𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭: 𝑨 𝑪𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒔 (𝑱𝑫𝟕 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓)
🫵: “AFAB; same-aged ; youngest Schumacher ; nc-17 for suggestive themes ; you are apparently the darling angel of F1 due to your father’s legacy ; romeo and juliet trope ”
⌛️: late 2025
masterlist
a/n: heavily inspired by that scene from RWRB! I kept Zahra in just because 🫶
Jack Doohan was usually fast—just not this morning.
The knock on the door hit like the five lights going out.
“Jack Doohan, it's almost seven!” Zahra’s voice was sharp, clipped—the kind that meant she was three seconds from storming in. “You have interviews. Let’s get going.”
Zahra. His PR manager, the best his dad could recommend in the autosport industry.
Jack shot upright in bed, hair sticking out in confused angles, heartbeat slamming into his ribcage.
“Shit, shit, shit.”
He turned to you, tangled beside him in the hotel bed, golden light creeping through the blinds and painting your bare shoulders like a scandal. He gave you a frantic shake.
You stirred, blinking slowly in the haze of early sunlight. The duvet slipped just low enough for the situation to become critical.
“What’s going on?” you asked groggily, clutching the covers to your chest.
Another knock—this time louder, less patient.
“Jack, come on,” Zahra again. “Press conference at nine, photos at ten, you’re already running late.”
Your eyes widened. “Oh, shit.”
Panic ensued. Muted cursing. The soft thud of limbs scrambling for clothes. Jack tripped over his pants. You tripped over Jack. Neither of you ever thought this day would come.
"What if we just tell her, come on she'll love me." You reason as you rapidly shuffled through your clothes to cover yourself up, before settling on your lover's hoodie.
Jack jumps to get his pants on, struggling with the button. "Yes, she would love you, she's a fan— but then she'd also kill me."
"Okay, fair."
Slotting your head into Alpine merchandise, you scanned the room for anything resembling a decent hiding spot.
“Under the bed?” he whispered.
“There’s nowhere to breathe under there.”
“Bathroom?”
“There’s literally one door and it's facing her!”
“Closet?”
You locked eyes. Silence passed between you like a loaded gun.
Knock. Turn of the door handle.
“I’m coming in,” Zahra declared, voice full of fire.
Jack, eyes wide, shoved you toward the closet. “Go!”
“Hey!” you hissed as he fumbled to get the door closed, your bare legs vanishing just as the hotel room door swung open.
Zahra stormed in like a commander in battle, eyes immediately locking on Jack, who stood there shirtless, the bed tousled behind him like a scene from a very unwise movie— something she had warned him numerous times about.
She narrowed her eyes at him, and then narrowed them even more at a pair of women’s shoes peeking out from beneath the chair.
“Where is she.”
"Who?” Jack asked, faux-bewildered.
Zahra scoffed and started prowling the room. “Don’t even try, Jack.”
He followed her like a man trying to keep a wild animal from finding his lunch. “Zahra, seriously. No one is here.”
“Oh, really?” she snapped, then held up a familiar object. “Then who left this?”
Your phone. Bright pink case. Stupid charm a fan gave you, still attached.
Jack blanched. “Okay, so she left her phone.”
Zahra’s eyes lit with the glee of a woman unraveling a mystery. “Where is she? Hmm? Hello, hello?”
Jack tried to pull her away from the room gently. “Zahra, please. I'll meet you downstairs—It’s all chill.”
“Chill?” She rounded on him. “You hook up with some rando the days before the biggest race of your life—with your entire family in attendance, might I add—and you let her keep her phone in here? You don’t have an NDA for sure! What if she was filming? What if she posts? Jack Doohan, Alpine's comeback kid, in bed with God knows who!”
“She’s not gonna do any of that,” he muttered.
“Oh really? And how would you know that?”
Thump.
All three of you froze.
In the closet, you decided that hiding a relationship was much easier in the movies... and that these hotels needed sturdier closet fixtures.
Zahra’s eyes narrowed like a hawk spotting prey. She lunged before Jack could stop her and flung open the closet.
You tumbled out with all the grace of a baby deer on ice, clutching your dignity and Jack’s Alpine hoodie like a shield.
“Ow. Shit.”
Silence. Then:
“Good morning,” you offered, sheepishly.
Zahra stared at you. The darling of Formula One media. The epitome of grace. The world’s most cherished legacy child. The youngest Schumacher, goddammit. And covered—covered—in Jack Doohan’s teeth marks.
Her breath hitched.
Jack winced. “Zahra, breathe.”
“Don’t you tell me what to do,” she snapped, taking several quick steps backward as if proximity to the scandal might physically infect her. “Are you kidding me right now?”
“You wanna sit?” Jack tried.
Zahra sat.
He fanned her gently. “Here okay?”
“Stop it,” she snapped, swatting him away. “God. You make me feel a hundred.”
Jack straightened, awkwardly. “Okay.”
“How long?” Zahra finally asked.
He mumbled, “Since Australia.”
She looked like she’d just done math in her head and hated the result. “Race one? Who knows?”
“Literally no one but you,” Jack said, and the tension disappeared from Zahra's shoulders.
“And Ronald,” he added. Jack’s security detail. Okay, the shoulder tension was back.
Your voice perked up from the floor. “And Johnny, my bodyguard. And Nora, my best friend…”
“Oh,” Jack added. “I told my sister.” He looked at you with a big grin.
You cooed. “Aw, really? She’s so sweet.”
"Yeah, she was really happy for us," Jack said, beaming.
“I can’t wait to see her again. She’s really—”
“Alright, shut up,” Zahra barked. “Both of you. I need to think.”
Jack lowered his voice, almost boyish. “Please don’t tell my dad.”
Her eye twitched. “We’re in a hotel crawling with journalists, a day away from the deciding race of the season, in the city with the highest paparazzi-per-capita, all eyes on Formula 1, and you’re asking me not to tell your daddy?”
Jack blinked. “Well… I haven’t told him yet.”
She snapped. “Sorry to burst your coming of age, but you decided to put your dick in the darling daughter of Michael Schumacher? The walking halo of the F1 world? Do you understand what you’ve done?”
You raised a hand. “Well, technically, my brother’s more famous now... with the ROC with Sebastian and...”
Zahra whirled. “Not talking to you, Missy.”
You raised both your hands in surrender.
She stopped. Closed her eyes. Exhaled. Slowly.
“Would it make any difference,” she asked tiredly, “if I told you not to see her again?”
Jack’s voice was calm now. Firm. “No.”
You smiled at him, heart swelling despite the chaos.
Zahra rubbed her temples like she was thirty years older than she was. “Every time I see you, I lose a year of my life.”
She stood.
“I’m going downstairs. You better be dressed and in the lobby in five minutes. You better pray you make that press conference.”
Jack nodded solemnly.
Zahra turned to you. “And you, little Miss Angel Eyes, get your ass back to Monaco right now. I want you chewing on a croissant on your private boat by sunset. If anyone sees you leave this hotel, I will bitch-slap you into next year. Got it?”
You nodded quickly. “Loud and clear.”
Then she paused, softened. Hand on your shoulder.
“I’m a big fan of your dad. I really hope he gets better.”
Your expression melted. You nodded, gently patting her hand.
Zahra took a deep breath, stepped back, and slammed the door behind her.
Through it, you heard her mutter, “Unbelievable. They don’t pay me enough for this shit.”
When the tension also made its exit, you laughed in relief. “Zahra’s even cooler in person, Jackie.”
Jack looked at you like you’d hung the stars in his sky.
You grinned. “Now go get dressed. I’ll get changed too.”
You peeled off his hoodie, lifting it over your head with a slow smirk. Jack let out a low whistle. You tossed the hoodie at him, hitting him square in the face.
“Eyes on the prize, Jack.”
©ｖｉｖａｃｅ－ｆｏｒｍｕｌａｌａ
𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓
𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐏𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐎𝐑 𝐈 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐂𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 🔪