watching some random YouTube video’s at 11 pm until you would fall asleep, but you promised Max you would come.

The blue cocktail dress you put in your suitcase, the one you would take with you every time just in case you would attend the after party, was now laying on your bed. You had already done your make up, nothing too much, just some eyeliner, mascara and lip balm. You took the dress from the hanger and put it on, smiling at yourself in the mirror.

Phone, check. Lip balm, check. Key, check. You double checked everything before you put it in your black bag that was hanging over your shoulder and you switched off the lights in the room. You heels clicked on the floor of the hallway, down the stairs and into the room the rest of your team was waiting.

You heard people whistling, heads turning your way as you just rolled your eyes at the reaction of your team. ‘’Save the compliments, let’s go.’’ You mumbled, not wanting to be the center of attention, because you didn’t know how to react to the compliments.

You arrived at the party, Max already waiting for you with a wide smile on his lips. ‘’Y/N, you came!’’ ‘’Of course, I told you I’d be here, I keep my promises.’’ You wrapped your arms around the Redbull driver and looked at the person standing next to him.

‘’This is Dennis, he’s a driver in the Formula Two series.’’ You shook his hand, a smile painted on your lips, as well as his. ‘’Dennis, this is’’ Max was cut off by some of his engineers who pulled him away by his shoulders leaving you there, waiting for Max to introduce you to the quite good looking guy.

‘’Oh, well.’’ You and Dennis both laughed at the scene that had just happened. ‘’Y/N.’’ You smiled.

The evening was great, and you mentally thanked Max for both the invite and the semi-introduction to Dennis, because the both of you hit it off straight away.

‘’Shut up, really?’’ You were laughing, your hand was resting on his shoulder as you watched how Dennis talked about some of his holidays. The way your hand was resting on his shoulder, slightly squeezing it every now and then whenever you made eye contact with him, was something that made him smile, enjoying this evening probably as much as you were.

Your insecurities simply disappeared as you talked to him, he made you feel at ease, complimenting your dress and even your make up. He noticed every single detail, from the wings of your eyeliner to the way you’d look down every time he or someone else complimented you.

‘’You look absolutely beautiful Y/N.’’ And yet again, you looked down, feeling your cheeks heat up at his comment. ‘’Hey.’’ He whispered, resting two fingers under your chin to make you look at him. The two of you had distanced yourself from the party downstairs, standing on the balcony as you watched over the track.

‘’Why do you do that?’’ ‘’Do what?’’ ‘’This, looking down whenever someone compliments you.’’ You felt your heart beat in your throat and you opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He noticed, and simply pulled you against his chest, his arms carefully wrapping around your shoulders as he rested his chin on top of your head.

‘’I’m just not used to getting compliments, I can get really awkward.’’ He let out a soft chuckle, one that sent shivers down your spine, goosebumps on your skin, as your hands rested on his back, your eyes closed at the soft embrace you felt from him. ‘’You better get used to them, because you can expect many more.’’

Once you were back downstairs, enjoying the party after your small talk on the balcony, you felt a hand grabbing yours and Dennis’. ‘’Drinking game!’’ And so you ended up not too drunk, but you could definitely feel the alcoholic beverages having an impact on both your actions and thinking.

‘’Come on, let’s daaaance!’’ Dennis sang as he reached for your hands, making you get up from the chair you were sitting in as he pulled you with him to the dance floor. Once you stood there, the house music slowly faded and got replaced by a slow song, which made Dennis’ eyes shine even brighter than they already were.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, carefully, just like he did every time he would hug or touch you, and you really appreciated a soft touch instead of the harder handshakes you’d receive from the rest of your team. Your arms made their way up to rest on his shoulder, your hands gently playing with the ends of his hair, which was perfectly done at the start of the party, and quite a bit messier as time passed.