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amilovesworld · 5 days ago

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Checkered Hearts

Summery: Y/n, a young journalist chasing her dream in the world of sports, never imagined her path would lead her to F1—or to Carlos Sainz Jr., a driver whose charm and sarcasm quickly blur the lines between professional rivalry and something more. As they clash, argue, and share unexpected moments, Y/n's life is turned upside down, forcing her to make choices she never saw coming. But in a world of speed, fame, and pressure, can she hold on to everything she’s worked for, or will she find herself racing toward something—someone—she never planned for?

Genre: Fluff/ Enemies to lovers/ Slow burn

Pairing: Carlos Sainz jr. x Indian reader

Warnings: looonnng Chapters, long series, slow burn, eventual smut.

Chapter2, Chapter 3

Chapter 1

Y/n clutched her coat tightly as the crisp London wind nipped at her skin. The streets buzzed with their usual city chaos, and the heavy weight of her tote bag dug into her shoulder. Her phone buzzed in her pocket for what felt like the tenth time in the past five minutes. She knew it was her date, probably wondering where she was, but she was already running late—answering wouldn’t change much.

Life had been a whirlwind for her ever since she decided to pursue her dream. Three years ago, she’d taken a leap of faith, leaving the comfort of her corporate job in Mumbai to study journalism at London University. It wasn’t easy—there were moments she questioned herself, moments when she missed her family and the familiarity of Landour, her. But every time she stepped into a newsroom or picked up her notepad at a press conference, she felt alive.

She had chosen sports journalism because it connected two of her great loves—writing and the adrenaline of competition. Cricket, though, was her true passion. The thought of standing on the sidelines at Lord's, reporting on a thrilling match, sent a shiver of excitement through her. Her internship at the major news channel, GC network, was on the verge of turning permanent, and she was anxiously waiting to find out which sport she’d be covering. She prayed it would be cricket. But tonight, she was forcing herself to take a break from work and go on a date—a rare attempt to balance her personal life.

Her boots clicked loudly against the pavement as she hurried toward the subway station. She glanced at her watch. "Damn it, I’m late," she muttered under her breath. As if being late wasn’t bad enough, her caffeine-deprived mind screamed for a pick-me-up. The small coffee shop on the corner seemed to beckon her, and she dashed inside, the smell of freshly brewed coffee calming her nerves for a moment.

“ Iced Americano, with 4 shots of espresso, please,” she said, tapping her card to pay and impatiently drumming her fingers on the counter. As soon as the cup landed in her hand, she turned on her heel, ready to run for the subway. But in her rush, she crashed into a solid figure, sending the icy contents of her cup splashing all over her cream sweater.

“Are you kidding me?!” Y/n exclaimed, the words bursting out before she could stop herself. She stared down at the growing brown stain, horrified.

“Oh, crap, I’m so sorry!” a man’s voice said. She looked up to see a tall guy with messy dark hair and a sheepish expression. His hands were raised defensively, though his eyes betrayed a mix of guilt and exasperation.

“Sorry?” she repeated, her voice sharp. “You should be sorry! Look at this! My sweater is ruined!”

“Hey, I said I’m sorry,” he replied, his tone edging toward impatience. “It was an accident. You don’t have to bite my head off.”

“An accident?” she shot back, grabbing a tissue from her bag and dabbing futilely at the stain. “You weren’t even looking where you were going! Who just stands in the middle of the doorway like a human roadblock?”

“Excuse me? You’re the one who came barreling out of nowhere like a bat out of hell,” he retorted, crossing his arms. “Maybe try looking where you’re going next time.”

“Unbelievable,” Y/n muttered, glaring at him. Her cheeks flushed, partly from anger and partly from embarrassment. “I don’t have time for this. Some of us actually have places to be.”

“Oh, I’m sorry for delaying Her Majesty’s royal sprint through London,” he said with mock formality, his brow arched. “Maybe if you weren’t in such a hurry, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Maybe if you had the common sense to step aside and not block the entire exit, this wouldn’t have happened!” she snapped.

The man let out an incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “You know what? Forget it. Clearly, you’re the type who loves making everything someone else’s fault.”

“Fine by me,” Y/n said, throwing the soggy tissue back into her bag with a dramatic flair. “Enjoy standing in doorways and ruining people’s evenings. Sounds like your thing.”

“Will do,” he shot back. “Enjoy running people over and acting like a victim. Sounds like your thing.”

She huffed loudly, brushing past him and storming out the door, her boots stomping against the pavement.

Her sweater was ruined. Her mood was obliterated. And now, on top of being late, she had just had a public spat with a stranger in a coffee shop. What an utterly spectacular evening.

As she stomped toward the subway, her mind raced. Her sweater was ruined, her hair was a mess from all the running, and her mood was officially in shambles. How was she supposed to show up to her date like this? Maybe this was the universe’s way of telling her to stay focused on her career and forget about romance for now.

By the time she reached the subway station, she took a deep breath and let herself laugh, albeit bitterly, at the absurdity of it all. Life wasn’t perfect, and neither was she, but she’d learned to embrace the chaos. For now, though, she’d have to improvise. Maybe her date wouldn’t mind a coffee-stained sweater—or maybe this was a story she’d laugh about later. After all, if nothing else, it made for great material for the budding journalist in her.

_________________________________________________

The newsroom buzzed with energy as Y/n sat at her desk, anxiously refreshing her inbox. Today was the day. Her boss had promised to assign her sport this morning, and while she tried to act composed, her bouncing knee betrayed her nerves. Cricket. She whispered the word in her head like a prayer. Cricket was her world, her comfort zone, her dream. She had grown up watching matches in Landour, huddled around an old television with her family. Reporting on cricket felt like the natural progression of her passion.

The email notification popped up, and her heart leaped into her throat. She clicked it open, scanning the words hurriedly until her eyes locked on the name of her assignment: Formula 1.

Her mind went blank for a second before a flurry of thoughts stormed in. F1? Not cricket? I don’t know anything about F1! Who even are the players—drivers—whatever they're called?

Without hesitation, she stood up and walked straight to her boss’s office. As soon as she entered, she said, “I don’t know anything about Formula 1. How can you assign me that?” Her voice trembled with hesitation. She had only brushed past the world of motorsport once when she assisted a senior journalist at an F2 event. Even then, she’d barely understood the mechanics of the cars or why the crowd had cheered so wildly when the drivers zoomed past the finish line.

“I know it’s not what you expected, Y/n,” her editor said, his tone both firm and encouraging. “But I’ve seen your work. You’re adaptable. You’ve got this.”

As much as Y/n wanted to argue, she couldn’t. She knew what an opportunity this was, even if it wasn’t the one she wanted. Instead, she left the office and returned to her desk. The weight of her insecurities pressed down on her chest. She remembered fumbling with the jargon and feeling like an outsider during that F2 race. F1 is way bigger than F2. How will I manage?

Just then, her phone buzzed with a message from her mom back home. “Beta, don’t worry. Whatever it is, you’ll do great.” It was as if her mother had sensed her turmoil from halfway across the world. Y/n sighed. She had spent the past three years proving to herself that she could thrive in uncomfortable situations. She knew how to be a professional. F1 might be unfamiliar, but she could learn.

Over the next month, she dove into the world of F1 headfirst. She read books, watched documentaries, and spent countless hours analyzing races. By the time her first race weekend arrived, she felt prepared—nervous, yes, but prepared.

________________________

Y/n stood nervously at the media spot in the F1 paddock, her fingers tapping the edge of her notebook. It had been a whirlwind month since her assignment to Formula 1—an unexpected turn in her career. Cricket had been her heart’s desire, but instead, she was here, thrown into the fast-paced, high-octane world of motorsport.

She had spent the past weeks immersing herself in F1, learning its intricacies, history, and the names of the drivers. But no amount of research could quell the nagging insecurity in the back of her mind. What if I’m not good enough? What if everyone realizes I don’t belong here?

Her mind flickered to her one experience in the motorsport world—a brief stint assisting her senior at an F2 race. It had been exciting but overwhelming. Still, Y/n prided herself on her professionalism and adaptability. I’ll figure this out, she had told herself.

Today, though, her nerves were at an all-time high. This wasn’t just any race weekend—it was her first post-race interview. She had rehearsed her questions and studied the drivers’ profiles. But no amount of preparation could have readied her for what was about to happen.

The announcement came through her headset. “Carlos Sainz, Williams driver, approaching for his interview.”

The name barely registered. She was too focused on keeping her composure. But when Carlos walked into the room, still in his race suit, helmet tucked under his arm, and a confident air about him, her breath caught in her throat. As he set his helmet down and ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, Y/n’s jaw nearly dropped.

It was him.

The man who had ruined her coffee, her sweater, and her date night just weeks ago. The man who had argued with her in the middle of a café like he had all the time in the world.

Her heart pounded as the realization sank in. The man who ruined my date night is none other than Carlos Sainz? My first-ever F1 interview?

She felt her cheeks heat up, but she forced herself to maintain her professional demeanor. This was not the time to dwell on personal grudges. Yet, her mind raced. How did I miss seeing his picture?

Carlos stopped in his tracks when he saw her, his eyes widening in recognition. For a brief moment, he looked as surprised as she felt. But then, to her utter annoyance, a smirk curled at the corner of his lips.

“Good evening,” he said smoothly, his voice carrying that unmistakable charm she now associated with his smug face. He stood opposite her, leaning back with an air of ease. If he was shaken by their past encounter, he certainly didn’t show it.

Y/n swallowed hard, gripping her notepad tightly. “Good evening, Carlos,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm brewing inside her. “Let’s start with your performance today.”

The interview began, and Carlos answered her questions with practiced eloquence. “The car felt great today,” he said. “The team did an amazing job, and I think we’re finding a strong rhythm going into the next few races.”

Y/n nodded, scribbling notes as she asked her follow-up. “You mentioned struggling with tire degradation in the last race. Did you face similar challenges today?”

Carlos smiled, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Ah, you’ve done your homework. No, today the balance felt much better. We’ve been working hard on setup adjustments, and it’s starting to pay off.”

Her professionalism didn’t waver, even as she caught the teasing undertone in his voice. “And how do you see yourself faring against your teammate this season?” she pressed.

He chuckled. “Competitive as always. But, at the end of the day, we’re pushing each other to improve. That’s what matters.”

As the interview wrapped up, Carlos extended his hand. “You’re good at this,” he said, his voice lower, almost conspiratorial. “A lot better than dodging coffee cups.”

Y/n stared at him, momentarily speechless. Was he teasing her? Trying to make amends? She couldn’t tell. But she wasn’t about to let him have the last word.

“Thanks,” she replied coolly, shaking his hand firmly. “And you’re a lot better at driving than you are at apologizing.”

His smirk widened, but he didn’t say another word. He just turned and walked away.

As Y/n watched him leave, she couldn’t help but laugh under her breath. Her first F1 interview had turned out to be more eventful than she’d imagined. But one thing was clear—she wasn’t going to let Carlos Sainz, or anyone else, rattle her. If Formula 1 was her new world, she was going to own it.

____________________________

After her first interview with Carlos, Y/n had gone straight to her girl gang to vent. Her friends were in stitches over the story.

“Y/n, you have to see this as a rom-com plot,” Angelina, one of Y/n’s closest friends, declared over their weekly video call. Her voice crackled slightly, but the mischief in her tone came through loud and clear. “The coffee spill, the random stranger turning out to be a famous F1 driver, and now you have to work with him? This is straight out of a Netflix movie!”

“More like a horror movie,” Y/n muttered, rolling her eyes. She adjusted her position on the couch, the late London evening adding to her exasperation. “You guys don’t understand. He’s insufferable. He’s fake, cocky, and that stupid smirk? I want to wipe it off his face every time I see it.”

“So you see his face a lot?” teased Meera, her other friend, snickering from the other side of the call.

Y/n shot a glare at the screen. “He’s literally a driver. I have to see his face. It’s part of my job.”

“Oh, please,” Angelina chimed in. “"Enemies to lovers" is the best trope, Y/n. And think about it: all the tension, the bickering, the undeniable chemistry—”

“Stop right there,” Y/n interrupted, holding up her hand dramatically. “There is no chemistry. None. Zero. Negative, even. And FYI, he’s dating someone. Not that it matters because even if he wasn’t, I’d rather stab myself with a blunt pencil than entertain the idea of Carlos Sainz.”

Her friends erupted into laughter, while Y/n groaned, covering her face with a pillow.

“Fine, fine,” Meera said, finally calming down. “But you have to admit, it’s a little hilarious. He ruined your date night, and now you’re stuck interviewing him every other weekend. Poetic justice, no?”

“Justice? More like torture,” Y/n mumbled.

Angelina leaned closer to the camera, her grin mischievous. “Torture or fate? Come on, Y/n, this is the universe setting you up for some character development. Or at least some good gossip for us.”

Y/n groaned again, her voice muffled by the pillow. “Why are my friends like this? Can’t you guys just agree with me for once?”

“We agree,” Meera said with mock sincerity, trying to stifle her giggles. “Carlos Sainz is an arrogant jerk who totally ruined your life. Happy?”

“Very,” Y/n deadpanned, peeking out from behind the pillow.

“Good,” Meera continued. “But we also agree that we’re living for this story. So don’t forget to take notes. We want updates on every glare, every sarcastic comment, and every dramatic moment. Got it?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll keep a journal just for you guys,” Y/n replied sarcastically. “It’ll be titled: ‘How to Survive Working with the World’s Most Annoying Human.’”

“See? That’s the spirit!” Angelina cheered, raising an imaginary glass. “To Y/n’s survival!”

“And to Carlos not driving her completely insane,” Meera added, lifting her water bottle in a toast.

“Too late for that,” Y/n muttered, shaking her head but smiling despite herself. “You two are the worst.”

“We’re the best,” Meera corrected with a wink. “And you love us for it.”

“Debatable,” Y/n said, rolling her eyes playfully. “Now, can we please talk about something else before I throw my laptop out the window?”

“Fine, fine,” Angelina said, pretending to pout. “But only if you promise to tell us the next time Carlos smirks at you.”

“Deal,” Y/n said, smirking herself. “But only because I know how much you love living vicariously through my suffering.”

“Guilty as charged,” Meera admitted with a laugh.

The three friends dissolved into a new round of laughter, the tension in Y/n’s chest easing just a little as the conversation shifted to lighter topics.

___________________________

Over the next few months, Y/n settled into her new role with an unexpected ease. She mastered the art of asking the right questions, balancing professionalism with curiosity, and finding her way through the frenzy of the Formula 1 paddock. As she grew more comfortable in the high-pressure environment, she gained the respect of her colleagues—and even some of the drivers.

Charles, Max, Alex, and Lando became her go-to people. They were lighthearted and funny, always up for a laugh, and genuinely welcoming. It was a refreshing change from the constant pressure and intensity of her job. But Lando, with his mischievous streak, quickly became her favorite source of trouble.

One afternoon, as Y/n watched a clip from an interview she'd done with Lando, he leaned in, grinning.

“Oh, Carlos is going to love this one,” Lando teased, his voice dripping with mischief.

Y/n shot him a pointed look. “You better not show him, Lando.”

Lando chuckled, leaning back in his chair like he had just won a small victory. “You know, you’re much more fun to mess with than Carlos ever was.”

“Don’t even start,” Y/n muttered, trying to suppress the smile that tugged at her lips. Lando always knew how to get under her skin.

Although she’d warmed to the other drivers, her interactions with Carlos remained strained. Their professional relationship was just that—professional, perhaps even polite on camera. But off camera, it was a different story.

One day, after yet another post-race interview, Y/n was seething. Carlos had made yet another sarcastic remark about her "impressive knowledge of Formula 1."

"Do you ever take anything seriously?" Y/n snapped, her tone sharp.

Carlos, with that all-too-familiar smirk, didn’t skip a beat. "Only the important things," he said, his eyes glinting. "And you’re a professional, aren’t you? Isn’t that why you’re here?"

Her fingers curled into fists, her patience thinning. "You’re lucky there are cameras everywhere," she muttered, barely audible, before she stormed off.

It had become a familiar pattern—small, sharp exchanges when no one else was watching. She hated how easily he could rattle her, how his words seemed to always hit their mark.

What made matters worse was how effortlessly Carlos charmed everyone else. He was kind, engaging, and genuinely connected with the fans. She couldn’t help but notice how her friends in the paddock—Max, Alex, and even Lando—always spoke highly of him.

One evening, as Y/n found herself seated across from Charles at a quiet dinner, she finally let it out.

"Maybe I'm the problem," she said, toying with the fries on her plate.

Charles paused mid-bite, his eyes narrowing. "You? The problem? No way."

"I mean it," she said, sighing. "Everyone else gets along with him. I can’t seem to let go of this stupid grudge."

Charles snorted, shaking his head. "Y/n, you? Let something go? Never."

"Shut up," she shot back, throwing a fry at him.

But as much as she hated to admit it, Charles wasn’t entirely wrong. There was something about Carlos’s knack for turning their arguments into some kind of sport. He seemed to take pleasure in it, and the more it frustrated her, the more it seemed to amuse him.

The next time they crossed paths, Carlos couldn’t resist making another dig, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"You look… unbothered," he remarked, eyeing her with that infuriating grin.

Y/n shot him a look that could’ve frozen the air between them. "I’m just amazed," she said, her tone sweet but sharp, "at how you manage to stay so calm, considering you’re always the one causing trouble."

Carlos chuckled, leaning casually against the wall. "It’s a gift," he said, the mischievous gleam never leaving his eyes. "You should try it sometime."

Her patience was wearing thin, but she bit back the retort. It was so easy for him to push her buttons, but she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of seeing her unravel.

"Maybe one day," she said coolly, "I’ll learn how to be as charming as you. Though I’m not sure the world is ready for that."

Carlos raised an eyebrow, his grin only widening. "Oh, I’m sure it would be a… world-changing experience."

Despite herself, Y/n couldn’t suppress the small chuckle that escaped her lips. As much as she tried to keep the tension between them, there was something about their banter—something she hated yet couldn’t quite resist.

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