Remember when I posted a fic that contains Jack Doohan ending up with a comeback with Alpine, and a fic that has Franco Colapinto lamenting over being a reserve driver?
๐๏ธ๐๐๏ธ I have reverse manifested these sons of bitches on accident.
read: back up plansโกfc43 & closet of secretsโกjd7
๐ซต: โAFAB; same-aged ; reserve driver for rbr ; F2 Prema driver ; angst with comfortโ
โ๏ธ: november 2024 (rookiesm)
masterlist ๏ฟผ
While your feet grew heavier by the minute, it did some good, somehow, when it found you a quiet spotโsandwiched between barricaded areas between the F2 and F3 garages.
You sat on a secluded bench, your body curled into itself, as if trying to shrink away from the weight pressing down on your chest. The world outside this quiet corner of the paddock buzzed with the noise of F1 teams for Free Practice at Lusail Circuit, but here, in this small bubble of solitude, you could allow yourself to feel the disappointment that had been gnawing at you all day.
It was meant to be your year.
Your hands were shaking. Youโd fought so hardโtoo hard, maybeโand yet, no seat. What Kelly said dunked you into cold water, confirming what you feared most: Red Bull had chosen someone else next season.
The day started with more hope. The Red Bull hospitality had been brimming with excitement for Free Practice. Two races left in the Constructorsโ Championship, and youโd given the other teams a run for their money with the points you had fought tooth and nail for, subbing in for Max while he juggled being a world champion and a new father.
But today, with Max back, you were benchedโplaying interviewer for PREMA on Instagram, your F2 home.
Once the cameras stopped rolling and youโve terrorized enough people on the paddock, you found yourself cooing over the three-month-old baby Verstappen, charming onlookers as the little one giggled at your antics.
โWAG in training, huh?โ Kelly joked, resting a hand on the stroller, watching you both with a soft smile.
You stood taller, grin faltering. โWhat do you mean?โ Around you, the crowd began to drift off, pulled back to the thrill of Free Practice.
Kelly smiles, not mirroring hers. โYouโre a natural with the camera... and kids love you. They media try to find every flaw with us, you know. But Iโm sure youโll be a fan favorite... watching his races.โ
Oh, but you werenโt a WAG. You were a driver.
โWell, I donโt know much about that, since Iโll be behind the wheel,โ you replied with a laugh, trying to play it off.
Thatโs when her expression changed. Something softer. Something sad.
โOh honey,โ she said gently. โI thought you saw the news.โ
Your brows furrowed, smile trying not to collapse.
Kelly's face became unreadable. โAndโฆ with youโฆ and the Haas boy, I thought... well, I thought youโd be joining us girls this yearโฆโ
Your face paled and flushed all at once. Your ears rang. Your vision tunneled. The truth became unbearable.
You didnโt have an F1 seat next year.
Across the roomโalmost cruelly on cueโChristian Horner walked in. Surrounded by important people with clipboards and the media, he caught sight of you.
But he didnโt hold your gaze. Just like he didnโt hold his promise.
He looked away and left.
Your world tilted. Youโd been promised a seat at Zandvoort. Max was there to attest. The stars had finally seemed to align. Youโd built your career from the ground upโearned every point, every podium. You werenโt supposed to be clawing for a shot anymore. You were supposed to be there.
But instead, as the press release now confirmed: Y/N L/Nโstill trying to claw her way into Formula 1.
And so, thatโs how your heavy heart found you. Tears threatening to fall, hands trembling as you clutched your phone with the stupid article. You didnโt know what to do. Didnโt even realize you werenโt alone until a voice cut through your spiraling thoughts.
โOh Prema girl, you found my secret cry spot.โ
Your head snapped up, heart skipping. The brown curls. The blue eyes. The teasing smirk on his pouty lips
Franco Colapinto.
Of course it would be him.
Monaco 2022 flashes in your mind.
Somehow, he always had this timing. Like he knew exactly when to show upโwhether you wanted him to or not.
โWhat are you doing here?โ you ask, trying to sound annoyed, but your voice wavers.
โShouldnโt you be at Free Practice with Alpine?โ You swipe quickly at your eyes, embarrassed. But itโs Franco. Heโd seen you in all sorts of momentsโjust not like this.
He gave his signature smirk of his, leaning casually against the fence, tumbler in hand. โYeah, but they gave it to Jack. Because of that article youโre reading,โ he adds with a smirk before sipping.
You blink. Confused.
Franco shrugged trying to maintain his nonchalance. โTurns out, they donโt want me either. You know, despite half a season or whatever. Just the backup.โ
Your heart twists in your chest, realizing he was in the same boat you were. You let out a soft laugh, though it felt more like a quiet sob.
โWait,โ she said softly, her eyes scanning his face. โYou didnโt get a seat?โ
Franco looked at her, the twinkle in his eyes fading for just a second. โYeah,โ he confirmed, his voice quieter now. โI didnโt.โ
The realization hit her like a wave. Franco Colapinto, the charismatic and talented driver, a force in their older F2 days, the guy who had made a name for himself with his passion and fire in Williams mid seasonโwas now just like her. Stuck.
You donโt know what to say. So you donโt. You watch him fiddle with the tumbler.
โIced yerba,โ he says, offering it to you. โTry.โ
You hesitated, but not for long. Youโd watched enough of his interviews with Alex to know the drill. Taking it in hand, you brought it to your lips and took a cautious sip. The bitterness hits immediately, your face contorting slightly at the unfamiliar taste.
You handed the tumbler back. โAt least youโre up as a reserve,โ you muttered, though the words tasted hollow. You didnโt even get a reserve seatโ but of course you didnโt want to be a reserve. You didnโt want to be waiting in the wings. You wanted to be racing.
Franco took a sip, his expression softening as he sat down beside you. He didnโt keep the tumbler back, instead resting it on the bench between the both of you, where it sat as a silent testament to your shared disappointment.
"But you and me," he began, his voice light but meaningful, "weโre meant to go fast. Not sit on the sidelines.โ
You let out a deep sigh, nodding as you took for another swig of the yerba. The bitterness almost felt comforting now. It was like the taste of failureโa reminder that misery loves company.
โItโs likeโฆโ you whispered, hugging your knees to her chest, feeling small. โA slap in the face, you know? After everything Iโve done, after how hard Iโve fought... I had a taste of the top. And now? Now, I take two steps back, and Iโm back where I started.โ You shook her head in disbelief. โHow am I supposed to get out of this?โ
Franco leans back, letting the hum of engines echo around you both. He doesnโt try to fix it. He just listens.
โYeah,โ he murmurs eventually. โFeels like it all means nothing when you don't get chosen.โ
โExactly,โ you say. Your voice raw. โYou just... you wonder if it was all worth it. If youโre just... not enough.โ
Franco smiles, and spares a glance at you. โYou and me, weโve got the passion. The heart. The drive. They canโt take that away from us.โ
You looked at him then, surprised at how comforting his words were. โHow do you do that?โ you asked quietly, the weight in your chest lightening just a little. โHow do you always know what to say?โ
Franco shrugged, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. โI donโt know. Maybe itโs the mate,โ he joked. โBut seriously, youโre more than just a driver. Donโt let anyone make you feel like youโre not enough.โ
You smileโreally smileโfor the first time all day. โYouโre right,โ you say, taking a deep breath. โI donโt know whatโs next...โ
Francoโs gaze softened. โYouโll figure it out. And no matter what you decide, Iโve got your back.โ
For a moment, there was a silent understanding between you both, something unspoken but undeniable. Your heart was still heavy, but somehow it didnโt feel as crushing with Franco beside her.
Cheers and claps filled the airโ the sound of Free Practice finishing echoed in the distance, Franco stood up, offering you a hand.
โYou want me to walk you back?โ he asked with a mischievous glint in his eye.
You raised an eyebrow, not quite sure if you was ready to face the pit crews and the chaos again. But his offer was genuine, and there was a comfort in knowing you didnโt have to go through this alone.
โSure,โ you replied, standing up and brushing off the grass from your shirt. You walked side-by-side toward the garages, your heart still heavy but a little less burdened. You didnโt know what the future held, but for the first time today, maybeโjust maybeโit would be okay.
As you walk, Franco pulls out his phone. โHey, realized I donโt have your number.โ
He offers it to you, grinning.
โJust in case you need someone to talk to.โ
You smiled, tapping you number into his phone before handing it back. You didnโt say it out loud, but you had a feeling there was something hereโa spark, a bond forged in the heat of the Doha Sun and in the trenches of disappointment.
๐ซต: โAFAB; same-aged ; youngest Schumacher ; nc-17 for suggestive themes ; you are apparently the darling angel of F1 due to your fatherโs legacy ; romeo and juliet trope โ
โ๏ธ: late 2025
masterlist
a/n: heavily inspired by that scene from RWRB! I kept Zahra in just because ๐ซถ
Jack Doohan was usually fastโjust not this morning.
The knock on the door hit like the five lights going out.
โJack Doohan, it's almost seven!โ Zahraโs voice was sharp, clippedโthe kind that meant she was three seconds from storming in. โYou have interviews. Letโs get going.โ
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.
โShit, shit, shit.โ
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.
โWhatโs going on?โ you asked groggily, clutching the covers to your chest.
Another knockโthis time louder, less patient.
โJack, come on,โ Zahra again. โPress conference at nine, photos at ten, youโre already running late.โ
Your eyes widened. โOh, shit.โ
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 fanโ 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.
โUnder the bed?โ he whispered.
โThereโs nowhere to breathe under there.โ
โBathroom?โ
โThereโs literally one door and it's facing her!โ
โCloset?โ
You locked eyes. Silence passed between you like a loaded gun.
Knock. Turn of the door handle.
โIโm coming in,โ Zahra declared, voice full of fire.
Jack, eyes wide, shoved you toward the closet. โGo!โ
โHey!โ 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 movieโ something she had warned him numerous times about.
She narrowed her eyes at him, and then narrowed them even more at a pair of womenโs shoes peeking out from beneath the chair.
โWhere is she.โ
"Who?โ Jack asked, faux-bewildered.
Zahra scoffed and started prowling the room. โDonโt even try, Jack.โ
He followed her like a man trying to keep a wild animal from finding his lunch. โZahra, seriously. No one is here.โ
โOh, really?โ she snapped, then held up a familiar object. โThen who left this?โ
Your phone. Bright pink case. Stupid charm a fan gave you, still attached.
Jack blanched. โOkay, so she left her phone.โ
Zahraโs eyes lit with the glee of a woman unraveling a mystery. โWhere is she? Hmm? Hello, hello?โ
Jack tried to pull her away from the room gently. โZahra, please. I'll meet you downstairsโItโs all chill.โ
โChill?โ She rounded on him. โYou hook up with some rando the days before the biggest race of your lifeโwith your entire family in attendance, might I addโand you let her keep her phone in here? You donโt 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!โ
โSheโs not gonna do any of that,โ he muttered.
โOh really? And how would you know that?โ
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.
Zahraโs 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 Jackโs Alpine hoodie like a shield.
โOw. Shit.โ
Silence. Then:
โGood morning,โ you offered, sheepishly.
Zahra stared at you. The darling of Formula One media. The epitome of grace. The worldโs most cherished legacy child. The youngest Schumacher, goddammit. And coveredโcoveredโin Jack Doohanโs teeth marks.
Her breath hitched.
Jack winced. โZahra, breathe.โ
โDonโt you tell me what to do,โ she snapped, taking several quick steps backward as if proximity to the scandal might physically infect her. โAre you kidding me right now?โ
โYou wanna sit?โ Jack tried.
Zahra sat.
He fanned her gently. โHere okay?โ
โStop it,โ she snapped, swatting him away. โGod. You make me feel a hundred.โ
Jack straightened, awkwardly. โOkay.โ
โHow long?โ Zahra finally asked.
He mumbled, โSince Australia.โ
She looked like sheโd just done math in her head and hated the result. โRace one? Who knows?โ
โLiterally no one but you,โ Jack said, and the tension disappeared from Zahra's shoulders.
โAnd Ronald,โ he added. Jackโs security detail. Okay, the shoulder tension was back.
Your voice perked up from the floor. โAnd Johnny, my bodyguard. And Nora, my best friendโฆโ
โOh,โ Jack added. โI told my sister.โ He looked at you with a big grin.
You cooed. โAw, really? Sheโs so sweet.โ
"Yeah, she was really happy for us," Jack said, beaming.
โI canโt wait to see her again. Sheโs reallyโโ
โAlright, shut up,โ Zahra barked. โBoth of you. I need to think.โ
Jack lowered his voice, almost boyish. โPlease donโt tell my dad.โ
Her eye twitched. โWeโre 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 youโre asking me not to tell your daddy?โ
Jack blinked. โWellโฆ I havenโt told him yet.โ
She snapped. โSorry 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 youโve done?โ
You raised a hand. โWell, technically, my brotherโs more famous now... with the ROC with Sebastian and...โ
Zahra whirled. โNot talking to you, Missy.โ
You raised both your hands in surrender.
She stopped. Closed her eyes. Exhaled. Slowly.
โWould it make any difference,โ she asked tiredly, โif I told you not to see her again?โ
Jackโs voice was calm now. Firm. โNo.โ
You smiled at him, heart swelling despite the chaos.
Zahra rubbed her temples like she was thirty years older than she was. โEvery time I see you, I lose a year of my life.โ
She stood.
โIโm going downstairs. You better be dressed and in the lobby in five minutes. You better pray you make that press conference.โ
Jack nodded solemnly.
Zahra turned to you. โAnd 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?โ
You nodded quickly. โLoud and clear.โ
Then she paused, softened. Hand on your shoulder.
โIโm a big fan of your dad. I really hope he gets better.โ
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, โUnbelievable. They donโt pay me enough for this shit.โ
When the tension also made its exit, you laughed in relief. โZahraโs even cooler in person, Jackie.โ
Jack looked at you like youโd hung the stars in his sky.
You grinned. โNow go get dressed. Iโll get changed too.โ
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.
๐ซต: โ AFAB ; same-aged ; you can drive ; youโre British ; you like Taylor Swift ; you fix cars ; โ
โ๏ธ: around winter break 2024
table of contents | prev
a/n: i forgot to post this sksksk. hope u enjoyed the series!
Day 5. The final day of driving school.
Ollie doesnโt get to confront anything because you're not there.
Itโs an odd, sinking feeling in his chest when he enters into the school parking lot. He expects to see you, but instead, itโs Mr. Maclan sitting in the passenger seat of the car.
Ollieโs gaze flits to Mr. Maclan, his shoulders slumping with sudden realization. โItโs not yn today?โ His voice is quieter than usual, a small crack of disappointment in his tone.
โAfraid not, kid,โ Mr. Maclan says with a friendly pat on his back. โBut don't worry. Youโre all set. You were supposed to be my student since your first session.โ
The words hit Ollie harder than expected. Heโd made it this far with you, and nowโjust like thatโit was over. No more teasing each other, no more flicking his forehead, no more joking around to ease his nerves. You had disappeared. He can't help but feel the void left by your absence.
It all feels too abrupt, too sudden.
As the lesson unfolds, Ollie drives smoothly, even impressing Mr. Maclan enough to receive his permit that same day.
โWait, so thatโs it? Nothing more?โ Ollie asks, disbelief tinging his voice as he takes in the news.
โNope, you're good to go,โ Mr. Maclan smiles, handing over the permit with a hearty congratulations.
Ollie stares at the small piece of paper in his hand. A permit. Heโs done it. But still, something feels off. Heโs passedโheโs on his way to getting his full licenseโbut somethingโs missing.
You. Youโre not here to share this moment with him, and thatโs what matters.
If heโd known this was the end, maybe he wouldโve failed the test for another five days just to have you there.
---
By the time Ollie gets to the DVLA to take his photo for his official license, his mindโs still clouded with thoughts of you. The clerk behind the counter has to remind him to smile.
"Hey, mate," the clerk says, raising an eyebrow. "You need to smile for this one. Youโre going to look miserable on your license."
Ollie doesn't even realize heโs been staring at the camera, lost in thought. When the photoโs taken, itโs the most somber picture of him, his eyes distant and heavy.
He canโt stop thinking how today shouldโve been differentโhow it shouldโve been you by his side. You shouldโve been there, making jokes, singing All Too Well together in the car.
The card is handed to him, and with it comes a strange sense of accomplishment. But it's tinged with a deeper feeling of loss. Heโs done what he came here to do, but it doesnโt feel right without you to share it with.
---
He feels like an idiot.
Later that afternoon, heโ officiallyโ (like the now-certified license holder he is) drives back to the school, his heart heavy. The thought of not seeing you again stings more than heโs willing to admit.
โHey, Sir,โ Ollie says as he walks into the back office, rasping the wood and forcing a smile that doesnโt quite reach his eyes. โWhereโs she at?โ
Your dad looks up from his desk, brows furrowing with that dad-like concern. โOh, she said sheโs not feeling well. At home. Probably just a cold. You know how it is,โ he explains, but Ollie senses thereโs more to it.
He feels the tension between them, a silent understanding that youโre not just โsick.โ
Your dad catches Ollieโs uneasy expression and chuckles. โIf youโre that concerned, you could always drop off some paperwork for her. Iโm heading out to the pub later.โ He holds up a thick folder of documents, clearly unaware of how much heโs pushing Ollie out of his comfort zone.
But thenโ ohโ Ollie realizes and doesnโt hesitate. He takes the folder with a smile, nodding along. โSure, Iโll drop them by.โ
Itโs an excuse, really, an excuse to see you. He doesnโt care that itโs a little awkward intervention. He just knows he needs to apologize.
---
By the time Ollie pulls up to your house, the sunโs beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in pinks and golds. He parks in the driveway, stepping out with a cup of boba in one hand and a bag of fast food in the other, hoping that youโll at least let him explain himself.
He knows he screwed up.
Youโre in the garage when he arrives, your head buried underneath the car, your body drenched in sweat. Not at all sick, as you claimed.
Youโd just decided to take a sick day, as you liked to call it. The idea of losing Ollie made your stomach hurl, so, according to girl math, youโd earned it.
The Ford Mustang looks freshly finished, the hood popped, and the shiny new engineโ a sign that youโve made some final adjustments. But when a pair of feet in Jordans steps into your line of sight, you freeze. Waitโyour dad doesnโt wear Jordans.
You scream, startled by Ollie squatting in front of you to get a peek. A nervous chuckle escapes his lips, his eyes wide with a mix of apology and humor.
Like a caged birdโor maybe more like an upside-down roachโyou scramble out, fix your hair, smooth your shirt. And thenโthere he is. Ollie Bearman, standing in front of you.
Itโs an awkward silence.
โI got you your favorite,โ Ollie says, holding out the food with a mix of hope and guilt. His smile is apologetic, but itโs still as goofy as ever.
You stare at him, fighting a smile. Heโs holding out food, and he looks like he genuinely cares. Itโs hard to stay mad when heโs looking at you with his doe eyes like that.
โDo you have any idea how annoying you are?โ you ask, trying to sound stern, though your voice is already softening, taking the paper bag and sitting on the garage floor.
โI know. But Iโm really sorry,โ Ollie says, sitting down next to you. โI acted like a jerk. I shouldnโt have. I was just... being dumb.โ
You also take the boba from his hands, trying to hide your smile. โYeah, you were,โ you reply, but then pause, taking a sip. โYouโre lucky I like boba.โ
He lets out a sigh of relief and sits beside you while you both get back to work on the car. Itโs not a grand apology, but itโs realโand you canโt stay mad for long when heโs helping you fix the Mustang.
โThanks for the food,โ you murmur as you hand him a wrench. โYouโre lucky youโre helping with this.โ
โAnything to make up for being an idiot,โ he grins sheepishly.
You both work in comfortable silence, making small adjustments. Itโs nice, being back to this. Being friends again.
When the workโs done, you both lean against the hood of the car, and Ollie finishes off the rest of your boba (โThe calories donโt count if it's 1/4 of the drinkโ - Oliver Bearman).
You glance at him, feeling a playful smirk coming on as you flip the new card around. โSoโฆ what was up with the picture?โ you ask, your voice light. โYou look like a sad puppy on there.โ
โYeah, well this sad puppy took that picture three times,โ Ollie laughs. โNone of it came out right.โ
You furrow your brows. โThatโs not fair. They made me take mine once, no previews or anything.โ
โOh? Lemme see yours,โ he insists.
โNo.โ You glare at him. โI look terrible.โ
โCome on.โ
โNot in a million years, Bearman.โ
But then Ollie reaches for your waist and your breath hitches. He inches closer, and you know that if you look at him now, youโll both be way too closeโ
He pulls your wallet from your back pocket and you exhale, feeling your face flush.
โOi oi oi!โ You say, trying to recover as Ollie uses his height to pull your license out of your wallet. You try to reach for it, but heโs faster.
You had tried for a cute photo at the DVLA but it was a terribly rainy day so all the hard work on your hair made it flat with stray hairs. Even your makeup was wonkyโ following those โnaturalโ government photo YouTube videos was a big mistake. To make matters worse the clerk was rude and didnโt bother to let you see the photo until it was already printed out.
You pout, expecting Ollie to burst out laughing, but instead, he looks at your photo with nothing but endearment in his eyes.
โI should keep a copy of this,โ he jokes, โso when the cops pull me over, Iโll tell them it was you who taught me how to drive.โ
You flick his forehead, a genuine laugh escaping. โDo not get pulled over by cops, Ollie. I swear to God.โ
He laughs and compares the two of your cardsโdates of birth, blood types, and, of course, the pictures.
You glance at them again, this time more carefully. โYou definitely look way too serious in yours.โ
โWell, you look adorable,โ Ollie says, glancing at your license with a soft smile.
Your heart skips a beat. The way he says it, so casually, so sincerely, sends a flutter through your chest, but you donโt let on.
As the sun sinks lower in the sky, Ollie stands and pats the car hood. โLetโs test this bad boy out.โ
You raise an eyebrow. โReally? I thought I was the one who taught you how to drive.โ
โYou did,โ Ollie grins, opening the door for you with that genuine, goofy smile. โAnd Iโm going to show you everything Iโve learned.โ
The gesture is sweetโmore than sweetโand you find yourself smiling as you climb into the passenger seat. The sunโs golden light casts a halo around Ollie, and for a moment, everything feels perfectly in place.
As he drives you down the road, you catch him glancing at you with that stupid grin. You feel your cheeks flush.
โEyes on the road now,โ you tease, but inside, youโre not so sure whatโs happening between you two.
Maybe the worldโs a little different from the day you started teaching Ollie how to drive. But maybe, just maybe, thatโs a good thing.
๐ซต: โ AFAB ; same-aged ; you can drive ; youโre British ; you like Taylor Swift ; you fix cars ; โ
โ๏ธ: around winter break 2024
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That night, you sit on your bed, the hum of your laptop breaking the silence. Your fingers hover over the keysโunsure at firstโbut curiosity wins. You type his name into the search bar: Oliver James Bearman.
And then it happens. You fall down the rabbit hole.
First stop: his Wikipedia page. The guy is famous famous. You scroll past the basicsโhis birthday, early career, teams he's driven for. But itโs the photos that really catch your eye. Young Ollie, barely fifteen, smiling wide after a race win. And then, an older Ollie, still flashing that toothy grin, but with a face stronger jaw and neck thatโs seen more of the world.
You click on the links to his racing highlights, watching old footage from PREMA Racingโraw and unpolished, from when he was just starting out.
You laugh too much at some of the behind-the-scenes, especially the ones where he looks embarrassed but is forced to wear a ridiculous bunny costume or gets a bucket of ice water dumped on him mid-interview, or even carving onions. There's one clip you like particularly of him saying goodbye to PREMA Racing after his final Formula 2 race, hugging his junior team with more emotion than you'd expect. Ollieโs a big softie.
You canโt help but wonder what it would feel like to be wrapped up in one of his hugs.
Hours fly by as you binge-watch video after video. By the time you close your laptop, the clock has long since passed midnight. You reluctantly shut it down, but now, Ollieโs not just the guy next to you in driving lessonsโheโs more. Heโs an athlete, driven, ambitious. And his journey is only beginning.
Day 4 of driving school arrives with an unexpected sense of ease.
You're already in the car, engine, and stereo humming low, waiting for Ollie. He slides into the driverโs seat, flashing his usual grin. โReady to go?โ
You nod, cracking the window to let the morning air rush in. When Ollieโs in a joking mood, you know the lessonโs going to be fun.
Todayโs driving is smooth. Ollieโs relaxed, confident even. And you? Youโre relaxed too. For once, you donโt feel like youโre in the passenger seat of a car that could flip over at any moment. You just watch as he handles the road, navigating the streets with care. Itโs almost impressive how quickly heโs gotten the hang of it.
"So," you say casually, "I stalked you last night."
โI appreciate your honesty,โ Ollie laughs.
You nod in agreement. โI practically know everything about you now.โ
โDo you?โ He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused.
โYep.โ You say popping the P. You tell him everything you discoveredโfrom his early media days to his impressive race wins. Reading about the boy who's been giving you a hard time over the past few days was fun, but hearing it straight from him? Even better.
โThen what about Saudi Arabia last year?โ You ask eagerly. It was a beautiful drive and a beautiful day and you were catching up to the present and recent events of his career.
โI got the call maybe,โ he pauses, โtwo? Three hours before the race.โ
โNo way.โ Your jaw drops. โGood thing you were just casually in the area, huh?โ
Ollie laughs. โI was there for my F2 race. But I had to race in F1 instead, so I missed out on some career points.โ
โOh, screw that,โ you laugh, nudging his shoulder. โYou finished 7th in F1, for the top dog. That mustโve been worth it.โ
He fights a smile before giving in, nodding. โYeah, it was worth it.โ
The only time your yapping was put on pause was when Taylor Swift came on the radio.
โOh my God, I love this!โ You laugh, turning up the volume as the opening guitar riff of You Belong With Me fills the car.
To your surprise, Ollie sings along to the first verse.
โYou know this song?โ you ask, eyes wide.
โThere was a whole video PREMA made. I thought you stalked me,โ he teases.
You both sing at the top of your lungs, swaying to the music, completely caught up in the joy of the moment. Itโs a beautiful drive, a beautiful dayโand you and Ollie are singing your hearts out.
Soon, you plug your phone into the speaker and play all the hitsโindoctrinating Ollie into the essential Swiftie catalog.
โAnd this one?โ you ask, as Sparks Fly starts playing. โAlways makes me swoon.โ
โThe way you move is like a full-on rainstormโ And Iโm a house of cards,โ you start, way too caught up in the fun to care about how silly it is.
โIs this your favorite?โ Ollie asks, but you donโt see his eyes as he watches you, taking in your unfiltered happiness.
Itโs ridiculous, but youโre having the time of your life, driving through familiar streets with your voice blending with Taylorโs, while Ollieโs thinking that he definitely likes seeing you so carefree. Loves seeing you happy.
โYeah,โ you laugh, โitโs just so fun to sing.โ
You reach for the wheel to adjust the car when Ollie drifts too close to the white road markers. โFocus on the road, Ollie, not my beautiful voice.โ
Ollie thinks your voice is wonderful.
The conversation drifts back to Ollieโs time at PREMA Racingโhis teammates, the people whoโve been there from the start. You casually ask about his relationships with them.
โSo, whatโs it like, having your teammates double as your worst enemies?โ you ask, leaning back in the seat. โSeems a littleโฆ conflicting.โ
Ollie shrugs, glancing in the rearview mirror. โYeah, I mean, on the track they drive hard and really challenge you, but off the track we go out and try to live as normal teen lives as possible.โ
โThat was such a PR answer.โ You snort.
โYouโd be surprised how often that question comes up.โ He smiles as he upshifts the car.
โBut no, theyโre solid back at Prema. Dino, Kimi, Arvid, Maya... We all travel the world together for races and try to really connect just outside of racing.โ Ollie smiles fondly at the thought of his friends that he grew up with.
โSo, what Iโm hearing is, you have no friends except other drivers,โ you tease.
โNo!โ Ollie says defensively but quite amused. โI take full offense to that.โ
โName one other friend who isnโt a driver,โ you challenge.
He pauses, thinking for a moment. Then two. Then three.
โYour silence speaks volumes, Ollie.โ
โShut up, Iโm thinking.โ
You laugh, looking out the window. You feel strangely honored to be part of his exclusive non-driver friends list. As Ollie switches lanes, you canโt help but admire the way he handles the car.
And Ollie? Heโs enjoying the ride with you. He briefly entertains the idea of taking you around Londonโdriving you through the city you grew up in, letting you play more Taylor Swift songs, and turning you into his official passenger princess.
Then, without warning, you throw him off with a teasing question: โBy the way, before I forgetโare any of your friends from PREMA single?โ
Ollieโs smile falters for just a moment, his eyes darkening as he glances at you. He doesnโt answer immediately, and when he does, his voice is quieter than usual. โWhy?โ
You blink, surprised at the sudden shift. You didnโt mean anything by it. It was just a joke, one of those harmless questions that popped into your head. But maybe it was a little too silly.
โI mean,โ you continue, trying to keep things light, โI wouldnโt mind paddock passes.โ You laugh.
โI can get you paddock passes. What do you need my friends for?โ Ollieโs voice tightens.
You hum, keeping it playful. โOh, I wouldnโt mind dipping my toes in WAG culture. The Formula 1 WAGs are apparently top-tier.โ You smile, but Ollie wonโt meet your eyes. โGabrieleโs single, right? Arvid too?โ
Ollieโs grip on the wheel tightens. โYeah. Theyโre both single.โ
The air shifts, thickening with something you canโt quite place. Ollieโs mood is suddenly differentโdefensive, maybe?
You brush it off, thinking maybe heโs just tired, or maybe heโs just a little sensitive about his friends. โI didnโt mean anything by it. Iโm just asking. Saw them in the videos.โ You say quietly to justify yourself.
But something in the air has shifted. Ollieโs mood is different, defensive almost. You try to lighten it up by cracking a joke about their Pico Park gaming episode, but it doesnโt land the way you expect. His eyes stay on the road, a frown etched into his features.
โRight,โ he mutters, and the tension is palpable now. The conversation feels awkward, heavier than it should be.
Itโs quiet for a few more meters, and you feel extremely uncomfortable.
โYouโฆ. You okay?โ you ask, trying to figure out what just happened. You didnโt say anything wrong, did you?
Ollie doesnโt answer. Instead, he shifts in his seat, his jaw clenched, and the rest of the drive goes in silence. Every time you try to break the ice, it feels like heโs pulling further away.
As you pull into the parking lot of the school, you canโt ignore the heavy tension. It feels like youโve crossed some invisible line, though you canโt figure out where or why.
โWell,โ you say, trying to break the silence, โguess weโre done for today.โ
Ollie nods stiffly. โYeah. See you tomorrow.โ
He gets out, walking away without another word. You watch him go, stomach twisting with confusion. What just happened? A simple question, and yet the mood shifted so abruptly.
You drive home, mind racing, trying to make sense of it. Why did he react that way? Was it something you said?
Youโll probably have to wait until tomorrow to find out. Because whatever it was, Ollieโs definitely not admitting it today.
Maybe. You were supposed to invite him for some boba for a job well done too.
๐ซต: โ AFAB ; same-aged ; you can drive ; youโre British ; you like Taylor Swift ; you fix cars ; โ
โ๏ธ: around winter break 2024
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a/n: these bitches is so cute i love them
Day 3 rolls around, and to your surprise, things are already looking up. OllieโOllie, the guy who nearly sent you flying into a ditch yesterday with his death-defying drivingโhas actually come prepared today. He doesnโt just show up to the car, grinning with that half-apologetic look. No, today, heโs actually put some effort in.
โI watched some YouTube videos last night,โ he says, adjusting his seatbelt with a small smile. โFigured it was time I stopped trying to brake this thing with my left foot.โ
You feel your eye twitch and a headache comes in because what?
But then he throws you a winkโ a conniving one, and then you blink, then feel your shoulders relaxโones you didnโt even know were tense.
โOh, thank God.โ You lean back in the passenger seat, saying nothing more, letting the breath of relief do the talking. He rolls his eyes in response, and you find yourself kind of enamored by the fact that heโs taking this seriously.
He nods, a little self-satisfied grin tugging at the corner of his lips. โGotta at least try. I have a feeling you might not sign me off for my super license.โ
You chuckle at that, any annoyance from yesterday already slipping away. Maybe this is going to be okay after all.
That is, until parking happens.
For the next few hours, itโs a series of missteps. Ollie pulls forward, then repositions. And then tries again. And again. And again.
Itโs like watching a dog chase its tailโonly with less success and a lot more frustration.
โSeriously?โ You watch him inch forward, then back again only for the car to be slanted. โCome on, Ollie. You can do this.โ
โI know!โ he groans, slamming his hands on the steering wheel. โHow do people even park these things?โ
Youโre about to explain the basics when he turns the wheel too sharply and clips the curb. Again.
โI swear, this car hates me.โ
โOr maybe itโs just you,โ you tease, leaning against the dashboard.
He makes a sour face that maybe resembles a scowl on his usual smiley face. โVery funny.โ
After a few more failed attemptsโand a brief discussion on whether the car has developed a personal vendetta against himโyou both decide to take a break before he drives you both off a cliff (or just into a bush). You end up grabbing lunch at a McDonaldโs nearby.
As you sit down to eat, you canโt help but comment, โYou know, my gym trainer is going to murder me for this.โ
Ollie grins, unwrapping his burger. โSame. My fitness team would have a heart attack if they knew what I was eating two days in a row.โ
You laugh, eyeing the greasy burger in your hands, the smell of fries making your mouth water. โI wonโt tell if you wonโt.โ
He winks. โDeal.โ
The two of you devour the food like a couple of starved animals, and once youโre done, that familiar glint appears in Ollieโs eyesโthe childish boyish one.
Somehow, you both end up on the swings at the park, discussing gym routines and fitness.
โSo, youโre telling me you have to stay the same weight all year round?โ you squint, picturing the logistics. Some days you were a little chubbier; other days, you were less so. If you were any more insecure, that might be a problemโbut lucky for you, you didnโt mind.
โThatโs basically an eating disorder waiting to happen,โ you mutter. Youโd never make it as an athlete.
Ollie laughs, his long legs pushing the swing with ease. โI mean, we have trainers and dietitians on the team to make sure everythingโs in check. The car just has to be really light, so they work around our weight and the regulations. Just that though.โ
โPhew. And here I thought you had to be, like, six feet tall, too,โ you joke motioning to his long appendages, making him laugh.
โOne of my friends? Kimi? Heโs just around 5โ4.โ He gestures with his hand, a little below his chest.
It makes you think. You like it better in the car, you didnโt have to look up at Ollie too much. When you guys stood by side even the height difference had you blushing. You never thought of yourself dating a taller guy butโ wait you were thinking of dating Ollie werenโt you?
You shake trying to fight these thoughts so you stand up, urging that you two spend some time out of the car today (because you might stare a little too long at Ollie if you stay in the car with him for the rest of the day). Just for a little bit, you tell yourself.
โNow, usually we use tennis balls for this, but these will have to do,โ he grins, shaking two plastic water bottles that he filled halfway. โYou have to catch them as I drop them.โ
You eye the bottles skeptically. โHow will I know which one youโre going to drop?โ
โYou wonโt,โ he says, โthatโs where your quick reflexes come in.โ
You stare at him like heโs lost his mind. *Quick reflexes?* You donโt have those.
โItโll be fun trust me.โ He gives a big grin. โNow put your hand on top of mine.
You hesitate but follow his instructions. The second your palm meets the back of his, you donโt even have time to process the fact that youโre kind of holding hands before he drops the left bottle.
By some beginner's luck, you catch the bottle.
You are also annoyed so you try to wack Ollie with it.
โI wasnโt ready yet, you numpty!โ you screech, lifting the bottle to hit him.
Ollie laughs and ducks, trying to shrink into his six-foot frame to avoid the blow.
The game continues for a while along with other skill games, and though you fail more than you succeed, youโre both having the time of your lives. At one point, Ollie even tries to teach you how to juggleโ as all amazing F1 racers can doโ both of you abandoning the whole driving lesson thing for a little while and letting yourselves loose. The game is ridiculous and your laughs mix in with the other joyful laugh of the kids at the park.
Itโs exactly what you need.
As the sky shifts from orange to deep blue, reality sets back in. You both climb into the car to head back to school.
You take the wheel this timeโitโs way too late to be trusting Ollie with driving . But when you show him how to properly and legally speed at 100 km/h on the expressway, heโs impressed, weaving through cars and even going semi-manual mode.
Ollie was unashamedly looking in awe.
โSo itโs not out yet, so if this leaks, Iโm blaming you,โ Ollie says, looking like the proud passenger princess. โBut I just signed with Haas for F1 this season.โ
You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. Itโs not Ferrari or Mercedes or even a team you knew, but you could tell it means the world to Ollie. โThatโs... big news. Congrats.โ
He looks at his lap and then back at the road, looking modest. โItโs a dream come true, but it still feels surreal. Theyโve got me for a seat fitting next Monday.โ
You have to give him an amused look. โA what?โ You ask not quite believing what that was.
โYeah, we have customized seats.โ He says earnestly and you have to stop yourself from laughing.
The two of you talking casually about his career and the costs of having his back and butt being molded perfectly for his race chair, as you make your way through the streets. You honestly felt kind of bad you didnโt know just how famous he was and how ignorant you were of the sport.
You also tell him about your latest project: a Ford Mustang youโre working on, swapping out the engine for a Coyote 5.0L. Your dad sponsored the engine, so youโre hoping to sell it for ยฃ29,000 once itโs running.
โReally?โ Ollieโs eyes light up. โYou could make a whole business out of that. All for an engine swap?โ
You nod, proud of your work. โItโs a work in progress, but Iโm getting there. Iโm 98% sure itโll work.โ
Ollie crosses his arms and grins. โIโll help you get it to 99%.โ
โNuh-uh. You want a cut,โ you tease.
He laughs. โOf course! Gotta get paid for holding the flashlight.โ
You roll your eyes. โAnd itโs not even a 100% guarantee.โ
You banter back and forth about the project car, and Ollie jokes you should make a career out of it, crunching through the numbers of the profit margin and how much you'd pay your star employee if Haas ever decides to pull a Ricciardo. ("Ollie you'd be my only employee, you can't start a union like that.")
โYou know, itโs funny,โ you hum, steering towards the exit to Chelmsford. โYour biggest problem right now is getting a custom seat, and Iโm over here still deciding whether college is even for me. And youโre whatโjust a year younger than me?โ
โSeven months."
โPotato, potahto,โ
He shakes his head, amused. โYouโre kind of like the exact opposite of what I expected. You know, I thought youโd be all about racing, you drive a mean expressway.โ
You laugh. โYeah, racing isnโt really my thing. I love cars, but racing? Nah, thatโs not me.โ
He gets quiet for a moment, thoughtful.
โYouโd be surprised,โ he says, turning serious. โThe sport isnโt just about racingโitโs the life, the discipline, the pressure. The training... Itโs intense.โ
You nod, understanding more than you let on. โI can imagine. I have to drag my ass out to the gym, and barely control myself for boba so I donโt think I can give up my favorite things to eat.โ
Ollieโs smile fades a little. โI miss normal food sometimes. And my family. Iโve been at PREMA since I was 15. Itโs hard, you know? Living in Vicenza while theyโre here. So much has changed around here since then.โ
His honesty catches you off guard. Itโs a side of Ollie you havenโt seenโthe vulnerable part that you canโt help but relate to.
โI get it,โ you say softly. โIโve only got my dad here. And itโs been just the two of us since my mom passed. The move from Chelsea wasโฆ tough.โ
Thereโs a quiet understanding between you and your softening eyes meet his.
You wish the ride was just a little bit longer, just so the day didn't end. But the feeling is short-lived.
โOh no,โ you groan, spotting the schoolโs locked garage door and darkened lights.
โDonโt worry about it,โ Ollie says, unfazed. โI can tag along to your place.โ
โReally?โ And the thought makes you a bit too happyโ so you squint at him. โYou just want to see my car collection.โ
He grins. โHell yeah. I need to see this.โ
You roll your eyes but drive toward your house anyway. When you unlock the garage and Ollie steps inside, his jaw drops.
โWhoa,โ he breathes. โThis is unreal.โ
And heโs not wrong. Your collection is a proud testament to your love for cars and certainly not a cheap hobby for sureโleaving Ollieโs thoroughly impressed. He notices your Jeep Cherokee project and points out a missed timing chain change.
โYou didnโtโฆโ he starts, eyeing the engine.
โDonโt even say it,โ you mutter, already heading for your tools.
You canโt stand putting things off, and Ollie seems to understand that. The two of you get to work right there in the garage, fixing what you missed. Your dad stumbles in, eyes wide as he spots you and Ollie leaning over the hood.
โI didnโt know you had a boy over,โ he teases, leaning against the doorframe.
You roll your eyes as you fiddle around. โHeโs just helping out dad.โ
Ollie settles for a simple wave hello, grinning his gummy smile.
โYou know, she never lets anyone near her projects,โ your dad says, winking at Ollie. โYou must be special, Ollie boy. You hold a mean wrench.โ
Your cheeks heat up. โDad!โ you exclaim, trying to hide your embarrassment.
Your dad laughs it off and invites Ollie to dinner.
At the table, youโre still processing this new side of your dadโthe one who almost became an F1 driver before you were born. He shares stories of his racing days, including a funny one about racing a guy named Sebastian Vettel back in the early 2000s.
Apparently this Sebastian guy was a big deal because Ollie practically begs for pictures, and your dadโs more than happy to oblige. He brings out an old box that youโve never seen before and there your dad was in racing gearโ a young aspirant in the world of formula racing who chose the loves of his life over a racing careerโ you and your mom.
โLook! Itโs you.โ Ollie coos as you peer thatโ yes indeed that was a 1-year-old you in little pigtails in your dadโs arms, a 3rd place trophy in the other.
You laugh as you study the photos closely, but you do not miss the small "cute" Ollie mutters under his breath.
It hits youโyour love for cars probably started right there, but you donโt say it because it would be too sappy. Instead, you listen as your dad and Ollie trade racing stories.
By the time dinner wraps up, youโve laughed so much you nearly forget how late itโs getting. But you make Ollie leave, forcing your dad to say goodbye too.
As you drive Ollie to the bus station, you realize somethingโs changed. Youโre embarrassed by how well he and your dad got alongโbut happy too. And then, on the way to the station, you forget to signal when making a turn.
Ollie laughs. โGuess you need more hours at driving school.โ
You flick his forehead in retaliation, smiling despite yourself. โShut up.โ
๐ซต: โ AFAB ; same-aged ; you can drive ; youโre British ; you like Taylor Swift ; you fix cars ; โ
โ๏ธ: around winter break 2024
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You slide into the passenger seat, ready for round two. Same kid. Same car. Same terrifying driving. Only today, youโre feeling a little... less confident. Not in the โIโm nervousโ way, but more like I have no idea what Iโm doing here.
As you close the door, Ollieโs voice rings out.
โOh hey, itโs still you.โ
You glance at him, one eyebrow raised. โOf course itโs still me. How else will we know if youโre actually making progress?โ You say it dryly, but thereโs an edge to your voice, like youโre trying to remind him this isnโt just a joyride.
He laughs, leaning back in his seat. His laid-back energy is practically a shield, completely oblivious to the fact that heโs been a disaster behind the wheel.
โI suppose youโre right,โ Ollie shrugs. โSo, when do we actually get to drive on real roads?โ
You blink at him, slightly taken aback at the test course. โThis is a road, genius.โ
He just grins, that carefree grin thatโs equal parts charming and infuriating.
โYou know what I mean.โ
You look at him as dry as you can. โYou have to promise not to subtract from the population.โ
He flashes a gummy smile, and with that, you both set off, heading toward the road. At first, things seem almost normal. Heโs taking it slowโlike, really slow. The kind of slow that makes you question if youโre even moving or if the carโs stalled. But then, as the streets widen and the traffic thins, you feel itโa shift. Itโs like a switch flips in Ollieโs head. His foot presses harder on the gas, and suddenly, youโre going just a little too fast.
You grip the seat again, but this time not out of fearโmore out of frustration. Ollie apparently knows two speeds: full stop or flat out.
The first issue of the day comes when Ollie drives straight into a pedestrian zone without slowing down. You catch it just in time, slamming your foot onto the instructorโs brake pedal before he registers whatโs happening.
Ollie glances at you, brow raised. โThey werenโt going to cross anyway.โ
You roll your eyes, giving him a pointed side-eye. โYeah, but itโs a pedestrian zone, isnโt it?โ you say flatly, your voice barely above a whisper but thick with sarcasm.
He doesnโt get it, but itโs okay. Youโre just trying to teach him some basic consideration..
The worst part? Heโs the opposite of every student youโve ever had. Every other person youโve taught has been timid, unsure of themselves, terrified even. But not Ollie. Heโs far too confident. Like heโs already mastered thisโlike heโs just going through the motions. Itโs frustrating as hell because Formula One was definitely nothing like on-road driving.
โOllie,โ you groan. โCausing a car crash on the road means jail time, not a penalty out here.โ
You rub your temples as Ollieโs ears turn pink in embarrassment.
At the gas station, you ask him to pull up to the pump. You hand him the money to refill while you stretch your legs. It should be a simple errand, but when he comes back from inside, your eyes widen as he hands you a small, crinkled bag.
โI got you something,โ Ollie says shyly.
You blink, confused. โWhat is it?โ
He grins, a bit more playful now. โSome chocolates. Figured you could use something sweet after surviving another lesson with me.โ
You chuckle, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly as you take the bag. Itโs a small gesture, but something about it makes you feel... warmer. Despite the stress? Maybe heโs not so bad after all.
As the gas tank fills up, Ollie pulls out his phone, swiping through clips. "Want to see something?"
You nod, and like an excited puppy, heโs already showing you videos of his racing. Clips from F2, F3โdifferent circuits, different teams. His driving is incredible. The way he handles a car at top speed, the precision in his movements... You canโt help but be impressed.
Even when he crashed, you were impressed. In one clip, Ollie in a red Formula car turns sharply on a track with Canadian flags. However, he misses his timing, sending his car into the gravel and straight into the barriers. On screen, it looks slow, but the replay report says it was at a heart-stopping 190 km/h.
You canโt hide your shock as you stare at the screen with a hiss, and Ollie gives a sheepish smile. โYeah, not my finest moment. 15g I think.โ
Suddenly, Ollieโs thick neck makes sense. Youโd tried really hard to avoid looking at it yesterday, but now, thereโs no denying it.
You thought that if ever his gummy smile, bright eyes, and brown curls failed him for his (terrifyingly handsome) defining traits, his neck could give him a run for his money.
Your eyebrows furrow as you absentmindedly lift your hand, facing him, and gently place your palm against his neck. His skin is warm, and you feel the muscle beneath your fingers, solid and strong.
Ollie sucks in a breath, his entire posture shifting as he focuses on you.
You, however, are completely absorbed by the strength of the muscle beneath your touch. Your gaze lingers, eyes tracing the curve of his neck.
But then the fuel meter dings, signaling a full tank, and you both snap back to reality. Ollie lets out the big breath he was holding and you feel your ears shoot up with red.
You both meet eyes in awkward silence.
You cough and pat his shoulder, and he gets the hint to return to the driverโs seat.
To fill the silence leaving the gas station, you admit youโve never really been into racing. The idea of flying around a track at breakneck speed never seemed appealing. But cars? Cars you understood. You loved themโeach one a project, a piece of you. Your garage was a testament to that, filled with fixer-uppers you were always tinkering with.
Ollieโs eyes light up. Youโve got his attention now. Heโs practically drooling as you show him pictures of your cars at stoplights, even yielding at sidewalks to get a better look at your pride and joy. You can see it in his eyes; heโs really into it.
โThatโs... wow,โ Ollie says, swiping through your pictures. โYouโve got a serious collection.โ
You shrug, a modest smile tugging at your lips. โItโs just a hobby.โ
But itโs more than a hobby to you. Itโs your passion. Every car is a project, a little piece of you that youโve put into it.
And Ollie? When heโs behind the wheelโwhether on the track with his helmet on or in this cramped car beside youโheโs got that same gleam in his eye. The one that says heโs looking at something thatโs almost perfect, just a little more work to be done.
Ollie later on tries something new. He begins making risky overtakes, weaving between cars like heโs in a race. Your heart skips a beat every time he cuts it too close.
โDude, what are you doing?โ you ask, flicking his forehead as he swerves around yet another car, barely squeezing through.
He blinks, unfazed. โWhat? Thereโs a gap. Iโm practicing overtaking like you said.โ
You groan, rubbing your temples. โYeah, I said overtake when itโs safeโnot in the gap look at your mirrors Ollie.โ
โThe car wouldโve fit, though,โ he says, trying to reason with you, but the glare you give is enough to make him fall silent.
On the way back, itโs getting late, and youโre texting your dad to heat dinner up (your stomach growling might be a clue). But heโs not responding when Ollie suddenly turns left without checking the mirrors. Your head snaps up.
โDid you check the mirrors before you turned?โ
His silence speaks volumes.
You glance at where youโve turned and squint. โAre you serious?โ
You end up pulling into a McDonald's drive-thru, and Ollie insists on paying for the food. โItโs on me,โ he says sheepishly.
You're about to politely reject until:
โPlus, I heard your stomach grumble.โ He adds without thinkingโinstantly flushing you red as your mouth opens and closes in embarrassment.
โIโโ
Ollie realizes what he said and fumbles to correct himself. โI-Itโs an apology for almost giving you a heart attack... lots of heart attacks. Please don't kill me.โ
You canโt help but snort. โYouโre lucky I like you.โ
His grin widens, and you both settle in the parking lot, sharing a quiet meal.
After the snack, you head back toward the driving school. The day winds down, and thereโs light conversation between you two. But thereโs a strange sense of camaraderie, maybe even comfort. Despite all the chaos, the near accidents, the awkward neck touch, and fighting over the last fry, something about Ollie keeps you intrigued.
"You're born here in Chelmsford?" You ask on a red light.
โYeah. You?โ
You shake your head. โWe moved here from Chelsea halfway through high school. Now Iโm just waiting for my college applications to come back.โ
Ollie tilts his head. โWhere are you headed?โ
โKings, mostly. Itโs where most of my friends are going. But Newark and Lincoln have good programs,โ you shrug.
โWhat course are you taking? In the fall, right?โ
โYeah, fall.โ You hum, considering. โI donโt actually want to go to college. A technical one would be fine, but my aunts insist I take engineering for a proper 4-year degree.โ
You study him for a moment. โDo F1 drivers go to college?โ
Ollie laughs. โNo, thank God. The high school program I had barely let me survive. But then again, it was all Italian, so maybe that had something to do with it.โ
โOr youโre just slow,โ you tease.
He laughs, shaking his head. โThe last thing a guy who drives cars for a living wants to hear is that heโs slow.โ
As you arrive back at the school, your dad stands in the doorway, a teasing grin spreading across his face.
โSo,โ he says, crossing his arms once Ollieโs out of earshot. โLooks like you and Mr. Bearman are getting along pretty well.โ
You freeze, your face flushing. โWhat?โ
He raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying your discomfort. โDonโt try to deny it. I saw you two laughing in the car. Whatโs going on?โ
You shake your head, trying to play it cool, but your dadโs smirk is enough to make you blush even harder.
โItโs nothing, Dad. Just... teaching him to drive.โ You give him a pointed look. โCan we go home now?โ
Your dad just chuckles, clearly enjoying every second of your embarrassment. You slide into the driverโs seat, trying to ignore how your heartโs still pounding a little faster than usual.
๐ซต: โ AFAB ; same-aged ; you can drive ; youโre British ; you like Taylor Swift ; you fix cars ; โ
โ๏ธ: around winter break 2024
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a/n: i dont have a license nor am i british so idk what the hell is going on, ciao!
Your dad owns a driving school now.
He casually mentioned it last summerโlike it was no big deal. You almost choked on your morning coffee on a random Tuesday. Not because of the business itself, but because your dad had a habit of randomly acquiring businesses. In fact, for this one, the paperwork and the permits all seemed to fall into place with little effort.
Itโs nothing grand, just a local operation in your quaint town of Chelmsford. A small, no-frills school teaching people the basics and helping them get their licenses. Itโs a solid gig, a simple change of pace for your dad, who's always been the practical type. No need for anything flashy.
But Ollie? Well, he had his own reasons for picking this particular school when he came home for winter break. One it was a necessity to get his Formula 1 career up and running for an FIA super licenseโ but it was also a whim. He couldโve gone anywhere, but before his life truly steamrolled, he wanted to be close to his mom, dad, Thomas, and Amelia โ the school was only a bus ride away from home. Perfect for him.
Heโs not exactly famous, but his name still carries weightโ especially after last year's stint in Ferrari. If people knew who he was, it might make a scene. And Ollie hates scenes.
The order was five days of practical driving. The theoretical part? Easy. He breezes through the written tests like itโs nothing.
But then, the usual driving instructor calls in sick. And guess whoโs left to fill in? You.
Youโve got your instructorโs license. But it was last summerโs side gig, and you didnโt ask for this. Teaching someone to driveโespecially someone whoโs never been behind the wheelโis exhausting. You know the drill: the constant instructions, the anxiety, the second-guessing. Itโs a lot.
But you owe your dad. He bought that new part for your project car, the one youโve been working on for months.
So fine. Youโll do it.
So when the day came around, begrudgingly, you slid into the passenger seat.
You expect the usual: an awkward, inexperienced teen with shaky hands and a million questions. But when you open the door and look at your student, you freeze.
The guyโs got looks. He looked no different from the usual London boy with fair skin, but he had a luscious brown mop of curls and the most gleaning green eyes youโve ever seen. And heโs tall. Taller than you, even. And from the way heโs sitting there, all relaxed and confident, you can tell heโs not exactly nervous.
Great. Now youโve got to teach him to drive.
โHey, Oliver,โ you mutter, trying to mask your confusionโ not sure if you got the right guy. โIโm your instructor today. You ready?โ
โJust Ollie,โ he says, his low voice ringing in the car as he nods.
Ollie Bearman.
Huh.
He politely listens to your instructions, but you can tell heโs bored. This is strange because most peopleโespecially teensโare freaked out the first time they get behind the wheel.
Hell, you were nervous when you first started, even though youโd been around cars your whole life.
You walk him through the basicsโmirrors, seat adjustments, seatbelt, starting the carโall while he nods, half-listening, his eyes drifting out the window. But when itโs time to actually drive, thatโs when things take a turn.
As soon as his foot hits the gas, the car jerks forward, and you lurch in your seat, grabbing the edge of the door.
โJesus!โ you yell, heart pounding. โGently!โ
He blinks, clearly surprised by your reaction. โSorry,โ he mutters. โThe gas is more sensitive in this car.โ
His footโs like a lead weight. He doesnโt ease into it; he floors it every time. The car shoots forward like itโs in a drag race, and you grip the seat like itโs the only thing keeping you from flying through the windshield.
But itโs not just the gas. When he finally gets the hang of accelerating, he slams on the brakes so hard you nearly break your nose on the dashboard. Thank God for seatbelts.
โGently!โ you shout again, your voice cracking from a mix of frustration and fear. โYouโll send us into a wall if youโre not careful!โ
His expression doesnโt change. Heโs focused on the road like itโs the carโs fault and not his. โThe brakes are a lot tougher,โ he says like that explains everything.
And thenโhe does it again. His foot hits the gas while heโs trying to brake, and you slam back into your seat so hard that you swear youโll leave an imprint on the upholstery.
You hit your instructor brake pedal, trying to steady the car as it jerks forward, against your control.
Your eye twitches, taking into consideration what he just said.
โThe brakes are a lot tougher,โ he said. 'The gas is more sensitive in this car.'
Annoyance rises within you, but a nagging thought creeps in: โHas this guy been driving without a license? Without a permit? In these conditions?'
Ollie tries once again to step on the gas but your hold on the foot brakeโ and annoyanceโ is stronger.
Just as you open your mouth to lay into him that driving without a permit is a crime and how has he not killed anyone yetโ he drops a bombshell.
โIโm an F1 driver,โ he says, clearly noticing your twitching eye. โThatโs what I meant.โ
You blink, stunned. โWhat?โ
โYeah. Well, I will be. Soon,โ he shrugs. โI need a license to get my superlicense. So here I am.โ
Oh. That makes sense. Kinda. Heโs training for Formula 1, not just regular driving. But still, the guy can barely keep the car straight.
How is he going to race in F1 when he drives like this? You donโt even have time to ask. Youโre too busy trying to stop yourself from screaming as he jerks the wheel again.
Itโs like trying to ride a bull thatโs been shot out of a cannon. You keep yellingโgently! Ease off! Stop slamming the brakes!โbut he just glances at you, a little too amused.
โIโm not doing it on purpose,โ he protests, but thereโs a tiny, barely noticeable chuckle in his voice that tells a different story.
Ollie is going to admit: he is enjoying this. Not the driving bit, (How on earth was a car built with no tractions easier for him to drive than this?), but watching youโyour terrified face turning into annoyed then back to terrified, your hair now a mess, your death grip on the door and your seatbelt threatening to snap as you try to stay in one piece. To say he was hit by a cupidโs spikey arrow was perhaps the best way to describe it when you opened the passenger door.
On your partโ the worst part of today, youโre starting to think that, despite his complete lack of driving skills, he might actually be kind of cute in his chaotic, reckless way. But of course that thought annoys you so you bend over his side and give Ollie a good flick on the forehead.
After a while, things go from bad to worse. A sharp turn, a misjudged move, and the car hits the curb with a sickening thud, scratching the side mirror as it scrapes along.
โOkay,โ you mutter, rubbing your temples. โWeโre done. For today.โ
Ollie doesnโt say anything, but you can see the glint of hope in his eyes. Heโs hoping youโll be the one to teach him again tomorrow. Itโs clear.
You, on the other hand? Youโre just praying you survive the week without needing a full-blown panic attack.
And as you step out of the car, you canโt help but thinkโthis could be an interesting week.
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