Hi. It's been a while. And I'm probably not gonna be back back. But i wrote something about the 2023 prema f3 boys. If you're interested give me a like or something
He’s not sure why Fred’s performance had such an impact on him this year. He’d watched in the last years, always a gaze on who was going to be his future opponents. None of them struck him like Fred this year. Not even Russell, or Leclerc or Oscar.
With every victory and every podium Fred rose higher, shone brighter. He was on the brink of exceptional. The only thing keeping him from it was bad luck and the incapability of others.
He wonders, briefly, if he should run Stanek off the track next race until he realises there won’t be a next race any time soon.
Then he notices how pretty Frederik looks under the lights.
Didn't plan to write this. Sat down to type down a line to remember it later and this happened. Anyway Bon appetit
[AO3]
The end to the 2023 Formula 2 season is anticlimactic. Theo won. Whoop de fucking do. Jack knows he names himself amongst the greats of their series. The George Russells and Oscar Piastris, when his victory is only down to luck or well the lack of it for others.
Jack had been rooting for Fred until the end. Not so much to just let him pass on track.
They all wind up in a little private club near the paddock. He’s got an invitation to one of the clubs the Formula 1 teams are going to celebrate at but he’s not sure why he doesn’t want to go there.
Maybe it’s the constant reminders that he doesn’t belong. That he still is without a seat.
His season ended on a high but it still feels hollow, looking back. He wishes it had been him that fought Frederik for the crown. He wishes Frederik won.
It’s confusing. The only person he voiced this too had been Mick, some weeks ago. Mick had just looked at him knowingly, but pityingly.
There’s a number for Formula 3 drivers there as well, mostly those who contested in the Formula 2 race. He watches as Fred smiles at Paul Aron across the room as they’re standing with Ollie and Zak O’Sullivan. They’re just missing one, Dino Beganovic, who is probably still at home, maybe watching his now former teammates in the race.
He’s not sure why Fred’s performance had such an impact on him this year. He’d watched in the last years, always a gaze on who was going to be his future opponents. None of them struck him like Fred this year. Not even Russell, or Leclerc or Oscar.
With every victory and every podium Fred rose higher, shone brighter. He was on the brink of exceptional. The only thing keeping him from it was bad luck and the incapability of others.
He wonders, briefly, if he should run Stanek off the track next race until he realises there won’t be a next race any time soon.
Jack takes another sip of his drink. It’s strong and burns away his train of thought.
There’s laughter across the room. Jack doesn’t need to look to know it’s Pourchaire and Victor flaunting their success.
But Jack’s eyes are drawn to Fred, whose eyes zip over to the Frenchmen before he frowns down at his drink.
Is it possible Fred doesn’t quite grasp how good he is? That can’t be. Jack had seen him shine on the podium in - Silverstone was it? Right? He had been confident, shining in the bright afternoon light as they clinked their bottles and celebrated.
Has he forgotten?
Is he beating himself up?
His entourage moves on. Ollie winds up beside an eternally smiling Arthur Leclerc and Jak Crawford. Paul follows a blushing Zak, blabbering at him and grinning.
But Fred stays, as if frozen as his gaze is still on Pourchaire.
Jack couldn’t tell you what makes him move but he downs his drink, puts it down and moves along the bar to come standing besides Fred.
“Great fighting.” he mutters when he comes to a halt beside him. Fred just nods, frown still on his face, eyes on Theo.
“You know, when we were teammates Theo told me I would never reach his level.” Fred replies, apparently still deep in thought. “I guess he was right.”
The utterance is low, barely audible over the music and Jack attributes their closeness to be able to understand it. There’s a spark of anger in his chest.
At Pourchaire for being so cruel and yet so wrong. At the world for standing in Fred’s way to glory. At Nissany, at Stanek, at the Prema mechanic who fastened the tyre not well enough.
At Fred for believing the Frenchman’s words.
“I was rooting for you.” Jack tries to find the words to express what he feels.
Fred’s eyes land on him, finally, only his eyes only dim even more “I’m sorry to have disappointed you.”
He sounds formal, his accent almost British. Mick had told Jack about Fred finding a mentor in George Russell. And it shows.
“You haven’t. Quite the opposite. I don’t think any one of us drove as well as you this year. You were in a different league altogether.”
One corner of Fred’s lips lifts in a weak attempt of a smile. “Except for you in Hungary.”
Jack takes it as the compliment it is and he grins “That makes me one of the best drivers on the grid I guess.”
It coaxes a giggle from Fred that makes Jack feel warmer inside.
“You are.” Fred responds with honesty. “Thank you Jack. Let me buy you a drink.”
“Nah, mate, it’s on me.” He raises two fingers to order two of whatever drink Fred had been nursing. When the bartender supplies them with it he raises the glass in Fred’s direction.
“To the worthy winner of the Formula 2 2023 season.” he grins and clinks his glass with Fred who turns flustered at his words.
“You’re drinking to me? How kind.” A new voice enters. He sounds genuine but Jack gathers he’s not.
“We aren’t. And now we’re going dancing. Bye.” Jack grins at Theo and takes Fred by the arm and pulls him with him to the dance floor.
“Thanks.” Fred smiles. Their faces are only inches apart, they’re standing way too close for it to be comfortable. But Jack finds he doesn’t mind. Something earthy meets his nose and he quickly locates the scent to stem from Fred.
He likes it.
They move to the music. They’re racing drivers not dancers but they still kind of make it work. In fact it helps Fred loosen up. His smile returns to his features even if Jack is unsure if he’s aware of it.
In the lights of the club he shines, transforms as blues and pinks meet his face and merge into purple. It’s entrancing.
Jack raises his drink to his mouth to get rid of the sudden dryness. He drinks it in one large gulp. Fred watches him with an amused expression.
“You want to go for another one?”, he yells into his ear over the music. Despite where they are and the packed dance floor around them it almost feels intimate.
Jack just shakes his head “Rather stay here with you.” he mumbles, the truth slipping from his lips before he can stop it. It had been quiet enough that not a lot of people around them should have heard. But from the flush gracing Fred’s cheeks he definitely did.
Jack watches as Fred’s surprise morphs into glee and he downs his own drink before handing it to the waiter walking around picking up discarded glasses.
They get even closer with every song they dance to. Jack isn’t sure how long they’re there. Just that Fred is laughing and smiling and for tonight that will be enough, he thinks.
Until someone pushes Fred into his arms. He’s not sure if it had been on purpose (but it had been Arthur doing it and while Jack doesn’t fathom to understand a Leclerc’s motives he wouldn’t put it past him.)
“Sorry.” Fred mutters against Jack’s ear but before he can move back again Jack’s arms snake around his middle on their own accord. Their position is intimate, not one of two on track rivals but rather of lovers. Fred in Jack’s space, one hand clasping his shoulder the other braced against his chest, Jack’s fingers digging into Fred’s hips.
Their eyes meet and there’s a connection. Some chemistry. Energy zapping in the air between them. Then Fred’s eyes drop to what Jack thinks are his lips and he watches as Fred pulls his lower lip underneath his teeth.
It’s probably the first time he admits it to himself but not for the first time does Jack wonder how Fred would taste, how he would feel against his own lips. If his lips were as soft as they looked. If he smiled even while kissing. How it would feel.
Jack swallows nothing and he feels his own heart hammering in his chest. And yet he pulls Fred even closer, plastering their bodies against each other.
“I don’t really want to kiss you in front of an audience.” Fred muses and Jack’s stomach plummets. Had he imagined the energy between them? With half a mind to step back and apologise Jack takes a deep breath to strengthen himself against the inevitable rejection.
Fred turns and steps out of his arms and Jack swallows the dark drudge of disappointment.
Then there’s a hand. Slender fingers curling around his wrist as he’s tugged forwards.
He meets Fred’s gaze whose eyes portray mirth. “C’mon.”
Jack gives the very intelligent response of “Huh?” and Fred just grins
“The part I have an issue with is the audience, dumbass. Let’s go find somewhere more quiet." He pulls Jack along with him, shoots Paul, who is cat-calling after them, a middle finger and yet doesn’t falter.
They find a secluded area between the back rooms and the rest rooms and Fred glances at him “Now where were we?” before he grins “Oh right” and pushes Jack against the wall, pressing their lips together.
Jack has kissed some people before in his life. Women. Men. But nothing compared to the feeling of Fred pressing up against him and pushing the softness of his thin lips against his.
Their kiss starts slow, almost sweet, innocent. Just moving against each other. Until Jack finds his bearings and recognises the desire running through him. He pulls Fred against him and opens his mouth further. The desire in him wants to swallow Fred and keep him by his side.
Fred’s hand moves down his back and into the backpocket of his jeans. Jack can feel him grope at the muscle beneath and can’t help the zing of heat collecting at the depth of his stomach, manifesting into a bodily reaction when he rolls his hips against Fred.
He finds Fred in the same predicament as himself and pushes off the wall to press Fred against it, cradling his jaw and pressing hungrily against his mouth. He’s not sweet about it now. Biting and licking. He probably looks like a man who's lost his mind, but then Fred responds in kind and all care about that leaves Jack’s mind.
There’s this sweet sound that Fred makes, something high, needy, desperate, from the back of his throat and it makes Jack move back. Because he needs to see.
He needs to etch the way Fred looks like this and the effect Jack has on him in his brain.
Fred’s hair is a mess, despite neither of them having touched it. His cheeks are red, ablaze in a flush. There’s a spatter of freckles on the bridge of his nose still visible beyond the blush. His lips are red and swollen from Jack’s ministrations and Jack wants to press a thumb there to watch it move, see how it behaves against his skin. He would if he didn’t get caught off guard by his eyes.
Endless pools of blue swimming with overwhelming need, with heat. With companionship. With want. Heck, someone find Jack a thesaurus so he can come up with every synonym of the essence. Because this is what he sees.
He wants more.
Before he can move forward once more to claim Fred’s lips again the Dane slides from his grip. Disappears in front of his eyes.
“Call me.” Is all Jack hears before Fred disappears back into the throng of people. But not without patting Jack’s ass.
Jack takes his time to look for him. He feels like a hunter looking for his prey. He moves past a scowling Pourchaire who looks like someone pissed in his drink (Jack hopes someone did) to Paul to yell at him about Fred’s whereabouts.
Paul just smiles and pretends Dino is calling him so he can take Zak’s hand and disappear to where Jack and undoubtedly Fred had disappeared from.
“He’s gone to the Merc party.” Ollie supplies helpfully, egged on by a cackling Leclerc. Crawford looks simultaneously exasperated and like he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
“How do I get there?” Jack asks and Ollie shrugs.
He stumbles out of the club into the dark city streets. He has a vague idea where Mercedes would be celebrating. Mick had let something drop.
The group of Mercedes mechanics stumbling out for a quick smoke is a dead give away. One of them, Tom - Jack thinks, sees him and grins “Better be on your way before papa bear sees you.”
“Is Fred here?” he calls back. The bouncer eyes him warily. Probably taking him for a drunken fan trying to get into the party. Despite the alcohol he had consumed Jack doesn’t feel drunk. Other than on the feel of Fred’s lips against his own.
“Maybe, maybe not. You won’t find out.” Tom taunts and the guy who Jack thinks is in charge of their strategies chuckles (his name starts with an L, that Jack knows… Ludwig? Lorenzo?)
“Rapunzel isn’t going to come and let down his hair. Move along boy. You don’t want to be here tonight.”
The bouncer lifts his head up to them and Liam/Lucas (?) smiles at him.
Jack grumbles and looks at his phone, eager to call Fred. That’s when he notices his grave mistake. He doesn’t have Fred’s number.
Mick would have it. If Jack begged enough he would probably also get it.
“Is Mick here? Can I speak with him?”, he calls. The bouncer takes a step towards him.
“Nope.” Tom responds “Last I heard he was wherever your lot celebrates.”
Jack furrows his brows. His lot? Mick hadn’t been at the F2 party. Of course.
Alpine.
Where Esteban is, Mick will follow.
He sends a short prayer to the race gods that Mick and Esteban are still there and haven’t retreated to either of their hotel rooms and makes his way over.
He steps in, lets Pierre pat his shoulder and lets his eyes fly over the crown in search of one black haired bean pole. Because where one of them was, the other was bound to be as well.
Jack feels a tiny bit sorry for just letting Pierre stand midconversation (not that he had been an active participant of said conversation) but he needs to talk to Mick.
Thankfully Mick is standing by Estban’s side, both of them chuckling at whatever is on Mick’s phone.
“I need you to give me Frederik Vesti’s phone number.” Jack urges in greeting.
“Well hello to you, too, loverboy.” Esteban grins at him, flashing white in his direction.
Mick grins “Already forwarded it to you via WhatsApp.”
Jack fishes out his phone, true to his word Mick had sent it. 10 minutes ago.
Jack’s eyes flash up to the German.
“Be careful, now that you -and I quote- defiled his boy, Shov is going to go after your ass. Count yourself lucky if George isn’t there with his birds and the bees powerpoint.”, is all Mick says before Esteban presses a shot glass into Jack’s hands and Jack throws it back.
‘oh god he looks so pretty’, Jack sends off to the group chat.
‘george missed his mark then. they were going for hot, mick informs me’, Esteban replies.
Jack lifts his eyes up from the phone across the room to where the rambunctious bunch of Prema drivers are sitting. Paul, Zak and Dino are cackling about something, somehow the youngest Leclerc brother has weaselled his way over and next to Ollie.
And Fred just sits there, a beam of overhead lighting hitting him and making him stand out against the rest of the dimly lit room. Or well, maybe it’s just Jack’s brain doing things again.
I loved the new fic!! but I will say for some reason it didn’t come up on my ao3 in the general page under f1? I could only find it when I saw you had posted on here and could follow the link - not sure if that’s an issue going on or not but just thought you should know x
Hi, thanks for letting me know. That's weird maybe it's because I am the author but it did Show up for me. Ao3 is sometimes a mess 🤔
…. Some of us have school/work (or live in different time zones) and while reading fics can sometimes happen during those things writing out proper comments is best done later at home. Would it kill you to give your readers 24 hours to comment before you start complaining?
As always criticism goes out to the people who read it and leave kudos and no comments we've been over this. 😉
summary: The Vegas Grand Prix had been doomed from the start. When George and Alex both crash out there's not a lot to be done. The race is only secondary to the fact that they're both okay. When Alex mentions finding other things to do in Vegas than watch a shit race together, George comes up with an idea that seems like the natural course of action
Summary: Oscar is in England. Logan in America. When Oscar goes into heat all by himself Logan calls Fred for help. They can't keep their hands off each other. Luckily neither Logan nor Fred's alphas are going to complain.
I was writing angry instead of sleeping. Have a drabble. Warning: it's a lot of weird feelings, George leaves the team and it is fuelled by my anger about how the team is treatng George.
“Toto. We need to talk.” The words are first uttered in Zandvort 2022. The talk then speaks of disappointment in the team. George had done nothing wrong graining that podium and yet it felt like the team were punishing him.
The words return again. Singapore 2022. Jeddah 2023. Australia 2023 (“Why am I supposed to manage tyres when I’m leading the race and have Verstappen and my own teammate up my arse.”)
The collision in Barcelona. The qualifying in Austria.
Toto knows George is a ticking time bomb. And he knows Shov and James, amongst many others are with George on this.
Gwen warns him “I don’t manage him any more, but I know him. Don’t test him. You’re going to lose him.”
Kimi jumps F3. Gets to go to the sim. George watches with a close gaze. At first glance it’s because Fred and Paul have become brothers to him of some sorts. It’s envy as well. Not because Kimi is better than all of them.
But because George is sometimes haunted by Niki’s ghost telling him that hard work will be rewarded.
But it’s not. And Toto knows. But Lewis is too valuable to lose. So he trusts in George’s loyalty.
His mistake becomes clear in Mexico.
Perez’ seat is up for grabs.
Everyone knows it’s Daniel’s.
George shows up late at night. Toto can tell he was crying (he will learn later that it’s mostly because he will have told Fred it has to be done). The ink on his contract extension has just dried. Toto thought they were save.
Then George asks him for a talk as his manager, instead of as his team principal and Toto has the professional ability to do just that. George comes prepared. Shows him the powerpoint. His pace, his ability to adapt, his track record. Everything is perfect even down to the amount of money Red Bull would have to pay to get him free.
If Toto wasn’t Mercedes’ team principal he’d say yes. He says that to George. Who nods.
Toto should have known. For all of his years working with George that this guy rarely bluffs. That he will take a lot, even extend a cheek or however the saying goes. But once he snaps there’s no way back.
George has a meeting with Christian Tuesday morning. Toto joins him. Christian is leering and lets George talk him down.
It’s the most shocking move in recent Formula 1 time. Toto kind of has to think of Niki switching to Ferrari.
They lost him.
When Lewis learns he looks almost as betrayed as he was in 2016.
When the team learns they are shocked but there are too many who sigh and nod as if they’ve seen it coming.
Leo seems overjoyed. Mick, hopeful.
Shov and James don’t talk to Toto for an entire week and when they do it’s through Ron who lets Toto know he ruined the team’s chance for success in the future. Which Lewis hears and takes as criticism against him and Toto has to deal with two drivers who are unhappy.
Lewis wins in Brazil. Overtakes George in Las Vegas. Despite team orders not to.
They lose the P2 to Ferrari.
Max says he’s looking forward to getting George as a teammate. Daniel says if it’s anyone getting the seat George has truly earned it.
Lando signs with Mercedes (it’s compared to Lewis’ move all those years ago.) Fred joins McLaren in his stead.
The first ripple appears sometime in the winter break, when George is rumoured for his first session in the sim. He’s supposed to be on the same pace as Max. Faster than anyone else. And Toto knows, he’d been faster in the sim against Lewis.
Lewis wins the first three races and Toto feels calmer with everyone of it. But he can’t help watch George race. There’s something eerily beautiful, chilling in a way watching him race. He overtakes Lando in race three.
The Mercedes got a better start than Red Bull.
Makes takes the fourth race. Charles the fifth.
George scores his first podium in his sixth race with Red Bull. P3 behind Lewis, who’s leading the championship for the first time. The next race a P2 (just before Fred, who cries being on the podium with George).
George wins in Silverstone. Toto watches him raise the trophy high above his head. Lewis looks up at him. Lando too. The imagery is poetic. They should be happy about a double podium.
But the whole team doesn’t feel like celebrating. Because George is gone. Lewis and Lando bitch and moan about each other every day. Toto needs a break.
He asks George to return when George has more or less bagged the championship in Brazil. George just smiles.
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