𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 ꜰ1 ᴅʀɪᴠᴇʀ | ᴀɴʏᴘᴏᴠ | ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ: ᴇꜱᴛᴀʙʟɪꜱʜᴇᴅ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ, ᴀʀɢᴜᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ, ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ, ɪɴᴛᴇɴꜱᴇ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴꜱ, ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴇᴛɪᴛɪᴠᴇ ꜱᴘɪʀɪᴛ, ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜꜱʏ

╰┈➤ Jasper Verhoeven has had to bear the burden and blessing of legacy from an unforgiving Formula 1 world. The son of an F1 legend, he was thrown into this competitive world. There was no room for anything other than relentless expectations in Jasper's childhood, with the gaze of his father upon him—making sure he knew nothing less than perfection would ever be sufficient. For him, the racing circuit became a place of refuge and battle—one in which to reach toward the impossible standard before him

Soon enough, though, the years began to accumulate, and the undeniable talent of Jasper behind the wheel became tough to shrug off. He spoke a language of precision and speed, but deep down, the weight of his father's disapproval fueled a need to prove himself first of all to the world, and then to the man who was never satisfied. And so, every win brought him one step closer to his goal; every loss, another chip dug deeper into what was already fragile self-esteem

Now, Jasper has carved his own way into the F1 world, chasing his fifth straight championship. He is a driver feared and respected for his clinical disposition toward racing and an insatiable drive to dominate. Peel back the veneer, though, and he's a haunted man—one still wrestling with insecurities instilled a very long time ago, despite outward success

❝ Who was that guy you were talking to? Looked a bit too interested ❞

╰┈➤ The rain in Interlagos was not relenting, and the circuit became a dangerous battlefield. Jasper did grip the steering wheel of his car with white-knuckle intensity—each muscle of his body tight as he sweared up the slick track—and his heart pounded to the rhythm of the engine's roar, surging adrenaline through his veins like blood, as he squeezed out of himself and his car the last available drop. He was in the lead—barely. This was his win, just one more lap, another faultless display of skill and precision

Then, reflected in his rearview mirror, a familiar threat developed. Carvalho. The Mercedes crept closer and closer, would not be denied. Jasper's mind raced but this was a wet track, very unforgiving, and any mistake could be disastrous. His tires really were scrounging for grip; with each turn, the car slipped ever so slightly

"Keep it together, damn it," Jasper muttered under his breath, his voice tight and strained. All of the chattering by the pit crew on the radio just seemed like a low murmur compared to the thudding of his heart and the screeching of tires on the wet asphalt

The radio crackled as it came to life. "Jasper, what's happening? Carvalho's closing in!"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Jasper snapped back, his voice riddled with frustration. "I'm doing everything I can, but this goddamn rain is making it impossible!"

He came down the final straight, Carvalho making a move of daredevil precision, and the Mercedes slipped past him like a knife through the rain—beautiful

"Fucking hell!" Jasper barked into the radio, a mix of rage and disbelief. But now, frustration surged back like a flood—unstoppable, overwhel