#carlos sainz jr imagines

[carlonsos]

Lights Off, Hands On.

Pairings: Carlos Sainz Jr x female!reader

Synopsis: in which the reader and Carlos were once the heartthrob of the paddock, have broken up a few months back. Tonight, you wanted a time to lose yourself. Put a distance to reality. And to put distance to reality, you did.

CW: +18, smut, mature themes, hate-sex, breeding, can't get enough of one another.

The bass thrums beneath your skin, the pulse of the club syncing with your heartbeat as you tilt your head back, swallowing the last sip of your drink. It burns, but not as much as the sight of Carlos across the room.

You don’t expect to see him here. Not in this city, not tonight, not with her.

She’s tucked against his side, a brunette in red, her laughter bright even in the dim haze of the neon-lit lounge. His hand rests at her waist—low, easy, familiar. You shouldn’t be looking. You should turn away.

But Carlos sees you first.

His smile fades. His fingers twitch against her dress. And for a split second, it’s just you and him, standing on the edge of something neither of you ever learned how to escape.

You move before you think, weaving through bodies, ignoring the clawing ache in your chest. There’s no plan, no hesitation, just the need to get close enough to remind yourself why you left in the first place.

Carlos shifts, murmuring something to her. She doesn’t notice his distraction, but you do. You see the way his fingers twitch at his sides, the way his chest rises and falls just a little too sharply, the way his jaw clenches like he’s trying to bite back a reaction he has no right to feel anymore.

It’s not fair.

You spent months learning how to live without him, how to move through the world without looking for him in every crowd, without aching every time you heard his name. See it on TV every race weekend. Where you see images of him in the paddock, where you once linked arms and walked through it with ease.

And yet—

One glance, and it all unravels.

You don’t think. You move. Your feet carry you to the bar, to the one place you know he’ll follow.

And he does.

By the time you reach the bar, he’s already there.

He stops just behind you. Close enough that you can feel the heat of him, too close for people who are supposed to be strangers now.

You don’t turn around.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is low, rough.

You look ahead, lifting your drink to your lips. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Carlos exhales sharply. “Don’t play games with me.”

You swallow down your drink, gaze dropping as you set your glass down with a soft clink. “I thought that’s all we ever did.” A hint of bitterness.

His silence is heavy, weighted with things neither of you have the courage to say.

Then—softly, bitterly—he murmurs, almost a hiss, “I hate seeing you.”

You blinked ahead, ignoring the sting in your throat. “I hate seeing you, too.”

It’s a lie. You both know it.

Your fingers curl around the edge of the bar as you finally slowly turn to face him. His eyes are dark, unreadable, but there’s something in them that makes it hard to breathe.

“You’re happy,” you say, forcing the words out, testing them, seeing if they break you the way you think they might.

Carlos doesn’t answer right away. His jaw tenses. His gaze flickers—down to your lips, to your throat, to your hands gripping the bar like you need it to keep you upright.

Then he shakes his head, his Spanish accent thick. “Am I?”

Your chest tightens. “She seems nice.”

“She is.”

You nod, ignoring the nausea curling in your stomach. “Good.”

Carlos exhales, running a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding into every movement. “Why are we doing this?”

You tilt your head, smiling in a way that doesn’t reach your eyes. “Doing what?”

“Lying to each other.” His voice is hoarse.

“Pretending like this doesn’t hurt."

The words knock the air from your lungs.

You want to tell him it doesn’t. That you’re fine. That you don’t still wake up expecting to feel his warmth beside you, that you don’t still hear his voice in the quiet spaces of your day.

But what’s the point in lying when he already knows the truth?

Your silence says enough.

Carlos sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Come with me.”

You blink. “What?"

He steps closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just—five minutes. That’s all I need.”

Your pulse pounds in your ears. You should say no. You should walk away.

But you never could tell him no.

So you let him take your wrist, let him pull you into the dark hallway behind the bar, let him press you against the wall like he’s seconds away from falling apart.

Then, he kisses you.

And it’s devastating.

It’s months of longing, of regret, of wanting something you both know you shouldn’t have. His lips are desperate, his hands frantic, like he’s trying to commit you to memory before the moment is gone.

You kiss him back just as fiercely, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, pouring every unsaid word into the way your mouths move together.

It’s fire and ruin. It’s love and destruction. It's harrowing but so fucking good.

It’s everything you swore you’d never let happen again.

His forehead drops to yours, the two of you gasping for air, as though meeting each other's lips again is your oxygen. “Tell me you don’t still feel it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Carlos…”

“Tell me.”

You exhale shakily. “I can’t.”

A sharp breath. His hands tighten on your waist, like he’s trying to hold onto something that’s already slipping through his fingers.

“Neither can I,” he whispers.

And then, he's kissing you again. Like starved man, you meeting that intensity, arching your hip to hip. Fingers tangling in his hair, tugging just to hear that familiar groan rumble in his chest. His hands are everywhere—gripping your waist, pressing you closer, as if he’s trying to erase the time apart.

But time hasn’t changed anything.

Not the way he fits against you. Not the way your body responds to his touch. Not the way your heart still stumbles in his presence.

It’s dangerous. Addictive. A losing game you both should’ve quit a long time ago.

And yet—

“Tell me to stop.” His breath is hot against your skin, his voice rough, strained.

You could. You should.

But instead, you whisper, “I don’t want you to.”

And so he doesn’t.

He slots his thigh between yours. Your core instantly chasing that heat at his thigh. A moan escapes you to which he happily drinks with lust.

The cold air outside bites at your skin, but the heat between you and Carlos is unbearable. His hands are everywhere—gripping, pulling, claiming. The moment you press against the wall, the world around you vanishes. There is no club, no noise, no one else but him, his body, his lips, the way he moves like he’s trying to erase the space between you.

You gasp into him, and it only fuels his urgency. His hands are under your jacket, fingertips grazing the bare skin of your waist, sending a shiver of electricity through your body. You can feel the heat radiating from him, feel his chest rise and fall against yours, his breath uneven and ragged.

Your hands roam—fingers threading into his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss, urging him closer as your bodies align, fitting together in a way that feels too familiar, too right.

Carlos growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips, and you feel his fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, warm and insistent. The moment his fingertips brush the soft skin of your stomach, a jolt of need shoots through you, and you press yourself harder against him, as if the friction might be the only thing that keeps you both tethered to reality.

His hands move with purpose—sliding down your body, over your hips, gripping you like he’s never going to let go. He pushes his body into yours, the hard press of him sending a wave of heat crashing through you.

The feeling of him—of him—is intoxicating. You’ve forgotten how well he fits against you, how perfectly his body matches yours. His chest presses against yours, the beat of his heart wild, and you can feel the tension building between you like a slow-burning fuse.

His hands slip lower, teasing the waistband of your jeans, his fingers grazing the soft skin of your stomach, and it makes you ache. You want him, you need him. No more games, no more pretending this is just a fleeting moment.

His hand slides under your shirt, warm fingers splayed across your back, before slowly making its way up, pushing the fabric higher. You let him. There’s no stopping him now, no stopping either of you.

His thumb grazes the side of your breast, a touch so light it almost makes you ache with need. Eliciting goosebumps across your skin. You arch into him, unable to stop yourself, and he groans, deep and low. “You’re fucking killing me.”

You couldn't help but moan against him, cursing out against his lips to which he responds with his own curse in his mother tongue. "Joder."

You pull at the fabric of his shirt, trying to get it off, and he helps, lifting his arms just enough for you to tug it over his head.

The moment his bare chest presses against yours, a shudder runs through you. He’s solid, warm, real. And you want every inch of him.

Carlos groans, his hands trembling slightly as they slide up your sides, pushing your shirt higher, revealing your bare skin. His eyes darken as he takes you in, every inch of you like he’s afraid you might slip away.

There was no going back. Reality was thrown out the window. A single meeting of heated gazes and the two of you were hurriedly removing each others' jeans.

As soon as you slid the zipper down, pushing the jeans and boxers down his hips, you couldn't help but moan out in absolute, shameless lust as you traced the lines of his hips, the dips, to his length that sprung up as soon as it was free.

You couldn't waste any more time.

Your core pulsed with insane need. Both of you exposed to the cool air, keeping one another warm at the proximity. Easily, as ever familiar, as though you were never months apart, you hooked your leg around his waist. His forehead rests on yours, both of you gasping at the light touch of his length meeting your core with the slightest of touches.

With a hand around your waist, his lower jaw slightly jutting out in concentration, his other hand stroking himself momentarily before slowly guiding himself toward your entrance.

A guttural moan escaped him as he slid into your tight walls, eliciting a choked moan from you. Your head fell back against the cold wall. His lips found your neck to ground himself as he began to slowly move into you.

His thrusts were slow at first, but it wasn't soft whatsoever. Each was slow, deliberate, strong. Knees slightly arched so that he could push himself all the way to the hilt, his balls touching your core. The depth of it had your mouth falling open, eyes wide as you drank in the feeling of the familiar stretch, the pleasurable pain.

It wasn't long before he was pounding into you. Thrusts slowly growing in pace. The rustle of his belt hitting the floor was a mere background noise, much like the club that grew awfully distant. Your hooked around his shoulders, fingers tugging at his dark, long strands. His strong hands, evident from his lifestyle as a Formula One driver held you expertly, shielding what he could from the wall from scraping against your back.

You began to lose clarity - since his eyes landed on yours. All reality was out the window as the two of you drank each other in in the way you touched each other.

Of how you missed him, how he held you so fucking gently when he's still pounding into you, enough to have you wanting to melt into him. To fuck you senseless. Like he did all those months ago.

Your nails fell down his neck to his back, feeling a build up in your lower abdomen. Nails scraping up his back as a knot was forming, your toes beginning to curl against him. His breathing became more shallow - he was nearing too.

"Y/N—" he grunted, his breathing frantic, eyes closed shut, licking stripes across your neck as you took him in with every hit inside.

"Do it. Give it to me." You whispered hoarsely, voice shaking with his thrusts. The upward motion thrusting his length's head reach the deepest inside of you with so much ease. Beads of sweat from the both of you, breathing each other in.

He couldn't contain his moans. Deep. Vocal in those short moments. Dragging it out as he finally stilled, his length pulsing and spilling into your walls. Your breathing hitched as you came, eyes closing shut as your opened your mouth to a silent scream, riding into your orgasm which evidently squeezed him to pump out what was left into you. The warmth filled you up. And he filled you up good.

He kept himself there. The two of you riding your highs down. Faces flushed. Lust falling. Catching breaths.

Your eyes fluttered open to meet his own doe ones. Boring into you. Where your heart jolts. You couldn't help it. "I fucking hate you. I fucking missed you."

A dry chuckle escaped him. His lower lip jutting out. You feel his semen drip down your inner thigh, leaving you shuddering at the warmth of it distinctly different from his skin against you.

"Me too, cariño." He breathes against your jaw. Your heart swells for all the wrong reasons.

And then—his phone buzzes on the floor with his jeans pooled at his ankles.

Carlos freezes.

The sound shatters whatever spell was holding you together.

His phone vibrates again, and you both know who it is.

Reality crashes over you like a tidal wave.

Carlos steps back slowly, his arms holding you as he gently, almost regrettably, shifting himself out of you. You feel more of him drip down you now, your core twitching. God, that was so fucking deliciously filthy. He curses lowly. Your neck now exposed making you shiver.

Your throat tightens. “You should probably get that.” You unhook your leg from him, shuddering as you braced yourself against the wall and reached for your jeans as he reached for his shirt next.

As he buttons his shirt, he cleared his throat, gaze shifting away as he finally answered the call. "¿Sí, mi vida?" He outwardly flinched.

Your heart shattered. It shouldn't. Why the fuck–?

"Took a while in the toilet. I'm on my way now."

What a fucking lie. An easy one at that.

His lips part, like he wants to say something. Apologize. Explain. Promise you something you know he won’t keep.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he swallows hard, shoves his hands in his pockets, and nods.

You force a smile, ignoring the way your heart aches. “Take care, Carlos.” You whisper.

His eyes darken. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like this is the last time.”

You hesitate. Then, softly, “Isn’t it?”

Carlos looks at you, really looks at you, like he’s trying to carve the image of you into his mind.

Then, without another word, he turns and walks away. His jaw tensed. His doe eyes intense. Drinking you in all over. As though it was the last time. Perhaps it truly is. Is it?

Without another word, he spun around and walked away, raking his hand over his hair to tame it - removing any telltale signs of his endeavor.

You crossed your arms, hugging yourself. You couldn't think. Not right now. But you knew you couldn't go back in anymore. Instead, you walked out of the alleyway towards the car park and headed towards your car.

[socksracoon10]

p2 where the argument turns into a makeout sesh yes or yes?

𝐇𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐮𝐧 (𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐)

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: (𝘠/𝘕) (𝘓/𝘕) 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘫𝘰𝘣 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯… 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴? Pairing: Carlos Sainz Jr. x F!Reader, Charles Leclerc x F!Reader, Max Verstappen x F!Reader A/N: I AM SO HAPPY SOMEONE ASKED FOR A PART 2 BECAUSE THAT'S ALL I COULD THINK ABOUT SINCE I POSTED THE FIC YESTERDAY... anon thank you I was over here giggling and kicking my feet reading your ask... uh halfway through writing this I realized I got carried away it's MUCH longer than I intended LMFAO Read The First Part: Hit and Run

𝘾𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙤𝙨 𝙎𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙯 𝙅𝙧.

"Hey man, next time you race try not to kill the other drivers," (Y/N) (L/N) sunk down into the P3 chair next to Sainz, who had just won the race. He glanced over at her with a scowl, clearly wanting to say some nasty things if it wasn't for the million cameras in the cooldown room. She shifted in her seat, stretching her arms as she watched the race's highlights on the screen besides her. Carlos and her both had a spectacular race, considering they had started from the bottom of the grid more or less. She knew she had the skills to get to the podium, but she was surprised at the fact that Carlos had managed to somehow win the race from nowhere. It didn't seem like his normal self and she wondered what could've motivated him to actually drive good for once.

"Next time you race, try not to be cocky and drag other drivers down," Carlos grumbled, his voice was muffled due to the rag that was currently soaking up all of the sweat on his face. She glared at him, holding an accusatory finger to the air before Max had settled down in the P2 chair. He shook Carlos's hand, before waving at (L/N). The room was silent, spare Max rambling on about what he saw during the race. As Max continued to talk, (L/N)'s eyes flickered occasionally onto Carlos, wondering what was going through his mind. She was definitely in the wrong, but her ego wouldn't handle that and she needed to tear him a new one once they were done with all the celebrations. She always hated this circuit anyway.

"She's not supposed to be here, mate," Charles giggled, jerking his thumb towards the woman that was angrily storming into Ferrari's garage. Carlos looked up from where he sat with a groan escaping his lips.

"She isn't," Carlos stood up, taking the cap off his head to run a hand through his hair, "I suppose you've come to apologize for your behavior this weekend? Or last weekend? Or the many weekends before that?" "Apologize?" (L/N) snorted, rolling her eyes, "I've come to ask about what you said at the press pen!"

Charles, sensing the tension between the two, gently ushered the two into Carlos's driver's room before shutting the door. The last thing Ferrari needed after this lovely weekend was to deal with the drivers having to go through PR training once again, especially with the amount of times Carlos had been talking shit about (Y/N) (L/N). Carlos had stood by the door, arms crossed as he gestured with his hands for her to begin whatever stupid argument she had managed to pull out of her ass this time.

"You remember what you said?" She growled, and when she saw him shake his head, her nostrils flared, "You literally told the press, 'sometimes, I like to put people in the places they belong and that's precisely what I did with (L/N)', are you kidding me?"

"You should be happy," Carlos scoffed, "I could've said way worse. Besides, I was giving you a taste of your own medicine. You said after qualifying yesterday that even with a million practices, I'd still fumble."

"Yeah, because you do! You're inconsistent as hell and that's why-"

"And yet who won the race today starting behind you." Carlos interrupted her. She closed her mouth, chest heaving. Carlos could see the gears turn in her head, she was trying so hard to come up with something. He had a smug smile on his face and somehow this was more victorious than winning the Grand Prix.

"It doesn't matter if you win today or not, you won't be driving for Ferrari soon, anyway," She spat. She smirked at the way his face fell, her arms crossed with her head tilted upwards. That cocky look on her face that always drove him wild.

"You're such an asshole," Carlos seethed, and before she could respond with a snarky remark, his lips crashed onto her. His hands came to hold onto the sides of her face, pulling her as close to him as he could. He pulled away for a brief second to take a quick breath and noticed the way her eyes widened, "Did you just kiss me? Listen here buddy, I'll have you know that-" Her words died down when she noticed Carlos's eyes flicker to her lips. God, her absolute hatred for him made her forget how charming he truly was. She wouldn't admit to it, though. Not now nor ever. Right now, all they needed was to blow off this steam. She grabbed onto his neck, pulling him down to another searing kiss, eyes closed as their teeth crashed into one another. She tugged his hair and he squeezed her waist, both of them realizing that feelings may not exist at the moment, it was all about just shutting each other up.

"I hate you," She murmured before going in for another kiss.

"I hate you more," His lips attached to her neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses that were sure to bruise her.

"Well, I hate you the most, stop trying to be better than me." She snapped in a strained voice and he groaned out loud, pulling back to stare at her,

"How much money do I have to pay for you to shut up?"

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙇𝙚𝙘𝙡𝙚𝙧𝙘

Charles didn't win the next race, unfortunately. He was a bit happy that he didn't DNF, but the fact that the winner of the race was none other than his sworn enemy did little to comfort him. He glanced over to Max who was at P2, and looked around to the room to make sure that rat wasn't lurking nearby.

"W-What was the gap between you and her?" Charles asked. He knew asking would literally do him 0 help, but he couldn't stop himself from wanting to know.

"I want to say around a good 20 seconds or so? Maybe a bit more, I wasn't too sure," Max responded, watching Charles sink deeper in his seat with a look of despair. He gulped, staring aimlessly onto the wall in front of him. How was she that fast? What had she done with the car overnight?

"I'm sorry for (Y/N) for the next few races," He heard her, loud and clear, as she entered the cooldown room, mocking him for what he said last weekend. Charles instantly glared at her, not even bothering to hide his true intentions. No amount of PR training could hide his disgust for her. She settled into her seat, relishing in the feeling of being the race winner.

"You do anything with your car?" Charles grunted, and she shook her head,

"No, no. I just have more skill," She flashed him a smile, before getting up once again to grab a bottle of water. Max, for once in his life, decided to be quiet in the room and see the argument follow through. He'd heard Charles tell him multiple times about how (L/N) got on his nerves, but seeing it in person would be amazing.

"I doubt that. You used to place below me during the races," Charles took a sip of his water.

"What are you insinuating then?" She snarled, and Max glanced over to the camera crew, signaling for them to leave. While this would do numbers for the ratings and news headlines, they were promised some share of money if they got their asses out.

"Um guys, I don't think we should be fighting, we have to cooldown anyway..." Max began, but his words fell onto deaf ears as Charles stood up from his seat to stalk over to where she stood.

"Maybe you'd be more likeable if you were honest with yourself, sometimes cheaters-" Charles began, standing his ground when she yelled back,

"So you think I cheated in this race? Seriously? That's your argument?"

"Well, we do know that last weekend there was water in your tires," Charles snapped,

"That wasn't my fault? Stop being such a sore loser, Leclerc. Maybe this is why you haven't won a championship yet."

Max's jaw dropped as he watched the words fly out of her mouth. Charles, in the meantime, tossed his water bottle to the ground and stepped closer to her with his finger in her face,

"At least I raced clean without losing grip when I tried to overtake someone. You just got lucky today, that's it."

"Luck, really? Yeah, tell me about your luck when you're fighting more with your teammate than with the other drivers on the grid during the race." She hissed.

Was it the air? Was it the fact that the adrenaline was still high after the race, or was it the fact that despite not being able to stand each other they were only centimeters apart. It didn't take long before Charles's hand dug into her scalp, pulling her head back ever so slightly as he kissed her. Seeing this as another challenge, (L/N) brought Charles down to the ground, both of them fighting to be on top while still furiously kissing each other. His hands gripped her waist and she had her arms around his neck, dragging him towards her as they rolled off of each other on the ground, tongues practically in each other's mouths with the intention of wanting to ruin each other. She scratched him, he yanked her hair, she punched his chest and he twisted her arm and yet their lips never stopped wanting to consume the other. It wasn't until (L/N) pulled away to breathe again did they both realize that Max was still there with a very shocked expression.

"I'm... I'm just going to leave and make sure uh no one else enters this room but uh guys you might want to... put yourself together before we get on the podium," Max had one hand covering his eyes as he walked out of the room.

"Do you think he's gonna tell people we just made out?" She asked, propping herself onto her elbows.

"I doubt it," Charles responded with a roll of his eyes, "I mean, who would go and loudly state that Charles Leclerc was kissing you of all people? I wouldn't wish that upon my worst enemy."

He winced when her hand smacked the back of his head.

𝙈𝙖𝙭 𝙑𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙣

Max never forgot. He never forgot anything. He had made a promise to himself that he would wipe that smirk off her face and he intended to keep it. Even with all the setbacks that he was facing this particular weekend. Back to back penalties, a grip drop and on top of all this, a very haughty (Y/N) (L/N) purposely bumping into him on the paddock with a bright smile,

"Have fun! I've always wondered how the view from the back would look like for you," She chirped, speeding past him on a scooter. Max's jaw went taut, and he did little to hide his anger for the rest of the day. He was going to make sure that the race tomorrow would haunt her for the rest of her life. She had chosen the wrong person to mess with and he was determined to prove it to her.

Max was on a different level during the race, he was unbelievably fast and it surprised everyone but mainly (Y/N) (L/N).

Her radio went off, and someone buzzed through, "Max is currently at P6, he's coming up behind you."

"What the hell?" Her voice was a bit quiet, still in disbelief at the fact that Max was now right behind her, "How does he do this?"

And before she can react further, she sees him overtake her as he flashed his middle finger at her before speeding off. That got her going, and despite the radio telling her to calm down and control her motions, she began to chase after Max. Her ego was bruised but surely she could redeem herself. Unfortunately, she lost grip and her car went spiraling out of control towards the barriers.

"A safety car will be deployed soon, Max," GP informed the driver.

"Who crashed?"

"(Y/N) (L/N)."

Max couldn't help the giggle that escaped his lips, and to quote Alonso he merely stated, "Karma..." before turning his radio off for the rest of the race.

By the time all the celebrations were done, Max walked past (L/N)'s garage and he noticed the way she was pouting, legs crossed as she was busy texting somebody. Her fingers flew across the screen, and it almost looked like she was about to cry. Max did feel a bit bad for her, he knew she had worked to get to where she was - she was after all the only female driver on the grid so she was talented. He walked over to her in the best hopes that he could try to make her feel better, I mean he wasn't a monster.

"Oh, look who's here, the ugly ass sloth who can't mind his own business," She sneered, crossing her arms as she looked up at him. Yeah, that was it. Max didn't want to comfort her anymore, he was going to stoop down to her level.

"You know, maybe if you learned to shut your mouth and admit your mistakes, you could've actually done well in the race today." He scoffed, towering over her. She stood up, going back to texting her friend with a scowl on her face.

"Texting your mechanics to help salvage what's left of the car?" Max snorted.

"No, I'm texting my friend about how some douchebag keeps talking to me like I even asked for him. Like why the hell are you even here? Go back to your own garage, asshole." She snapped, pocketing her phone. Max threw his backpack onto the ground besides her and took a step forward,

"You know I was going to be nice to you-"

"You said Karma over the radio, I heard that shit clearly," She hissed, stepping closer as well.

"I said it in the moment, but right now I was going to be nice. I was going to comfort you. You are talented, you're not a shit driver like I said you were, but God... your ego. Your stubbornness. Your... your absolute pathetic move to shift the blame onto someone else for your wrong doings. Get over yourself, you don't know shit about your own car and yet you always blame me for something during the race!"

"My car is completely fine before you wrecked it!"

"Oh, so that DNF last weekend was my fault? You rammed into me! Let's not forget that!" Max yelled, glancing over to the new shiny car that would be in use next weekend.

"Oi, eyes on me," She snapped her fingers in his face, grabbing his jaw to turn it to her, "Don't stare at my winning car."

Max yanked her hand from his jaw, glaring at her. Oh, he hated her. He hated her so much. Even when he wanted to be nice to her, she always found a way to ruin it. How was it possible for a woman as beautiful and genuinely talented as her to somehow always end up as the most annoying, stuck-up little piece of shit that he had ever seen? Within seconds, he had her against her "amazing" car with his lips onto her. She gasped in surprise, eyes darting to the corner of the garage to make sure all the mechanics had left, but considering the way Max was making her melt in his kiss, her worries soon faded away. Max had one hand pressing her down against the car, her back hit the edge of the halo and she groaned in pain, causing her to arch into him as he deepened the kiss. Her hands came to grip onto his shoulders as she bit down on his bottom lip, and she could feel him smiling against her.

"I wish you were like this every weekend," He whispered, delving into another kiss. She wrapped her hand in his hair, tugging him gently away from her,

"I hope you realize this is a one time occurrence. I have standards," She smirked.

"They must be pretty low then like your racing skills," Max snapped, kissing her once more as he felt her smirk fade against his lips. He really did mean it when he said he was going to wipe it off her face, he just never imagined it to be in this way.

"Shut up," She mumbled, "Just shut up."

[amoosarte]

𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐃𝐀𝐃 𝐘 𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐑, 𝐂.𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐙 𝐉𝐑

SUMMARY ! in which Carlos and his wife enjoy their little life in spain with their children but are somewhat a cute family dynamic !

FACECLAIM ! julia.hatchh, TROPE ! long lasting love !

It was no secret that Carlos Sainz Jr. wanted a family of his own. Growing up in a household that held so much love was all he ever wanted in the future. He and his sister were showered with love since well..forever.

Carlos thought of it all the time while holding his wife in his arms every night, in his eyes it would be a long night for him but he wouldn't nag about it. Carlos was a sincere man, he would shush his wife to sleep when she was overstress and tired, massage her hair to caress her to sleep, then hold her while looking at her delicate body.

Carlos would study the women that had catched his heart with just a look. Those brown doe eyes just looking at her like she was the moon, he was looking at her in a way a woman dreamed of. He was utterly in love with her, wishing to be by her side forevermore.

Lana was a woman that was soft spoken, a woman that would praise him for right about everything. She would shower him with love when feeling low. She was his best friend, a woman he could never get tired of.

When the topic of children rose in conversation, Lana became shy. She had admitted she did want a family with Carlos and said it was always a thought in her head. She dreamed of them having his eyes and his way loving. It had almost brought him to tears, twirling her around in excitement.

With that, they were blessed with a baby boy. His name soonly becoming Lorenzo Sainz, most of his uncles calling him 'Enzo'. A boy that look exactly like his mamita, but having his papitos eyes. He was and adored toddler until simply two years later he had his baby sister.

Carolina Sainz was her father's carbon copy with her mamitas eyes, and she was a daddy's girl. Becoming the princess of the Sainz family, with everyone adoring her.

Carlos decided that this would be enough for him, becoming traumatize with his wife pregnancy. Lana would admit both of them were harsh pregnancies but she didn't want to let her husband down.

Now they were a simple family living in spain, somewhere near a part of the ocean. In hacienda spanish style home, where both children live their childhood dreams.

"Caro, linda, estás listo para ir a ver a papi?" Lana said while making her son look presentable. Lorenzo just looked at his mother while she called out for her four year old daughter. "Si mami, me miro bonita?"

Although she looked like her father, she had a bit of her mother witty personality. "Preciosa." Lana smiled at the girl, sitting her down on the bathroom counter. Her silky brown hair were tied into pigtails, making her look absolutely stunning. "yo tambien?" her little boy said.

"guapo." She said before kissing them on their cheeks, staining their brown skin with a lipstick stain. "Listos para mirar ver a papá en su auto de carreras?" Lana smiled sweetly at them, watching them nod furiously.

They left the house on time, driving to see Carlos drive. It was somewhat special since it was a home race but if Carlos was being honest, it was Carolina's first time watching him race in person.

Trust that he told every soul in the paddock, and they loved seeing the spanish driver all excited. Though he wished it was under a better situation, Ferrari didn't extend his contract and he somewhat he needed to focus on landing on the podium.

"Well aren't you excited!" A very well known english accent rand from behind him. "You have no idea." Carlos smiled sincerely at Lando, making the younger boy laugh. "Is our princess coming for the first time today?" Lando was not going to express it but he loved the kids to an extent.

"Yes, and I must land on the podium to celebrate it." Carlos said half serious and half jokingly. Lando rolled his eyes playfully the wishing him luck.

Carlos had entered the Ferrari garage before a squeak called out to him. “Papi!” There she was the golden girl of Ferrari.

"Caro!" Carlos immediately crouch down to embrace his little girl, a large grin spreading like wildfire across his lips. "Papi! Papi! estoy de igualitas con mami!" Carolina let go of him and jumped before spinning around. "Si? Donde esta mami preciosa?" Carlos asked and right on que, Lana walked right in.

She was wearing white sundress with her red ballerina flats, looks gorgeous in his eyes. Then his eyes drifted to his son, cuddled in his mother's arms. Carlos sighed before listing his little girl up into his arms. "Todo bien amor?" Lana asked him, earning a smile from him.

"Se puso mucho mejor desde que te vi entrar.." Carlos kissed while she let out a small laugh. Carlos then felt a small hand push him off his wife, right beside him was his son looking quite annoyed. "¿No te dije que tu mamá no puede te cargar por tanto tiempo?" Carlos told his son who just stuck his tongue out.

"Papi, es tio cha!" Carolina squealed and ran to one of her uncles, who gladly picked her up. "Tioo cha!" Enzo jumped out of his others arms and ran towards his uncle. While the kids were occupied by their uncle and knowing colleagues, Carlos dragged his wife to his arms who gladly embraced him.

"Todo bien amor?" Lana asked yet again but in her soft honey voice, making Carlos melt almost immediately. "Solo estoy nervioso." He mumbled into her ginger hair, she then let go of him and walked towards Charles. "Can you watched them for a minute Charles?" She asked him, making him nod and go towards Alex to introduce the kids to her.

"Amor, no tienes por qué estar nervioso, eres un gran piloto, eres el mejor." Lana cupped his face after entering his driver room, making him relax a bit in her arms. She smiled softly analyzing every adoring feature on him, of course she saw bits of children in him and that made her happy. Carlos would say the exact same thing, he could only be so greatful.

"Dale gana, pero no olvides que te amamos." With that she kissed him on his nose. Carlos had laughed just a bit before lunging in to kiss her properly.

With his wife and kids encouragement, Carlos came out on 2rd, proudly standing at his home podium. With Carolina and Lorenzo screaming happily for their papa. Not missing how they ran towards him after his podium, knocking him to the ground.

What a cute family.

MENTIONS ! @landitolover, @moneygramhaas, @d6za1, @ch3rryknots @louvrepool @thearchieves

𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉, ⟢ more!

[heliads]

i don't want to keep secrets just to keep you

Ever since you were a kid, your older brother Charles Leclerc has made you promise that you'd never date one of his teammates. Carlos Sainz, however, may be a fiercer test of your willpower than any of you imagined.

masterlist

Charles Leclerc is going to be late to the first race of the season, and it’s so his fault. He’s usually so distracted in trying to make sure that you’re going to be on time that he forgets to check in with himself. That’s why you’re currently watching him scramble around the hotel room, desperately shoving stuff in his pockets and trying to regain some semblance of dignity.

“It’s only Bahrain,” you tease him, “how are you this behind already?”

Charles shoots you an infuriated glare, halfway through trying to tug both shoes on at once. “I’m sure this is your fault somehow.”

You roll your eyes. “I trust you to find a reason for that to make sense.”

You’re not fazed by his irritation. Charles is your elder brother of exactly one year, two months, and three weeks, which is, in his decided opinion, more than enough to give him an advantage over you in age and responsibility. Charles has taken it upon himself to watch out for you and Arthur in every way possible, including when either of you visit him at the racetrack.

However, Charles really only has enough room in his brain to worry about one person. In micromanaging you, he’s forgotten to get himself ready in time, thus causing the chaos before you now. You’re not the one to stress this morning, as you won’t be shooting around a track at ungodly speeds, so it’s well within your rights to sit back and laugh as Charles trips over himself in an attempt to still make it to the paddock on time. 

First race and he’s already behind schedule. If only he could use some of that nervous energy to actually be on time the first attempt. He’ll still make it to the race with enough time to spare, but you wouldn’t know that from the way Charles is buzzing behind the wheel, tapping his fingers and mumbling swears whenever the cars in front of him dare to dip below the speed limit.

Eventually, you find yourself in the Ferrari section of the paddock, guided to Charles’ assigned room so he can drop off a bag and grab whatever he needs before heading out again. He adjusts his shirt collar in the mirror, fixing his hair much to your joking derision, and finally declares himself ready to go.

At last, Charles turns to you in the depths of the Ferrari complex, placing his hands on your shoulders like a sports coach about to deliver some life-changing advice. “Y/N, before we go out there, I need you to remember a promise. You swore this to me years ago and I need your word that it isn’t going to change.”

You groan loudly. “Charles, I thought you’d forgotten about that.”

Charles temporarily breaks his stress grip on your shoulders to swat you on the bicep with his right hand. “Absolutely not, are you mad? I want you to promise again. I need to hear it.”

You stare at him. He stares back. “You’re insane,” you tell him.

“Say it,” he replies.

Unfortunately, you kind of knew this was coming. Charles made you promise something like this for the first time back when he was still getting the hang of karting. You’d done something silly like hold hands with one of his friends from his karting team when you were a kid and Charles had flown off the handle. That’s when he’d first come up with the teammate pledge. If you wanted to be there at the race, you had to swear you’d never go out with any of his driving partners, past or present. 

It’s a promise he’d made you continually repeat all throughout Formulas Three and Two, but it’s been a while since you were able to make it to a race due to various life interferences, so you thought he’d forgotten about it or something. It appears that’s far from the case, though. Leave it to Charles to remember something like this.

When it becomes increasingly apparent that neither of you will be going anywhere unless you say the words Charles is yearning to hear, you sigh and give in. “Fine. I solemnly swear that I’m not going to date any of your teammates. I won’t even look at them. I’ll run the second anyone with a Ferrari shirt enters the room.”

Charles rolls his eyes. “Be serious.”

“I am serious!” You protest. “You’re being ridiculous. I’m not going to seduce any of your coworkers.”

Charles gives you a pronounced glare. “I’m quoting you on that.”

Your brother looks as if he’d like nothing more than to lecture you for a little longer on the importance of keeping this promise, but luckily, you’re saved by someone rapping on the door. Charles gives you a cautionary look before calling to the visitor that they can come in.

And what a visitor it is. All thoughts of the previous dispute are erased from your head in a matter of moments. Seeing as you’ve been away from the races for so long, you’ve never gotten a chance to actually meet Charles’ teammate at Ferrari. You’ve seen photos, of course, and certainly stared at them for longer than Charles would approve of, if he ever knew, but something about Carlos Sainz is even better in person.

He peers inside the room and a smile instantly crosses his face at the sight of you. “You must be Charles’ sister, Y/N. I’ve wanted to meet you for a while.”

You grin back at him without even thinking of it. “It was the same with me. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Carlos reaches out to shake your hand, and it might just be your imagination, but you swear he holds it perhaps a little longer than he would Arthur’s or Enzo’s. “Only good things, I hope. If not, I hope to convince you otherwise.”

Charles coughs pointedly from beside the two of you, causing Carlos to drop your hand in a flash. “Are you here for a reason, mate, other than to talk to my sister?”

Carlos nods a little too quickly. “Yes, yes. You’re late, cabrón. PR’s been tearing hospitality apart looking for you. We were supposed to head out twenty minutes ago.”

Charles swears under his breath. “You should have told me that at the start, you asshole. Save whatever that was for later, we have to get out there.”

Charles exasperatedly rushes to the table behind him to grab his phone and a fresh Ferrari cap out of his bag. While he’s distracted, Carlos winks at you, whispering something about how he hadn’t minded the delay. Charles can’t hear it, but he must be able to tell from the expression on your face that something is happening.

“Out of my room,” Charles tells Carlos, “we need to get going. Y/N, you remember how to get to hospitality, right? You can meet up with Arthur and the others.”

You nod and he heads to the door, his teammate already shepherded out into the hall by the sheer force of Charles’ indignant stress. Your brother doubles back a moment later, leaning back into the room to give you one last vexed look.

“You promised,” Charles urges you, raising his finger in warning before hurrying out at last.

You’ve never had a problem keeping the teammate promise before. That being said, you think you might have to fight to maintain your word a little harder than you had before. Carlos is– well, his eyes, his hair, the way that red shirt looks against his skin–

Promises!

You’ll never make one again. Silently, you send up a prayer to anyone inclined to listen. You really don’t want to disappoint your brother, but you might need all the moral strength you can get.

You dutifully make your way to Ferrari hospitality as told, and you make it approximately six minutes through listening to your brother’s friends talk about the strategy and the track and the tire compounds before you cave and ask them what you really want to know. And what about his teammate? What’s Carlos like?

They’re not as paranoid as Charles, so they don’t suspect you. You listen carefully, quietly, to how Carlos has really been improving as of late, how he’s been nothing but a gentleman to all of them, what they wouldn’t give to see him more often than just around the paddock.

In short, it’s everything you’d want to hear. When the lights go out and the cars start streaking around the first corner, you realize that the red flash of engine and machinery you’re watching isn’t your brother, but Carlos instead. And, when the Spaniard ends up on the podium, your heart leaps as if it was someone you had known all your life up there, laughing and shouting and spraying champagne.

He still smells sweet when he visits you later. Carlos should know better. So should you. You smile and congratulate him and he thanks you, says that he knew you were watching the whole time and that’s why the race went so well. He waits until your smile is so warm that you could hardly speak and then he asks you to get a drink or two with him later. Just to talk, you know. Unless, of course, you wanted more.

More is exactly what you want with Carlos, but you’re still here in this room with him because you’re here to cheer on your brother, and your brother is the one who’ll be watching you like a hawk until the end of the night. Alright, Carlos says when you admit this to him, You know, I didn’t take you for someone who just wanted to follow the rules.

He’s going to get you killed. You’re delighted with every bit of him. You tell him as much when you give him your phone number. Carlos grins, presses a kiss to your forehead, and tells you when and where he’ll pick you up. You can still feel the ghost of his lips on your skin even after he leaves, even after your brother takes his place and starts rambling about every lap. You don’t hear a word. All you can think about is the new contact in your phone, the one who texts you as you’re leaving the building:

You looked beautiful today, by the way. In case I forgot to tell you.

So you do have a death wish, then. So does he. You text Carlos all throughout that night and the next, making sure that you are able to tell him how imperative that this remains secret from Charles even as you fall endlessly through compliments and charm and glory. 

You meet up with him relatively soon afterwards, even though to you, it feels like centuries have passed since that first meeting. You are absolutely terrified walking to meet him for the first time, certain that it won’t be half of what you imagined. There is a moment of fear, and then you round the corner and he’s there, holding out flowers for you, and the burden of Atlas himself falls from your shoulders.

And– it’s good. Fuck, it’s good. You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if it wasn’t, but this is something unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. You want to call it love from the first date alone, but you manage to wait a little longer, pushing off the declaration until a few weeks have gone by and he’s kissing you in the shadows of buildings, always running the razor-fine line of being adventurous and getting caught. 

This, you decide, one room down from your brother, Carlos’ hands on your waist, is why you would break the rules. It is all worth stealing; every word, every touch, every moment. You never want it to stop, which of course, means that it must.

You have three glorious months before your golden paradise comes crashing down around you. As time goes on, the two of you feel more and more certain that you won’t get caught. How could you, after all? How could Charles possibly guess? You sneak out of hospitality to meet with Carlos, and he laughs and calls you his little rebel, and everything makes sense in a way it never has before. You trust him to keep you out of trouble even as you drag him further into it. There is no way you could possibly be seen.

And then, when you’re in Carlos’ room and he’s kissing you to say hello and I missed you and you look lovely today, just as always, the door opens. You thought it was locked. You might not even have checked.

It is enough, though. Enough that your brother would be able to walk in and see. Enough that you would feel a terrible fear run like ice water through your veins. Enough for you to know that there would be no chance that he’d let this happen, that Charles would do anything but hate you forever for this.

The look on your brother’s face alone convinces you of that. You’ve had arguments before, in the past, both of you doing things to mess with each other, but never in your life have you ever seen Charles as angry as he is right now. Fury does not even come close to the war radiating from his eyes.

Carlos puts his hands up, tries to step in front of you to deflect some of the blame. “Charles, look, this is my fault. I–”

Charles cuts him off. Carlos usually doesn’t back down to anyone, but you think a raging bull would step aside if Charles was in his path right now. “Don’t. I don’t want to hear it. Y/N, I asked one thing of you. What is this?”

You feel like your heart has stopped beating. A thousand thoughts whir in your head, excuses, pleas for forgiveness, apologies, but nothing comes out. Charles lunges forward, grabbing your arm, pulling you out of the room. Carlos tries to stop the two of you from leaving, but Charles looks him dead in the eyes and tells Carlos he’ll move if he knows what’s good for him. You nod once, mumble that it’s okay, and Carlos steps away at last, watching with a haunted stare as you disappear down the hall.

Charles slams the door of his driver’s room closed behind you. His hands are balled into fists at his sides, breathing heavy as he tries and fails to get himself under control. “I made you promise this a hundred times, Y/N. Don’t date my fucking teammates.”

You’ve never been scared of your brother, but today– Today, you are. You shrink away from him, trying to think of anything to say to make this end. “I’m sorry, Charles. So, so sorry.”

“You’re not,” Charles spits. “If you were, you never would have done this in the first place. I want so little from you, and you can’t even do this?”

Hot tears threaten to choke you out, but when you finally manage to get your breath back, the sadness starts to creep away, replaced instead by embittered fury. Who is he to speak to you like this? No brother should treat his family with the hatred he throws at you now.

“You never should have asked me that in the first place. I can do what I want, I’m an adult.”

Charles scoffs. “You’re not acting like one right now. There are so many other men in the world, but no, you had to go behind my back like this. You’ll stay away from him, you understand?”

You feel like screaming. “Stop trying to police what I do! You can’t tell me what to do with my life, you’re not my father!”

“I know!” Charles says, furious, “I know, none of us are. He’s not here anymore, it’s just me trying to look out for you and you won’t even let me do that. Every time I try to do something, you find a way to get around it. God, you make knowing you so damned difficult.”

The room becomes icily silent. Charles’ eyes are wide and scared. You don’t think he meant to say that, but he did, and there is no going back from it now.

“Alright, then,” you reply as calmly as you can, “I’ll fix that for you, then. You don’t have to handle me anymore.”

Charles sucks in a breath. “Wait, Y/N–”

You don’t let him finish, already to the door before he can even complete the last syllable of your name. It slams behind you, making you flinch. You don’t know what you’d say if you saw him again, but you still walk slowly to the elevator, then wait five minutes by the button, just in case he comes after you. He doesn’t. The hall is dark and cold, just like the streets outside when you finally gather up the last pitiful scraps of your pride and leave.

You don’t go to any more races after that. You stay at home and go about your normal business and pretend that nothing is the matter even though everything is. You don’t answer when Charles texts you later, or when he calls, or when the attempts to reach you eventually fall away to nothingness. Carlos tries to contact you as well, but you doubt he wants to stay with you after that explosion with Charles, so you do him a favor and ignore him too. 

He’ll thank you for it later, maybe, if he even remembers you at all. Formula One drivers are a big deal around the world. You wouldn’t be surprised if Carlos forgets you over a supermodel or twelve, even if it would stab you through the heart to see a paparazzi photo of him with any other girl.

You don’t talk to anyone, actually, no one except your friends, and they know enough to not ask a single question. You don’t see any of your family, certain that they’d be on Charles’ side. You don’t want any more lectures, so it’s easier to just pretend like it’s just you against the world. That’s what you tell yourself, at least. You have been known to lie before.

You last a few months before your facade starts to crack. No matter how well luck runs in your favor, how many new friends you make, nothing compares to what you’d had before. You find yourself staying up at night just waiting for a call so you can ignore it, or wake from a dream in which someone was there, talking to you, when you’d never dare so much as look at them now.

It’s not enough. Of course it isn’t. You had everything you could have possibly wanted— boyfriend and brother, both Ferrari drivers, your family happy that you were showing up to more races and the love of your life thrilled to see you each and every time— so how could none of that ever be enough? It never will be. You could spend a thousand lifetimes in this terrible empty resolution and still not be satisfied, not when you remember how you used to have it all not so long ago. 

You’re not sure how long you could have lasted like this. Perhaps you could have stuck to it forever, a grudge grown inside you like the roots of an evergreen, but it would have choked you out before long. Something intervenes, though. Someone, to be specific. Someone like your other brother, the younger one.

Arthur calls you. Frames it under the guise of wanting advice for an upcoming trip, but he finds a way to sneak discussion of Charles in there when your guard is down. He says Charles regrets it. You don’t believe him until an envelope shows up on your doorstep four days later containing plane tickets to the city of the next Formula One race. Addressed from your estranged brother. Including a note that says, Sorry. And, C.L.

Nothing more. The paper practically tears from the weight of you folding it and unfolding it in your hands. It seems to have aged centuries by the time you get off of the plane, stepping down in foreign territory both in terms of the new stamp you’ll get to add to your passport and the uneasy feeling resting in your chest when Charles texts you the number of the hotel room he bought you and his as well. Just in case, you know, you maybe wanted to talk.

You take the flight and you go to the hotel and you bring all of your suitcases and misguided hopes to sit along with you. It’s dark out when you finally manage to get up the courage to lock your door and go to Charles’ room instead. He gets back from media duties around this time, you’re sure he would be there if you just knocked. If you just tried.

The problem is how to make it last. You stand in front of his door, shaking, and then you raise your hand and rap once against the wood. It’s quiet enough that you could leave if he didn’t hear you, having done your job of attempting to reach him.

Charles hears you, though. The unhappy thought occurs to you that he’s probably been waiting for this and dreading it just as much as you. Your knuckles have barely left the smooth surface of the door before you hear the sound of footsteps on carpet, and then he’s undoing the latch and your brother is there again.

You hover for a moment, not sure what to do. Is he mad still? Couldn’t be, if he went to the expense of flying you out here. Does he expect you to apologize?

Instead of anything like that, Charles surges forward, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. He hasn’t hugged you like this in a while, even before the fight. It’s like you’re kids again, and Charles has just won a karting round and he’s still small enough that having his sister there isn’t an embarrassment but a source of pride.

Something hot spikes through your throat, but you swallow it back and hug him, too. This is your brother. Even after a fight, he’s your family. The two of you have been trying your hardest to forget that, but he is.

Charles disengages himself soon enough to gesture you into the room. You take a careful seat on one of the available chairs and Charles sinks down onto a sofa, head propped up on hands on knees.

“I’m not sorry,” you blurt out. It’s stupid, you probably should have at least said something to clear the air before starting with that, but you want him to know what he’s getting himself into.

Even weeks after the incident, when the anger burned off and you just felt sad and alone, you still never felt regret for dating Carlos. You loved him. Still do, actually. You would have done it all over again if given the chance. If your temporary surrender with Charles is based on the lie that you’ll repent for having the audacity to fall in love, it would never last long anyway. Better to get it over with now.

Charles chuckles. “Yes, I had guessed that. Joris told me I was being stupid.”

You snort in disbelief before you can stop yourself. “You told Joris?”

Charles shrugs wildly. “Who else was I supposed to complain to, Carlos? Both Arthur and Enzo told me it was my fault and I wanted someone to agree with me.”

You fold your arms across your chest. “Maybe you should have taken that as a sign that I was right and you weren’t.”

Charles groans, but he’s not mad. Not anymore. Neither of you are, actually. “Well, that’s why you’re here, obviously. I was– I was stupid. I can’t control you. You’re not a kid anymore. Just, Y/N– Carlos?”

He says the last part in a desperate plea, practically beseeching you to come to your senses. You laugh, unable to stay serious when Charles looks so horrified. “Let me live, Charles. He was worth it.”

“I assumed,” Charles says darkly, then, “Does this mean I get to date one of your friends? If you say no, you are a hypocrite.”

You roll your eyes. “They wouldn’t want you. I’ve warned them off of drivers.”

Charles protests that, but weakly. The two of you are giggling like nothing had happened, which, although infinitely preferable to fighting, confuses you more than anything. Is this it, then? Is the fight over? So many months of separation, and it’s done without hardly even being debated?

You eye your brother cautiously once his laughter subsides. “You’re really okay with it, then? I mean, you were so mad when you found out.”

Charles winces at the memory. “I was caught by surprise. I was angry, yes, but it shouldn’t have been that much. I knew I fucked up when you left. I told myself that it was more important that you come back.”

It’s what you had felt as well. After your father died– well, there are only so many of us. You learn that family is worth more than argument. Charles has been quick to forgive ever since then. It is easy to be lonely when you are far from home and there is nobody left who knows you.

You nod, accepting this. If Charles has made his peace, then– well, you would be lying if you said you had come to this race just to see your brother. “And– Carlos, is he–”

“I don’t know,” Charles answers evenly. “I haven’t seen a lot of him. I have no idea if he is angry or unhappy or anything. We’re nice on camera because PR makes us, but we’ve avoided each other a lot.”

Your face must betray your apprehension, because Charles waves a hand at you. “Don’t worry about it, though. I’m sure he still thinks you’re sweet. He did tell me off for a long time when you left. He would not have done that if it was nothing. If you want to see him again, I am sure he would be okay with it.”

You laugh bitterly. “It’s been months, Charles. I don’t know if he even wants to look at me anymore, let alone date me again.”

Charles shakes his head. “What do you lose by going? Besides, now that I am invested in it, I want this to pay off. I did not spend money for your flight over here just for you to get ghosted.”

You toss a pillow at his head. Charles deflects it with ease and points towards his door. “He is out there, target him and not me! Now go already, I want to stop moping around. Maman says it is terrible for the constitution.”

You laugh and head for the door, pausing slightly over the threshold when you realize that you actually have no idea where Carlos is at all. You could, of course, just wait until the next day when you can see him at Ferrari hospitality, but you do not want to waste another moment when you’ve already gone so long without him.

A voice over your shoulder quells your worrying. “He’s in room 519.”

You shoot Charles a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

He nods, and you’re off, barely stopping long enough to close the door behind you before hurrying down the corridor once more.

You’re already on the fifth floor, which makes sense; Ferrari puts their drivers somewhat close to each other so they can help each other back if they’ve gotten a little too hammered after a long night out. You take two turns and then you’re there, 519. The end of the line. Your own personal fate.

You thought you would be more afraid to face Charles than Carlos, but for some reason now you feel as if you can hardly move at all. You have to force your hand to form a fist and rap against the wood, but your heart is hammering in your chest all the while.

For a brief, terrible moment, you entertain the notion that Carlos will not come to the door but someone else, a woman perhaps, halfway undressed or something horrendous like that. Instead, it’s him, just him, and you feel like your heart might burst out of your chest.

Carlos looks at you, dark eyes wide. He hasn’t seen you since the fight, and you were so afraid of everything that you didn’t respond to a single message or call. Still, you are standing in front of him now, so surely that must count for something.

“I forgave him,” you say, voice echoing in the stillness between you, “Charles.”

Carlos lets out this slow breath, and you’re debating whether it’s laced with disappointment or indifference or maybe something else, something better, the thoughts racing through your head at record time right up until he kisses you. And then– well, then you don’t have to worry anymore. You know. You know everything.

“I was waiting,” he murmurs against the top of your head, unwilling to pull away more than a centimeter or two even for a lack of breath, “I thought you might have thought we weren’t worth the risk.”

You shake your head indignantly. “No, never. I was scared, that’s all. I’m sorry.”

Carlos leans away just slightly, enough that you can see the playful smile on his face as he traces the curve of your cheekbone. “My little rulebreaker, scared? Couldn’t be.”

You laugh, let him pull you into his room and shut the door. No one in the world needs to know the thousand ways you make it up to each other, how you make a new promise to him as a crescent moon snakes further up the sky:  you will never let a single thing get in between the two of you again. The stars soften, dawn colors the morning sky, and you, you have happiness beyond compare.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy

[f1cflcfic]

Just Because I Called You (Carlos Sainz) - part iii

pairing: carlos sainz jr x fem!reader

summary: y/n knows there's a reason for his contact details to be saved under 'do not interact', but one call does not mean you miss him.

genre: written au, brief 18+ content, angst

wordcount: 3.2k

note: this is RPF and is obviously in no way, shape, or form reflective of real persons

previous parts available here.

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This isn’t happening.

It must be a dream, or a nightmare – you’re not entirely sure yet.

Carlos is outside. Has been outside for about two minutes now, if the delivery notification of his message is anything to go by.

Suddenly, that earlier idea of having a fifth martini and shot at the bar seems like a very bad one. In fact, you’re quite certain you wholeheartedly regret them when you stand up and have to immediately grip the back of the chair so as to not fall over. For a brief moment, you consider leaving through the back alley – but then you realise that it really doesn’t make a difference.

Carlos is already here, waiting.

It’s easy to lie to yourself, and pretend that it’s just the alcohol that’s making you feel lightheaded, as you make your way over to the podium once your team is crowned the winner of this month’s pubquiz. It’s easy to pretend that the air feels electric just because you’ve won, and you’re only looking out into the crowd to cheer your victory. It’s easy to pretend that you’re just tired and drunk, and that’s why you’re leaving so soon.

It’s too easy to spot Carlos hiding in the shadows of the pub, and follow him out to his unassuming Golf amidst all the opulence in Monaco, and slip into it like you still belong.

The alcohol has left you a little uncoordinated, and struggling with the seatbelt. On your fourth attempt, Carlos’ large hand reaches out and stills your movements. The ache in you grows a little bigger as you quietly watch him buckle you in, and you try not to focus on the heat his fingers leave behind on your skin.

Desperate not to somehow ruin the precarious peace – or the calm before the storm, your eyes flit across his car. There’s the chilli charm and your housekey, still dangling against the dash. And there’s the stuffy in the back, resembling Carlos’ family dog.

Everything looks the same as it always did.

It’s comforting and awful all at once.

“Smartinis. I like that one,” he murmurs with a soft smile, but you refuse to look at him. Won’t acknowledge that the way it rolls off his tongue is exactly the way in which you’ve been waiting to hear the team name spoken all night.

The problem is that you really do not trust your tongue around him, especially not when it’s already been loosened by alcohol. This cannot end up like that night ten days ago. No matter how much some part of you might want it to.

“What’d you win?”

When he doesn’t start the car immediately, clearly waiting for a response of sorts,  you sigh, fogging up a tiny part of the window your head is resting on. “Restaurant voucher.”

“Oh,” he nods to himself, and you can feel his eyes boring into the back of your head as you meticulously draw a martini glass. “That’s nice.”

It feels awkward and uncomfortable, as the stifling silence descends on you once more. Someone walks past his car, and you wonder what it is exactly that he’s waiting for. Thanks? Acknowledgment? Forgiveness? Answers?

The thought alone has you shaking your head. There’s quite some answers that you’d like from him, instead.

Curiosity wins in the end. “How’d you know where I was?”

“Your location – you never turned it off,” he answers, guilt creeping into his voice as if he hadn’t wanted to admit that particular secret. You can’t help yourself as you turn over in surprise, knowing full well that you’ll find his brown eyes already staring back at you. There’s a whirlpool of emotions in them, and it hurts more than it should, knowing that you’ve inadvertently caused it.

His hand is resting on the console between your seats, and you fight the urge to grab onto it. To seek comfort in his touch, and provide some in return. Instead, you purse your lips and nod to yourself.

“And my sister,” he adds all of a sudden, as if he can’t stand the idea of not spilling his guts to you fully, completely.

You wish he’d done so earlier.

“She – she texted you were drunk, said you were upset. That someone had tried to come on to you.”

His hand leaves the console, and you follow the movement with your eyes as he runs his fingers through his hair. “I know it’s not my place, but I just wanted to make sure you were safe. And then when you didn’t reply, I just – I’m sorry. Joder.”  

It shouldn’t make you feel warm inside. Of course he cares. Carlos, for all his faults, is a good man. One who cares about his sisters. If his sister had implied you needed him, of course he’d come running.

It doesn’t mean anything else, you tell yourself. He hadn’t called, just because. Hadn’t reached out because he’d been missing you. He wouldn’t call for something so silly. He’d called, because his sister had made him feel like he needed to assuage her concerns. That’s all.

When you still don’t respond, he sighs and starts the ignition. But what is it that you even want to say? How can you possibly make sense of your alcohol-infused thoughts?

“He shouldn’t have texted you back,” you settle on. You’re still afraid of looking at him directly, of just how easily your carefully constructed walls would all but implode. Instead, you fixate on the way in which he holds the steering wheel, and how he clenches it just so when you speak. You’ve always known Carlos to be a relaxed driver, and his tight grip is so unlike him, that your eyes shoot up to gage his expression before you’ve even realised. Where he’d been looking at you earlier, he’s focusing on the road now.

“It’s okay ne- I mean. We’re not,” he struggles, as if for a loss of words. “We’re not together anymore.”

You nod, biting your lip. The shoot of pain blooming from your lips distracts from how much it hurts to hear it put so bluntly. To watch Carlos’ tight expression as he says it. It doesn’t feel as liberating as you’d hoped, instead an ugly sense of disappointment coming to the surface.

“Still. You’re not his to text,” you insist. Neither is he yours – not anymore, your brain helpfully provides. It’s Carlos’ turn to remain quiet, the silence feeling all but suffocating.

“Besides, I’m not dating Dean. Or anyone. But especially not him. He’s my colleague – the one your sister mentioned,” you blurt, as if compelled. Maybe it’s a sick need to break the silence, break the tension, a pathetic attempt to reach out. Or maybe it’s the liquid courage, you reason.

When Carlos doesn’t say anything, just briefly looks over with soft eyes and a stubble you’d really love to feel scratch against your skin again, you can’t help but continue.

“Would she have texted you, if she’d known?”

He tenses again, fingers flexing on the wheel. When he doesn’t respond, you try again – asking the question you’ve been dancing around.

“Carlos. Why didn’t you tell your sister about us?”

“Why didn’t you?” He parries, and you frown. It’s the coward’s way out. It’s exactly what had caused you to end up like this, sitting in the same car but feeling miles away apart from each other.

“Don’t do that,” you whisper. “Don’t fucking turn it around on me. It’s your family.”

“I wanted them to be yours, too.”

It’s said so quietly, you almost miss it. Panic unfurls in your chest at the insinuation. Hadn’t this been exactly what you’d been so afraid of?

“It’s not easy, you know? Trying to figure out what happened, and coming to terms with that, and then telling them,” he starts again. “I wanted – I didn’t want this either.”

“So then why you’d come at all,” you snap, tears welling up in your eyes. Whether out of frustration, heartbreak, or alcohol, you can’t even tell. Clarity. You’d kill for some fucking clarity. The question is if Carlos Sainz Junior is the person who can even grant it.

“Because I lo-care, Y/N. And I know you do, too. You could’ve told me to go. Could’ve chosen to stay and ignore me. But you didn’t. And that means something. At least it does to me,” he sounds upset, accent getting thicker as he speaks.

As the car winds down the Monaco roads, creeping closer and closer to your apartment building, it hits you. What if he runs out of road? If there’s nowhere else to go? What happens when time runs out on you to have this conversation? It terrifies you – imagining a future with, or without Carlos. It’s equally frightening, and therein lies the problem, doesn’t it?

“So then why’d you leave? You could’ve stayed. The other day when we – well,” your voice cracks, and you hate it. Hate how vulnerable he makes you feel, even now. Even when you’ve done everything you could to protect and arm yourself. It’s still led you back to this.

One of his hands slips from the steering wheel, reaches out as if driven by instinct, before retreating to a neutral spot on the console instead. He mutters something under his breath, then sighs in resignation.

“Don’t ask me questions you don’t really want to hear the answer to.”

The biting remark almost makes you flinch, but it’s a sudden yet violent wave of nausea that actually does you in. With one hand pressed to your mouth, you desperately reach out to find purchase on Carlos’ arm.

You try to breathe in and out through your nose, suppressing the urge to gag. He pulls over to the side of the road, and within seconds he’s at your side. “It’s okay nena, take a deep breath, there you go.”

It’s probably one of the most embarrassing moments in your life – dry-heaving on the highway, in the middle of the night, with your ex there to witness it all. Consoling you, offering you a bottle of water when inevitably you do throw up the contents of that evening.

“I’m so- fuck, so sorry,” you take another gulp of water, and dab at your mouth with the tissue Carlos hands you next. Refusing eye contact, you slide down to sit on the gravel, leaning against the car.

He sits down next to you, just close enough for your shoulders to brush, but doesn’t say anything.

“I almost threw up in your Golf.”

“It could’ve been my Ferrari,” he tries to lighten the mood, but instead you let out a strangled laugh that turns into a hiccup as the first tear rolls down your cheek.

“Weirdly, I think I wouldn’t feel as bad. Your parents bought you this car – I know you love it the most.” Another tear follows, dropping onto your shirt. “And I almost ruined it. As usual.”

Carlos stiffens next to you. “And now I’m crying. Shit. I’m sorry Carlos, I think I just – I need to go home. Sleep it off.”

You push the palms of your hands into your eyes, hoping to rub away the tears and keep new ones from falling. It doesn’t work, because tan fingers encircle your wrists to pull them away from your face.

He cradles your hands in his lap, then gently dips his head down so there’s nowhere to hide from him. It leaves you feeling incredibly bare.

“You didn’t ruin it. And I don’t love it the most,” there’s nothing but conviction in his eyes when he catches your gaze. Except, when you get sidetracked by the way his eyelashes fan across his cheeks, you see a flicker of something else. Hesitation.

The air feels charged, as if you’re both waiting on the precipice of something. You’re acutely aware of the way his hands tighten briefly around your own, how his shoulder nudges yours, and how his chest rises and falls just slightly quicker than usual.

Desperate to break the tension, and feeling entirely too close to losing it completely, you try and claw back what little control you have over the situation.  

“I don’t think I’ll puke anymore,” you whisper. It should make him recoil, should make him want to back away. But instead, Carlos tries to hide a smile before pressing a brief kiss on your forehead. As he pulls back, his eyes flicker to your lips, and almost on instinct, you tilt your head upward.

He swallows, voice dragging as his tongue darts out to lick his lips. “I – let me get you home.”

You nod, but make no move to get up or disentangle yourself from him. Carlos does it for you, slowly severing the connection as he stands up and pulls away.

The drive home isn’t far anymore, and within fifteen minutes, the car comes to a standstill again. You’ve spent it in silence, taking small sips of water every once in a while as you tried to gather your thoughts. Not that you’ve made much progress on that front. You’re still as confused, wondering exactly why it is that you keep rubbing at your ribs – as if there’s some physical pain you can just magic away.

“We’re here,” Carlos breaks first. He looks over at you, an unspoken question hanging in the air.

You know it’s dumb, that it’s you falling in exactly the same trap as you did ten days ago. But just like that, he’s quietly following you out the car and into the building.

The elevator ride sees you ignore his presence, but you feel the heat emanate from his body as he hovers behind you and presses the button to your floor.

When you unlock the door, Carlos steps inside before you do. “Let me help you,” he offers as explanation. Before you can even realise what he means, he’s bending down, unlacing your shoes and motioning for you to use him for balance as you step out of them.

“You want to shower?” He asks next, and you find yourself nodding dumbfounded.

He toes off his own shoes quickly, hangs your coat in the coatrack and disappears down the hallway. When he returns, holding a towel and your favorite showergel, you follow him into the bathroom. Carlos helps you undress, and it’s soft in a way you can’t quite understand. Can’t fully grasp what’s happening between the two of you now. Why he’s here, why he’s being so kind, why he’s taking care of you – when you’ve done nothing but push him away.

He motions for you to step under the shower, and you’ve never felt more confused when he makes to turn away. So you find yourself asking if he’ll join you.

“Just – could you wash my hair? It’s all knotted.” It’s a flimsy excuse, and you both know it. But he relents, anyways. Gives in, like he always does – like you’d hoped he’d do. His eyes lock on yours as he strips off his clothes, before joining you.

It’s not sexual, but it feels intimate and right for all the wrong reasons, you tell yourself. Carlos’ hands move through your hair, scratching just so at your scalp that you can’t help but moan.

His breath hitches, and when you return the favour, letting your fingers linger at the nape of his neck, it’s as if there’s a coil spring between the two of you, ready to snap.

Once the water’s shut off, and Carlos steps away to grab your towel, you step up right behind him. Even though he turns around in surprise, he doesn’t say anything. Waits for your cue, as he slowly drags the towel down your shoulders and back. A small collection of water drops runs in rivulets down his chest, getting tangled in the chest hair he’s yet to shave off. You flick your gaze up at Carlos’ eyes, molten chocolate staring back at you. The coil snaps. Without breaking eye-contact, you step even closer and can feel his arousal as you move to kiss the water away.

It all goes downhill quick after that.

Thirty minutes later, you’re staring up at the ceiling from where you’re lying side by side on your bed. Your hair’s still damp, sticking to your neck.

Silence descends, uncomfortably stifling the room.

“We shouldn’t have done that. I can’t – this is no good.” His words are like a punch to the gut. Because he sounds broken, and regretful, and yearning all at the same time. And you can’t handle it. Because you know he’s right. This isn’t healthy.

“How did we end up like this?” You ask quietly instead, carefully keeping your gaze fixed on the LEGO flowers that adorn your dresser. You probably should’ve gotten rid of those, too. Thank God your friends don’t know that it was Carlos who got them for you, and who you spent an entire afternoon with arranging LEGO bouquets.

“You ended things,” Carlos unhelpfully reminds you. His tone is unusually sharp, even though you can tell he’s trying not to show it. It hurts to know you brought that out of him, but it’s also exactly why you did it in the first place – end things.

Love shouldn’t hurt, not like this.

So it isn’t love, is what you’ve been telling yourself. It can’t be. Because you won’t allow it. But that doesn’t keep your treacherous heart from wanting it all the same.

“Would you have called, if your sister hadn’t texted?”  Do you miss me?

“You don’t want to hear that, Y/N.”

“Humor me,” you plead.

“Of course. I miss you. I miss you all the time.” It sounds anguished, and strangled as the words leave his mouth. You close your eyes, and take another breath.

Maybe there’s still a sliver of liquid courage swimming through your veins, or maybe it’s the post-orgasmic haze that lets the words slip by your usual defences. But you find yourself unable to stop them from coming out your mouth this time. “Then how is it that you are so competitive on track, but you wouldn’t fight for us? For me?”

You hate how small and vulnerable you sound, or how your throat feels thick all of a sudden. Stupid, stupid girl. Hasn’t he told you? Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.

If Carlos is surprised by your sudden mood change, he doesn’t say. Instead, his fingers curl around your own, squeezing them briefly.

“I don’t want my relationship to be defined by competition. Love should be freely given, no?”

You’re quiet, trying to compute what he’s saying. You’ve never thought of it that way. Before you can object, he continues on. “And I’m here. I’m always here. Even when you don’t want me to. You can push me away, but it won’t change – I cannot change it.”

“Except for when you have to leave,” you whisper unhelpfully. He rolls onto his side and stares at you. It’s hard to make out his expression in the dark when you inevitably cave and turn around as well, focusing on where you know his face to be.

“Just because I have to, doesn’t mean I want to. But I won’t ask you for something you’re not willing to give.”

When you don't answer, he sighs. The bed dips, and while part of you would love nothing more than to latch onto him and keep him close - there's the part of you that's so afraid of what it might mean to do so, that lets him go.

Five minutes later, he's out the door.

It's not until the next morning that you realise his hoodie's gone too.

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚

Let me know what you think <3 Likes, comments, reblogs, asks are all appreciated.

Read part iv here.

want to be added to the taglist? send me an ask!

[macybeckham7]

“Make sure to come back to me, okay?” with F1 driver

You were a complete bag of nerves every time your boyfriend was on the track, whether it was for qualifying, sprints or the race, you couldn’t stop shaking until he was out of the car with his helmet off. Which was why you tried to stay out of his way, because you didn’t want to rub your emotions off on him. Before he gets his helmet on, he runs over to you and wraps his arms around you, giving you a kiss and always making a plan after the race. ‘Make sure to come back to me, okay?’ you say looking deep into hid eyes. He nods and tells you that it’ll be fine. He kisses the knuckles on your hand, you watch as he walks back to his car on the grid, you take a deep breath as you watch as he climbs in and gets himself comfortable. You whispering to yourself, telling yourself that everything is going to be fine and he always does come back.

[ilyasorokinn]

my lover ― carlos sainz

note, this is my first f1 piece, so what better way to join the f1 community on here than to write about my bestie bf mr. smooth operator. anyways, i'm mixing my two loves, taylor swift and f1 together for this. also, i made my first twitter edit and i had fun, so expect more coming soon. another note, i haven't been to the eras tour yet (seeing ms. swift in august :)), so this might be inaccurate. i don't want to watch videos because i see tons of tiktok and i want to least be a little surprised, so this is how i imagine it going :) summary, carlos and y/n go to a taylor swift concert where he has some tricks up his sleeve. warnings, mentions of sc**ter br*un (*barf emoji) word count, 643 words (a shorty but a goodie)

with races happening so frequently, you were worried you wouldn't be able to see taylor swift, but carlos made time. he cleared his schedule for 48 hours so you two could enjoy yourselves.

"carlos," you passed, your eyes widening as you took in the stage you had only seen in pictures.

carlos couldn't help but smile as he watched you take everything in. you had worked hard to get the tickets for the show and he was just happy to tag along and be your photographer and videographer for the night.

you were wearing a replica of one of her outfits while carlos wore a basic black shirt with a scooter on it but it was crossed out. when you first showed him, he was confused.

"why don't we like scooters?" he asked. you laughed and explained the story of scooter.

"carlos sainz?" you heard a couple of fans gasp as they noticed who was sitting next to them.

carlos smiled, giving them his full attention as she talked to him, then posed for pictures, "hey, can i ask you for a favor?" he stopped them before they went back to their conversation.

"of course!" the girls were freaking out. carlos sainz was talking to them!

"during lover," they knew automatically what his question was and they both melted, "i was planning on proposing to y/n." he whispered, glancing back at you, but you were already deep in conversation with the girls next to you and trading your friendship bracelets.

"do you think you could record it?"

"of course! oh, my gosh!" they gasped and carlos chuckled, "early congratulations."

"well, she hasn't said yes yet." he scratched the back of his neck.

"she will." the girl nodded.

carlos thanked them again before turning back to you. your arms were now covered in beaded friendship bracelets and he was confused about how it had happened.

"how did that happen?'

"well, i'm just very popular i guess." you shrugged, "look, this one's my favorite." you showed him your favorite one.

"beautiful, amor." he beamed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and kissing your head.

as the clock ticked down, you had gravitated from your seat up into a standing position. once the clock was at 0, you were screaming with everyone else.

lover was the first album of the songs she sang in the setlist, so the girls sitting next to you were ready to record the second lover started.

carlos could feel his heartbeat begin to pick up as the first notes of lover started. he felt around his pocket for the ring box and let out a breath when he found it.

"you okay?" you asked, glancing from him then back to the stage, afraid to miss anything.

"yeah." he nodded, swallowing hard for a second before looking you in the eyes, "i love you."

"i love you, too." you smiled.

"and i don't want to say much because this love explains everything i feel for you. i would love to do life with you and i hope you say "yes" to the question i'm about to ask." he pulled the ring out of pocket and the girls filming squealed, garnering the attention of everyone around you and they all whipped out this phones and squealed.

"will you marry me?" he asked, bending down and opening the box.

you covered your mouth in shock as your brain tried to catch up to what was going on in front of you, "carlos, oh, my god, yes! of course!" you bent down and cupped his face, kissing him.

everyone around your squealed, jumping up and down excitedly. he pulled away and slid the ring onto your finger, "you big romantic." you gasped, punching him jokingly in the shoulder.

"only for you." he kissed you again, hugging you as taylor continued to serenade you with music.

+ this :)

my taglist: @2manytabsopen @europeanpuck @bitchinbarzal @cinnamoncowboy @silverstonesainz @hotgirlhockey @barzysreputation

add yourself to my taglist!

[f1amboyant]

I get when people say that carlos is an alpha and dom yadda yadda, but that man is also a baby girl and potentially a sub who pretty much has a mysterious skill where every tp and teammates that he works with falls into his trap.

Sub/Bottom Carlos has a tight hold on my freakin neck, im a truther always.

You are absolutely right, anon. And I think my work can speak for itself: I adore sub/bottom Carlos.

I wrote omega!Carlos in The worst Alpha and its sequel and here too. Sub!Carlos is truly the best, he has the big wet pleading eyes that go with it (even with a blindfold on). So yep, I love bottom!Carlos 😍

I can't wait to see him make another teammate, team principal and entire team fall into his trap 🤭

Send me more sub/bottom Carlos thoughts, if you want. I always love them ✨

[sainzluv]

" you're so pretty, it hurts. "

pairing: carlos sainz jr. x reader

summary: carlos is laying on his head-- his eyes shut as he let's out small snores, but you just lay there, taking in his beauty and reminiscing all the special moments you've both shared with eachother.

a/n: very short?? but worth it ig. hope you enjoy the read. NOT PROOFREAD BTW

you were mesmerized by carlos' beauty. how could someone be so pretty?, you'd wonder each time you saw him, you'd wonder how you could bag such a hansome man-- not to mention, a handsome man that competes in formula 1. you were only just a journalist who lost her way around, but then he, he helped you. you remember how he was so respectful, so gentle, and so damn sweet. he talked to you in such a fragile voice as if you'd break if he talked any louder, in such a venomous sweet voice. you think you fell inlove with him right then and there. you remember how he was nervously fumbling with his hands while asking for your number, he tried his best to not stutter, but he still did, not that you mind it though, you find it quite cute. and now here you are, with carlos laying his head on your chest and letting out slow snores that sent vibrations among your body, while you massaged his scalp, taking in his mesmerizing features. his doe-shaped eyes, plump lips that were coated with your lip balm that he attempted to steal, fluffy hair that you definitely need the routine of, his built biceps that hugged your sides, oh and whatnot. everything about him made him look godly. and what made him even more godly, was his behavior around you. he is so respectful of your boundaries, has the best humour, so fucking gentle, teasing and caring in just the right ratio that makes your mouth water. you remember he invited you over to his house for the first date, you remember it as clear as day-- when he almost accidentally burnt his kitchen down in an attempt to make gourmet spaghetti for you, he was still learning, but he tried, and that's what matters. you remember how even you were struggling to make the spaghetti but after a few youtube tutorials, you both were almost michelin star chefs. you remember how reluctant you were about revealing your relationship with carlos to the public, he didn't push you, but managed to make you feel reassured of the fact that everyone will love you, and if they don't, that's their problem, and he'd protect you from each and every threat. you were surprised at everyone's reaction when they learned about you and carlos-- some fans even predicted you both together? were you both that obvious? but either way, you're happy with the things turned out. you think you can find yourself falling for carlos in each lifetime.

[tetoshairline]

10:08 pm.

Yas Marina Karting reception. It was fucking chaotic. From Carlos' F1 team garage to his immediate personal Team 55. That's all anyone needed to know it was pure chaos.

You watched with the biggest smile, laughing away as you watched Pierluigi pull Roberto away from the computer.

"Okay! Okay." You see Roberto finally giving up, Pier releasing him in succession.

You barely gave your screen a look before you caught his gaze. The mischievousness was there. Your eyes widened at the realization.

Roberto barely had a few steps to cover before the two of you were wrestling one another.

"No! Leave mine alone!" You laughed out as you pushed against the man.

Roberto couldn't help letting out a laugh as he pushed you in an attempt to take your place.

You can hear Carlos and Pier laughing whilst jokingly reprimanding him.

Surprisingly, you managed to tap on the screen before he could get a swipe - but then it was placing your photo to which Roberto made sure to squeeze your cheeks, making your lips pop up. He made sure to squeeze his face into the frame, his cheek against his hand that was holding yours, eyes wide as he made a face.

He finally released you, making you laugh in disbelief.

And out of affection, the man pulled you into a hug by your shoulders, pulling you in. Your hands held his arms for a moment, the two of you briefly stumbling before catching yourselves. The laughter never died. The teasing never died even as you all made it to kart together as a team. From bumping and stunting each other's races for fun to Roberto defending you like crazy on track. He was ready to risk it all to push himself and Pier out for getting too close.

Karting days were never not chaotic.

[areaderinlove]

F1 gossip

yo guys is it true that Carlos and isa broke up and now we are not sure if he’s dating a girl named mia model or another named Rebecca also a model

[verstappensrealwife]

POV: you’re ovulating… - F1 TEXT AU

[f1 masterlist / f1 text au masterlist]

ʚɞ in which... the reader is ovulating.

ʚɞ containing: ln4, fa14, cl16, ls18, mv33, fc43, lh44, cs55, op81

ʚɞ warnings: alot of sex talk.

-

Cringing myself out :)

[rex-rambles]

➤ LIAR, LIAR, CAR ON FIRE (F1 TEXTS)

summary: you ask the f1 grid for help in trashing your ex's car

featuring: max verstappen, daniel ricciardo, oscar piastri, lando norris, carlos sainz and charles leclerc

warnings: car violence (?) please do not follow any of this advice! for obvious reasons! mentions of getting cheated on (not by the drivers)

➤ MASTERLIST - Part Two!

a/n: I had to search the most questionable things for this, but on the plus side? i can live up to my full country music revenge potential (if you saw this posted twice no you didn't 🫶)

[amoosarte]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘, 𝐂.𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐙 𝐉𝐑

SUMMARY ! in which I give you little headcanons on our beloved spaniard, who ferrari doesn't deserve, and drive you insane.

WARNINGS ! +18,kinks, dirty talk, public sex mention, degradation, trust me it gets bewildering, the use of spanish, and just sexual words !

The way, Carlos could just roll over in your bed and just feel you there, laying just by his side. He could feel you sigh in relief when he wraps his arms around you, then a light moan when he pulls you on to his side of the bed. "Amor, por qué siempre estás tan lejos de mí… come over here.." Yet you just curl into a small ball just as his hands are just wrapped around your waist. 

The way, Carlos can feel you squeeze him so hard as he muttered solo cosas inútiles in your ears. Feeling your nude, naked body jolt into him, making him feel so proud of himself. "Qué bonita, mi niña bonita, tomándome como la reina que es, ah, you like when I hit that place?" He absolutely loves it when you moan and and whine in his face.

The way, Carlos drags his hand down your bottom back when you're walking the busy streets of Spain, when everyone's eyes are on you. Wanting to know he's here to protect you but yet spoil you, it also shows the men looking at you that you are his. "Toma lo que quieras mami, I'm here to spoil you dirty, princesa".

The way, Carlos degrades you in bed, calling you a slut, a whore, a beggar in bed. He loves it how you allow it in, repeating everything he said, just in a mumbling way. "Eres una puta, a whore, you love my cock slamming into you, your pussy doesn't want to let go, que puta.." "Si, soy tu puta, solo tuya, mi cuerpo es tuyo, I only belong to you.." He knows he's fucking you hard, and love the power he has over it.

The way, Carlos loves how you watch him race whenever you get the chance, and can immediately spot you after racing. "¡Tienes el vestido que me gusta, how gorgeous.!" He like it when he leaves the race track with you by his side.

The way, Carlos has a major gagging king. He knows he's big, you know he's big, fuck the whole world knows. Then again when he hears you struggle trying to put every bit of him inside that tiny mouth of yours, it makes him want to hear more. "¿Es demasiado grande para ti, perra?, All you do is gag around it, how dirty.."

The way, Carlos loves to make you breakfast in bed when you had just opened your eyes. He's very grateful to peel his eyes open and to see you first thing in the morning. He just feels so connect to you when you bite into his food and he's just there admiring you while he eats too. "¿Por qué me miras así?" "Porque te ves hermosa, gracias por estar aquí de nuevo conmigo, I love you."

The way, Carlos loves to dig his teeth into you, to the point his bite marks are visible. The first time you got his bite mark tattooed near your area, he was so turned on. He immediately showered you in hues of red, purple, and some were green. "Qué bonito, you're like a my canvas, absolutamente pintado a la perfección."

The way, Carlos loves your shaved legs. He is a very hairy man but feeling your smooth bare legs, make him shiver in joy. He could spend the whole afternoon kissing them up and down, having them wrapped around his body and he would just lay happily there. "Mami, disfruto mucho esto, keep them like this?"

The way, Carlos loves to fuck in public. He's a very impatient man, and not say that's bad but it ends up exciting him to the brim. Just seeing you all dolled up on a night to go out is unfair, he has to control himself. He immediately touch starved, and wouldn't hesitate to rush you in a unisex restaurant and fuck you right there and then. "Shh, tranquila ahora, no nos gustaría que nos encontraran así, dripping wet just for me."

The way, Carlos would fall in love with you even more when you instantly click with his family. Loving the way you help his mother cook in the kitchen, or when you let her style your hair like she once did with his sister. When his dad showed you Carlos achievements throughout his childhood. When he sees you help his sister plan her wedding, and you just seeing her in awe when she walks down the aisle. He would just melt and whisper in your ear how he will you everything his father gave his mother, because he loves you. "Lo tendrás pronto mi amor, te amo mucho, no lo olvides".

The way, Carlos would let you sit on his lap on his private jet, knowing damn well he would turn rock hard when you ass sat on him. He loves to feel you rub yourself on him, soak his jeans with your illustrious juices. He knows you become needing after a certain of time. "Tienes que esperar mami, sigue moviendo las caderas así…"

The way, Carlos buys you flowers everyday, well obviously not everyday, but when he gets a tingly feeling you need them, he shows up with them. "Para ti mi reina." He would say, kissing your cheek while you turn a light shade of red, and laugh lightly while he cradles you into your large home for two.

The way, Carlos would always have his hands on you, he likes to keep you locked up, another way to say it would be he has a bondage kink. He likes to fuck while your tied, or maybe the other way, he doesn't mind, he would actually like it. "Los mendigas no pueden elegir" to "¿Atarme? Eso es tan sexy, nena". He doesn't give a flying fuck.

The way, Carlos allows you to do whatever you want to do on him, want to kinda braid his hair? He'll let you. Want to do skincare on him? He won't protest. While doing these activities, he's realizing he's in love with you deeply, because he wouldn't let anyone just do this, but he will allow you. "Bebé, me estás tirando del pelo" to "¿Por qué el producto está tan frío? ¡Esto me va arrancará la barba!"

The way, Carlos allows you to take charge in bed when he's really tipsy. He finds it fucking hot, you know what you want, and he'll let you conquer it. You're independent and when you really want something, nothing is going to get in the way of you getting it. That to Carlos is such a turn on. "Siéntate y quédate quieto" "Sí, señora."

The way, Carlos loves to see you live girlhood, he loves to see you wear girly outfits. He loves seeing you get all giggly over something, he loves seeing you love him, because it make him giggle too. He loves grabbing your hand in the middle of spain and walking with you, he loves running into the beach with you behind him. "¡Carlos la agua está fría!" "¡Ven aquí yo te calentare!"

The way, Carlos loves to cockwarm, he's the type to be clingy. He would want to be connected to you, even in these circumstances. I would say he would be his most peaceful state during this 'power' nap. "Nena, deja de moverte o me pondrás duro de nuevo".

The way, Carlos loves it when you read to him, the way your long fingers massage his scalp, and your honey voice lulling him to sleep. Just his skin to skin contact is enough to knock him out for a good 4 hours on a regular, when he's back from travel give him, 10 hours max. "¿Carlos? amor ¿estás dormido?"

The way, Carlos loves to have rough sex on frustrating days but will mostly have a safe word with you. You don't (hopefully) mind the rough sex, it's hot seeing him all worked up. "Dime si te estoy lastimando amor, no queremos eso… di la palabra cuando es mucho".

The way, Carlos would want to start a family with you. He can see himself with you, maybe two boy and a girl? Up to you, but he does want at least one child with you. He would buy you a large spanish style home, with a large backyard for many things. He would spoil rough when your pregnant, he wouldn't let you lift a hand up. He loves you, and you understand that, because this is what leads to marriage, trust and love, and you trust his love for you. "Te amo, seré tuyo para siempre".

MENTIONS !@landitolover, @d6za1, @ch3rryknots @burberryfilms

𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉, ⟢ more!

[jungwnies]

the dad who stepped up | carlos sainz (cs55)

୨ৎ : featuring : carlos sainz x fem!reader/singlemom!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : not the biological father, but rather the father who stepped up!

୨ৎ : genre : romance & fluff ୨ৎ : word count : 947

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : this was such a cute little story, i can only imagine the spanglish going crazy in this household <3 psa... intentionally all lowercase

carlos never thought about being a dad so soon. sure, he wanted kids someday, but he always figured it would come later, after racing, after settling down. what he didn’t expect was for you to walk into his life, a single mom with a baby boy who barely knew how to say papa yet.

he met you when your son, nico, was only eight months old. you had been hesitant at first, not wanting to bring someone into your child’s life unless you were sure. but carlos? carlos was patient. he never rushed you, never forced his way in. he just showed up.

at first, it was small things; holding nico when your arms were full, rocking him to sleep when he got fussy, making faces at him across the dinner table just to see him giggle. then, before either of you knew it, nico wasn’t just some baby carlos happened to know. he was his boy.

now, four years later, carlos can’t imagine life any other way.

—

"okay, buddy, one more time, but this time big swings," carlos calls from the backyard, watching as nico grips his tiny golf club, determination all over his little face.

you stand nearby, sipping on a lemonade, watching your two favorite people as the warm breeze rustles through the trees.

nico, tongue sticking out in concentration, takes a swing, too hard, and the plastic ball rolls about a foot away.

"that was amazing!" carlos exclaims, throwing his hands up as if nico just hit a hole-in-one at augusta.

"it barely moved!" nico whines, stomping his foot.

carlos kneels beside him, adjusting his grip. "the trick isn’t power, campeón (champion), it’s control. even papá sainz had to learn that."

you smile, shaking your head as you watch them. “carlos, if you turn him into a golf snob before he even learns how to ride a bike, we’re gonna have a problem.”

carlos grins over his shoulder at you. “you say that now, but when he’s winning the masters, you’ll be thanking me.”

nico nods along, even though he has absolutely no idea what the masters is. “sí, mami! (yes, mommy!)”

your heart melts every time nico switches between english and spanish so naturally, something carlos had made sure to teach him from the moment he could talk.

—

later that evening, after dinner, you’re curled up on the couch together, nico snuggled in between you and carlos with his favorite book in hand.

“papá, can you read the book en español? (papa, can you read the book in spanish?)” nico asks, eyes wide with excitement.

carlos raises an eyebrow, clearly pleased. “sí, pero solo un poquito, eh? (yes, but just a little, okay?) i don’t want you getting confused.”

you smile, resting your head against carlos’s shoulder as he begins reading, seamlessly switching between english and spanish.

"the little dog ran through the…el bosque (the forest)…looking for his friend… pero no lo encontró (but he didn’t find him). so he kept running and running…hasta que… (until…)"

nico listens intently, repeating some of the words in his tiny voice.

“bosque!” he says proudly.

carlos grins, tapping his nose gently. “eso! muy bien, campeón. (that’s it! very good, champion.)”

you watch as carlos pauses and turns to nico. “and what’s a bosque?”

nico scrunches his little face, thinking hard before answering, ��umm… a forest?”

carlos nods approvingly. “exacto! (exactly!)”

you laugh, shaking your head. “i swear, this kid is gonna be fluent before i am.”

carlos smirks, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “well, mamá, looks like you need some spanish lessons too.”

you playfully elbow him, making him chuckle.

just as you think nico is starting to doze off, his tiny voice pipes up.

“papá, i’m sleepy… pero i want uno más cuento. (papa, i’m sleepy… but i want one more story.)”

carlos lets out an exaggerated sigh, feigning exhaustion. “one more? vale, uno más. (okay, one more.)”

he flips the page, his voice soft as he continues reading. you feel nico’s breathing slow, his tiny body relaxing between the two of you.

you glance up at carlos, who is watching nico with that same gentle, loving look he always has. he catches you staring and gives you a small smile, his fingers reaching out to brush over your hand.

“you know,” you whisper, “you never had to do any of this.”

carlos furrows his brows. “what do you mean?”

you swallow the lump in your throat. “i mean… you didn’t have to be his dad. you could’ve just dated me and kept your distance. but instead, you’re his person. and i just… i don’t know. i hope you know how much i love you for that.”

carlos studies you for a moment before shaking his head, as if the thought of not stepping up for nico is ridiculous. he lifts your intertwined fingers, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your hand.

“i didn’t have to, amor,” he murmurs. “i wanted to. i chose this. i chose you. i chose him. and i’d do it again a thousand times over.”

tears prick your eyes, but before you can say anything, carlos leans down and places a gentle kiss on nico’s forehead.

“buenas noches, mi pequeño campeón. (good night, my little champion.)”

nico barely stirs, already deep in sleep.

carlos turns back to you, smiling softly. “now come on, mamá, let’s go watch bad reality tv and pretend we don’t have to wake up early tomorrow.”

you laugh, shaking your head as you follow him to the couch, where his arm instinctively wraps around you.

carlos sainz wasn’t the father by blood.

but he was the father who stepped up.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[f1cflcfic]

Just Because I Called You (Carlos Sainz) - part iv

pairing: carlos sainz jr x fem!reader

summary: y/n knows there's a reason for his contact details to be saved under 'do not interact', but one call does not mean you miss him.

genre: written au, brief 18+ content, yet more angst before we reach fluff

wordcount: 2.7k

note: this is RPF and is obviously in no way, shape, or form reflective of real persons

series, previous parts : part i | part ii | part iii

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚

Your fingers hover over your screen, the old text thread with Carlos still open. You hadn’t spoken to him since you’d slept together, again. It’d been 8 days – not that you were counting of course – since it had happened. Your friends still none the wiser, you’d deleted the last couple of messages to ensure it’d stay that way.

Besides, it’s weirdly nice to not see Dean’s text tarnish the rest of the conversation. To not be reminded of what you and Carlos had talked about, or the fact that something had felt different when he’d walked out the door. He’d taken his hoodie with him, and with it, your poorly hidden intentions of using it as an excuse to see him in the future.

Your friend bounces over from the kitchen and hands you another glass of wine, casually glancing at what you’re doing. She immediately shakes her head. “Don’t do it,” Lisa warns you. “Do not text that man.”

“I wasn’t going to,”  you lie, then pout as she snatches the phone out of your hands.  A wave of panic crashes over you when she goes to delete his contact detail altogether,  but you try your hardest not to let it show.  How are you meant to (not) contact him now?

“That’s harsh. He still has a key to my house, you know? I was hoping to get that back.”

Lisa just stares at you, unimpressed. “Change the locks. Get an extra spare key made. Girl, think in solutions – not problems. And he is a problem.”

He is, to you. Because he doesn’t play by the rules you’ve familiarised yourself with over the years, and breaks down your walls so easily. Because he makes you feel things so deeply that it scares you. So yes, he is a problem, but maybe not as much as you’ve led your best friend to believe.

After all, it was you who’d pushed him away when he asked you to meet his family, when he took you on holiday to his childhood home, when he wanted you at all his races.

You were the one who’d called it a mistake, something you didn’t mean when you’d accidentally said “I love you” first. Who’d made it your mission to interrupt Carlos when he’d intended to say it back – because you didn’t want to risk him not meaning it.

You were the one who’d said you didn’t like flowers, when you’d seen them in Carlos’ apartment. And you’d panicked, too scared of the thought that he’d never planned on giving them to you. So you’d wanted to strike first, protect yourself from disappointment.

You were the one who’d insisted that it was fine to just coopt sponsor events as dates, because it was “more practical”. You hadn’t known how much it asked of you to play the perfect couple all the time, how much time they’d require from Carlos, and how much time you’d effectively spend alone each night. When you had figured that out, it’d felt way too late to complain about it. And Carlos had tried to tell you, but you’d been so adamant – he’d relented.

Just like how he’d relented and stopped trying to say the words “I love you”, even though it was right there in every kiss he pressed to your skin. Or how he’d never bought you flowers, but had gotten you LEGO flower sets to build together instead. He’d always found ways to burrow his way deeper into your heart, without pushing you beyond your limit.

The only exception had been his family – that had been non-negotiable. Carlos spent his time-off with them in Mallorca, and it had been so obvious to him that they’d be there, that he hadn’t thought to tell you. He hadn’t given you the opportunity to deny him this.

And you’d hated how much you’d loved it.

So from time to time, just to prove to yourself that you could do without, you’d make up excuses when he’d go visit his family. And he never pushed, even though you could see the disappointment etched into his features every single time you did it.

He hadn’t wanted to scare you off with things or feelings you weren’t brave enough to face yet. But in spite of all that, you’d pushed him away anyways. Because those scary three words that had only escaped you once – they’d been threatening to spill out of every pore of your existence ever since. And all you’d known for certain was that Carlos would always leave to go somewhere you couldn’t follow. Even if perhaps maybe you’d made it so yourself.

You knew very well how much your resistance and hesitance had hurt Carlos along the way. And Carlos deserved better.

You’re not a good person, you think. Because you don’t deserve to miss him now, either – and yet here you are. Losing Carlos may have hurt, but loving him is so much worse.

“I miss him,” you whisper more to yourself than your friend, eyes downcast. Lisa wraps her arms around you, and you can’t help but frown. It feels deceitful to have her comforting you without knowing the full truth.

“It’s okay to miss him and still move on, Y/N.”

The problem is, what if you don’t want to move on?

“I wish that I could take it all back,” you tell her instead, hiding in the hoodie you’re wearing. It’s not as soft as Carlos’ sweater, nor does it smell of him. The realisation leaves you disappointed every single time.

“No you don’t,” she says with a sad smile.

“No, I don’t,” you echo, then sigh.

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚

There’s two more weeks to go before the season starts again. It’s been circled in blue on your calendar for months. How things have changed since you’d first put marker on paper. Now, the date just seems to be haunting you. Turns out that even if you’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the other person to give up – it doesn’t make it hurt any less when it eventually does happen.

Lisa had already threatened to throw the calendar out once she’d caught you staring at it, but it’s like a drug you can’t refuse. You need to know just how much time is slipping through your fingers, how many hours you’ve spent exactly agonising over what has happened, and how many more you have to make up your mind.

Maybe you’re wrong, after all. Maybe losing Carlos does hurt more than loving him does. Maybe – if you’d given him a chance, he’d have proven to you that after leaving he always came back.

A sigh escapes your lips, as you tear your gaze away from the calendar. “Come on, Y/N, you can do this,” you say out loud, trying to focus on the spreadsheet in front of you.

There’s something not quite right about the budget for one of the projects you oversee, but it’s been hard to figure out. Probably because you keep finding yourself distracted by stupid calendars, or googling Spanish phrases you think you might remember Ana saying to you a few weeks ago. You have a right to know what she’d wanted to convey, didn’t you?

It's unimportant and stupid, but it’s one of the few ways that you can justify any sort of proximity to Carlos to yourself right now, so you’ll take it. If that makes you pathetic, pathological, and a walking paradox? So be it.

Your heart skips a beat when your eyes land on a term midway down the page that’s achingly familiar.

Nena.

Nenita.

You don’t need to read what it means, as you vividly remember Carlos kissing the words and its translation into your skin. He’d tried very hard not to call you that since the break, but it had escaped him the other night.

You’d heard it. You’d been drunk and emotional, and all you’d done was accuse him of not fighting for you. And yet he’d taken care of you and called you nena – like he used to. Before you started building your walls even higher, trying to repair every hole he put in your defences. Before you’d used the one thing he couldn’t change against him.

And when he’d made sure you were safe and comfortable, you’d slept together. Because it’s maybe the only way you still feel capable of expressing just how much you feel for him, without having to put words to it. Because naked with him in bed still feels so much less vulnerable than allowing full emotional intimacy.

The dark night had made it easier not to have to see the defeat on his face, when he’d said he wouldn’t ask you for something you weren’t willing to give. But the problem is, you’ve come to realise these past few days. The problem is, that you’d probably give him everything. Except he hadn’t asked. Because he’d loved you enough not to.

It’s ironic, that what had allowed you to fall for Carlos, and get so close at all – his patience, never pushing you for things you weren’t ready for – had turned out to be your downfall as well.

“Fuck,” you mutter as you feel your eyes burn. A part of you wants to give in and just have a full-on cry, but another part of you just wishes you could channel the hurt into hyperfocus instead.

As you debate what would really be the better option at 9PM on a Thursday, there’s a sudden noise coming from the hallway. Tears instantly forgotten, you hold your breath as you turn to face the door to the living room. Are you really about to be robbed in your own house as well, just to add to the misery and make it a trifecta of torture? Lisa had offered to stay in the other bedroom just last night, but you'd told her that it was fine. Mostly because you couldn't bear the fact that she was set on getting you over Carlos, for all the wrong reasons. But she'd never show up unannounced, and most importantly - she doesn't even have a key to the place. There’s no one else in Monaco who does, except Carlos – and you’re not nearly delusional enough to get your hopes up. He wouldn't.

Your heartrate spikes, as the handle of the door rattles.

“Honey I’m homeeeee!”

The door bursts open, and in walks the original other occupant of your apartment – your best friend. “Sam! What the actual fuck? You’re supposed to be in Thailand!”

She laughs as she throws her arms around you, then promptly sinks into the couch.

“Yes, but then a mutual acquaintance of ours who shall not be named reached out, and said you might need some moral support. So, he arranged a flight, and here I am.”

Too stunned to speak, all you can do is follow her lead and slowly lower yourself to sit right next to her. “What do you mean?”

She rolls her eyes, face more tan than it had been since you’d last seen her in person, but still so achingly familiar – as if she’d never left. “I mean that your ex-boyfriend paid for my flight, and I wasn’t about to deny him his misplaced sense of altruism nor myself that very much deserved business class seat.”

You blink once, twice. “Carlos reached out to you?”

She nods as if it’s obvious, then shoots you a playful glare. “Aren’t you incredibly impressed with me for keeping this a secret, and also for not being offended that you didn’t tell me anything?”

“You were in Thailand, I didn’t want to burden you," you retort, still reeling from the casual way in which she'd just said Carlos had been in touch with her. He'd gone through the effort of contacting not just anyone, but your best friend. But when? And why? Because this time, it was really done?

You're already spiralling, but then you realise Sam's right there, still looking at you - waiting for you to expand.

"Besides, I really didn’t want to hear you say I told you so,” you tell her, a self-deprecating smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

If anything, Sam knows too much. Whereas Lisa has been a great friend and truly is one of your best friends in Monaco, she's no Sam.

Sam had grown up with you.

She’d been the one deciding to move to Monaco on a whim. She’d been the one who’d seen you fall into traps of your own making every single time, and had then asked a year later if you’d wanted to join her. And so you had.

You’d built a new life for yourself, had gotten a new job, made new friends – including Lisa – and eventually found yourself a new boyfriend. And then Sam had left. She had taken a sabbatical off work, and had decided to travel to South-East Asia, saying she'd missed out on the experience when she was still in college. She'd asked if you'd wanted to come along, but you’d been spending most of your time with Carlos. You had a life, a job you didn't want to give up - as much as you were second-guessing that now with the spreadsheet from hell still lurking on your laptop.

And Sam had been so happy for you, but she'd also left just after witnessing you crash out over Carlos making space in his closet for you. She'd told you to try to not fight it. To just let it all happen. And you had tried to take her advice. You'd secretly enjoyed it all. Up until it had started to feel too real, too perfect, and you’d wanted too much.

She just gives you a look. “I was going to find out at one point, Y/N. Whether or not you’d have had the time to dress up the truth – you know I still would’ve found out, I still would’ve said I told you so, and then I’d still have been here to support you. Like disgusting cough syrup.”

You snort. It’s not the first time Sam makes that comparison, and her expression brightens at seeing you grin. “And I’m feeling very generous, so I’ll forgive you for not calling me yourself. Mostly because I did text you that I was doing a silent retreat and wouldn’t have my phone on me,” she looks a little sheepish at that.

You both know that more than anything, the fact you didn’t want her to know about the break-up in the first place is incredibly telling. It’s as close to an admission of guilt - of regret - as you’ve gotten.

So you sigh, and sink into the cushions even further. Sam patiently waits for you to gather your thoughts, wraps an arm around you as you eventually find yourself relaying the past couple of weeks to her. This time no holds barred, full transparency.

“I think I fucked up, Sam. I think I really fucked up,” you confess finally, tears staining your cheeks.

She wordlessly hands you another tissue, a determined glint in her eyes.

“Alright. So maybe you did. You’ll make it right. We will make it right. Do you love him?”

A part of you wants to deny it, wants to immediately curl up into a ball and deflect – doesn’t want to admit someone had gotten so close to you. Doesn’t want to admit you’d want someone that close to you.

But it’s time to be a little courageous now, you think. If you want to fix this, you’ll have to be. So you swallow away the lump that’s formed in your throat, and give her a small, but terrified nod.

Sam snorts. “Okay, we will work on your delivery, but I believe you. Now, do you love him enough to stop thinking he’s going to break your heart? And to stop hurting him? Even if that means you agree to walk away?”

New tears immediately well up in your eyes at the thought of actually never talking to Carlos again, never seeing him again, never existing together again. But you also know that as harsh as it is, Sam is right. It might very well be that Carlos taking the hoodie you’d once bought him – it might mean that he didn’t want to give you a reason to see him again. Maybe – maybe that’s what he needs. And hadn’t he always given you what you’d thought you needed? So, with newfound resolve, you nod. If he needs you to leave, then that’s okay. It’s okay, because you need him to be okay. And for once, you should consider what he needs first.

“Great,” she pats your knee, then stands up. “With that settled, we should relax, because I'm exhausted physically, and you're exhausted emotionally. So I say we grab our blankets and get cozy here. Starting with that delicious red wine he introduced you to and I know you still keep stocked, because you’re terribly predictable.”

You look up at her and smile. “Hey, Sam? Thank you. For being my cough syrup.”

“Anytime.”

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚ A/N: I mean, I couldn't not upload something on Valentine's Day!

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Part v is now available here.

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