#carlos keen

[losmapasdeale]

Linea 57 Mercedes - Palermo. Horarios y Recorrido del colectivo mas largo del conurbano.

[hiawathab]

[petit-papillion]

Karun Chandhok talking about Sainz and that he should go to Mercedes: “I'd be on the phone to Toto every single day, sending him every possible metric and spreadsheet of why he is equal to Leclerc.”

Matt Gallagher saying that Carlos Sainz is comparable to Charles Leclerc and he was the one who has delivered all of Ferrari's best moments in 2023 (win in Singapore, pole in Monza).

What the hell are these guys smoking???

[w2nv]

Quick sketches of what I imagine Carlos’ team of scientists looks like. Idk anything abt their personality (except of Nilanjana) I just heard the names and imagined something

In order: Luisa, Mark, Nilanjana, Rochelle, Connie, Stan and Dave

[keepingmyoptionsfluid]

Carlos being so confident and hot and jokey talking to Paul and honestly I'm lying on my front, kicking my feet and twirling my hair

[fastandcarlos]

Everyone's Favourite LeClerc : ̗̀➛ Charles LeClerc

summary: he was used to being the leclerc on everybody's lips, but when you take your daughter to visit the paddock it turns out charles might not be the favourite that he thought he was

You could hear the familiar chuckles coming from the Ferrari garage from halfway down the paddock, keeping your daughter in your hold as you swerved around the chaos. There were people everywhere that you tried to avoid, eventually reaching the garage and opening up the door, greeted, as always, by a sea of dark red staring back at you.

From across the room, Carlos was the first to spot you, waving over the crowds. He moved around a few people before reaching you and your daughter, kneeling down as you placed your daughter on her feet.

“Aurelie!” He yelled, capturing her attention as she stumbled towards him, barely able to keep her balance.

“She’s been asking for you all morning,” you chuckled, moving across to Carlos to greet him too.

“Oh I see, second best am I?” A voice called out as he closed in on the three of you. Charles didn’t miss a trick, as soon as he knew that you were in the room his protective eyes were trying to find you. He pressed a kiss against your cheek as Aurelie continued to cuddle Carlos, completing ignoring her father. “Am I invisible or something, you can see me, right?” Charles pouted, looking to you for a little bit of support. Your hand pressed against his cheek, offering a sympathetic smile.

“She only saw you, it’s been weeks since she got to see Carlos,” you reminded him, knowing that Charles was only messing with the strop that he threw beside you.

“I can’t believe my own daughter doesn’t even want to know me,” he huffed.

“Sucks to be you,” Carlos teased as Aurelie ran her hands through Carlos’ fluffy locks.

Charles watched the two of them for a few more moments before he reached out his hands. “That’s it, you’re mine,” he teased, taking Aurelie from Carlos’ hold and showering her with kisses all over her face. Aurelie squealed and squirmed in his hold, trying her best to push against his chest and get away. Charles was nowhere near letting her go though, reminding her exactly who her father was and who loved her the most.

“Poor girl,” Carlos chuckled as he watched the two of them.

“You’re my baby,” Charles whispered as he finally let Aurelie relax in his hold.

“So jealous,” you hummed under your breath, just loud enough for Charles to hear as he shot a glare across in your direction.

“Fancy having a look around? Seeing the car for this weekend?” Carlos offered as he slung his arm across your shoulders. “We’re on for a good race this week.”

You nodded in reply, “Aurelie has been desperate to see daddy’s car,” you noted, watching as Charles’ eyes lit up as you spoke.

“Shall we go and see daddy’s car?” He asked, proudly grinning as the girl in his arms bounced up and down excitedly, keen to have a good look around.

“And Uncle Carlos’ car too?” Carlos added, feeling Charles stare across at him, unable to stop himself from getting a little jab in and winding Charles up once again.

You hung back slightly as Charles and Carlos began to walk Aurelie around the garage, one of her small hands in each of their own. She was still too young to fully understand what was going on, but seeing how busy things were always made her eyes light up. Seeing people cheer for her dad and want to talk to her too was the perfect weekend for her.

Aurelie listened closely as Charles talked her through his car, making sure to keep it as simple as he could. Once the garage tour was completed you decided to head out around the rest of the paddock and see what you could find. Soon enough you had several of the drivers around you, all keen to greet Aurelie and see who could entertain her the best.

You had never seen Charles so proud, he loved introducing his little girl to his world and letting her see all the cool things he got up to. Above all else, he loved that some of his closest friends were there with him at the garage and that he got to see them bond with Aurelie which was all that he had ever wanted. His daydream was broken by you appearing next to him, nudging gently against his side. Charles’ smile turned up as soon as he realised that it was you there, taking a hold of your hand and pulling you closely in against his side.

As much as Charles wanted to have all his attention on you, he couldn’t ignore the giggles that constantly came from next to him as Lando and George tried their best to keep Aurelie happy.

It was nice for the two of you to have a couple of moments all to yourselves.

“I love having you both here and being able to have you in my little world,” Charles whispered, pressing a gentle kiss against the side of your head. “It always gives me extra motivation to do well whenever I know that the two of you are cheering me on as well,” he added.

“I wouldn’t miss this race for the world,” you whispered, “I know how important Monaco is for you and how much you want to do well today.”

“Thank you for being here,” Charles then told you, taking you by surprise with how sincere his voice was. “I don’t say it enough, but I appreciate the efforts you go to to support, and make sure that Aurelie can come and support me too.”

Your eyes narrowed on Charles, convinced there was a hint of a tear in his eye.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he joked, knowing exactly what you were thinking without even having to look at you. “I’m not going to start crying with all of these losers around to see it and tease the hell out of me for it.”

“It’s okay to admit that it means a lot,” you assured him, brushing underneath his eye with the pad of your thumb. “Truthfully, it means a lot for me to be able to be here and see you achieve your dreams too.”

As much as F1 was a dream for Charles, the biggest dream he’d achieved was the giggling figure currently pulling at Lando’s feeble attempt of a beard on his face.

You both could only laugh as Lando squealed in pain, pushing against George as he encouraged Aurelie to keep going and cause Lando as much pain as possible.

“I worry about the influence of all your friends sometimes,” you jokingly admitted to Charles, shaking your head at the scene that was unfolding.

“How are you two just stood there letting this happen?” Lando gasped at you both.

You both shrugged, much to Lando’s dissatisfaction. She was as cheeky as her dad, and loved to try and push the boundaries as much as she possibly could.

“I blame you for this,” you laughed, tapping against Charles’ stomach. “She copies your habits way more than she copies mine,” you added, raising your eyebrows across at him.

“I’m an angel,” Charles protested.

“You?” You gasped in disbelief, “you must be having a laugh right now.”

“You adore me enough to have a child with me,” he noted.

“True,” you scoffed, finding yourself caught out and unable to figure out what to say next. Charles looked at you expectantly, knowing that he’d got you and once again left you pretty speechless because of him.

When you remained silent, he leant forwards and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, “I love our little family, even if it is chaos sometimes.”

“Me too, I would never have it any other way.”

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[shrimpybbq]

season 3 rafe with his gf & son

they’ve been on guadeloupe for a month now, and it was like rafe had transformed into a whole new person. he was the man of the family now, and he was taking over the finances, the household and all their business dealings. he had also changed drastically as a father, spending any of his free moments with charlie and everything he does, he does it for him

ugh rafe treats his gf so good in season 3, doing his best to show her just how much he appreciates her. he’s constantly spoiling her with affection, gifts, and dates. they go to nice restaurants on the island before coming back to the house, giggling as they make their way upstairs. rose groans as she sees rafe’s hands squeezing her ass, silently thankful her room is on the other side of the house (rafe is a loud grunter in bed, but sometimes he moans just that little too loudly)

they have the master bedroom in the house on guadeloupe and he loves to share a bath with his girl, relaxing with a glass of whiskey as she rests against his chest. rafe feels like everything is perfect in those moments

gf is still a bit uneasy about all the events that took place, but she tries to push her feelings away. she was here now, and this was going to be their life so she tries to embrace it

they spend lots of time out on the boat, lounging on the deck and relaxing in the sun. rafe loves to see his girl in a bikini, and he can’t keep his hands off of her, only behaving when charlie comes out with them too (rafe and charlie wear matching swim shorts)

she’s 100% in denial about the buzzcut at first, eyes widening as he walks through the door. he had mentioned getting a haircut but not this! gf is running her hands over his scalp sadly, whining about where ‘her’ hair went

“Don’t you like it, baby?” Rafe asked, looking down cheekily at his girl. He hadn’t expected such a reaction.

“I mean…. you still look good,” she said as her hand gravitated to the nape of his neck, quietly admitting “it suits you.” Rafe just smirked before placing a passionate kiss on her lips, his lips curving as she automatically went to thread her fingers through his locks, a small whimper leaving her in frustration.

when rafe meets with carlos singh, he’s already missing his family. after being blindsided by singh’s demands he goes to leave only to be stopped, the older man speaking calmly, “do I look like a fool to you, Mr Cameron? I know you want to get back to your pretty little family, but you have the cross, therefore, one of you has had the diary. If you don’t want anything to happen to those you care about, then get me that diary.” rafe is immediately on edge, telling him not to speak about his family ever again. he can’t stand the idea of either his gf or son getting caught up in his drama

rafe isn’t keen on going back to the obx, especially not after settling into a routine in guadeloupe. i can picture him refusing to go unless he gets to bring his family with him, despite their reluctance. little charlie loves guadeloupe and doesn’t want to go, but a little convincing from his mother and father and he’s excited and clapping his hands happily

barry comes around to tannyhill to discuss his and rafe’s plan, only to see the couple sitting outside on the large balcony. rafe is outstretched on the lounge, girlfriend sleepily tucked against his side. she’s almost asleep when barry walks in, whistling loudly at the sight of rafe’s hand once again on her ass

wherever rafe goes, gf goes too - he’s becoming paranoid that someone will hurt them. because she comes everywhere with him now, she’s aware of everything happening with the gold. rafe trusts her, and he tells barry that he should too. besides, it’s her and her son’s future in the balance too

when ward returns to kildare, rafe is not happy. he finally feels like things are falling into place - his girl is happy, his kid loves being home and he has the cross (or what’s left of it). he can start again, become a real businessman and provide for his family. he can give them a life others could only dream of, and whatever his dad wants is no longer relevant to him

rafe proudly displaying his girl in front of the whole party at his house, a little drunk and declaring his love for her, her cheeks flushing deeply at his words

rafe who has some of the gold turned into a ring to propose to her with, plus a pair of wedding bands for later. he wants to spend his whole life with his girlfriend, and call her his wife for real this time. rafe proposes casually, bringing out the ring from his bedside table one morning, sliding it on her finger while she sleeps. high school gf stirs later, going to brush her hair out of her face only to catch sight of the gleaming rock on her finger

“Rafe? What’s this?” She asked teasingly, rolling over to look at Rafe as he pulled on his shirt. He smiled cheekily, feigning ignorance.

“Hmmm… I don’t know anything about that, but it looks nice - don’t you think?” Rafe responded, matching her teasing tone. At the sight of a smile spreading across her face and a small ‘mmhmm’, Rafe couldn’t help but lean over the mattress, his arms caging her in. He placed a heady kiss on her lips, only drawing back once both were breathless.

“Are you gonna keep it on?” The blonde man asked, a hint of nervousness seeping through his voice.

“Of course I will, baby.”

rafe loves calling his girl his fiancée, so proud that he finally stepped up and showed her how much she means to him

he won’t tell her about his plans to kill his dad, but he’ll talk in vague terms to her about it. when she probes, he just tells her that this time it’s better if she doesn’t know

after rafe sends his dad to go on the plane, he returns to tannyhill. he had received his father’s blessing, and he was in charge of everything now. he feels like he has the entire world in the palm of his hands, and the perfect family by his side

his pretty fiancée waking him up a few weeks later with the sound of her vomiting in the ensuite, the second day in a row. she’s pale as she looks up at him, weakly resting her head against the wall as she asks him,

“What do you think about having another baby?”

Click here for pre-season 1 rafe, gf & their unborn son

Click here for season 1 rafe, gf & their son

Click here for season 2 rafe, gf & their son

Click here for season 4 part 1 rafe, gf & their son

Click here for the 18 month gap before season 4 rafe, gf & their son

[bunnys-kisses]

Hi! Could I please ask for: mille-feuille + s'more + croissant + champagne + mai tai + tonic water... served by Carlos Sainz Jr for Toto Wolff's daughter? Btw, your writing is amazing, Bunny!

bakery menu!

want to submit your own order? hit up the menu, i'd love to hear from you. i am working on a ton of awesome things so please, feel free! thank you so much for everything that has been sent to me! and thank you to this lovely person for submitting an order! i love that you picked wolff!reader, something about that trope just gets to me every time, haha.

mille-feuille: “that’s it, fuck, that’s a good girl.” + s'more: "The accent gets to you, doesn't it?" + croissant: "i wonder if your father knows what happens during the off hours. if he knows you're here with me." + champagne: sugar daddy situation + mai tai: loss of virginity + tonic water: age gap served by carlos sainz jr. (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, wolff!reader, sugar daddy au, age gap (20/30), virgin!reader, loss of virginity, cowgirl position

toto wolff should've known. he prided himself on being a smart man, who was proactive with his career and always stayed on the ball. but formula one blinded him to the activities of his daughter. toto thought having you play assistant over the summer break would teach you a thing or two before you went back to university in the fall.

but you kept ending up in the ferrari garage more often than not.

your father should've also been looking at your bank account a little closer. you didn't work, so why were you making a considerable income? well it didn't come from toto wolff, but rather ferrari's driver, carlos sainz, number fifty-five.

"you don't have to stuff it in my bra like a stripper." you said as you watched him put them down your shirt. you caught a glimpse of a purple euro banknote and felt heat rise in your cheeks. carlos was not a light spender when it came to you.

"i thought you wanted to be covered in money. now i won't do that because it's dirty. but, knowing you'll go back to your father with my money in your pocket... i like the feeling." those big brown eyes stared at you with want.

it wasn't even a power thing, or even a sex thing. carlos liked being around you and maybe part of him enjoyed when you snuck off to the ferrari garage and out of your father's grasp, but besides he enjoyed your company. but tonight you were taking the next step.

you looked up at him from your spot on his hotel bed and asked, "are you trying to butter me up because we're going to have sex?"

he smiled, "there is not buttering up. no butter at all." the slipped the last bill, a crisp hundred, into the strap of our bra under your shirt sleeve. then patted your breast playfully.

you chuckled, "right." you two had been intimate in other ways. he had fingered you and ate you out. you gave him handjobs and sucked his cock. you've just never had penetrative sex. you were technically a virgin. which at first shocked carlos. but then he remembered who your father was. toto wolff wasn't letting his daughter go out clubbing in monaco, hence why you were in university in france. and even then, the team principal kept a keen eye out for you.

but tonight, you were all carlos'. so when you took your shirt off and exposed the bills in your bra. it made carlos smile. he was taking wolff's daughter's virginity. he showered you in affection and praise.

“that’s it, fuck, that’s a good girl.” he praised which made you shiver. his hands on your breasts as he groped them over your bra and the money. he could understand why toto was so protective of you.

"please, carlos."

he chuckled as he got you fully onto the bed before he took your bra off and admired your bare breasts. he grabbed the money off your heated chest, sweat making the bills cling to you. he placed it all on the nightstand for you to take home. made you look like a whore. but you were the furthest thing from that. you were carlos' lover. he admired you, "you're so beautiful. can't believe an old man like toto wolff had a hand in making something so pretty."

"carlos." you flushed.

he remarked, "the accent gets to you, doesn't it?" he got onto the bed with you and got you out of your pants. he admired your almost nude form, in just thin cotton panties. you watched him get undressed, his toned body revealed to you as he asked, "i wonder if your father knows what happens during the off hours. if he knows you're here with me."

carlos was almost ten years older than you, raced for a rival team and above all else would never meet the standards your father had for a man that could be with you. not that you cared about what your father thought, you were an adult who could make your own choices.

you remarked, "i don't care if he knows. he needs to lose the grip on me. i'm almost done schooling, i have to live my life. and that's with you." you smiled a little when carlos got onto bed beside you. yu stroked his face lovingly.

"am i in that life?" he asked as he reached and stroked your hip lovingly.

"of course, where else would you be?" you asked as you cupped his face. you trailed your thumb across the side of his nose. you had to admit, you really liked his nose.

he smiled, "six feet under when your father finds out." his eyes went a little wide when you straddled his waist and splayed your fingers across his chest, "do you want me dead, beautiful?"

you laughed, "yes, i want my boyfriend dead." as you rubbed yourself up against his cock. you felt a smile pull at your lips as you braced yourself against him, "i want him six feet under in a pine box."

"well." he mused as he took you by the hips, "maybe to die by your hand would be worth it." then tensed up when you sank down on his cock. he shuddered a little and felt the pleasure bloom in his body. that felt good.

"like this?" you asked. you had ridden his thigh before. and you told him earlier that the only way you'd lose your virginity to him was if you had the control (sometimes you were painfully like your father).

carlos nodded almost dumbly as he held onto you tightly, "perfect. now you move as you like, this is about you." wasn't he just the sweetest? as if he wasn't taking the virginity of the daughter of a rival team principal.

you held onto his strong shoulders and moves your hips a little bit. you smiled down at him, especially when the pleasure made his expression changed. he looked handsome even when the pleasure made the heat bloom in his face, down his neck.

"fuck, honey." he said softly, "i know why wolff made sure you went to school far, far away from the paddock."

you leaned in and pushed hair out of your face before you kissed him on the lips, "i'm pretty sure if we met any sooner, you'd be next to a cradle robber. wouldn't look nice in the press." you could feel the blush high in your cheeks as you rode him. you could feel the pleasure down to your feet as you really worked his cock.

"i would've made sure that no one else could have you."

you smiled, "don't worry, you're the only one i've ever been with. at least this way." you rolled your hips, picking up momentum. the pace was a little messy, but carlos didn't mind.

he didn't mind at all, anything to make you happy. he held onto you and felt the heat rise further in his face. the blush almost stung. your cunt felt like euphoria, you were perfect. he said, "if i could give you my virginity, i would." he smiled at you, blush high in his cheeks.

you smacked his chest playfully, "ah, you flirt. it's a stupid construct anyway. but, if it's anything." you moved a little faster, "i would've happily taken your virginity."

he chuckled and smacked your ass, "i knew you were going to say that." and then took you by the face with one hand and pressed hot kisses against your heated face. you moaned a little bit as you continued to ride him.

the pleasure soon became overwhelming for the both of you. you moaned a little louder, your back arched a little further and the kissed became heavier. the pleasure was felt between you two are you really worked your hips against him. you held onto him tightly and grit your teeth as you rode him. the pleasure throbbed in your brain as with a few more quick thrusts you finished, which made you moan loudly and tense up.

you kissed him while he held onto your hips. he worked your cock in the areas that made you squirm further. it was painfully hot for the both of you, the two of you made out deeply as his hands gripped you tightly. he yearned for your closeness and it didn't take long before his thrusts became harder and faster, and with that he came inside of you as he pressed a hot kiss against your lips.

you both slowed to a stop and the kisses continued. you ended up on your back with him on top of you. his cock hard once more and right up against your soaked cunt.

"i don't think your father would mind if you went back to your hotel a little late?" he suggested, his hands braced on either side of you. his smile was intoxicating.

you reached up to him, like you were reaching for the sun and pulled your lover close. you kissed him on the lips then said, "i guess. but you better make me finish first." and carlos just beamed at you <3

[musicallisto]

· · · · ♡ IF (SAINZ WIN == TRUE) (cs55)

… starring carlos sainz x f!engineer!reader ... 4.4k words ... in which carlos is an effusive, self-assured lad to every member of his team... except ferrari's head software engineer, making her wonder if he secretly hates her guts. ... based on this request ... warnings for language (minor) ... my first ever (posted) fic for carlos aaaaa (i have written A Lot More about this man because he occupies my every waking hour, but i shan't share it yet). in honor of me missing my communication networks final last week i made the reader a software engineer, but you would Never catch me willingly coding anything in c++ outside of my mandated assignments. no not even for carlos sainz jr. i have morals. this is open for part 2 if you guys enjoy it <3

He speaks the language of princes.

It's not in anything he says, no, he's much too industrious to waste time boasting, but rather in all that he doesn't. Carlos walks into the Ferrari motorhome, with that good-natured smile and that slightly disheveled hair from the morning's cycling session, and heads bow. Not out of plight, or even obligation, but mostly because it's hard not to. His warm greetings to everyone—Ciao's and even Come stai?'s to his team members strolling down the hallways before the weekend—, his keen interest in remembering little things about engineers' and photographers' lives, his nonchalant stride around the parc fermé all force camaraderie at least; reverence to most.

Wherever the red car goes, Maranello or any other corner of the world, religion follows, and though Carlos Sainz has never quite fit into the nooks they keep for their idols—their walls are carved for Monégasque shoulders—, he's at least always carried the air of a rebel leader on unforgving land.

But if Carlos is Ferrari's bastard prince, then clearly you are a subject he would not go to war for.

Or so he makes you think, once again, on that hot Singaporean afternoon.

You hadn't meant to interrupt, really, but with only one hour to go before FP1, you needed to talk to Riccardo Adami; something about the software updates, optimization of the data acquisition systems to account for Marina Bay's sweltering heat—run for half a second too long, overheat half a degree too much, and everyone's calculations would be going to hell. So of course you'd corrected it, supervised a brand new version of your code for the weekend, for that tenth of a Celsius; competition drove you. Almost just as much as those solar eyes boring into you when you walk into the room.

"Riccardo, about the softw—oh. Carlos. Hi," you timidly trail off when Carlos' eyes meet yours.

The room gets quiet, and it is only then that you notice how much space his laugh takes. Usually, you would've recognized the accent from outside the door, the boisterous voice regaling the Fifty-fives with another funny story—how could you not, when it sends shockwaves down your stomach? He seems to have been in an animated conversation with his race engineer, but as you get closer to the two men you notice the crinkles lengthening Carlos' eyes are fading with his smile. You aren't sure he's even said hi back.

"We've changed the code for acquisition, but some loops could still cause problems with overheating, particularly the engine oil temperature sensors…" you explain, though half your attention is directed to your peripheral vision, in which Carlos sways on his two feet, averting your gaze at all costs.

But you're not a college girl with a crush, you're Scuderia Ferrari's head software engineer and so you go on with your precisions to Riccardo. What to expect during free practice, how to overshoot any nonessential sensors that might fuck up the data analysis... until, mid-sentence, Carlos excuses himself awkwardly, pats Ricky on the shoulder, and walks out of the room.

You will your face into not betraying the sudden ache in your throat. How he simply acted like you weren't there... didn't even inquire about the updates. About the race. About your flight, about how much you loved Singapore's twinkling lights, about... you.

"Xavi and Charles know this already, but we really gotta test it all now before it gets cooler for FP2," you conclude with a too-hard swallow. Back firmly turned to the door Carlos just disappeared out of.

Riccardo thanks you, offers his own insight, some banalities about the risks of rain—no, you shouldn't consider them banalities. Nothing, on a Friday, is a banality anymore; yet everything is when you remember how Carlos' entire face shuts close when you're around, how his tone quietens down, how he repeatedly and stubbornly conceals all his rays of brazenness from you.

Does he hate you? Despise you? Are you not worth his effrontery?

This is ridiculous. You're not a college girl with a crush, you're a damn senior member of the team with responsibilities and he doesn't owe you anything more or less than you him—

"Riccardo," you neither ask nor plead. "Has Carlos... said anything about me?"

"About you? Like what?"

"I don't know... but you did see he just... left while I was in the middle of talking, right? And he looked annoyed as soon as I came in." And for all that's holy, try to pass this off as mere politeness and not a heartache that is eating you alive.

"Maybe he was just bored."

"So I'm boring?"

"No," Riccardo wheezes, in uncharacteristically high spirits for the conversation. "But I've worked with a ton of drivers, and you know, they're all the same. Less time discussing boring analytics is more time they spend in the sim. Or on track. What, you think he's angry at you or something?"

"I just... don't get why he's always so guarded and distant with me but so outgoing and confident with you guys. Charles isn't like that either. It makes no sense. We're a team, all of us."

The Italian looks at you for long seconds, amusement noticeable on his features, and you would shake him up and tell him to stop giving you those pity eyes if you lacked the tiniest bit of respect for the man; instead, you frown and cross your arms.

"He'll be in a good mood tonight when we top free practice," Riccardo assures you before you can ask him if he needs anything else. "and even better tomorrow after getting pole. You can talk to him then if you want."

A smile creeps its way on your lips without you conjuring it. There it is, that loyal veneration that only men and women of the Scuderia possess. Something in those southern eyes Carlos shares with legend has made you religious, too.

"I'll hold you to that... we could all use a Singapore miracle."

Singapore is a miracle.

Surely any other team would scoff at the word, bragging that a pole position has nothing to do with miracles, that it's all meticulous teamwork and endless iterations on calculators, but Ferrari is deeply supersitious at its core. You—the centenarian team, its red-hot beating heart—don't shy away from thanking divine intervention. Maybe that's the reason why it still works.

After Carlos' last pole in Monza, the whole Scuderia had dared to dream of something different, a glimmer of scarlet in the season's overwhelming orange. Of course, an uncatchable Max had put a dampen on the fervent Tifosi's mood, but the formidable hope machine had revved back to life...

and now it's roaring in Marina Bay.

Leclerc's side of the garage claps for a hard-earned P3, but it's the Spaniard's team that erupts into cheers and rushes out into the pitlane to congratulate their hero. You stare at his lap time on your monitor with a grin—1:30.984, not even a tenth faster than his teammate—as cheerful screams, in Italian and Spanish, fill the garage; they get louder when Carlos walks back inside, grinning ear to ear and not even bothering to dodge the strong-arm pats on his head and back.

"Twice in a row, cazzo!"

"And this time you won't have Verstappen underfoot!"

"Perfect lap, Carlos, that was a perfect lap..."

"Grazie a tutti," Carlos beams, fire suit down to his waist, running clammy hands through his hair—he parts the red sea as he walks deeper into the garage, close to where you are. "I think we all did a very good job today, and now we gotta finish the job tomorrow..."

He laughs with the mechanics, a sun of fire and victory casting its rays onto the tarmac, and maybe it's the euphoria of the moment, but a sudden wind of courage rushes through your blood, and you walk up to him.

"Bravo, Carlos."

Your voice hits him like the purr of an engine in the ruckus, overshadowing any other sound; he whips his head in your direction, shiny eyes colliding with yours, and for the first time you don't back off but hold them in awe, and his smile doesn't fade, but rather shifts. To surprise, or... coyness?

"You were incredible out there, we're all so so proud of you," you praise, and the more you look at him the wider your smile grows, and the quieter the rest of the world gets.

"Thank you, Y/N," he rubs the back of his neck, his free hand fiddling with the hanging sleeves of his fire suit. "We... I couldn't have done this without you. Because, you know, the overheating, or what you were saying to Ricky before? I didn't understand everything, but at least I didn't cook to death."

Coyness? In Carlos Sainz? When he's still sweaty and panting from qualifying first? What a bizarre sight, one that makes you giggle.

The way your nose scrunches up beneath sparkling eyes is so endearing, Carlos almost feels his breath hitch in his throat, almost reaches out to lightly brush your arm, hold the steady coolness of it.

"Great, that was what we were going for, pretty much," you reply, and for a second you could've sworn he wanted to touch your arm and changed his mind, but...

you bury the idea before a craving for his warmth can nestle in your chest.

"Great," he repeats. "So, I'll... see you later," and with that he leaves you there, stranded in the middle of the garage, to be lauded by the press and fans.

You'd be lying if you said his shadow disappearing out the backdoor as quickly as it had come doesn't slice a gash in your heart—always whisked away to some important obligation, and you, like everyone else, duty-bound to pick up the pieces behind him. But this time around the cut doesn't run as deep, doesn't bleed as red; because for the first time in months Carlos talked to you, joked with you, and looked the tiniest bit glad to be doing so.

If that's how good of a mood a pole puts him in... then clearly you'd better make damn sure he wins this race.

Ferrari is deeply superstitious at its core. Maybe that much is true in any sport—when victory eludes you, athletes find obscure laws to trick themselves into believing they still retain control—, but a team so old, on which glory has rained so often, does not withstand the passage of time without a few pillars of faith. And so it makes sense that Ferrari drivers, of all people, would have their pre-race traditions.

Leclerc plays the piano on Saturday nights; you hear him every time you pass by the team hotel's lounge, his melancholy tracks grounding you in a precise time and place. Now the car is out of bounds, the comfort of your object-oriented programming and optimized lines of code off-limits; now's the time for withdrawal and rest.

Typically, you like to hang out in the lounge while Charles plays, trying to distract yourself with a book or simply basking in the music. The predictable, calculated flow of Charles' arpeggios soothes you, like lines of code running one after the other. So does the Monégasque driver's easy conversation. Although it doesn't shoot butterflies in your belly like Carlos' does... but you're not supposed to play favorites.

This Grand Prix eve is just like any other, save for the unordinary trepidation that carpets the hotel. With one of their own sitting on pole, it's obvious strategists struggle more than usual to drop the words "tire management" and "pit stops". Eager to escape the nervousness, you excuse yourself from the dinner table, and make your way to the lounge.

Charles is already there, if the usual pieces echoing in the distance at dessert are any indication, and you barely even get lost in the elegant halls before you find the lounge... though there is no piano to be heard. Maybe this hotel has two music rooms—maybe Charles went to bed early—or maybe...

maybe he's sitting on the piano stool and chatting with Carlos, wet and sleepy from his evening shower.

Neither driver notices you at first, and you stop dead in your tracks, wondering if you should just leave. You wouldn't want to intrude—intrude on what, the rational part of your brain says, but with Carlos I always feel like I'm intruding on something bigger than myself, the rest of your body answers—, but you really enjoy this unspoken tradition with Charles... and, well, this is everybody's lounge, and...

"Y/N," Charles sees you eventually and beckons you over. "Sorry, I don't think there'll be a lot of music tonight, Carlos is distracting me."

"You could kick me out anytime," Carlos remarks good-naturedly, but you don't miss how he angles his body away from you ever so slightly. The sight sends a dagger through your heart. So he actually hates you then. So you didn't breach any barrier earlier at the circuit, didn't melt any ice. So he didn't look pleased and a little excited to be talking to you.

"That's okay, I'll just head to bed then—"

"Oh no no no," Charles interrupts, "come sit with us. I was trying to convince Carlos to give the piano a go, maybe you'll be more successful than me."

"Absolutely not, mate."

"Come on Carlos, it will relax you!"

"No, you're the musician, not me. One of us has to be the sportsman, no?"

Unsure, you flick between the two men, Charles' inviting face and Carlos, who's still doing everything he can to avoid looking at you in the eye. And then you decide—fuck it. You're just as much a member of the team as he is. He cannot drive you away with his... stupid cold shoulder tactics any longer.

You take a seat on the sofa opposite Carlos, and watch in half delight, half annoyance as he turns his shoulders away from you. Though his body language appears relaxed, one leg strewn across his knee and elbows hugging the backrest, he is, as usual, going to hell and beyond to not acknowledge your presence.

Charles has the merit of lightening the mood with his jokes and fan encounters of the day: some bizarre, some endearing, because he seemingly never has a boring day in the paddock. His easy laughter mixes with the distant voices down the halls when your attention drops—too fast, too soon, as always, it's irremediable—to Carlos, the soothing scent of his shampoo and the little droplets that run down his temple whenever he shakes his head in amusement... before you know it, you're staring again, eyes shining with undisclosed heartache. Something Charles sees, and recognizes very well, with a jot of curiosity.

Charles may not be the most perceptive when it comes to these things, but he is in love too, and he'd know the signs anywhere. That's why after a little while he lets silence blow his last words away like wind does the mist, and stands up from the piano stool.

"Well, I'm going to bed," he announces with an air of conniving finality, and he smiles his crooked smile at Carlos. "Gonna need all my energy to take the lead in turn 1."

This snaps you out of your reverie. Half-gone, you bid him goodnight at the same time as the Spaniard does, and you brace yourself for his own excuse... but it doesn't come. Carlos lazily watches as Charles leaves the lounge. You don't dare to move, as if your slightest sound could remind him you're there and trigger his fight.

You would've thought a tête-à-tête with you to be Carlos' worst nightmare... but he makes no sign of leaving. And sends solar flares up your chest and throat. "Whatever problem he's got with me, he'll have it sort it out with me like an adult" sounds much more intimidating when it's so plausible.

"You think he has the slightest chance of overtaking me in turn 1?" Carlos chuckles.

You look him straight in the eye and read no resentment, not even that sheepishness from before—just relaxed delight, and the slightest hint of reddened cheeks against tan, damp skin. It takes you a second, maybe even two, to realize there's no one else in the room. He's talking to you. Joking with you.

Why is the script running without error all of a sudden, even though you changed no variables?

"Maybe," you give a noncommittal shrug and a smile. "Why not? It all depends on you."

"He can lead the first lap if he wants. That will just make it more fun to cross the finish line ahead of him after."

"You better win this one, Sainz, because I..." you start, and midway through your sentence are hit by how absolutely ridiculous you're about to sound, but he's leaned in already, intrigued by your words, and his burning gaze and strong hands fiddling in his lap have you losing all notions of propriety. "I've... coded a little something for you. If you win. A surprise. It's not much, but... yeah."

Your whole face burns deep scarlet as you trail off... and the light in Carlos' eyes darkens, then goes out completely. His smile fades back to the usual professional grimace he reserves for you. Distant. Cold. He rises to his feet.

"I should get some sleep."

Terror strikes you. Incomprehension too.

"No, Carlos, wait."

He turns his head to your outstretched hand... your pleading eyes almost rip through his heart.

"Why do you dislike me so much?"

And then his shoulders slump, like crushed by an immense weariness, and he sighs, long and hard, before his gaze falls back to yours. Those big brown eyes, gentle, compassionate, and those fingers tapping against his thigh like they're waiting for an invisible cue to reach out for yours.

"... Can we talk about this after the race?" he says, shooting daggers through your stomach.

So he didn't deny it. Didn't reassure you, tell you it's all a misunderstanding, that he bears no ill will towards you, that you're imagining things as usual and that you two could be on the best of terms if you just got out of your head a little bit.

One more time, he's running away. Sweeping everything under the rug, for just one more session, one more race, hiding behind the excuse of concentration and professionalism.

But who are you to revoke him that? It's a damn good excuse. You need to win. He needs to win. Not be bothered about... interpersonal relationships while clipping walls.

"... Alright," you concede, voice and bones all broken, glistening under your frozen skin. "But if it's something I've done, then I'm sorry. I really do... enjoy your company. And you."

"It's not something you've done," he speaks quietly. Gosh, your frailty in this moment—you, so proud and unshakable on the pit wall, so dedicated and thorough on TV, so immeasurably devoted to Ferrari, to Charles, to him... "Or, well, I guess not directly..."

If he looks into your confused, imploring eyes one more second, almost brushes your arm with his one more time, then he's done for. But he thinks he knows this already.

"I don't dislike you," he starts speaking and as soon as he opens his mouth he knows there's no stopping himself now, so he blurts it all out as quickly as he can to get it over with and hopefully bury some meaning in the pits of his accent. "Not at all. In fact I really like you. I think you're gorgeous, and smart, and clever, and fun, and every day I wish I could spend more time with you outside of races and get to know you better but then I remember that can never happen and it's so frustrating and I have the hardest time concentrating. So I just avoid you. It's easier."

Silence thick as a thundercloud tethers you to one another. He runs a hand over his face, sighing deep, and you blink. Once, twice.

You've always prided yourself on your brains—not everyone gets to be in charge of all the computing for a Formula 1 car—but right now, you are all utterly lost.

"Carlos, I... I don't get it." Or maybe you do, heart thumping in your ears, but you're too scared you might be wrong.

"In any other life I would've asked you out on a date." This time he speaks more slowly, more purposefully, too. Like he's imbuing every syllable with the depth of his confession. "But it kills me that it can't be this one."

"... Why not?" you tentatively ask after an instant, feigning not to notice how his hand is now resting on the back of your sofa, right next to your ear and neck.

"Because you're a senior engineer! That would be like... like dating Ricky. Even if you're much prettier than Ricky. But you don't need to tell him that," he adds with a nervous laugh, which you mirror; though you fall silent as soon as his hand comes to rest on your shoulder, right where your collar ends, millimeters away from your skin. His body's warring with his own words... one wants to resist, the other to give in. "What if I leave Ferrari? That's a crazy conflict of interest."

"That's a silly idea, you're not leaving Ferrari anytime soon. Are you?"

"I don't know, it's... hypothetically... you know what I mean," he exhales in defeat. His hand clasps a little tighter on your shoulder, his scent dizzying, closer than ever before. Can he feel your frantic heart thumping underneath your skin? If he keeps licking his lips like this, will he sense your breathing getting more erratic?

"I do. But... the problem is I like you too, Carlos."

If embers could burn back to life, light a hearth out of nothingness... they wouldn't shine as bright as Carlos' eyes just then.

"Don't mess with me."

"I'm not messing with you. Why wouldn't I like you?"

"Because you're not supposed to have a favorite."

"I won't tell Fred if you don't."

He laughs, a brittle but adorable little thing, like a small bird taking its first flight. If you could hear the sound more often, see that bashful smile on his handsome face more every day... you wouldn't need any other prince to die in war for.

His hand runs down your arm, his thumb lightly caressing your skin through the fabric of your shirt before he grabs your shaky hand in his.

"Now's not the best time, but... I think we've got to have an important conversation after the race tomorrow," his deep, soft tone pacifying you just as much as the abstract shapes he traces on the back of your hand.

"After you win, you mean."

"Right. After I get my surprise, no?"

"After you win," you repeat with a grin, and he squeezes your hand, smiling too. Something, deep down, tells him he'll win regardless of the race result.

"Cosa diavolo sta facendo?"

Even in spite of the roaring crowd and the bellowing V8s speeding down the straight, the dumbfounded voices around the pit wall come to you clear as day.

"Russell 1.4 behind Lando," Ricky, sitting on the other side of Vasseur, speaks into his headset.

The team principal keeps quiet, eyes fixed on the cascade of numbers and brackets on your screen. He understands before the rest of the wall what his driver is doing; and as you relay all the information you get to the race engineers, you understand it too.

"Lando .8 behind, .8 behind with DRS—Russell no DRS... Copy that."

He's doing it on purpose. Keeping Norris just close enough to shield him from the Mercs while making sure he can't catch up. You'd laugh in triumph and disbelief if you weren't gritting your teeth so damn hard, heart on the verge of exploding as the last laps tick out in a blur.

Just a few more minutes. Just a few more seconds, and the night sky over Marina Bay will explode in crimson lights...

Mechanics spring to their feet and climb the wall to the track, bumping their fists in the air. Cheers, claps, exclamations, a bouquet of red roses swaying in the wind to greet its champion at the finish line. And then, the unmistakable roar of a racecar speeding past the chequered flag at three hundred kilometers an hour. Liberation.

You spring to your feet right as the fireworks go off, yelling to the sky. Carlos won. Carlos won! Your Carlos—in the middle of Red Bull's flawless season...

"¡Vamos Fred! ¡Vamos Ricky!" Flashes of red and gold pass his high spirits by, diligently braking into the first corner.

He laughs, he screams it all out, unclenching all his muscles, woozy from the G's, from the adrenaline, from the win... from you, watching him from the pit wall. From the memory of your skin against his, your adoring eyes and the formidable lightness inside his chest that has him feeling like he's the king of the world.

In a few minutes, he'll be posing with his trophy and the team in front of his P1 plaque for the group photo, and he'll drench you in champagne—your lively laughter will fill his heart with the gold of medals. And later in the evening, before the afterparty, he'll pull you aside and tell you maybe this victory has made him reckless, and he'll kiss you senselessly like a prize he fought for.

For now, though, he's nodding his head at Lando who gave him a congratulatory wave from his car when his on-board screen lights up with an unexpected message. Glowing red letters read, "Great job, smooth operator! 🌶️" Laughter escapes him as small virtual fireworks go off on his screen... and he presses the radio button on his steering wheel.

"Did she have one of these ready for Charles too?"

A few seconds of white noise, and then, your mischievous voice, dripping with joy.

"You know me, Carlos. Never play favorites."

… f1 taglist; @retvenkos @giuseppe-yuki (want to be added? send me an ask!)

[natailiatulls07]

When they lost her

2023 formula one grid & female!driver!reader

Warnings - Death, crying, car crash

Summary - After a horrible accident on track, the other drivers have to learn to cope with the death of someone very dear to all

Part 2

-

Y/n was always a joy to be around, always had a smile on her face, curious about how you are and would never fail to make someone laugh.

Aside from her warm hearted attitude, she was also well known for being a incredible driver. She was a favourite in the motorsport, totally helped flip misogynistic opinions on females in the sport completely.

That morning, Y/n had brought in a selection of homemade baked goods to share amongst the drivers and the staff. A clear example of her good and humble nature. Everyone extremely thankful for the goodies.

Only a few hours before, the driver was seen doing a wholesome interview with the fellow sky sport commentator, Martin Brundle. Each race the pair managed to bump into each other, not that anyone was complaining.

“Martin! Do you want some cookies?” The women ran over to Martin who was flabbergasted by the upbeat attitude radiating from her, even though she had an intense race later that day.

“Oh thank you so much, now Y/n tell me how can you be this happy even though you have a fierce race today?” It was something many fans and viewers were keen to know, jealous of her calmness.

“Well in all honesty Martin, I am absolutely terrified. However, one quote that stuck with me in my 20 years of life is fake it till you make it! So that’s what I do” Y/n’s voice was sincere. She had a habit of speaking rather poetic. “Well I got to deliver the rest of these before all the boring serious stuff begins so bye Martin!”

Waving goodbye to the older man, the girl ran off to find more people to share her delightful treats with.

-

“Radio check please” Y/n’s race engineers voice came through her ear piece, awaiting her reply.

“I’m a Barbie girl in world! Life in plastic, it’s fantastic” Her singing could be heard from the radio, alerting the engineer of her connection.

She sat snug in the sport car, eager to start the race. To left was one of her favourite British man, Lando Norris, racing for McLaren. She raised her hand up waving in his direction, which he happily replicated.

It wasn’t long until the five red lights all lit up individually before flashing off and the cars started down the track.

-

After about 20 laps of the track, it had started to heavily pouring rain. This was something that started to worry the female. Her car had medium tires on after her recent pit stop about two laps ago.

Soon enough the track had grown incredibly slippery, yet she were told to carry on with the race.

Only then did Y/n’s anxiety grow massive. Trying to calm herself down. One second she was in control of the car and then next she felt herself out of control.

Spinning off track, the car had flipped over. The racing car landed on the ground completely flipped over. This had crushed Y/n inside with no way of escaping.

There was a few moments of nothing for her except for a ringing in the ears and no pain. But those moments came and went, and she felt her consciousness slip away. Slipping into darkness.

-

Immediately the other drivers were instructed to return to their garages until they were given the all clear. It was a definite red flag.

Upon hearing about the accident everyone had grown increasingly concerned with the lack of contact on the females part.

It wasn’t long before medics were sent out to Y/n. A curtain was pulled across the car, providing privacy.

“It seem that Y/n’s car as been covered with a curtain, whilst the rest of the drivers have been told to return to their pits” Martins voice was somber, he had his worries for the girl who never failed to brighten up his race weekends.

-

“Lewis, we have a red flag please return”

“Lando, red flag. You need to return to pit”

“Carlos, please return to pit. It’s a red flag”

All the remaining drivers had gotten the news off their engineers. Compliant, everyone made their individual ways to the pits.

“What is going on?! Where’s Y/n?!” Charles had anxiety pumping through his veins, making his way to her pit.

It was fair to say that all the drivers shared the same concerns for the young wholesome driver. She was their little sister, most had seen Y/n grow into the grown women she is today.

-

The medical team had made their way over to the flipped car, starting immediately to try and get the driver to safety.

They had pulled her unconscious body from the car. Laying her down on the ground, rushing to check her pulse.

Checking her neck. Nothing

Checking her wrists. Nothing

They had checked three times and each time receiving no pulse.

…

“No pulse…she’s gone” The solemn voice of a medic could be heard in the garage. By then, all the drivers and engineers were gathered around the main radio, everything fell silent at the short announcement.

Charles felt tears fall down his cheeks, his close friend was gone. To his left, you could see Lando’s face of surprise and sorrow, he had just lost his bestfriend.

That day all the teams joined together to grieve the death of the paddocks little sister. Fans paid their respects to Y/n’s family on social media.

Since that day, the paddock no longer felt the same warmth that she brought even on her harder days, it was something that was lost when they lost her.

-

[mxstellatayte]

Would a one shot abt Charles and the vibrator panties be a possibility. Asking for a friend😸

it most certainly would, dear nonnie!

hope you enjoy :)

nsfw below the cut <3 minors please do not interact!

warnings: she/her pronouns used for reader, exhibitionism, boring white men yapping on a catastrophic level, dom!charles, sub!reader, vibrator use!, oral (f receiving), charles leclerc eats pussy for his own pleasure argue with the wall, charles leclerc speaking french MMMM, EXHIBITIONISM, carlos makes a cameo

you’ve been walking around the ferrari event all night and you can’t think of any place you want to be less than this blasted gala. it’s a marketing event, so you have to maintain a certain level of composure throughout the evening, but it’s difficult when charles’ eyes meet yours across the hall and his right hand is in his pocket, fingers dancing just over the button to the remote that’s connected to the vibrator nestled in your cunt. the anxiety of him potentially pressing the button all night is almost worse than when he actually does. your fingers tightly grip the cocktail glass in your hand, sipping the drink in an attempt to soothe your nerves. the smooth burn of the expensive whiskey does nothing to calm the boiling feeling in your core, and you nearly jump when you feel his left arm wrap around your waist. 

“good evening, mr. leclerc,” the executive of some social media marketing company says. you haven’t been paying attention to the conversation for the past twenty minutes, the slickness in your core overpowering your will to pay attention to the conversation at hand.

“good evening. i see you’ve been speaking to my partner, haven’t you? i hope you haven’t been boring her too much.” he says it so smoothly, so carelessly, that it makes you want to scream. how dare he have fun when you’re feeling such sexual torture. 

“if i have, she’s been hiding it quite well,” the executive responds. “i was just explaining to her our ideal plan for working with scuderia ferrari in terms of social media marketing. she had some incredible ideas for potential campaigns if our deal goes through.”

“yes, that sounds like her,” and you nearly spill your drink on yourself when the vibrator inside of you turns on, a quiet yelp pulling its way from your throat. “oh, no, love, are you okay?”

“yes, i’m okay, thank you. if you’ll excuse me a moment, gentlemen.” your drink finds its way into charles’ hand and you try your best to walk in a straight line and keep your legs from quivering. charles does his best at putting on a façade of pure ignorance and confusion as he excuses himself from the conversation as well, utilizing the excuse of unusual behavior on your part to easily leave the conversation. 

you barge through the heavy door to the bathroom and barely have the sense to check the smaller stall that contains the toilet before leaning against the cool tile wall and exhaling a heavy breath, cupping a hand over your cunt in an attempt to relieve the pressure building. After taking a few breaths, you jump when the door opens, but you’re glad to see charles’ face when the door opens. you nearly crumble when his hand retreats from his pocket and only increases the pressure of the vibrations, but his strong arms catch you, your hands scrabbling at the expensive fabric of his suit. “charles, please.”

“please what, mon cher?” you pout, moaning when the intensity is increased again.

“please, just fuck me. feels so good, just need you. need you inside of me.”

“there you go, beautiful. i knew you could ask nicely.” charles’s voice is smoother than honey to your ears, and when he helps you back up against the wall and pushes your legs around his shoulders, his knees gently hitting the floor, you feel yourself get impossibly wetter. 

“charles, please. just-” your pleas are silenced when he runs his fingers along your panty-covered slit, a keening breath making you throw your head back. 

“so wet for me, cherie. have you been like this all night?” his eyes flick up to your face and you can't help the whimper that crawls its way out of your throat. 

“yes, all night. now, please, just let me cum.”

“such pretty words. i really should, huh?” with this, he pulls your soaked panties down your legs and slips them off your ankles and stuffs them into his pocket. as gently as he can, he pulls the vibe out of you and cleans it off with one of the soft white towels rolled into cylinders on the countertop next to him. “hold this for me?” he offers you the toy wrapped in the towel, which you accept with shaking hands. as soon as the toy is in your hands, he dives into your heat, his tongue expertly navigating you like the back of his hand. you immediately fight the moan that almost wrenches its way from your throat, but despite your best efforts, a whine escapes. 

“fuck, feels so good, baby, please, don’t stop,” you moan, suddenly not caring about your noise level or the fact that several of ferrari’s sponsors for the upcoming racing season are just outside the bathroom door. despite your lack of mind for your reputation, charles pulls away, making you whine at the loss of contact, but his mouth is quickly replaced by his fingers gently pressing at your entrance, coating them with as much of your slick as he can before pressing them into you. the sudden intrusion makes your back arch and a gasp fill your lungs, but charles quickly tuts at you. 

“gotta stay quiet for me, baby. don’t want everybody out there hearing how good i’m making you feel.” when your walls flutter around him, a movement so miniscule it could be passed off as his imagination, the corners of his lips quirk up into a smirk. “or,” he continues, pressing a delicate kiss to your clit, to which your hand not holding your vibrator to card through his hair and pull, “is that exactly what you want? for every single person outside that door to know who’s making you scream in the bathroom of a black tie event? for them to know that i’m the only person who can make you feel like this? make you sound like this?”

“i’ll stay quiet, baby, now please-” you cut yourself off with another whine because charles has leaned forward again, captured your clit between his lips, and sucks. “oh, fuck, charles. please, please don’t stop. feels so good.” you’re embarrassingly close to cumming from the short time he’s been eating you out and fucking his fingers into you, but you could care less. after being on the edge all night, you whine as you tighten and your back arches off of the wall, your right leg still propped up on charles’ shoulder. “charles, ‘m close. ‘m so close.” your fingers tighten in his hair, the pain on his scalp making him moan into your cunt, and the vibrations from his voice are the last thing you need before you’re sent over the edge, clapping a hand over your own mouth to stop your breathy moans from echoing too loudly off of the tile walls of the bathroom. he continues eating you out through your orgasm, and you almost have to push him off before he’s satisfied. “holy…”

“fuck,” he finishes, making you laugh. when you look down, charles looks absolutely wrecked. his hair is a mess from where your fingers ran through it, his eyes are droopy, pupils wide with lust, and his face from his nose down is covered in a mixture of your cum and his saliva. you almost take out your phone to take a photo of him, but you’re snapped out of your afterglow when someone pounds at the door. 

your stomach drops, and charles blanches. you mouth a silent “fuck” to him, but somehow relief fills your body when you hear a familiar voice on the other side of the door. “oi, cabrón, open the door. it’s time you make even on that bet.”

HEEEEHEHEHEHE this one was so fun to write! let me know if i should do a part two!

[cailinsblog]

i feel like carlos would be the type of guy who's confident and tough around others but he's literally just a big baby around his girl and gets shy and all that....this is me requesting a fic/au...

Omg I loved this to I love getting requests!!! I hope you like this 💕

Reblog!!

Behind Closed Doors: The Soft Side of Carlos Sainz

Carlos sainz x reader

Masterlist

Carlos Sainz was the epitome of confidence. At the track, in team meetings, or in front of the cameras, he was sharp, focused, and had an intensity that made him one of the most respected drivers in Formula One. Even his teammates knew better than to mess with him when he was in race mode. But what they didn’t know was that Carlos Sainz, the fearless driver, turned into a completely different person around his girlfriend, Y/N.

It started at the paddock. Carlos was chatting with his engineers, discussing strategy for the upcoming race. His body language was all swagger: arms crossed, shoulders back, eyes keen and alert. He looked every inch the fierce competitor. Charles Leclerc walked up to him, tossing him a casual, “You ready to go out there and show them who’s boss?”

Carlos gave a small, confident nod, “Always, hermano.”

Y/N watched from a distance, a little smirk tugging at her lips. She saw Carlos flashing that trademark smirk, oozing charisma and intensity, and she couldn’t help but feel proud. She knew, though, that in just a few moments, her boyfriend would be shedding that tough exterior like an oversized jacket, revealing the sweet, affectionate man underneath.

Later, they met up after a press conference. Carlos wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they strolled toward the team lounge. Once they were alone in one of the quieter rooms, he shut the door behind them. The moment they were away from prying eyes, he slumped, dropping his shoulders and letting out a deep, contented sigh. He rested his head against her shoulder and looked up at her with those big, soft brown eyes.

“Cariño,” he murmured, voice softer now, “will you scratch my head?”

Y/N bit her lip, trying to hide her smile as she ran her fingers through his hair. Carlos closed his eyes, sinking into her touch like a contented cat. The world outside faded away. His tense shoulders relaxed, and he let out a little hum of happiness, nestling closer to her. He looked up at her, and his confident smirk had transformed into a sweet, lazy smile.

“I think I could fall asleep right here,” he whispered. She chuckled, brushing a few strands of hair from his forehead.

“Imagine if the team saw you like this,” she teased, giving him a gentle scratch behind his ear. He huffed, clearly unconcerned.

“Let them think I’m a big, tough guy. Only you get to see this side of me,” he murmured, eyes still closed. “But if you keep scratching, I’m not responsible if I melt right here on the couch.”

She laughed, watching his face soften with each gentle stroke. “What if I want you to melt?” she teased, her fingers tracing small circles on his temple.

He opened one eye, grinning lazily. “I’d let you. Anytime.”

Later that evening, they returned to the hotel with a few of his teammates. He was back to being Captain Confidence, holding the door for Y/N and guiding her into the elevator with a protective hand at her back. The guys were all there, chatting animatedly about race tactics, but Y/N caught the glances he kept throwing her way. Once they finally reached their floor and said goodbye to the others, he tugged her close, burying his face in her neck.

The moment they got inside their room, he pulled her close again, his hands wrapped around her waist, his face in her hair. “I missed you,” he murmured softly, swaying with her as if they were slow dancing.

Y/N ran her fingers through his hair again, watching him soften under her touch, and he let out a contented sigh. “I feel like I’ve been waiting all day just to be with you like this,” he admitted, his voice a low, tender whisper.

“You’re such a big baby,” she teased, though her eyes sparkled with affection. He pouted, though a playful smile soon spread across his face.

“For you, amor, always.

Please do send request and reblog

[ham1lton]

ham1lton’s 500 followers celebration masterlist ♥︎ ↴

mind of mine - lewis hamilton smau.

-> lewis has just dropped his first full length album after winning his final championship. the internet goes wild trying to find his muse.

‘cause i’m that bitch. - charles leclerc smau.

-> charles keeps trying to tell everyone he’s in a relationship with you, the it girl of the fashion world. yet, no one believes him. he’s very keen on changing that.

fight for this love - jude bellingham smau.

-> jude meets you at a promotional event for a brand you both have a deal with. after the first meeting, he’s smitten, but there is a problem. he never got your number.

kiss me thru the phone! - logan sargeant smau.

-> oscar has a new number. no problem! until logan realises he hasn’t been texting his friend his breakdown but rather some random girl. well… let’s hope you have some good advice at least.

superstar - oscar piastri smau.

-> lando knows oscar is hiding something from him. he attempts to go on the hunt but unbeknownst to him, the truth is an open secret. he’s dating you, the incredibly smart, talented child prodigy.

sebastian’s angel.- sebastian vettel smau.

-> when you start attending sebastian’s races, people speculate that you’re friends or perhaps it’s a pr deal for the company you’re both affiliated to. that’s until your post sets the internet aflame.

have a baby by me (be a millionaire) - lando norris fluff.

-> after lando’s first win, you’re there to help him celebrate alongside…. a child? now everyone is trying to figure out when, how and why the two of you had a baby with no one noticing.

cooking mama! - carlos sainz smau.

-> carlos sainz - full time formula one racer and part time chef. the double life that he lives with you, his girlfriend of five years. until the channel releases a countdown to an announcement that is guaranteed to have watchers glued to their seats.

sk8er grl to baker girl. - mick schumacher smau.

-> think of the most unconventional couple you know. to everyone else, the answer to that question would be you and mick. so when mick posts about his secret girlfriend’s baking projects, no one puts together the pieces. until you blurt it out.

no pressure - kylian mbappé smau

-> the two of you have been dating for a while now, and kylian thinks it’s time for the next step. he wants you to meet his parents but you don’t want that to happen for reasons beyond your control.

— requests are now CLOSED! thank u!

[petit-papillion]

Come on, F1 Teams, give us a silly season worthy of this!

I also just realized that with all the drivers from end 2023 continuing on in 2024, there is

no rookie of the year (unless someone else needs their appendix out...)

all the teams will need to use their reserve drivers for the mandatory rookie in Free Practice quota

[princessedesfleursss]

CS55E3

Pairing: carlos sainz x fem!reader

Genre: smut

Warnings: blowjob (male receiving), pole dancing (lol), sex

You caught him staring at you. A tall and handsome man whom you were sure was way more than a few years older than you. You felt tingly- the way his darkening eyes were checking you out. You waited until his eyes finished scanning your body and landed on yours. You slightly smirked at him with a raised eyebrow. He chuckled back with a slight shrug. You rose your glass addressing him and he reflected your actions.

Smiling at yourself, you bottomed your drink and went over to the dance floor where your friends were at. It was a typical uni weekend where you had decided along with your roommates to hit the club. The minute you did hit the club word had gotten out that there’d be some drivers from the race that was held earlier that evening.

Dancing your way into the middle, you let yourself get lost in the music. Your friends circled you, the blonde one next to you leaning into whisper, “There’s this like super hot guy who’s checking you out.”

The one next to her, winked at you while acting all surprised. You swatted her shoulder sending a smirk her way.

“I heard he’s a part of the group of racing drivers who dropped by- Carlos Sainz,” your friend whispered.

“He’s probably not the fastest when it comes to getting girls I guess. He’s been looking but not doing nothing,” you screamed back at her over the music.

Unbeknowst to you and your friends, the handsome guy you guys were talking about was lurking close by and he happened to hear the comment you had just made on him. Chuckling at your naivety, he inched closer to you. Your friends nodded at him approvingly and moved onto their dancing partners.

As the music and lights changed to the new song being played, you felt a strong pair of arms envelope your waist. You leaned into the chest knowing exactly who it was.

“I’m not fast enough?” A thick Spanish accent asked.

Grinning at the question you turned yourself around in his arms and hooked your hands around his neck, moving along to the beat of the music.

“Took you some time, Carlos” you teased him.

“So you know me?” He asked with an amused smile.

“Happened to hear your name.”

He chuckled at that knowing you were playing hard to get. But he wanted you. He wanted you now and he would do anything to get that. The minute he had laid his eyes on you when you went over to the bartender to get your drink- in a dress that sparkled so bright he could see you as you walked over to the dance floor, strutting over to your friends.

You looked back at him feeling bold, “Wanna get outta here?”

Pulling you closer to him, Carlos replied back, “Hell yeah.”

Smiling at his response, you clasped your fingers around his much larger hand and dragged him out the club. On your way out to the back, you waved at one of your frequent friends who let you access the VIP lounges at the club. Carlos simply followed you as you took him up the stairs and into a room with darkened glass. From above you could see the entirety of the club but from below no one could see what was going on up there.

Locking the door, you pushed Carlos to the sofa and went over to the pole in the middle of the room. Meanwhile Carlos poured himself a drink. Spreading his jean clad thighs further apart he got comfortable in the sofa. You looked at him with lust filled eyes and twirled yourself around the pole, keeping his keen eyes on your bending figure.

Carlos watched in interest, his pants getting tighter around the crotch and his mind crowding with the things he wanted do to you.

The music was louder in the room than it was downstairs. You let yourself drown to the music as you showed off some pole dancing skills you had learned when you had come over for private parties with your friends up here. And then the when the music changed you got off the pole and crawled over to where Carlos was seated. You made sure to swing your hips as you moved closer to him. Carlos downed his drink when you sat yourself right in front of him.

You leaned up to kiss him and he grabbed the back of your neck doing exactly what you wanted. Hot, passionate lips clashed onto each other as you moved your hands all over his clothed thighs. Pushing yourself off of him, you signaled at his jeans. Carlos obliged, unzipping them and letting you do the rest. You pulled them down to wear you could see his throbbing & veiny dick clearly.

Looking back up at him and making sure to maintain that eye contact you went down on him, taking as much as you could at once. The rest was covered using your steadily moving hands. Carlos groaned at the feeling of your velvety mouth envelope around his erection and let you do your thing for a while. When he was getting closer, he wrapped his fingers around your hair and deep throated you making you almost gag around him. All the while you looked back up at him as mascara painted tears ran down your face.

He tapped the side of your mouth and you let go of his dick with pop.

“I wanna cum inside you cariño,” he demanded at you with a stern voice.

Sliding out of your panties, you sat atop him while he locked in your lips again, pulling you into a heated makeout session. You panted as you humped yourself on his thigh.

“Want you,” you panted in the middle while you tugged at his hair, “inside me. Now!”

It took Carlos no more convincing, and within a matter of movements he was inside you. You dug your head into his shoulder as you took in the scent from the shirt he was wearing. Lifting your head up a little you placed kissed on his neck and whispered, “Fuck me Carlos.”

Guiding your hips he set your pace. As exhausted as you felt you kept going wanting to feel you reach your high. When Carlos was close as he subdued his fast pace to slower and deeper thrusts. You held onto his shoulders as he marked hickies all over your chest.

“I’m close,” you murmured at him.

“Come with me baby,” he muttered back, “Fuck just like that.”

With that, the ever twisting coil inside you came undone and you felt his whites warming up your insides at the same time.

You tried to catch your breath as you laid your head against his chest. Too exhausted to speak or anything.

“You’re the best fuck I’ve ever had,” you murmured as you lifted your head up to peck him on the lips.

Carlos slightly chuckled at your comment, feeling himself going soft inside you. But the moment you stirred when he guided your face to leave a ravishing kiss he got hard again. With widened eyes you broke off the kiss and looked back up at him.

“Shall we continue this in my hotel room?”

Leaning down to seal a kiss in agreement to his suggestion, you rolled off of him and pulled your panties back up.

Before you were walked out of the private room Carlos pulled you into a kiss and spoke to the shell of your ear,

“This was way better than winning the race.”

[pucksandpower]

Yours

Carlos Sainz x Reader

Summary: your boyfriend decides to remind you that you’re his and his alone … you’re certainly not about to complain

Warnings: 18+ content and possessiveness

“Excuse me, I need to borrow Y/N for a moment,” Carlos says abruptly, grabbing your arm and pulling you away from the mechanic you were speaking with.

You glance back apologetically as Carlos leads you swiftly down the hall towards his driver’s room. As soon as the door shuts behind you, his lips are on yours, kissing you hungrily as he backs you against the wall.

“Mine,” he growls against your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip.

You sigh into the kiss, your hands coming up to tangle in his soft waves. You love when he gets like this — possessive and needy. It makes you feel desired.

Cherished.

Loved.

“Yours,” you agree breathlessly when he finally releases your lips to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

His teeth graze your pulse point and you moan, tilting your head to give him better access. Your hands slip beneath his team shirt, fingers splaying across the smooth skin of his back.

“I saw the way he was looking at you,” Carlos murmurs against your throat. “No one gets to look at you like that except me.”

You smile, rubbing your hands up and down his back soothingly. “Baby, he was just talking about the new upgrades. You know you’re the only one for me.”

Carlos pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his own dark and stormy. “Are you sure about that, cariño? Maybe I need to remind you who you belong to.”

Your breath hitches at the promise in his words, heat pooling low in your belly. You bite your lip and nod.

“Please,” you whisper.

A smirk tugs at his lips. Then his hands are on your waist, spinning you around and pressing you front-first against the wall. He nudges your legs apart with his knee, molding himself along your back. You can feel how hard he already is through his shorts.

“I’m going to ruin you for anyone else,” he rasps in your ear.

You whimper, need slick between your thighs. He grinds against you languidly, letting you feel every inch of him. His hands slip under your shirt, palming your breasts over your bra.

“These are mine,” he squeezes pointedly. “This-” his hand slides lower, dipping beneath the waistband of your jeans, “-is mine. All of you, mi amor, belongs to me.”

“Yes, yes Carlos, I’m yours,” you gasp as his fingers find your clit, rubbing tight circles that have you seeing stars.

He works you up until you’re teetering on the edge, keening and desperate, before withdrawing his hand and stepping back. You whine at the loss of contact but he just chuckles, low and dangerous.

In one smooth move he flips you around to face him again, then sinks to his knees before you. Deft fingers make quick work of the button and zipper of your jeans, yanking them and your underwear down just enough to expose you. He looks up at you from beneath those unfairly long lashes, eyes dark with desire.

“I want you dripping for me, cariño.”

Then his mouth descends on you with single-minded purpose, tongue lapping at your slit before focusing on your clit. Your head falls back against the wall with a groan, hands coming down to tangle in his hair, guiding him just so.

He works you expertly, licking and sucking until you’re crying out his name, right on the edge again. Just when you think you can’t take anymore, he slides two long fingers into your clenching heat, crooking them just right. You shatter with a wail, vision going white as your orgasm crashes over you.

Carlos works you through it, only stopping when you go limp and oversensitive. He stands and you cling to him on shaky legs, panting against his neck.

“That’s one,” he murmurs, nipping at your earlobe. “I’m not nearly done with you yet.”

Arousal sparks hot and urgent in your belly again at his words. He kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. When he finally releases your mouth, you tangle your fingers in the front of his shirt.

“Too many clothes,” you complain breathlessly.

He grins. “Allow me.”

In one smooth move he grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it off over his head, exposing miles of smooth, toned tanned skin. You bite your lip, drinking in the sight hungrily as your hands come up to trace over the defined muscles of his chest and abs.

He lets you explore for a moment before catching your wrists and pinning them to the wall above your head. Holding them there with one hand, he uses the other to finally tug your shirt up and off, leaving you in just your bra above the waist.

You squirm against him, desire coiling hot and urgent inside you again already as he presses his hips against yours.

“Can you feel what you do to me, mi amor?” He asks roughly. “No one else makes me ache like this. Only you.”

“Carlos,” you whimper, straining against his grip. “Please, I need you.”

He smiles, slow and wicked, and reaches around to unclasp your bra with deft fingers. As soon as your breasts are freed he dips his head, taking one sensitive nipple into his hot mouth. You cry out as he lavishes attention on it with his tongue, then scrapes it lightly with his teeth. He gives the other equal treatment until you’re writhing against him, panting and pleading wordlessly.

Finally he takes mercy, releasing your wrists so he can lift you effortlessly. Your legs wrap around his waist automatically as he carries you across the room towards the small bed tucked into the corner.

He lays you down gently atop the plain white sheets, the cot barely big enough for the two of you. Not that you mind being pressed so close together. You reach for him eagerly but he catches your hands again and presses them into the pillow above your head.

“Keep them there,” he orders. “No touching until I say so.”

You pout but do as he says, fisting your hands in the pillow as you watch him shed the rest of his clothes with eager eyes. He’s tanned and toned all over, muscles shifting enticingly beneath his skin as he moves. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, hard and ready for you.

He climbs over you, caging you in, and bends to kiss you deeply once more. You strain up into it, wishing you could touch him but knowing obedience will be rewarded.

When he finally enters you in one long stroke you both groan, loud and unrestrained. He sets a pace that has you shaking apart again in minutes, writhing beneath him as he snaps his hips harder, hitting that sweet spot inside you relentlessly.

“That’s two,” he grits out when you finally go limp, overstimulated and trembling.

He flips you over effortlessly, pulling your hips up so you’re on your hands and knees before him. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips as he drives into you from behind, even deeper at this angle. You clutch at the sheets, crying out shamelessly as he pounds into you. The new position puts your clit grinding against the blanket, ratcheting up the pleasure.

“You take me so well, cariño,” he praises through gritted teeth. “So perfect for me, only for me.”

You can only moan in response, lost in ecstasy as he takes you apart again. Your arms finally give out and you collapse forward, cheek pressed to the sheets. The change in angle has him nailing the exact spot where you need him with every thrust and you scream as you come undone around him once more.

He fucks you through it before flipping you onto your back again, barely giving you a moment to catch your breath before he’s sliding back into your oversensitive body. You whimper at the feeling, hovering right on that line between pleasure and pain.

“That’s three. Just one more, mi amor,” he murmurs, kissing you sweetly even as he rocks into you relentlessly. “You can give me one more, can’t you?”

You nod desperately, beyond words now. Your whole world narrows down to him — the smooth slide of his skin against yours, his panting breaths mingling with your own, the thick drag of him inside you hitting every nerve just right. Your nails dig into his back, clawing at him mindlessly as heat coils tighter and tighter within you.

“Come for me,” he growls. “Now.”

You shatter on command with a wail, vision whiting out as your climax crashes over you like a tsunami. You feel him follow you over the edge with a guttural groan, pulsing hot inside you as he finds his own release.

“And that,” he rasps against the column of your throat, “is four.”

For long moments you just cling to each other, breathing harshly as you come back down. He nuzzles into your neck, pressing feather-light kisses against your damp skin as your heart rates gradually return to normal.

“Mine,” he murmurs again, softer this time.

You smile, basking in the afterglow and his warm weight on top of you.

“Yours,” you agree, combing your fingers through his sweat-damp hair. “Always.”

He lifts his head to smile back down at you, eyes soft and sated. Leaning in, he kisses you sweetly, putting all his love and devotion into it. You sigh happily against his lips.

Eventually he pulls back again with a regretful little groan, slipping free of your body so he can gather you into his arms properly. You cuddle close against his chest, legs tangled together and his steady heartbeat beneath your ear.

“I’m sorry if I was too rough, mi amor,” he says after a moment, a tinge of uncertainty in his voice. “I just … I can’t stand the thought of anyone else touching you like that. Having you. You’re everything to me.”

You lean up on your elbow so you can meet his worried gaze. “Hey,” you say softly, cradling his face in your hand. “You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. I wanted that just as much as you did. I love belonging to you, Carlos.”

He turns his head to press a kiss to your palm, eyes warm. “Te amo, cariño. More than anything.”

“I love you too,” you tell him sincerely. “You’re the only one for me. Don’t ever doubt that.”

He smiles then, bright and beautiful like the sun coming out. Rolling onto his back, he tugs you along so you’re sprawled atop him, head tucked under his chin. His arms come around you, holding you close as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Mine,” he says again, but this time it’s a contented sigh rather than a growl. You snuggle even closer with a happy hum of agreement.

“Yours.”