pairing: fernando alonso x fem!wife!reader
synopsis: now, baby Mateo has arrived, and a brutal sleep regression pushes them to reopen Pandora's Box. But when the Renault completely fails to settle the newborn, Fernando has to rely on his racing instincts to find the perfect engine setup for his son. Part 1
wc: 991
The clock read 2:15 AM, and the house was currently being held hostage by a three-week-old dictator.
Y/N paced the living room rug, bouncing gently while rubbing circles on little Mateo’s back. The baby’s face was bright red, his tiny fists clenched tight, and he was letting out a wail that rivaled the pit lane siren. They were in the throes of week three, right in the middle of a sleep regression that felt entirely personal.
"I don't understand," Y/N muttered over the crying, switching Mateo to her other shoulder. The plush elephant that played a recorded heartbeat was discarded on the sofa. The gentle classical music playlist was paused. "He was fed, he’s changed, the room is the perfect temperature."
Fernando, his dark hair sticking up in every direction and wearing a faded team t-shirt, intercepted them in the middle of the room. He reached out, gently taking his son.
"Let me try, mi amor. You sit," Fernando instructed, his voice thick with exhaustion. He tucked Mateo like a football against his side, doing the firm, rhythmic bounce that usually worked.
Mateo shrieked louder.
Fernando winced, looking at Y/N with a knowing, slightly terrified expression. The same thought hung heavily in the air between them. Do we dare open Pandora's box again?
Before either could make a move toward the phone, the soft padding of bare feet sounded on the hardwood floor. Elena, now a wildly energetic three-year-old, stood in the hallway doorway. She was clutching her favorite stuffed bear by one ear, rubbing her eyes, and looking thoroughly unimpressed by the midnight disruption.
She watched her parents struggle for a moment with a look of seasoned expertise.
"Baby loud," Elena diagnosed accurately. She dropped her bear, waddled over to the smart speaker sitting on the low bookshelf, and pointed a commanding finger at it. "Papa car. Baby needs Papa car."
Y/N let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-sob. "She might be right. We swore we wouldn't do this to ourselves twice, but I am desperate."
With a sigh of utter defeat, Y/N pulled out her phone, navigated to the deeply buried folder on her home screen, and tapped the legendary file: Elena's Lullaby (Approved).mp3.
Instantly, the high-pitched, furious scream of the 2005 Renault V10 filled the living room.
Elena immediately closed her eyes, swaying happily to the 19,000 RPM idle, already half-asleep on her feet.
Mateo, however, stopped crying for exactly five seconds. He blinked, his brow furrowing in deep confusion at the shrieking engine. And then, he drew in a massive breath and wailed louder. The frantic, soaring pitch of the V10 clearly offended him.
Elena covered her ears, glaring at her little brother, deeply insulted on behalf of her favorite engine. "No! Good car!"
"Turn it off, turn it off!" Fernando yelled over the combined noise of the wailing newborn and the roaring Renault.
Y/N scrambled to hit pause. The sudden silence was ringing. Mateo continued to cry, clearly agitated.
Fernando looked down at his son, his racing instincts suddenly kicking in. He studied Mateo’s reaction, the way the baby had flinched at the high frequencies. "He's not a V10 guy," Fernando muttered, still bouncing him. "It's too sharp for him. Let's try a different setup."
"A different setup? Fernando, he's a baby, not a chassis."
"Just trust me. Go to the 2012 archives. Find the Ferrari."
Y/N rolled her eyes but her fingers were already flying across the screen, pulling up a YouTube clip of the Italian Grand Prix. She found a clear, onboard audio track of the Ferrari F2012.
She pressed play.
Instead of a scream, a raw, aggressive, guttural roar echoed from the speaker. The 2.4L V8 was a completely different beast—deeper, boomier, with a heavy, thunderous vibration on the downshifts that seemed to rattle the floorboards.
Instantly, Mateo’s fists unclenched.
The wailing stopped mid-breath. His wide, tear-filled eyes blinked slowly as the deep, resonant vibration of the Ferrari braking into the first chicane filled the room. The low frequencies washed over him. Within moments, his frantic breathing matched the rhythmic, booming hum of the engine on the straights. His eyelids drooped, heavy and suddenly peaceful.
He slumped against Fernando’s chest, completely dead to the world, soothed by the thunder of Maranello.
Y/N stared in disbelief. "Are you kidding me?"
Fernando grinned, a slow, triumphant smile spreading across his tired face. "Every driver has their preference."
By the next afternoon, the household had established its new, chaotic baseline. The home now required dual-audio zones for naptime.
Y/N stepped out of Elena's room, gently pulling the door shut behind her. Inside, her daughter was sprawled comfortably across her bed, peacefully napping to the relentless, shrieking loop of the Renault R25.
She walked down the hallway to the nursery. Through the crack in the door, she could see Mateo swaddled in his crib, fast asleep while the Ferrari V8 screamed around Monza on an endless, booming loop.
Y/N sank onto the floor in the hallway directly between the two rooms. To her left: the soaring wail of 2005. To her right: the booming thunder of 2012. The hallway vibrated. It sounded less like a quiet family home in the afternoon and more like the pit lane during a chaotic heritage race weekend.
Fernando walked up the stairs, carrying two mugs of coffee. He carefully stepped over a stray toy and sat down on the floor next to Y/N, handing her a mug.
He leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes as the dueling engines echoed through the corridor.
"We are raising maniacs," Y/N whispered, taking a sip of the coffee. "Normal parents use white noise machines that sound like rain."
Fernando simply smiled, taking in the cacophony of his life's work lulling his children to sleep. He bumped his shoulder affectionately against hers.
"Well," Fernando whispered back over the roar of the engines, "at least they both have excellent taste in aerodynamics."
