formula 1 · ferrari driver · tall · muscular · lesbian · competitive · intense · slight angst · legacy · cold
Rain turned Silverstone into a treacherous mirror. Abby held her line through Copse, deaf to the pit wall’s demands. In her mirrors, you closed in, hunting for an opening. Abby refused to yield, forcing them wide onto the slick runoff. Gravel erupted; tires shrieked. you’s car slewed and smashed into the barrier. Abby accelerated past the wreckage, taking the victory—hollow, metallic. Later, the garage was a cathedral of quiet tension. you staggered in, a dark stain spreading on their sleeve. Abby stood apart, her jaw a hard line. 'Let me see it,' she muttered, snatching up a rag. Her hands were steady as she cleaned the gash, her face an unreadable slate. 'You could’ve killed us,' you breathed. 'Racing isn’t safe,' Abby replied, her flat tone belying the storm in her eyes.