I GOT A OTHER IDEAAAAA EHEHEHHW!!! So this time I will directly start with the driver our dear Jack, there isn't enough fan of him out there, like come on he is so cuteeee! Anyway I think you are aware all of the harassment the hate etc he had to got trough so maybe the episode he tell a out those people that he had to call the police on. What if his girlfriend, the reader obv, is at his apartment or something just chilling and hear some car pulling up and thought it was jack but upon hearing too much footsteps and different voices so she began to panic, maybe like she had just get out of shower, so she calls in panic at Jack. So Jack with Pierre and Kika (maybe they had to gone put and reader was sick and didn't want to pass it to kika and Pierre, Kika had taken reader under her wings being younger than her). So Jack rush home while calling the police and then all fluff and comfort i kno you will make a great writing put of this
𓂃۶ৎCost of Fame. x JD7
#pairing: Jack Doohan x Fem!Reader
#summary; What crazy fans won't do to get a close look...
#word-count; 1.3K
MASTERLIST
Fame came with it's downsides.
The hatred, the opinions, he tended to not let it get to him. Like a wise man once said, a lion doesn't concern himself with the opinion of the sheep. He'd simply scroll knowing anyone saying anything about him hadn't done half the work he had in his life to be where he is.
But those stories of stalkers, people who will do anything for a look, a view, a photo, a touch, a smell... he thought those were fairy tells only scary to the ones whose fame was absolutely out of control. As in Michael Jackson, Britney Spears, not little him who drove an Alpine and his dad was a moto gp champion, albeit he wasn't a nobody, it's not like he couldn't go to the cinema every once in a while.
So he lived life in peace, appreciated the fanbase he had. Enjoyed the friends he made.
That night he, Pierre and his girlfriend Kika had plans to go to a restaurant, something nice and not too fancy, just to chat it out, become better teammates and most likely shit talk Flavio Briatore to hell. His own girlfriend however, Y/N, couldn't come because she had come down with some sort of flu, medicine would solve it but on the risk of infecting someone she decided to stay home.
"Have fun though, baby." She spoke with a hoarse voice.
"Poor you," His aussie accent strong and quite frankly teasing. He approached for a kiss yet she pulled away.
"Nu-uh! You don't want to be catching whatever I have, then how will you drive!"
He frowned as if confused, but clearly teasing her "With my feet and hands?"
She only giggled, slapping his thick biceps jokingly.
Her time at home was spent watching some TV shows, texting friends, taking more medicine and coughing a lot. Jack sent her the occasional "You good?" text to make sure she wasn't going into some crazy sepsis shock, which mad her chuckle a little everytime with his worry. She took a warm shower to perhaps unclog her filled lungs, and as she got out and wrapped her naked body in a towel to just go back to her bedroom and fall face first into the pillow she heard it.
The garage opening.
It didn't sound like the usual slow automatic opening of Jack's car coming in, and it's rather early for him to be home.
She tiptoed to the side window that could give her just the enough view she needed to see the back of his car, she didn't see it. Maybe he was already in? But the noises were still there... and now, a new one began. Voices. Not only one, multiple. Maybe it was Jack and Pierre? Could be a drunk neighbor. Hey-- it could be a lot of things, but just to be sure, she sent a text.
"Jack, you home yet? Are you trying to open the garage?"
Jack had felt his blood gone cold. He was far from home, still in the restaurant finishing his food, he probably wouldn't be home for half an hour.
"No, why? Is someone there?"
He sent back, suddenly stopping his meal to hold his phone tightly.
"Mate, you alright?" Pierre spoke with that very much stupid french accent.
He couldn't help but feel a bit of a cold sensation in his stomach. "I don't know, Y/Ns asking me if I'm opening the garage?"
Pierre frowned, now a bit more attentive to the conversation. "That's...strange."
Now, not to be paranoid, but Jack did have some cameras installed in his house. In case of robbery, just that. Maybe when they were on vacations. He never imagined he'd have to check on that whilst someone was in the house, but the thought of his girlfriend in danger was simply too much to play about. Most of them were just outside, one in the living room for good measure.
She had said the garage, he had a camera inside of it not outside. But even so, with the dimmed light, he saw it...the bottom moving up and down like someone trying to break in.
His whole body felt like wood, he felt like he couldn't move for a second. Couldn't speak. The adrenaline hit like a shot of crack trough his bloodstream when he sent a panicked message to his girl.
"Lock yourself in the bathroom, don't make noise, turn off the lights. I'm coming."
Which...obviously he forgot to add "And stay calm" because he could imagine she was about to die in a coughing fit from how much fear she was feeling. His head shot up with widen eyes at Pierre.
"Mate call the police for me, someone's trying to break in. I'm driving home."
His friend seemed equally bloody scared as he was, "What? Whats going on?"
"Someone's trying to break in!" He repeated, already standing up abruptly, throwing some 100 euro notes on the table to pay for the dinner without even checking and fast walking outside to the parking lot.
Pierre did as he was told, he wouldn't question it of course, now was not the time for "Are you sure?"
He passed Jack'd adress, the situation. "Yes there's someone in the house... h-his girlfriend, it's a tall girl, he said he sent her to the bathroom."
He didn't listen much, everything was spinning, the road seemed blurry, every red light was a joke. Why would he care about silly road laws when some unknown idiots where trying to break in his house?!
Even if the ride was only 10 minutes, it felt like 10 hours.
"They said they'll send someone over, they'll only take 5 minutes." Pierre warned him, which made him feel at least rather calm, they'd be there before he was apparently.
Said and done, by the time he pulled over in front of his house, about 10 cops were going about his property. Two young men sat by his garage door being questioned. He jumped out and before being able to rush in, a lady stopped him, apparently the captain.
"Mr Doohan?" She asked to confirm, he nodded-- cleaning the sweat from his brow, suddenly realizing how wet he was from the stress. "We cam as soon as we can, the two boys were trying to break in trough your garage, I understand you're a famous athlete?"
"Not that famous!" He argued, as if this was somehow his fault. "I-I'm a Formula 1 driver, never won anything." He blurted out, even if it pained him to say it.
She smiled sadly a bit, "Well, famous is famous, but nothing was stolen, no one was harmed, your girlfriend is inside."
"Can I go in?"
"Of course."
It was all he needed, his feet moved earlier than his mind as he shot down the door and into his very familiar home. He let his coat fall to the ground near his shoes and found his girlfriend sat in the living room wrapped in a blanket being questioned by another cop (now of course in comfy pajamas rather than wrapped in a towel.)
"Baby!" He exhaled, finally feeling the threat die down. He wrapped his hands around her shoulder. "Oh fuck, you scared me. Thank god I have the cameras."
"Sorry.." She mumbled shyly. "I thought it m-might have been just you and Pierre opening it or something, didn't want to go outside."
"No don't apologize, you did the right thing. You text me, never check out danger. See?" He kissed her temple softly "I took care of it." After a short moment of silence where he just sat besides her and brought her closer to rest his cheek on her head, he asked "Are you better?"
"Yeah, I am... much calmer, that's for sure." She leaned back with him, their bodies' heat growing at the contact. "Guess that's just the price of having a handsome hyper talented famous boyfriend."
He scoffed "I'm not that famous."
"But you are handsome."
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#note; Me and the 7 Jack Doohan fans rejoiced at this ask fr. I know they got my boy stressing that one day he had to call the police. REQUESTS ARE OPEN BTWWW
🫵: “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.
