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summary: Ferran always tried hard, maybe too hard, because the only thing he endede up doing was dissapoting himself, he was never enough, or at least everyone always told him so, but not you, you'd never do that.
word count: 3,1K+
request by; @nelo321
warning: mention of threats, bad self image, power dynamics¿
notes: This is my first football fic so be niceee. I wrote this before everything about ferran came out, so as I said in my masterlist, I DON'T like him as a person, but I like him as a character. In this fanfic, the locker rooms are next to the coach's office, just like in Ted Lasso
[masterlist]
The crowd erupted mid match, it usually happened to celebrate a goal, to cheer on the players that were in the field playing to make their country proud, but never to shut them off, never to insult someone of the team you were rooting for.
Until he came into the picture.
Ferran knew he wasn't the best from his team, he didn't have a problem admitting it, but he got the chance to represent his country in a world cup, so of course he took every chance he could to try to prove himself, not just to his team and his coach, but to the fans too.
He used to think they were supposed to have his back, because even if he missed, even if the ball didn't enter the goal, he was helpful enough to his teammates and to their strategies. But that wasn't close to what he was expected to do, and people started to tell him so.
At first it was only a couple of comments under his posts, something he would scroll past because he was used to some people not liking him, that was part of the life of dedicating yourself to a sport. But then DMs were added to the mix, it was easy to ignore when there were only a couple, and some of them were even funny… Until the threats to him and his loved ones started.
The Spaniard blamed it on that first missed goal, it'll pass, he had told to himself, because he was sure he would score a goal, it was just a matter of time, after all he had scored many goals while playing in the Barcelona, why would this be any different?
His team never missed a day where they told him that sometimes it's not worth it to listen to the fans, they loved the team, of course, but most of them don't know what it was like to be one facing their rivals, having to be the one who score.
You also told him so every day, because he tried hard, he never made it about himself, he turned it into him failing the team, which was the stupidest thing you have ever heard, specially coming from someone like him, it didn't make sense.
Despite the team's efforts something shifted inside of Ferran's mind, the bubbly, funny and outgoing guy disappeared every time he stepped out of the court when the training came to an end, because he would never let "his dramas" influence the rest, but he also felt that he didn't deserve to feel satisfied after a long training session if he wasn't able to show it in a match.
His shoulders dropped down as he dried his hair with the first towel he found in the locker room, he sat while the rest of the boys chatted about the team and their impression of the next match, his mind going back to the little world he created for himself.
Pedri tried to talk to him, he tried to ask him to go out with them, to just take a break from all the training he had been doing these past days even when they were supposed to be resting.
"I can't, I have stuff to do" Even the way he smiled was different, it usually went up to his eyes, making them to narrow, but it hadn't happened in a while.
"Come on, it can't be that important, we can go eat one of those burgers you like"
That was usually all it took, food was a common love language in the sport, spending a "cheat meal" together was a way of showing that even outside the routine they liked to spend time with each other, you honestly found it adorable.
So watching him reject that offer, an offer coming from one of his best friends of the team, set off all your alarms.
"Okay bro, text if you end up coming" He gave him a quick pat on the shoulder before the younger boy heard someone else calling him over, making the locker room finally empty just for him.
You had been in your office this whole time, making some notes on the little notebook that you always carried with you on the practices. How they trained and worked inside of a game was important, but that was nothing if they lost their spark, if something about them changed, because that would change their game.
It was important to create something safe for them, so you had one rule, if they were mad because of anything, they came into your office to scream at the wall or talk or do whatever they needed, but if you ever saw a drop of it outside your office, they weren't training that day.
You didn't teach that football.
Ferran got up, ready to go to his hotel to either train in his room or in the hotel's gym, but you weren't going to let him walk around with that dark cloud over his head.
"Number seven" Calling them by their numbers stared as a joke, you were used to associate certain number with your last players, so that was your way of training yourself, but they ended up loving it, because now using captain on you made perfect sense.
The boy tried to make it look like he didn't hear you, like he was in a rush and had to leave as soon as possible, even if he had already stayed longer than the usual.
"Ferran, I need to talk to you"
He stopped in his tracks, you only used name inside of the field, where things had to be formal and everyone could hear you.
"Yeah?" He turned around but never walked closer to you, he could see and hear you perfectly from where he was, after all your door was wide open, but the distance gave him enough confidence that you couldn't see through him if you couldn't reach him.
"Can you come in? I don't want to scream just to talk with you" Your tone was gentle, it was always like that when you noticed someone having a bad day.
"Do I need to?"
The way you looked at him was more than enough to answer him, it wasn't threatening or warning, but the way the intense colour of your gaze pierce his eyes was too much for him to think about saying no.
You leaned on your desk as you waited for him, when you had this kind of talks you wanted to be on the same level as them, because even though you were their superior after the last beep of your whistle you could also be their friend, so you were expecting to have a conversation standing up.
But Ferran couldn't do that, he couldn't put himself at your level, he wasn't even close to be as good of a player as you were when you played, so he decided to sit down, instinctively making himself smaller than you.
It wasn't the first time you saw that, it was one of the few times that it came from a man but still, it always squeezed your heart in a way that you couldn't explain without sounding a bit too dramatic for anyone's opinion.
"What's up with you? You've been different" You already knew everything of course, Gavi came a few days earlier pointing it out as part of one of his usual rambles, he came into your office with one after every match or training, it brought a different perspective, but the fact that he was the third boy to talk about it made it clear that you weren't the only one seeing things.
"Mhm? No, I've been trying hard on the practices, I even go to the gym every day right after."
Maybe you had started to notice it too, he would never blame you, of course, you were one of the best coaches he had ever had, and he would understand it if you would need to put him aside for the team to work better.
Was he really working as hard as he thought? Or maybe he was just having pity on himself and nothing of what he was doing was actually useful.
"I know you do, I'm not talking about your performance Fer" His shoulders relaxed immediately once you were back to using a nickname, maybe you weren't mad at him, maybe you were just disappointed.
He looked up at you, those deer eyes trying to figure out what you were going to say next, because even if the biggest part of him was going to agree and accept any critic from you, there was something inside of him that wanted to prove himself to you.
For a second he stopped seeing you, well, at least the real you, because all he could imagine was you repeating over and over all the things he had been reading these past days, and you figured out something was wrong again when his jaw tensed and his body straightened again.
"You've been doing amazing these past days" Your hand went to give him a little squeeze on the shoulder, a soft way of reminding him that you were still there.
"Thank you" His words came more like a mumble, his eyes flying to his own lap. Why were you lying to him? Did he really look that pathetic and his own coach had to cheer him up by lying to his face? Fucking hell.
"Hey, eyes on me." Now he felt a little tap on his chin, that was the first time you had used it on him, it was usually reserved for when the younger boys were too distracted while you spoke.
But he did as you told him, it was the bare minimum he could do considering that you were putting up with him.
"Tell me what's going on, I can't help if you don't talk to me"
"Everything is fine" He couldn't be more of a burden, all the athletes suffered from mean comments, so he had to suck it up, because what if he decided to tell you and they ended up opening your eyes? He wouldn't survive it.
"Don't do that, don't lie to me"
The boy tried to keep his gaze on yours, but if he did so there was no way he could lie to you, that he could just smile and brush it off, and he couldn't understand why. He already told his friends some bullshit about training or his family, so why couldn't he do the same with you?
"I'm just tired and nervous" It should've just ended there, with you understanding his position and telling him that he should go back to the hotel and rest, maybe he would even get an 'I'm always here if you need to talk'.
But no, you had to be able to read him like an open book.
You crouched down in front of him just right after you got up from your chair, practically putting yourself in between his legs, his eyes following your every move; he didn't want to have to hear another order from you, because he knew he'd obey it, and if you kept insisting, he wouldn't be able to help but end up telling you everything.
"You sure?" He just nodded, speaking up wasn't even an option at this point, because none pushed this hard before, so he never had to stop his thoughts this much in front of anyone, so he didn't know how long he could keep it to himself.
Trying to get something out of him was not going to work, and if you tried too much maybe he'd close completely and that was the last thing you wanted to happen.
Ferran watched you get up, probably to go back to your chair right behind your desk, but a part of him wanted to keep you close, he needed it, so he did something his mind doesn't remember thinking of.
His hand grabbed you leg, the grip was tight enough to ask for you to stay but not too much for it to hurt you in any way. He probably should've grabbed your hand, or even your wrist, but nothing like that came to mind when all he could think of was about the possibility of you leaving.
"Why do you keep me on the team? Why don't you listen to them and just put me in the bench?"
That was all it took, a question coming out of his mouth in a shaky voice that could break anyone's heart.
Of course you didn't want it to end like this, but now he trusted you and you were going to make sure that the fall didn't hurt. Your attention were back to him, quickly going back to put yourself at his level. His hand was still on you, but that was the least of your concerns.
"What kind of stupid question is that? You're an amazing player"
There wasn't a pinch of dishonesty in your voice, just a deep worry and a need to make sure he felt worth it before he stepped out of your office. You placed your hand on his cheek, just to give him a brief caress.
"No- Don't lie to me, please" Every word had even more troubles coming out of him "Not you, I don't need pity."
"Why would I lie to you?"
"Because I look shitty, and pathetic" He mumbled, his eyes trying to escape yours once again, because admitting that while looking at you, felt too shameful.
Something changed in your expression, it went from soft to something more firm, and if he was looking at you he would've noticed it in a instant, because normally you were calm and sweet, but it sometimes wasn't how they needed to hear the things to believe them.
"Do you trust me? Do you think I've done any good to you as a player or a person?" He nodded, because if he dared to say anything else he would feel like the biggest liar in the world.
You didn't say anything, you needed him to look at you while you said this next words, but this time you gave him the chance to take the initiative and do it by himself.
And he did it, reluctantly at first as if he had to watch everything he did so he wouldn't mess up what was going on, as if the wrong move or word could pull you away from him in a instant.
"Then why I would I have any fucking reason to lie? Why would I keep a player in field if I think he wasn't as important as the rest?" Now it wasn't just about him, you know how much he respected you as a coach, so maybe if you made it look like he was criticising you choices he would connect the dots.
"You feel bad for me"
"Oh you wish, that's not the kind of coach I am, you know that, of course I adore you, all of you, but the game is more important" You could see the tears forming in his eyes, but the sensation was different this time "And if I think you're important to the game, you're staying in it"
Ferran opened his mouth, and for a fraction of second you thought he was going to speak up and to try telling you, again, that you were wrong, but then he did something unexpected. He just hugged you, his face hiding in the crook of your neck.
"It's alright, I got you" You caressed his back, glad he was letting all out, and that pressure he had been feeling these past days suddenly disappeared, even if it was only for the seconds you decided to hug him.
He was never someone to speak up, no when he had been told all his life that he should suck it up and deal with it in his own, and god, he swore he tried, he tried too hard to not be weak, to not let it get under his skin, but he couldn't keep up with it.
"I'm sorry" Ferran didn't know how but he was sure that you just made a face at his words.
"Don't be stupid, you're not robots" You kissed his temple, a very gentle gesture instead of the little pushes you gave him when you wanted to tell them off. "Plus it's not like I specifically didn't tell you guys that I was always here if you needed to talk"
"But-"
"No buts" He shut up as soon as he heard yours words, so you pulled back to be able to look at his eyes once again. "I mean everything I say, I hoped you've learned it by now"
You whipped off his tears with a tissue of the box that was always resting on top of your desk for this kind of situation which you always welcomed.
"Next time please don't make me interrogate you, I'm not sure how legal it is for me to do that"
Ferran let out a chuckle, his face was still slightly wet from a few seconds ago, but seeing his mouth curve like that was all you needed to count this whole interaction as a win.
"I won't tell a soul, I promise" He noticed how his hand was still on you, how you didn't take it away and how it just felt right to it to be there.
"You're doing amazing, I mean it, they don't know shit" You got up so he had to let go, his hand closing around the air where you used to be, but he didn't have right to say anything about it, not when nothing good would come out of this.
"Thank you"
The way it sounded was nothing like the one when he just stepped inside of your office practically under your threat.
"That's why I'm here, don't forget it next time, okay?" He was still looking up at you from the chair, so he nodded again.
"Yes Mister"
A part of him wanted to stay, to keep the conversation going just in case he could get something different out of it, but the other side told him not to push it, to give it time, to let himself and you get used to what he was feeling.
The boy got up while you went back to your desk, he took a deep breath and gave you a quick kiss on the cheek, a platonic gesture that couldn't have second intentions, but for him did.
"See you tomorrow coach"
"I'll see you tomorrow Fer" You smiled as he saw him leave the office.
Your eyes went down to your notebook, where you crossed Ferran's name, one person down to help the team, that was your favourite part of this work after all.
Hello! If your requests are open I would love to read something about sharks n roses, anything that inspires you if you would like. I really like your writing, thanks
Hii, thank you very much anon <3 and sorry for the wait!
You can find the request right here and I hope you enjoy 🫶
shark'n'roses request for anon 💖 [Little!FA54 & PA37] AO3
Genre/cw: age regression | sick fic | angst | very subtle mention of one-sided feelings
Fermín doesn’t like telling lies but sometimes for the greater good lying becomes mandatory. So, when Nadia comes to have a word with him during lunch break at the hospitality while he’s spending time there with Álex, lying mode is instantly activated at the sight of the serious look on her face. Álex immediately understands the boss is here for business so he excuses himself and runs away, leaving Fermín to his fate under the watchful gaze of Gresini’s team owner.
It starts fine, she asks how he’s doing, talks about something the engineers told her for this afternoon taking into account the track temperature condition, then she asks again how he’s doing, she switches to another topic and comes back to the same question. To which Fermín always replies with a smile.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he repeats himself.
He feels a bit uneasy under the suspicious glance she gives him this time. It looks too close to the one his mother gives him when he visits home and she’s sure he comes only because he wants to ask for something. So he uses the same strategy he gives his mother: he has the whole package - a sweet smile and the puppy eyes. It works every time with his mother so why wouldn’t it work with Nadia as well?
“I’m fine, really,” he insists.
Nadia narrows her eyes, a sign that she doesn’t believe a word of what he’s trying so hard to claim.
“Are you sure?”
Fermín nods and makes an ok sign with his index and thumb, “All good.”
“So what happened?”
Ah. Straightforward. She's done beating around the bush. This is the moment where he has to play dumb. Fermín is quite good at this game. He has a few years of practice under his belt. He could thank Pedro for that.
“What happened when?” Fermín asks in a very innocent tone and he internally cringes at how much he sounds like a kid who’s trying to hide their mischief. Literally what he is doing, by the way.
Nadia isn't stupid. She knows he’s the one being stupid. Good thing she has a lot of patience and has been dealing with more troublesome riders than this young man who thinks he’s so smart he can fool her. She isn't here to play with the safety of her rider.
“Maybe nothing happened,” she pretended, “And I completely imagined the moment where you almost went to give your greetings to the floor when getting off your bike this morning.”
Fermín gulps down and it hurts for two reasons. First, she’s trapping him, second is that swallowing has been a pain since Thursday but he was sure it would go away by itself.
“Just lost my balance, nothing to worry about. I’m fine, Nadia, I promise.”
He is everything but fine. Nadia knows it. The worry on her face increases. She doesn’t understand why he is adamant about lying to her. One look at the young Spaniard's face is enough to tell he isn’t feeling well. His features are drawn with fatigue and his complexion is pale. She gave him several chances to be honest but he stood his ground. Fine. Might as well get straight to the point.
“Are you sick, Fermín?” she asks.
“No.”
He hates how he sounds like a petulant child but “sick” isn’t a word he wants to hear right now. He isn’t sick and if Nadia thinks he is, she is wrong. She’s even more wrong to talk to him in such a soft tone, while looking at him with such kindness, far from the way a boss would behave with their employee, because it makes Fermín’s confidence waver and a feeling of warmth bloom inside his chest. It’s the kind you only feel when someone deeply cares about you and let you know about it, reminding you that you’re allowed to feel down, to rely on others, to have someone who cares for you and won’t leave you if you show a little bit of vulnerability, who actually welcomes it and allows you to feel comfortable and safe… But Fermín doesn’t have that anymore. He lost it a while ago. The day Pedro and him fell apart, actually.
“It’s alright if you miss the sprint race,” Nadia says kindly, “What matters is to be well rested for tomorrow...”
Fermín doesn’t say a word, he feels she isn't done talking. Nadia gently grabs his hand into hers above the table, the warmth of her palm feels nice, makes the young rider’s eyes drop to their joined hands.
“…It wouldn't be wrong either to miss the Grand Prix…”
Fermín looks up with wide eyes, stares at his team principal and his eyebrows furrow at the sudden irritation that wells up inside him when he hears what she dares to suggest. Is she joking? Missing the sprint race was one thing but missing Sunday’s race was another and in either case, it was out of the question.
Nadia keeps talking, “…Your health comes first.”
He isn't sick, there is no reason to prioritize his health or whatever she is saying. Fermín roughly pulls his hand away from Nadia's and stands up abruptly, causing the legs of his chair to scrape against the floor.
“Going to rest before the race,” he grumbles between gritted teeth before he says louder, “Because I am going to race.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer and leaves the hospitality without a glance behind him, shoulders stiff. Nadia sighs and runs a hand over her face. At least she tried. She knew it would be no success. She can’t force him to not ride and Fermín knows it.
He’s cursing under his breath as he walks toward his motorhome.
Nadia’s not going to steal this moment from him. He won’t let her do that. He hasn’t ridden a lot because of his injury and it’s taking him long to get back to his level. His leg still hurts when he walks and he’s getting tired of people asking if he’s okay as they see him limping on the paddock when he doesn’t use his scooter. So he’s not wasting the opportunity for a good result during both races after qualifying P3 behind those unbeatables Aprilia since the start of the season. He has been feeling great on the bike, his lap times were quite fast since Friday… he has all of his chances to fight for a podium during the sprint. He pushed so hard this morning during practice and qualifying to the point his legs were shaking when he came back to the garage and got out of his bike, an engineer had to steady him when his knees went weak and the world spinned before his eyes. It was nothing. Just temporary. He feels fine. He is ready to race this afternoon. And it isn’t the noises of the paddock being too loud or the lights in the garage being too bright, his sore throat which makes swallowing or speaking hard and the throbbing headache that would keep him from riding. He feels that he can ride and if he does, he will. He is a big boy who can make his own decisions and take responsibility for the consequences.
“Can ride, will ride…” he mutters to himself with a childlike stubborn determination, as he walks through the paddock ignoring everyone.
If he can walk, he can ride. Easy. He nods to himself, pleased by the logic.
"...Can ride, will ride,” he says it again, louder this time, testing how it sounds.
His nose wrinkles. It sounds funny. Like a song lyrics or something he would say in a loop to annoy someone. He should have told that to Nadia. The thought earns him a quiet giggle but it dies almost immediately as a sharp pain makes itself known behind his eyes.
He winces, "...Ow..."
His hand flies to his forehead and his smile disappears. This isn't funny anymore.
“Nadia is just a meanie,” he mutters, rubbing his eyes with closed fists, “She knows nothing.”
She thinks he is ill but no, certainly not. Even if he’s starting to feel cold despite the hot temperature, his body feels heavier than usual and his head feels funny now. A nap and he will be good as new. The current heatwave above Europe has been messing with everyone's sleep, it also influences his own sleep schedule. The heat makes it unbearable to find rest, he keeps on turning around in his bed, and it leads him to missing a few hours of sleep. That’s all. There is no other explanation for how he feels, nothing else. The headache will go away once he’s rested and his throat probably won’t take too long to get better.
He’s just tired. So the nap he’s going to take will soon be the best one he ever has.
As he finally reaches his motorhome after what looked like an endless walk, he mumbles again, pouting, “Stupid Nadia.”
“I’ll tell her that you call her name behind her back.”
Fermín lets out a startled squeak before both hands fly over his mouth. He spins around so quickly the world tilts for a second.
Leaning against Fermín’s motorhome, there stood Pedro, KTM cap turned backward on his head and arms crossed over his chest, seemingly waiting. Fermin frowns, giving the other an exasperated look. What is he trying to do? Look cool? To Fermín, he only looks like an even bigger loser than usual and right now, he doesn’t have time to lose with Pedro.
“Snitch,” he grumbles.
Pedro shrugs, far from being hurt, “You literally said it out loud.”
Fermín groaned again, “You can’t tell her.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” His mind is a mush and thinking only makes his head hurt even more. He struggles to think of a retort he doesn't find. “… Just because.”
Fermín hopes for the other rider to drop the topic and leave but if there is one thing he has learned over time with Pedro and still hasn’t changed even after their friendship came to an end, it's that he is a pain in the ass when he wants to be.
So, of course, Pedro asks “Because what?” and when he does, his expression doesn’t change, it stays neutral, he’s not teasing or mocking, purely asking. If it stayed at that, Fermín would have felt a little upset with him but nothing much. He would have only pouted harder, to show his unhappiness, maybe would have whined that Pedro is as much of a meanie as Nadia is in a pouty voice that would have betrayed completely the space where his mind was currently - and involuntary - going to, but Pedro makes the mistake of talking again.
“You’ve got nothing to say, dimwit?”
It isn't the insult that makes something snap inside Fermín. It isn't the provocation either. It’s thinking. Thinking hurts. Everything hurts. Right now he doesn’t want to think, he just wants to lay down and rest. He doesn’t want to argue with the other Spaniard as usual, he doesn’t have the strength for that. However Pedro frowns, he isn’t one to show concern easily but even he can see Fermín looks awful, his eyes are glassy and he looks unsteady on his feet.
“Are you feeling alright?”
The question ignites something uncontrollable in Fermín. Everyone keeps on asking. They won’t stop asking. The frustration and the exhaustion come together, tears well up in his eyes in a flash, his cheeks turn flushed and the headache becomes worse.
“You look kinda si-”
“No!” Fermín shouts, voice cracking, “No, I am not sick! And why does it matter to you if I am? You don’t care about me anymore so don’t pretend you do now, just leave me alone!”
He runs up the metal stairs to his motorhome and slams the door behind him, leaving a very puzzled Pedro who stays stunned and is at a loss of words. What happened there? True, he doesn’t show any type of interest or care for Fermín but it doesn’t mean he wants to hear it from Fermín himself. It’s rather upsetting this way. It is even more because of the unsettling apprehension that takes hold of him after seeing the other rider's condition. But… it’s not like he can do anything. Fermín told him to leave him and, as embarrassing as it is, Pedro isn’t one to fight when it comes to relationships and feelings and making things right. He would rather leave things as they are. So he does, walking away but not without shooting a worried glance toward the Gresini rider’s now closed motorhome’s door.
Inside the small room, Fermín fights the tears which threaten to fall, he sniffles loudly and handles himself alone. As he always does.
He kicks off his shoes, shimmies out of his jeans and clothes with clumsy motions and crawls under the covers with his team polo still on and in his underwear. He curls into a tiny ball under the cover of the bed. Feverish heat makes him uneasy. But he is going to be fine. In an hour - the amount of time he sets an alarm on his phone with shaky hands - he will be rested and ready to race.
___
He feels worse than before when he opens his eyes as the alarm goes off. Fermín feels miserable. His head is twice as heavy, he feels awfully hot but still shivers. His shirt is soaked in sweat and damp hair sticks to his forehead.
A whimper escapes him before he can control it. It’s not the time to act like a baby. He can’t give in to the wants to stay in bed and cry, to suck on his pacifier which is hidden in the bedside table drawer, whimpering until the fever passes. He said he was fit to race so he has to race.
He gets ready. Puts on his race suit despite the struggle and the pain. Fermín walks to the garage. Everything is loud, his steps are wobbly. He successfully ignores the concerned look Pedro gives him when they cross paths on their way to their respective garages, but Fermín can’t avoid his teammate.
“Are you okay?” Álex asks him, genuinely concerned, taking a look at the state of the younger man.
Fermín almost snarls at his teammate as an answer but takes upon himself to form a proper response.
“I am.”
Álex doesn’t push and anyway Fermín doesn’t give him the chance as he walks away.
Can people stop worrying about him? It’s annoying. And it’s messing with his headspace. It’s as if everyone has united against him and is trying to remind him of the shameless lie he stubbornly keeps repeating. He needed to convince himself that he was okay because he was absolutely determined to participate in the race. Throughout his recovery for his broken leg during the winter break and the start of the season, time had seemed to drag on endlessly. His mental health had deteriorated. He felt at rock bottom, spending days crying, feeling alone and disgusted by his craving for someone to hold him. Luckily, he had his family and all their support, but it was different. Also, his injury had been different from what he is feeling right now. He feels under the weather and his headache won’t go away. His body temperature is unbearable. His vision blur at times. Fermín is exhausted and he is fighting against himself not to break down and admit the state he is in. He lied and now he has responsibilities to fulfill.
From the moment he goes to the garage, waits for the pre-race procedures, makes his way to the track and gets on his motorbike, Fermín is on autopilot. He follows instructions, doesn’t speak much and ignores as much as possible the deeply worried look Nadia keeps on sending his way. There is also another pair of eyes landing on him often from a certain KTM rider, which is very upsetting.
Fermín is trying so hard not to cry. He feels bad for lying but he said he is going to race so he will. The sprint race is only thirteen laps long. He has to power through it.
Seated on his bike, he keeps on readjusting his gloves, desperately trying to channel an ounce of concentration as he waits for the warmup lap. Focusing is a hard task which is made even more complicated by the unbearable warmth under his leather because of the burning ray of the sun. His body is sluggish and sweat rolls down his face, mixing with salty tears that he refuses to acknowledge.
When the signal comes, every bike around him moves forward. Fermín’s stayed motionless for a long second. He didn’t have the strength to twist the throttle and the noise is so deafening, it only makes him wince painfully.
But he has to do it.
He can do it.
He forces himself to move. Somehow, he makes it through the warmup and lines up for the start.
However his unconscious decision to ride doesn’t get him very far, because as soon as the first lap begins and he lost a lot of positions due to a terribly slow start, Pedro - who had started 11th on the grid - caught up to him and, when he tries to overtake him on the inside in a corner, the world turns into a blur, Fermín's vision goes dark on the edges and the next thing he knows, his bike loses balance, slides on the floor, catching with Pedro’s, sending both riders to the floor and sliding into the gravel together.
The crash isn’t dangerous or serious, it looks more like an unfortunate riding mistake at relatively low speed. Both Pedro and Fermín don’t end up rolling far in the gravel and the two bikes aren’t too badly damaged.
The yellow flag is instantly on.
Fermín stays down. He lay on his back in the gravel, chest heaving. The tears he was holding back finally became impossible to suppress and they rolled down his cheeks, their suddenness almost making him choke on his own breath. A childish sob, followed by many others, slips out before he can stop it.
Pedro quickly gets back on his feet, annoyed by this incident that shouldn't have happened. His riding was flawless, the overtake should have worked, but Fermín just had to mess things up and ruin his race. Of course. He shoots an angry glance in the other rider’s direction but the nervousness he had been feeling earlier suddenly resurfaces when he sees the other Spaniard lying motionless on his side. Pedro’s stomach churns as he runs toward Fermín and drops to his knees beside him.
“Fermín?”
To Fermín, Pedro’s voice seems far but also very close, strained with the same odd worry from earlier when they met in front of Fermín’s motorhome.
Fermín hates the sound of it. Hates how it makes him feel. How it only makes the tears fall harder and sobs wreck his now aching body.
“Fermín?” Pedro calls again, panic rising inside his chest, “Talk to me.”
The marshalls are running toward them, some already grabbing the bikes to put them back on their tires.
“Hurt…”
Fermín’s voice comes out small and shaky between sobs.
“…No wanna hurt anymore,” he cries harder.
Pedro’s eyes widen.
He isn’t mad about the fall anymore. He can’t be, after he recognizes the tone of Fermín’s voice. He never got used to it but he had heard it a lot before, in a more cheerful and chirpy way, cuter and not scared and broken as it is now, but he knows it. He also ran away from it. He chose to push Fermín away and shattered their friendship rather than face what it is and what it means. To him. Because it changed and broke the way he loved Fermín.
But now, in this situation, while the time seems to have stalled, Pedro grabs Fermín’s hand in his, holding it firmly, and looks up.
The marshalls can’t see.
Can’t know.
The world can’t see.
Can’t know.
Pedro has to make a decision. And quick. Because, right now, Fermín isn’t twenty-one anymore and he can only rely on him.
thinking about oscar fucking lando from behind during a quickie between a gap of obligations in media day and accidentally coming inside him.
obviously lando starts winning about it - he usually loves when oscar comes inside, but it’s a pain in the ass (haha) to clean up and they don’t really have time for it - but oscar just says this can be easily solved, getting to his knees and begins eating his own come out of lando, making him come again.
once he’s finished, he gets up and says “done, now you’re clean, no need to complain anymore” and lando who is barely holding himself up in shaky legs after coming twice under 20 minutes can only look back at him and say “oscar, you are fucking insane”
. . . ⇢ Hello Kitty [kitten regressor!FA54 ft AM73]
. . . ⇢ Age regression headcanons (2026 grid)
. . . ⇢ Milky way [4923] 🔒
. . . ⇢ You look better with nothing on [2588]
. . . ⇢ Don't make it weird [F1 crossover PA37×OP81]
. . . ⇢ El Gatito [9346]
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
. . . ⇢ Double win [7289] 🔒
. . . ⇢ ByHeart [shark'n'roses]
˗ˏˋ [ MOTOGP X READER ] ࿐ྂ
. . . ⇢ You make me feel so -> [gn!reader x FdG49] 🔒
. . . ⇢ Promesse d'éternité -> [f!reader x FQ20]
. . . ⇢ Championship secret -> [gn!reader × MB72]
˗ˏˋ [ FORMULA 1 X READER ] ࿐ྂ
. . . ⇢ INFUSION - [CS55 x f!reader x little!CL16]
pt. 1 the road trip
pt. 2 the morning after - bonus
. . . ⇢ Safe way [gn!reader & little!KA12]
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
˗ˏˋ [ DRIVER X DRIVER] ࿐ྂ
. . . ⇢ Little brother comfort [little!landoscar]
. . . ⇢ Don't make it weird [motogp crossover OP81×PA37]
. . . ⇢ Word [landoscar] 🔒
˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ a collaborative alternative universe where some riders/drivers are camboys. Find intro posts and headcanons on my lovely @parkerloves 's account ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗
Alex: switch! Can be a caregiver but with Marc and Fermin mostly and is very playful when regressed!
Marc: 100% little and if you don't have the vision, sorry but there's no hope left for you
Jorge: as a very self centered little, he needs a lot of attention or he will cry. Apart from that, extra sweet and well behaved.
Fabio: little! Temper tantrums master. Moody. Very clingy.
Luca is an age dreamer* and a caregiver. He mostly acts as a cg as he feels safer in this role where everyone relies on him. Loves to take care of Bez and Pecco.
Fermin: little!! Absolutely can't live without his pacifier.
Raul: cheeky and bratty little who does a lot of mischiefs but then gives sweet smiles as an apology and pretends nothing happened.
Maverick: mother hen type of caregiver
Enea: little!! extremely friendly with everyone but clumsy and naive, will follow people with bad intention without a second thought because he's so trusting and thinks everyone is nice.
Pedro: He is the most adorable little boy on Earth once he gives his full trust!! Asks a lot of questions, follows his caregiver around and loves treats! But before getting to this stage, his caregiver will be met with a lot of death glares, social distancing and silence. He will forever remain reluctant to give hugs though.
Diggia: switch!
Little -> More of a 8-10 y.o age range? Likes to be independent, to prove that he is a big boy. Thrives on being praised and called a good/big boy but can be very bratty. When given orders, he pretends to not hear most of the time.
Cg -> very patient and likes to play pretend and build Legos with the littles.
Franky: caregiver. He has the soothing vibes.
Pecco: babiest baby I can't explain it (bedwetter)
Bez: very spoiled and very babied by absolutely everyone!! The Academy boys, Vale, the whole Aprilia team... everyone loves baby Bez. He's a little ray of sunshine. Has his pacifier around his neck at all times. If he loses it, it becomes everyone’s problem (also a pacifier thief in his spare time). He probably owns a puppy plushie that looks exactly like his dog! I think he's the most prone to go into babyspace.
Toprak: caregiver in training (He tries to bribe the littles into behaving by giving them treats)
Joan: little? But could also work as a cg?
Ai: the perfect big brother for any little even if he doesn't make a lot of efforts, not because he doesn't want but because he doesn't know what he is doing most of the time but it works.
Brad: soft dad vibes cg
Diogo: an extremely shy little that hardly anyone notice because of how quiet he is. Very private about his regression. He's such a sweet baby.
Johann: caregiver!!!! He's made for the role <3
*Age dreaming is a person acting a younger age/younger mentality while being fully conscious of their surroundings. They don’t switch headspace and they can go back to acting their big age easily.
