#accidente Sainz

[iheartmonaco]

f1 driver texts where they accidentally confess their feelings to male reader 👉👈👉👈

-bear anon

They Accidentally Confess

🔸x Male Reader

🔸including: Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Max Verstappen, Daniel Ricciardo, George Russell, Lewis Hamilton, Ollie Bearman

🔸1k followers celebrations send in your SILLIEST requests for the grid and/or solo driver texts

🔸 masterlist

[solorally]

Accidente de Sainz - Cruz, que les deja fuera del Dakar [video].

Accidente de Sainz – Cruz, que les deja fuera del Dakar [video].

El piloto español, que ha perdido el control de su Audi en el km 6, quería esperar a su asistencia para reanudar la especial pero finalmente ha renunciado a continuar en carrera debido a fuertes dolores torácicos en el lado derecho. El matador está siendo trasladado en helicóptero al hospital de Riad para someterse a pruebas médicas. الجمهور السعودي ساعدوا الاسباني كارلوس ساينز الاب…

[c2-eh]

pumamotorsport: 'cutie cutie' - Carlos Sainz, 2024 🎀

[marsinoff]

Max: Carlos, please keep an eye on Charles today. He's gonna say something to the wrong person and get himself punched. Carlos: Sure, I'd love to see Charles get punched. Max: Max: Try again. Carlos: Carlos: I will stop Charles from getting punched.

[mishori-o]

Drawing carlos with angelic features is my favorite fr

It turned out pretty great me thinks, i tried to do something with light and yeah… its something for sure lmao

[piastrispastries]

Ok for the wrapped writing thing, 78? 👀

ok so this got away from me a little bit but song number 78 on my wrapped was fallout by catfish and the bottlemen! send me an ask with a number from 1-100 and i'll write a drabble based on what song it is on my spotify wrapped!

word count: 1356

In Year 6, Oscar had skipped school two days in a row. 

There’d been a book report on Charles Darwin due, and he hadn’t written a single word. Every time he thought about walking into his classroom that morning and explaining himself to Ms. Andersen, he felt stomach-churningly sick. She'd never been anything less than understanding about him missing a day for this or that karting race, but when he thought out their imaginary conversation about the missing assignment, he felt the urge to run as far away as he could. 

So on the day that the book report was due, he'd gotten up and left the house to walk to school just like he did every day, and when he'd reached the school gates, he'd just kept walking. 

He'd taken a left onto the street where one of the boys he played cricket with in the park lived, then a right onto the street with the park, then around the park a few times, then another right, and so on, until he'd figured enough time had passed that his mom had left for work and he could go back home. 

He kept telling himself that he'd write the report as soon as he got home, so that he could go into school the next day with it in hand, like nothing had happened, but when he sat himself down at the kitchen table to do it, he'd felt like the walls were closing in around him. So the next day, he'd done the same thing, walking straight past the school gates, and hoping that the repetitive motion of his steps would eventually drown out the rushing sounds in his head. 

The jig was up when his mum had gotten home from work that day, since Ms. Andersen had called her to ask if he was okay, but sometimes he wonders how long he could have kept going with that routine, whether he’d have kept skipping school for weeks on end just to avoid a conversation about a book report. Swiping away a call from Carlos for the third time that day, he thinks he definitely could have. 

He knows, objectively, that he’s overreacting to the interview quote. Carlos was just being Carlos—loyal, supportive, and giving the expected answer to avoid creating any distracting drama. He’d been asked a question about Lando, and naturally, he'd backed his friend. Oscar probably could have guessed how he’d answer, word for word. But hearing Carlos casually, without hesitation, say that he'd "back Lando to win out" in a potential WDC fight between him and Oscar had done something to him. Something that felt like a punch to the stomach, the kind that didn't knock the air out of you immediately but lingered, the pain gnawing at your insides.

Oscar had tried to brush it off, but the words kept echoing in his mind: I’d back Lando. Of course Carlos would. They were friends. Close ones. And they’d been friends for much longer than Oscar and Carlos had been sneaking around. 

Their relationship wasn’t anything serious—just a handful of late-night texts, a few stolen moments after races, something casual that neither of them had ever bothered to define. Oscar had never asked Carlos for more; the idea of it made his stomach twist—of asking for something that Carlos probably didn’t even want. So he let the feelings sit in the back corner of his mind, and went along with the easy banter and late-night conversations that never ventured too far into anything serious.

And he’s been good at acting casual so far. But it was something about the way Carlos had said it, so easily and so matter-of-fact. The words had lodged themselves into the spaces between Oscar’s ribs, poking at the fleshy parts of him any time he moved around. The feeling of being second-best, of being invisible under the bright lights of Lando’s shadow, crept up on him. The familiar, bitter taste of being overlooked.

He could practically hear Carlos’s voice from the interview now, the words ringing louder than they ever had in the sterile media room: "I’d back Lando to win out in that fight. He’s always had an edge in race craft, and I know he’s got more fight in him than he did last year."

Oscar doesn’t even bother swiping away when Carlos calls again, the screen lighting up with his name, and instead leans back in his chair as it keeps ringing. He remembers the feeling of walking past the school all those years ago, avoiding the thing that kept tying his stomach in knots. The moment where he had to face the fact that he wasn’t enough to make it all work on his own.

And he’s doing the same thing now, but his mum isn’t here to force him to write the report and apologize to his teacher.

He can almost hear the conversation that would happen if he picked up the phone. The gentle reassurance from Carlos, the apologetic tone he'd adopt, even though Oscar knows he’s probably slightly bewildered by the scale of Oscar’s reaction. But the truth is, Oscar can’t quite shake the sense that Carlos has made up his mind. That the decision of who to prioritize has already been made, and there’s nothing he can do to change it.

It’s a weird thing, this sense of never being first choice, not deserving preferential pitstop strategy or a moment of hesitation before being voted against, no matter how hard you try.

With a long breath, Oscar finally answers the call, the tension in his chest thick. "Yeah?"

Carlos's voice is already apologetic, soft, like he’s walking on eggshells. "Oscar, listen, I didn’t mean—"

"I know," Oscar interrupts, thumbing at a hangnail on his middle finger. "I know you didn’t mean anything by it, Carlos, but it's hard not to hear what you said and feel like... well, like I don’t matter as much as Lando does."

There’s a long silence on the other end. And then, quieter than usual, Carlos speaks. "You do matter, Oscar. You matter to me."

Oscar leans forward, screwing his eyes shut. "But did you only say what you did because it was asked in the media conference? Would you have answered differently if Caco or Teto asked you?"

The question hangs in the air, thick and uncomfortable. He can feel the weight of it pressing down on both of them. But it’s not an answer he’s really looking for. Not anymore. It’s just that he can’t help but ask, can't stop himself from wondering where he fits in the narrative that’s being built around the three of them.

But Carlos doesn’t answer right away. Instead, there’s a pause, and then the quiet admission. "I didn’t think about it like that. I’ll make it right. I’ll clear things up with the press—"

"I don’t need you to clear anything up," Oscar interrupts again, a bit harsher this time. "I just... I don’t want to feel like I’m the second choice. Like I’m the one you can overlook and then apologize to."

The line goes silent for a beat too long, and Oscar wonders if this is where it all falls apart. If Carlos is going to throw in the towel, decide that he has enough going on without Oscar further complicating his life.

But then Carlos’s voice breaks through, softer now. "You’re not a second choice, Oscar. You’re not. It’s just… it’s complicated sometimes. With Lando and me, with everything. But you’re not a second choice. At all."

Oscar exhales slowly, the tension in his shoulders loosening, even though he knows things aren’t magically fixed with just those words. But maybe, for now, it’s enough to hear that. Maybe it’s enough just to know Carlos doesn’t mean to hurt him—even if it still stings.

"I get it," Oscar says finally, his voice quiet. "I get it." For the first time in days, the ache in his chest doesn’t feel so sharp. He can live with that.

"Come by my room later?" Oscar asks, his voice steady now.

"Yeah," Carlos replies. "I’ll be there."

[ef-1]

wholesome radio rewind 🥰 | 2023

[blahblahbih]

I have been bewitched body and soul

@autoraving (TikTok) I love you

I didn’t know there was a way for me to be even more in love with them, im so utterly enthralled

How am I supposed to function now?

[oscurl]

If carcar were on Tumblr dot com they'd be each other's mutuals-in-law

[sainzinnorris]

when they're husband coded 🧡❤️

[your-ace-cousin-clover]

"Sahara Force India Formula One Team invited a few friends to help Nico Hülkenberg and Sergio Perez celebrate 100 #F1 GP entries...."

[leclercskiesahead]

*man talking about Carlos’ overtake on Max*: ABSOLUTELY NAILED HIM! DRILLED HIM!! *another guy chuckles* oh. Maybe not say it like that.

[c2-eh]

Carlos' hands. That's it, that's the post.

[fuckingbeautiful-1]

I made the mistake of following fan accounts on Twitter for drivers and all they post is about their girlfriends...why? Also f1 during the race... like what's the purpose? Idgaf about any of them let me enjoy racing and funny moments between drivers and teams 😭 Im blocking so many accounts I just want a good twitter account to enjoy 😫

[8xlewis]

I was bored and messed around with this graffiti style

[desomniis]

to ask for your hand (I just pray that its mine) | Chapter 2 excerpt

WIP | 2/5 | 12,099 words | Accidental Marriage in Vegas AU | Fluff | Angst | Drama

‼️WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD‼️

As Carlos slid into the seat next to him, Charles shouted over the music, "You're cheating!" Eyes wide with feigned anger.

Carlos blinked in genuine surprise. “What?! How am I cheating?!” Always the honest Virgo, never been one to play dirty—at least, not that Charles was aware of.

“You already got your kiss today,” Charles said, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

A smug grin spread across Carlos' face. "Well, I deserve more!" he declared, boldly capturing Charles' face between his hands and smashing their lips together.

“Oi! Stop this,” Pierre told them off, his tone askance. “I haven’t spin the bottle yet and you are kissing already? This is not fair eh?”

The crowd supported him. Charles, with a mix of reluctance and amusement, gently pushed Carlos back, rolling his eyes. “Alright, just spin it, Pierre.”

“Good, everybody wants to have their turn, eh? You don’t just skip,” Pierre said, pointing an accusatory bottle of tequila at him before setting it on the table

Before the bottle could stop spinning, Carlos suddenly grabbed his arm and pulled him away from their table. They stumbled along the way, the world spinning around them. Carlos took him to a secluded corner of the floor, next to an empty small round table.

“Cahlos, what are you doing?”

“Say my name again,” Carlos demanded, placing his drink on the table, resting both his hands on Charles hips.

Charles chuckled. “What?”

“Again,” he pressed, his blown-out eyes meandering from Charles’ lips to his eyes. He was totally out of it.

"Caaah-looos," Charles drew out his name.

“I like how you say it,” he said, lips quirking up into a satisfied smirk.

Charles raised an eyebrow. “I always say it like that. Why are you telling me now?”

"Because now when I hear you call me, I remember this," he pointed at a reddish-purple mark just visible beneath the collar of his white shirt.

Charles snickered. He did do that. Although he expected Carlos to hide it more, not wanting anyone to see it. “Ah. It’s getting worse,” he said, leaning in for a closer look.

“And who’s fault? huh?” Carlos grinned, pushing Charles against the wall, caging him in.

Charles’ face, chest, neck, his whole body suddenly felt warm—no, hot. “What the hell, Carlos,” he said, a hand against Carlos' chest, their faces inches apart.

Carlos' eyes bore into him. "Kiss me,” he whispered, immediately softening his demand with a, “please.”

Should he? He’s drunk. Really drunk. It didn’t feel right. But those sinful lips and his expectant eyes, how could he resist those?

Putain.

It started with a gentle peck: one on the cheek, two on the lips. Then Carlos took it further, as he always did, softly tugging at the hair at the back of his head, his tongue effortlessly sliding into his mouth as if it belonged there. It made Charles' head spin, how easily Carlos opened him up. And as if that wasn't enough, Carlos yanked his hair, exposing his neck, running his tongue along the usual trail.

“Carlos," he moaned as Carlos' scorching tongue slithered from the bottom of his Adam's apple to the spot under his ear, savouring every inch of his skin and leaving him breathless. Carlos then tugged his head to the other side and planted delicate kisses along his neck, whispering sweet nothings.

On his collarbone, he muttered, "Charles, sei così bellissimo, you are so beautiful," he whispered.

On his neck, Carlos whispered, "Podría perderme en tus ojos para siempre, I could get lost in your eyes forever."

On his jaw, Carlos admitted, “I’m glad I kissed you,”

On his lips, Carlos confessed, "Your laugh makes my chest ache."

Charles pulled back, concerned. “What? Why?” he asked.

“Because it makes me too happy,” he explained with an idiotic smile.

Charles barked out a laugh. “You are very drunk Carlos. I don’t think you know what you are saying.”

“It’s true,” he said, going back to where he left off.

Fuck. Carlos felt good. Too good. If he doesn’t stop he was going to get—

Charles nudged him away. “We should go back,” he said.

“What’s wrong?” Carlos asked, eyes concerned.

“Nothing. I just want—they might be looking for us.”

“I don’t want to go back,” Carlos groaned. “I just want to be with you here.” He went in for another kiss but Charles flinched back as he felt his crotch touch his. Well, shit. Now he knew.

Read the whole chapter here. Ask me questions!