#schumacher jr gifs

[f1cha0s]

My favorite F1 secret santa moments✨

#they either try to be funny or try to be thoughtful #they fail at both #love them so much #daniel ricciardo #max verstappen #kevin magnussen #fernando alonso #yuki tsunoda #mick schumacher #esteban ocon #charles leclerc #carlos sainz jr #pierre gasly

[daydreamingleclerc]

two plus two is four - mick schumacher

summary: in which, your boyfriend finds out you’re pregnant after you play a game of pregnancy test roulette.

warnings: a little bit of smut midway through it nothing too graphic, swearing, babies, confusion, uncles charles, carlos, este and seb!

requested: no

notes: yes... i’ve written yet another self indulgent pregnancy fic... anyway....

huddled over the bathroom counter, the four of you - charlotte, elena, isabel and you - kept eager eyes on the pregnancy tests sitting on the counter.

it was a funny idea you’d seen circling around on tiktok, a group of friends would all take a pregnancy test, write their initials on it, mix them around and take one from the counter to see if any of the members were pregnant.

it was a stupid decision right from the get-go, especially considering none of you could wait until you got back to the closest house, so you took them in the shopping center bathroom.

“what’re we gonna do if any of us are pregnant?” charlotte asked, nibbling at her finger ever so slightly.

“nothing, because we won’t be,” you shrugged, but your face quickly lit up in a smirk, “why? have you got something you want to say, lottie?”

she scowled over at you, the back of her knuckles skimming your bare shoulder as she attempted to shove you, but missed. isabel frowned — she’d just had a baby, a gorgeous baby girl called zoe, who was spending the day with her daddy at the beach, and she really wasn’t prepared for another.

“zoe’s only six months,” she sighed, “i think carlos might faint if i’m pregnant again.”

“are you?” you asked, wiggling around your eyebrows in isabel’s direction. she shrugged her shoulders, and you could see the genuine panic on her face, and when she didn’t answer straight away, the panic in her body language became clear.

“i know i’m not pregnant,” elena said quietly after a few minutes, “because unlike you—” she pointed at the three of you, “—esteban and i are safe.”

“mick and i are safe!” you laughed, swatting her hand away. for a minute, you’d truly convinced yourself that you had nothing to worry about, that your life wasn’t about to completely change — but oh, how wrong you were.

charlotte’s phone dinged and the alarm chimed, signifying that the two minutes were up. the initials were on the back of everyone’s tests and you made sure to have a different one to your own — you had charlotte’s, charlotte had isabel’s, isabel had elena’s and elena had yours.

“times up, i’ll read it out first, ready?” you asked, and when they all nodded, charlotte looked at you with eager, yet anxious eyes, “charlotte sine, you are not pregnant.”

she did a little dance around on the spot, and then turned her attention to isabel, who — much to her relief — was not pregnant. “thank god for that,” she sighed, whispering something in spanish that you didn’t understand.

elena too, wasn’t pregnant, and in hindsight you wanted to scream at her for being so smug. you were almost one hundred percent certain yours would come back negative, until — “Y/N, you’re pregnant.”

“what?!”

the silence was deafening, and you felt as if your knees were going to give way underneath you. “elly, please tell me you’re joking,” you breathed steadily. the three girls all huddled around the stick in elena’s hands, while you stood opposite, gripping the counter so harshly your fingers turned completely white.

“Y/N, she’s not joking,” charlotte whispered, pulling the test from elena’s hands and handing it out to you, “see.”

despite charlotte’s shaky hands, you could clearly see a second line. you racked your brain in your panic, frustrating yourself when you couldn’t pinpoint a night it could’ve happened — but that’s because it didn’t happen at night.

“i’m gonna be sick,” you groaned, kicking open the door of the closest cubicle and leaning over the bowl. elena was quick to grab your hair, and isabel kneeled beside you and rubbed your back soothingly. “i’m twenty three, mick and i have only been together for eighteen months, he’s gonna completely freak if i tell him i’m pregnant!”

“maybe he won’t,” isabel hummed, playing devils advocate, but she soon changed the subject when you shot her a look full of daggers. “do you know how this happened?”

you shrugged your shoulders, resting your cheek on the cool china of the toilet seat — this was officially the lowest moment of your adult life. “about six weeks ago,” you felt awkward giving the details of your sex life to them, especially in a public bathroom, but you’d just vomited horrendously, so you were sure it would only get better. “we’re normally so careful, but there was one morning where we thought we’d be fine — but he pulled out and everything,” you furrowed your eyebrows, “how am i gonna tell him?”

“maybe it’s a false pregnancy,” charlotte offered, “it might help to do another one just so we have a definitive answer,” she furrowed her eyebrows, “have you not skipped a period?”

you shook your head, “i don’t get periods, lottie, and if i do they’re always months apart,” you could feel a horrendous amount of vomit sitting inside of your stomach, waiting to be brought up but you fought it off, “i didn’t even think i could have kids, how am i gonna tell him without him freaking out?”

isabel and elena looked at one another – you were being stupid. elena had heard countless times from mick about how much he loved you, and how much he wished you would stay in his life forever. elena believed – and on some level, she may have been right – that mick already knew you were pregnant.

“all he ever does is talk about you and family and how much he adores you,” elena reassured you, her other hand stroking at your palm, “i promise that mick will be ecstatic, just look at the way he treats zoe,” she paused, looking at isa, “that man was born to be a father, i’m telling you, Y/N.”

“okay, maybe you're right,” for a moment, the three girls almost took a sigh of relief, “but what if he walks away when i tell him i am gonna go through with this? what then?”

“then…” charlotte trailed off, before kneeling down beside you and joining the three of you on the floor, “then that little boy or girl will have three aunts and three uncles who adore the pants off of them.”

“really?” you perked up, a soft, but exhausted smile on your lips.

“oh yeah,” isa smiled, “we won’t let you do this all on your own.”

*

despite isabel saying that she and the girls wouldn’t let you go through this pregnancy alone, there was one thing you had to do without them – your first scan.

several weeks had passed since that day, and mick was none the wiser. you weren’t one hundred percent sure how or why he hadn’t cottoned on, but you made sure to wear clothing that was a slightly looser fit than usual, and you were careful not to slip up. nobody apart from the girls – and carlos – knew; as a father himself, he realised quickly that you’d had a change in demeanor and it didn’t take long for the ball to drop.

you’d planned for an afternoon where you could all get together, nothing big or important, just for you and mick, with the girls, charles, carlos, esteban, sebastian and hanna. as much as you wanted mick’s parents and sister, as well as your own parents, you thought it might’ve been slightly too overwhelming for your boyfriend, especially if he frowned upon you making the decision to keep his child.

carlos had done his best to keep the boys from even clocking it, dragging them all to golf early that morning to give you some peace and quiet. sebastian and hanna arrived together, along with their kids, earlier than you’d asked them to. isa, elena and charlotte were already there too, making the livingroom look admirable.

seb’s children snuck away almost as soon as they arrived to go and play with angie and bobby after giving you a cuddle. “i told you guys not to get here until three thirty,” you smiled, giving each of them a kiss on the cheek.

“we know,” sebastian laughed, handing you a present, “but we thought we’d come early to congratulate you on the pregnancy.”

“how did you–”

“—because we’ve been there too, Y/N, the invite was frantic, you’re wearing slightly loose fitting clothes and you’re so worried you’re gonna slip up, you’ve gone quiet,” he chuckled, kissing your cheek, “mick’ll be a great dad.”

“let’s hope he doesn’t freak out first.” you sighed, running your hands over your face. before sebastian could comfort you anymore, the doorbell chimed. isabel, charlotte and elena all emerged at the living room door, and ushered sebastian and hanna inside.

“did somebody order a bouquet?” mick asked you when you swung open the door, a big, bright toothy grin covering his face as he held a big, red bouquet of roses in front of you.

“what’re these for?” you asked him, taking the bouquet and admiring the beautiful flowers. mick just smiled, kissing your cheek and stroking your chin.

“no reason,” he said, “i just love you.”

everybody surrounding you could’ve gagged there and then at his sweetness, at the delicate nature in which he treated you. you couldn’t help but smile, a real, genuine smile that lit up the apples of your cheeks. “i love you too, mick.”

carlos, charles and esteban piled into the house, just like they always did after mick brought them back after a round of golf. “i promised them we’d cook dinner,” he said, his hand resting on the small of your back as he followed you into the kitchen, “‘s that okay?”

“mhm,” you nodded, barely even listening to him as he spoke. he rested his chin on your shoulder and wrapped his arms around your waist as you sorted the roses, and you wondered then if he could sense the pregnancy. “i invited the girls round anyway while you were all out, and sebastian’s popped in too.”

“oh, so that’s why angie and bobby haven’t come up to say hello.” he scrunched his nose, and you leaned around and pressed your lips to his.

mick’s lips pressed against your neck and you shivered in his embrace, the feeling all too familiar — and you knew where you’d end up if he carried on. “mick, c’mon we’ve got guests,” you giggled, attempting to wriggled away from his lips but you failed, allowing him to work his way down your neck softly, “we can’t leave them waiting.”

mick hummed against your neck, running his hands along the waistband of your leggings. at this point as of the last 10 days, you’d stop him because you were worried he would feel the bump; but it was hardly noticeable even to you.

he carried on, dipping his fingers underneath the waistband and kissing down your neck once more. “believe me, if you were wearing one of their jersey’s i think they’d understand,” his middle finger circled your clit and you shivered, too wrapped up in the moment to even stop him as your eyes fluttered closed, “besides, charles is a good cook, we can let him do it.”

“i’m not cooking dinner so you guys can fuck,” charles piped up from the kitchen doorway. your face went bright red, and mick shielded you while simultaneously pulling his arm from your leggings. “god, you’re insufferable.”

“don’t act like you and charlotte aren’t any better,” you rolled your eyes, continuing with separating the roses as if that never even happened, “remember bali?”

charles’ face lit up in a gradual smirk as he thought back to the time where you were all on holiday together and as you left for the beach without charles and charlotte, you were the unlucky one who forgot your sunglasses and ventured into the villa only to find them going at it full throttle on the floor beside the pool.

you and mick followed everybody into the living room and watched with grotesque faces as everybody swapped sex stories and charles told everybody about the gruesome discovery he walked into in the kitchen. mick pulled you down beside him, so you were nuzzled next to him on his armchair in the corner of the room that was reminiscent of his fathers, just about big enough for the two of you.

he began to sense an element of nervousness within you, one which he’d never really seen before. you were fidgety, and you were quiet — which was rare in itself, because you were normally always the one who brought out the stories.

“are you okay?” mick whispered, running his fingers on your stomach underneath his shirt.

you shifted, almost certain that he knew about the baby. charlotte and carlos caught onto what was going on, your hushed tones and fidgety movements, and they watched you eagerly.

“mick, there’s something i need to tell you,” you said, your voice barely a whisper yet the whole room had eyes on you. panic flashed across mick’s face, worried as to what you were going to say. “i, uh, i don’t really know how to tell you.” your eyes burned with tears, and for a moment mick thought you were going to tell him that there was somebody else, and that the somebody else in question was in this room. he could see your hands shaking, and your voice wobbled every time you tried to speak.

“you haven’t cheated on me, have you?” he asked, and immediately you shook your head; no. he breathed a sigh of relief and instinctively you brought a hand up to rest on his chin. mick kissed your thumb, “baby, you can tell me, whatever it is, i won’t be mad, you know that.”

mick’s hands came to rest on your cheeks now, his thumbs situated under your eyes so they could rub away any tears. everyone watched you eagerly, their anticipation hanging so heavily it was ready to burst at any moment.

“mickie, baby,” you whispered, kissing his palms, and using the nickname only he allowed you to give him; not even his mother was allowed to call him that. “i’m pregnant.”

as soon as the words left your lips, it felt like a huge weight off of your shoulders, but for everyone else it was unexpected. isa began to sob, and carlos wrapped a hand around her shoulders as the pair reminisced. charles’ mouth swung open, his jaw almost hitting the floor as he listened to the words leave your mouth, and esteban had to ask elena, sebastian and hanna if he’d heard you correctly.

mick’s face lit up almost immediately, although at first he had a look of disbelief in his eyes. his smile grew and grew until it couldn’t grow any wider. he brought your face closer to his, and he kissed you softly.

“du bist schwanger?” (you’re pregnant?)

“ja, mick,” you smiled back, forehead pressed against his, “i am.”

“are you sure?”

he knew the question was stupid — you wouldn’t have gotten so worked up if the answer wasn’t a definite yes.

“when did this happen?” he furrowed his eyebrows all while still smiling, “we’re always safe.”

“silverstone, baby,” you whispered, “the morning after, and we didn’t have anything with us because we were with my parents.”

mick shivered at the thought, flashbacks of the sex ran wild in his head and he had to think of something else before he embarrassed himself in front of the guests. “but i pulled out..”

“obviously not quick enough, mickie.” charles and carlos taunted, but after a quick slap from their significant others and a look of daggers from you, they kept quiet. you hopped out of mick’s lap and handed him the small bag you’d hidden down the side of one of the sofa cushions, rubbing charles’ head like a little puppy as he still sat there in disbelief.

“here,” you smiled, and admired his smile as he took it. “i had the first scan this morning.”

“how many weeks are you?”

esteban lulled you and mick out of your little bubble and you turned back to face him. mick was too engrossed in the little post-it’s you scribbled on, with a photocopy of the scan that you could point things out with. “ten,” you hummed. before you could open your mouth to continue the sentence, mick almost jumped out of the seat and took you with him.

“baby, wir haben zwillinge?”

“mick, german,” you nudged him with a giggle, with only sebastian and hanna catching the gist of what he was saying. he looked at you with furrowed eyebrows, “baby, you said it in german, say it in english.”

“we’re having twins?”

poor charles sitting in the corner almost had a heart attack, you felt for the poor boy because you felt the same when you were told at the hospital. carlos cheered, and esteban threw himself back on the sofa with his hands over his face in disbelief at the fact that he would now, undoubtedly, be an uncle to two schumacher babies. seb just smiled on at you and mick proudly; you really would be great parents.

“yes, mickie, we’re having twins,” you kissed him softly, “surprise.”

he wrapped his arms around you and in turn you nuzzled yourself in the crook of his neck. “i love you,” he whispered, “and our babies.”

“i love you too, mick,” you kissed his nose, and started laughing at the outpour of noise that was coming from behind you. “our babies will be loved for all of eternity, and not just by us.”

“god forbid we ever ban them from seeing these guys,” he laughed, “you and i will no longer be their favourites.”

you kissed his nose once more, “that’s not a bad thing.”

“no, in fact, it’s perfect,” he said, “but maybe now we can persuade charles to cook dinner so we can finish what we started in the kitchen earlier.”

#mick schumacher #mick schumacher blurb #mick schumacher one shot #mick schumacher blurbs #mick schumacher smut #mick schumacher fluff #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher x y/n #mick schumacher x you #mick schumacher fanfic #formula one #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one x reader #charles leclerc #carlos sainz jr #sebastian vettel #esteban ocon

[downinmalibu]

class of 2022

#lando is good for my autism #whatever alpha tauri and aston martin have going on #f1 #lewis hamilton #george russell #sergio perez #max verstappen #charles leclerc #carlos sainz jr #lando norris #daniel ricciardo #sebastian vettel #lance stroll #yuki tsunoda #pierre gasly #fernando alonso #esteban ocon #mick schumacher #kevin magnussen #valtteri bottas #zhou #alex albon #nicholas lafiti #abu dhabi gp 2022

[internetgremlin-writes]

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.

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

Liked this? Check out more of my work here: MASTERLIST

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

[tiredbuthappy]

Dancing With Our Hands Tied

Champagne Problems Part 7

A/N: Hello! I hope you all enjoy and don't kill me! ❤️ Thank you to my live @haterpenny. Gif credit to @mclarenpodium

✨Previous parts linked here✨

Warnings: Swearing, panic attacks, drinking.

Words: 5.4K

———————————————————

You woke up on Wednesday morning with Daniel fast asleep beside you. Nothing happened the previous night save for a few kisses. By the end of the second Ace Ventura movie you were both struggling to keep your eyes open and you were far too comfortable to move. 

You glanced down at his sleep-tousled curls, a tired smile spreading over his lips as your eyes met. 

“Good morning,” He said groggily, his arm wrapped around your waist pulling you in a bit closer. Not quite ready to let go yet.

“Good morning Danny,” You replied softly. 

“I love when you call me that.” His voice was low and thick with sleep. It was a simple comment but it felt oddly intimate. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you.” There was a slight pause as he thought, his brows scrunching. 

“I guess there’s a lot I never told you.” He finally said, forcing a weak smile to his lips. You pursed your lips and couldn’t stop yourself from moving one of the stray curls on his forehead. You snuggled back into his chest, hiding yourself away in him. You would have been content to stay in that moment forever. 

“We should get up.” You muttered against him. 

“No, I think we should stay here.” Daniel responded, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

“We have training, we have media appearances,” Your voice trailed off a bit as the long list of responsibilities the two of you had ran through your mind. 

“No, I quit.” He replied simply, making you giggle. You tried your best to sit up, but he pulled you right back into him. You found it difficult to fight him.

“You’re a terrible influence.” You said with a smirk. 

“Thank you.” Daniel’s smile had returned at that. Again, you sat up and again he pulled you back down beside him. You let out a frustrated groan although you weren’t really upset. His face was only a couple inches from yours and you couldn’t help but think about how gorgeous he looked. His eyes staring back into yours like pools of golden honey.

“Once we leave this room… I just don’t know that I’ll ever get to spend this kind of time with you again.” He confessed, doing his best to avoid your gaze. That really let the air out of your sail. 

“I… I’m going to figure things out. I just need a little more time. I know it hasn’t been fair to you, and I’m sorry.” You told him, your fingers running over the astronaut tattoo on his arm. 

“No, I know the kind of pressure you’ve been under. And I should have figured out how I felt sooner. I’m sorry that it took this long.” You shook your head at his words but said nothing. 

“So, the big party’s tonight. Gonna get shitfaced? I’d love an excuse to.” You said, propping yourself up to gaze down at him and doing your best to change the subject. 

“Yeah? On a race weekend?” He asked, brows raised in surprise. 

“Well, it’s Wednesday. So definitely not the weekend.” You told him, a finger poking his chest. His head tilted back and forth in consideration. 

“Alright, fair. So how messy are we getting?” Daniel asked.

“Messy enough to forget about our problems.” You answered. 

“Sounds perfect.” He agreed. You couldn’t help but lean over and press a kiss to his lips. He held you tightly by your waist, milking the kiss for all it was worth. When you pulled away that time, he let you go. 

“Wanna meet for breakfast?” You questioned, peeking down at him as you stretched. You didn’t think there would be anything too scandalous about sharing a meal with your best friend. 

“Yeah, that sounds good.” 

“Alright, I’m going to get a shower.” You told him while rummaging through your dresser for something to put on. 

“Is that a shower for two or…?” Daniel asked, his eyebrows raised in question. You pursed your lips and gave him a look. 

“No? Okay, got it.” He said with a nod, a sort of chuckle leaving his lips. 

“I’ll meet you downstairs in a bit.” You said before disappearing into the bathroom.

————————————————————

You and Daniel shared breakfast and mostly reflected on the start of the new season. You did your best to stick to business, talking about his new merch line, the McLaren updates he was a bit desperate for and some of the reliability issues you and Checo had been experiencing. 

“Doesn’t matter how fast I go if I can’t finish the damn race.” You had told him, earning a chuckle in response. 

When you finished your meal you promised to find him at the party that evening and parted ways. 

You caught up with Marsali and did an ab circuit and some cardio that thoroughly kicked your ass. On your way back to your room you stopped for a few photos and autographs and found yourself stunned at the popularity Drive to Survive had brought the sport in America. In Texas barely two years ago no one had any idea who the hell you were. Now you were stopped every hundred feet or so to be wished well- even by those with the number 44 plastered across their shirts. 

The party started around 7 and you got back to your room around 4:30. You took your second shower of the day before debating on outfits and how you were going to do your hair and makeup. The event was rather unusual for you and you had pretty much no idea what to expect. Likely some soft media questions, some drinks and some music. You chose to go with your team wear but decided to bring a short light dress to change into for when your press responsibilities were over with. Your phone buzzed as you worked on your hair. 

Carlos: I’m going to need a dance with you tonight. 

Your cheeks heated up at the thought. You felt a grin tugging at your lips as you wrote your reply. 

Y/N: The press will be there. You’ll have to keep it PG. 😏

While you would literally never pass up the chance to have Carlos near you, the idea of being so close in front of everyone concerned you. You weren’t looking for attention in that regard. But perhaps a shot or two would help quell those fears. After all- it was a party, right? Who could blame you for cutting loose and having a little fun? 

Carlos: I’ll behave if you will. 

You let out a groan at that. What the hell was he trying to do to you?

Images from your golf date with Carlos flashed through your mind. You remembered how lovely it felt to have him so near you, the way his kiss made your knees go weak. You were excited to see him again. 

Then your eyes glanced over to the bed you had shared with Daniel the previous night, a lump forming in your chest. You hadn’t been in the same place as the two men since the night at the club where this whole mess began and you had no idea what it was going to be like. You pushed the pessimistic thoughts out of your mind and tried to remember that the party was not the most important part of the trip. The first practice session was the next day and you were eager to get out on the track and see for yourself what it was like. You glanced into the mirror and smiled- it seemed you would be doing a lot of it that evening. 

You left the hotel in your team polo and a pair of high-rise black shorts that made your legs look extra long. Paired with some cute Vans, you felt comfortable and ready for whatever festivities the night would hold. 

When you got to the track you headed to the Red Bull garage to meet up with Checo and Christian. One of the members of the PR team, Patricia was fluttering about, talking a mile a minute about what to say, topics to avoid and how to behave at a F1 sponsored party. The only F1 events you typically attended were the races, press conferences and the end of the year award ceremony. But a party? With alcohol? And your two favorite people to makeout with? You were just the tiniest bit nervous. 

“So you know,  pretend it’s a press conference. Just smile and don’t have too many Heineken’s. They’re the sponsors so they’re passing them out like candy.” You chuckled until you realized this warning only seemed to be for you, Checo and Christian shooting you a knowing look with raised eyebrows. 

“Wh-what? Why are you looking at me?” You sputtered, mildly offended. 

“Let’s just say I’ve stopped a photo or two from going to the press. And when was the last time you saw Checo drunk?” You opened your mouth to protest but they had a point. 

“Yeah- fine. Bet no one said anything to Kimi,” You grumbled under your breath, arms crossed as though you had just been scolded by your parents. 

Soon the three of you were making your way backstage and you were already overwhelmed by your surroundings. You could hear the crowd on the other side of the stage, but really had no idea what you were in for. Your eyes wandered through the drivers wandering around, all hunching over into one another in an effort to hear over the booming music. Before you could catch sight of Daniel or Carlos, you were being shooed into a line up of sorts. You realized Mattia, Charles and Carlos were in front of you. You poked right between the 55 printed across the back of Carlos’ shirt. His head whipped around and the minute his eyes found yours a big smile was spreading across his cheeks. 

“Oh- hola,” He said, his voice lowering into a bit of a hush as he leaned in towards you. 

“Hey. This is… weird, right?” You asked, unsure of why you had decided to grab his attention in the first place. It just seemed wrong for him to be so near and not have his eyes on yours. 

“Yes, weird. But it should be fun-” Carlos was cut off as he rushed a bit to keep up with his teammate. You listened as the emcees announced the Ferrari team and took a shaky exhale as you were next. 

“Now let’s welcome Sergio Perez and- here comes Trouble- our championship leader!” You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes just a little bit. You stepped out from behind the curtain and became acutely aware of the way your heart was beating. There had to be thousands and thousands of people below, all watching you with bated breath. You were the picture of perfect composure, a well-practiced smile on your lips as you waved a wave pretty enough to make pageant queens envious. At some points in your career, you truly couldn’t see the difference between racing and pageants. 

Christian stood beside the two of you, looking very much like a proud Papa. 

“How are you feeling to be here in Miami?” They asked you, handing a mic your way. 

“Damp. It’s very humid.” You said, coaxing a laugh from the interviewers. 

“No, we’re thrilled to be here. The city, the food, the people- everything is beautiful.” That earned a cheer from the party-goers. 

“And how are you feeling about your chances of extending your lead?” There was that damned question again. 

“Fingers crossed! We have the team, we have the car, we have the drive. We’re ready to make it happen.” You answered, Christian nodding his agreement over your shoulder. Of course that was the only answer you could give. 

They turned to Checo and he spoke in Spanish- of course the crowd went bananas. You loved seeing him get that kind of response- he was a wonderful teammate and you genuinely celebrated his successes. 

Thankfully after that the three of you were out of the spotlight, with the Mercedes boys stepping up behind you. 

“Fuck that.” You muttered under your breath, so relieved that portion of the evening was over. You never had a problem speaking to the press, but standing in front of a literal sea of people was intimidating in a way that you had not been expecting. Usually you could hide behind your helmet or your car- but being out in the open made you feel exposed. 

You were pulled back to the present at the sound of Daniel’s hearty laugh. His voice echoed through the speakers as he talked about the car’s new updates and his excitement for the race. Then they brought up his helmet and he was doing his Ace Ventura impression and you couldn’t help but smile at his antics. 

You often found yourself envious at the way people couldn’t help but adore Daniel. He fed off of people’s attention and it all seemed so easy and natural for him. You did not have that same kind of comfort in front of the crowds. People doubted your ability, talked down to you and always asked you questions that never seemed relevant to the sport. Questions like ‘How do you balance having a love life and racing?’ or ‘How do you stay in shape to keep up with the other drivers?’. You always did your best to smile through the misogyny and drive the car as best as you could. But Daniel- even when confronted with uncomfortable or just plain rude questions- took it all in stride and won his critics over; it was a part of his magical Ricciardo charm.

You stood as more teammates and principals walked out and more questions were asked and answered. You did your best to look interested, but still you found it difficult to ignore the thunderous way your heart was thumping. Your desperation to be literally anywhere else was growing exponentially with every passing second. After what felt like hours, the formal portion of the evening was coming to an end. You posed for photos and spent a few minutes making small talk before finally being able to make your escape.

You vanished into a private room and slipped into your light dress, hoping it may make breathing in the heat a bit easier. Then you were forcing yourself back out and into the chaos.

You climbed down the little stairs and into the VIP section, hoping to mingle and hide among the crowd. You were brought out of your thoughts when you felt a hand on your arm. 

“Ready for your first drink of the evening?” Daniel asked, a beer outstretched in offering. You had no idea how he’d gotten them so fast. You happily accepted nonetheless. 

“Yes, please.” You took a generous first sip, hoping it would distract you and cool you down a bit. 

“This whole thing… It’s a bit much, don’t you think?” You hollered up at him, hoping your tone sounded more casual than you felt. Dan didn’t seem to be buying it, his brow furrowed as his eyes scanned your features. His hand gently rested on yours. 

“Are you okay?” Daniel asked, leaning in ever-closer in an effort to keep your comments private. You put that same winning smile back on. 

“Yeah- great, I’m great. I just would love a distraction.” You yelled back. 

“Too many eyes,” You added, hoping that would be enough for him to catch your meaning. Almost as if on cue, Kygo began playing and Daniel commandeered your beer, setting both yours and his on the nearest table. 

“Come on,” He said, outstretching his hand towards you. Normally you would be extra cautious about dancing with Daniel in public, but some drivers were dancing with their friends and guests so it didn’t seem like it would raise too many eyebrows. Every one knew how close the pair of you were, and as long as you didn’t let things get too intimate you thought it would be fine. Plus, Daniel wasn’t trying to seduce you this time- he was trying to make you laugh. Daniel busted out his most embarrassing moves- almost like he was in Pulp Fiction. You were giggling and just doing your best to keep up as Dan took your hand and spun you. It wasn’t at all pretty- you stumbled over yourself a little as he maneuvered you into a dip. You almost toppled over, but somehow he kept you on your feet. The pair of you had your heads thrown back in laughter as you broke apart, the light from a flashing camera catching your attention. The photographer nodded their thanks before moving on to photograph Toto and Lewis who seemed to be talking over drinks. Just as you went to speak you felt a finger tap your shoulder. You turned away from Daniel and there stood Carlos. He had a smile on his lips- but it was different from the one that you were familiar with. 

“You don’t mind if I cut in, do you Daniel?” You could barely hear the exchange. For the first time you saw Daniel’s calm exterior crack just the slightest. His usual big grin fell for just a moment before he put it back on. You glanced between the two men, unsure of what to say or if you should speak at all. 

“Of course not.” Dan glanced at you, as if to see your reaction. You did your best to avoid his gaze and smiled weakly. You barely registered a nod from Dan and then he was grabbing his beer and disappearing back into the crowd. You felt a pang of guilt but you had been nothing but honest with him and Carlos was already slipping his arms around you. You were swaying to the music but you didn’t feel much like dancing. It seemed like everywhere you turned there were expectant eyes anxiously watching your every move, asking questions you couldn’t answer. You didn’t know if you would be the next world champion, you didn’t know which man you wanted to be with.

You dropped Carlos’ hands and took an abrupt step back. Immediately a look of concern flashed over his features. 

“Are you okay?” He questioned, his brows pressed together in confusion. 

“Yeah- I, I just need a minute.” You backed away, quickly looking around for an escape route. You dodged past Lando who shot you a look, and almost ran straight into Toto Wolff. You tried to feign a smile before apologizing to the wall-of-a-man, and then you were back on the run. You made it backstage, but there was still far too much activity going on for your liking. You wandered a bit until you found yourself alone and you slumped back against a wall and slid down to a sitting position. Your chest heaved as you did your best to breathe, your shaky hands coming up to put your hair behind your ears. You dropped your head, tears streaming down your cheeks with abandon. Everyone was so busy partying, they didn’t seem to notice your absence. You just couldn’t hold it in, your body ached and you tried to focus on getting your breathing back under control. You were so out of it, you didn’t even realize someone had followed you. 

“Hey- it’s okay, everything’s fine.” The voice startled you and you looked up through glassy eyes to see Lewis Hamilton. Normally you would be embarrassed- mortified even, for him to see you in such a state but for some reason you couldn’t bring yourself to care. He sat beside you, his elbows resting on his knees, worried eyes watching yours. 

“Just breathe, yeah? Come on, in 1, 2, 3, 4. Hold, 1, 2, 3, 4. Out, 1, 2, 3, 4.” He said in a calm and even voice, joining you in the breathing exercise. You nodded and did as he instructed. Something about the way he spoke and hearing his breathing line up with yours really did have a calming effect.

“Good, again.” He told you, holding your gaze as you saw his chest fill with air once more. The two of you sat like that for at least five minutes before you found yourself capable of speaking. You wiped your bleary eyes and forced a smile. 

“Thank you. I- I don’t know what happened.” You said finally finding it in yourself to meet his eyes. 

“I’m embarrassed,” You muttered, hiding behind a slight chuckle. 

“No, come on. This stays between us. I know exactly how you feel.” Lewis placed his hand on your shoulder as he spoke. Usually the two of you had short, polite exchanges, but you never expected for him to see you in such a vulnerable position. 

“I’m a mess.” You groaned. 

“No, you’ve got a lot going on. Working for the championship… it’s not easy. Even with the right team and the right car. I know what it’s like to feel alone here.” You chewed at the side of your lip as you considered how much you and Lewis really did have in common. You watched as he stood. 

He offered you his hand and helped you to your feet. 

“You’re not alone. We’re competitors, but we can be friends too.” He told you. You were touched by his sincerity. 

“I would like that.” You agreed. He extended you his hand, but you pulled him into a friendly hug. Once you released one another, you weren’t quite sure what to say. 

“Do you want to go back to the party?” Lewis asked, his thumb pointed back towards nthe chaos where you now heard- was that Joe fucking Jonas?

“Yeah, yeah I think so. Thanks again, really.” You told him sincerely. 

“Anytime.” 

The two of you emerged back into the crowd and went your separate ways, a nod in each other’s direction. You grabbed yourself another beer and focused on enjoying the music. You kept your eyes away from Carlos and Dan’s, eager to focus on yourself and having a good time. Instead you found Seb, huddled over with Mick in the corner. He had on his Miami 2060 First GP Underwater tee on, and you couldn’t help but smile at just how ‘Seb’ the message was. You pointed your finger over at him, and beckoned him over, a big goofy smile on his features. He gave in and set his drink down and made his way over to you. If you thought Dan’s dance moves were bad, Seb’s were way worse. It was exactly what you needed to distract yourself. After a minute you went and grabbed Mick and forced him to join in, an embarrassed blush settling over his cheeks. The two of you had overlapped a bit already in your racing careers and you were thrilled when he got the call to F1. He and Seb were like your weird little work family and you were more than happy to make a fool out of yourself with them beside you. 

Between songs you went to grab a drink and found Daniel there, likely on his fourth beer or so with his elbows leaned back on the bar and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of you.

“You should come join us.” You said, nudging your elbow towards your two favorite German dorks dancing disjointedly only a couple yards away. 

“The life of the party.” He said with a smirk. 

“I was thinking I might head out.” Dan told you and your smile fell a little. 

“Yeah, okay. I probably won't last much longer either.” You replied casually. 

“You know I’m here for you, right?” He asked suddenly, catching you a bit by surprise.

“Y-yeah, of course I know that.” You replied with a faltering smile, taken aback by his sudden sincerity.

“Well, I hope you have a good night.” He told you simply and you nodded.

“Yeah- you too, Danny.” You grabbed your drink and headed back to dancing. Mick and Seb did a great job of making you forget about the panic that had so recently been flowing through your veins. Especially because Mick was a lightweight and a very goofy drunk. 

The three of you hung out for about another hour before you decided to call it a night. You were exhausted, physically and emotionally. You wished Seb and Mick a goodnight and thanked them for being your distractions and watched as Seb guided a very wobbly Mick into the backseat of a car. 

You laughed and shook your head before you wandered over to the entrance where you planned to meet with Marsali for a ride back home. 

While waiting for her you heard your name in Carlos’ low voice. 

“Are you okay? You kind of disappeared earlier.” You bit at your lip and glanced towards the ground. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just had a rough minute there.” You explained. He nodded knowingly. 

“Alright, well how about a nightcap?” He asked sweetly just as your trainer pulled up in the Honda that had been deemed yours for the weekend. You considered his invitation for a moment before deciding you weren’t up for it. 

“Sorry, I’m ready to call it a night. Maybe later this weekend though?” You offered, hoping that wouldn’t discourage him. 

You bid him goodnight with a hand patting his shoulder gently, and then you were climbing into the car and heading back to the hotel.

The rest of the weekend went by fairly quickly- you had at least a dozen public appearances to make and had no time to yourself, which you were pretty grateful for. Your busy schedule kept you out of your head and helped you focus more on the race ahead. You hadn’t been given a chance to reschedule with Carlos, though you had bumped into him once or twice around the paddock. 

Before you knew it, it was Sunday afternoon and you were stretching in your race suit in your driver’s room. Marsali was doing her best to hype you up, making jokes and playing your favorite playlist to get you in the right mindset. 

Soon it was time- you climbed into the cockpit and tugged your helmet on. You thought about your encounter with Lewis back at the party. 

In, 1, 2, 3, 4. Hold 1, 2, 3, 4. Out 1, 2, 3, 4. Even though having a panic attack in a public place was an absolute nightmare, you were almost grateful it had happened. It gave you a peek at a much different Lewis than you were used to. You were two different generations of drivers, so you had never gotten the opportunity to be particularly close. It wouldn’t make him less intimidating in your rear view mirror, but it reminded you that you weren’t alone. The two of you knew what it was like to be an underdog, maybe more so than the other drivers on the grid. 

“Alright, Y/N. Just go out there and do what we all know you can.” Christian’s voice came in over the radio. 

“Got it.” You answered simply, determined to keep your cool. You flipped your visor down and rolled out onto the track, taking pole position and coming to a stop. You had managed to outqualify Hamilton as Mercedes struggled with a mechanical issue and a poorly timed yellow flag in quali. Leclerc had snagged P3 followed by Sainz, Perez, Norris and Ricciardo. 

You led the pack during the warm up lap, weaving back and forth on your soft tyres as the other 19 drivers did the same. You slowed your pace as you hit the grid, hoping to let Albon and Latifi catch up a bit before you took your spot. 

Finally you were all in position, eagerly watching the red lights blink, blink, blink before going out. You were roaring away from the start, doing your best to keep your eyes locked ahead instead of on any possible first- lap carnage that may happen behind you. You hardly ever made it through a first lap without a yellow flag, and this race wasn’t an exception. After flying down the rather long straight and taking the turn easily enough yourself, you heard your engineer through your headset. 

“Big crash, yellow flag. Yellow flag.”  You glanced in your mirror to try and figure out who it was, but all you could really see was debris. You slowed your speed before taking another peek behind you. You still saw Hamilton, Leclerc, Perez and some papaya- though you couldn’t be sure who. 

“What happened? Who is it?” You asked, feeling yourself tense. The radio stayed quiet. 

“Hey- who is it?” You repeated, letting your annoyance shine through. 

“Ricciardo- Ricciardo and Sainz.” Your stomach dropped. 

“Are they okay? Are they out- what happened?” You asked as calmly as you could- you knew your radio would be available for people to listen to after the race and you wanted to keep your composure- even if it was a lie. 

“I will keep you updated.” Well what the fuck did that mean? 

“Are they out?” You asked again, louder. As if perhaps he hadn’t heard you correctly the first time. 

“They are getting out.” You sighed your relief at that. Your team was well aware of how close you and Daniel were and any time he was in an incident they did their best to shield you from it so you could focus on yourself.

“Are they going to red flag it?” You asked, doing your best to keep your head down and follow the Aston Martin in front of you. If there was a red flag you could maybe sneak away for a moment and go check on them. 

“Negative. Mostly large debris and they’re removing the cars now.” You clenched your jaw. You wanted to know what the hell happened. You wanted to see for yourself that they were both okay.

Usually you loved hiding away in your car. You used it as a sort of escape from reality. It was a place in which you could be completely selfish in the pursuit of victory- push yourself to be the absolute best that you could be. But at that moment it felt like a prison. You were confined to it for the next hour and fifty minutes. 

“They’re both headed to the medical tent.” Fuck. You didn’t reply for fear of what your voice may sound like. 

Soon you were nearing the accident space, your car slowing to nearly a crawl to avoid the bits of wings and side pods littering the pavement. The wreck did look big- and it was into a concrete wall rather than the many well-cushioned spots along the track. The longer you followed the Aston the more you tortured yourself wondering about what had happened and if they truly were okay. Finally after passing the scene another two times, you were given the green light for the race to continue. 

“Alright- let’s stay focused.” You knew Christian meant well but you wanted to tell him to fuck off. 

“Ricciardo and Sainz are back in their garages. No serious injuries.” You were grateful to hear that, but until you had your eyes on them you couldn’t let yourself relax. 

It took literally all of your experience and training to get you through the rest of that race. Every time you saw Hamilton crawling up your side you reminded yourself to breathe. You successfully held him off and extended the gap between you to about three seconds where you held a comfortable lead until you crossed the finish line. 

That victory- you didn’t feel like celebrating. Every lap felt like an eternity and all you wanted to do was finish the race as quickly as you could. You weren't even that concerned about winning- you just didn’t want to let your team down. 

You pulled into your designated spot and quickly removed your steering wheel and unhooked your helmet from the HANS device. You still felt full of adrenaline and you hopped out of the car, handing your wheel off to the nearest engineer. 

“Y/N, you need to speak to the media and then get ready for the podium.” 

“I’ll take the fine.” You said absently as you passed Patricia and headed towards the garages. 

As you trotted off towards the garages, it hit you. 

You knew exactly who you wanted to be with. 

Run to Carlos

Run to Danny

Sorry guys but my tags aren’t working and tumblr keeps crashing. This was as many as it allowed! Love you guys!

Tags: @ferrarifwendvale @oyesmendes @f1thirsttraps @she-shines-bright @heyitskay-21 @spngi @cowboydr @internetgremlin @lestappiebaby @dad-seb @an-ocean-blue @d0ntjudgemy50shades @f1thirsttraps @formulacherry @gridgirldrabbles @merrymissesmaxiel @watermel0nsugarhigh @vinvantae @prettybiching @noldcardigan @naturastace @ujisworld @jasmindaughteroftheworld @danielricciardo3f1 @witchy-whore @dad-seb @justaddicted @honeybadger03 @valkryejh @ellalovesvettel @delilah-leclerc @crappystoryteller @miahelen @chilisainz @rankystankycowboy @myjourneysmuses @beebuilds @dr3lover @teapartydreams @imaginemrvel @misswolff @saintandrea-droidsmuggler

#Daniel Ricciardo x Reader #Carlos Sainz x Reader #Carlos Sainz #Daniel Ricciardo #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one fanfiction #formula one fanfic #formula one imagine #carlos sainz x you #daniel ricciardo x you #carlos sainz jr #daniel ricciardo imagine #carlos sainz imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris #mick schumacher #mick schumacher x reader #seb vettel x reader #sebastian vettel x reader #checo perez #f1 #formula one #formula 1

[artemispt]

I don’t know what to say anymore…

Source (nSFw access)

#carlando #carlos sainz #carlos sainz jr #lando norris #mick schumacher #singapore gp 2022 #sf access

[schumaclerc]

🌈 HAPPY PRIDE MONTH!

formula 1 drivers + the colors of the rainbow ↳ requested by @formulaoneisajoke

#f1 #f1edit #charles leclerc #carlos sainz jr #daniel ricciardo #lando norris #esteban ocon #zhou guanyu #sebastian vettel #george russell #pierre gasly #alex albon #lewis hamilton #yuki tsunoda #mick schumacher #fernando alonso #* #*f1pf #SORRY FOR THE OVERTAGGING #THERE ARE TOO MANY PPL THIS IS MY FAULT

[keys-t0-the-k1ngd0m]

It’s Race Week, and you know what that means!

#formula 1 #f1 #lewis hamilton #george russell #max verstappen #sergio perez #daniel ricciardo #lando norris #lance stroll #sebastian vettel #mick schumacher #kevin magnussen #fernando alonso #esteban ocon #carlos sainz jr #charles leclerc #zhou guanyu #valtteri bottas #alex albon #nicholas latifi #pierre gasly #yuki tsunoda #mercedes amg f1 #red bull racing #mclaren #aston martin racing #haas f1 team #alpine racing #scuderia ferrari #alfa romeo racing

[justformula1]

This may be unnecessary and he will probably be voted that already but let’s vote Seb driver of the day on Sunday

*don’t feel obligated and if you want to vote for someone else it’s okay*

#Im tagging all the drivers to get this message across #sorry for the spam #max verstappen #sergio perez #lewis hamilton #george russell #sebastian vettel #lance stroll #lando norris #daniel ricciardo #guanyu zhou #valtteri bottas #alex albon #nicholas latifi #charles leclerc #carlos sainz jr #pierre gasly #yuki tsunoda #mick schumacher #kevin magnussen #fernando alonso #esteban ocon #f1 #formula 1 #formula one #gpabudhabi #driver of the day voting

[beelarson]

FORMULA 1 CRYPTO.COM MIAMI GRAND PRIX 2022 May 8, 2022 “We tried!”

#charles leclerc #carlos sainz #carlos sainz jr #lewis hamilton #esteban ocon #alex albon #Lance Stroll #daniel ricciardo #yuki tsunoda #mick schumacher #i hate the coloring on this #but i love the men #lance pit lane start to p10 icon #f1 #formula 1 #.gif #.mine #k

[thatweirdspanishgirl]

Already missing you guys, it's going to be different without you

#i don't want them to go #how is thisfair #mick schumacher deserves a seat #even the williams seat #poor seb man #danny ric #ganna miss them #sebastian vettel #mick schumacher #daniel ricciardo #abu dabi #abu dabi 2022 #last race #lando norris #charles leclerc #formula one #f1 #fast cars #carlos sainz f1 #carlos sainz jr #alex albon #george russell #max verstappen #sergio checo pérez #ferrari #aston martin #haas #lewis hamilton #mclaren #red bull racing

[macybeckham7]

The 6 Husbands of Macy James:

#lewis hamilton #odell beckham jr #marcus rashford #daniel ricciardo #michael schumacher #david beckham

[someone-worth-racing-for]

Carlos and Mick after the drivers parade in Hungary

#carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz #mick schumacher #Hungary 2022

[whatismylife3]

Fans of other drivers or those who like them all every time Abu Dhabi is brought up:

#f1 #formula 1 #daniel ricciardo #charles leclerc #max verstappen #lando norris #sebastian vettel #fernando alonso #mick schumacher #carlos sainz jr #esteban ocon #lance stroll #lewis hamilton #nicholas latifi #pierre gasly #sergio perez #alex albon #george russell #yuki tsunoda #kevin magnussen #valtteri bottas #zhou guanyu

[internetgremlin-writes]

Flat Spin [Chapter Four]

Summary/Prompt: Flat Spin

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 x Female Reader

Word Count: 9,200 (don't ask it didn't split up any other way and all of it felt too important to miss out)

Warnings: Miami Madness part 2: crash injuries & silly drunk boys, say it with me kids: INSPIRATION not ACCURACY

messy hair carlos = my entire body shuts down

Previous Chapters: One || Two || Three

Given the chaos of the introduction to Miami, you thought Thursday might have been a bit quieter.

You were, inevitably, wrong.

You had breakfast with Katie and a small entourage of Aston Martin staff who were trying to make your life as easy as possible, much against your will.  You spent most of the meal staring over Katie's shoulder, where you could see the back of a mop of jet black hair and strong shoulders with the number 55 splayed in yellow between them.  You hated how even the back of him made your stomach clench these days.  You could tell by the animated movements he was deep in conversation with his own team, watching as he spoke with his hands to describe something.  You wondered what he was talking about.  Probably tyres if you knew Carlos at all, it was always about the tyres with him. 

“Y/N!”  Katie snapping her fingers in front of you brought your attention back to your own table.  “Are you even listening to me?”  You looked down at your yoghurt, wondering shortly if you could get away with pretending. 

“No,”  you admitted with a sheepish smile.  She sighed and rolled her eyes.  

“I was telling you where you need to be today, if you actually wanted to know,” 

“Not really,”  you grinned at her and she tutted at you behind her iPad, but you could see the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.  You propped your elbows up on the table and battered your eyelashes sweetly at her.  “Okay hit me, who do I have to make happy today?”

You wondered if the PR people get a sick kick of satisfaction out of jamming their driver's days full of mindless crap just to watch their faces fall as their own ideas of how their day might go fly out of the window.  That was how it felt anyway, as you were briefed that not only would you attend your seat fitting, practice session meeting and the fan signing sessions as expected, but you were to spend any free minute in the Aston Martin hospitality watching and supporting the lower level races and entertainment being hosted on the pit lane.  The only saving grace, you figured, was that Sebastian would be there with you. 

You were allowed a swim after breakfast, followed by a quick stretch-out session before you were herded out into the paddock to begin duties.  Surprisingly, the day slipped by quite pleasantly.  The fan meet and greet was so busy it took hours to get through everyone, but the fans were insane which made it worth it for you.  You’d never been given so many gifts, had so many kind words and some slightly bizarre requests.  After the third man asked you to sign his bare chest you decided to place a blanket rule on body signing.

You also found yourself enjoying the lower races much more than you thought you would.  Lounging in a deckchair on your fourth non-alcoholic beer watching the chaos of the pit lane from above was actually quite nice.  Not being the one in the middle of it all, stressing about stop times and tyre strategy and arguing on the radio, instead just enjoying the thrill of motorsport as you had when you were a child.  It was safe to say you’d missed it.  You never regretted becoming a driver, but it made you think of the driver’s wives and girlfriends and part of you was a little envious of the glamour of it all, of the kind of life where your main concern would be picking your outfit for the day.  You and Seb were also running a halfhearted betting pool on the F2, and lazily arguing about the most effective lines into a couple of the corners.  There were a handful of sponsors around, but not enough to be much of a bother and you were pretty sure at one point when you looked over at Seb he was napping behind his sunglasses. 

Much to your honour,  you’d been asked to present the awards for the W-Series race, and for once you found yourself not bitterly hating the media duties and public appearances that came with being a professional athlete.  The W-Series race had been a spectacular display of driving and there was no doubt that you were excited to hopefully be sharing the F1 grid with more women in the coming years.  You told Jamie Chadwick you looked forward to racing her as you handed her the first-place trophy, and the young woman looked like Christmas came early as she caught you with a firm spray of champagne.  A photo was taken of the entire female grid, with you in the centre afterwards.  You saw it later, all of you with rosy cheeks and arms flung around each other like old friends and immediately bought a framed copy. 

You’d heard only briefly from Carlos throughout the day.  He was doing a filmed exposé out on one of the fancy golf courses with Lando for the majority of the day.  He’d texted you a picture of a very elaborate-looking mocktail, followed by a terrible selfie of him and Lando captioned ‘muppets’.  You told him about the W-Series to which he reacted with a thumbs up.  By the time you’d had your police escort back to the hotel complex, it was a little past 7 pm. 

You: Fancy dinner?  Just got back to the hotel 

You didn’t think too much about sending the text.  You knew it was a long shot given the schedules of the day, but you were itching to catch up properly with Carlos and if it meant you could avoid another dinner going over the fine details of your life with Katie, well, who were you to complain.  By the time you’d had a shower and changed into a pair of shorts and a loose-fitting top to try and keep the humidity away, you had three texts. 

Carlos Sainz: Still in meetings, they delivered us pizza. 

Carlos Sainz: I am sorry, Cariño.  You can take me to the date after I win on Sunday.

His emoji use really was horrible, you thought; a chilli, a flexing arm and a winking face with its tongue out.  It still made your insides warm.

Track Dad: Come to dinner with me, I’m hiding from Antti.

That was Seb, who’d earnt the nickname last year when he spent most of his time in the paddock chasing yourself and Mick Schumacher around like a parent with toddlers that kept running off.  The media loved the relationship the three of you had kindled, with Seb very much mentoring the pair of you.  And as for you and Mick, well you just adored him.  You’d be surprised if anyone could even dislike the young German, he was nothing but nice, probably one of the sweetest men you’d ever met.  He was endlessly kind and surprisingly humble to the point of being shy despite his heritage.

You sent Carlos several snoozing emojis in response and wished him luck with the meetings (but not the race) and responded to Seb that you’d meet him in the lobby in five minutes.  To no one’s surprise, when you stepped out of the elevator into the air-conditioned hotel lobby, Seb was waiting for you in deep conversation with Mick.  You greeted them readily, pulling Mick into a big hug as you’d not seen him around in a while. 

The three of you had a wonderful dinner in the hotel, even if your menu had clearly been sent forward from your nutritionist, containing a thrilling array of steamed fish and steamed veg and plain carbohydrates.  It was always easy to be yourself around the three of them, and it made you laugh how when Mick was around Seb changed from the equally troublesome teammate he was with you to a fond parent.  You didn’t mind too much, because Mick was equally fun to bounce off and Seb inevitably would end up in the chaos in some way or another.  You talked mostly about the upcoming race, trying to find out how best to approach a track you’d never driven before and what the weather meant for tyre strategy and how bad the first turn would be.  

You fell asleep easily that night, feeling strangely satisfied and excited to get the car out for practice.

The Friday practise sessions were of little note.  You got through FP1 relatively smoothly, only reporting back that your car felt a little slippy on the rear and you had to correct quite a few near-spins.  It was hard to set a fast lap with hard tyres and the cluster of yellow flags you had to work your way around, but you still came out with a decent P6 and a bunch of notes you spent your lunch break poring over.  FP2 started much better, and already you felt like the small adjustments your engineer had done were giving you a much sturdier and quicker drive.  Working onto the medium and soft tyres was also helping, and you were just starting to enjoy the track and work up to putting some good times on the board when you drove past a flashing yellow flag. 

“Virtual safety car?”  You asked down the radio. 

“Yep, confirmed,”  you sighed, with a roll of your eyes and took the time at a cruising speed to take a sip of your drink. 

“What happened?  Is there debris on track?”  What you really meant was who happened, but it wasn’t normal for drivers to ask that. 

“Negative, no debris on track.  Sainz into the wall at Turn 14,” 

Fuck.

You knew this was going to happen.  It was the nature of the sport that no driver was ever safe or cushioned from accidents.  World champions, rookies and everyone in-between crashes out or spins or has technical problems.  Hell, just last week you’d proved that.  But you really hadn’t expected to hear his name like that so soon.  You weren’t ready for the way your stomach dropped and your chest squeezed and the only thing you cared about was if he was okay or not.  At least last time you’d been so out of it you’d barely been aware of your own injuries let alone someone else’s.  This time all you could think about was what kind of mess he was in. 

As you approached the third sector of the track you slowed to a virtual crawl until the stricken Ferrari was visible.  It was sat flush against the concrete barrier deep in a gravel trap, but Carlos was out and you saw a flash of his red race suit as he hopped the fence, providing only a small flood of relief to know he walked away.  You were distracted for the rest of FP2, even so, you managed to pull a P5 and gain 1.3 seconds on your FP1 time.  

Your team seemed pretty pleased with you, and you managed to ignore their comments about Sainz’s sudden trend in finding gravel.  It was taking everything you had not to ask everyone you saw if they’d heard anything and if he was okay.  Instead, you sat through your debrief meeting, desperately refusing to acknowledge the way Seb was watching you quizzically as you fidgeted and stared at the clock behind Mike and almost bolted out of the door the second it was over.  You had your head down in your phone before you’d even turned into the corridor.  Carlos had already updated to his Instagram that he was fine and would be competing in the rest of the weekend as normal, and you were halfway through drafting a text to him when you walked right into someone. 

“Sorry,”  you mumbled, barely looking up from your phone as you hit the send button. 

“Hey, what’s the rush?”  It was Seb, who’d steadied you and stepped back, his expression unreadable. 

“Nothing,”

“You didn’t seem all there at debrief.  Is everything okay?”  As much as you loved Seb, his attention to detail was sometimes a nightmare. 

“Yeah I’m fine, I was just…”  You trailed off, unsure of what you were just doing. 

“I was on my way to get a coffee, come with me,”  one thing you loved about your teammate and mentor was he never asked you anything.  His invites were more statements, and you liked that.  It made you feel wanted and included and especially in your rookie year it was exactly what you’d needed to help you settle on the grid.  It didn’t take long for the pair of you to have fallen into step and locate the nearest coffee machine in the building.  You were nursing a steaming americano and quietly observing the emptying paddock when Seb started again. 

“Forming close, ah, relationships, with fellow drivers is tricky.  You spend so much time together it feels inevitable, but also they are your competitors.  It’s hard to find the balance, how much time do these people deserve of you?  How much of yourself?  How much of your care?”  He was staring into the distance, a look on his face that made you wonder if he was thinking about someone in particular as he spoke.  “When it takes over your mind, when you can’t concentrate because of them, it can be dangerous.  And bad for your career,”  he chuckled dryly to himself.  “You see it more often than you think.  It’s why a lot of us have to change teams,” 

“What do you-” 

“I think it is very good you are branching out, making other friends.  I’m too old to be keeping you company so much, and Carlos is a good man.  I wanted to be the one to tell you, so you know it’s not trouble, but to be mindful.  Be mindful of how much you think of them when you’re on the track.  No matter what’s happening elsewhere,”  

“Oh,”  Seb offered you a warm smile as he sipped his drink.  You could feel the heat rising into your face.  “Well I’m not - he’s not my- it’s not like that,”

“Don’t panic so much, Y/N, consider it a general warning about getting close to anyone.  I have to be careful myself with you and Mick, and of course back when…”  he tailed off and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was thinking of Mick’s father and Seb’s initial mentor.  The news of Micheal’s accident had been devastating to all motorsport fans - but for Seb, who was as close to him as family - you didn’t want to think about how much it had hurt him.  Your phone pinged in your pocket and on instinct you checked it, leaving Seb lost in his memory a little longer. 

It was Carlos, assuring you he was fine, but nonetheless, his room number was supplied. 

“Go see him,”  Seb’s words brought you back to the present as you finished the dregs of your coffee.  He had a wry smile that was a lot more Seb.  You nudged his shoulder affectionately and thanked him for the coffee and chat, before turning to leave him on the balcony.

“Hey, Y/N,”  he caught you, making you turn to look over your shoulder for a moment.  “Not that you need it, but I approve of him very much,”  he winked at you, the shit.  In the sinking sunlight, his blue eyes were twinkling playfully.  You hoped you weren’t blushing too much as you nodded awkwardly at the floor and hurried out. 

There was a Seven-Eleven on the way back to the hotel.  You stopped and bought a slice of rich-looking chocolate cake from the fridge section. 

Carlos was quick to open the door for you, his face lighting up when he realised it was you who was knocking.  You noticed he was a little slow as he made his way back over to the bed with a stilted gait. 

“I brought cake,”  you held up the plastic case in your hand as if it wasn’t obvious.  You felt a little small and stupid, but Carlos was watching you as if you were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. 

“Why?”  You shrugged, trying to ignore the way your face was heating up as you looked at your shoes. 

“My mum used to - if I got in an accident - she used to get us chocolate cake on the way home,”  Carlos nodded slowly.  

“Thank you,”  you leant down to place the cake in his minifridge and gently toe your shoes off, padding over to the chair opposite his bed and dropping into it. 

“I suppose it means that bad days can end nicely or something,”  his expression changed at your throwaway comment, an eyebrow creeping up into his hairline and a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth that made you feel like a deer in headlights, frozen under his gaze. 

“It’s ending very nicely,”  before you could open your mouth to question him, he was gesturing for you to come closer, patting the space beside him on the bed.  You were all too happy to oblige, your skin bristling pleasantly whenever his arm brushed against yours. 

Carlos had been watching a game of football, and you leant quietly against his shoulder as he explained the rules to you.  If you were being entirely honest, you couldn’t have given less of a shit about football if you tried, but it was clearly something that Carlos was passionate about and you would have sat there and listened to him recite Pythagoras’ Theorem as if it was the only thing you could ever care about.

It felt strange, but the nice kind of strange, to be back in a plain hotel room together, sitting a little too close on a king-sized bed.  Except this time you were trying to ignore the way your skin was thrumming with electricity and the way you couldn’t stop thinking about the last time you saw him when he’d taken you on the most beautiful date you’d ever been on and then kissed you.  You wondered if he wanted to kiss you again.  It felt like dates when you were 15.  When you were so enthralled by the new world that was physical touch that you spent most minutes with a boy wondering if - or when - the next moment would come where your fingers brushed against each other or his arm found its awkward place on your hips or his nose bumped yours as you kissed, badly. 

Carlos must have noticed you drift off because he was poking you gently, a playful smile tugging at his features. 

“Am I really so boring to you?” 

“What?”

“You weren’t listening!” 

“I was!”

“No, you didn’t!”  He was pouting, somehow managing to look both ridiculous and adorable at the same time.  “You came all this way to make me feel better and then you didn’t even listen to me,”  you couldn’t help but snort, partly because Carlos was still poking softly at your sides in a way that was starting to tickle.

“All the way from down the corridor, sure,”  you rolled your eyes playfully and Carlos gasped with mock offence, matching your energy as his fingers dug into your side, making you squeal as he began to tickle you in earnest.  You tried to shimmy away, but he was quick - an arm snaking around your waist and holding you firm against him as he made you squirm.  You couldn’t control the high-pitched giggles he was pulling from you.  You hadn’t noticed he’d rolled back, dragging you with him so you were balanced in his lap until your stomach was sore and you were begging for him to stop and let you breathe. 

The grin on Carlos’ face faded quickly when he realised the position he’d put you in.  You didn’t miss the way his tongue slipped out to moisten his lips.  One of his hands slipped down from your ribs to your hip, the other reaching up to softly brush a strand of hair that had worked its way loose in the struggle behind your ear.  You tried to ignore the way your face was heating up and his touch sent a trail of goosebumps raising along your arm.  You placed a tentative hand on his chest, stabilising yourself and searching for boundaries all at once. 

Carlos lunged for you.  He cradled the back of your head and pulled you down to meet him at the same time as he sat himself up, catching you in a kiss that couldn’t have been more different to the last one.  It felt like something was burning between you, something that made you hungry, desperate for him.  The smell of cologne and burnt rubber fogged your mind.  He was so warm, pulling you close so as much of your body was pressed against his as possible.  He made a small noise against your mouth and you felt any resolve you had melt away, your body becoming soft and malleable in his hands. 

His arm found its way around your waist again and you allowed yourself a second to revel in the security of him as you broke away from his lips to press experimental kisses along his jaw bone.  Carlos shuddered against you and in one smooth motion rolled you sideways onto your back, settling himself between your legs. 

Or at least that had been the plan.  He leant down to reconnect your lips and winced, pulling back.  You reacted immediately, trying to push down the bolt of insecurity that shot through you as you scrabbled up so you could sit opposite him.  Carlos groaned and fell back into the position he had been in, leaning back against the headboard of the bed.

“Are you okay?”  You hoped you didn’t sound as panicked as you felt.  His eyes were closed and his breathing a little too shallow.

“Yes, just-”  he winced again  “Not steady enough.  I was told to be resting,”  

“Sorry-”  you felt small, and suddenly the room was too hot and too cold at once and all you could think about was finding an excuse to leave rather than face him.  But Carlos was shaking his head before you could get any further. 

“No, Cariño, not your fault.  I wanted to,”  his thumb was rubbing smooth circles against your hip bone.  “God, I want to,”  there was something strained in his voice.  Your chest blossomed with warmth at his admission that his desire matched your own, and it gave you the confidence to push it down.  It wasn’t the right time, for either of you.  Not before qualifying, not with injuries.

“How bad were you hurt?”  You murmured, your eyes glued to the spot on his neck he kept touching.  He shrugged, but Carlos had never been very good at hiding his facial expressions and you knew he was in pain, and probably a little embarrassed.  

“My neck - we don’t know how bad yet.  There were too many Gs and the concrete wall was bad, I don’t know why it wasn’t Tecpro.  And the hip - it’s a contusion but okay,”  you made a face as he spoke.  You’d had a hip contusion before and you knew Carlos was downplaying the pain.  

“Where?”  the word was barely a whisper from you, but Carlos understood and he lifted the left side of his t-shirt up. 

Arching in a half-moon was a streak of purple that fanned out at the edges, the bruise already well-formed in the hours since the accident.  It followed the shape of his hip perfectly, the final tendrils reaching down into the groove that disappeared below the waistband of his boxers.  You couldn’t stop yourself as you ran your fingers carefully along the shape of it.  Carlos’ eyes never left yours as you watched his face for any signs of pain.  He gave you none.

“Shit, Carlos,”  you felt his stomach move beneath the pads of your fingers as he huffed out a dry laugh. 

“It’s not that bad,” 

“It looks bad, are you icing it?”  He groaned, but there was a smile behind his eyes. 

“Mrs Nurse,”  you gave him a stern look.  “In the fridge,”  ignoring his protests you made your way back to the mini-fridge, collecting an ice pack from the freezer box at the top which you’d previously not noticed and wrapped it carefully in a t-shirt you plucked from the pile on his desk that was waiting to be put away.  Before he could protest, you pressed the pack against his clothed hip.  He hissed as you did so, but relaxed into your touch.  You tried to push down the image that the noise created in your mind. 

Carlos’ hand came to cover yours on the ice pack, so you carefully slid away and let him adjust it against himself.  You settled against his good side as he turned his attention back to the football, now showing the highlights of the game.  You couldn’t stop yourself from reaching up to press a kiss against his cheek, enjoying the way his lips pulled into a smile and his cheeks flushed a little. 

You sat with him until the football highlights ended, and your phone had pinged three times with questions from Katie about why you hadn't collected your dinner yet.  At the thought of dinner, your stomach growled, which made Carlos’ gaze fix on you with a startled expression. 

“Don’t tell me you didn’t eat again,”

“It wasn’t on purpose!”  You defended  “I came here straight after debrief,”  the arm that was around your waist squeezed you into his side and he pressed a dry kiss to your temple.

“‘M glad you did,”  you hummed against him. 

“Me too,”  you could have stayed there all day, but your stomach was making a lot of noise and Carlos was laughing and pushing you to your feet and walking you to the door.

“Go eat, Y/N, otherwise you’ll be no fun to beat tomorrow,”

“Bold of you to assume I won’t be on the front row, Sainz,”  he grinned at you. 

“P2 is good to start from, no?”  You slapped his chest with no malice.  

“See you in my mirrors,” 

“See you on the podium,”

“Top step baby,”

“I’d still be taller,”

“It’s not about height though, is it?”  And then he was kissing you again and pushing you out of his door and you stumbled down to the restaurant to collect your dinner, the haze of him still carrying you. 

*****

Qualifying was relatively unexciting.  After a strong start and a couple of purple sections you were pleased to have made it to Q3, but that was where things started to slip.  An unfortunate late spin saw you struggling to make up time, and your final fast lap was disappointing.  You weren’t really surprised when you were told you’d gotten P7, and you didn’t know what was worse.  The disappointment of knowing you had so much more to give, or the fact that your team were celebrating because, unlike Seb, at least you made it into the final qualifying round.  Carlos had gotten P2, and you watched as he did his live interviews on the grid alongside Charles and Max.  You were a little surprised that Max was only in P3, but you weren’t exactly going to be complaining if it meant keeping the championship battle open a little longer. 

You survived interviews in the media pen, working your hardest to hitch a smile onto your face and answer politely and professionally as you were questioned on your mistakes in every which way.  You knew it came with the territory, but you still dreaded the headlines that evening.  Every driver was criticised by armchair experts the second they weren’t at the top of everything, but for some reason, your gender seemed to only become part of the story when you’d either majorly fucked up or snatched a good win.

You were kind of hoping to see Carlos either in the paddock or on the way back to the hotel, but by the time you’d made it out of the team debrief and you’d had a good long rant with Seb about everything the paddock was nearly empty and so was the restaurant.  You took your meal up to your room and sat stoically watching a sitcom you didn’t follow and pointedly ignoring the internet and anyone from Aston Martin.  The only texts you’d replied to were from your family and the one from Carlos, which came in just as you were about to go to sleep.

Carlos Sainz:  Bad luck today.  Drive fast tomorrow, I want to battle my favourite maneater. 

You were too tired to properly reply, so you just sent him a little heart emoji and slipped into sleep. 

You woke up early the next morning.  Over a quiet breakfast in your room, you made a resolute plan to blatantly ignore everything that had happened up to this point in the weekend and train all your focus on nailing the race.  You made Katie spend nearly two hours in the gym with you going over the final warm-up and conditioning exercises, followed by an extensive stretch-out.

You thought you’d be able to avoid a lot of the chaos of race morning by heading to the stadium early, but you were strongly informed that it didn’t matter how early you were, you were still being escorted by the police to and from the stadium.  The second you stepped out of the hotel into the sunlight you were almost blinded by flashes from cameras, and it took you 20 minutes of ignoring the paparazzi and signing items from fans who were wishing you all the luck in the world today before you could even get to your car.  Usually, you didn’t much enjoy the fan interactions.  It was always nice to have people in your corner but you found being stopped constantly, having to smile for photos and sign something every few steps could wear you down, not to mention the kind of fans that had no boundaries and assumed you would be their best friend, despite having met them ten seconds ago.  However today you found their positivity was fuelling something within you, the desire to outperform everyone else stronger than ever.

As a result, you spent most of the day hiding out in the Aston Martin garage and the offices above.  Several hours were dedicated to agonising over minute details with your head engineer and strategist, the three of you more determined than ever to put you back on the podium as a minimum.  You also spent much longer on your warm-up than normal and went through two cooling vests before you even made it down for the grid walk and National Anthem. 

Sometimes you didn’t mind the grid walk, and Martin Brundle wasn’t exactly difficult to chat to.  But today, standing beside Daniel Ricciardo for the anthem and admiring the headphones that he wore to avoid talking to anyone before a race, you understood him entirely.  It didn’t help that the grid walk was packed.  Simply turning away from the anthem lineup to walk back to your car felt like you were immediately absorbed into a mosh pit.  A throng of hot, sweaty bodies pressed against you from all angles was doing nothing to help you keep a narrow tunnel of focus.  You had three different phones shoved into your face, asking you to say hi to a TikTok live before you even got to the first row.

It almost, almost, felt good to be absorbed in the sea of Ferrari tops buzzing about the place, because at least here you were shielded from pseudocelebrities all clamouring for a piece of - well what you didn’t even know because most of them clearly were not Formula One fans.

When you made it to your car you immediately climbed in, ignoring the way you already felt unbearably hot and how you knew sitting like this for ten minutes before you even got to the formation lap was a bad idea.  You spotted Martin Brundle, looking awkward as he tried to flag down celebrities to interview.  It looked like he knew as few people as you did.  You decided the best thing you could do for yourself was just zone out.  You closed your eyes, finding the right groove in your seat where it felt like your whole body was being cradled by the car, the straps comforting in the way they anchored you in.  Your helmet smelt like a new car, the way you liked it before the padding became soaked in your sweat.  You checked the water tube, twice, and adjusted the position of your radio.  By the time you were sent out on the formation lap you felt like a greyhound out of the trap, the only thing on your mind was the stupid stuffed rabbit you just needed to sink your teeth into. 

And then you were in position and you were revving and you watched, heart thudding throughout your entire body as those five red circles went out and your whole body was thrown backwards and you accelerated like your life depended on it. 

The race in itself was actually quite dull for the majority of it.  You took Lando, who started just a place ahead of you in the first three laps and then sat in a comfortable P6 for nearly half the race.  The leaders had put a significant gap between yourself and them that you didn’t even see George Russel, who was holding his own in 5th until you’d been driving for nearly an hour.  It was an eight-lap battle to get past the Mercedes, who was clearly fighting you for everything he was worth and it took you six DRS zones to finally draw equal enough with him that you could cut him off through a corner and take the position.  It wasn’t until after your strategist complimented you on the particularly smooth manoeuvre that you realised it had been at Turn 14. 

Just ahead of Russel was Perez, the Red Bull’s tail already taunting you and you could see the back of a Ferrari dancing just ahead of you as well.  If you’d thought the battle with Russel had been drawn out, the opposite was true for Checo.  It was like you’d caught the Mexican by surprise as you zipped down the inside straight with your DRS open and there was nothing he could do to stop you. 

“Okay Y/N, gap for P3 is 2.8 seconds,”  your radio crackled. 

“Time to send it?”

“Send it.” 

“Copy,”  you couldn’t keep the grin out of your tone as you began your drive for real.  On a reasonably fresh set of soft tyres, you felt like nothing could stop you as you started driving like it was Q3 all over again and your only goal was pole position.

The Ferrari in front of you was making your life difficult.  You felt like you were almost matched in pace, every time you got close it inched further away.  Every time you took the corner so tightly you could have been Dutch, so did the car in front.  For every attack line you could throw at him, he had a perfect defence line. 

“Gap to Sainz 0.8 seconds, you’ll have DRS on the next lap.  Three laps left,” 

“Copy,”  of course it was Carlos.  He said he wanted a battle and he was sure as hell giving you one.  Determined not to cause a second Imola, you played the game mirroring him and just biding your time, inching ever closer.  By the final lap you were virtually side by side, but every time your DRS opened his did too as Charles didn’t have much of a lead.  You imagined the commentary must be going insane, a Ferrari and an Aston Martin neck and neck into the final lap. 

You decided to take a risk and try a manoeuvre you’d only ever discussed in theory.  You dropped back, letting Carlos take the lead on you again but staying within DRS.  You were trying to pick up a slipstream, hoping that you’d be close enough when your DRS ended that you could use the continued boost of power to just slip past him on an inside corner.  It was like Carlos could read your mind, because you got your perfect opportunity, gaining on him with the DRS open, so close you were almost touching his rear wing.  You took a deep breath, swinging left to come into the first turn of the chicane sharper than him.  You were almost level as you began to push the drift to keep the speed for the second half, but then the Ferrari shot forward and you found yourself following him into the final straight. 

You tried to pull level again, throwing everything at the car on the straight, your eyes entirely trained on that chequered flag as you came over the line and pulled off the throttle. 

You couldn’t help but hold your breath as you waited for your result over the radio. 

“Fantastic drive, Y/N, simply perfect!”  Your radio was alight with delighted messages from the team.  “P4 confirmed, that’s P4 with the fastest lap.  Well done,”  you felt yourself deflate a little at losing the podium.  You’d really wanted it, to saunter into the media pen and smile sweetly at everyone who critiqued you yesterday.  But P4 was good points, and it was your first-ever fastest lap.  You had to admit there was something very pleasant about knowing you had the edge on both the Red Bulls and the Ferraris, yet there was still a bitter taste in your mouth as you pulled off the track and into the pit lane to greet your team. 

*****

The following few hours were a blur.  Your team was delighted with you, and even more so because Seb had clawed his way to P7, meaning double points for the team.  The interviews were insane, lasting twice as long as usual as you answered question after question, most of them about the battle with Carlos on the final laps and if you thought there was anywhere you went wrong. 

You watched the podium from below, and something in you eased a little.  Carlos was all but glowing in the golden evening sunlight, his beam visible across the entire stadium.  The trio also had to wear football helmets instead of the Pirelli caps, and there was some bizarre streamer party which was enough for you to be at least a little satiated with watching from afar.

Seb had congratulated you with a twinkle in his eye. 

“Good drive.  No mercy,”  he’d winked as he clapped you on the back and you had to ignore the blush creeping up your cheeks.  

There was talk of an after-party, which you were planning on tactically avoiding.  You weren’t always straight-laced, and when you were in the mood you loved getting very, very drunk and partying the night away in clubs around the world.  But Miami was Miami and you’d had enough.  The race had taken everything out of you, you were still struggling to want to celebrate the P4 and to be blunt you were sick to the back teeth of people asking you stupid questions.

You had been about to slide off towards the back entrance when Katie caught you.

“Not a chance,”

“What?”

“You are not sneaking away tonight,”  you groaned dramatically, dropping your head back like a small child.  

“I wasn’t-”

“The after-party is at this place,”  she handed you a business card which you looked wearily at.  You didn’t like the idea of a nightclub that comes with its own business card.  “It’s being hosted by a lot of sponsors - don’t look at me like that I’m just relaying the message!  Mike says it’s mandatory.  I’ll be at your hotel room at 9 pm, sharp.”

You just rolled your eyes and grumbled something about free booze, before joining the small queue of drivers waiting for their police escort back to the hotel complex. 

Back at the hotel, you showered in record time and then spent half an hour drying your hair whilst staring blankly at your wardrobe.  You’d asked Katie if there was a dress code and she was yet to reply, which usually meant no.  The idea of clubbing and a sponsorship event happening simultaneously didn’t sit right with you.  You couldn’t exactly wear jeans and your team polo to what seemed like one of the most exclusive clubs in Miami.  You also couldn’t wear the usual skin-tight, see-through and/or barely-there garments clubbing usually came with.  In the end, you picked out one of the shorter dresses you carried with you. 

It was a ridiculous little thing and you hadn’t even been sure where you were ever going to wear it, but you’d seen it in a tiny boutique at home and it plagued you for days until you eventually went back to get it.  It was satin, silky smooth and the perfect slip, and of course, it happened to be Aston Martin green.  You liked it because you thought it made your figure, which was naturally very muscular due to the nature of the sport, appear softer and feminine in a different way to what you were used to.  You decided to pair the dress with black strappy stiletto heels that you’d definitely end up taking off or running the risk of breaking an ankle in and a delicate choker necklace.  You left your hair down and even experimented with some smudged eyeliner that softened and accentuated your eyes before there was a knock at the door and you were greeting Katie.

Katie immediately commented on the green, so you decided that meant it had been a good choice.  She was wearing a skirt and a pretty cami top, also green.  You met up with a handful of other team members in the lobby, including Seb who was wearing dress pants and a white button-down shirt with the top button popped open.  He’d also trimmed his beard and attempted to control the mane of hair he was currently sporting into an organised sweep.

The club was within walking distance of the compound, much to your dismay as you tried to settle into the rhythm of wearing heels.  You wished you were one of those girls who wore heels everywhere, but you spent most of your time in trainers or racing boots so it was taking a little time to get used to the change.  Seb let you hold his arm though, and you were almost the same height in your heels. 

The queue for the club was already winding around the block when you arrived and you found yourself secretly thanking your privilege as your little entourage was sent straight through a black velvet rope and into a VIP door. 

No matter how fancy they are, all nightclubs smell the same.  Of sickly sweet alcohol, sweat and an acrid mingle of perfumes and aftershaves.  You found your nose wrinkling instinctively, and then within seconds spotted a camera so quelled your expression into a soft smile that said ‘I want to be here’.  The party was clearly sponsored by one of the beer brands that had banners all over the race because the usual bar was closed and instead, it was lined with rows of hundreds of green glass bottles, tall tables dotted around also piled high and you even spotted several men in full suits carrying around trays dipping under the weight of the bottles.  The rest of the team had dispersed immediately, and you realised that for a lot of the group it would be more about securing investments and sponsors than it would be about celebrating a good weekend. 

You were glad you had Seb by your side, quickly joined by Mick who looked very sweet in a red bow tie with a lost expression.  The three of you plucked a bottle each off the nearest table and made your way to the seated area where you could watch over the rapidly growing crowd. 

“It must be nearly full already?”  Mick was shouting over the thumping bass, casting a wary look at the entrance where a steady stream of people dressed to the nines was still flowing in.  Seb shook his head, shouting something back that you didn’t quite hear.  The three of you stayed in the booths, having quickly worked out that if you lounged around and looked bored enough a man in a suit would bring you a tray of beer.

You were three in and finally starting to relax when Mick grew tired of trying to make small talk over the noise and started begging you for a dance.  You decided to agree, Seb taking pictures as you and Mick began a horrible rendition of the funky chicken to a song you didn’t know.  He was pulling a wide variety of concentrating expressions as if he was trying his best for you, and it was sending you into fits of giggles.  Eventually, Seb clearly couldn’t stand watching the two of you mimic TikTok dances that were getting worse and worse by the minute and cut in. 

He was showing off, scoping you up into a ballroom pose with one hand respectfully high on your waist and the other supporting your hand delicately as he swept you around in a couple of easy steps.  Mick looked dumbfounded. 

“I didn’t know you can dance!”

“A gentleman that can’t dance, tsk tsk,”  was his smug response.  Ever since he joined Aston Martin, Seb liked to lean into the fantasy that he was James Bond and should behave accordingly.  He was drunkenly trying to show Mick how to dance, you not so subtly videoing off to the side when someone caught your elbow.  

You’d half expected it to be Carlos, you weren’t sure why, you hadn’t seen him all night, but it didn’t stop the small blossom of disappointment in your chest when you found yourself face to face with a man you didn’t recognise, who was holding out a beer for you.  You politely declined as he introduced himself as one of the managers of a company that had stakes in Aston Martin, so you smiled sweetly and made a little bit of idle chit-chat about the cars and the good result until he spotted someone who was clearly more important than you, patted you on the exposed middle of your back in a way that made you shiver uncomfortably and disappeared into the crowd. 

You switched onto the alcohol-free beers after that. 

The rest of the night followed suit.  It was what felt like a seemingly endless cycle of accepting a 0% beer from a man you didn’t know, making a weak attempt at conversation and having a carefully distanced dance with him before he’d see someone else he needed to talk to and move on, leaving you free to sneak off to the toilets for a moment to breathe and take some selfies with the women in there.  You’d lost Mick and Seb shortly after the second businessman dragged you onto the dancefloor, and you liked to think you were holding your own quite well, but you still felt a little lost.  You were trying to fight the urge to crane your neck around in search of Carlos, but you’d given up after a few hours and accepted there was an even more exclusive party for the top teams. 

You’d excused yourself to make another trip to the bathroom, checking your phone on the way to realise it was nearing 1 am and the night was nowhere near over when a hand landed on your bare shoulder, making you turn sharply.

“Cariño!”  It was Carlos.  He was grinning at you languidly.  “There you are!” 

“Hello,”  it was the first real smile you’d managed all night.  Even in the low light, Carlos looked incredible.  He was wearing another white shirt, with the top two buttons popped open and the sleeves rolled up the way he had on your date.  His hair was a little dishevelled, as he ran his fingers through it you realised why.  His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were bright, still with that podium glow as he looked at you.  And then he looked at you, his eyes flickering down as he took in your whole figure, right down to your toes that were still miraculously in their shoes, and then raked his way back up to your face.  You watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. 

“You look stunning,”  he leant in to speak to you, lips gently grazing the sensitive shell of your ear and his hand almost burning on your waist.  Your body automatically melted into him.  If you thought you’d been relaxing earlier when you were dancing with Seb and Mick, it paled into comparison with the way you felt so right as your body slotted against his, finding your place on his hip with ease. 

“Not so bad yourself,”  you grinned, playing with the collar of his shirt.  His eyes searched your face once more and you knew that if you hadn’t been in a crowded nightclub crawling with journalists and paparazzi and bosses, you would have been all over each other.  “You gonna ask me for a dance?”  You reciprocated his earlier movement, your lips deliberately catching his ear as you spoke.  You felt his chest vibrate in response. 

He took your hand and let you carefully to the dancefloor, spinning you expertly and catching you with ease as he found a spot.  You looped your arms over his shoulders as he began to move slowly.  And then there was a fat hand landing on his shoulder. 

“Carlos, my man!  My guy!”  And Carlos spun around, apparently recognising the man because he dropped you like a hot coal, sending you an apologetic glance and mouthing the word ‘later’ as he was dragged back towards the bar.  You should have known it wouldn’t have been that easy to get a dance with a trophy-holder.  Although you spotted Charles alone in a corner of the dance floor, thrusting into thin air with a grin on his face that said he was already drunk out of his mind. 

You went back to your routine of non-alcoholic beer, bathroom trips and chatting up sponsors, but you weren’t really interested.  You were nodding along absentmindedly as they spoke to you, not really listening as you scanned the crows from your new vantage point on the balcony upstairs.  You spotted Carlos every now and then, each time deep in conversation with someone pressing another beer into his hand. 

By 2:30 am you were almost sober, bored out of your mind and your feet were hurting.  You thought you must have done enough for the team and decided to call it a night, texting Katie quickly to let her know where you’d be.  The second you were outside the air was like a drink of iced water.  It wasn’t cold, instead just soothing as the breeze carried through your lungs and you felt yourself open up as the fumes of the club washed off you.  You kicked off your shoes and padded back to the hotel barefoot.  You probably shouldn’t have walked back alone, but the streets were alive with post-race celebrations and you followed the well-lit road the whole way back. 

You’d barely had time to throw your hair up and wipe off your makeup when there was a hammering at your door.  The figure swayed through the peephole, but you knew who it was. 

When you opened the door there was Carlos, leaning against the doorframe. 

He looked sexy for all but two seconds until he stumbled forwards.  You just about managed to steady him and lead him into your room. 

“Hello,”

“Mi sol,”  his voice was low as he pawed at your dress, not really trying to take it off you but just watching the way the fabric slipped through his fingers. 

“How did you get my room number?”  

“Seb,”  he pursed his lips, making the ‘b’ sound pop, and giggled to himself.  He swayed again and you realised he was very drunk.  His interest had left the dress and he was nosing at your exposed skin, placing kisses messily along your shoulder towards the base of your neck.  You couldn’t deny the goosebumps rising on your skin. 

“And how many beers have you been given, hm?”  You questioned lightly, running a hand through his hair with a sigh. 

“Enough to know you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,”

His lips tasted like beer.

“Carlos,”  you weren’t really protesting as you let him walk you backwards until your knees hit the bed, and he crawled on top of you as you laid back.

“I want you so bad,”  you could only manage another high-pitched sigh in response, your mind clouding over with your want for him.  It felt like he was leaving trails of crackling electricity along your skin.

“Carlos,”

“I know,”  he groaned against your mouth, pressing his hips down against your leg, his fingers teasing up your thigh and slipping below the hem of your dress.  He was pressing sloppy kisses on any part of your neck he could reach.  “You feel so good,”  he was drunk, you told yourself.  This wasn’t right.  It was hard to break away from his spell because he was right.  It did feel so good, and he was barely doing anything.  “The things I wanna do to you,”  you shuddered.

“Carlos,” 

“Do for you,”  Jesus Christ, he wasn’t going to make this easy.

“Carlos, you’re drunk,”  he hummed against your neck, his hips rolling down against yours in vein.  You steeled yourself, fighting every instinct in your body as you gently pushed him back, and moved out from under him. 

“This isn’t a good idea,”  he pouted and whined, reaching out for you like a child.  Those stupid brown eyes would be the death of you one day, you thought.  You let him hold your hands.  “Not tonight, at least,”  he had a glazed look on his face. 

“Okay,” 

You’d have thought he’d fight more than that, but instead, he simply stood up, walked over to your couch and collapsed, eyes closing. 

“Carlos, honey, you can’t sleep here,”

“‘S warm,”  he burrowed down.  You had no idea how he looked so cute, trying to curl up on your couch.

“Come on, you need to go back to your room or they’ll ask questions,”

Carlos, fortunately, had the good grace to be a cooperative drunk and let you walk him back down to his room, you got him in and let him go about wrestling his clothes off whist you got him a glass of water and left a packet of painkillers on the bedside table for him.  He crawled into bed after you helped with the final buttons of his shirt, and diligently ignored the way he was trying to encourage you to lose your dress to match. 

“You should come to Barcelona early,”

“Hm?”

“Stay with me.  I know all the good places,”

“All of them?”  He grinned at you, but it slipped quickly, his eyes sliding out of focus before fluttering shut. 

“All of ‘em,” 

You pressed a sweet kiss to his forehead.

“Okay,”  you said, and made your way back to your empty hotel room.

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

Chapter Five

Check out my Masterlist here!

Hello hello

As you can see, there was a reason the gap between this chapter and the last was quite long. This was a MONSTER to write but I've had so much fun with it and it's been a nice break from rotations when I've had time

And for anyone getting antsy, there will be a full smut scene in the next chapter, I promise!

So yeah, not much else to say for this one other than I hope you guys like it and as always feedback is hugely appreciated!!

I also cannot thank you guys enough for the continuing support and love i've had not only on Flat Spin but on the prompt challenge and my other works! It honestly means the world and hearing stuff from you guys is so inspiring and motivating to keep writing <3 <3 I know I don't always reply to every comment, sometimes I don't see them straight away but I see them ALL & will get round to replying to all soon!!

<3 <3

Le Gremlin

Forever Tags: @graysonmalfoy @inumorph @lokilvrrr @bookgirlunicorn @thinkwritexpress-official @somanydifferentthings @faeyrin @elthanin-adhara-black @ispendmoretimehere-blog @drakesfiance @allonesharingonebreath @storm-howlett @daneel-the-sister-of-castiel @groovy-lady @skadivalhollval @govazz @its-astrotea-love @hnmaga-blog

F1 Tags: @serialkillertbh @sticksdoesart @lovingroscoee @agentsoybean @piceous21 @whosays75 @xscorpioxmoon @miahelen @j-brielmalfoy @honeybadger03 @teapartydreams @guccicloudz @nochillnel @timetoracewrites @rmaddenns @ruledchaos @imreallylosingit @isabellabrodar @ccloane @ihearttheoriginals @tattered-tales @ferrarifwendvale @bradfordbantams @urbankaite2 @bobohumyonlyboo @zoobabystation @formulacads

#flat spin #carlos sainz #carlos sainz junior #carlos sainz imagine #f1 #formula one #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #sebastian vettel #mick schumacher

[2-fast-2-curious]

Christine! I am DESPERATE for more same man, different font! 🤣🤣 I've been following you for ages for hockey content but I'm so here for this hockey/f1 crossover!

Love you Lacey! More Hockeys for Your Favourite F1 Drivers Coming Up under the cut. I felt with some of these I was really grasping for straws.

Part 1

George Russell & Anthony Beauvillier

Alex Albon & Nick Suzuki (mostly because of cats)

Carlos Sainz Jr & Mat Barzal

Mick Schumacher & Mikko Rantanen

Esteban Ocon & Ryan Graves

#george russell #alex albon #carlos sainz jr #Mick schumacher #esteban ocon #formula 1 #formula one #f1 #hockey #nhl #ryan graves #mikko rantanen #mat barzal #nick suzuki #anthony beauvillier #New York Islanders #new jersey devils #Colorado Avalanche #montreal canadiens