Ok I have a Fernando idea but I'm not sure on daughter! Reader who has mental health problems or age gap relationship with Fernando and reader is his teammate who is getting a lot of hate? It's based on an Oasis song btw 😽
I am only gonna hav the results open for 2 hours before I start writing!!
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Could you please write something with Fernando when you’re Ayrton Sennas daughter. When you and Fernando first started dating and finally got married you decided to keep it a secret you wanted to enjoy you’re live together without the scrutiny from the outside world which would without a doubt would come if the public found out with you’re last name and you’re and Fernandos age difference but you couldn’t careless you’re pretty sure that some people will figure it out under them Lance which made it too his personal quest too get Fernando too talk about his personal live. The speculations only get worse when Alain congratulated Fernando when you gave birth to a boy not realizing that they get filmed. Much Love❤️
♪ — 𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗤𝗨𝗜𝗘𝗧 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦
fernando alonso x wife! senna! reader ( fluff )
fic summary . . . fernando likes to keep his life outside of an f1 paddock as private as possible, because it's not every day an Alonso gets married to Senna's younger daughter and has a boy with her.
( my master list | more of fernando alonso ) ( requests )
There’s a house in Oviedo that the press doesn’t know about.
It sits at the edge of town, near the woods, where the trees thicken and the sun spills gold through cracked shutters in the morning. It’s all quiet up here — the kind of quiet that can’t be bought with fame or fortune, only earned by sacrifice. This is where Fernando Alonso becomes just a man — not a champion, not a headline. Just a husband, a father.
Inside, you hum to yourself, barefoot on tile, a spoon of mashed avocado in one hand and a sleepy toddler in the other. Your boy — with his father’s eyes and your late father’s defiant brow — babbles nonsense through a gummy grin, fingers smearing green across the bib that says Papá’s Champion.
“Yeah? Is that so?” you laugh, brushing his hair back. He squeals, kicking, and your phone buzzes.
One message. Then three. Then ten.
The screen fills up like a warning light. Your fingers tremble as you scroll.
Did Prost really out you?
Are you married to Alonso??
WTF, Y/N. YOU HAVE A BABY???
Your chest tightens. You barely hear the soft sound of your son dropping the spoon to the floor.
It happened.
You glance at the television across the room — volume low, a racing recap airing muted highlights — just in time to catch it: a blurry shot of Fernando laughing with Alain Prost, the older man’s voice still mic’d.
“Congratulations on the baby, Alonso. A son, no less. You and your wife must be over the moon,” Prost said with a soft smile. “I saw the photos. Your boy looks just like you.”
Your breath catches. The camera pans away too late. The footage is real. Raw. It aired.
You stare at it like it might change, like time could reverse.
“Fernando,” you whisper, grabbing your phone. “They know.”
It had started with stolen glances.
Portimão, five years ago. A WEC afterparty, golden wine and neon lights. You hadn’t meant to meet him — hadn’t planned to sit beside the legend your father once raced against, his legacy braided into yours through decades of track history and bloodline myth.
But he had leaned toward you with quiet curiosity, not flirtation, and asked, “Do you ever feel like your name isn’t yours?”
And you’d laughed. Not because it was funny, but because it was true.
You’d danced once that night. And then again the next time you met. He never asked for your number, only said, “I’ll find you.”
And he did.
Every city, every season. Barcelona, Tokyo, Monaco. Always quiet, always private. No photos. No red carpet.
He loved you in the in-betweens — the sleepy mornings, the grocery runs, the scar behind your knee from a childhood fall. When he proposed, it was in your mother’s garden, hands covered in dirt from planting tulips.
“Say yes,” he said, breathless. “And I swear I’ll protect you from all of it.”
You said yes.
Two years married now. One child. Zero tabloid mentions — until today.
Fernando returned to Formula 1 like a man possessed — sharp, hungry, invincible again. But even in the chaos, he stayed private. Not cold, never. Just... contained. Like he carried something precious beneath his skin.
To the world, he was the bachelor prince of motorsport. Too fast for commitment. Too busy to settle.
But his teammate, Lance Stroll, had always found that a little too tidy.
“You never bring anyone to race weekends,” Lance pointed out once, half-teasing, half-prodding. “Even Max has a plus-one sometimes.”
Fernando shrugged. “I like my solitude.”
“Mmm.” Lance sipped his coffee. “Or maybe Oviedo’s just that interesting.”
Fernando’s jaw twitched. A subtle thing. Most people wouldn’t have caught it. But Lance had grown up under scrutiny, too. He knew how to see what wasn’t said.
Later that night, he found a receipt in the simulator office. Oviedo. Children’s clothing boutique. Paid in cash.
Lance never mentioned it. But he started watching closer.
It was a Netflix crew, staying late to shoot B-roll for DTS.
They weren’t meant to catch anything useful. Just paddock shots, maybe a few driver interviews. Alain Prost had stopped by for a surprise visit, all smiles and nostalgia.
When he greeted Fernando, they embraced like old war generals. And Alain — always sharp, but not mic-conscious — leaned in with a grin.
“Congratulations on the baby, Alonso. A son, no less. You and your wife must be over the moon.” Prost said with a soft smile. “I saw the photos. Your boy looks just like you,”
“He has Yn’s eyes,” Fernando answered, so softly and quietly. “We named him Ayrton.”
The crew caught every word. Every frame.
It aired five days later — a 10-second snippet buried in a longer feature.
But fans are scavengers. They clipped it. Cropped it. Shared it with captions like:
FERNANDO HAS A BABY?
FERNANDO HAS A WIFE??
WHO IS HIS WIFE???
Within hours, #WHOISTHEWIFE was trending in Spain and Brazil, the fandom going feral in real-time.
At first, no one knew. The identity of the mysterious mother was the crown jewel of F1 conspiracy culture. But then — someone made the connection. The baby’s name.
Ayrton.
And with that, the internet spiraled.
Theories turned to threads. Threads turned to receipts.
“It has to be someone connected to Senna.”
“What if... it’s his daughter?”
“Wait. Didn’t she disappear from the public eye a few years ago?”
“FERNANDO. ALONSO. MARRIED. SENNA’S. DAUGHTER??”
And just like that, you had been found.
Not with a press release. Not with a soft reveal.
No.
They found you like hunters in the forest — following the breadcrumbs you never meant to drop.
You watched the storm bloom from your couch in Oviedo, one arm wrapped around your son as your whole life unraveled in pixels. Faces you'd never met were stitching together your love story like it was a puzzle box.
Your phone rang just after sunset.
“Mi vida,” Fernando said, his voice low. “I saw it. I’m so sorry—”
“I know,” you interrupted. “I know. It’s not your fault.”
You could hear him breathing hard, like he’d been running. Or pacing. “I never wanted you to be exposed like this.”
“It’s not your fault,” you said again, though your throat ached like you'd swallowed glass. “I always knew it wouldn’t stay secret forever.”
“I should’ve told them. About you. About our son. Maybe not everything, but... something.”
You closed your eyes, heart pounding under the quiet weight of it all. “What do we do now?”
A beat.
Then his voice — quieter. Stronger. Like the eye of the storm.
“We stop hiding.”
Fernando wore his wedding ring for the first time on a race weekend in Italy.
Not on a chain. Not tucked into a drawer. But boldly, openly, on his left hand — gleaming in the sun as he tightened his gloves, as he signed autographs, as he stood for press photos.
There was no press conference. No prepared statement. He simply was — as if this was how it had always been.
And maybe it was. Maybe the truth had always lived in the way he smiled after races, the way he flew home the second the checkered flag waved, the way he rarely posted on Instagram but always checked yours.
The paddock noticed. The fans noticed.
And back in Oviedo, so did you — watching from your quiet living room as your son clapped and pointed at the screen, babbling “Papá” through a mouthful of banana.
You touched your own ring. Still warm.
They never fully stopped talking.
You were Ayrton Senna’s daughter. He was Fernando Alonso. Of course they speculated.
But over time, the noise softened.
Photos emerged — the three of you on a beach, grainy but sweet. The internet went insane, but it couldn’t change what you had.
Your home stayed your sanctuary. Your son learned to say fast before he learned to say car. The world kept spinning, faster and faster, but for once, you weren’t chasing it.
Fernando came home between races and kissed you like the world hadn’t fallen apart.
“You’re not mad?” he’d asked one night, after the baby had fallen asleep.
“No,” you whispered. “I’m relieved.”
Because after five years of shadows, after vows exchanged in quiet corners, you were finally seen.
summary: being intimate with fernando in his laundry room wasn't the most conventional but--given the mess that was bound to happen--it was most certainly convenient.
rating: nc-17
pairing: f!reader/fernando
content warnings: established relationship, smut, consensual drunk sex, creampies, getting rawed by f1's spanish peepaw in his laundry room
word count: 0.4k
previous one-shot - alex a. | next one-shot - carlos s.
This was not your bed.
The surface that the front of your body was currently pressed down against was much too sleek and flat to be anything close to a mattress.
And with a constant loop of gentle rumbling beneath, this definitely wasn’t a couch either.
It wouldn’t be until much, much later–when the lush entanglement of wine in your veins was finally unraveled–that you had spent most of this evening sprawled on top of the state of the art washing machine at your boyfriend’s house.
The very same boyfriend who was also equally as drunk as he kept you anchored in place within his laundry room.
How convenient that the two of you could toss your clothes into the washing machine once you both had your fill of one another.
One calloused hand locked onto your hip, the other lecherously pawing at your breast, Fernando had yet to relent on plunging his cock into your cunt from behind over and over, the crude wet sounds of his hips slapping against your naked backside contrasting the soothing rumble of the washing machine and the dulcet moans and gasps you emitted. Despite him tanking more drinks than you, his ferocity was not dulled in the slightest, as evidenced by the sticky mess of his cum that stained your inner thighs and the floor below from every load he pumped into your core.
“I can hold you and my liquor well, querida–it comes with time and age.”
Those were the words he murmured huskily into your ear when the both of you were dropped back off at his home by taxi, just before he returned his focus to leaving kisses on your neck while his hand fiddled with the front door.
Though, given that it took another 10 minutes for him to remember that his house’s front entrance was passcode-locked, you would later tease that perhaps his liquor tolerance was entering an elderly stage.
But at least such a memory was something fondly to look back on, instead of the argument from earlier in the day that saw you seeking comfort in the bottom of a few wine glasses at a bar in the heart of town until he went fetching for you. You couldn’t even remember what the two of you bickered about at this point, especially not while you had the thick, heavy girth of Fernando’s cock keeping your cunt filled and stretched.
And as the fine hairs of his beard raked over your skin while he kissed your neck and murmured his apologies, grunted out his pleasure, and reaffirmed his love, you were as intoxicated with his affection as could be.
“Drink up, querida,” was the shuddered hiss he let out as his thrusts picked up in intensity, the grip he had on your hips tightening as he readied to flood your cunt with his seed once again.
And drink you shall, eagerly anticipating every shot he would serve you all night long.
-----------------------
HAPPY HUMP DAY 🤸♀️
would it be appropriate to start bumping "alcohol free" by twice y/n 💃
we're already approaching the midpoint of this fic event!!! i hope you've been enjoying yourselves thus far 🥹🙇♀️ if fernando's, alex's, and george's one-shots were appetizers, it's time to start diving into some main dishes with carlos's piece tomorrow 😛
sticky, fernando a. - "you're getting up there in age fernando." he often heard, "isn't it time to settle down and have some kids?" the words made him grimace. he wasn't that old, forty-three was not old. but then again it seemed like thirty years old was expired milk for formula one driver's and fernando was the oldest active driver. hell, even his engineers were starting to look younger than him.
the back pain, the should aches, the noises his knees made when he got up too fast. maybe it was time to settle down, and while he had a lovely wife. maybe it wasn't a terrible idea to start a family. he already had his grid kids, the gaggle of young drivers who fernando was a mentor too. but the mentality started to change when he greeted him after a successful weekend in spain. draped in soft white, your curves on full display. and fernando realized that he had a new insatiable appetite. not for trophies, but to breed you.
there you were, in the hotel room for the weekend. in something lacy and white. complimented your skin tone perfectly. you looked like an angel. you were seated on the bed and fernando's eyes went wide for a moment at the sight of you. you simply giggled and crooked a finger to pull him in closer. he couldn't help himself. his aston martin jacket was taken off and tossed to the side as were his shoes before he approached you quickly. he could already feel the tightness in his jeans. he knew he was still running on the high of victory, but to see his darling, loving wife dressed in something so revealing. it really did a number on him. he licked his lips as he stood in front of you as you sat on the bed.
you giggled, "hello, honey."
he reached down and his thumb stroked your cheek as he held our jaw. he replied, "hello, my love. where did you get this? looks new."
you stuck out your bottom lip and shrugged nonchalantly, "the spanish grand prix is always special. i thought i'd make it more special for your victory." then smiled at him lovingly then sat up a little straighter to meet his lips when he went in for a heated kiss. you learned early on that fernando's kisses were addictive. the kind of addicting that you moaned when his lips sealed over yours.
he held your face as the two of you kissed. when he eventually broke away, he took off his t-shirt and you admired his body. he watched you licked your lips and then remarked, "like what you see, my love?" then put his hands on the leather belt around his waist. he gave you that winner's smile and you felt your core grow hotter.
you nodded and reached behind you to get your bra off. but fernando stopped you. you looked at him curiously, eyebrows raised as he then reached for your shoulders.
"only fair me for me undress you. it would be like someone else opening your christmas present." his hands trailed down your shoulders to your elbows and he took in the sight of you in lingerie once more before he reached behind you and unhooked the bra like magic. he was careful with it, even though he made enough money to buy you another pair.
you bought it for him, he should treat it with some respect. however, his heart stopped when you softly spoke as he toyed with your breasts.
"fernando... honey." you looked in his brown eyes and said, "let's make a baby tonight." and fernando was near lightheaded when all of the blood rushed to his cock.
he managed to compose himself and say in response, "of course." he then lightly chuckled, "only if our baby is as beautiful as you."
you out stretched your arms and replied, "and only if they are as cunning as you." then laughed when fernando got you pinned down to the bed. the kisses grew and your hands reached for his belt. it was stripped from him and chucked to the floor in the hopes it'll be found again in the morning.
you both panted heavily as he got his blue jeans off and then he cupped your face once more. by instinct you closed your eyes and he covered your mouth with his in another steamy kiss. you moaned against him as he rubbed his barely clothed cock up against the lace covering your pussy. both stripped down to the bare basics, but yet, you still held that certain angelic quality. you moaned when his hands trailed down your sides to reach the lace panties.
"as beautiful as they are, my love." he said with a softness in his tone, "they will look better on the floor." then you helped him get them off of you and on the floor. you did the same to the black and white briefs he wore. both naked and you yelped when he took you by the sides and got you on top of him. your knees planted on the soft bed and his cock up against your pussy. he eyed you, dark eyed filled with lust for only you. he said, "you always looked beautiful on top."
"flirt."
fernando smiled, "only for you, my love. can a man not flirt with his wife." his hands massaged your soft hips as you used his chest as support to sink down on his cock. you both tensed for a moment and when he finally relaxed he patted your behind lovingly, "always feel amazing."
you splayed your hands across his chest as you moved your hips against him. the feeling bloomed in your gut as you said to him, "patting my behind like a car?"
he chuckled, "no, no. you're a lot smoother than any ride i've ever had." he winked at you and you couldn't help but smile. his words cheeky and it was hard not to be endeared with his cock snug inside of you.
you raised and dropped your hips as a steady pace. you were making love to him, you were going to start your little family. you leaned in to kiss him on the lips as slowly you picked up momentum. you shuddered at the feeling, something about how erotic it all felt made you excited all over. especially in the pit of your stomach. nailed dragged across his chest, but not enough to hurt him. you panted heavily when the kiss broke. you held onto his shoulders for better support as you worked your hips against him.
fernando admired you as you moved against him. his breathing was heavy as the two of you fucked on the hotel bed. it was like a race in his blood. he massaged your hips as you moved against him. he let you have all the control. you were a partnership, equals. and he loved you deeper than the ocean. his commitment to you ran as deep as it could go. he married the love of his life.
"how is this for a smooth ride?" you asked with humour in your tone.
he chuckled and let go of your hips to place his hands behind his head, "mmm, better than anything i've been riding on the track. really gets my blood going." he chuckled lightly, but was quickly silence by another heated kiss.
fernando didn't think of you in terms of a car. it was just a little humour while you two fucked. always one for jokes that one. but, you did like that he enjoyed when you rode him more than he did driving that horrid car his team had at the moment.
the moans continued as did your thrusts against him. you took him beautifully and the pleasure moved through the both of you. your nails dug into his shoulders a little as your pace quickened. his cock almost slipped out of you when you raised your hips due to how soaked you were. the feeling made your husband groan as the pace continued.
the two of you moved against one another perfectly. his hands clasped your hips once more as the pleasure began to reach its peak. you both knew you weren't going to last much longer. he went in for another kiss and you pressed your chest against his.
he worked his cock up into you as you laid chest to chest. your hands in the covers under him for a better support as the two of you moved against one another. he held onto you tightly as fucked you feverishly. the feeling was intense, light a bright heat in his core. when the kiss broke, he admired your blissed out expression as you reached your climax.
you tensed up, you held onto the covers tighter. your back arched a little as fernando kept up the pace of fucking you. your noises were higher pitched, but sweeter than cherries. he kissed you once more as you climaxed before he wrapped both arms around your middle and fucked up into you while you lost the course of your movements.
he took over as he fucked into you. with a few more quick movements he finished inside of you with a heavy exhale. he shuddered before he stopped his movements and gives you a heated kiss. he held onto you tightly as a few more spurts of cum ended up inside of you. the two of you made out passionately and when you finally broke the kiss you were both exhausted.
your eyes went wide as you ended up on your back. even though your husband was worn out from one round, his hungry gaze remained on you. before you could say anything, he answered your question,
"if we are going to make a baby, my love... we'll need to go more than one round."
-
"he's obsessed with you." you remarked with your arms crossed. you weren't mad about it, but you knew that your son had a soft spot for his father. ever since he was born the rambunctious little tomás alonso.
fernando was getting ready for the race of the weekend, but your three year old wanted to be held by his father before he got in the car. your husband chuckled and swayed a little from side to side with the boy in his arms. he replied, "i cannot help it." it didn't help that the little boy was a spitting image of his father at that age.
you smiled a little and crossed the small distance between you two. you leaned in, careful of the boy in your husband's arms and kissed your husband on the lips. this was fernando's last season before retirement and you knew it would be a change for your husband. going from racing to retirement.
"bring home the trophy." you winked and he only smiled at you.
the changes would only grow because in your purse was ultrasound photos. while you hoped for a bit more of a gap between your first and second child, you were pregnant again and your baby would be due around the time fernando brought home his third and final world championship <3
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♪ — 𝟱 𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗦𝗘𝗦, 𝗙𝗔𝟭𝟰
fernando alonso x reader (fluff)
headcannon summary . . . using his five senses, these are his favourite things about you.
( fic master list | general master list ) ( requests )
Sight
Fernando’s sharp eyes are drawn to your determination
The way you approach challenges with an unrelenting spirit that mirrors his own
Whether you're fixing something around the house or perfecting a recipe
He watches you quietly, committing the image to memory
He loves seeing you immersed in your world, focused and driven, yet soft enough to let him in
“You’re staring,” you tease, looking up from the book you’re annotating. Fernando leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’m admiring,” he counters. “Keep going.”
Touch
He’s not overtly clingy, but when Fernando reaches for you
It’s deliberate
His hand on your lower back as you walk together, a thumb brushing over your knuckles during a quiet moment
Or his arm draped over your shoulders when you sit beside him
It’s grounding for him—an anchor in a chaotic world
“Stay,” he murmurs, voice heavy with sleep, as you try to slip out of bed early. His arm tightens around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. “Five more minutes.” You don’t argue.
Smell
Fernando has a keen sense for the scents that remind him of you
Your perfume—a subtle, elegant blend of floral and spice—is something he can pick out anywhere
He loves it even more when it lingers on his clothes, a faint reminder of you when you're apart
“Is this my jacket?” he asks, raising an eyebrow as he catches a whiff of his scent mingled with yours. “It’s ours now,” you reply cheekily, slipping it on. He shakes his head but doesn’t stop you.
Hearing
Your laughter is one of Fernando’s favorite sounds
Especially when it’s loud and unrestrained
It’s rare for him to laugh like that, but you bring it out of him
And when you call him cariño, the warmth in his chest feels almost unbearable
“Fernando,” you laugh, holding your phone out as he tries to take it. “No, cariño, I need to see the picture!” He chuckles, pulling you closer instead. “Later.”
Taste
Fernando’s refined palate adores anything you make, from simple snacks to elaborate meals.
He swears your coffee tastes better than any he’s ever had, especially when he sips it from your cup.
“Do you want your own?” you ask as he takes another sip. He shakes his head, his lips quirking into a mischievous grin. “No, it’s better like this.”
♪ — 𝗨𝗡𝗜𝗤𝗨𝗘𝗟𝗬 𝗦𝗣𝗢𝗡𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗘𝗗
fernando alonso x fem! reader ( fluff )
series summary . . . from the present to the past this is how your story goes
( general master list | more of fernando alonso ) ( requests )
Bahrain, 2023
“Ici! Fernando!” you called, your voice cutting through the chaos of parc fermé as you extended your hand towards the man decked out in Aston Martin green. The air buzzed with celebration, the sharp scent of champagne mixing with the oil and rubber of the paddock.
Around you, mechanics and engineers helped push and carry you forward, their smiles wide with pride for their driver’s podium finish. As the crowd parted just enough, Fernando turned his head, his gaze locking onto yours.
“Te voilá, hermosa,” he said, voice slightly muffled beneath his helmet. His brown eyes crinkled with a smile that reached all the way to you, despite the barrier of the fence.
“Eso fue un pilotaje increíble, mi amor,” [that was amazing driving, my love] you praised, slipping your hands around his neck as he leaned close enough to touch. Your fingers found the nape of his neck, brushing against the damp fabric of his balaclava. “Quítate esto. Quiero besarte.” [Take this off. I want to kiss you.]
His laugh was warm, melting into the roars of the crowd. He pulled off his helmet and then his balaclava, shaking out his sweat-matted hair. Before he could catch his breath, you pulled him down, fingers threading into the dark curls at the base of his neck. His arms wrapped securely around your shoulders, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that left no space between you—emotion spilling over the fences and into the frenzied moment.
“Thirty-two years old, and you’re still taking the breath from my lungs,” he murmured against your lips, voice low and full of mirth.
“Forty-one years old, and you’re stealing podiums like they’re candy,” you teased back, resting your forehead against his. The ache of pride in your chest swelled as he pulled back to look at you, his eyes alive with a fire that hadn’t dimmed since the first time you saw him behind the wheel.
★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
FiA Prize-Giving Gala, 2019
You swirled the champagne in your flute, watching the golden bubbles rise and burst in soft fizz. Across the room, Fernando was deep in conversation with a journalist, his eyes alight with that familiar spark you hadn’t seen in years.
“Still the charmer,” you murmured under your breath, catching his eye as he glanced your way. He smiled—soft, knowing, and entirely yours.
Later that night, back at your home in Asturias, the gala’s energy still thrummed in your veins. You leaned against the kitchen counter in your gown, kicking off your heels while Fernando unknotted his tie.
“Have you thought about it?” you asked suddenly.
“Thought about what?” He didn’t look up as he poured two glasses of wine, but you knew he wasn’t oblivious to your meaning.
“Formula one again,” you pressed, stepping closer.
He handed you a glass and leaned against the counter beside you. “I have.”
Your heart stuttered. “And?”
Fernando’s eyes found yours, steady and unwavering. “If I did it again, it wouldn’t be just for me. It would be because you see something I still have left to prove.”
You blinked, momentarily stunned. “I—”
“You believe in me,” he interrupted, his voice quieter now, “more than anyone ever has. More than I ever have.”
The words hung between you like a promise, one you hadn’t expected him to make but one you’d hold onto fiercely.
“You’ll win,” you whispered, tears threatening your voice. “You’ll win again, Fernando.”
★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Spain, 2019
The small chapel in Oviedo was bathed in the soft glow of late afternoon light, the scent of fresh flowers mingling with the warm air. You stood opposite Fernando, his hands clasping yours tightly, a nervous yet dazzling smile on his face.
The ceremony had been beautiful, intimate, and emotional—everything you’d dreamed of. But as the time for vows came, you could see the mischievous glint in Fernando’s eyes, and you braced yourself.
He cleared his throat dramatically, earning a ripple of quiet laughter from the guests. Then, in a voice that was equal parts sincerity and humour, he began:
“I promise to always share the remote, even during football season—though I can’t promise to cheer for your team.”
Your lips twitched, your shoulders shaking as you tried not to laugh. He caught the movement, his grin widening.
“I promise to support you in everything, whether it’s a big life decision or simply deciding which ice cream flavour to order. Though we both know you’ll just eat mine anyway.”
You bit your lip, your cheeks aching from the effort of keeping a straight face.
“And most importantly,” he continued, his voice softening as he gazed into your eyes, “I promise to love you fiercely, forever. To stand by you in every victory and every challenge, because life with you is the best race I’ll ever win.”
Your attempt to hold in your laughter gave way to a mix of giggles and tears. It was so Fernando—lighthearted yet deeply heartfelt.
When it was your turn, you managed to hold it together, your voice steady as you promised to love him, support him, and never let him forget that you were the one who won his heart.
As you exchanged rings, the world seemed to blur, leaving just the two of you. When the officiant declared you husband and wife, Fernando wasted no time pulling you into a kiss that was both sweet and searing, sealing the moment in your memory forever.
The reception that followed was a whirlwind of music, dancing, and laughter, but it was the quiet moments after that defined the day.
Still in your wedding dress and Fernando in his suit, the two of you found yourselves walking down a cobblestone street, hand in hand. The fancy car waiting to whisk you away to your honeymoon was momentarily forgotten as the golden arches of a McDonald’s caught your eye.
“Are you serious?” Fernando asked, his eyebrows lifting.
“You promised me anything,” you teased, giving his hand a playful tug.
Minutes later, you were sitting across from each other in the corner booth, a single ice cream cone in your hand.
“This is surreal,” you said, giggling as Fernando leaned in to steal a bite, only for a dollop of vanilla to smear on his chin.
He shrugged, utterly unbothered as you swiped at it with your thumb, eating the ice cream off him before leaving in and kissing his chin clean. “You’re the one who said you wanted ice cream.”
“And you’re the one who said ‘anything for you,’” you shot back, smirking as you leaned forward to take your turn stealing a bite.
His eyes softened, his teasing grin fading into something infinitely more tender. “And I meant it,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with conviction. “Anything at all.” He promises once more, kissing your head before lightly putting the icream in your face and laughing his ass off.
“Don’t you even dare to try to lick it off, this make is not edible,” “Let me taste my wife,”
★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Le Mans, 2018
The flashbulbs exploded like fireworks, the roar of the crowd drowning out even the deep rumble of engines. Fernando stood atop the podium, the French tricolor waving behind him as he raised the Le Mans trophy high above his head.
Your heart swelled, pride and love intertwining in a way that felt almost overwhelming. As he descended the podium, his eyes scanned the throngs of fans, mechanics, and journalists—until they found you.
“Ven aquí,” [come here] he mouthed, pulling you into his arms the moment you were close enough.
“You did it,” you whispered, cupping his face.
He smiled, leaning into your touch. “We did it.”
And then he kissed you—on your lips, your cheeks, your forehead, like he couldn’t get enough. Your laughter bubbled between his kisses, but neither of you cared about the cameras or the hundreds of eyes watching.
Back in the motorhome, he kissed you again, slower this time, savoring the moment as his hands slid to your waist. “You’re my good luck charm,” he murmured against your lips.
“You’re my champion,” you replied, and the world outside faded away.
★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Monaco, 2018
The night air was warm, heavy with the scent of salt and the faint hum of the city below. You leaned against the balcony railing of Fernando’s Monaco apartment, looking out at the glimmering lights that danced along the harbor. It had been a long night, but your body still thrummed with the lingering warmth of his touch, your heart full of the quiet contentment that only came with being near him.
Behind you, you heard the soft rustle of fabric, followed by his familiar footsteps. Before you could turn, Fernando’s arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against his chest.
“You look like you’re thinking,” you murmured, tilting your head as his lips found their way to your temple.
“I am,” he admitted softly, his voice warm and low in your ear.
You twisted slightly to glance up at him. “About?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer. Instead, he gazed out at the view, his expression unreadable. But the tension in his jaw gave him away.
“Fernando?”
He sighed, resting his chin on your shoulder. “I’ve been thinking about leaving Formula 1.”
Your body stiffened in his arms, your mind racing. “What? You’re not serious.”
“I am.”
You turned fully to face him, your hands gripping his forearms. “You can’t just give up now. You’re—”
“Shh,” he interrupted, his hands sliding up to cradle your face. His thumbs brushed your cheeks, grounding you. “I’m not giving up. Not on racing. Not on life. I just… I want something else now.”
“Fernando,” you whispered, your throat tight.
“I want you,” he said firmly, his eyes searching yours. “I want to spend my life with you. No schedules, no travel, no fighting for scraps of time between races.”
Before you could find the words to respond, he stepped back, reaching into his pocket.
Your breath hitched as he sank to one knee, pulling out a small velvet box.
The city seemed to fade away, and the lights and sounds were nothing compared to the man kneeling before you, his eyes steady and full of a vulnerability he rarely showed.
Tears pricked at your eyes as you nodded, your voice breaking when you said, “Yes. Yes, of course.”
Fernando smiled—relief, love, and joy all wrapped into one expression. “I didn’t even ask the question yet.” He teased slightly,
“Will you marry me?”
★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Montreal, 2006
The city lights shimmered on the surface of the St. Lawrence River, a thousand reflections dancing like stars. You barely noticed them. All your attention was on Fernando, standing just a step away, his posture tense, his jaw clenched as if he were wrestling with a decision.
“Fernando?” you called softly, breaking the silence between you.
His eyes flicked to yours, and the intensity in them made your breath hitch. It was as if he could see straight through you, to every thought, every feeling you tried to keep hidden.
“I shouldn’t feel this way,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, the words weighted with unspoken meaning.
You frowned, your chest tightening. “Feel what?”
“This,” he said simply, taking a hesitant step closer. His hand lifted, hovering near your shoulder, but not quite touching. His restraint was agonizing, and you found yourself leaning forward just slightly, urging him on.
His lips parted as if to say something, but no words came. Instead, he leaned in, his breath brushing your cheek before his lips met yours.
It started slow, his mouth warm and soft against yours, tentative, like he was testing the waters. But the hesitation didn’t last. The kiss deepened, growing bolder, more desperate, as if he was trying to pour every unspoken word into the connection.
Your heart raced, your hands instinctively reaching for him, tangling in his shirt to keep him close. When he finally pulled back, just a fraction, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the cool night air.
“I—” you began, but he didn’t let you finish.
“Don’t,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. His lips found yours again, then trailed down, pressing kisses to the corner of your mouth, your jawline, your neck.
He paused there for a moment, his lips brushing against the delicate skin just beneath your ear. You didn’t. You couldn’t.
His kisses moved lower, along your collarbone, then to the curve of your shoulder, each one deliberate, reverent, like he was asking a question he didn’t dare voice aloud. You shivered under his touch, overwhelmed by the tenderness and the urgency all at once.
“Fernando,” you breathed, your voice trembling.
“Don’t stop me,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.
★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Barcelona, 2001
The Barcelona sun was relentless, its heat rising off the asphalt in shimmering waves. You trailed behind your father through the paddock, his conversations with other Formula 1 investors blending into a monotonous hum. You weren’t here by choice—your father had insisted you attend, claiming it was time you started understanding the business you’d eventually inherit.
But amidst the chaos of roaring engines and bustling personnel, something pulled your focus.
Him.
Fernando Alonso.
You recognized him instantly. His face was already plastered across billboards and headlines, a rising star in the sport. But seeing him in person was different. There was a presence about him, something that made the noise of the paddock fade into the background. He wasn’t just young and talented; he moved as if the entire world was waiting for him to take his place at the top.
He was walking toward his garage when he stopped, his head tilting slightly. You realized too late that you’d been staring.
And then, as if drawn by some invisible thread, his eyes found yours.
The noise around you ceased to exist. For a fleeting moment, it was just the two of you. His gaze held a depth that caught you off guard, as though he saw something in you that you hadn’t even recognized in yourself.
Your breath hitched. You didn’t move, didn’t look away. Neither did he.
A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, the kind that spoke of quiet confidence and a hint of curiosity.
You felt the faintest flush creep into your cheeks, your grip tightening on the strap of your bag. Time seemed to stretch, the world narrowing to the space between you and him.
And then, just as quickly as it began, it was over.
Fernando’s smile deepened for a moment before he turned, walking away without a word. But he glanced over his shoulder once more, his eyes locking with yours for a heartbeat longer.
It was a simple look, yet it left you feeling as though something profound had shifted.
You didn’t know why, but you were certain of one thing: this wasn’t the last time your paths would cross. And somehow, it felt like he knew it too.
