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cressidagrey · 4 months ago

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The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 9

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes:

Mention of epilepsy and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

Also, this chapter is pretty much pure smut. So NSFW applies.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Lando bought her dog Ferrari Merch. No, scratch that. Lizzie’s boyfriend had literally asked Charles Leclerc, Il Predestinato himself, to get him Ferrari Merch for Mara.

It wasn’t like Lizzie hadn’t tried to get Ferrari Merch for her dog before…but it had always been pretty much impossible. Until Lando.

Until Lando brought home dog bandanas in rosso corsa, printed with that prancing horse symbol of the Scuderia.

Lizzie's brain was still reeling from the fact that Lando had gone to such lengths for her dog. It was almost absurd, but also incredibly sweet and endearing.

And if Lando could get Ferrari Merch for her dog...maybe she should get McLaren Merch for him.

The plan had come together in her mind quite quickly.

And when he came home from Imola...she was waiting for him.

Waiting. Wearing a shirt that hailed from sometime before her birth…at a time when F1 cars were still plastered with cigarette advertisements.

Lizzie had expected a reaction.

She hadn’t expected Lando to practically lose his mind the second he stepped through the door.

The plan had been simple. Subtle. Wear the vintage McLaren hoodie she’d spent way too much time hunting down, let him clock it immediately, and then sit back and enjoy the reaction. Tasha had been convinced this would send him feral—“You wanna break a man? Wear something that combines his two greatest loves: his job and you.”—but Lizzie hadn’t been prepared for this.

Because Lando didn’t just react.

He stared.

Completely frozen in the doorway, his bag slipping from his shoulder, mouth slightly parted like his brain had short-circuited. His eyes tracked every inch of her, taking in the way the hoodie swallowed her frame, the way the sleeves draped past her hands, the way she was curled up on the couch like she’d always belonged there.

And then, just when she started to smirk—

“Oh, you fucking menace.”

Lizzie barely had time to blink before Lando was on her, his body pressing her into the couch cushions, hands already gripping at the fabric like he needed to convince himself it was real.

“You—” A kiss to her jaw. “—are—” His hands slid beneath the hoodie, fingers tracing the bare skin of her waist. “—so—” His lips moved to her throat, warm and insistent. “—fucking cruel.”

Lizzie's heart raced as Lando suddenly came alive, his hands roaming over her, his lips on her skin. She'd expected a reaction, but this was...something else entirely. She let out a shaky breath, her eyes fluttering closed as he kissed her with an intensity that ignited a fire within her.

Lizzie let out a breathless laugh, tilting her head to give him better access. “It’s just a hoodie, Lando.”

Lando pulled back, just enough to look at her, his expression somewhere between wrecked and unbelieving. “Just a hoodie?” He scoffed, hands sliding up her sides, thumbs teasing the edge of her ribcage. “No, see, if you had worn my hoodie, I would’ve lost my mind, but this?” He shook his head, voice rough with something dangerously close to reverence. “You planned this.”

Lizzie bit her lip, deliberately toying with the hem of the hoodie. “Maybe.”

Lando’s gaze darkened, tracking the movement of her hands, his fingers tracing patterns on her skin. "Definitely," he corrected her in a low hum, his breath hot against her collarbone. "You did this on purpose, you little minx."

"Is it working?" She challenged back, her voice an innocent contrast to the gleam in her eyes.

Lando’s hands fisted the hoodie—his team’s hoodie—the possessive move making Lizzie shiver.

He looked at her, his expression wild and wanting. “You have no idea,” he growled in her ear, the sound sending a jolt of lust straight to her core.

"Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea," she murmured back, arching into him, pushing the fabric up on purpose. She could see how it was affecting him, the way his breath caught and his gaze darkened. She knew exactly what she was doing to him...and it fueled her own desire.

“You’re such a tease,” he breathed out, his hands roaming up the heated skin of her sides, his fingers toying with the edge of her bra almost lazily. Lizzie shivered at his touch, arching into him with a quiet moan.

Lando’s mouth latched onto her throat in response, his teeth sinking into her skin just enough to make her gasp. His hands continued their torturous exploration, sliding under her body and lifting her against him.

"Bed," she gasped.

Lando needed no more instruction.

In one swift motion, he scooped her up in his arms, his grip tight as he headed towards the bedroom. It was a whirlwind of sensations, his hands hot and urgent, his body pressed firmly against hers.

They reached the bedroom and he deposited her on the bed, his body following, pinning her down. He loomed over her, his eyes wild and dark, his breathing ragged.

"You have no idea what you do to me, do you?" He rasped out, his lips brushing against her jawline.

Lizzie grinned, her hands wandering to the hem of his shirt, tugging at it with a playful edge. "Oh, trust me, I have some idea."

He leaned back, stripping his shirt off in a quick, practiced motion, and then he was back on her, his body heavy and hard against hers.

He kissed a path down her throat, his hands roaming over her curves, the feel of him against her, the smell of him overwhelming her senses. Lizzie let out a low moan, her hands gripping at his shoulders, her legs wrapping around his hips to pull him closer.

One of her hands buried in his curls, pulling him into another kiss.

"As much as I like this sweater..." Lando whispered

"...it would look better on the floor," Lizzie finished, tugging at the fabric of the hoodie.

Lando's eyes darkened even further at her words. "God, you're going to be the death of me," he murmured, his hands slipping under the hoodie and pulling it up over her head.

Lizzie was left in just her lace bra, vulnerable and wanting under Lando's gaze. His eyes roamed over her, taking in every inch of her bare skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous, love," he breathed.

Lizzie arched into him, his words sending a shiver down her spine. "I could say the same about you," she replied huskily, her hands roving over his chest, feeling the firm muscles under her fingertips.

Lando's breath hitched as her fingers traced over his stomach, his hands tightening on her hips. He leaned down, his lips finding her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. "You drive me insane, you know that?" He murmured, his voice low and rough.

Lizzie let out a soft moan, her head tilting back to give him better access. "I have that effect on you, huh?" She teased, her hands wandering lower, fingers tracing the waistband of his jeans.

Lando groaned, his hips pressing into her touch automatically. "More than you realize," he murmured, his lips finding her collarbone. "You're like a goddamn addiction. I can't get enough of you."

Lizzie's breath caught at his words, the raw honesty in them almost too much to handle. She ran her hands over his back, feeling the heat of his skin, the strength of him. "Then take more," she challenged, her voice a whisper in his ear. "I'm not stopping you."

Lando needed no more invitation. His mouth was on her, his teeth scraping across her collarbone, his tongue soothing the skin. His hands roamed, possessive and rough, as if he needed to touch every inch of her to convince himself she was real.

Lizzie gasped, her body arching into him, her hands gripping at his shoulders. She'd never known lust like this, had never felt so desired, so consumed. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer, needing to feel more, to have all of him.

Lando's hands were everywhere, his touch igniting flames in her veins. He hooked a finger under the strap of her bra, sliding it off her shoulder, his mouth following the path his finger had traced. A moment later, the scrap of lace joined the discarded hoodie, leaving her completely bare beneath him.

He pulled back to look down at her, his eyes roaming over her naked form like he was seeing her for the first time. "God, Liz," he whispered, his voice hoarse, reverent. "You're so goddamn beautiful."

Lizzie's heart did a little flip at his words, a mix of arousal and affection flooding through her. She reached up, pulling him back down to her, her lips finding his in a hungry kiss. His body pressed against her, his skin on hers, and it was like electricity shooting through her veins.

Lando responded eagerly, his lips moving against hers, his tongue slipping into her mouth. His hands continued their exploration, mapping every contour, every contour, every sensitive spot, learning what made her gasp and shudder.

He kissed down her neck, down over her chest...his hands sliding down her sides, his calloused fingers leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He kissed her stomach, just above her hipbone, his lips tender, almost reverent. Lizzie let out a shaky breath, her fingers digging into the sheets.

Lando moved lower, kissing a path down her stomach, his breath hot against her skin. He reached the edge of her shorts and paused, his eyes flicking up to meet hers, a silent request for permission.

Lizzie met his gaze, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted. She nodded, her eyes darkened with want, her body trembling with anticipation. Lando's expression darkened, his eyes never leaving hers as he slowly, tortuously, slid her shorts down her legs.

He dropped them on the floor, his gaze roaming over her newly-exposed skin. His hands ran up her legs, from ankle to knee to thigh, his touch electrifying. He bit down on his lip as if to suppress a groan, his eyes dark and hot.

Lizzie felt exposed and yet so wanted under his gaze. She couldn't help but squirm a bit, her body needy and desperate. She wanted more, needed more. Her fingers fisted the sheets, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Lando's hands continued their journey, his touch teasing and light as he kissed the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. She gasped, her body arching towards him instinctively. His mouth found the spot just below her hipbone, leaving an open-mouthed kiss there, his teeth scraping gently.

Lizzie's breath hitched, her head tilting back as pleasure coursed through her. His touch was setting her ablaze, every kiss, every graze of his teeth sending fire shooting through her veins. She couldn't remember the last time she'd want anyone this desperately, needed anyone like this.

Lando moved lower, his lips finding the juncture between her thighs, his tongue tracing a lazy pattern. She let out a strangled moan, her hips bucking involuntarily. He chuckled, the sound low and knowing. He knew exactly what he was doing to her, and he was very much enjoying it.

His mouth found her, hot and wet and so unbelievably good. Lizzie's brain short-circuited, her hands flying to his hair, grabbing at his curlsdesperately. She let out a strangled cry, her body arching off the bed, her toes curling. Lando groaned against her, the vibration sending another jolt of pure pleasure through her.

Lizzie gasped, her hips instinctively bucking against him. "Oh god, yes..." She managed to get out, her voice strangled and weak. Lando's hands held her in place, his grip firm, but not rough, as he continued his ministrations.

The sensations were overwhelming, bordering on too much. Lizzie felt like she was drowning in him, in this moment, in this feeling. Her body was alive with it, her skin on fire, her heart pounding out of her chest. Every touch of his tongue, every graze of his fingers sent sparks through her, like electricity through her veins.

He pressed one finger into her, and she couldn’t help but clench down onto it. Lando's grip on her thighs tightened as she started to shiver, her breathing rough and ragged. He could feel her teetering on the edge, and he didn't ease up. His tongue continued its rhythm, relentless and precise, pushing her closer and closer… He slid two fingers in, deep and slowly started to fuck her with them.

“Yes.” Her breath hitched, and she shuddered against his hand. “Yes, that’s so good.”

Lizzie was lost, completely lost in him, in the pleasure he was wringing from her body. She was on the precipice, teetering on the edge, her body quivering with the need for release. She gripped at the sheets, her fingers white-knuckled, as she fought for control.

And then...she tipped over the edge. Her body spasmed, her back arching off the bed, her vision going white. Lando's name fell from her lips like a prayer, a broken, breathless moan that seemed to echo in the room. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, leaving her boneless

Lizzie's mind was still spinning, her body thrumming with aftershocks, as Lando pulled away, his eyes dark and satisfied. He crawled back up her body, his hands roaming over her skin, his lips finding hers in a rough, needy kiss.

She could taste herself on his lips, the familiarity and intimacy of it sending a shiver through her. She could feel him, hard and strained against her hip, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her fingers roaming down his back.

Lando groaned into her mouth, his hips instinctively grinding against hers. He was losing his composure, his touch becoming more impatient, more desperate. He pulled back just enough to speak, his voice rough and hoarse. "Lizzie," he whispered, his fingers digging into her hips, "I need—"

“Condom,” she gasped. “Bedside table.”

Lando's eyes darkened, his expression turning almost predatory, as he shifted off her, slipping out of the sweatpants he wore.

He reached over to the bedside table, his eyes never leaving hers, and grabbed a condom from the drawer. His fingers trembled slightly as he ripped open the foil, his movements jerky with impatience.

He had it on in record time, Lizzie watching him, her breath catching in her throat. He was glorious, all coiled muscle and heat, and he was hers. He pushed her legs apart, settling between them, his body covering hers.

Lizzie was already on edge again, her body still sensitive from her orgasm. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him to her, wanting him as close as possible. Lando groaned, his forehead dropping to hers as he rubbed against her, his breathing uneven.

"I need you," he mumbled, his voice raw, and Lizzie couldn't help but shiver at the sound. "Need you so much." She reached up, cupping his face in her hands, her thumbs stroking his cheeks. Their eyes met, and in that moment, everything else fell away.

Lando's breath caught as he looked into her eyes, as if she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He shifted his hips, his tip nudging at her entrance, and a gasp fell from her lips. They were so close, so close, and yet he still hesitated for a moment, his face a question.

Lizzie knew what he was asking without words and she nodded, her fingers digging into his shoulders. "Yes," she whispered, her voice a ragged plea. "Please. I need you, too."

That’s all he needed. With the sound of one sharp breath...he pushed in. It was like nothing she’d ever felt. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe, could only feel him.

A moan slipped from her lips, deep and rough, as he began to move, slow and gentle at first. Every slide, every thrust sent a jolt of electricity through her veins, and she could feel him—every shudder, every sound, every tremble… He was moving slowly, almost tortuously, his eyes on hers, his teeth gritted in restraint. His breath was coming in harsh gasps, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Lizzie reached up, her fingers tracing his jaw, her touch both soothing and arousing.

"Harder," she whispered, her voice a plea, her nails digging into his skin. "Please, I need—I need you."

His control snapped. Lando's hands slammed down next to her head, gripping the sheets, the muscles in his arms straining. He picked up the pace, each thrust harder, deeper, rougher than the last.

He leaned down, his breaths hot against her neck, his hips moving relentlessly against hers. He was everywhere, surrounding her, consuming her. “God, Lizzie...” he groaned, his voice raw and guttural. “You’re so fucking perfect, so goddamn beautiful, I can’t—I can’t—"

She could feel him coming undone, every movement, every word, every ragged gasp was a piece of him breaking off and falling into her. She arched against him, her body meeting his with every thrust, seeking more, always more, scrabbling for purchase on the sweat slick skin of his back. "Don't hold back," Lizzie gasped, her fingers sliding into his hair. "Let go, let me see you."

That was all it took for the last vestiges of restraint to snap. Lando lost himself completely in her, his body driving into hers without restraint, one hand gripping her hips hard enough to bruise.

She could feel him spiraling, coming undone, and she wanted to see it, to feel it, to be the one to undo him. She pulled him closer, her legs tightening around his waist. "Come for me," she gasped, her voice a pleading plea. "Please, Lando, come with me."

He let out a rough, guttural moan as if the words were a command he couldn't refuse. He was so close, his body trembling with the effort to hold back, to prolong this moment. She could feel him teetering on the edge, his rhythm growing rougher, more erratic. "Lizzie...f-f-fuck..." he managed to get out through clenched teeth, as if those were the only words he could remember.

She pulled him down, her fingers gripping his hair, "Let go," she gasped, her voice rough and broken. "Let go, Lando. I've got you, I promise."

He drove into her again, and her Orgasm slammed into her like a sucker punch.

It was like a switch was flicked. He buried himself in her, a gasp torn from his lungs as he came undone. It was like nothing she'd ever felt, the power and the beauty and the absolute trust in it. She held him through it, her hands mapping his skin, her lips finding his, kissing him with everything she had. He was shaking, trembling, vulnerable, and all she wanted to do was hold him close and never let go.

He collapsed against her, his body boneless and heavy, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. His head was tucked into the crook of her neck, and she could feel the rapid thump of his heart against her chest. She held him close, her fingers stroking his hair gently, as if he was something fragile.

They stayed like that for a while, the minutes ticking by in silence, the only sound in the room their breathing and the occasional beat of the clock. Lando's breaths were slowly returning to normal, his body relaxed and sated. Lizzie's heart was still racing, her mind still reeling from the intensity of what had just happened.

Lando eventually raised his head, looking down at her with heavy-lidded eyes. "You...okay?" he whispered, his voice still a little rough.

Lizzie nodded, a small smile on her lips. "More than okay," she said, her voice soft and sated. "That was..." She trailed off, struggling to find the words to describe it.

Lando let out a tired, but satisfied chuckle. "Yeah, it was," he agreed, his eyes roaming over her face with a possessive glint. He propped himself up on one elbow, running his free hand over her curves, as if unable to keep his hands off her.

She shivered under his touch, her body still sensitive from their encounter. She reached up, her finger tracing his bottom lip, her eyes mapping the features of his face. "You're so beautiful," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Lando's gaze softened, something almost like awe in his eyes. He caught her hand in his, bringing it to his lips and gently kissing her knuckles. "You're the beautiful one," he murmured against her skin, his voice low and sincere.

She couldn't help but blush under his gaze, the intensity in his eyes making her chest tighten. She couldn't believe he was looking at her like that, as if she was the only person in the world.

It was intoxicating, and beautiful and she found herself wanting to drown in it, in him.

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goldsainz · 7 months ago

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# CS55 — FAREWELL, ROSSO CORSA !

MASTERLIST !

001. SUMMARY !

✯ carlos’ journey at ferrari has come to an end, you’re not sure you’re ready to deal with the aftermath.

002. WARNINGS !

✯ ferrar!engineer!reader, angst, bittersweet ending.

003. NOTE !

✯ i listened to long live (taylor’s version) on repeat. also i’ve been dreading this moment, i wish i could explain better how bittersweet it feels. i know he will do great things, i just wish they could still be with ferrari. anywho, i am happy for lewis too, just let me mourn in peace. (also i couldn’t be asked to listen to the radios of the races so just bear with me).

word count : 2,3k

The Abu Dhabi night was eerily quiet, the kind of stillness that settles after the end of something momentous. The paddock, which had been alive with cheers and fireworks just hours ago, was now dim and hushed. The last race of the season had ended, and with it, Carlos Sainz’s chapter at Ferrari.

You stood in the garage, the familiar hum of machinery winding down as the team dismantled the cars and packed away the remnants of a long season. The Ferrari red that had been your world for years felt heavier tonight, more poignant.

Carlos leaned against a workbench nearby, his race suit tied loosely around his waist, his hair still damp from the champagne. He looked at you, a quiet kind of sadness in his eyes. The moment you had both avoided all week loomed large now, inevitable in the space between you.

“You didn’t have to stay,” Carlos said softly, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

You looked up, meeting his gaze, your chest tightening at the sight of the sadness in his dark eyes. “And miss this? No chance.”

He chuckled, but it was humorless. “This doesn’t feel like a night worth staying for.”

“It is,” you insisted, stepping closer. “It’s the end of something big. That deserves a goodbye.”

Carlos swallowed, nodding slowly, his Adam's apple bobbing. “It’s strange,” he admitted, his Spanish accent heavier with emotion. “You dream of wearing this red suit as a kid, and when you finally do… it becomes your identity. Leaving feels like losing a part of myself.”

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his forearm. “You’re not losing anything, Carlos. You’re taking it with you—every moment, every lesson, every triumph. It will always be a part of you.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his brows knitting together as if trying to memorize every detail of your face. “And you?” he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Will you be a part of me too?”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words pressing against your chest. You’d been an engineer first, a loyal member of the Scuderia, but somewhere along the way, Carlos had become more than a driver to you. He had become a friend, a confidant, and—if you were brave enough to admit it—someone who held your heart.

“Always,” you said, the word escaping you before you could second-guess it. “You think I’ll stop yelling at you over the radio just because you’re on a different team?”

Carlos laughed, the sound warm and genuine, a reprieve from the melancholic undertone of the night. “I’d miss it if you did,” he replied, his hand covering yours.

The silence that followed was softer, less heavy, as if the shared weight of your memories had settled between you like a quiet truce.

And oh, there were so many memories.

Bahrain, 2021

The first race of the season, and Carlos’s first with Ferrari. The garage buzzed with nervous energy, the scent of burnt rubber and engine oil filling the air.

He had been confident, his signature smirk in place as he suited up, but you could see the tension in his shoulders. It was his debut for the Scuderia, a dream realized, and the pressure was immense.

“Relax,” you had told him. “It’s just another race. You know how to do this.”

Carlos had smiled at you, his eyes soft with gratitude. “It’s not just another race. It’s Ferrari.”

When the lights went out, the race unfolded like a storm. Carlos fought relentlessly, slicing through the midfield with calculated aggression. The radio crackled with updates, his determination palpable in every breathless “copy” that followed your instructions. His P8 finish may not have been headline-grabbing, but it felt monumental—proof that he belonged.

Back in the garage, his grin was wide as he found you amidst the chaos. “Not bad for the new guy, huh?” he teased, his eyes sparkling with pride and relief.

You shook your head, unable to suppress your smile. “Not bad at all,” you replied. The way his eyes softened, gratitude bleeding through the teasing, made you realize how much this moment meant—not just to him, but to you as well.

Silverstone, 2022

The radio crackled with your voice, barely containing your excitement. “P1, Carlos! P1! You did it!”

The cheers in the garage erupted as Carlos crossed the finish line. His first win with Ferrari. Your first win with him. It had been a chaotic race—strategy calls that could have gone wrong, moments of doubt as Perez loomed behind him. But Carlos had held on.

When he stepped out of the car, his face was radiant, a mix of disbelief and triumph. The crowd roared as he lifted the trophy, his grin infectious. Later, with the champagne haze lifting, he approached you with a glass in hand, his grin now softer, more reflective.

“We did this,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Not just me. Us.”

You had laughed, your heart swelling with pride. “I just yelled in your ear. You did the hard part.”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

And for the first time, amidst the noise and celebration, there was a quiet understanding between you—a closeness that went beyond the driver-engineer dynamic.

Singapore, 2023

It had been a flawless drive. Under the dazzling lights of Marina Bay, Carlos broke Red Bull’s streak, taking the win in one of the most challenging races of the year.

The garage had been electric with energy, the team shouting and cheering as he crossed the line. You couldn’t contain your grin as the radio crackled with his voice, elated and disbelieving. “We did it! Holy—thank you, team. Thank you!”

Later, in the cool night air, he had found you standing by the pit wall, gazing out at the now-quiet track.

“Celebrating alone?” he teased, stepping beside you.

“Just soaking it in,” you replied, turning to him. “That was… incredible.”

Carlos had leaned against the wall, his smile soft. “You’re the one who believed we could do it.”

“I always believe in you,” you said simply, and the way he looked at you then as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world, and it left your heart racing.

Australia, 2024

Carlos had insisted on racing, appendix surgery be damned. He was stubborn, determined, and entirely unwilling to sit on the sidelines.

“You’re insane,” you had told him in the days leading up to the race, your voice filled with equal parts frustration and admiration.

He had shrugged, his smile cheeky. “Maybe. But I’m not missing this.”

Carlos’s win in Melbourne was nothing short of miraculous. Just weeks after undergoing an emergency appendectomy, he returned to the grid, defying every expectation.

In the parc fermé, you rushed to him, barely holding back tears when he emerged from the car, sweat-soaked and visibly drained. You rushed to him, your relief spilling over in a trembling voice. “You just had surgery, Carlos!”

He laughed, though it was strained. “I told you I’d be fine.”

THat night, as the team celebrated, Carlos sat beside you, exhaustion evident in his features. “I couldn’t let you down,” he said simply.

“You never could,” you replied, your heart swelling with pride.

Baku, 2024

The crash had been brutal. Carlos crashed into the wall at high speed, and your heart stopped when the screens showed the wreckage. You barely breathed until you heard his voice over the radio, shaky but alive.

“I’m okay… Sorry, guys.”

When you found him in the medical center, sitting on the examination table, bruises blossoming on his arms. “You should see the other guy,” he’d joked weakly, but the exhaustion in his eyes betrayed him.

“You scared the hell out of me,” you’d said, your voice trembling.

Carlos had reached for your hand then, his grip surprisingly firm. “I’m okay,” he’d said softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I promise.”

But later, long after the debriefs were done and the lights in the paddock dimmed, he found you sitting by his car, running your hands over the damaged bodywork. He sat down beside you, the silence heavy between you.

“You care too much,” he said, a hint of teasing in his tone.

You looked at him, your chest tightening. “Someone has to.”

He didn’t respond, but the way he leaned closer, his shoulder brushing against yours, said everything he couldn’t.

The weight of the memories settled between you like the remnants of a storm. Carlos let out a soft sigh, dragging his hand through his hair as he leaned against the workbench, his eyes fixed on the car that had carried him through countless battles.

“I knew this would be hard,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I didn’t think it would be this hard.”

You stepped closer, the space between you shrinking, but still too far for the ache you felt. “Because it’s not just the car or the team,” you said gently. “It’s everything. Every moment that made this place more than just work. Every person who made it feel like home.”

Carlos’s gaze shifted to you, and the raw vulnerability in his eyes was almost too much to bear. “You made it feel like home,” he said, the words tumbling out as though he couldn’t hold them back any longer.

Your breath caught, the honesty in his voice cutting through the layers of professionalism you’d both worn like armor for years. The memories, the laughter, the quiet moments shared in the garage or on long flights to the next race—they all rushed back, forming a mosaic of the bond you had built.

“Do you remember Las Vegas?” he asked suddenly, his lips curving into a faint smile.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory. “How could I forget? The strategy went out the window, and you decided to play hero.”

Carlos grinned, the expression lighting up his face despite the sadness that lingered in his eyes. “We still got P3, didn’t we?”

“Because you ignored me on the radio and took that insane risk,” you shot back, though there was no malice in your tone. “I yelled at you for fifteen minutes straight after the race.”

“And then you brought me a coffee the next morning,” he countered, his grin softening into something more tender. “Said I’d need it if I was going to keep making you crazy.”

“I didn’t say I forgave you,” you teased, though your voice betrayed the fondness you felt.

He shook his head, his laughter fading into a comfortable silence. He looked back at the car, his expression thoughtful. “It’s funny,” he said after a moment. “The races, the wins, the crashes… they all sort of blur together… But moments like that? I’ll remember them forever.”

The words settled between you, heavy with meaning. You wanted to tell him that you felt the same, that the moments you shared with him—both big and small—had become a part of you in a way you couldn’t put into words. But the lump in your throat made it impossible to speak.

Carlos turned to you, his eyes searching yours. “What about you?” he asked, his voice quiet but steady. “When I’m gone, will you remember me?”

“Carlos,” you said, the weight of his question making your voice tremble. “You’re unforgettable.”

The corners of his mouth lifted into a small, bittersweet smile. “You say that now,” he said softly. “But life moves on. New drivers, new challenges. It’s easy to forget.”

You shook your head, stepping closer until you were standing directly in front of him. “Not you,” you said firmly. “Not the way you made us believe, the way you made me believe. That’s not something you forget.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “You always believed in me,” he murmured. “Even when I didn’t believe in myself.”

“I still do,” you said, your voice breaking slightly.

Carlos reached out, his hand brushing against yours before curling around it. His grip was warm, steady, and so achingly familiar that it brought tears to your eyes.

“I wish I could stay,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I wish you could too,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

For a moment, it felt like the rest of the world had fallen away, leaving only the two of you in the quiet stillness of the garage. His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, a small, tender gesture that spoke volumes.

“I don’t really know what’s next,” he said finally, his voice thick with emotion. “But I know one thing.”

“What’s that?” you asked, your own voice trembling.

“I’ll carry you with me,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours. “Wherever I go.”

Your breath hitched, the sincerity in his words leaving you speechless. All you could do was squeeze his hand, hoping he understood everything you couldn’t say.

Carlos smiled then, a small, bittersweet curve of his lips. “Goodbye, mi ingeniera,” he said softly, the nickname laced with affection and finality.

“Goodbye, Carlitos,” you whispered, your heart breaking even as you smiled through the tears.

As he walked away, his figure disappearing into the shadows of the paddock, you stood there, the hum of the empty garage your only companion. And though your time together had come to an end, you knew that the memories—the wins, the losses, the moments that had defined your journey—would stay with you, etched into your heart like a scarlet flame.

Carlos Sainz had left Ferrari, but he would never truly leave you.

364 notes · View notes

37sommz · 9 months ago

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000.⠀⠀NOW PLAYING: soul's anthem [6.9k, angst]. ✼. view: masterlist⠀⸻⠀join the taglist⠀⸻⠀request. ✼. synopsis: michaela has a decision to make. ✼. notes: back to our regularly scheduled programming following the daniel news. angst bc i'm incapable of writing anything else <333 been on my writing grind recently and i'm starting to get attached to my babygirl mick <3 ✼. warnings: mattia binotto, general language, beginning of a breakup?, zak brown jump scare, free fred from breaking his favorite drivers' hearts </3

✼.⠀OCTOBER 30, 2020 — imola, italy › practice day.

Michaela leaned against the garage wall in her race suit, water bottle in hand with her eyes fixed on the busy paddock of the Imola circuit. The candy-apple red of her Alfa Romeo car gleamed under the Italian sun, starkly contrasting the sea of Ferrari fans dressed in their iconic Rosso Corsa. The air was buzzing with the scent of burnt rubber and racing fuel, the sound of running engines echoing through the grandstands as the second Free Practice session drew to a close. As the buzz grew louder, she found herself lost in thought.

Fred Vasseur, her team principal at Alfa Romeo, approached with a stride that seemed more determined than usual. His eyes met hers, and she knew the conversation they were about to have would be pivotal for her career. "Michaela, I know you're tired, but we need to talk." His French accent was soothing despite the tension in his voice. She nodded, pushing herself off the wall and disposing of the plastic bottle with a tired sigh.

They walked to the quietest corner of the garage, where the smell of oil and the distant chatter of mechanics couldn't intrude. Fred leaned in, his voice low and urgent. "Binotto wants to see you tonight after you've finished your press duties. It's about your future with Ferrari." The words hung in the air like a question she hadn't prepared for. She felt a mix of excitement and dread. This was the moment she had been waiting for, but she could not shake the nagging feeling that she was not truly ready for what the conversation would entail.

The rest of the day was a blur of interviews and autographs. Journalists whispered and focused on her movements as she passed, their eyes filled with curiosity. The tension grew with each step closer to Binotto's makeshift office on the Enzo e Dino Ferrari paddock. Her heart raced as she stepped into the sleek building, surrounded by the history and prestige of the Scuderia. The walls were adorned with trophies and photos of legendary drivers, their eyes seemingly watching her every move. The faces of Fangio, Lauda, Schumacher, and Raikkonen stared back at her as if taunting her with their tales of stories and successes for their adoring Tifosi.

Michaela took a deep breath, the air thick with anticipation as she waited for Mattia Binotto, Ferrari's Team Principal, to appear. The door swung open, revealing a man who looked more like a distant fan than a master of the motorsport world. His smile was warm, but his eyes were sharp and calculating. "Michaela, thank you for coming," He said in his flourished Italian, gesturing to a seat. She took it not before she wiped her sweaty palms against her blue jeans. The room was dimly lit, the only sound the faint tick of a clock that seemed to echo the beat of her heart.

Binotto sat across from her, leaning back in his chair with a confidence that made her nerves spark with anxiety. "We've noticed your progress this season," He began, his words measured. "Your podium in Tuscany was... unexpected, but not unwelcome."

There was a pause, a beat too long.

"But," He continued, "We're still not convinced you're ready for the pressure of a championship-contending seat." The room felt colder, the walls closing in around her.

Michaela's eyes widened in shock, her throat dry as she swallowed hard. "What do you mean?" She managed to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.

Binotto clasped his fingers, a gesture that seemed more suited to a boardroom than a Formula 1 garage. "You've shown potential, yes, but we need a driver who can handle the pressure of fighting for the title week in, week out." His eyes searched hers as if looking for something she was sure he wasn't going to find. "And frankly, we're considering other options."

Michaela felt the wind knocked out of her. Her mind raced with thoughts of the countless hours she had spent on the track, pushing herself beyond limits she never knew existed. All the sacrifices, the early mornings, the late nights in the simulator, the physical pain she'd endured - it all felt useless. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the armrests of the chair. She took a moment to compose herself, the sting of his words lingering like the taste of blood in her mouth.

"What other options?" She asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. "Who could be your other options?" She pleaded, eyes still wide in disbelief. Her fingers formed air quotations around the word 'options'.

Mattia's smile never wavered, a mark of his seasoned experience in the business of breaking bad news to talented drivers. "It's not for me to say right now, but rest assured, we are exploring all avenues." He paused, letting his words sink in. "But, don't get me wrong, you are a valuable asset to the Ferrari family. We just need to make sure that when we make our decision, it's the right one at the right time."

Michaela felt the weight of his words like a bomb strapped to her chest. Despite her historic podium finish, she was still seen as an 'if' and not a 'when'. She took a deep breath, her thoughts racing. This wasn't the conversation she had hoped for, but she knew she had to keep her emotions in check if she wanted to leave this meeting with her reputation intact. "I understand," She said, her voice surprisingly calm, catching herself off guard. "But I'm not going to settle for anything less than what I know I can achieve."

Binotto nodded, his expression indiscernible. "That's the spirit," He said, his smile never reaching his eyes. Michaela could feel her world spin as she tried to keep herself from throwing up her last meal. "But you must understand that Ferrari is more than just a team. It's a legacy. A responsibility. And we don't take our decisions lightly."

Michaela nodded, the uneasiness in her belly swirled and rose to the point of nausea. "I'm aware," She replied, her voice laced with a rueful determination she hadn't felt in a long time. "I've worked my entire life for this moment. And I won't let anyone, not even Ferrari, tell me that I'm not ready."

Binotto leaned in, his eyes searching hers once more. "Your passion is commendable, Michaela. But passion alone does not win championships." His tone was softer now, almost patronizing. "You've proven you can handle a car, but the question still stands, can you handle the weight of the Ferrari suit?"

Michaela felt a flash of anger, but she swallowed it down, reminding herself of the stakes involved in a room with one other witness. "I know what it means to drive for Ferrari," She replied, her voice firm. "And I'm ready to prove it."

Binotto leaned back in his chair, his expression unchanged. "Good," He said. "Because if you wish to be considered for a seat next season, you'll need to prove it not just to me, but to the entire team, from the mechanics to the sponsors."

Michaela nodded, her eyes never leaving his. "I'll do whatever it takes." She said with a conviction that she hoped was as convincing as it sounded.

The silence grew heavier before Fred Vasseur coughed gently. "Michaela, I think it's important to remember that your contract with Alfa Romeo is also ending this year," He reminded her, his voice a stark contrast to Binotto's coolness. "We've had a good season, and I know you're looking for a new challenge."

Michaela nodded, her eyes flicking to Fred, then back to Binotto. "But I thought Ferrari was the next step for me," She said, her voice filled with an unspoken question.

Fred cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. "Ferrari is a tough nut to crack, but you're not without options," He offered, trying to ease the tension in the room. "We are interested in retaining your talent for next season. You need to weigh your options carefully. If you leave us, there's no guarantee you'll ever get in a Ferrari seat."

Michaela felt the sting of his words pierce at her resolve. Was he hinting that she was being too ambitious? She took a moment to process the information, her eyes darting between the two men. The Ferrari dream was slipping through her fingers, but she knew she would never give up without a fight.

"What's the deal?" She asked, her voice still firm despite the doubt creeping in.

Fred leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Alfa Romeo is willing to offer you a multi-year contract. We believe in you, and we'll support you as you continue to grow as a driver. But if you want to drive for Ferrari, you may need to wait. And waiting could mean sacrificing your career trajectory." His words were a stark reminder of the cutthroat nature of Formula 1 for any driver, much less a driver trying to dispel any doubt about the potential of female drivers.

Michaela felt the weight of their expectations pressing down on her. Her mind raced with scenarios, each more daunting than the last. Could she really wait another season or two, hoping Ferrari would give her a chance? Or should she take the security of a contract with Alfa Romeo and continue to try to prove herself in a car that was intentionally uncompetitive? Her thoughts were interrupted by the vibration of her phone in her pocket. Guido Marotta, her manager, flashed across her screen like a beacon of hope amidst the turmoil. After receiving a 'go ahead' from Binotto and Vasseur to pick up the call, she answered with a tentative greeting.

"Michaela," He said urgently when she picked up. "I've got a call from Zak Brown with McLaren. They're interested in you for 2021. It's a seat with potential, and they're willing to pay big."

Michaela's heart skipped a beat at the mention of McLaren. The British team was on the rise, with young talent in Lando Norris, the very same Brit she had beaten to the Formula 2 champion two years ago. Regardless of her friendly rivalry with Lando, McLaren was a team that could offer her a real shot at fighting for victories, if not immediately, then certainly in the near future.

"What are they saying?" She managed to ask despite the wave of shock that settled over her. Her voice a curious mix of excitement and hesitation.

Guido's response was quick and to the point, a mark of his personality that made him such an efficient manager. "They're impressed with your performance, especially the podium in Tuscany. They think you're ready to step up to the next level. And they're willing to offer you a multi-year deal that would put you in a car capable of fighting for podiums."

Michaela's eyes widened as she processed the information, her heart racing faster than the Formula 1 cars she drove at top speed. A seat at McLaren would mean leaving the Ferrari family, but it was an opportunity she couldn't ignore. She could feel the eyes of both Binotto and Vasseur on her, each waiting for her to make a mistake, to show her hand. She took a deep breath, her racing heart pounding in her chest. "I need to think about it," she said, her voice firm despite the tremor of excitement.

Bintto nodded, his expression unreadable. "Take all the time you need, but remember, the paddock is a small place, and opportunities like this don't come around often." Guido's words were a warning, a subtle reminder that she was playing a game with very high stakes.

Michaela ended the call, the silence in the room thick with the unspoken tension. She looked up at the two men in front of her, their faces a map of the politics she had so long tried to navigate to no avail. "Thank you for the offer, but I need to consider all my options before making a decision," She said, her voice steady despite the tumultuous storm in her mind.

Fred nodded solemnly. "We understand," He said, his eyes reflecting a hint of disappointment. Binotto remained expressionless, his gaze unwavering as he studied her as if taken off guard.

Michaela stepped out of the office, her legs shaking beneath slightly. The cool evening air of Imola hit her like a slap in the face, jolting her back to the unfair reality. The paddock was alive with activity, teams, and drivers preparing for the final practice session of the weekend tomorrow morning. She took a moment to collect her thoughts, the noise of the surrounding environment fading into the background as she weighed her options. The decision before her was impossible: stay with the Ferrari family and hope for a chance that might never come, or take a leap into the unknown with McLaren, a team on the rise but without the guarantee of any tangible success.

Her phone buzzed again in her back pocket. This time, it was her boyfriend, Olivier. She had hoped he would be there for her, to help navigate the stormy waters of her career. But his texts had been sparse and unenthusiastic. Work had taken him away from the track more often than not, leaving her to face the pressures of Formula 1 alone.

Michaela took a moment to compose herself before reading the message. It was a simple question about her plans for the night. The distance between them had grown over the past few weeks, and his new job as a race analyst kept him busy and detached from her personal little racing world. The lack of support was palpable, and she found herself resenting him for it.

With a heavy heart, she texted back that she had an important call and needed some space to think. Olivier responded with a curt 'Okay', and she couldn't help but feel a glimmer of anger. The callousness of his reply only further reminded her of Jenson's words during that night they shared in his hotel in Tuscany.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a familiar engine roar, snapping her out of her brooding. The McLaren MCL35M, piloted by Lando Norris, was being looked at by a group of papaya-clad mechanics. The sight of the orange car brought a bitterness to her tongue, a taste of rivalry from their time in Formula 2. But now, the prospect of racing alongside him in the same team had an allure she hadn't anticipated.

The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the paddock as she made her way back to her own garage. Her mind was a tornado of thoughts and emotions. The podium finish in Tuscany had brought her career to a new level, but it had also exposed the cracks in her relationship with Olivier. The fight for the top was becoming as much about proving herself to the sport as it was about proving herself to him.

Michaela stepped into the Alfa Romeo garage, the starkness of the white walls contrasting sharply with the Ferrari red that had surrounded her just minutes before. Her team greeted her with nods of respect and understanding; they knew the stakes of her meeting with Binotto and Vasseur. She took a moment to appreciate their kindness before retreating to her personal space to call Travis.

She held her uncle's opinion in the highest regard. As she explained the dilemma presented to her by Binotto, Vasseur, and Brown, she could already feel Travis' incoming response.

"Michaela, I know you're going through a tough time," He said, his Australian twang cutting through the line. "But remember, you're worth more than any contract they throw at you. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise." His words echoed in her mind as she sat on the cold, metal floor, her back against the wall of her small driver's home.

Michaela nodded to herself, the sound of her heart pounding in her ears. She knew he was right. Her entire career had been about proving herself, about fighting against the odds. But this was different. This was Ferrari. The pinnacle of motorsport. The dream she had chased since she was a little girl watching her heroes race in the very same series. "I know," She murmured, her voice thick with unshed tears. "But it feels like no matter what I do, I'm never going to be enough for them."

Travis' voice grew stern. "You're more than enough, Mitch." The use of the childhood alias she would use to enter karting races when she was much younger drew a soft laugh from her. "You've got talent that could outshine anyone on that grid. Don't you dare let them tell you any bullshit otherwise." His crass words were a balm to her bruised ego, a reminder of the fire that had driven her to this point.

Michaela took a deep breath, feeling the tension in her shoulders ease slightly. "What should I do?" She asked, her voice shaky.

"You need to trust yourself," Travis said firmly. "You've come too far to let someone else dictate your future. If Ferrari doesn't see what you're capable of, then maybe it's time to show them what they're missing out on."

Michaela's eyes drifted to her reflection in the shiny Alfa Romeo emblem on the wall. She saw the little girl with her first go-kart, the teenager fighting tooth and nail in every race, the woman who had just earned her place on the podium. A sense of determination swelled within her. "You're right," she murmured, wiping a rogue tear from her cheek. "I can't wait around for them to decide my worth."

Her resolve strengthened with every beat of her heart. The decision was clear: she had to take the risk with McLaren. They were offering her a chance to prove herself in a competitive car, and she knew she could step up to the plate. The thrill of the challenge coursed through her veins like adrenaline. The very same adrenaline that filled her with anticipation every time she stepped into her car and onto the track.

With a newfound sense of decisiveness, she called Guido back, her voice clear and direct. "Set up the meeting with McLaren," she said. "I'm ready to explore my options."

Guido's response was swift and business-like. "Good call, Michaela. I'll get it sorted."

Michaela ended the call with a sense of relief as if she had just taken the first step in reclaiming control over her destiny. She took a moment to appreciate the quiet of the garage, the rhythmic buzz of tools, and the murmur of engineers discussing setup changes a comforting backdrop. It was a stark contrast to the chaotic storm of emotions playing out in her mind.

✼.⠀NOVEMBER 01, 2020 — imola, italy › race day.

The next few days were a whirlwind of activity, with a flurry of meetings and phone calls that left her little time to reflect on her personal life. The final practice session and qualifying passed in a blur, her focus solely on the job at hand: securing the best possible grid position for the upcoming race.

Michaela found solace in the roar of the engine, the vibration of the car beneath her, and the way the tires whispered secrets of grip and speed to her. It was the sweet hum of mechanical perfection that drowned out the rushes of doubt and anxiety. She pushed her Alfa Romeo to the limit, setting a time that was surprisingly close to the Ferrari of Sebastian Vettel.

The qualifying session was intense, with drivers jostling for the top position, but she remained focused. Her mind was a cage, shutting out everything but the track ahead. When she climbed out of the car, her heart was racing, not just from the exertion but from the thrill of the chase. The team congratulated her on outqualifying both her teammate Kimi, and Sebastian, their smiles genuine, but her thoughts were already racing to the next battle: the race itself.

The night before the Grand Prix, she lay in her hotel room, the TV playing the highlights of her podium finish in Tuscany as they discussed the future she wasn't any more sure about than they were. The commentators' voices grew distant as she stared at the ceiling, her mind racing with thoughts of Ferrari's elusive offer and the tantalizing prospect of McLaren. She picked up her phone, the screen lighting up the dark room. Olivier's face popped up on the screen, his expression one of forced cheerfulness. Michaela scoffed to herself as she remembered their one-year anniversary was approaching in less than three months without as much as an acknowledgment from the Frenchman.

Their relationship had been strained at best since her podium finish, his lack of support stinging more than any of the criticisms from the media or the whispers in the paddock. The distance between them was palpable, and the thought of their upcoming trip to Monaco, which was supposed to be romantic, now felt like a chore she couldn't escape.

Michaela's mind was a tumult of emotions as she stared at the screen. The text from Olivier was innocent, asking about her day and her preparations for the race. But it was his detachment that was eating away at her. Her historic podium finish in Tuscany should have been a celebration, a moment they shared together. Instead, he had been glued to his phone as he picked her up from the airport, congratulating her with a peck on the cheek before retreating to answer his emails.

Her thoughts drifted to Jenson, his words of support and understanding after the race resonated in her ears. The night they had shared was a brief escape from the pressure, a spark of comfort that had quickly turned into a fire of guilt and confusion. But as she sat in the quiet hotel room, she couldn't deny that his words had planted a seed of doubt in her heart. Was Olivier really the one for her? Or was she just clinging to the familiarity of their relationship out of fear of being alone in this high-stakes world?

Michaela threw her phone onto the bed, frustration building within her. She needed to focus on the race tomorrow, not the tangled mess of her love life. The pressure was immense, but she had faced worse. The race was her sanctuary, the one place where she could truly be herself, free from the scrutiny and expectations of others.

The next day, the grandstands were a sea of Ferrari red, the air thick with anticipation. As she stood out on the track in her Alfa Romeo racing suit, the Italian national anthem playing out, she felt a pang of regret for the dream that seemed to be slipping away. But she pushed it aside, reminding herself of her uncle's words. This race was about more than just points or positions; it was about making a statement.

The lights went out, and the engines roared to life. She dropped the clutch and the car leaped forward, her eyes fixed on the first corner. The opening laps were a dance of strategy and skill, pushing for position without making contact. As the race unfolded, she felt the car come alive beneath her, responding to her every input with a ferocity that matched her own.

Michaela's mind was singularly focused on the task at hand, the tire strategies, the car's setup, and the ever-changing track conditions. Her hands gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles tightened with the intensity of her focus. She knew every inch of this circuit like the back of her hand, every bump, every nuance that could be taken advantage of to shave off a tenth of a second.

The race was a battleground of pace, a silent war of speed and precision. The scream of engines, the smell of burning rubber, the taste of adrenaline—it was all familiar to her now, a chorus of sensations that played out in her mind like a well-rehearsed choir. She pushed her Alfa Romeo to the limits, every turn a declaration of her intentions to the Ferrari team watching from the pits.

As the race approached its final stages, the tension grew. The lead drivers were locked in a fierce battle, but it was the midfield fight that had the crowd on the edge of their seats. The McLaren of Lando Norris in 10th and the AlphaTauri of Daniil Kvyat in 8th were dueling, with her car sandwiched in between. The podium was still a distant hope, but a solid points finish was within her grasp.

Her heart raced as she saw the gap to Kvyat shrinking, her eyes flickering between the track ahead and the mirrors. The Russian was known for his aggressive driving, and she knew she had to be ready for anything. The moment came on the 58th lap, as Kvyat made a daring move around the outside of a tight corner. She braced herself, her muscles tense as she waited for the inevitable contact that never came. He'd gone too wide, opening the door for her to act quickly.

Michaela didn't hesitate, seizing the opportunity with the finesse of a seasoned veteran. She shot down the inside, the roar of the Alfa Romeo's engine echoing through the narrow corridor of the track. The move was clean and decisive, and it earned her a well-deserved spot in 8th place. The crowd erupted in a mix of cheers and gasps, the excitement palpable even through the thick barriers. Though she was much too far to challenge the Ferrari of Charles Leclerc in 7th, Michaela knew with that move she had made her statement.

The final laps were a blur of concentration, her eyes never straying from the road ahead. She crossed the line, her heart pounding in her chest as the cheers grew louder. The podium may have eluded her this time, but she had shown Ferrari that she was no mere junior driver to be overlooked.

The podium ceremony went ahead without her, the Mercedes duo of Valtteri and Lewis accompanied by the Red Bull of Max, took to spraying champagne and soaking in the applause. Meanwhile, in the pits, the Alfa Romeo mechanics were already debriefing, their heads bowed over data screens, their expressions a mix of pride and determination. The team knew she had given it everything she had.

Michaela climbed out of her car, the adrenaline wearing off to reveal the exhaustion that had been waiting in the metaphorical wings. She took off her helmet, her sweat-dampened hair sticking to her forehead and curling up from the heat. The TV cameras and journalists swarmed around her, eager to capture her reaction to the race. She took a deep breath, forcing a smile, and faced the barrage of questions on her trek back to the garage with the poise of a woman who had, in fact, spent her life in the spotlight.

"How does it feel to be back in the points?" One journalist shouted over the others.

Michaela paused, her smile wavering slightly. "It feels amazing," She said, her voice carrying over the business of the paddock. "But I'm not just here to collect points. I'm here to win." The words were a declaration of war, a challenge thrown down to Ferrari and everyone else who had ever doubted her. As she fielded more questions, her eyes caught sight of Olivier who stood tall amongst the unfamiliar faces.

Their gazes met briefly, his expression one of surprise, perhaps even a hint of admiration. But it was the way his eyes searched hers that had her stomach flipping. He had watched the race with the same intensity as everyone else, but she knew he had felt her struggle, her determination, her triumph. She knew he understood the weight of her words.

Michaela pushed through the media scramble, her heart racing faster than the car she had just stepped out of. She needed to talk to him, to explain everything, but she wasn't sure she had the words to bridge the growing gap between them. The garage was alive with noise and activity, but she found him amidst the chaos, his eyes still glued to the screens that replayed her daring move.

Olivier's face was a mask of professionalism, but she saw the flicker of pride in his gaze. He knew the significance of her performance today, not just for her but for the future of their relationship. She approached him, the noise of the paddock fading away as they stood face to face. "I didn't know you were coming," She said, trying to keep her voice steady. Instead of answering her right away, he drew her sweaty body into his.

The embrace was tight and warm, a welcome contrast to the coolness that had settled between them. "I had to see you," He murmured into her ear, his breath tickling the baby hairs on her neck. "You were incredible out there."

Michaela leaned into his arms, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders. "Thank you," She whispered, her voice cracking. "I needed to hear that."

Olivier pulled back, his expression honest. His Sky Sports windbreaker adorned his broad shoulders. "I know things have been tough for us, but you can't doubt yourself. You're one of the best drivers out there."

Michaela nodded, feeling the sting of tears threatening to spill over. "But it's not just about being the best," she said. "It's about being in the right car, with the right team, and having the right support."

Olivier's grip on her tightened. "And you have that," he said firmly. "You've got me, you've got Travis, your family, and you've got a whole team behind you. That's what matters."

Michaela searched his eyes, looking for the truth in his words. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to believe that maybe she did have everything she needed. But the doubt remained, a stubborn shadow in the corner of her mind. "I don't know if that's enough," she confessed. "The McLaren offer is real, Olivier. And I can't ignore it."

He sighed, his grip loosening slightly. "I know," he said, his voice shallow with defeat. Michaela was aware he was biased, like most former drivers, to the allure of the Ferrari name. "But you have to do what's best for your career."

"And what about us?" She asked the question hanging in the air like the scent of burnt rubber from the track. Olivier looked away, his eyes darting around the garage before returning to hers.

"We'll figure it out," He said, but his voice lacked conviction. The words stung, but she knew she couldn't let her personal life sway her career choice. The Ferrari contract remained out of reach, and the McLaren offer grew more inviting with each passing moment.

Michaela turned away from Olivier, her mind racing. She knew she had to sit down with Guido and discuss the future. The decision was hers, and she couldn't let anyone else make it for her.

"Michaela, congratulations on a fantastic race," Guido's voice boomed over the background noise of the paddock as he approached her. His eyes were sharp, assessing the tension between her and Olivier. A perceptive man, he was more than aware of the tension between Michaela and her distant boyfriend. "Your performance today was exceptional."

Michaela nodded, her eyes never leaving Olivier's. "Thank you, Guido." Her voice was laced with a mix of exhaustion and determination. "Can we talk about the McLaren offer now?"

Guido looked from her to Olivier and back, sensing the unspoken tension. He cleared his throat, his expression shifting to one of professionalism. "Of course," he said, gesturing towards a quieter corner of the garage. "Let's get you out of the suit first."

Michaela nodded the weight of her decision momentarily forgotten as she allowed herself to be led away. She knew that she had to prioritize her career above all else, but the thought of leaving Ferrari, the team she had been groomed for, was like running away from the safety of the known.

Once in the relative quiet of the team's hospitality area, she peeled off her racing suit, revealing the sports bra and fireproofs beneath. The smell of the track clung to her, a mix of burning rubber, fuel, and victory. She took a deep breath and accepted the sports drink Guido offered to her while trying to steady her racing heart. Guido waited patiently, his eyes never leaving hers.

"McLaren is a serious offer," he began, his voice low and measured. "They're not just looking for a driver; they're looking for a star. You've got the potential to be that star, and they know it."

Michaela took a sip of the sports drink, the cool liquid soothing her dry throat. "But Ferrari is my dream," She said softly. "I've worked my entire life for this."

Guido's expression grew serious. "I know it's tough," He said. "But Ferrari's indecision is not a reflection of your talent. You've earned your place in this sport, and you can't let anyone make you feel otherwise."

Michaela nodded, the gravity of his words resonating within her. "What happens next?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Guido leaned in closer, his gaze intense. "We play hardball," He decided. "We tell Ferrari that you're exploring all options, and we let McLaren know that you're serious about the offer. It's time to make them realize that you're not just waiting around for a seat; you're actively pursuing your future."

Michaela nodded a newfound resolve setting in her features. "Alright," She responded, "Let's do it."

Guido set to work immediately, his fingers flying across his phone as he called in favors and set up meetings. Meanwhile, Olivier hovered in the background, his usual confidence replaced by a palpable uncertainty. The tension between them was as thick as the smoke that sometimes hung over the track.

Michaela took a moment to breathe, her thoughts racing as fast as the cars she'd just competed against. The idea of leaving Ferrari, the team she had grown up dreaming of, was heart-wrenching. But the opportunity to race for McLaren, a team on the rise with a proven track record of nurturing talent, was too good to pass up without serious consideration.

Her conversation with Guido was cut short by a sudden commotion in the garage. The team manager looked up from his phone, a flicker of concern crossing his features before they smoothed out into a mask of neutrality. "I'll handle this," he said, leaving her with a nod.

Michaela took a moment to collect herself, her eyes tracing the familiar lines of the Alfa Romeo livery. The thought of leaving Ferrari felt like a betrayal of her childhood dreams, but she knew that sometimes dreams had to evolve. She turned to find Olivier hovering awkwardly by the door. His eyes met hers, a silent question hanging in the air.

"We're going to play the field," she said, her voice firm. "Guido's going to talk to Ferrari and McLaren. We'll see who values me the most."

Olivier nodded, his eyes lingering on her. "But you know what you want, right?"

Michaela's gaze was unwavering. "I want to win," she replied. "And if Ferrari doesn't see that in me, then maybe it's time to move on."

Olivier nodded slowly, understanding the gravity of her words. He knew the Ferrari dream was a powerful one, but he also knew that she deserved to be in a car that could truly showcase her talents. The silence stretched between them, the echo of the race engines still resonating in the garage.

"Look, I'm sorry I haven't been more supportive," he finally said, his voice cracking slightly. "I know you're going through a lot right now, and I haven't been the best."

Michaela felt a pang of guilt for the fight earlier. She knew that Olivier was caught in the crossfire of her ambition and her need for validation. "It's okay," She replied, her own voice filled with a tired emotion. "It's just been a tough season."

Olivier stepped closer, his hand brushing hers briefly. "I'm here for you," he assured her. "Whatever you decide, I'll support you."

Michaela felt a wave of warmth at his words, but it was tempered by the doubt that still lingered. "Thank you," She said, her voice small. "But I can't promise that my decision will be easy for either of us."

Olivier nodded, the unspoken understanding hanging heavily in the air. They both knew that their relationship was on the line, that the glamour of F1 had a way of making the personal feel small and insignificant.

Michaela watched as Guido walked back towards her, his expression unreadable. The tension in the garage was palpable, and each team member was aware of the gravity of the situation. "Ferrari wants you to stay," he said, his voice low. "But they're not willing to make any promises for next season."

Her heart sank. "And McLaren?"

Guido's eyes held a flicker of excitement. "They're eager. They're willing to give you a multi-year contract, and they're confident that with the right support, you can lead them to a victory."

The prospect of being a team leader, of being valued and believed in, was honorable. But she couldn't ignore the pull of Ferrari, the team she had practically dedicated her life to. "What about my relationship with Ferrari?" She asked, her voice thick with emotion.

Guido's expression was a mix of empathy and business insight. "Ferrari is a legendary team," he acknowledged. "But they're also a business. Sometimes, you have to make decisions that are best for your career, even if it means leaving your dreams behind."

Michaela nodded the weight of his words sinking in. She knew that he was right, that she couldn't put her entire future in the hands of a team that wasn't ready to commit to her. But the thought of leaving the Ferrari family was like a knife to her heart.

Guido's phone buzzed, interrupting the tense silence. He checked the screen and his eyes lit up. "It's Zak Brown," He said, holding up the device. "He's ready to discuss the terms."

Michaela took a deep breath, her heart racing. This was it, the moment she had been working towards her entire career. The decision was hers to make, and it was a heavy burden to bear. She nodded at Guido, giving him the go-ahead.

Olivier stepped back, his eyes never leaving hers. She could see the conflict in them, the love and the fear of losing her to the sport that had consumed her life. He knew the gravity of the situation, that her career was at a pivotal point, and that she couldn't afford to wait for Ferrari's indecision.

Michaela's mind raced as she took the phone from Guido. Her hand was slightly trembling as she answered the call. "Zak," She greeted, trying to keep her voice even. "Thank you for the offer."

Zak Brown's voice was enthusiastic on the other end. "Michaela, we've been watching you all season, and we're impressed. We believe you're the missing piece to our championship puzzle. How do you feel about joining us at McLaren?"

Michaela paused, her heart racing as the words sank in. The offer was everything she had ever wanted: a competitive car, a team that believed in her, and the chance to prove herself on the world stage. But it also meant leaving the familiarity of Alfa Romeo and the tantalizing closeness of Ferrari.

Olivier stepped aside, giving her space, but his eyes remained on her, a silent plea for her to choose what made her happy. He knew that her heart was torn between the safety net of Ferrari and the thrilling unknown of McLaren.

Michaela took a deep breath and spoke into the phone, her voice clear and determined. "Zak, I would be more than honored to join the team."

The call didn't last long after that, with Guido taking over to discuss the finer points of the contract. Meanwhile, Olivier remained a silent presence, his eyes never leaving hers. As she hung up, she could see the mix of emotions playing across his face: pride, fear, and a hint of sadness. As Guido discussed options for their next meeting, Michaela stepped closer to Olivier. She reached up to hold his face in her hands, their eyes exchanging words they weren't quite comfortable enough to say out loud in the middle of the garage.

"Look," She began, her voice tender. "I need to do this. For me."

Olivier nodded, his eyes searching hers for any trace of doubt. "I know," He said, his voice gruff with emotion. "But I'm afraid of losing you to this sport." His lips pressed into an uncertain line as they stood in silence for another beat more.

Michaela leaned in and kissed him gently, the smell of the track still on her skin. "You won't," She promised, hoping it was true. "I'll make it work."

Olivier's arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly. "I believe in you," He murmured against her hair. "But I can't help but worry."

Michaela leaned into him, absorbing his warmth. "I know," She whispered. "But we'll find a way."

Guido cleared his throat, bringing them back to reality. "Michaela, we need to finalize the contract with McLaren," He reminded her, his voice firm but not unkind.

Michaela nodded, taking a step back from Olivier. "I know," she said, her voice steady. "Let's get it done."

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latulla80 · 3 months ago

Note

Then go be a Max Verstappen fan and stop mentioning Charles wtf is wrong with you. What the fuck does even Charles have to do. If you don't rate him nobody is forcing you to half ass support him

I totally understand that passions run high when it comes to F1. Especially when we’re talking about someone like Charles, who is so deeply loved by the Tifosi. I’m Italian and I’ve supported Ferrari since I was born. I’ve rooted for Prost, Mansell, Alesi… I celebrated with Schumi and Kimi, and cheered for (and suffered with) Fernando and Sebastian. We’ve supported them fiercely as long as they wore red. That’s what being a Tifoso means: the Scuderia comes first.

But Charles… Charles is different. He’s one of us. He bleeds Rosso Corsa, and that’s why we love him more than anyone. Personally, I think Charles is one of the two best drivers on the grid and maybe the only one who, with equal machinery, can truly take the fight to Max.

That said, I also love Formula 1 as a sport. And for me, loving this sport means recognizing talent wherever it is, even when it’s not wearing red. Acknowledging Max’s skill doesn’t mean I support him over Charles, and it certainly doesn’t make me any less of a Ferrari or Charles fan. It’s just about being fair and respectful to the sport, and to all the drivers who risk everything every weekend.

#charles leclerc #max verstappen #f1 #ferrari #red bull racing

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mirrorball-leclerc · 1 year ago

Text

paint the town red - bonus part

series masterlist

EPISODE 10 - AN UNEXPECTED PURCHASE

charles stands with max, before their final press conference of the season, when lance approaches them. he greets both of them before turning to charles, "what happened? twitter is losing it's mind."

charles laughs, max also looks visibly confused, "oh mate, the craziest thing happened."

"STARK!" lando is heard shouting before he appears in the camera's view. he crashes into charles, gripping his shoulders, "TONY FUCKING STARK JUST BOUGHT THE TEAM?"

"what?" max questioned, "who bought what team? and what are you doing here, you're supposed to be in the media pen?"

"TONY STARK JUST BOUGHT FERRARI MAX!"

"oh," lance said, "that's why twitter is losing it."

"losing it?" lando questioned, "twitter is in shambles lance. it's not everyday a fucking avenger buys an f1 team."

"correct me if i'm wrong," daniel says, approaching the group, "but didn't tony stark get attacked at the monaco grand prix ages ago?

"you should ask fernando about that," charles told lance. the canadian looked confused before realization hit him, "right, fernando's been driving as long as oscar's been alive."

"we are completely and utterly fucked if tony stark just bought ferrari. you think the red bull dominance was bad, ferrari is about to completely annihilate us," lando complained.

daniel laughed, "well, i'm sure you guys will enjoy fighting for that p3. my tractor and i will enjoy fighting for points."

will buxton sits in front of the camera, "there's not many times when the world of formula one falls silent. in 1994, it fell silent to mourn the death of ayrton senna, then again in 2014 to mourn jules bianchi. zhou's nearly fatal crash and romain's near death experience rendered it silent for a moment before it all went back to normal. but this, this is one of those moments where it all falls silent before exploding. no one saw this coming, that's how unexpected this was. we never thought we'd hear the news that a billionaire had purchased the oldest standing team in formula one. let alone an avenger."

we now see christian horner in front of the camera, “i think i’m more so upset about the fact that ferrari will now be able to steal the championship from us. if there’s one thing i know about tony stark is that he is one competitive son of a bitch. there will be no more half-assed pit stops and strategies from ferrari, that you can count on. and with his daughter as one of the race engineers and a lead engineer, that car is going to be a rocket ship. it just means the rest of us will have up our game.”

toto wolff sits in front of the camera, replacing christian horner, “this is not the first time someone has purchased a formula one team. i do not know why they are acting like this is a first. yes, ferrari will be difficult to beat next year. they will know what they are doing, but we will not give up without a fight. next year will be an interesting year for us all.”

in front of the camera now sits tony stark, his signature blue tinted glasses sit on his face. he smiles at someone off camera, before turning to the producer, "need me to take off the glasses?"

"if you would," the producer answered, "name and title please."

tony looks at the camera, "my name is tony stark and i am the new owner of scuderia ferrari's formula one team. oh! and i am iron man!"

"mr. stark, what led you to purchase the team?"

tony clears his throat, "my mother was italian and a big tifosi, she bled rosso corsa proudly. she never got the opportunity to see michael schumacher lead the team to the greatness he did. i kept up with the team in her memory, and in recent years the team hadn't been performing as well as a fan would've liked. i knew the current drivers, charles and carlos, were championship material. that much was obvious to me when sainz became the only non red bull driver to win a race in the 2023 season. for leclerc, well, there's a reason they call him il predestinato right? he won monza his maiden year with ferrari, that alone put him into the tifosi's good books. speaking of, i knew they were furious and after austin, i knew something had to be done. and if nobody else was going to do it, i was, so i bought the team."

"how confident are you that you can restore ferrari's old glory?"

"i trust my drivers and i trust my team, i think that says enough."

in front of the camera now sits an old face. sebastian vettel smiles brightly at the producer. the last time they had seen him he was in a green shirt and he looked tired, but the time away did him some good. he's happier now and back in ferrari red, back where he had started when the show first began.

"did you ever think you'd be back here?" the producer asked him. sebastian smiled, "honestly, no. i had left this all behind and i told myself i was never going to return to this sport. but when an opportunity like this comes around, you don't say no."

"are you happy with this new position or would prefer to be back in the car?"

"i'm happy with my job now."

“do you think you can help restore ferrari to its old glory?”

“yes,” sebastian quickly answers, “in the past ferrari had been stuck dwelling too much on its history. being stuck in the past for so long leads to no results. it leads to people demanding your first driver leave the team after constantly getting screwed over. we want the championship back in maranello and we will take it back. next year ferrari will put up one hell of a fight.”

“you’ve got a great team mr. vettel.”

“i know, i don’t plan on wasting it.”

charles smiles brightly at the camera, “hello.”

“hi charles,” the producer replies, “do you mind telling us what your first thought were when you heard the team had been bought? how did you find out?”

“i found out on twitter along with everyone else,” charles replied, “my first reaction was to text carlos to see if he knew, he was just as shocked as i was. no one had informed us the team had been bought much less who it had been bought by.”

“and how did you find out the team had been bought by tony stark?”

“when there was an emergency meeting called at maranello right before abu ahabi. carlos and i walked in to the factory and it felt like a different environment, people were excited and whispering to each other. you can imagine our surprise when we walked in to that meeting to see seb sitting with tony stark of all people.”

“i imagine it was a big shock?”

“yes,” charles answered, “mr. stark explained to us what he had done and told us that we should be expecting a whole new team when we arrived back from the final race of the season. it is exciting to know that things are changing.”

"is change a good thing?"

"in this case, it is. things needed to change if ferrari wants to be a championship contender once again. and this will be good for my friendship with carlos."

"are things strained between you two?"

"the truth? yes," charles replied, "it is difficult to go online and see people saying that you don't deserve your seat or that your teammate is better simply because he won a race when you haven't been able to do that this season. it places a sort of- tension? is that the word?" he looks at someone off camera, the person must nod because he turns to face the camera again, "carlos and i are good drivers, there is a reason we are formula one drivers. but the team, it has- it pit us against each other, that was what strained our friendship."

"what are your wishes for this upcoming season?"

"to win the championship." charles laughs.

carlos looks at someone off camera, nodding at whatever they're saying, before turning to look at the producer, "hello," carlos greeted.

"hello carlos," the producer greeted, "can you tell us what your initial reaction was to learning the team had been bought?"

"i was shocked, i did not think it was possible for someone to buy the team, it's ferrari. but i also felt a bit relieved? i hope maybe things will change and we can have a decent shot at the championship."

"relieved? i don't think i've heard that one yet."

carlos chuckled, "my friendship with charles was strained after this season. i hope that with mr. stark as an owner we are able to put aside our work and our friendship to achieve the goal we have in common. to bring the championship back to ferrari."

"is it difficult to separate work and life off the track?"

"sometimes, yes. after singapore was when our friendship truly hit rock bottom. i think it was difficult for us to accept that only one of us was the 1st driver. everyone knows that it's charles, it has been since 2021, but i think after a while it was difficult for me to accept that. he's- charles is loved by the tifosi, he's loved by everyone because he's charles leclerc. sometimes it is difficult to be his teammate knowing people will always see me as second best."

"i see."

"i love the kid, trust me, i do. i value his friendship very much, but sometimes it is difficult. with stark as the owner, and sebastian as the new team principal, i am hoping things will change. even if charles is still first driver, i hope i am not treated as second best by my own team. sometimes change is good, this time i think it is."

"what are your wishes for this upcoming season?"

"to win the championship." carlos answers.

will buxton is in front of the camera once again, "it will certainly be entertaining to see what ferrari manage to do next season. the lingering question that remains is, will the starks live up to the hype surrounding this purchase? i guess we'll just have to wait and see."

series taglist: @celesteblack08 @be-your-coffee-pot @evans-dejong @elliegrey2803 @bingewatche @arkhammaid @sunflower-golden-vol6 @lorarri @melanier7 @ironspdy @mypage-myfandoms @vellicora @you-bleed-just-toknowyouarealive @enchantedthoughts @stopeatread @hobiismyhopeu @lilsiz @alessioayla @niniluvsainz @au-ghosttype @fulla02 @cowboylikemets1989 @six-call @embrosegraves @justtprachisblog @bionic-donut @rmeddar123 @nichmeddar @landonorizzz @unluckyyoshi @raizelchrysanderoctavius @burningcupcakefire @spilled-coffee-cup @jamie-selwyn @cool-ultra-nerd @kami10471633 @int3rnetgf @fernandoswarcrimes @skynel09 @arieltwvdtohamflash @mimolovescookies @brekkers-whore @camdensreg @mycenterfold @dear-fifi @chiliwhore @tygecjjd @nothaqks @nataliambc @formulaa1d @prongsvault @kaa212 @julesbabey1 @julesbabey @georgeparisole

strikethrough means i couldn't tag you

¡leclerc-s speaks! once again, merry christmas to those of you celebrate and a very wonderfully normal day to those of you who don't. either way, my gift to you is this bonus episode for paint the town red, i hope you enjoyed it. it is a pain figuring out how to write netflix style, it's over 1.7k words, although it may not look like it.

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

#leclerc-s #paint the town red series #f1 instagram au #f1 x oc #f1 oc #f1 smau #f1 social media au #f1 #formula one #f1 fic #formula 1 fic #f1 x female oc #charles leclerc x female oc #marvel social media au #f1 x marvel crossover

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