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internetgremlin-writes · 11 months

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Flat Spin [Chapter Nine]

Summary/Prompt: 1. A spin in which an aircraft descends in tight circles whilst remaining almost horizontal 2. A state of agitation or panic [informal] As the only female driver on the grid, you’re fighting a constant need to prove yourself, however sometimes the line between accepting help and hand-outs is more blurred than you think

Pairing: Carlos Sainz Jr x Female Reader

Word Count: 6,100

Warnings: Sexual references, general Chapter 8 Aftermath content

Previous chapters: ONE || TWO || THREE || FOUR || FIVE || SIX || SEVEN || EIGHT

Newton's third law is that every action has an equal and opposite reaction.

The following hangover lasted for two days.

The next morning, you thought you were dead. Or at least you did for the thirty seconds you got to sit in that odd, floaty feeling you get when you wake up with a hangover, right up until the point where a quiet “Cariño,” brought your attention to the side of the bed where you met the soft brown of Carlos’ eyes as he waved a croissant under your nose.

You groaned loudly as your stomach flipped and a wave of nausea crashed over you with such force you physically shuddered.

“Get that thing away from me now,” you managed to groan against the pillow. Carlos must have managed to understand the muffled garble because the rich, buttery send drifted away.

“Good morning,”

“No,”

“What?”

“Just…” you stopped to swallow down another wave, Carlos’ peppy attitude grating on you intensely. You couldn’t finish the sentence. “‘M going to lie on the floor now,” you rolled out of bed and army-crawled into the bathroom where the cool slates were all but calling your name in the balmy morning.

You got a whole five minutes of peace before he was grinning over you again.

“Ladies and gentlemen, your Monaco winner,” you squinted at him and caught the lens of his camera flash as the sunlight caught the polished glass. You made a certain hand gesture in his direction that made him make a gleeful noise.

“I think I’m dying,” You heaved yourself over the toilet bowl and felt his presence come mortifyingly closer before his hand landed warm on your back. For the first time, it occurred to you what you were wearing - after a second of sifting through your swimming mind you realised it was a T-shirt, much bigger than anything you owned. “It feels like my soul is being ripped from my body,” You coughed, felt your mouth water and weakly tried to push Carlos away when you realised there was no escaping your imminent fate.

“So dramatic,” he tutted, but his tone was softer, his touch careful and he stayed far too close for comfort as your body tried to expel whatever alcohol was remaining in your stomach. Suddenly you were small again, fragile. Something he could so easily break should he choose to.

“Says the person who kept feeding me champagne,” you moaned, the word like acid on your lips, and you felt your stomach heave again at the mention of it.

“Come on, you’re okay,” Carlos’ encouraging hands were lost on you, he was trying to get you to stand, but the thought of standing made your head spin and you flopped back onto the floor, pushing your forehead harder against the tiles as you waited for the feeling to pass again, swallowing furiously and breathing deeply through your nose. “Oh Cariño,” he seemed to realise that there was no amount of enticing he could do to get you off the floor right then. “Can I help?”

“Please,” you were so hungover tears were pricking your eyes. “I just need a shower,”

You were semi-correct. One cold shower and a bottle of electrolyte-spiked water later you’d made it downstairs to the lobby, lolling your seat in the breakfast lounge with sunglasses firmly in place. But you were sat up, opposite Carlos, and picking at the display of bland, carby foods he’d fetched for you.

Carlos, who’d started the day annoyingly bright, seemed to have finally felt his hangover arrive. He’d lost a bit of colour from his cheeks and had also gone from trying to wolf down the buffet he’d raided for himself, to nudging the bits of ham curling around the edge of his plate with his fork. You’d have had more sympathy for him except for the fact that it was largely his fault you were in such a state.

You were about to open your mouth to tell him off for complaining that he, too, wasn’t feeling so good when the other half of his bad influence dragged a chair around the table that was clearly meant for two, and down plopped Charles, fully accessorised with a large pair of Ray-Bans.

“Lando is not coming for breakfast,” that didn’t surprise you, the younger Briton rarely drank and even he’d been roped into the chaos of last night. “He’s not in good shape,”

“Surprised you’re here,” you mumbled. Charles shrugged, and made a vague gesture that said ‘me too’. “D’you know where Seb and Mick are?” If the group of twenty-something-year-old athletes had taken such a battering, you dreaded to think what had happened to poor Seb.

“Flew back to Switzerland earlier,” Charles told you, swiping a pastry from your untouched plate as payment. You took another gingival sip of the black coffee you were cradling, not even bothering to protest the blatant thievery.

“Where’s my phone?” You patted your pockets, knowing full well your phone wouldn’t be there. You hadn’t looked at it all morning, in fact, you weren’t even sure it had survived Jimmy’z and made it back to the hotel. “Oh god,” the words were small and defeated, accompanied by your head falling into your hands. You knew that if your phone were missing, it would have to stay missing for at least another day; there was no way you could stomach going on the hunt for it in the state you were currently in.

“Upstairs, I put it on the charger,” Carlos didn’t even look up from his eggs, but you nudged his foot under the table and felt him respond with gentle pressure against your ankle.

“Thanks,”

Charles stood in a dreamlike fashion shortly after, hardly remembering to bid the pair of you goodbye as you watched him drift unsteadily back to the elevators. The rest of the morning was spent back in your room. The Champagne remainders were untouched, but Carlos made a good effort at finishing off the French treats that came with the celebratory hamper as you curled against him, your eyes unfocused on the mindless, trashy TV you were both pretending to watch.

The afternoon followed with an hour of lazy head, Carlos so settled between your thighs you’d thought he’d fallen asleep there. You came quietly against his mouth, rocking your hips to match his languid pace, your fingers tightening in his hair. The endorphin rush that spread through your body, too, was slow. It gently made its way through your nervous system, clearing your head and healing you so blissfully that you barely noticed him kissing his way back up your stomach until you were cuddled against his chest. Carlos held you tightly as you slept off the last of the hangover together.

“I hate this bit,” his calf-like eyes were focused on you again. He had that devastatingly handsome look on his face, the one he had in interviews when he’d just missed out on a pole, or a podium, or a few hundredths of a second to Charles.

“It’s just over a week,” You promised. He shrugged.

“Always feels like longer these days,” You felt yourself melt against him at his words. The advantage to Carlos’ private jet sponsorship was the equally private lounge access he got before his flight; at least this time you could say a proper goodbye. You pecked his lips for what felt like the thousandth time that day. You wanted to tell yourself it was just the hangover and the adrenaline crash that was making you feel clingy, but you knew deep down something had changed. You just weren’t sure what - or how - just yet.

At least it was a night flight home. You slept from the moment you found your seat until you were set to land, and that was only because a steward gently touched your shoulder and informed you so. Your dad picked you up at the airport and you slept once more, the whole car journey home. You were way too big for him to do so, but somehow you remembered briefly waking up to the feeling of him lifting you out of the car and placing you into bed. For a moment you were the eight-year-old girl who’d won her first-ever karting race, a gruelling, wet affair that had taken everything out of your tiny body and that night too you’d slept all the way home and right through your dad carrying you to bed. You’d clutched that trophy so hard you woke up the next morning with it still in your hand.

This time around there wasn’t a trophy in your hand the next morning. There was the dull ache of the final stages of recovery headache and an equally dull, gnawing hunger that seemed to be coming from somewhere much deeper than your stomach.

*****

“Finally,” was the first word to pass Andrea’s lips as you made your way downstairs for breakfast. You weren’t sure if she was referencing the monumental lie-in you’d had or the fact that you’d cancelled the celebratory brunch you were supposed to have yesterday morning before their flight home. You figured she meant both.

“I told you not to expect her yesterday,” Your dad sent you a wry smile from across the breakfast table and slid you a mimosa. Your stomach twisted, but it was weak and you wanted to make it up to your mum for standing them up yesterday. She’d had a busy morning; a spread filled with pancakes, waffles, even french toast, with a whole tray of bacon, eggs and sausages.

“Bloody hell mum, were you expecting The Queen?” You joked at the sheer volume of food, not that you were complaining as your dad piled your plate high, the day of barely eating finally catching up to you.

“Just my little champion,” You smiled appreciatively, not even bothering to correct her terminology. A single win wasn’t a championship, but this one sure as hell felt like it. Either way, you weren’t going to complain when you had a “sim and gym” day with Katie and were going to need all the energy you could muster to survive that. The other downside to having a rugby player as your coach, she got some kind of sick kick out of forcing you to do the most gruelling workouts on the days when you needed it the least.

Fortunately, your parents lived within an hour from Silverstone, so you took advantage of the slow lunch before getting changed into your team colours and packing your laptop and a gym bag for later. The green seemed to shine a little brighter that morning. You couldn’t help but admire the way your new Ray Bans seemed to complement your polo perfectly.

You hadn’t expected an honour guard, but the welcome you got when you walked into the Aston Martin headquarters was oddly quiet. The receptionist barely lifted her head as you scanned in, and you made it all the way to your office completely unbothered, which, you thought, must have been the first time that had ever happened to you.

You popped one of those little pods into your coffee machine and contemplated snapping a picture to send to Carlos. The man was a borderline coffee snob and with Ferrari being so deeply Italian, they seemed to have professional barristers on every corner endorsing the habit. He’d scoff at whatever you had in your hand whenever you saw each other in the paddock and you knew his reaction would be the same towards your little coffee machine. Could you really complain though, given how many of their exquisite drinks you’d had for free in the last few weeks?

Your thought process was interrupted by a knock on the door. A young man in a polo shirt that was at least two sizes too big and a name badge pinned on an angle you had to tilt your head to read was hovering in the door. You could tell by the blue of the badge that he was an intern.

“Hi,” you volunteered it became apparent he wasn’t going to offer words.

“Oh, um, hi,”

“What’s up? Did Katie send you?” You could see the poor boy physically wracking his brains trying to remember if he’d met a Katie yet.

“Uhm, no I can’t remember her name - sorry - but, there’s a- like a meeting, soon?” He paused to check his watch “In twenty minutes. Whole team in the… the big conference room,”

Why they had sent an intern to tell you rather than Katie, or even an email, was lost on you.

“Thanks,” The intern moved as if he was going to rock back on his heels to leave, and then changed his mind, swaying forwards again.

“Congrats on Monaco, by the way!” He almost shouted, making you flinch a little and the champagne-induced throb in your head threatened to return for a moment. “My little sister - she loves you. And - I mean I do too - not like that! But you’re really cool,”

He’d gone an impressive shade of pink, but the sentiment warmed your heart.

“That’s very sweet of you guys! Hang on,” you leaned over and grabbed a sticky note from your desk. “What’s your name? And your cubicle number?” He hastily told you his name was Luke, and gave you the location of his desk in the intern pen.

“Cool, thank you. I’ll get something for your sister sent over there,” He nodded and retreated in a rush of thank yous. There were always boxes of merch in your office, so it didn’t take you a minute to put together a little gift bag with a couple of your driver cards, a mini helmet model and a couple of caps, all signed for Luke and his sister along with a few other Aston Martin branded bits you had lying around. You stuck the note with Luke’s number on the top of the bag, grabbed your coffee and made your way out.

The intern pen was on the way to the meeting rooms, so you slipped the bag under his desk on your way down, thankful that the rest of the interns also seemed to be out running errands. You’d been caught before in there and when one intern gets a sniff of their hero, you tended to get stuck in a mob it would take you at least an hour to extract yourself from.

The sheer size of the big conference room always surprised you. Four long tables made a square, with projectors on all four sides of the room and space for a speaker to stand at one end with a platform and a microphone. You very rarely had to go in here, meetings involving you were usually smaller affairs, or they were much larger and much more informal whole-team briefings.

You were one of the first to arrive, despite the fact that the meeting was due to start in two minutes. Fortunately, Seb was already there and almost instinctively you found yourself sliding into the empty seat beside him. Despite your mother’s incredible brunch spread that morning, you still found yourself a little disappointed that there wasn’t a snack in sight.

“Do you know what this is all about?” You whispered to Seb, the room so imposing you felt like a child in a school assembly hall, unable to raise your voice despite several other conversations happening around you. A steady trickle of people were making their way in, several of whom you didn’t recognise, others you were more familiar with. Your whole pit wall team was present, as well as Katie and Britta, John the social media admin and even Mike, who sat close to the podium with the microphone.

Seb shook his head, curls following the movement with a gentle bounce of defeat. You made a non-commital noise of acceptance. “How was yesterday?” The question was accompanied by an elbow in your side and eyes shining with mischief.

“How was yours?” You instantly reflected the question, but Seb stopped you with a clear look of ‘I asked you first’. “It was rough,” you admitted, trying hard not to recall the gory details of the morning in Monaco, but even so there was a small, proud smile fighting to make its way onto your face.

“I nearly missed my flight,” He admitted with a wry smile. You wanted to push for more details, but something Charles had said at the hotel breakfast distracted you.

“Wait, you went back to Switzerland - how are you here?”

“Supposed to still be there,” he sent a look in the direction of Mike that screamed Red Bull sulk for a second, eyebrows drawn in and an impressive pout. “I was only told about this last night. I had to fly in this morning,”

You were about to press further when Mike stood up and cleared his throat, effectively commanding the full attention of the whole room. Silence fell so suddenly it was as if a mute button had been pressed.

“Right, well thank you all for coming. I think we all know why we’re here,” You did not like the pointed look he sent in the direction of you and Sebastian, especially considering you very much did not know why you were there. You sent a desperate look towards Katie, hating the feeling of being caught out. She wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“First of all, congratulations where it’s due. First and third for the team is an outstanding effort,” there was a round of rather stilted applause, you and Seb standing out as you both launched into much more enthusiastic clapping, which you quickly ceased. Mike was fiddling with the projector. You took the opportunity to lean towards Seb.

“Why do I get the feeling this isn’t going to be positive?”

“Y/N, where do you want to start?” Mike’s direct address snapped your attention right back to the front.

“Um…” Under his steely gaze, you had nothing to say.

“Let’s give you some options, how about that?” The tone of his voice made it clear that that was not a question he was waiting for you to answer. “How about assaulting a marshall? Or marching into the Haas garage? Acting as if you’re the only one in charge of the decision-making? Breaking into the Red Bull hospitality!? Or perhaps your concerning relationships with other drivers? To name a few,”

Oh.

“‘Oh’ indeed,”

“Sorry-” Sebastian interrupted, the attention of the room immediately gravitating towards him.

“You’re not innocent either, Vettel,” Mike’s tone was icy as he spat the German’s surname. You felt Seb shift beside you and knew immediately that he was switching from the gentle, bee-loving neo-hippie mentor back into the petulant driver who rose to world-dominating fame. A fantastic scowl graced his features, clearly offended at being interrupted in such a manner.

“What assault?” The ‘W’ came out like a ‘V’ when he was cross.

“We’ll start there, then,” Mike snapped. He threw a letter down and watched it slide along the elongated desk to where you stopped it. You didn’t need to open it because there was a copy of the contents being projected on all four sides of the room. An official FIA statement.

A fine of 20,000 euros is to be paid by the driver of car number 15 (Y/N Y/L/N) alongside a requested formal apology for the physical assault of a pit lane marshal during the second red flag event of the 2022 Formula One Monaco Grand Prix. The driver of car number 15 (Y/N Y/L/N) shall receive 1 point on their Superlicence for unsportsmanlike behaviour.

It wasn’t the money that felt like you’d just been kicked in the chest.

“Unsportsmanlike?” Your voice was smaller than you would have liked. “But I didn’t assault him,” you sounded like a child, and it was clear in Mike’s expression he wasn’t interested in your side of the argument.

“What did you do then, Y/N?”

“I-” You took a nervous sip of coffee. This was going to be a long meeting and you were not going to cry at the first accusation. “I was running to the Haas garage to find out about Mick. He grabbed me and stopped me,”

“And then what?”

“I…wriggled,” it sounded ridiculous when you said it out loud.

“So you got into a physical altercation with a pit lane marshall?”

“I didn’t hit him or anything! I just got away from him,”

“Y/N, I don’t want to hear it.” You knew better than to argue back. “Which brings me to my next point.” The image changed slightly, and two more letters were sent down the desk.

A fine of 5,000 euros each is to be paid by the driver of car number 5 (Sebastian Vettel) and the driver of car number 15 (Y/N Y/L/N) for the illegal entry into a competitive garage (HAAS Formula One Team) during racing hours in the second red flag event of the 2022 Formula One Monaco Grand Prix.

“Oh come on!” Sebastian spoke from beside you where he was reading his copy of the statement.

Mike was staring right at the two of you with an exasperated fury that made you want to disappear. You weren’t one for getting in trouble at school, but you could easily imagine this was the way teachers looked at naughty children. It didn’t sit well in your chest.

“Sebastian, you illegally entered their garage! Please argue that,”

“It was very clear we were both only there for the concern of our friend,” Seb spat the word at Mike like it was venomous. “Y/N couldn’t tell you a single detail of that garage, she was in a state,”

That was true, the only memory you had of the Haas garage was the stony-faced man in the white shirt who told you Mick was alive and the feeling of the world splitting apart beneath your feet.

“And you want the FIA to believe that?” Mike ran a hand through his short, grey hair and for the first time, you noticed the bags under his eyes. You wondered how long he’d known he was going to have to handle this.

“Sportsmanlike behaviour?” Sebastian scoffed. “Clearly not,”

Mike had had enough of the conversation.

“You’re not to argue the fines,” he sent a pointed look in Seb’s direction. “You’re both to pay in full out of your personal accounts, you’re both to write formal apologies. And you’re never going to display such immature, unprofessional behaviour again. This goes against everything we stand for as a team and you’re both going to make a very public rectification, understood?”

You nodded, your focus suddenly extremely limited to the square of the desk in front of you, unable to look up and meet the eyes of anyone in the room. Your face was burning, your vision was swimming and you knew you had never been so embarrassed in your life. You could feel Sebastian beside you, almost quivering with rage and his hands balled into tight fists in the periphery of your vision. Unlike you, his whole body was tense, on high alert and ready to fight.

“You’re also extremely lucky that Christian is a very reasonable man and isn’t pressing charges for your little stunt in the Red Bull swimming pool. How stupid could you possibly be thinking that was a good idea?” You sank further into your seat, what had appeared nothing more than a hilarious prank at the time suddenly was thrown into harsh, bleak contrast as you realised just how dangerous your idea had been. Although it had been your idea, John was rounded on for his turn of telling off. You didn’t even feel like the pressure had been taken away from you, as you watched the beloved members of your team that you had slowly grown closer and closer to being reprimanded on your behalf. The guilt was eating you alive.

“A team apology has already been issued to Red Bull. I don’t want to hear another word about this now-” Mike interrupted at least three of you who had spoken up over the stunt at once. “John, you stick to your team’s ideas only from now on and Y/N and Sebastian - you’ll be having separate PR briefings because you know Drive to Survive will be all over this,” Mike paused to rub his temples.

A break was suggested, and half the room stood to go and locate coffee. Mike took two paracetamol and you couldn’t help but think he had the right idea, however, you felt like you were glued to your seat. Katie was still refusing to meet your gaze and with Seb and Britta murmuring over an iPad in rapid-fire German, you suddenly felt very small and very alone. You were almost willing for Mike to hurry up and continue the onslaught because at least it gave you something to focus on.

After the break, you moved on from fines to receiving a very public lecture about your attitude towards tyres. Apparently arguing with your strategist over broadcasted radio is not something well endorsed by Aston Martin, regardless of who’s opinion was right.

“You have one job, Y/N,” Mike snapped. “Just the one! Drive the fucking car. The idea of it being a team sport is that we sort the rest,”

That was enough to tip you from embarrassment to anger.

“I drove that ‘fucking car’ to first place! And had you boxed me to inters I would have driven that fucking car right into a fucking wall. I argued because I was right,”

“You weren’t right, you were lucky!”

“I’m the driver, if anyone knows the tyres it’s me,”

“You’re barely out of your rookie season. You respect the strategy we give you,”

“Not when it’s wrong! I listened to you in Imola and-”

“Enough! Y/N that is enough!” Mike was red in the face, and his hands slammed down right in front of you so that he was towering over your seated frame as he shouted. “Maybe your friends at Ferrari can call their shots but you are not contracted for your opinion and we do not want to hear it. Need I remind you Lawrence’s son is waiting for your seat,”

“How dare you talk to her like that,” Sebastian’s voice was so controlled it screamed danger.

“Be quiet, Sebastian,” Britta’s hand landed on his arm. Seb dropped whatever he was about to say, but it couldn’t break the intense stare you were stuck in with Mike himself.

“And as if that wasn’t enough damage-”

Mike stepped away from you, clicking on a few slides further where a collection of images made your stomach sink.

“Schumacher is young, he’s popular and he’s already formed a close alliance with Sebastian. We chose to ignore whatever your relationship with him may be. Your personal life should be none of our business,”

You knew what was coming next. One of the pictures on the screen was of you wrapping your entire body around Mick right as he’d stepped out of the safety car, his head buried in your neck and Sebastian closing in on you. The second image was taken shortly after; you were gripping each other’s forearms with your heads pressed together. To an outsider who didn’t know the depth of your bond, it was obviously intimate. The third photo was at the end of the race when you’d jumped into Carlos’ arms and he’d held your legs. You hadn’t noticed at the time but here, caught in HD, the way his fingers splayed across your bum was not friendly, nor was the way he was looking at you in total awe. The quality of the final photo dropped off significantly, but the evidence was so much worse.

A grainy picture that was taken in the dark of Jimmy’z. Carlos’ hips pressed so close to yours there wasn’t a spec of space, his hand in your hair and the other on your hip, pulling you impossibly closer. His nose was at the juncture of your neck and lips millimetres from your skin. You were no better, eyes closed and lips parted in clear bliss, a hand gripping his bicep for dear life and the other fisted in the front of his shirt, clearly encouraging him into you.

“For fuck’s sake, Y/N,” Katie’s voice was quiet enough that few people would have heard her. The disappointment in her tone echoed in the pang in your chest.

“It’s not what it looks like-”

“Shut up, Y/N,” Mike snapped. “You have done enough for a lifetime in less than 24 hours. I don’t want to hear another word from you,”

“But I’m not dating Mick, it’s not-”

“ENOUGH! The adults are talking now,”

That stung. The tears that had been intermittently welling in your eyes finally spilt over as you swallowed the lump in your throat. You made an exaggerated gesture of running both hands across your face in frustration to remove the evidence, although you knew it was obvious he’d finally made you cry, and in front of the whole team no less.

The PR team were suddenly speaking up, discussing how much they’d offered the magazine companies that had hold of the paparazzi photos to keep their silence. Mike had sat down and for the first time, there was an efficient, business-like feel to the meeting rather than a public humiliation.

Within the next half an hour several cover-up stories had been prepared and were ready to be released if - and when - the rumours started. You weren’t consulted on a single one, despite it being your personal life under the microscope. Katie was the only person sticking up for you, and you had a strong sense that you were not going to be received well if you tried to offer anything. You didn’t understand the full scope of what the PR team were suggesting, too many business-like words and complicated, contractual terms for simple things that you were simply too overwhelmed to be handling right then. From what you understood they’d be saying you’d broken up with Mick and Carlos was nothing more than a drunk moment.

Agreements were starting to be murmured and there was a restlessness you could feel spreading amongst the whole meeting. Mike announced the dismissal and people were nodding and iPads were being packed away. You didn’t dare move. Seb was the second person out of the door, his expression nothing short of stormy.

Mike spotted that you were still rooted to your seat amongst the steadily growing flow of people leaving.

“I want your apology done and published tomorrow. Pay the second the FIA contact you. Keep your head down, you do nothing between now and Baku but train and I swear to god Y/N, you pull another stunt like this again and you’re out, I don’t care how talented you are,”

You held Mike’s gaze, something childish in you refusing to acknowledge him further than a swift nod. You tried not to look too much like you were scampering out of the meeting room with your tail between your legs, but you knew it was obvious.

Sebastian was in your office.

“Looking for these?” He held up your car keys, which were exactly what you were looking for. There was nothing in the world that could stop you from immediately getting out of the Silverstone complex as quickly as possible. You nodded, fully aware that your chin was wobbling as you fought off a fresh wave of tears.

“Good. Come on,”

He marched ahead of you through the building, out into the car park and unlocked your car, opening the passenger door for you with an expectant look. He didn’t say a word as he climbed into the driver’s seat, and pulled out of the complex with impressive speed.

“Cry now,” He said. You didn’t need much encouragement.

He drove in silence for ten minutes, whilst you tried to cry as quietly as you could. There was something big building in your chest and it was hurting the more you tried to control yourself. Seb pulled off the main road into a leafy, sheltered run-off that was totally uninhabited. He parked, rounded back over to your side and without a single word pulled you up and into his arms.

He held you tight and allowed you to finally let out the broken sob that sent you spiralling into a full-blown panic attack.

“Sorry-” you choked out but Seb immediately cut you off with a firm ‘no’. He didn’t try and talk you through it or get you to stop, instead letting you work your way through the way your body was attempting to rip itself in two until you somehow found your own breathing rhythm and your chest stopped squeezing and the sobs settled to a gentle stream of tears. He just held you, firm and fast against his chest and let you figure it all out yourself.

“You need to cry,” He told you when you tried to apologise again, the both of you now sat on the floor in the late May sunshine. “You’ll feel better. But not in there,”

“Oh my god, Seb-” the wave of dread that had temporarily pulled back crashed over you once more, and you immediately curled towards your senior, his arm opening and pulling you into his shoulder as if it was second nature.

“I know,”

“My career is over,” you moaned, a fresh stab of pain shooting through you. “Lance has been waiting for me to fuck up for years,”

“They are not going to sack the winner of Monaco,”

“But-”

“Look,” Seb handed you a stack of papers you hadn’t noticed he was carrying.

“What is this?”

“I printed them off last night. I thought we might need them,” Each sheet was a photocopy of a news article, each about a scandal involving an F1 driver. Seb himself and the Multi-21 incident was on the first page, there were several other on-track episodes, but what mattered most to you at that moment was the list of after-party allegations. From wild parties to sex scandals, the list of drivers with gossip surrounding them was ridiculous. Seb plucked the bottom paper from your hands. It was several screenshots of ‘news’ from Monaco two nights ago. Lewis in the club bathrooms, Checo allegedly cheating on his wife, Lando had been caught kissing that girl he was talking about, Charles had a very public fight with Charlotte, and Mick had been seen walking a girl home.

“Scandals are part of the job,” was all he said. “How many of these do you remember, Y/N?” You flicked through the pages again.

“Maybe three?”

“Exactly my point. It all dies the second they see something more interesting to talk about,”

“But it’s different, they already don’t take me seriously because I’m a girl, and now they all think I’m fucking half the grid and have evidence,” The image from the club flashed across your mind again. You had a feeling Mike had only put up a select sampling.

“I know,” Seb pondered “I don’t have the answers for that one,”

“Thank you,” you hoped he knew how much you meant it. “I think you’re the only person who can make this feel like it isn’t the end of the world,”

“Do you know how many times Christian told me off in front of the whole team?”

“No?”

“Enough that I just used to laugh when he tried,” You gave a wet giggle at that. “Do you want to go to McDonald’s?”

“I always want to go to Maccies,” you agreed, allowing Seb to once again drive as you pulled out of the quiet spot and rejoined the main road to find the nearest food source.

“One day, we will laugh about this,” He handed you the prized milkshake from the drive-thru window.

“I can’t believe he actually called me a diva over tyres,” Seb managed to grin around his veggie burger.

“Yes. But you need to know, Y/N, the way he spoke to you was completely unacceptable,”

A few of Mike’s choicer phrases bounced around your head.

“No jokes about that, okay? I’m going to do something - or say something - I don’t know what yet,”

“You don’t have to,”

“I’m your mentor. And you’re my friend. I’m not letting anyone talk to you like that and get away with it, do you understand me?”

“Yes, but shouldn’t I say something? Feminism and sticking up for myself and all that?”

“I think experience is more important here. And keeping you out of any more trouble,”

“Thanks, Grandpa,”

“Hey, enough of that!” he nudged your elbow, and the pair of you dissolved into emotionally drained giggles over your shitty burgers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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Helloo, long time no see!

As per standard Iggy behaviour, I vanished for a few months but I'm back! Uni is finished, I can finally breathe and I have three months until I start my job in which priority #1 is finish Flat Spin so I hope you're all ready for an onslaught of writing >:)

I've missed being here so much and I'm so excited to pick up this story again. Hopefully, we can all remember the 2022 season lol. As always, this is a work of fiction based on real life but nothing more. I'm sure Mike is actually a lovely person and a great team principal, I just needed him to be like this for The Plot! (also can we talk about Aston Martin this season? Suddenly I'm not feeling like this fic is totally delusional hehe)

Anyway, so happy to be back. So excited for the next few months!

Lots and lots of love, Iggy

Taglist: @imreallylosingit @serialkillertbh @sticksdoesart @piceous21 @whosays75 @xscorpioxmoon @j-brielmalfoy @22yuki @teapartydreams @guccicloudz @valkyrie418 @nochillnel

@ruledchaos @isabellabrodar @ccloaned @ihearttheoriginals @ferrarifwendvale @bradfordbantams @bobohumyonlyboo @zoobabystation @formulacads @f1-incorrect-s @alicekepley @thembeforethea

(taglist is too big for one post so 2nd half are tagged with a link post don't panic!)

#flat spin #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz #formula one #f1 #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz junior #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz jr #sebastian vettel #mick schumacher #aston martin #fanfic #fanfiction

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