#carlos sainz series | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thef1diary · 5 months

Text

Baby Jr | Two

— Intimate Indulgence

Series Masterlist

pairing: carlos sainz x reader

warnings: 18+ smut, unprotected sex (that’s expected at this point), oral, fingering, choking, degradative terms, spanking, praise kink go brr.

wc: 4k (pure smut btw, enjoy 🤭)

Carlos easily gave in to your pull by falling forward, his hands finding your waist and giving a little squeeze while his foot kicked the door shut behind him. He pulled you closer, your lips lightly brushing his for a moment in experimentation before pressing together with more confidence.

Your hands trailed up into his hair finding a few strands still damp from his shower. You smiled against his lips, knowing that he stopped by his own hotel room before coming to yours and acting as if he had nowhere else to go.

His fingertips danced underneath the hem of your shirt, coming in contact with your bare supple skin. Your head tilted back once he gave you a chance to breathe but the trail of kisses he began leaving down your neck stole your breath away again.

Your skin lit ablaze with every touch he provided after depriving you for what felt like ages. The little friendly touches here and there every day for the last couple of months frustrated you endlessly.

You almost wanted to scream at him, tell him to get on with it but you couldn’t, no, not when he was murmuring compliments in your ear, calling you a good girl for being so responsive.

“You couldn’t have come a few minutes earlier? I just put my clothes on,” you couldn’t help but murmur, earning a low chuckle in response with a small nip on your shoulder in retaliation.

“I’ll help you take it all off,” he spoke against your skin, feeling your pulse quicken underneath his lips.

Your hands roamed his body, feeling every ridge of muscle you could reach on his back that you had been shamelessly ogling earlier. Right underneath your fingertips, barely just grazing the skin hidden beneath his shirt with your nails, you earned a low groan from him.

He squeezed your hips again as an indication before slightly picking up the speed of his actions. Pressing a seemingly innocent peck to his lips, he used that moment to reach lower to rest his hands below your ass before picking you up, earning a gasp from you. Further using that gasp as an invitation to deepen the kiss, Carlos slightly pulled on your bottom lip, barely teasing it with his teeth before letting go.

You quickly wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles together behind as he began to walk further inside the room.

His palms now resting just a few centimeters shy away from your ass to hold you up—which he could’ve easily done with one hand—he grazed his thumb back and forth, bunching up your shorts even higher as he left no space between your bodies.

Your lips trailed down his neck, sucking a tad more harshly before peppering the spot in light kisses, knowing that it’ll turn into a noticeable mark later on.

In the heat of the moment, briefly forgetting the risk for the pleasure, neither of you thought of the consequences that may arise from visible marks.

Carlos sat on the edge of the bed, causing you to meet his hips firmly as you straddled him. He pulled your hips even closer, urging you to grind on him while claiming your lips once again.

You gasped against his mouth as he lifted his own hips to catch you by surprise, “fuck me, please,” you muttered.

Carlos was tempted to take off your shirt because a slight movement from you shifted the neckline, revealing a peek of your shoulder. He was quick to place his lips against the bare skin.

Once again, his hands trailed beneath your shirt and pulled it up further to take it off. “As you wish.”

He threw it aside, not giving the item of clothing any thought as his eyes swept over your nude upper body. He put one hand on your lower back, and you shuddered, perhaps from the warmth of his fingers or from his encouragement to keep moving your hips against his.

Lost in the pleasure pulsing throughout your body, a gasp left your mouth when you clenched your thighs because his other hand rested on the base of your throat.

Sliding his palm down the front of your body, he barely grazed over your nipples, taking an extra moment to tease them, causing a whine to leave your throat. “Carlos,” you cried, tilting your head back while your eyes closed in frustration.

The moment he turned you over and placed you on the bed, you believed that he had finally shown pity for your neediness. Kneeling over you, he single handedly removed his shirt, before moving on to his belt. You sat up, planting a trail of filthy kisses down his chest as your fingers replaced his on his belt because you were itching to do it for him.

“You’ve been teasing me for ages, cariño,” he reasoned, as if to justify why he hasn’t nearly given you enough attention just yet.

“Me? You’re the one that kept finding excuses to talk to me, to touch me.” You draw him closer by pulling on the band of his pants, enabling him to lean over you without placing any weight against you since he braced himself with his forearm positioned next to your head.

“Can I?” He asks while glancing down at your shorts for a moment. His fingers follow his gaze, trailing down your chest to your stomach, resting on the hem of your shorts.

You inhale deeply while nodding but he shook his head, almost disappointed, “I need words.”

A whimper threatened to leave your mouth as you saw him move his hands to pull away. You quickly placed your hands over his, pulling them back onto your waist.

Finding your words, you consented, “touch me all you want, Carlos, please, the winner gets what he wants.”

He smirked, reminded of his win that led to this need to act on his desires. He hooked his fingers on the band of your shorts, finally dragging them down before tossing the piece of cloth away like he did to your shirt.

Moving down your body, he laid between your legs, facing you after he pulled them apart further. Despite still having a flimsy material covering your pussy, he could still see the outline of your lips due to how your wetness caused your panties to stick to your pussy.

“A few kisses and you’re already soaked?” He lightly chuckled at your futile attempt of raising your hips when one of his fingers slid down over your panties, grazing your protruding covered clit.

“All for you,” you responded, trying to coax him into touching you again with nothing but the truth.

He lowered himself and you could feel his breath fanning against you, then he slowly placed open mouth kisses on your inner thighs. Your head dropped back, resting on the bed with your eyes fluttering shut as he neared the spot you wanted him the most.

His hands rested on your thighs to keep your legs apart while he continued to tease you.

“I want to taste you.”

His words caused you to tilt your head to look at him, your gaze instantly connecting with his since he was already looking at you.

You knew right then that you would do anything he asked if he kept looking at you with those round, dark brown eyes.

Nodding, you muttered, “please.” You raised your hips as he hooked his fingers in the flimsy material, quickly sliding it down and removing it completely.

Reaching a hand past your head, he grabbed a pillow before shifting further down the bed until his knees rested on the floor and he was kneeling in front of your spread legs. He left the pillow beside you as he wrapped his hands around your thighs, earning a startled gasp from you when he pulled you closer to the edge, towards his warm mouth.

“Up,” he ordered, placing the pillow beneath your ass to raise your hips higher.

You watched his movements carefully, biting your lip in anticipation as he brought two of his fingers to his mouth, licking them before placing it on your outer lips. He pulled the fingers outwards, spreading you open for him and watching as you desperately clench on nothing but air.

Sticking out the tip of his tongue, he lightly pressed it against your protruding clit, earning a sharp inhale from you. Flattening his tongue, he dipped it between your folds to gather a bit of your wetness before dragging it upwards, stimulating your clit for the first time that night.

Focusing solely on your clit for now, he softly moved his tongue in a circular motion, pausing and pulling away to see more creamy wetness gathering between your lips, all on display for him as his fingers still held you spread apart.

Pursing his lips, he gathered a bit of saliva in his mouth before dropping it onto your clit, watching as it slowly slid down in between your lips adding to the slick already formed.

Lapping at your pussy and giving a few experimental licks first to gather your taste in his mouth, he moaned against your folds, sending a shiver up your spine at the added vibration.

“Mm, you taste so sweet.” He parted away from you for now, connected only by a string of saliva from your pussy to his mouth which broke away when he licked his lips.

His fingers followed the trail of his spit, slipping his fingers into your hole one by one until he had worked three fingers down to the last knuckle. You arched your back at the sudden added sensations.

“S’good for me,” he commented, watching your eyes roll back in pleasure from both his fingers and his words praising you.

While increasing the pace of his fingers moving inside you, he peppered kisses all over your inner thighs, catching you by surprise when he nipped at your skin.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, dampening the sound of your moans to your own ears but it was like music to his.

He grabbed your right leg and tossed it over his shoulder, preventing you from fully closing your legs and giving him the ability to touch you in any way he pleased.

His skilled fingers brushed against your insides in such a pleasurable way that almost clouded your vision with stars. He was able to reach deeply in places that you never could with your own fingers.

Your thigh twitches while your palms close around the sheets above your head as you near your release. “Carlos,” you murmur, his name becoming one of the very few things you remembered.

“Gonna cum for me?” He asked, placing his mouth over your clit, sucking harshly that made you raise your hips while a cry left your lips.

You weren’t able to form a word much less a sentence but he could tell by the pitch of your moans that you just needed something more to push you over the edge.

Sticking out the tip of his tongue, he repeatedly flicked your clit until you were writhing in pleasure.

“Go on, cum all over my fingers,” he permitted, curving his finger in the right spot that had you obeying him in seconds.

He continued thrusting his fingers in and out as you coated them with your cum, slowing down just a bit to prolong your release. Carlos greedily lapped up every drop that left you, enamored and addicted to your taste.

Pulling his fingers out, he licked your pussy from your entrance up to your clit once more, earning a cry releasing from your lips. “Ah- fuck, baby.”

He moved away only when you began squirming, that too with the corners of his lips turned up in a smirk.

Breathing heavily, you looked at him, noticing his lips and chin glistening with your slick but your eyes widened once he placed those same fingers in his mouth that were just in you moments ago, sucking them clean.

Your pussy still pulsed at his gesture, feeling a tad too empty. You knew you needed more, especially since you could see his bulge straining behind his boxers which quickly turned your bubble of arousal into desperation. You didn’t notice when he discarded his pants, adding it to the growing pile of clothes but you were glad he did.

Carlos placed lingering kisses trailing up your body. On your hips and stomach, then flattening his tongue and dragging up until he reached your chest. Placing two firm lingering kisses on your nipples that had you threading your fingers through his hair at the suction of his lips, he faced you while holding himself above your body. With his gaze still on your chest, he lightly blew air on them, hardening your already pert nipples at the sensation.

“Fuck, you’re so sensitive, so responsive.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him lower until he rested his weight on you.

“That is such a bad habit of yours,” he murmured, his gaze now focusing on your lips.

“What is?” You asked innocently, blinking a few times in quick succession as your hand traveled to the nape of his neck.

“This,” he brings his hand to your chin, fingers pulling your lip free from being bitten between your teeth. Then he added, “it makes me want to kiss you every time you do it.”

Tilting your head closer, your gaze connected with his for a moment before you looked down at his soft lips, licking your own before responding, “maybe you should.”

He took your words as an invitation to claim your lips with his own, enveloping your lower lip in the heat of his mouth. Your hands trailed upwards into his hair again, lightly pulling at it as you responded with just as much force and passion.

His fingers brushed against your cheek, moving lower to grip your chin with his thumb and index finger, asserting dominance as he guided you through the kiss.

Moving even lower, his hand followed the curve of your throat as his palm rested on the base while his fingers pressed into the sides, earning a hum from your mouth.

This time, as you grazed your nails down his back there wasn’t any barrier of clothing in between. You dragged your hands as low as you could, almost able to touch the hem of his boxers that you desperately wanted to remove.

“Off,” you spoke, frustration lacing your tone.

He breathed in the lingering scent of your shower gel now mixed with a layer of sweat in the crook of your neck. “Then take it off, cariño.”

Loosening your legs wrapped around his waist, you began using your feet to shove the thin layer of fabric down that was keeping a part of his body that you couldn’t wait to touch and feel inside you hidden away.

You had gotten the band of his boxers down to his thighs, and he moved away to slide the material off his body before quickly aligning his body against yours again.

You mumbled against his lips but he couldn’t make out the words, so he moved an inch away to allow you to speak while his hand returned to where it had found a spot on your throat. “What was that?”

“Fuck me, Carlos, fuck me good,” you repeated, earning a small grin from him while his grip tightened on your throat.

“On your hands and knees,” he commanded, releasing his grip.

You turned over, arching your back while looking over your shoulder to entice him, earning a slap on your ass in return. You moaned, a satisfying smile painting on your lips. Shuffling onto your knees while reaching your arms outwards that brought your upper body closer to the mattress, you stuck your ass in the air.

“Do that again,” you muttered but you furrowed your brows when the hit never came. Looking back again, you saw a stern expression overtaking his usual smirk. He placed his palms on your cheeks, spreading them for a moment but before it could turn into anything more, he dropped his hands to his sides.

“Are you ordering me around now?” He asked with a raised brow, and your lips parted as you realized your mistake.

Slowly shaking your head in denial and your hips to the side to convince him, you tried again, “please do that again.”

He listened to your pleas, slapping your ass once again on the same spot as earlier before taking you by surprise and bringing his palm down on your other cheek. “Good girl, don’t forget your manners, darling.”

Kneeling on the bed behind you, Carlos’ body heat engulfed you, providing a brief blanket of comfort over you completely contrasting your thoughts and anticipation, knowing that he wouldn’t bestow any mercy upon you while he fucked your pussy.

Running his fingers down your slit, he spread your folds apart before sliding his hardened cock to replace his fingers, coating it in your wetness. Your balance faltered for a moment causing you to fall forward when his tip touched your clit, sending a burst of butterflies erupting in your stomach.

“Look at that, you’re already trying to clench around me, baby,” he muttered, watching your folds flutter around his cock as it tried to coax it inside you.

Inching backwards, you rubbed your ass against his cock, earning a low groan from him. “Carlos, if you don’t fuck me right now, I will scream,” you half heartedly threatened but he just chuckled.

“You will still scream even when I fuck you.”

“Then prove it,” you shot back.

Without a warning, Carlos slid his cock in you while one of his hands rested on your hip to prevent you from falling forward again. You muttered a curse, dragging out the last syllable as your eyes rolled back at the initial feeling.

His other hand trailed up your body, leaving featherlight touches on the length of your back. Wrapping his fingers around your hair, he pulled until your head tilted up and your mouth dropped open in a silent moan. He could only wish he had chosen a better position to see your reaction, but he imagined it to the best of his ability aided by the sweet sounds you let out.

“You have to stop clenching so hard, cariño, I can’t move,” he muttered in your ear, pressing light kisses on the crook of your neck, earning an audible exhale from you.

When he moved to continue sliding inside, your eyes widened, “you’re not fully in yet?”

He let out a sound in denial, “a little more.” Once fully settled inside, he paused, breathing out while his eyes were squeezed shut, “you feel so good, such a perfect, tight cunt,” he mumbled, and the praise had you clenching around him involuntarily.

“Please move,” you spoke while lightly pushing back, moaning as you felt him a tad deeper even if it was for a brief moment. He pulled back, leaving the warmth of your cunt and a whimper left your mouth as you only felt his tip remaining inside, mouth dropping open once he thrusted forward; this time with more force.

His fingers pressed into your hips and you couldn’t care less even after knowing that you would likely see his fingerprints marked onto your skin the next morning. Releasing his grip on your hair, he settled on grasping onto your shoulder to guide his thrusts at a steady pace.

“Go on, tell everyone on the floor who’s fucking you senseless.” He spat, only then making you realize the volume of the moans leaving your mouth, echoing throughout the hotel room along with the sound of skin slapping on skin. It was lewd, but you couldn’t help but arch your back further as you began to lose yourself within the pleasure.

He chuckled once you covered your mouth with your hands in an attempt to muffle your moans, your balance stumbling as your weight was now only held up by one arm. “No? You don’t want to tell them what a fucking slut you are for me? How easy it is to get your pussy soaking wet.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you repeated, unable to keep your hand on your mouth as you fisted the sheets in your palms. Feeling you clench around him over and over again, he knew you were getting close to your release.

Pulling out of you for a quick second, that still earned a cry escaping past your lips, he flipped you onto your back and thrusted in your pussy again. Now that you were face to face, he couldn’t waver his gaze away from your expressions.

Your eyes fluttered shut once he hiked up your leg on his waist, able to thrust deeper. Holding onto his shoulders to ground yourself, he moaned as he felt your nails digging into his skin.

“Please,” you mumbled, feeling so close that you felt like you were going to explode with frustration if he stopped. Fortunately, he continued the brutal pace of his thrusts and placed his thumb on your clit, creating small circular motions that had you crying out loud.

It felt like you had melted into the bed once your orgasm washed over you. He leaned closer, allowing you to wrap your arms around him while he continued fucking into you to chase his own release.

With your lips grazing his ear, your next words sent him over the edge, “please, Carlos, cum in me.”

He groaned as he came, attempting to muffle it as much as he could into the crook of your neck. A blurry haze clouded your vision and only when the tear fell, you had realized that you had cried in pleasure while chasing the feeling of your high, wanting it to last as long as possible.

You felt his cum painting your insides, unintentionally clenching that caused Carlos to let out another groan. “Do that again and I’ll never pull out,” he mumbled, only half joking since your cunt’s warmth was too inviting.

Wrapping your other leg around his waist to keep him inside you for a little longer, you responded, “that doesn’t sound too bad.”

He lifted his head, watching your tired out expression, the activities of the day finally catching up to you. He pressed a kiss against your cheek after wiping away your tears, moving on to your forehead and then claimed your lips with his.

He licked into your mouth, earning a guttural groan from you. Your legs had fallen to the side, not having enough strength to hold them up any longer.

Hissing when he pulled out, you let out a sharp gasp as he lightly spread your pussy to watch his cum mixed with yours leak out and stain the sheets underneath. “Fuck, that’s hot,” he muttered, mainly to himself as he gathered your mixed cum onto his fingers.

Your mouth dropped open as he brought his coated fingers near your mouth, sticking out your tongue to greedily suck them clean. He pressed another kiss on your cheek in appreciation, “such a good girl.”

Then, his lips grazed your ear, “I’ll go grab a towel.”

Only leaving the bed once you nodded, he quickly entered the bathroom and smiled once he saw his reflection in the mirror. His neck was covered in marks and his shoulders were covered in scratches left behind by your nails. Although he didn’t check, he knew that his back would’ve been in the same state.

Quickly returning to you, he cleaned you up and tossed the cum stained cloth on the floor among the other pieces of your clothing. You had a sleepy smile on your face during the entire process, mumbling a “congratulations on the win,” once he was hovering over you again.

“Thank you, cariño, I hope there will be many more to come.” Placing one last lingering kiss to your lips, he shuffled off the bed and began redressing himself.

You didn’t know when he left, as you had already fallen asleep while he was still in the room. He walked away with a satisfied smile on his face while removing the keycard belonging to his hotel room from the back pocket of his jeans, now assured that your room could in fact fit two people.

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#babyjr fic #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz fic #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz fanfic #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #thef1diary fic #f1 smut #smut #f1 imagines #f1 imagine #fanfic #fic series #formula one fic

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livwritessometimes · 3 months

Text

Playing Cupid

: Part 1 (Oscar’s Version)

: Y/n is responsible for organising the best spring fling F1 University has ever seen. So what happens when she needs a certain computer science major to help her? 💻

: Intro | Next

: Series Masterlist

: Main Masterlist

…

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golden-cherry · 9 months

Text

deal - cl16 (21/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: The truth comes under purple skies.

Warnings: angst, but mostly tooth rotting fluff because you deserve it

Word Count: 3.4k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: a little late happy birthday to me! sorry for the wait. I love you.

Although you keep your eyes closed, you know that it is still dark outside.

The air in the room is cool against your face, while your tired body is kept comfortably warm under the heavy comforter. It is just as warm against the free, uncovered parts of your body as Charles' soft skin.

His arm is wrapped around your middle, his fingers are tightly intertwined with yours and his thumb strokes gentle circles over your hand. A tender, loving gesture that you're not sure whether it's meant to calm your nerves or his own.

You haven't changed your positions in bed since you fell asleep pressed tightly together a few hours ago. Charles's chest is still pressed against your back and if you were to focus on it, you could certainly feel his heart beating hard and steady. But you don't. Your thoughts revolve around breathing as normally as possible so that it still looks like you're asleep.

You don't want to be awake.

Being awake would involve thinking, and you definitely don't want to think about the last few days. You don't want to think about how Charles told you that you would jump into bed with Lando at the next opportunity. You don't want to think about Raphael coming to your front door last night and calling you a whore. And you don't want to be reminded that Charles jumped to your side and defended you without so much as batting an eye.

All you want right now is to lie here, in his strong arms, wrapped in his scent and warmth. Deep down, you know you can't be angry with him. Lando's words flit through your head again and again about how you both want to protect each other, and even though you've only known each other for a few days, you can tell Charles so well that it's exactly this part of him that makes him who he is.

But you still don't know why he treated you like that.

You breathe in deeply, take in his scent - a mixture of sandalwood, peppermint and a smell that you can only describe as Charles - and press your face into the soft pillow. Although you had been furious with him, you had missed his closeness over the last few days.

The thumb that has been tenderly drawing figures on your hand pauses.

"I'm sorry." Charles' voice is little more than a whisper against your shoulder blade. As his warm breath brushes over you, your muscles tighten. "No apology in this world can make up for what I did to you. I betrayed your trust, hurt you, and left you thinking I didn't care about you." When you don't answer him, he continues. "I am so incredibly sorry. And I won't ask for your forgiveness or kindness, because I don't deserve it. I don't deserve you. And I'm sorry I couldn't be better for you."

Your heart beats so fast against your ribcage that you fear it will break your bones and jump out of your chest. His touch feels like your skin is burning. When you open your eyes, you see purple clouds in the morning sky through the window.

Carefully, you turn in his arms, whereupon his embrace loosens a little, but his arm remains on your hip. His eyes are closed, as if he doesn't dare to look into your face. His eyebrows are furrowed and there are a few wrinkles between them that you would love to smooth out with your fingers.

You decide to run your fingers over his bare shoulders. His muscles twitch under your fingertips. "Why did you do it?" Charles remains silent, so you tentatively place your hand against his cheek. You feel his stubble scratch your skin as he exhales deeply, as if he hasn't taken a decent breath in a long time.

He opens his eyes and there is an anxious gleam in the otherwise beautiful green. His gaze searches yours as he nuzzles his face against your hand. "I was jealous."

Jealous?

A small glimmer of hope flares up inside you. Maybe everything you've experienced together - the viewpoint, your movie night, the bookstore, the tiramisu - is based on something other than friendship. On something more. Maybe there was more to every conversation, every look and every smile than just the friendship you nailed down to protect your heart. Maybe you were just talking past each other the whole time. Maybe –

"I was jealous of how well you got on with Lando. I thought that if you got to know each other better and became more than just friends, then we wouldn't be friends anymore. I thought -" He pauses for a moment. "I couldn't bear it if I lost you because of your relationship."

You try to suppress the punch in the pit of your stomach and swallow the frog in your throat. "You hurt me and pushed me away because you didn't want to get hurt yourself?" Your heart breaks a little for him. You finally smooth out the wrinkles between his eyebrows with your thumb. His arm wraps around you tighter and presses you together. His fingers stroke your back and goose bumps spread across your body.

That's exactly what Lando said. That Charles pushes the people he cares about away to protect himself. Something you can well understand, after all, you were planning to do the same to him. Only not so drastically.

But Lando also told you something else about the Monegasque. "But that's not all, is it?" An image flickers in your mind's eye of Raphael holding out his hand to introduce himself to Charles. "You didn't just want to protect yourself. Or am I wrong, Charles Leclerc?"

As you say his name, a shiver jerks through his body, as if he's suddenly cold, and his hand freezes against your spine. "You're not." His tone is cooler, more distant than it was a few moments ago, and the tension in the room is palpable despite the purple clouds and morning calm as you place your hand on his bare chest. His heart is beating fast and strong.

"I - I think we both rushed into this friendship far too quickly." You try to put as much warmth into your whisper as you can, even though deep down your heart has caught quite a tear. "We've known each other for five days. And so much has happened in that time that takes some friends years. Our trust in each other went from zero to one hundred." You run your finger over his collarbone, your gaze following him.

Panting, he sucks air into his lungs at your touch. "What do you suggest?"

You purse your lips. "Maybe - maybe we should get to know each other better first. Get to know each other properly so that this doesn't happen again. So that our living together is easier."

Charles tightens his grip around your middle, his legs tangle with yours. "Living together? Does that mean you're staying with me?"

You nod slightly, but grab your arm with your hand to pull away from him. Something flits across his face, but as quickly as it came, it's gone again as you place his hand between your faces on the pillows. "But maybe a little distance will do us good. So we don't mess this up."

His fingers interlace with yours. "I'll do everything I can to make this work."

"That makes two of us," you smile, missing his touch on your body. You miss the warmth pulsing through your veins under your skin. But it's the right thing to do. At least that's what you try to tell yourself. You take a deep breath. "I - I'm unemployed, by the way." You look down at your hands. "I was fired from this magazine before we met. I'm looking for a new job so that I can continue to live in Monaco, because my savings won't last forever. That's why I'm so grateful to you for standing up for me with Joris. About the rent. I can't thank you enough for that."

"But you don't have to," he replies quietly. "Friends help each other. They're there for each other. I can understand why you didn't tell me. Nobody likes to talk about the fact that they've recently lost their job."

"Thank you," you whisper back. You feel a weight fall from your shoulders. You suddenly find it easier to breathe. But now it's something else that's plaguing your thoughts.

And no one but Charles can give you the answer. "Can you please explain to me what happened yesterday? With - with Raphael?"

The Monegasque briefly lets go of your hand so that he can play with your fingers. He doesn't look at you. "Do you remember the night we watched Cars together?"

You nod. How could you forget that night? The wine, the movie, the flirting that apparently wasn't flirting. Ouch.

"We talked about Formula One and how you used to watch it with your grandfather when Michael Schuhmacher drove for Ferrari." His gaze is literally glued to your fingers. "When we first met, I told you that my work had something to do with cars, and I wasn't lying."

You raise an eyebrow in confusion. If he's a mechanic or engineer for one of the racing teams, that woiuld explain why he has to travel so much for work. "Is that where all the cool photos on your phone come from? Because you fly across the globe with Formula 1 to work on the cars?"

Your flatmate purses his lips. "I don't work on the cars. I - I drive them." He licks his lips once. "I'm a Formula One driver for Scuderia Ferrari."

"Don't fuck with me," you reply, wanting to pull your fingers out of his grasp. But he holds on to them and when he lifts his gaze and looks you in the eyes, you know he's telling the truth. And his confession makes you see the last few days from a different perspective.

The conversation between Charles and Joris, shortly after he suddenly appeared in the apartment, pops up in your mind. "When we met, that night - you were on the phone with Joris. You said something about headlines."

He nods slightly. "A few weeks ago, the season ended and Annika and I broke up. I stayed away from here as long as I could because I didn't want to be confronted with it. And when I got to my apartment for emergencies, there you were. With a valid tenancy agreement. I couldn't just throw you out the door. You could have gone public and then it would have made the headlines. Something like "Charles Leclerc throws poor woman out of rented apartment". It was a risk I couldn't take." He furrows his eyebrows again, but this time you hold back.

"You have a nutritionist."

Again he nods. "For the races, I have to follow a strict diet to make the car go faster. Unfortunately, pasta and thick sandwiches aren't part of it, so please don't tell him."

Fragments of the last few days appear one after the other in your mind's eye, which you try to sort out and work through. "The bistro you went to after the bookshop had already closed, hadn't it?"

"Yes. But when do you ever have a Formula One driver on your doorstep who needs two sandwiches?" He shrugs. "One photo and we've had our dinner."

You lick your tongue over your lips and you don't miss the way Charles' eyes twitch to your mouth. "We went everywhere in my car. Why?"

"You've seen my car." He's referring to the fancy Ferrari in the parking garage. "With its stripes, it's not exactly inconspicuous. Especially since everyone knows the car is mine." He runs his thumb over the side of your index finger. "As soon as the car rolls down the street, everyone knows it's me. And everyone takes photos of it. I couldn't risk you getting caught up in all this because of a stupid car. And especially not because you couldn't choose it until now. Your sweet tin can was the only way we could get around the city together without attracting attention."

You clench your jaw. "The meetings in Italy. What about it?"

"The headquarters are there, in Maranello. Before the winter break, the team wanted to get together again and discuss what went wrong this season and what we can improve."

"And you could just leave like that?" you ask him.

He shakes his head. "Not really. But in my opinion, there wasn't much to talk about either. The season was a throwaway." He shrugs his shoulders. "I was actually a little relieved when Lando called and asked me to go home."

So you were right. The Brit did call Charles. "And what did he say?"

"Exactly what I needed to hear." He smiles slightly. "He threw a lot of swear words at me and made it clear that I'd be the stupidest idiot in the world if I screwed up this friendship."

You don't know what to do with this information. The fact that Lando called Charles and made a slug out of him doesn't bother you much, because the Monegasque needed the push. But there's also something about the fact that Charles didn't come up with the idea of straightening things out himself. That one of his friends had to step in for you first so that he would get off his butt and stand up for this friendship. That Lando -

"What about Lando? And Pierre? And Kika? Are they part of Formula One too?"

Charles purses his lips into a thin line. "Lando and Pierre are also drivers. Kika is a model."

Bile rises in your gullet as you release your hand from his and turn onto your back, closing your eyes. Everyone knew, they even work in the same field, and no one thought to let you in on it. The whole thing could have gone down the drain. People could have recognized you both, taken photos of you and spread the word.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I -" Charles exhales. "I was just scared."

"Scared? Of what?"

"My job - my name - brings a lot with it. A lot of good things, like seeing the world, getting to know cultures and not having to worry about things like money. But there are also negative things, like a lot of pressure, fake friends, no privacy." He also turns onto his back. "I don't want you to choose something you don't want because of my name. I thought - I thought if we stayed in our little bubble, our little world, that - I don't know. It was just nice to have someone as a friend who wanted to be friends with me because I'm Charles. And not because I'm Charles Leclerc."

You have to smile. "Actually, I'm only friends with you so that I can live with you and save on rent."

"Haha."

You clasp your hands behind your head. "I can understand, I think. That you have to be careful who you surround yourself with. And that there are a lot of people who only use you because you're you. It sounds very lonely."

Charles snorts softly. "It can definitely be lonely."

"Then let me assure you that I don't want to be friends with you because of your money or your name."

"But?"

"Do you really need reasons?"

"It certainly wouldn't hurt my ego," you can practically hear his grin.

"All right," you reply. "I want to be friends with you because you're kind and considerate of your friends' feelings. Because you trusted me with your favorite place, even though you didn't know me. Because you introduced me to your friends because you thought it was inevitable anyway if our friendship strengthened." You take a deep breath and exhale. "I want to be friends with you because you're funny and make me laugh. Because you have a big heart. Because -"

A feeling bubbles up inside you. You've felt it before - the day after your movie night, when you were reviewing the evening. In the not entirely innocent dream you had about Charles. And when you shared the bed after the bookshop.

It's warm, like a warm blanket, strong like a good hug and bright like Charles' eyes when the sun shines on his face. Charles is not just your roommate. Or your friend. Charles is so much more. Charles is your home.

Before you can complete the sentence, the Monegasque interrupts you. "That's good. That's good enough for me, thank you." He smiles. "It's nice to have you as a friend. Even if I don't deserve it, the way I've treated you."

"Mm-hmm."

"Maybe you should sleep on it one more night and then decide if you really want it. There's so much more that comes with a friendship with me." When you yawn, he has to laugh. "You see? Maybe you're not even able to think straight right now. And then I push you into a friendship that you don't even want."

"I'm sure," you reply tiredly and you notice how your eyes get heavier.

"But -"

Before he can finish his sentence, you reach for his hand and interlace his fingers with yours. You try to ignore the fact that this makes your heart beat faster. "I'm sure of it. Believe me."

When you gently squeeze his fingers twice, he replies with the same gesture. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Then it's a good thing you don't have to find out," you smile and as you yawn again, Charles pulls you closer to him. Like a magnet, you slide across the bed towards him, unable to resist as your face finds its place against the crook of his neck.

He lets go of your hand, but only to wrap his arm around you. His hand rests on the bare skin of your hip, while his other hand pulls your leg over him so that you're half lying on top of him. You are enveloped by him, fully and completely, and as you place your hand on his bare chest, you feel his heartbeat under your fingertips.

You try to convince yourself that it's not beating for you, but as you snuggle even closer to him and your lips touch the soft skin on his neck, you feel it skip a beat. But maybe you're just imagining it.

"I'll be better from now on," he whispers and tentatively presses a kiss to your forehead. Goosebumps spread all over your body, but not because you're cold like he thinks, which is why his arm presses you even tighter against him. "I don't want there to be another moment when you doubt how important you are to me, mon amour."

"You can teach me a little French," you reply. "Then you can hide less from me if I speak your mother tongue too," you joke.

Charles feels your smile on his neck and he is glad that you can't see the blush on his face.

"Anything you want. I'll go to the other side of the world for you if I have to."

"But not until tomorrow, all right?" You gently caress his chest with your fingertips and Charles draws in a sharp breath. "Now it's time to sleep. And don't you dare steal my blanket in the night."

Charles would love to pull you on top of him, kiss you and promise you that you're safe with him and that he won't let anything happen to you. But he holds back, just lets his fingers dance over your skin.

He promises in the purple morning light. "Deal."

next part

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logansargeantsbabymom · 3 months

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Why Are You Dating Me (F1 SMAU)

Texting your F1 Boyfriend "Why are we dating?/ Why did you choose to date me?"

Follow my instagram account (THATS STRICTLY FOR THIS BLOG) for updates on when i post and fun stuff like that!

Instagram

F1 Masterlist

Lewis Hamilton:

Logan Sargeant:

Carlos Sainz:

Lance Stroll:

Oscar Piastri:

Max Verstappen:

George Russell:

Daniel Ricciardo:

Charles Leclerc:

Lando Norris:

A/N: I'm posting this right now because I work a double and I don't want to forget to post! I'm working overtime for you guys (I got off work 4 hours ago and spent the last 2 1/2 writing these 😭)

Taglist:

@luckyladycreator2 @itsmiamalfoy @jeffs77 @ilivbullyingjeongin @forevercaffeinated-lee @daemyratwst @gulphulp @callsignwidow @f1wintermoon13 @teenwolf01 @victoriassecret101 @hiireadstuff @formulaal @eddieharrington @kazza72584 @zabwlky1999 @dark-night-sky-99 @rougekiki @xoscar03 @jess-wither @bountychanti @dhanihamidi @Ggasly.p @tellybearryyyy @a-panseuxalmess @love-simon @tallrock35 @iiaik0ii @Milkyymelanine

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cheriladycl01 · 10 months

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F1 MasterList

Current Grid

Generic/ Multi Driver!

Grid Series'

Kinktober 2024

Olympic Sport Series

Mundane Career Series

Imagines

General F1 Imagines Masterlist

Max Verstappen

Max Verstappen Masterlist

Sergio Perez

Sergio Perez Masterlist

Charles Leclerc

Charles Leclerc Masterlist

Carlos Sainz

Carlos Sainz Masterlist

Lando Norris

Lando Norris Masterlist

Oscar Piastri

Oscar Piastri Masterlist

Lewis Hamilton

Lewis Hamilton Masterlist

George Russell

George Russell Masterlist

Fernando Alonso

Fernando Alonso Masterlist

Lance Stroll

Lance Stroll Masterlist

Pierre Gasly

Pierre Gasly Masterlist

Esteban Ocon

Esteban Ocon Masterlist

Alexander Albon

Alexander Albon Masterlist

Franco Colapinto

Franco Colapinto Masterlist

Yuki Tsunoda

Yuki Tsunoda Masterlist

Daniel Ricciardo

Daniel Ricciardo Masterlist

Valtteri Bottas

Valtteri Bottas Masterlist

Zhou Guanyu

Zhou Guanyu Masterlist

Nico Hulkenberg

Nico Hulkenberg Masterlist

Kevin Magnussen

EX Grid/ Current Stepin's/ F2

Liam Lawson

Liam Lawson Masterlist

Sebastian Vettel

Sebastian Vettel Masterlist

Kimi Räikkönen

Kimi Raikkonen Masterlist

Logan Sargeant

Logan Sargeant Masterlist

Engineers and Team Principles

Peter Bonnington

Peter Bonnington Masterlist

Toto Wolff

Toto Wolff Masterlist

James Vowles

James Vowles Masterlist

A/N: if you want to be added to a tag list feel free to comment on any of my posts or to send me a message!

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vanishingcherry · 1 year

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MARRY ME?

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

warnings: alcohol consumption, mentions of jules bianchi and herve leclerc, google translated french, marriage and proposals (self explanatory)

summary: the 4 times charles has asked you to marry him and the one time you said yes

masterlist

๑ ⋆˚₊⋆────ʚ˚ɞ────⋆˚₊⋆ ๑

── 6 years old

Your parents had brought you to a wedding.

Your mother was the bride's closest friend, meaning you had the honour of being the flower girl. The ceremony itself was short and sweet, you watched the bride in awe, in love with her dress.

Not too long later, you were joined by a young boy your age. He was the ring bearer, also watching as the ceremony came to a close.

As the newly married couple walks out together, the boy turns to you.

"We should get married too" He suggests.

"What?" you ask, eyebrows furrowing in surprise. "I don't even know your name"

"C'est Charles. Et toi?" it's charles, and you?

"Y/N."

"Ok so now we can get married, yes? It will be fun."

"Je ne sais pas Charles, i dont know, I need to ask mummy first." You reply. On the outside you were trying to act as normal as possible, but on the inside, you kind of wanted it to happen.

To be fair, why wouldn't you want to wear a pretty dress and get some pretty flowers. You could picture it now, walking down the aisle with a bouquet in your hand and a sparkling dress with thousands of glittery sequins.

It was settled then. If she said yes, you would get married. It would be perfect. Grabbing Charles's hand, you scan the room for your mother, spotting her at the main table, awaiting the arrival of the bride and groom.

Running up to her, you tug at her dress with your hand, still holding Charles's in the other. She looks down.

"Mummy he asked me to marry him." You say in excitement, raising the hand that was entwined with Charles's.

Everyone at the table laughs at that, and you frown in response, not understanding what was wrong. Your mother, stifling a laugh herself, replies, "And what did you say?"

"That I had to ask you first. Is it okay if I marry him mummy?"

"Hmm are you sure you're not a little too young?"

"But i'm 6 years old. That is an entire hand plus 1". Adamant to get a pretty dress, you press on. Charles is still holding your hand, standing behind you patiently. He didn't want to say anything that would ruin his chances.

His mother had explained to him a few days ago why weddings happened. She had said that he would know when he met the person he wanted to marry, that she would be beautiful and kind and the best person in the world.

Pascale had explained to Charles that day that if he loved the girl, then everything would be alright, and they would be together forever. Upon meeting Y/N, he knew that she was his forever, it was just incredibly unfortunate that her mother seemed to think 6 was too young when it was obviously the perfect age.

You were still trying to convince your mother that it was perfect, everything was already set up and you were sure the bride wouldn't mind if you got married too.

"How about this", she suggests, "what if you and Charles get married when you are 25?"

"25!" You're shocked, 25 seemed so far away.

"I think 25 is the perfect age, yes? Both of you will be old enough then."

Knowing it was the best deal you would get, you agreed. Leading Charles away, you told him what your mother and you had compromised on. He seemed slightly disappointed at the news, but figured it would be okay, it was only 19 years after all.

"Pinky promise?"

"Pinky promise."

Unbeknownst to you, your mothers were exchanging numbers at the table, knowing it would be impossible to keep you two apart after today.

── 17 years old

Charles had gotten into Formula 1.

Not too long after winning the F2 Championship, Charles had started getting calls. He was almost always on the phone with his manager, before finally announcing that he signed with Sauber. Years of hard work and months of negotiation had paid off.

That was an interesting day. Both your families were sitting together in the Leclerc's living room. You were sitting between Charles and Arthur, playing games on the TV. After boasting about winning agains the two of them in Mario Cart, you slumped against the sofa, not wanting to play anymore.

Before the two brothers started the new game, Charles got up and stood in the middle of the room, calling for everyone's attention.

"As you all know, we've been trying to figure out a deal for Formula 1", he started, referring to himself and his manager. "And I'm going to be joining Sauber next year!"

Shouts of excitement were all that could be heard for the next few minutes, everyone overjoyed for the young boy who had spent his entire life working towards this very goal.

You were the first to get up and hug him, squealing in delight at the news. Your arms were tightly wrapped around his neck, everyone else in the family forming a big group hug around the two of you.

That was months ago. Now, the two of you stood in his room, 2 weeks before the start of the new season. Charles had to go to the airport early next morning, joining the team for a few days in the simulator. However, as normal, he had left packing till the very last minute.

He'd called you over a few hours ago, freaking out over what to pack and what to leave behind. You went over, entering his room to see clothes scattered everywhere. Rolling your eyes, you start directing him, telling him to clean up while you sort through the piles to figure out what he needs.

Over an hour later, the two of you fall on the bed, tired after having run all over the house to find everything Charles needed. Everything was done, packed up in the suitcase that would accompany him around the world.

Too late to sleep, the two of you opted to stay in his room and talk, whiling away the few hours before he had to head to the airport.

"My god Y/N, marry me will you?"

Blushing in response, you turn to face him. "What?"

Oblivious as he was, Charles had absolutely no idea of your growing crush on him. It had been going on for years, but you never said anything to him, too scared to ruin your friendship.

You were already the subject of teasing from both Lorenzo and Arthur, who had been blackmailed into not telling Charles. Pascale and your own parents hadn't yet commented on the relationship, choosing to let young love play out.

Charles had no idea, none at all. Never had he made any move that suggested he knew or felt the same way. Hence, a proposal was definitely not what you expected when you walking into his house earlier in the day.

"I don't know what I would do without you Y/N. Honestly Fred would've killed me if I showed up with only half the things I needed."

You let out a small chuckle. "We are a bit too young to get married, no?"

He turns back to face the ceiling. "I guess so."

2 hours later, you found yourself waving him off as he entered the terminal, heading to the Sauber headquarters for a week before pre-season testing, your heart still beating faster any time you thought of the conversation that had taken place.

── 20 years old

Charles was drunk.

It was a night out in Monaco. Most of the drivers could be found in the club, packed together, dancing and drinking following the grand prix earlier in the day.

Charles hadn't finished in a good position, meaning he was more than eager to drink the night away. You, tired after a day at the paddock, decided to go home instead.

From the moment he got the first drink down, all he could talk about was you. He would go around to all the drivers, asking them if they had seen how pretty you looked earlier today, or telling them a story about something you did as a child.

"Have I told you about the time we were matching on halloween?"

"Y/N got in so much trouble in school that day."

"She was so excited when she got to meet her favourite singer today!"

He was smitten, all of them knew it, and so they sat there and listened with smirks on their faces. Finally, tired of all the whining, Pierre dropped off Charles at your apartment.

Waking up to a phone call and multiple knocks on your door, you walked into your living room, quickly opening the door to see a grinning Pierre at your door, Charles leaning against him.

"He was being annoying, you can keep him", the frenchman says, tilting his head in Charles direction. "He's drunk."

"I can see that", you mutter, still slightly annoyed at the fact that you were woken up in the middle of the night, but grateful that Charles hadn't ended up walking the streets of Monaco alone.

The drunk man stumbled into your arms, waiting patiently for you to finish thanking Pierre who swiftly headed back to the club.

So, at around 1 in the morning, you found yourself awake and half carrying Charles to the sofa. He fell against it, leaning back and closing his eyes as you went to get a glass of water.

You see his face light up when you enter the room. Leaving the glass on the table for him to drink, you go get some pillows from your room.

Coming back, you see that he had already finished his water, and was looking at you intently.

"Tu es si belle. Have I ever told you that?" you are so beautiful

"Oui, et tu est tout aussi beau" yes, and you are just as handsome

Your crush still existed, perhaps even more so than before. It was impossible to deny the fact that he had only grown more attractive in the last few years. However, knowing it was just his drunk self talking, you chose the ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

He doesn't reply, watching as you set everything up comfortably before lying back. Just as you're about to leave to switch off the light, he grabs your hand, forcing you to turn around.

"Marry me Y/N."

The surprise on your face was as clear as day, but Charles's drunk self seemed to see right past it. He kept his eyes on your own, waiting for a response.

"How about you take me out on a date first?" you laugh in response, fluffing up the pillow and placing a blanket on his body. He falls asleep within seconds, and you sport a small smile as you watched him, before making your way to the comfort of your own bed.

The next day, you woke up to breakfast in bed. A stack of pancakes accompanied by grinning Charles and a note that read "Will you go out with me?"

Regardless to say, the date went amazing. It was simple, just the two of you hanging out in your favourite places in Monaco, drinking coffee and making jokes.

It was only a month later when Charles officially asked you to be his girlfriend during a movie night at home, to which you promptly replied a yes. And just another month after that when you heard him whisper a small "je t'aime" as you drifted off to sleep in a hotel room.

── 24 years old

Ferrari had finally made a good car.

It was the final race of the season and the battle raged on between Charles and Max. Both had an equal chance of winning the championship, Charles only 2 points behind Max in the leaderboard. Whoever won this race would win it all.

You were sitting in the garage, gaze not shifting from the screen in front of you. You watched the two drivers continuously switch positions, going from P1 to P2 and vice versa.

Max having lead for the last few laps, you stood up in joy when Charles overtook him at the end of the penultimate lap. Just 1 more lap. Charles was one lap away from being the World Champion.

You watched as Max's rear tire locked up in the second sector, increasing the gap to 2 seconds. The joy in your heart was bubbling up as Charles got closer and closer to the finish line. Joining the rest of the engineers, you leaned over the railings, watching as he crossed the finish line.

Immediately you ran to the pit wall, grabbing a pair of headphones.

"Amour you did it! World Champion!" You couldn't contain your delight, tears of joy falling as you go around hugging everyone in sight.

"Oh my god. We did it! We did it!" You heard his voice come through. "Thank you to everyone oh my god. I cannot believe it. I love you." Your grin becomes even wider at the last line directed towards you.

"Je t'aime Charles. Oh my god you did it."

Shouts of "yes" and "oh my god" were all that could be heard for the next few seconds. You stood there and listened, knowing just how much Charles deserved it. He had worked every day, either by himself in the gym or with the engineers, figuring out strategies for the next race. He deserved this more than anyone else.

Leaving the headphones near one of the many computers, you run to where the rest of the engineers were gathering. The red car parks at P1, and you look on in unfiltered glee as Charles jumps out, raising his hands in celebration.

He runs over to you, grabbing your face before pulling you in for a kiss. Knowing that there were people watching you, he keeps its short, but its passionate nonetheless.

When he pulls away, you see the shine in his eyes, helmet still on as everyone working at Ferrari rushes over to pat him on the back or give a hug.

Arthur, Lorenzo and his mother are there as well. The former having come P3 in his race earlier in the day, and the latter two having made the trip from Monaco to watch the climatic ending to the season.

You stand to the side with them when Charles heads to the cooldown room, talking to Pascale.

"Herve serait fiere, si fiere" herve would be proud, so proud.

"Et Jules aussi", you add. and jules too "He won it for them."

She smiled. Not too long after, an engineer walked over to you, directing you to the stage. He claimed that Charles wanted you to watch from closer.

5 minutes later, standing off to the side, you look on as he is handed the championship trophy. Cheering alongside everyone else, the delight is evident on your face as he raises it above his head.

The celebrations start. You watch as the engineers filter in, each holding their own bottle of champagne. Catching your eyes, Charles walks over, pulls you up on the podium with him, immediately drenching you in champagne. The celebrations continue as more and more people join.

He hugs you tight, blocking your line of sight. The noise is overwhelming, but in that moment, it's just the two of you. You hug him back, whispering in his ear, unaware of everyone else leaving the podium. I love you, I am so proud of you.

When it's just the two of you left, Charles pulls back. You look around in surprise, turning back to Charles to tell him to get off the podium, gasping when you realise what he was doing.

He was down on one knee, looking at you as though you had hung the stars in the sky. In his hand was a small box that held the most beautiful ring you had ever seen. The diamond in the center shone under the bright lights, but nothing could distract you from Charles.

"Veux-tu m'epouser, mon amour?" will you marry me, my love

You nod almost immediately, tears still falling as your hands cover your mouth in shock. Yes, yes, yes. You get down to Charles's level, hugging him tighter than ever before. You hear him chuckle in your ear, kissing your neck as he too feels a few tears fall out.

You aren't sure how long the two of you stay that way, finding comfort in each others embrace, but you are startled when you hear the roar of the crowd. Leaning back, you can't help but laugh when you see all the drivers and thousands of fans clapping and celebrating your engagement.

Arthur is standing next to Pierre, the both of them hooting and cheering, knowing just how much behind-the-scenes encouragement it took for Charles to agree to proposing.

Looking back at Charles, you find him already looking at you. Giving him a kiss, you let him put the ring on your finger, cheek's hurting from how much you had smiled in the last hour.

It slips on with ease, and the diamonds seem to sparkle even more under the bright lights.

"Only took 4 times for you to say yes, eh?"

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formulawolff · 4 months

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xi. larger than life - t.w.

pairing: female driver!reader x toto wolff

word count: 3.6k

warnings: cursing, banter, teasing, flirting, mentions of sex, a teeny bit of angst, THIS IS PROBABLY THE MOST DOWN BAD TOTO HAS EVER BEEN, lewis being a little shit, alcohol use, marijuana use, yadayadayada

prev. | next.

“hey, there’s someone here to meet you. i think you’ll shit your pants once you see him.”

alex stands beside you, beaming as you wave goodbye to ben. it was early friday morning, around nine-thirty in the morning. since it was a more relaxed day, with the practice session the only obligation in your schedule, you had your parents stationed at the lounge area.

they were seated with lily, who was very eager to spend some time with them. after all, since alex was busy, she had no one to talk to. so, you figured it would be nice if they all had one another for company.

however, tomorrow was qualifying, where it would determine your place on the grid.

which, to you, that lap tomorrow was everything.

the defining moment of the weekend.

“who?” you raise a brow, “who could it–”

as you glance over your shoulder, your heart skips a beat as you see james engaged in deep conversation with him, the team principal chuckling, pointing to you. the visitor is dressed in a cream suit, a white button-up underneath, jet-black sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose. swallowing the lump in your throat, you stroll towards him, running an absentminded hair through your hand.

“good morning!”

the words are almost a squeak, and you internally kick yourself.

the visitor’s lips curl upward, flashing a pearly white grin, “¡buenos dias! ¡bienvenida a miami!”

standing before you was none other than pitbull, mr. worldwide, mr. three-oh-five. rather than shaking your hand, he opens his arms, pulling you in for a warm embrace. you were probably sweating from the nerves and the humidity, but you didn’t care.

while you had met celebrities in your brief time as a formula one driver, most of them were european. so, you weren’t really quite familiar with their fame or starpower through football, rugby, television, and well, business. there were so many wealthy moguls who came through the paddock at the races, james and alex recognizing them in an instant.

on the other hand, you felt awkward, as you usually had no idea who that person was or what exactly they did.

so, to finally meet someone you were familiar with and recognized, in your home country, was a moment to cherish.

and well, you were a little starstruck.

“i’m going to admit, i don’t know much about formula one,” the singer shrugs, “but i figured i would come through and say hello.”

“well i’m honored,” a giggle bubbles up in your throat, “have you met with any of the other teams?”

“not yet,” he shakes his head, shooting you a wink, “this is my first stop. mostly because there is a very beautiful woman who drives for this team. do you know her, by chance?”

your eyes widen as you realize he’s referring to you. heat rushes into your cheeks, your palms clamming up, “oh my gosh – um, –”

“my apologies señorita,” he places a tender hand on your shoulder, “i know you have much bigger things to worry about. i wish you the best of luck today! make miami proud!”

“i will,” relief ripples as he leans in, pecking your cheek before waving goodbye, strolling away from the entrance of the paddock, security team in tow.

“jesus christ,” alex’s voice sounds from behind you, “he would fuck anyone, wouldn’t he?”

“stop it,” you hiss, swiveling on your heel, “he was just being nice.”

“yeah, yeah,” alex scoffs, rolling his eyes, “anyways, i noticed the other day you posted another set of photos on instagram. one of them had that mystery man in it. who is he? why hasn’t he come to the paddock yet?”

“because he’s been busy,” that wasn’t a lie by any means. the team principal was quite busy this morning, merely a few paddocks over, “i will see if he come to the next race. i doubt it, though.”

“what does he do again?” alex inquires, sitting on top of some equipment, “i think you told me but i forgot.”

“he’s in management,” well, that was half the truth, “he manages a sports team.”

“what team?”

“the new soccer team in st. louis,” firing back, you shrink a little under alex’s intense gaze, his lips pursed, brows furrowed, “since it’s only their second year, he’s been busy with promotional stuff. events, traveling, you know.”

“right,” alex sucks in a breath, “also, i know it wasn’t anything serious, but i was a little nervous when you posted those photos of the mercedes campus. i know there have been some rumors, but i would hope that you would talk to me if you were ever thinking about leaving williams–”

“oh, she’s never leaving us!” james’ voice chips in, the team principal coming up from behind you, “she’s stuck with us till 2026!”

at the sureness in james’ tone, your heart sinks.

fuck, this was getting complicated.

as you stood with james and alex, the topic shifting to the newest modifications on the cars, your heart thumped, pounding against your rib-cage. inside your mind, it was a tumultuous, chaotic mess.

your heart yearned to be with toto, yet you were so comfortable with williams. you were happy here, really. you had an amazing relationship with james, alex was like an older brother, and you couldn’t be any more grateful for the support your team had given you. since the beginning, they had made it very clear that they were one hundred percent confident in your capabilities, often reassuring you that were a talented driver with a very successful future ahead.

how could you just abandon williams like that? leaving them high and dry like that? with no warning either?

you could only picture the disappointment, the confusion, and the bitterness that would plague james’ features as you inform him of your decision.

god, that thought alone was enough to tear your heart into two.

sure, there were rumors. since that post with the mercedes headquarters, fans were buzzing with suspicions that there were contract talks. that you were going to announce your departure from williams any day now. that you were going to join toto wolff at mercedes.

since it was friday, there were only a couple of days before toto would ask about your decision. in that time frame, you needed to speak with james regarding the subject, fill alex in, focus on the practice sessions, make the most out of your qualifying lap, spend time with your parents, and most of all, focus on driving.

with less than forty-eight hours until then, time was of the essence.

and fuck, were you running out of that precious time.

a few paddocks over, a team principal raises an arm, waving to fans as they shout, a driver on his left, the other on his right.

“are you going to see her tonight?”

lewis’ question is innocent as they enter the garage, members of the pit crew swarming and flurrying about. they chirp greetings as the three gather around the cars, examining them.

toto exhales, inspecting the right wing, “you two are worse than the wags. i have never met people more invested in someone’s love life the way you two are.”

“well now that the cat’s out of the bag,” george crouches by a tire, “we get to pester you about it.”

the casualness of the conversation as the entire team was in earshot sent the team principal spiraling, his jaw clenching as bono approached them clipboard in hand, “you two also need to learn the importance of time and place.”

“we’ll just talk more about it later then,” toto curses as he notices lewis bearing a smug smirk, “after the practice session, we’re going to do a deep dive addressing your feelings–”

“good morning,” bono clears his throat, “did i walk into something important?”

“no, not at all,” toto shoots lewis an icy glare as george bites on his lip, stifling a chuckle, “let’s get to business. how are the cars?”

as peter began his report, toto couldn’t help but let his mind wander.

besides, it was not like he could focus these days anyway.

the team principal absolutely despised the hectic schedules of the race weekend. how he was constantly rotating between briefings, meetings with the engineers and mechanics, promotional events, sponsorship talks, and well, managing the two juveniles otherwise known as lewis hamilton and george russell.

then, there was the reason why they were all here. the race itself.

now, he had another pressing matter weighing on his mind.

three people were aware of his developing relationship with a certain williams driver. while he knew that two of the three would protect his secret, he was extremely cautious about the third. after all, the girl was only nineteen years old. she was young and impressionable. lewis’ little stunt with the cash proved that the girl was easily influenced.

however, as much as he wanted to fire the girl, he knew that he couldn’t.

at least, not during race weekend. that would be downright cruel.

monday would probably be a different story.

yet, if he fired her, would she just blackmail him? would she threaten to release the information involving him and his golden girl?

just the thought of her leaking that information to the press was panic-inducing enough.

he could offer her a hefty sum to stay quiet. but he couldn’t do that either. down the road, she could end up exposing him for paying hush money.

being romantically involved with a woman thirty years younger than him and offering his former assistant hush money to keep quiet on the matter?

that would send his entire world crashing down, bursting into flames in the process.

he would lose everything.

for the time-being, toto would just have to hold onto shreds of hope that his assistant would remain silent on the matter. maybe if he didn’t mention it, she wouldn’t either.

he would be okay with that.

on the other hand, his drivers were adamant that they wouldn’t say anything, swearing up and down that if preserving this little secret was this important to him, then they would abide by his wishes. at first, george was hurt that he was excluded from the conversation. he was angry that out of anyone toto could have chosen, he chose her.

yet, as toto recalled every little detail of his relationship with the williams driver, george’s bitterness dissolved, transitioning to some sort of understanding. toto thought he kept things brief as he explained his feelings, but the three were cooped up in his office for nearly three hours discussing the matter.

besides, it wasn’t like he chose the williams driver.

it just sort of happened.

now, here he was, pacing back and forth in the paddock, aching for even a glimpse of her. the rift between the two was driving him utterly insane, the team principal resisting the urge to take an impromptu visit, popping in for just a moment. just hearing the sound of her voice would be enough.

yet, he knew he couldn’t. it would raise too many eyebrows. it would stir up too much gossip.

“look at him,” lewis elbows george, “looking quite pitiful once again.”

“i feel bad for him,” george exhales, “i can’t be away from carmen for too long before going absolutely mad. i can’t imagine how he feels.”

“being so close to someone yet so far?”

“exactly,” george nods, “do you think he’s in love? he wouldn’t say it directly, but whenever he was talking about her, i could just tell. i saw the way his eyes lit up, the way he was giggling like a schoolgirl, and the way he couldn’t help but fight a smile. and not just any old smile.”

“oh he’s totally in love,” lewis remarks, “do you hear how he talks about her? he speaks with this softness. it’s cute, really. it makes me want to throw up but it’s cute.”

“do you think he’ll tell her?”

as the driver shifts his attention back to the team principal, he tuts, “not now, but soon.”

“how soon?” george presses, “because he looks quite pathetic over there, like a little lovesick puppy.”

“i’m willing to bet by the time we’re in monaco, he won’t be able to hold it in any longer.”

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

“i feel the need, the need for speed!”

letting out a shaky breath, your fingers grip the steering wheel, so tightly you were sure your knuckles were white underneath the fabric of your gloves.

this was it.

the miami grand prix.

as you sail through the track, surprisingly, you feel nothing but peace, james’ voice over the radio barely audible. you felt like you were enduring an out-of-body experience the way your mind raced yet your body remained still, acting on pure instinct. your foot on the gas, tapping on the brakes every so often.

this was lap fifty-six out of fifty-seven.

the final stretch.

you were almost there. so close now. so close you could taste it.

behind you was lando norris of mclaren, max verstappen closing in quickly. charles leclerc tails max, desperate for the thrill of a podium.

the anticipation was growing as you near the finish line, the checkered flag waving in the distance.

was this a dream? were you really here?

squeezing your eyes shut, you blink, in a desperate attempt to distinguish reality from fantasy. yet, there’s a moment of silence as you make out the stands in your field of vision, as if everyone was holding their breath at once.

then, it all comes bursting in your ears. the roar of the crowd. the thundering of the engines. the booming of fireworks. it was almost deafening as your car slows, foot easing on the brakes.

“and she’s done it again! we just witnessed a moment in history!”

oh god.

you did it.

you won.

euphoria fills you to the brim as you scramble out of the car, climbing on top of it. pumping your fists in the air, tears flood your visor, blurring anything and everything all around. members of the williams team come sprinting towards the car, hollering and shouting. adrenaline courses through your veins, a tingling sensation buzzing from your fingers to your toes.

cameras flash as you raise your index fingers, members of the team following in suit.

you were one-of-one.

and by god, were you going to show the world that you were just that.

the world was going to know your name, whether they watched formula one or not. your name was going to be broadcasted all over sports channels for weeks to come. your name was going to printed on merchandise, jerseys, on everything and anything related to williams racing.

you made history today as the first american driver to win the miami grand prix. not only that, but you were the first american female driver to win two grand prixes consecutively.

and god, did that taste so sweet on your tongue.

jumping down, you’re greeted by james’ arms, the team principal rattling your helmet.

“great fucking job! great fucking job! you are fucking insane!”

ripping off your helmet, you catch your breath, taking in the moment. this felt larger than life. like a dream come true.

this was one of the best days of your life.

if not, the best day of your life.

and god, were you going to savor every moment of it.

each and every second.

the hours following the race were a blur. although you typically shied away from the press, you lost count of the number of journalists who approached you, answering each one of their questions with genuine, thoughtful answers. fans of all ages snapped photos with you, congratulating you with nothing but sincerity in their words. you signed some jerseys, some caps, and one woman even asked you to sign across her chest.

how could you refuse a photo worthy moment like that?

your parents were immensely proud, tears streaming down their cheeks as they wrapped their arms around you. although you wanted to spend the rest of the evening with them, they urged you to go out and celebrate. there was always time tomorrow, as they were flying out early in the morning tuesday.

so, when the boys offered to take you out to a few clubs across miami, you accepted it.

now, the bass pounded as you sway back and forth, screaming along with lando, oscar, carlos, charles, and alex as the music plays. lily tagged along, hovering alex, giggling as you chug another drink, the taste of alcohol lingering on your tongue.

“how does it feel to be a winner-winner?”

“pretty fucking good,” a few drops trickle down your chin, and you quickly wipe them away, “do you think i could win the next one?”

“ummm, let me think,” lily brings a hand to her chin, pausing momentarily, “yes!”

“you’re absolutely unfuckingbelievable,” lando nods enthusiastically, “you will probably win the world championship if we don’t up the pace!””

all of you were extremely tipsy, cheeks burning from the buzz of the alcohol and packed space. lewis and george came too, but they kept their distance, remaining at the bar while the rest of you were on the dance floor.

not only were you tipsy, but someone had offered you a few puffs of a joint while you were in line outside of the club. actually, they offered you the entire joint because the second they saw you, they immediately recognized you.

at that point, you had already pregamed at the hotel with the boys beforehand. so, how could you refuse a few hits of a joint? that would have been downright rude.

across the dance floor, lewis hamilton sits, perched at the bar, drink in hand.

it’s not like he came along to purposefully watch the williams driver. he just wanted to ensure that you would make it back to your motorhome by the end of the night.

cause god knew how fucked up the others were. they weren’t in any state to help you get home, safe and sound. fuck, none of you were in any coherent state to even call an uber.

plus, god only knew if you would run into anyone from the press or media. and who knows what you would possibly say if you were asked about a certain team principal.

“should i call toto?” george leans over, his voice slightly raised, “she looks gone.”

“hmmm,” lewis hums, his eyes following your every move as you stumble a couple of steps, “i don’t think a call would hurt.”

“now?”

“now,” lewis’ jaw clenches as he sets his drink on the bar, “call toto and get my card, would you? i’m going to wrangle our newfound friend.”

“should we have toto come get her or what should we do?”

rising to his feet, lewis surveys the crowd. it was packed beyond belief, inches between bodies as they moved to the rhythm. toto meeting them here would be far too risky. too many eyes and ears.

“call him and tell him that we’re going to help get her to the motorhome. or we can take her directly to his hotel room. i imagine she would prefer to sleep in her own bed. you know what? just have him meet us at her motorhome.”

“will do,” george nods, “i’m going to step outside to make the call. meet me out there once you find her?”

“sounds like a plan,” lewis suppresses a groan as the lights in the club are dimmed, more so than they previously were. everyone blended together, forming one giant mass.

this was going to be fun.

in his hotel room, toto wolff lays in bed, laptop resting on his nightstand. although he was oh so happy for you and your accomplishments today, there was this aching feeling gnawing away at him, nearly consuming him whole.

out his window, the lights of miami glitter, casting a soft glow over the city. the view from his room was oh so beautiful, especially at this time of night. however, it wasn’t nearly as stunning as you were.

fuck, he missed you.

more than anything.

he longed to hold you against his chest. he yearned to pepper your forehead with kisses. he wanted you, desperately.

actually, he needed you.

but he wouldn’t admit that.

suddenly, his phone buzzes, startling him slightly. plucking it off the mattress, the screen is illuminated with a photo of george.

hmph. that’s odd.

tapping on the green icon, the team principal brings the phone to his ear, “hallo?”

in the background, he hears a voice. not any old voice. your voice, barely audible, but enough that he knows it's yours.

“hey it’s george. she’s absolutely obliterated right now. we’re going to call for an uber, and bring her to her place. can you meet us there? i think she really needs you.”

“is she okay?” almost instantly, he sits up, “how long will you be?”

“are you calling toto?” his heart flutters as she giggles, the sound oh so angelic, “oh my gosh! is he on the phone right now? can i talk to him? pleaseee george? can i? please?”

“put her on the phone, george,” toto brings a hand to his temple, momentarily embarrassed at the desperation dripping in his tone, “please.”

there’s a shuffling noise as the phone is transferred, her voice, so delicate and sweet, pours into his ear.

“can you come over? i miss you so much. please, daddy. come over.”

“oh shit,” toto squeezes his eyes shut as he hears lewis’ chuckle in the background, “i’m not letting that one go.”

“i’ll be on my way soon, schatzi. do you need anything? it sounds like you need some water and some rest.”

“ummm yeah,” god, she was going to be the death of him, ��i do need one thing.”

“and that is?” he’s on his feet now, shoving clothes into an overnight bag, “what do you need, schatzi?”

“your dick.”

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

taglist: @younxii @toldyouitwasamelodrama @kravitzwhore @persona1lies @pucksandpower @k3ira13 @prettiest-at-the-party @martwll @annewithaneofthegreengable @zoeyjadetice2010 @sinners-98-world @laura-naruto-fan1998 @nebarious @joalslibrary @swifth0lic @statuewoman @strangegirl974 @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @m-1234 @whoisss @msbyjackal

as always, if you would like to be added, or forgot to be added, please let me know! thank you for all of the support on this series! i love y'all so much! <3

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nouvellevqgue · 10 months

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but i'm my father's daughter, so maybe i could fix him .ೃ࿔

.𖥔 ݁˖𖦹⭒ you loved him, but do you loved him truly? or the one who's the bad is not you, but him. or probably even the opposite.

i. LOGAN SARGEANT ɞ°⁺˖ ﹙ all-american bitch ﹚

ii. OSCAR PIASTRI ɞ₊⊹⋆ ﹙ bad idea, right? ﹚

what if the break up wasn't really called a break up since the night he called it end?

iii. LEWIS HAMILTON ɞ°⁺˖ ﹙ vampire ﹚

iv. LANDO NORRIS ₊⊹⋆ ﹙ lacy ﹚

v. MAX VERSTAPPEN ɞ°⁺˖ ﹙ ballad of a homeschooled girl﹚

you don't even know who he is, and so does he. so now how are you both are even together?

vi. CHARLES LECLERC ₊⊹⋆ ﹙ making the bed﹚

vii. PIERRE GASLY ɞ°⁺˖ ﹙ logical ﹚

you've been fallen for his trap, like a pig raised for slaughter, he treated you the same.

viii. CARLOS SAINZ ₊⊹⋆ ﹙ get him back! / i wanna kiss his face with an uppercut! ﹚

ix. MICK SCHUMACHER ɞ°⁺˖ ﹙ love is embarrassing ﹚

you gave everything for him but at what cost?

x. GEORGE RUSSELL ₊⊹⋆ ﹙ the grudge ﹚

would you still believe in pure love after this?

xi. DANIEL RICCIARDO ɞ°⁺˖ ﹙ pretty isn't pretty﹚

all you wanted to do is be pretty for him. but sometimes what is called beautiful isn't as beautiful and pretty what you imagined isn't as pretty as you are.

xii. YUKI TSUNODA ₊⊹⋆ ﹙ teenage dream﹚

xiii. DANIEL RICCIARDO ɞ°⁺˖ ﹙ prison for life﹚

xiv. OLLIE BEARMAN ₊⊹⋆ ﹙ strangers again﹚

does love that he wants from you is only works undercover?

“ it takes strength to forgive, but i don't feel strong ”

#logan sargeant x reader #oscar piastri x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #lando norris x reader #max verstappen x reader #charles leclerc x reader #pierre gasly x reader #carlos sainz x reader #mick schumacher x reader #george russell x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #yuki tsunoda x reader #🪷; series

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youreverydayfangirl · 4 months

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NEW SERIES

Driver x CEO type reader

charles leclerc build me up buttercup

max vertsappen cinamon girl y/n yln owns a bakery in monaco, or in which people obsess over max's new girlfriend

carlos sainz sue me

lewis hamilton material girl

lando norris if this was a movie

oscar piastri sos

pierre gasly starry starry night

george russell the manuscript

logan sargeant shut up and drive

oliver bearman esspresso

arthur leclerc our song

#f1 masterlist #f1 series #charles leclerc #max verstappen #carlos sainz #lewis hamiltion #lando norris #oscar piastri #pierre gasly #george russell #logan sargeant #oliver bearman #arthur leclerc

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httpsserene · 6 days

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𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 '𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐰𝐨 | 𝐬𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 | 𝐜𝐬. 𝟓𝟓 & 𝐥𝐧. 𝟒

summary: have you worked every shift possible for a chance of running into carlos and lando? yes. are you mad that you have a month of summer left and you still haven’t stumbled upon them? yes.

content warning: 18+. mdni. explicit sexual content. plot with porn. summer fling/vacation romance. fluff. light angst. light angst with a happy ending. banter. attempt at humor. explicit language. reader has a mom and dad. original side characters. dates. golf. miscommunication (done right). reader is bad at feelings. flirting. d/s undertones. light dom!carlos. switch!lando. switch!reader. brat!lando. hair-pulling. light pain kink. light praise kink. cunnilingus. vaginal fingering. threesome m/m/f. vaginal sex. protected sex. overstimulation. carlos sainz jr’s canonically big dick. petnames. orgasm delay? envy and jealousy.

pairing: poly! carlos sainz jr x lando norris x phd-student! fem!black!reader

word count: 18k words. (new record!)

from, serene: i am extremely proud of what i created. i hope it was worth waiting for, and i can't wait for the next episode !!! my next upload might be an alex albon smau series, for those that requested it. pls pls pls, send me asks and leave comments on this if you'd like! i'd love to hear your thoughts on sip of sunshine, and how it's building so far xxx thank you so much, my loves :) (50 more followers until 3k :o)

this has also been uploaded on my AO3 for anybody who finds it easier to read a fic of this length on there (looking out for those on mobile x)

Studying for a doctorate does not directly correlate to a person’s brilliance. If you were smart, you wouldn’t have returned to the golf club for another summer with the sole hope of reuniting with the two stunningly fine men you shared a ten-minute conversation with. However, you chose to beat intelligence in a foot race, and here you are: driving the same beverage cart while sweating off your sunscreen for the fifth year in a row; furthermore, you have not crossed paths with Carlos and Lando once in the two months you’ve been working.

It’s difficult to believe that Lando had told the truth when he mentioned that they’ve been attending Club La Moraleja consistently for the past four years. You want to believe him, but the evidence against him is overwhelming. You’ve worked every possible shift this season, at every possible time, on every possible course, without a single spotting of the duo from the beginning of June.

It’s August. If you allow yourself to think maniacally, you would infer that they’re avoiding you on purpose.

Previously, you were under the assumption that they were obviously flirting with you. The sexual innuendos, double-entendres, calling you a “sip of sunshine,” and the eighty euro tip Carlos left you (which had to be a mistake)—from which you deduced that they were making a move on you. You would even say that their instance in convincing you to return to the green was the smoking gun you needed to seal their fate in the case of you catching their interest.

Nonetheless, they are nowhere to be found.

You cope by entertaining the aspect of you suffering from heat stroke or heat exhaustion, and you created Carlos and Lando as a figment of your delusions during your compromised mental state. On the other hand, there’s also a chance that they took your joking threat—of never returning if you had to put up with their subpar pick-up lines—seriously. You didn’t consider that they would misunderstand your teasing banter but, you haven’t seen them a single time this summer.

It’s unsettling. You’ve never been this disappointed about men not taking the clear hint.

Obviously, you’d be relieved if any of the sleazy, rude, and archaic golfers stopped bothering you after their first attempt. But, Carlos and Lando? They’re the exact opposite of the men you described. They’re young, polite, funny, charming, and attractive. It’s not outlandish for you to say that there was some budding chemistry between you three.

It’s regrettably characteristic of you to develop crushes on men you haven’t shared more than one conversation with. Too bad you’re never going to see them again. And, screw them! Who do they think they are? It’s not like they’re anybody special—they probably delighted in filling your mind with false hope.

The next time you see them, you’re running them over with the bev cart. All gas, no breaks.

The motor whirs loudly as you drive over a hill to the last hole of Course Four—and, you’ll be damned.

“Well, look at you! You stayed!”

You can’t tell if this is the universe blessing you or sending you a curse in disguise.

Lando’s words ring in your ears as your brain fails to compute the sight of him and Carlos smiling at you from across the green, down in a bunker.

Lando’s…matured beautifully, over the year you haven’t seen him. He was attractive before, but as you direct the cart closer, you can tell he’s grown into himself. There’s a broadness to his shoulders, a sharpness to his eyes, and a hollowness to his cheekbones that certainly makes it impossible for anybody to deny that he’s beautiful.

Carlos is angeringly more handsome than he was before, somehow. You blame it on the backwards cap and his stupidly wide, warm, beautiful, brown eyes. You cut the engine off, scratching fiendishly at the back of your neck to dispel your thoughts about his nose and lips, how you would pay to see his brown eyes darkened between your thighs.

“Obviously,” you state dryly, roughly tucking the curls that slipped from your ponytail behind your ear, “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Their grins falter at your biting tone and they glance at each other in surprise at your irritated response. They climb out of the bunker and walk to meet you at the side of the cart. You’ve turned your back to them, hearing their footsteps approach but you continue to mindlessly organize any cups that shifted out of place as you drove.

“It was just an observation,” the Brit continues, you can hear him still smiling around his words, “A conversation starter, I guess.”

You put on an impassive expression before turning around and staring at the two with your arms crossed, “Mm. Who’s the one who’s bad enough at golf to land in the bunker? Wait—don’t tell me! You’re both probably stuck in the sand trap.”

Lando’s mouth audibly drops open with an insulted gasp and Carlos’s brow furrows in confusion.

You wave a dismissive hand through the air before they can reply, “What do you want to drink?”

“Uh…What?” Carlos fumbles, lost at your deviation.

“What, ‘what?’” You snap, annoyed at his feigned innocence, like he’s unaware that they lead you on for the entirety of a summer that they just appeared in, “What do you want to drink? As in a refreshment? ¿Una bebida? I know you’re familiar with ordering from the cart as I served you last year—and since you both have been coming here for five years!” [A drink?]

The two stare at you in blatant terror as your voice echoes in the air. Their stunned silence at your “unfounded” anger only serves to exasperate you further.

“Make it quick,” your voice trembles infuriatingly, “What would you like to drink?”

“Did we do something wrong? If we upset you, we have no idea what we did,” Carlos rambles pleadingly. You almost buy it.

“Yeah, what’s with the attitude?” Lando gracefully ruins their chances of being acquitted, “We haven’t seen you in nearly a year; What could we have done wrong?”

“Attitude—are you serious!?” You scoff, insulted at the very idea, before continuing mockingly “Whatever—it’s a beer and a lime mocktail, right? Or, would you prefer a sip of sunshine?”

The men don’t have a chance to edit their orders as you sharply throw open the beer cooler, all three of you flinching as the lid slams into the cart and the bottles and cans clamoring together worryingly. You don’t let the fear of damaged property interrupt your fury as you brandish the beer towards Carlos, snatching your hand away as soon as his closes around the neck of the bottle.

He murmurs his thanks in his native tongue but the curl of his accent—no matter how alluring it sounds—incenses you further, and you huffily turn your back towards them as you craft Lando’s drink.

The thought of them being truthful about their confusion about your annoyance flares in your mind as you shovel ice into the plastic cup. It’s possible that there has been some miscommunication…but, that would be embarrassing for you to admit. You’ve already acted incredibly rude and like a total brat to them—to customers, at that! Ohmygod, you’ve let your personal emotions affect your work; they could report you to your manager and have you fired.

Your breath stutters as your overcome with a chill that feels like you’ve dumped ice down your own shirt. The drink is quickly assembled, and you find yourself wishing for a painless death as you fasten an orange slice as garnish on the rim of the cup instead of a lime. A slice of sunshine, if you will.

Meekly, this time around, you offer the cup to Lando. He looks increasingly disturbed at the sudden switch of your demeanor. You watch the Brit glance at his companion, his look clearly communicating that he’s checking if Carlos agrees that you’ve lost your mind, most likely.

The Spaniard must have agreed because Lando giggles nervously, the sound glaringly revealing his discomfort, “You didn’t poison my drink, did you?”

Your brain starts to self-destruct in embarrassment. Carlos hides his face in his free hand, but the sound of pain that escapes him at the ill-timed joke is clear. To be fair, Lando looked like he regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth, but the damage was done.

Your cheeks burn furiously, you’re simultaneously angry and disappointed in yourself. How could you allow yourself to become overrun by your emotions on the clock? It’s unprofessional and uncharacteristic of you.

You excuse yourself shakily, “I-I am so sorry. Perdóname. I was rude to you both for no reason. I apologize sincerely for my behavior. Do not worry about paying, your drinks are on me. I hope you both enjoy yourself on the green—Buenas tardes.” [Forgive me; Good afternoon.]

Carlos and Lando are silent as you scamper into the driver’s seat, tail figuratively tucked between your legs. The ride back to the clubhouse is silent as you berate yourself for your stupidity. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to forget the way you ruined your chances with them. You already know your subconscious will play this on repeat every time you try to sleep. The cart beeps as you reverse into its assigned spot. Isabel, one of the fellow cart girls—and your best friend—waves at you with a smile as she walks over towards you. She must be the next on shift.

“You look like you’ve just been fired,” Isa’s smile has transformed into a look of concern, “¿Estás bien?” [Are you okay?]

Grabbing your belongings, you slide out of the driver's seat with a haunted look in your eyes. “You remember the two guys I told you about? From last summer? I think I just scared them away.”

“No,” Isa exhales in denial, pulling you into a hug, “There’s no way. What happened?”

“I yelled at them and insulted them for being bad at golf,” you mumble, yelping sharply as she communicates her displeasure by slapping at your arm, “I was mad at them, okay! They were pretending to be innocent, like they had no clue they avoided me for the entire summer! They’re going to complain to the Club and get me fired because I was unprofessional and rude!”

“Ay! You don’t know that! You still served them, and apologized right?” Isa brightens further when you mention you served them for free, she ignores your pout as you rub your hand against the stinging skin of your bicep, “Then, it’s probably nothing. If they do complain, this is your first complaint ever. You won’t get fired—you will just have to wash the carts for the rest of the summer.”

You fall to your knees on the hot concrete in despair and Isa snorts at your dramatics, bending to pluck the cart keys from your pocket.

“I’m just going to quit, inmediamente!” [Immediately!]

“If you quit, I quit,” Isa reminds you, “And, out of the two of us, I need this job. I’m broke. So, you can’t quit, unless you want me to suffer.”

“I would take care of you,” you beg, “I have my office job back in the States. You could marry me and get a green card! Let me quit!”

Isa cackles at the concept, “You hate your office job. Anyway, quitting won’t save you from your colleagues here. Don’t forget we’re all going out tomorrow night! You can’t escape this time, you promised me.”

You groan in indignation, “Is it a crime to not like clubbing every night?”

“¡Sí, lo es!,” She frowns, “It’s clubbing every night in Madrid! And, I need moral support if I have to watch Lucas flirt with Sofia. I don’t know what he sees in her.” [Yes, it is!]

Grumbling fitfully, you wish her a good shift before dragging yourself into the Clubhouse. You’re still quitting. There’s not a chance in hell that you’re coming back next summer—there is nothing worth staying for anymore. Sorry, Isa.

Out of all the shifts you’ve worked, the 8 A.M. to 3 P.M. is your least favorite. You blink blearily as you hang up your belongings in the same locker you chose four years ago, fighting the urge to rub at your eyes, with the thought of not smearing your mascara. Pinning your nametag on your pressed shirt is muscle memory, and you slide on a club-branded visor to protect your face because the UV index is concerningly high today.

You pause to stare at the photos pinned to the inside of your locker door—they date from your very first summer till now, with familiar faces and some you haven’t seen in a while. It’s heartwarming. You haven’t posted a single one of these photos in here; your friends do it on their own (the password to your locker is apparently community knowledge—you could change it, but then you’d stop collecting them), taping Polaroids from moments on the course to shenanigans off the course to nights out in the city, with captions and notes written on the back.

The sense of belonging and community you found here is why it was so difficult to come to a decision about leaving this place and its people behind. Your lips tilt up at a photo of you and the cart team covering your boss’s car in sticky notes two summers ago—he made you all collect the stray golf balls from the putting green that night in retaliation. And, he laughed deeply as the sprinklers drenched all of you, which is another few snapshots commemorated in your locker.

You don’t think you’ll ever be able to leave.

“Mami,” Lilia, the receptionist on duty this morning, calls you from the locker room door, “The two really hot Formula One drivers are asking for you?”

You shoot a look of confusion her way, “huh—why me? I don’t know them?”

“Umm, yes you do?” Lilia mirrors your bafflement, “They say you’ve served them before. And that they want to apologize for something?”

“¿Qué?”

“I don’t know! I’m just repeating what they told me—” The brunette woman cuts herself short, and her eyes narrow after a moment, “Hey, if they’re bothering you, I’ll get them banned. I didn’t tell them that you were here, I just said I’d check to see if you had come in. Did they bother you? Don’t lie to me! I’ll call security and get them gone!”

“What, no! I don’t know them, or even know what Formula One is! I haven’t had a bad interaction or served any drivers—oh.” Your stomach sinks as your eyes shut woefully, “I fucked up.”

Lilia threatens to get them banned again when she sees the bronze skin of your face lose its luster. You tell her to let them know you’ll be out in a moment and to not threaten them. You step to the full-length mirror to check your appearance and adjust your uniform. Centering yourself with a few deep breaths, you turn the door handle and make your way out to the reception desk.

The squeaking of your sneakers on the tile floor only adds to your anticipation. A small part of you hopes that Carlos and Lando aren’t the Formula One drivers asking for you, and that this is all some misunderstanding. You feel your soul die inside of you as your eyes meet theirs. Their expressions look determined and apologetic, and your palms feel sweaty as you come to terms with them preparing to file a formal complaint.

Lilia clears her throat abruptly from where she’s pretending to organize membership files. You see a blush bloom on Carlos and Lando’s cheeks as they realize that they’ve been staring at you without saying anything for longer than what’s politely appropriate, but you beat them to the chase.

“Buenos días. U-umm,” you anxiously scratch at the nape of your neck, “…Is this about yesterday? Or the tip you left last summer? It was too generous to not be an accident. It’s past our refund period, but I can reach out to the manager on duty to see if we can work something out.” [Good morning.]

“I gave you eighty euros on purpose,” Carlos states without doubt, and you feel Lilia’s stare piercing your side profile.

“Oh.”

“I wanted to speak to you about yesterday—”

You cut in, “Yesterday was my fault! I think I misunderstood you both and I overreacted. It was nothing personal—”

Lando clasps his hands together, interrupting you with an imploring tone, “It was personal, though. Which is fine, I think we deserved it. Especially if there was a misunderstanding on our part. We would’ve communicated with you clearer if we were sure that you were on the same page as us. We would appreciate it if you would allow us to make it up to you.”

Lilia kicks your ankle underneath the desk, doing enough freaking out for the both of you as you struggle to keep your face calm.

“I feel like I’m still the one at fault for the miscommunication. But—how were you planning to…smooth things over, I guess?” You ask.

“Allow us to take you to dinner tonight, and explain,” Carlos finishes, weaponizing those eyes of his, helped by Lando softening his own at you desperately for a chance.

“Oh—um, I would love to, really, but I already have plans tonight—,” You’re getting tired of being interrupted, but Lilia is quick to clear your schedule.

“No!” The raven-haired woman jumps up from her seat, slapping her hand on the counter forcefully, causing the three of you to jump. “She’s free tonight!” She smiles scaringly wide at Carlos and Lando.

Lilia turns to you and her smile and voice quiets to something genuine, “I will explain to the others about why you could not make it. Isa will understand as long as you remember to keep us both updated, yes?”

You roll your eyes, resigned , “Yes.”

You’re surprised at the tentative happiness growing in the boys’ appearances, “I guess I can do dinner tonight. What’s the plan?”

Phone numbers are exchanged and they agree to pick you up from your house at seven. They linger through their goodbyes, clearly not wanting to end the conversation. It’s flattering that they're willingly exposing their obsession with you so soon. You shoo them away with the reminder of seeing each other tonight and the fact that you are, in fact, on the clock. Lilia slaps you on the arm repeatedly as you watch them exit through the front doors with a dreamy sigh.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Lilia lets out a scream of excitement and pulls you into a hug, the two of you jumping up and down overwhelmed with joy. You’re caught by your boss Marco, who takes one glance before he turns around to head back into his office, forcing the two of you into hysterical giggles.

You pull back from her, and you can’t quiet the large grin dancing on your lips, “I have no idea what to wear!”

Carlos texted you twenty minutes ago alerting you that they’re on the way to pick you up. Lando added that they can’t wait to see you a minute later. You were ready thirty minutes before they started heading your way. Ten minutes ago you decided to change your entire outfit. You settled on a linen cropped tank and matching maxi skirt with a pair of sandals. You fiddle with your accessories endlessly, and you do the same with a few stray curls that refuse to sit where you want them.

Grabbing your purse and phone, you rush out of your room and down the stairs to find your parents in the kitchen adding the finishing touches to their own dinner.

“¡Mija—qué bonita!” your mom gasps, wiping her hands on a towel before she pulls you closer to look at you, “Where have you been hiding this outfit?” [My daughter, how beautiful she is!]

“Má, I’ve had it for a while,” you subject yourself to her cooing and prodding as she spins you around, looking at your dad for help, who only offers you a shrug, “—I just have not had anywhere to wear it.”

“Hm? Then, what’s so special about tonight? I thought you were clubbing with your friends, no?” You avoid meeting her prying eyes, pretending to find interest in what’s simmering on the stove.

“Eh, why is there a Ferrari outside of my house?” your dad asks, drawing your attention to the front window. The sleek black convertible is parked by the curb, and your phone buzzes in your hands. Lando has informed you of their arrival, and you quickly tell them you’ll be right out to avoid them coming to the door. You don’t know if they’re “meet the parents” caliber yet, Ferrari or not.

“Don’t worry about it, Papà. I’ll text you when I’m on my way back tonight,” you press kisses to both of your parents’ cheeks, “Save some food for me to take to work tomorrow, please?”

Your mom pinches your ear, “Ay! You are going on a date? Finally! Is he handsome on top of being rich? A Ferrari is okay as long as he is as beautiful as the car, you know?”

Your dad makes a noise of complaint as he follows you both towards the door, “A Ferrari is more than okay as long as he respects you and treats you well. And, if he buys me a Ferrari too—ask him for me.”

You fuss at them, flustered but smug as you ignore your dad’s request, and you turn to smirk at your mom, “Papà, I plan to find outfit they treat me well tonight. Mamá. They’re both gorgeous.”

Your dad blinks in confusion as your mom crows in delight, “¡Mija! I knew I raised you properly! ¡Vas, vas! Have fun and you have to tell me everything when you get back, yes?” [My girl!; Go, go!]

“Sí, Mamá. ¡Muchos besos, te quiero!” You slip out of the door, the sound of your mother explaining that you’ve garnered the interest of two men to your father fading behind you as you walk to the car. [Yes, mom. Kisses, I love you!]

Carlos and Lando are waiting for you on the curb, the engine purring lowly behind them. Your gait slows as you near, and the Spaniard reaches out to press his lips to the back of your hand fleetingly.

They’ve dressed well; Lando in a light gray, short-sleeved, collared, v-neck that rests untucked over white chinos and a pair of gray sneakers to match. He’s sprinkled with bracelets, a few of them decorate his toned forearms on both wrists, and there’s a singular silver chain peeking from the cut of his shirt. Carlos is dressed similarly with the white chinos, yet he’s chosen a light blue button-up with the first few buttons undone, and a pair of dress shoes. His outfit is complimented by a dazzling watch.

You murmur a greeting to both men, unable to hold eye contact with either of them for long. It’s one thing to fantasize that you have a chance with men clearly out of your league, and it’s another thing to have to muster up the confidence to speak to them outside of your uniform.

Lando impatiently shifts on his feet as the older man keeps hold of your hand for longer than necessary. When you’re released, Lando takes it a step further and pulls you into a hug, his body heated and solid against yours. A shiver runs down your spine when his hand rests on the exposed skin of the small of your back. You hum, pleased as you inhale the velvety scent of his cologne, missing the closeness as he pulls away from you a beat later.

You step back, your heart thudding as you quip, “I didn’t know we were on hugging terms already.”

“I’m sorry,” Lando flushes easily, and Carlos chuckles, “I should’ve asked if it was okay.”

“I liked it,” you smile at him, pretending as if your heart isn’t pounding forcefully from the brief embrace, “I-I mean, it was fine, don’t worry.”

The Brit hums at your response, his eyes drifting along your form before meeting yours again with a hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips. His blush recedes as yours strengthens, now apparent on your darker skin.

“Lovely house,” he withdraws, and you’re thankful he avoided commenting on the evident flush he invoked with nothing more than a hug and a pass of his eyes.

“Thank you, my parents bought it and moved here after I started university,” you explain needlessly, “They’re pretty great. They were the ones who made me apply for the position at La Moraleja. So, really, it’s them you have to credit with us meeting, I suppose.”

“We also have to thank them for having a beautiful daughter,” Carlos alleges smoothly.

You fluster, “I-I’ll pass the message along. Both of you are very handsome, but I think you guys hear that often.”.

“Don’t worry. It sounds sweeter coming from you,” Lando edits his point with an impish grin, “—and from Carlos too, sometimes.”

“Don’t be a brat, Lando,” the Spaniard’s voice is light as he entertains the younger, “Unfortunately, I think we will be late if we continue to stand here and flirt in the street,” Carlos says, and his eyes shift to look past you and at your house, “—And, I think your dad might come outside and kill us. Which would not be very pleasant, in my opinion.”

You spin around, chagrined at the sight of your dad watching the three of you with a harsh stare.

“Yes! Let’s get going, I would hate to be late. Ignore him, please.” Lando waves at your dad anyways, endearing himself to you further, “And, you won’t have to worry about being murdered as long as you get him a Ferrari.”

The two men startle into laughter at that, and you hold your hands up candidly, “What? His words, not mine!”

You didn’t account for the oddness of one of you sitting in the backseat, but Lando assigns himself to the back, claiming that you have “passenger princess” rights.

The wind ruffles through your curls aimlessly as Carlos drives towards your destination. The ride is filled with endless chatter and flirting. A smile is constantly on your face as the three of you speak through topics easily. There’s not a single time you feel like an outsider, even though it’s clear how familiar they are with each other.

The restaurant you find yourself in isn’t screaming its extravagance at you, which is surprising. While it’s dimly lit, and you can hear live music thrumming through the air from somewhere deeper inside over the lively chatter—it feels like a classic restaurant, intimate and comfortable. Like somewhere you could go for a nice dinner often.

The hostess straightens upwards with recognition when she spots Carlos and she greets the three of you good naturedly before disappearing to check if your table is ready.

The Spaniard notices the surprise on your face, “My family and I have dined here since I was young. You have never come here before? ”

You shake your head, “I’m a little jealous, if I’m being honest,” Carlos tilts his head, listening, “I’m mad I didn’t discover this place sooner. The atmosphere is amazing!”

The hostess returns, gesturing for you all to follow after her and Lando grasps your hand to catch your attention as you walk, “If you think the vibe is amazing, just wait until you try the food.”

The table is not in direct sight of anyone besides the kitchen, clearly a spot meant for privacy. Your hidden behind a half wall and a screen overgrown with plants, and the volume of the restaurant seems quieter through the barrier. You lean back in your chair as the three of you wrap up the discussion about yesterday’s conflict.

“I feel incredibly stupid now,” you chuckle, embarrassed. The brown skin of your face burns hot. You focus on the empty wine glass in front of you, avoiding their eyes plainly.

“No,” Carlos’s voice is stern, the serious tone shocking you into looking at him, “Do not be rude to yourself—you are not stupid.”

You stare, dumbfounded, reeling as you process the manner in which he shut down your negative self-talk. If his words totally dissolved your mortification over your immature reaction to seeing them again, you might have thought harder about how that was kind of hot of him to do.

“Aren’t you studying for a PhD?” Lando asks rhetorically, “I think that literally means you’re not stupid.”

You scoff lightly—feeling humored instead of humiliated—at how easily he swept away the tension with a light-hearted comment. The Brit doesn’t know how many people have enlightened you with the knowledge that common sense is, unfortunately, uncommon in post-grad. But, you’ll let his words wash away your self-deprecation lest this turns into an unsolicited therapy session instead of a date an apology dinner.

“Fine. I’m not stupid—but, you can’t deny that it wasn’t a little dumb of me to assume that you guys had lied to me about visiting the golf club every year. And, it was a little more dumb of me to make my decision about working here for another season just because there was a chance that I could see you guys—never mind.” Your teeth clack together forcefully as you slam your mouth shut.

The duo straighten up at the sudden end to your sentence, brains quickly filling in the blanks for them. Lando’s poorly attempting to hide his satisfied smile behind his hand and Carlos’s eyes are bright with understanding. You’ve learned your lesson about making hasty assumptions but you don’t think it’s foolish to deduce this means that they’re actually interested in you too, this time around.

“Ah. Well, we should not have assumed that you knew we were Formula One drivers, which maybe was obvious from how you spoke to us,” Carlos shrugs his shoulders, leveling the blame, “And, I think it’s sweet that you were hoping to run into us again.”

“Mmm,” you hum nervously, “I think it’s delusional.”

One of their shoes knocks against yours underneath the table and you jump in surprise. Carlos’s chest shakes with a silent laugh and his eyebrow raises at you pressingly.

“We should’ve asked for your number last summer,” Lando adds nonchalantly.

You rattle at his boldness, and you’re given a moment to ponder that as the waiter stops to pour you and Carlos a glass of white wine (Lando refused). You take a brief sip, humming pleasantly at the light and easy flavor, the live music and easy conversation floating through the air providing you a reprieve from your immersion in the two men.

Your attention is recaptured as you watch Carlos offer Lando a chance to taste from his glass.

Earlier, the Brit had told you he dislikes the taste of most alcohols when the waiter stepped away to grab the bottle Carlos requested. Yet, Lando accepts, not without making his distaste apparent with an adorable frown. He takes the tiniest sip possible with a look of apprehension and recoils from the glass as he swallows, his nose scrunching in disgust as he shakes his head to further sell his distate.

Carlos rolls his eyes and laughs, revealing to you how used he is to Lando’s dramatics. He raises a hand to rub at the short hair on the nape of the younger’s neck in comfort.

The look on your face must be cloyingly sweet if the light dust of pink that rises to the Brit’s cheeks when he realizes you’ve watched the entire interaction, is meaningful. Carlos’s eyes become intense when he spots how Lando curls into himself shyly under your eyes. The Spaniard whispers, his volume low enough for only Lando to hear and you wish you knew exactly what was said, because it deepens the tint of his cheeks to a furious red.

You figure you’ll save him from his torment by bringing up the important stuff.

“So, you only have a month of summer vacation,” you start, fingers fiddling with the edge of a fan-folded napkin, “Which is in August. That’s…so short. My fall semester starts the first week of September.”

Silence falls as they digest the underlying meaning of your sentence. Is it in everyone’s best interest to start something that has to end so soon? Is it in your best interest to risk catching feelings for two athletes (celebrity-athletes, at that) during the last month of your break?

“A month is a long time,” the younger man starts, his blue-green eyes intent, “We’ll just have to make the most out of it, right? I want to get to know you more, and I have a feeling that the three of us will have a fun time together—If you want to give it a try.”

“A ‘fun time’? Like—like a fling?” Your expression remains indifferent as you ask. You need them to clarify what they want out of this without revealing your emotions. It’s only proper for you to prevent any future miscommunication or misunderstanding about this; you learned from your earlier mistake.

Lando’s earnest gaze has lost some of its shine, and Carlos’s eyes now seem guarded.

“Calling it a fling is harsh,” the Spaniard responds, “It’s more of a summer romance, no?”

Your laugh isn’t genuine, but they don’t know you well enough to discern that, “Alright, I’ll give our ‘summer romance’ a chance. Using a synonym doesn’t change the definition, you know?”

Lando cocks his head at you, staring deeply. It feels like he’s trying to puzzle you out, and you stare back in feigned confusion.

“It’s nothing,” He relaxes, leaning back in his chair and moving Carlos’s glass out of the way as he sees the waiter nearing the table with your appetizers, “I just find it odd that you called yourself stupid earlier.” You don’t know what to make of that, but it’s forgotten as the starters are devoured and the conversation shifts into them getting to know you and vice versa.

The older man with them at the golf course last year was Carlos’s father, who is a two-time Rally World Champion. You’re surprised to learn that they’ve only been dating for around a year. Lando says he developed a crush on Carlos when they were teammates at Mclaren, but he was afraid of ruining their relationship and potentially, his career, if he confessed–so he kept quiet. Carlos didn’t realize he was romantically interested in Lando until he signed his contract with Ferrari.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you interrupt, “If you guys have only been together for a year, did you get together before or after you saw me at the golf course for the first time?”

“A year and three months,” the Spaniard corrects with a serene smile, “Our anniversary was in May.”

The Brit continues for him, “—Which means we started dating about three months before we saw you. Give or take a few weeks.”

You gave a low whistle of surprise—three months into their relationship and they were on the same page about chasing after you. Since then, they had several serious conversations about adding a third to their relationship but hadn’t found or looked for anybody they’d consider to try with. Besides you.

Obviously, they like playing golf; Lando is abysmal, and Carlos is not bad at it. Carlos has two sisters, Lando has a brother and two sisters. Both of them are middle children. Lando is a picky eater, and hates fish and seafood. Carlos will eat anything Lando doesn’t. Lando founded a company with his best friend. Carlos is a Real Madrid fanatic. Lando occasionally streams on Twitch. Carlos enjoys surfing and cycling.

“I’m sorry for saying that you guys sucked at golf yesterday,” you apologize sheepishly.

“It’s okay,” the Brit says, unperturbed, “I do suck at golf. I just wasn’t expecting to hear it come from you.”

“I suck less at golf,” the older man states, “But, if I was good, I would not have been in the sand pit in the first place, no?”

They visit Spain often because family is important to Carlos. Lando’s loved like another son by Carlos’s family and Carlos is loved the same by Lando’s family. Lando is needy. Carlos likes being needed. Carlos is mildly possessive. Lando is too self-critical. Carlos makes the best pancakes. Lando wants to build a beautiful vintage car collection.

They want to see you again. You enjoyed dinner more than you thought was possible.

They defrosted your nerves and allowed your personality to shine through. It helps that they were actively listening as you complained and gushed over your studies, told anecdotes of the shenanigans you and the others got up to on the golf course, and spoke about your future outlooks. They didn’t mind your lack of knowledge about Formula One and explained the sport in detail to you. They were determined to figure out what made you mad, what made you happy, what made you laugh, what made you shy—and, what made you go pink.

It didn’t take them long to discern that staring at your lips is the trick. When they made that discovery, they weaponized it the entire night. While one of them played with the rings on your fingers or tucked a curl behind your ear, the other managed to fluster you by letting their eyes wander for a few seconds before meeting yours again with increasing intensity. You experienced heart failure several times, and had to ask them to repeat themselves more frequently thanks to their psychological warfare.

Your heart feels like it may cease to function again as they walk you to your doorstep. The lights inside the house are off, you returned later than you thought you would. Your parents left the porch light on for you and it casts an amber warmth. Carlos and Lando don’t invite themselves into your space as you dig your house keys out of your purse, ever the polite men. The sound of your keys jingling harmonizes with your triumphant hum as you pull them out.

You face the boys, placing your hand on the doorknob behind you, waiting for them to speak.

“Are we forgiven for unintentionally leading you to believe that we led you on and wasted your time?” Lando blurts out.

You knock your head back against the doorframe, abashed, shutting your eyes to dispel the HD playback your brain gifts you with. “If you both agree to never bring it up again, I’ll forgive you.”

“I suddenly do not know what we’re talking about,” Carlos nods seriously, and Lando echoes the sentiment.

You release the doorknob and take the few steps towards them. As you expected, their eyes simultaneously drift to stare at your mouth. You lightly place a hand on Carlos’s shoulder before leaning up and brushing your lips across his cheek in the lightest ghost of a kiss, before moving to Lando and doing the same.

You carefully backpedal to the door turning to insert your key into the lock, before you look back at them. Your heart flutters at the sight of Carlos, who’s frozen, standing all wide-eyed and pressing his fingers to his cheek like he’s unsure if he imagined the kiss. Lando however, looks hungry. His eyes are the darkest you’ve seen tonight, and they’re locked on how you teasingly flick your tongue across your bottom lip.

“While we may only have a month to spend together—it doesn’t mean I’m easy. I, at least!—need a second date before I let you do anything more than stare at my lips and hold my hand. It might take three dates before I even let you kiss my cheek,” you tease with a joking shrug of your shoulders.

“It’s a good thing that you have my phone number,” the lock clicks open, and you push the door open, “If you don’t use it to set up another date, I think I’ll have no choice but to never forgive you guys.”

“We’ll be using it,” Carlos asserts, recovered from the daze you left him in.

“Hm, good. Text me when you get home.” You step in your entryway, waving your fingers at the two of them leisurely, “Buenas noches.” [Goodnight.]

They mimic your goodbye and you shut the door, clicking the lock. You nosily peek through the peephole to spy on their reactions. Carlos tugs Lando into a bear hug, their wide smiles hidden as they press into each other and the sharpest pitch squeal you’ve heard from Lando travels through the front door. You cover your own giggle with a hand as you watch the two of them kiss and almost skip down your driveway back to the car. You press your back to the door with a deep sigh, a lovestruck smile painting your face while you lay limp to let your heartbeat slow to a normal speed.

The hallway light flicks on and you shriek as your mom stares at you with a deranged smile on her lips, “Tell me everything!”

“Mamá! What are you doing up? It’s late!” You exclaim, straightening upwards with your hands on your hips, failing at distracting her from how you were weak in the knees a couple of seconds ago. “It’s okay, mija! I’ll start a fresh pot of coffee for us and you can tell me all about your date!” She rushes forward, grabbing your hand to pull you into the kitchen.

Ironically, the second date ends up being late night mini golf. Even better, you destroy them at it. It wasn’t an easy feat, they made plenty of attempts to sabotage and distract you; whether it was yelling, spooking, poking, or prodding at you as you readied your putt, but it wasn’t enough to give them a chance of catching up.

You figure more of your mistakes were from being unable to stop laughing as the two performed atrociously. Carlos ended up polluting every water feature with golf balls and Lando couldn’t manage to finish a single hole in under 8 strokes—the highest par was 6. You patted Lando on the back consolingly, telling him to find comfort in the fact that they’re equally terrible at putt-putt golf.

The two seemed surprised at your finesse with a club, almost like they’d forgotten you work on a golf course. You may not be a caddy, but you’ve had plenty of time to work on perfecting your technique. You did well enough to place sixth on the leaderboard, the employees said that Carlos’ score might be the worst they’ve ever seen.

With their egos severely bruised, you convinced them to soothe the loss over with ice cream at a neighboring parlor. Lando was satisfied with plain vanilla and Carlos with a scoop of dulce de leche. You elected for cookies and cream, but found yourself being fed their flavors as well.

The sugary treats were delicious. Watching them stare at your lips pursed around a spoonful of ice cream was far more delectable. Lando broke the fourth time you managed to dot a bit of vanilla above your upper lip. He choked on a whine before leaning into your space. He hesitated a hair’s width away from your lips, his shuddering exhales mixing with yours, his eyes searching for approval. Your eyes fluttered shut and Lando closed the gap.

His lips were soft and chilled, a result of the ice cream. Warmth blossomed in your chest as you leaned into the kiss, the taste of vanilla lingering in the embrace. His hand raised to cradle your cheek as your lips brushed together languidly, the sound of your heart racing within your chest fading out as you become absorbed by the kiss.

Lando pulls away, falling back into his seat with his chest heaving. You stare after him with wide eyes, jolting out of it when you notice you’ve dropped your spoon into your lap, Carlos’s dulce de leche ice cream spilling onto your thigh.

“Do I get to lick this off your thigh since Lando got to kiss it off your lips?” Carlos asks, his tone half genuine, half facetious.

You kick at his ankle underneath the booth and he throws his hands up placatingly.

“Wait–,” you anxiously flit your eyes around the parlor, “—you shouldn’t have kissed me here Lando. Out in public? Aren’t people going to recognize—”

“We’ve been the only people in here for the past thirty minutes or so,” Lando interrupts, gathering the near-empty dishes and balled-up napkins, “They’ve also been closed for twenty minutes. When you went to the bathroom when we came in, Carlos and I signed something for the owner who was more than happy to keep things quiet for his second favorite Spanish Formula One driver.”

“Second favorite?” Carlos furrows his eyebrows at his boyfriend, his umber eyes adorably confused.

“Mate,” the Brit scoffs, “I might be in love with you ‘n all but we're not going to act like Fernando isn’t the best thing that came out of Spain, besides churros.”

The unfavored Spaniard holds his hand to his chest in betrayal before his eyes narrow and he moves to assault Lando with a pinch to his chest. While you’d love to continue watching this disguised act of foreplay, you would rather be a participant than a voyeur.

“¡Cabrónes!” The two freeze, heads snapping to look at you as your voice cuts through the catfight.

“I think the owner would be even happier if you licked the ice cream off my thigh outside of his parlor so he could finally lock up, sí?”

How Lando kisses with a desperate hunger, Carlos kisses with a ravaging heat. Like he wants to roast your nerve endings with every brush of his lips against yours.

The fiery press of his mouth stokes the arousal building in your navel. His hand tangles in your hair as he directs the tilt of your head. A stuttered whimper slips from your mouth into his as your tongues glide together, a buzzing sensation tingling down your spine as his other hand squeezes your waist tightly.

He walks you backward towards the bed, his lips devouring yours as you wrap your arms around his neck, attempting to pull your bodies even closer than they are. You stumble, gasping when his hand palms your ass and it’s the first time your lips have separated since Carlos claimed them in the hallway. He tumbles into you as his feet stumble around yours, the darkness of the bedroom not bettering the situation. He nearly sends you both to the floor instead of the plush mattress if not for Lando catching your body and a hand firmly pressed to Carlos’s chest to hold him upright, expletives falling from your mouths until balance is restored.

You rest your forehead on the older man’s collarbone as you abruptly giggle at being so kiss drunk you forgot how to backpedal. The two drivers have no choice but to laugh at the sound of your amusement, Lando cackling and Carlos’s chest shaking with his laughter.

“I’m not against fucking on the floor,” Lando voices, the sound of his grin loud enough for you to visualize, “But—can we at least have our first time with you on this extremely comfortable bed?”

“First time?” You raise a brow jokingly, nonchalantly pulling your shirt over your head and letting it fall to the floor, “That implies you’re thinking there’s gonna be a second.”

The Spaniard steps away to click the nightstand lamp on, the room partially bathed in warm yellow light. Your eyes adjust seamlessly to the low lighting, allowing you to revel in the sight of him appreciating your exposed skin, even when covered with a plain black bra—you’ve never been more thankful to be wearing a matching pair of panties.

The younger man unclasps the latch of the garment, dragging the straps down your arms, goosebumps rising in the wake of his fingertips, and the bra lands atop your shirt. You feel his breath cascade heatedly along your left shoulder before his lips purse delicately against the brown skin.

He nips closer to the crook of your neck, lowly murmuring, “I know we’ll be having you for more than a third time.”

Surely feeling left out, Carlos unzips your skirt, tugging it down your hips and offering a hand for you to hold as you step free of it, “Many more times. But for tonight,” the older man pauses, toying with the band of your panties, looking at you with a smirk, “We must settle on saving the floor for round two. After we have caused you to ruin the sheets.”

Internally, you scream in elation. Two men eager to fuck you stupid, for the rest of your summer—you pray they’re not bluffing. You can’t remember the last time you’ve had sex good enough for a repeat performance. Externally, you shimmy out of your panties and tug at the hem of Carlos’ button-up once you’re bare.

“If you want me to ruin your sheets, I’m pretty sure that requires you both to be less clothed.”

Lando’s free of everything but his briefs in a handful of seconds while Carlos struggles to unbutton his shirt. The younger pulls you into bed, guiding you to lay on your back as he holds himself over you, dipping to kiss you messily, unafraid to let his moans knit with yours. By the time the older man has lost his clothes and joined the two of you on the bed, the Brit’s focus has traveled down the length of your neck to your chest. Reddened marks bloom on your bronzed skin, mottled across your decolletage in a pattern only known as desire.

He laves his tongue against a pebbled nipple, his teeth scraping the sensitive bud, delighting in the way your body arches upwards into his mouth. Your hand pulls tightly at brunette curls, his resulting whimper at the burn of his scalp muffled around your breast, his eyes screwing shut. You loosen your grasp, unable to determine if that was a positive reaction and you’re pleased to see his eyes fly open, his gaze demanding more. His large hand envelopes your wrist, attempting to have you further mess up his hair, but the motion is halted when Carlos cocks Lando’s head backward with an unrelenting fist.

The younger man shudders, his eyes rolling at the rough treatment. He rises to lessen the pressure of his boyfriend’s grasp, settling into a kneel between your legs with Carlos pressed to his back. The burn of his scalp subsides when the hold weakens, the tension leaving the younger man in a breath and his head droops back on a broad shoulder.

The Spaniard captivates your attention as he presses a kiss to Lando’s jaw, moving the same hand that was in his boyfriend’s hair to splay against his abdomen, a finger dipping to poke at his bellybutton, causing Lando to jolt with a whine. Carlos coos, calming the man with a rub of hand along his torso.

“Don’t let him fool you. He likes a bit of pain,” Carlos tweaks Lando’s nipple demonstratively, letting the sight of the younger man’s arousal jumping underneath his briefs accompanied by a strangled moan speak for itself. “He’s a brat, even if he likes to pretend otherwise. A little sting is enough to remind him how to act…most times. Right, Landito?”

The man moves to hide his face in Carlos’s neck as if it’ll hide the sight of him nodding in confirmation. It doesn’t help that the meek “yes” he breathes into the muscle isn’t muffled at all.

“And because he wants to be good,” Carlos continues, pulling at Lando’s waistband and releasing it to snap against flushed, pink skin, “He’s going to keep himself busy with you while I see if I can still taste the dulce on your thigh. Is that okay with you?”

You gulp, anticipatory. “M-more than okay.”

The younger man's eyes are all pupil, ringed with stormy-colored irises as he’s lowered by your side. You were contemplating teasing him about his brat complex—but the haze of his eyes causes you to reconsider.

The gap of his teeth remains adorable even as he bites his lips, the plush skin reddened and raw from where he’s already scraped the skin off. Prolonged eye contact from him seems impossible—his gaze flits away from yours after a handful of seconds. He struggles to decide where to look, happening upon your lips, zoning out with a yearning pout. Lando is clueless to the effect of his fixation; he reignites the redness on your cheeks and the skipping of your heartbeat.

Frightened by Carlos’s spit-slicked lips brushing along the bone of your ankle, you twitch, breaking Lando’s trance.

The Brit’s blush deepens when he notices you’ve been watching him stare without saying a word. He muffles a mortified whimper into a pillow, smushing his face so deeply into the fabric you worry he may strangle himself. You glance at Carlos for assistance and the man only nods in the younger’s direction, continuing to drag his mouth up your legs, pausing to suckle the skin of your thighs and smirking when he feels the muscles flex underneath his lips.

“Lando, chico,” you croon, petting a hand through the curls at the crown of his head, “Look at me.”

He peeks an eye at you shyly, turning to face you fully, reassured at the enamored look you cover him with.

“Besamé,” you murmur, knowing it’s something Lando’s heard plenty of times from the man nestled between your legs. [Kiss me.]

The younger understood, rushing to press his lips to yours filthly. The frantic energy is winsome, your chest tightening at the sounds of him whining and mewling needily into your mouth. He licks into your mouth insistently, his attention devoted to tasting the remaining sweetness of ice cream on your tongue. From below, Carlos hums as his tongue polishes off the remaining stickiness on your bronzed skin.

The sounds they rip from you are muffled by the younger man, but the grunt of annoyance Carlos makes as the lingering dulce de leche flavoring of your thigh disappears is clear. He drags his tongue against your labia in one firm stroke, your abdomen undulating at the unexpected attention to your cunt. He smacks his lips, savoring, before a moan rumbles through his chest.

“Better than the ice cream,” he announces, the brown of his iris darkened with greed.

Lando frees your lips to look at his boyfriend pleadingly, and you take the time to breathe. He left you lightheaded as he kissed every ounce of oxygen from your lungs.

“ ‘wanna taste, ” Lando begs, and Carlos pulls up to meld their lips together, and you're briefly hypnotized by the muscles of his arms contracting through the movement.

The most reedy whine escapes the curly-haired man as Carlos shares the taste of your arousal with him. Your head is filled with the sound of blood rushing through your ears, buffering at the sight of the two men feasting on your essence—what were you thinking when you agreed to be a summer romance? You’re never going to be able to recover from this, and they haven’t even fucked you yet.

They separate, Lando’s chest heaving as he licks along his lips in search of any faint traces of your taste. Carlos resituates himself between your thighs, his voice carrying a firm edge, “Wait your turn, cariño. Keep being good for me—for us, yes?”

The younger man seems small as he nods, appearing a little empty-headed at the command, but he obeys. Turning back to peck your lips sweetly, Lando trails downward to leave a few marks of his own along the column of your neck.

You grab his jaw lightly, “No marks—,” the light in his eyes dulls slightly, “—that high up.” He brightens and lowers his mouth to your collarbone, nipping at your skin, energized by your nails scratching along his scalp.

Your mouth parts in a silent gasp as Carlos joins in. He laps between your folds sloppily, his nose knocking your clit with every bob pf his head. The hand that isn’t buried in brunette curls fists in Carlos’s locks of hair, holding him steady while he prods at your entrance with the tip of his tongue.

Your brain buzzes, toes curling as the older man eats you out, the sounds of him enjoying his meal reverberating through the air, harmonizing with your cries and Lando’s snuffles as he toys with your nipples.

Carlos presses a finger inside, thrusting shallowly against your fluttering walls and his mouth purses around your bud, the suckle of his lips puppeteering your spine into arching and your hips into bucking. His stubble scratches your thighs, the scrape searing but adding to your gratification.

He curls upwards, dragging roughly through the clenching of your cunt, adding a second finger that your walls swallow voraciously. The ache of the stretch is calmed quickly by the ample leaking of your arousal and the constant attention of a tongue on your clit as Carlos steadfastly hunts for your sweet spot.

Your mewls are ragged, forced from your lungs with every press of his fingers. Your eyes flutter as pleasure singes your skin, you find the strength to hold them open as you lock gazes with the man between your legs. His eyes are characteristically wide, but they scream his commitment to making you scream.

There’s no fighting. Your head falls back when his fingers graze near that pleasure point and your eyes screw shut when he perfects the angle and massages your sweet spot with his fingertips.

A shrill shriek leaves your lips as the penetration becomes unrelenting. He constantly presses on the button that has your thighs tightening around his head, but the temptation of taking his final breath between your legs has him doubling down, suckling at your clit forcefully as he prods a third finger inside of you.

Lando chokes, crying out loudly as your hand yanks at his curls, his hips jumping to grind along your hip, his briefs damp from where he’s been leaking. Carlos’s laugh as he watches his boyfriend desperately hump in search of friction, vibrates around your swollen bud, forcing out a squeal nearly loud enough to drown out the sound of your slick squelching around his fingers.

Abruptly, he pulls away. His digits slip from your walls, your entrance left to pucker hungrily around air. Carlos’s stare is loud as he fights the urge to press inside of you again.

The lack of stimulation is maddening. You free your hold on Lando, and he collapses onto you, body pinning yours to the bed—his weight steadying as you restrain your anger at the sudden halt.

You blink deliriously at the sight of Carlos tearing a condom wrapper open with his teeth. The slowing rhythm of your heart speeds up as you revel at the image of his hand rolling the condom down his hardened length, flushed and throbbing with arousal.

It’s daunting. It’s been a long time since you’ve last had sex. At some point, you decided to prioritize protecting your peace rather than dealing with men who aren’t going to do anything other than ruin your PH and fail to make you cum. It doesn’t help that Carlos is well-endowed; you need to come to terms that you’re going to have a limp after this.

Lando sits upwards to watch his boyfriend drag his length through your folds, moaning in unison with you as Carlos’s tip brushes along your pulsing clit. The Spaniard grunts at the heated slide before resting at the gape of your entrance, but he looks up to you for your go ahead.

“I-it’s been a while,” you admit tensely, covering your eyes with the back of your hand as anxiety builds in your navel.

“How long is ‘a while?’” Carlos asks, without a single hint of judgment. Lando pulls your hand off your face tenderly, revealing their compassionate expressions.

“You remember how I joked about not kissing you guys until a second date?” You toy with Lando’s fingers distractedly, and they confirm their recollection, “Well—there hasn’t been anybody that’s made it past a second date in a long time.”

“Carlos is gentle,” Lando reassures you, halting your play with his fingers to hold your hand comfortingly, “I promise. And he listens very well, and pays attention, and goes at your pace. If he doesn’t, I’ll beat his ass.”

You giggle at that, your nerves fading as Carlos yelps at the threat. This exact kind of behavior is the kind you can see yourself falling in love with.

“Ay! Yes—Lando has permission to knock some sense into me if I hurt you,” Carlos jokes, pausing momentarily before his tone becomes hopeful, “And, we would really like to be the ones who make it to a third date—I’ll follow your pace, I swear.”

The knot in your stomach tightens for another reason besides arousal.

“I believe you,” you murmur, relaxing back into the bed, raising your’s and Lando’s joined hands to press a kiss to his wrist. Lando hums sweetly at you, laying at your side again, his free hand cradling your waist, thumb brushing calmingly on your rich brown skin.

Carlos breaches you softly—gently, as Lando said he would. The three fingers he stretched you with was a safe play. If it were only two, you would be feeling a sharp pain instead of an ache. The burn is delicious, your inhale stutters as the head of his cock pops into you.

“Joder,” Carlos curses, his jaw clenched tightly, his grip tight on your thighs, as he inches deeper. His eyes trace your complexion attentively for any sign that it’s too much. “Relax, mi corázon—let me in.”

The sweet endearment encourages you to pant through a tiny whimper. Lando’s hand pets along your navel as he sweeps a kiss across your brow bone.

“‘s big isn’t he?” He murmurs, voice breathy, “Fuck—it’s gonna be worth it when he’s all the way inside you, yeah? Stretching you out just right, touching spots you didn’t know existed. It hurts a little, I know, love. But, it hurts so good, doesn’t it? I don’t know how that fits inside me every time I take it, but it’s worth it.”

You whimper fitfully—you want to watch Carlos make him take it.

The discomfort twisting your brows lightens slightly, and Carlos pulls out before he sinks another inch in. The shallow stroke sends an appealing rush of sharp pleasure skittering up your spine and it pools at the back of your head.

A real moan is forced from your chest, and your eyes open to see Lando tucking a curl behind your ear, smiling knowingly.

“Yeah, that felt good didn’t it, baby?” You can’t solely credit the burst of pleasure behind your eyes to Carlos’s barely there thrusts as he works deeper. The praise and pet names Lando seems keen to utilize should be accounted for as well. The Brit presses down on your navel with an astoundingly large palm.

His lips graze your ear as he whispers, “Don’t you wanna feel him here? All deep inside of you?” He pauses briefly, letting your imagination work before continuing. “I feel him there when he fucks me. Like he’s making room for himself, yeah? Gonna open up for him? For me? Gonna let yourself feel good, sunshine?”

Carlos’s hips meet the backs of your thighs as he bottoms out.

Choked gasps leave you and Carlos. Your skin alight, your pores flaring raw. His calloused hands rub over your hips and thighs, one settling where Lando’s was previously holding at your waist and the other amply squeezing the curve of your ass.

Behind your closed eyes, you see the white flare of heat zinging through every nerve ending, your body overstimulated at receiving pleasure in the highest, unfiltered form. Lando was right—it feels like he made room for himself. The weight of him is searing, your walls fluttering frantically as they adjust.

Your most conscious thought is realizing why orgasms are referred to as “little deaths.” Because, if him fucking into you for the first time is this good? Cumming around him has to feel akin to ascending to heaven.

The younger man turns your head towards him with a gentle nudge of your cheek. His eyes peer into you searchingly. You don’t know what he’s trying to find. You’re more concerned with coaxing him into another kiss.

You raise up with an unsteady arm, toppling forward to press your lips to his, but you miss and land near the corner of his mouth. At your disappointed grown, Lando moves to kiss you chastely, before he looks at Carlos.

The older man’s eyes are silken as they dance between you and his boyfriend. It takes Lando tugging him forward with a hand on his bicep for him to understand that you’re pining for a kiss from him as well.

The Spaniard catches the strangled mewl you make with his lips, the change in angle as he hovers over you amplifying the pressure of him within you tenfold. Delicately, he leads the dance of tongues, using the lip lock to distract you from the barely there roll of his hips.

It works, the nervous tension that had gathered in your core unraveling completely at the sensual rock. The grinds remain tender as he gradually works you up to weightier strokes and a quicker rhythm.

Your lips uncouple when your head lulls backwards, a drawn-out purr rolling underneath your chest. With your knees bending to cradle Carlos’s hips, you cast lidded eyes to the Spaniard, bathing underneath his appreciative gaze and the blissful twist to his brows as he rolls into you.

“Carlitos, fóllame,” you murmur, watching his eyes widen in surprise, “I said it’s been a long time, not that I’m going to break.” [Fuck me.]

Lando grins beside you, quieting his laughter by pressing his face into your hair. The older man flusters, a red flush spreading across his chest, and he reminds you that he’d promised to be gentle.

His dedication to his word is attractive and you’re thankful he followed through. You tell him as such, but not without another teasing jab, “Thank you for being gentle. However, I think continuing to be gentle when I ask for more might decrease your chances at a third date.”

Lando jerks upwards to gape at the two of you, frazzled, “That’s not even funny! Babe—do better!”

The brown-eyed man doesn’t entertain either of you with a verbal response.

A bitten-off shout is punched from your chest as his hips slam into you with vigor, your vision crossing as the older man settles into a hard pace. His cock threatens to slip out of you with every stroke out and your body jolts with every ruthless thrust inside, the maddening force turning your mind syrupy with arousal and lightning-hot pleasure.

Endless praise is voiced by Carlos between every rough grunting pant he releases. Your brain is filled with seductive words; bien chica, so tight, you sound so pretty, you can take it.

You can only hope he hears your gratitude through your repeated moans. You dig your nails into his muscled back as he grazes your sweet spot every couple of thrusts. The sharp pain only has Carlos’s hips stuttering for a moment. He growls, his grip turns bruising as he fucks into you with abandon. Your lungs burn and your legs shake. You squirm beneath him fruitlessly, attempting to buck away from the overwhelming grind, but you're pinned underneath his body weight. Your escape attempt is noticed by both men.

Lando tuts, pressing you down into the mattress with an arm around your waist to prevent any future attempt of you shifting. “Don’t run from it, sunshine.”

Carlos laughs sardonically, and you squeal as shame crawls along your synapses at the noise. He changes the angle of his thrusts to bully that spongy spot inside of you relentlessly, “It’s not too much, no? I thought you said you didn’t want me to be gentle?”

Your body curls in distress, mouth-parted wide at the excruciating attention paid to your most nirvanic point . You try to squeeze your walls tighter around him, to afflict a hint of the unbearable pleasure he’s wreaked upon you. Your shocked to discover that he’s fucked you open so well that your cunt can’t do much more than take what he gives you.

Your wetness squelches with his motions, a thin layer of sweat accumulates on your skin and steams the air around you. The scent of sex and aftertaste of ice cream permeates your mind as your orgasm peaks.

It bursts through you, the intensity slamming through you like a train. Your body falls limp as the pleasure overrides your control, the unrestrained screams of their names are piercing as the waves brutally crash over you.

Carlos slams his lips to yours, your teeth clacking together painfully and you can only pant into his mouth as he messily kisses you through your orgasm and steamrolls into his own with his strongest pounding thrusts.

Spanish curses are hidden by your mouth as he lays into you, like he’s not quite done molding you to his shape. He fucks you both through it, the vigor of his grinds wearing as the spurts of his spend slows within the condom.

His arms buckle, pushing an umphf from your chest as he falls onto you. The heaviness is grounding and you wrap your arms around him, shuddering through the aftershocks.

Lando shifts needily at your side, but doesn’t speak. He pulls the arm on your waist from underneath his Carlos’s torso and drags a finger along the reddened scores your nails carved into his boyfriend’s back, with a look in your eyes you can’t place. Is it envy? Quietly, you contemplate the ache you feel between your legs.

“Get naked, cariño,” you rasp, finding a second wind at the younger man doing as you asked, “It wouldn’t be fair if you didn’t get a turn, too.”

Carlos nuzzles deeper into the curve where your neck meets your shoulder, his lips and eyelashes tickling your cooling skin. He misses the sight of his boyfriend wildly flinging his briefs to an unknown corner of the bedroom.

Sitting on his haunches, the Brit’s reaches to grab his cock. It’s leaking and (concerningly) redder than the skin of his cheeks from the lack of attention paid to it. He yanks his hand back as if slapped, and digs his nails into the meat of his thighs.

Oh, you think, is it too much for him or is he not supposed to touch?

You reach to close your palm around his poor, dripping length, only managing a single, loose stroke when a pained hiss is ripped from Lando’s teeth. His hips jerk back, freeing himself from barely there hold of your hand. The toned muscles of his abdomen jump as his cock flares and a stream of precum dribbles from his swollen tip.

“Fu-uck,” he shakes, “— ‘can’t. Too sensitive, ‘ll cum.”

The green and blue pools of his eyes are wet with moisture, and his chest—dotted with moles and patches of flushed skin—trembles with every inhale. The man laying on your chest shifts to trail his eyes over Lando’s form. The corner of his lips tilts into a smirk as his boyfriend attempts to hide his arousal behind a hand.

“Sol,” Carlos says to you as his eyes remain piercing into the Brit, “You should ride him—if you are able to, of course.” [Sunshine/Sun]

“Uhh…” you stutter, your attention bouncing between the two as you refrain from answering.

The numbness settling within your cunt can be ignored if it means you get to have the younger man underneath you. Except, it looks like he’s about to cry, and you don’t want to pressure him into agreeing with your answer if he honestly can’t handle it. The teary-eyed man whimpers thinly, splaying himself on his back next to you, looking past you to meet Carlos’s eyes meekly, his voice tiny as he responds, “—won’t last.”

The Spaniard pulls out of you slowly, murmuring apologies and kissing your cheekbone when your brow twinges in discomfort. He helps you straddle the younger man’s hips, careful to support you as your legs haven’t stopped quivering.

His hand drifts between your pelvises, dragging a nail along the underside of Lando’s cock and you can’t deny the buzz of electricity that sings in your gut at the younger man’s wounded cry. The tears spill over his waterline, though he’s squeezed his eyes shut to try to stop them from falling. Carlos tuts at the man patronizingly.

“Too much, Landito?” Carlos pouts at him, “It is fine if you cannot take it. If you don’t want to cum tonight that’s—“

Lando’s eyelids spring open, looking at Carlos desperately as he babbles, “No,no,no,no—‘wanna cum. Please, ‘los.”

The seconds Carlos spends rolling protection over Lando’s cock are filled with choked gasps as the younger man cries, overwhelmed at the lightest touch of fingertips. You lower around his cock smoothly, walls clenching around him greedily, vision tunneling on the soundless bliss of his expression when your ass meets his skin.

You hum at the fullness, your mind settling at how right it feels. The first circle of your hips has Lando’s hands clawing at your hips, adding his own marks on your skin to compliment his boyfriend’s. He wriggles, overwhelmed, but bucks to meet your rolling body regardless.

He’s flushed from head to waist, fresh tears painting tracks of salt down his face before they drip off his jawline to splash on the bed sheets. Your pace remains tantric, and you don’t move more than an inch upwards to avoid testing his limits. The suckling, hot, drag is more than enough for him, if the pulsing of his cock is any telling. Your own sensitivity begins to bite at the base of your spine, your brain exhausted at the feeling of Lando pressing into the rawness that Carlos carved out.

The Spaniard must notice the way the two of you are tiring of chasing euphoria. Lando’s grinds weaken as the precipice of ecstasy is dangled in front of him, hoarse sobs racking through him as he fails to reach it on his own. Carlos splays his hand across Lando’s throat. The Brit’s whimpers pleadingly, and his mouth parts roundly as his boyfriend applies a light pressure to the sides of his neck.

Lando shakes apart underneath you with uneven thrusts, his helpless gasps echoing through the room as you continue the grind of your hips to coax him through the bliss of release. He bodily restricts your movements when you edge him towards too-much, pulling you off of him with a single hand underneath your thigh.

Your knees buckle, pitching over to lie face down next to the British man, who mewls sharply as Carlos pulls the soiled condom off. The heat of the Spaniard disappears, the sheets ruffling as he leaves the bed, causing Lando to make a noise of confusion.

“Water, mi amor,” Carlos chuckles, and you’re happy your face is hidden as you can’t contain your expression of envy at the endearment. He maneuvers Lando’s arms to curl around you, “I am getting us water. I will be quick.”

The younger man, as fucked-out as he is, uses a surprising amount of force to pull you into his chest as he buries his nose in your frazzled nest of hair. He uses his other hand to pull your leg around his hip and hums happily when your bodies press together without an ounce of space to spare. He squeezes you tightly, your dejected frown disappearing as you bask in his embrace, uncaring of the layer of sweat pooling on your cooling skin and the stickiness of your thighs.

There’s three cups with straws in Carlos’s hands as he rejoins the two of you on the bed. He sets one on the nightstand and holds the other two while you and Lando untangle your limbs. Once Carlos is satisfied by the slow sips you two take, he slinks into the bathroom and returns with a warm, soaked cloth to wipe the grime from everyone’s bodies.

He’s careful about the press of the rag, paying attention to every muscle that tenses in sensitivity and tries to do the job as painless as possible. He nods in content once finished, scooping his glass up to rehydrate himself as well.

Lando bites at the metal straw, the gap of his teeth ridiculously cute even as his eyes brighten with mischief, “So…five minutes and we go again?”

“¡Que te jodan!” You cast a look of disbelief at him, “Lando you just cried through an entire orgasm and you want to go again? Already?” [Fuck you!]

The Brit shrugs loftily, slurping through the last bit of water in his cup and toothily smiling as he blinks at you in feigned innocence. His softened length twitches to attention, and you rest your head in your hand, shutting your eyes briefly for strength.

“Oh, what the hell,” you mumble, before clearing your throat, speaking louder, “I need like 15 minutes—or, until I can feel my legs again. Whichever comes first.”

Carlos collects the empty cup from Lando and sets it on the nightstand with his own. “Would you like to watch him fall apart around me while you wait?”

You choke on the sip of water in your mouth, coughing desperately to clear your throat as your eyes water from the burn. The worried look in the Spaniard’s eyes has an amused tinge to it, even as he pats you on the back in aid—you have a feeling he timed his question with your swallow on purpose.

“That’s a stupid question,” you croak, strangled, “Of course, I want to watch.”

You snuffle against a warmed patch of skin annoyed. The heat of sunlight paints your face golden, and you shift to burrow further into the warmth of limbs around you to drowsily slip back into sleep. You find yourself nodding off, but your ears become alert to the sounds of birds calling and chirping outside.

Your body reacts before your brain as you fly upwards into a seated position. Shit! You have to go to work!

A pained whimper is exhaled as your lower body aches, sore from last night’s activities. The tangle of tanned arms fall limply around your waist at your change in position, the snores of the two men beside you uninterrupted. You carefully pry their arms away, and slip from the bed, digging through the pile of clothes on the floor, grinding your teeth at the numbness of your legs underneath you.

You dress yourself quickly, closing your eyes in thanks for Carlos forcing you into the shower before you passed out. Hopping across the bedroom to tug your skirt up, you stumble into the bathroom to examine the state you're in, pulling your shirt over your head all the while.

Your curls are a mess, but that can be fixed at work. Lando respected your wishes of keeping his marks below the collar, but you can spot a few of the bruises on your thighs that their fingertips left.

You curse briefly, unsure if you have a skirt long enough that would hide the mottled skin before remembering that you have a pair of biker shorts that you can slide on underneath that will get the job done. Pressing a thumb into the shape of Carlos’s thumb, you shiver at the glance of pain that sparks up your spine, swallowing tightly as you recall how it was left there.

With a shake of your head to expel the unseemly thoughts, you turn the faucet on to splash water on your face. You need to call an Uber to get to work. Rushing out of the en-suite, you frantically search for your phone, trying to remain silent to avoid waking up the boys tucked in that ridiculously plush mattress.

“¿Qué estas buscando?” You screech frightfully at the rough timber of Carlos’ voice, spinning around to look at him. [What are you looking for?]

He’s preciously ruffled; his hair sticks up wildly, the comforter draped around his waist as he leans upwards, the planes of his tanned skin sharp in the morning hours, his eyes squinted in your direction under the brightness of the room—the curtains are wide open.

Did you have sex—illuminated with a single lamp—with the curtains wide open? That’s a problem to fixate over later, you need your phone.

“Have you seen my phone? I can’t find it,” you straighten your shirt, your volume quieting near the end of your sentence as Lando shifts in the bed with a displeased pout that softens when he settles.

“I plugged it in here for you,” Carlos whispers, rolling to take it off the charger, flashing the marks your nails etched into his back.

He lifts himself out of bed with a rough groan, your mouth drying as you watch him walk to you, clad in a pair of boxers that leave little (it’s not little at all, actually) to the imagination. Carlos’s hand cushions your cheek as he brushes his lips on yours softly, the delicate rhythm washing away your concerns about being late.

Your lips break apart with a soft pop and he laughs at the discontented sigh you exhale, offering a languid press of lips to your forehead in apology. You reluctantly take the phone from his hand, your eyes bugging out as you realize that you needed to leave five minutes ago to have plenty of time to fix your appearance before you clock in.

“¡Puta madre!” you exclaim, “I’m fucked. I’m going to be so late ‘cause I have to wait for an car.”

“ —Wait for a car?” Carlos’s eyebrows twist in confusion, scratching at his stubble, “Where are you going? You are not staying?”

You throw him a soft look, turning away to figure out where your socks disappeared to, “I’m late for work, Carlitos. I can’t stay—even though I really want to.”

Carlos ah’s in understanding, assisting you in the search for your socks, his voice still croaky with disuse as he talks, “I can drive you? We are only twenty minutes away if you follow the road laws.”

You huff a laugh at his insinuation, tugging your socks on and patting at his arm softly, before gesturing to Lando in the bed, “You don’t have to. I don’t want to inconvenience you, you should be in bed with him. It’s my fault for not having my alarm properly set.”

Carlos shakes his head, rooting through his dresser for a pair of sweatpants that he pulls on, “You are not inconveniencing me. It would be rude if I let you be late to work after last night. I’m not that kind of man. Neither of us are.”

You give in as you watch him pull a plain white tee over his head—he’s too sweet for a fleeting romance. He ambles over to Lando, brushing the unruly curls off his forehead and pressing a kiss to his temple. He tucks the blankets around his boyfriend and a lick of jealousy blooms in your subconscious before you pluck it.

Carlos grabs his own phone off another charger and stands, speaking to you warmly, “Your shoes and purse are downstairs, yes? There’s some protein bars in the kitchen pantry, grab as many as you want. I should have treated you to a proper breakfast but you do not have the time. I’m going to use the bathroom quickly, if that’s okay?”

You nod, and Carlos quietly shuts the bathroom door behind him. You breathe deeply at the situation you’ve found yourself in, and you scramble to send a quick text to the group chat telling them to cover for you and promising to cover a shift for anybody who does in the future.

Your phone buzzes almost instantly after with an influx of messages and you click the screen off. They’re probably freaking out at the uncharacteristic vagueness of your whereabouts, but you put off responding to press your own kiss to Lando’s temple before heading downstairs, tenderly stepping to minimize the unsteadiness of your walk.

You appreciate the decor you didn’t get to see last night, the vacation home vibes blatant as you walk through; a modern twist of Spanish style decor. There’s even a fireplace you spot on your way past a sitting room.

You lace up your sneakers, grabbing your purse from the console table in the entryway before searching for the kitchen to grab a protein bar to hold you over until your lunch break. The kitchen is artful, modern in the sense of the new appliances but the colors and details of the tiled walls, clutter, and cabinets gives it a soul. It feels lived in.

You dryly swallow an ibuprofen—you always carry a few in your purse—hoping it will relieve your soreness before work. You open the pantry door, finding an assortment of protein bars and taking your time to read the labels as you hear a door open which means Carlos is heading down. You grab two bars that fit your taste and softly shut the door, unwrapping one to take a bite of now.

“Ah, I knew I would see you again,” Carlos Sr. smiles at you from the kitchen entry, chuckling at the way you jump and nearly drop the bars in your hands, “I will not lie to you, I thought it would be at the golf club and not here.”

Your lips part and seal as you search for a polite answer, but he continues speaking.

“Let me tell you a secret,” he clasps his hands delightfully, “Did my son tell you that he’s been asking me about you every time I am on the course? Papá, did you see her? Papá, when are you going back to Madrid? Aye, they’re smitten over you, mija?”

“¿En serio?” you relax at his mellow tone, enlightened by the new information. [Really?]

“¡Sí!” The older man exclaims, passing by you to start a pot of coffee, “To be honest, I thought you were out of their league last summer,” you laugh, knowing it’s definitely the other way around, “—Honestly!” He insists, turning to face you as the coffee starts to drip.

“I mean, you are in university, getting a further degree,” he shakes his head in respect of your commitment, “Those two just drive in circles for a living! I couldn’t even convince my son to drive rally like I did, ese cabrón.” [That bastard.]

You laugh a little harder at the jab on his own son, muffling it behind a hand, and he continues, “—And, when they told me they did not get your number! Ay! I was so mad at them. I told them to drop everything and go after you, but by the time they made their way up there you were already gone.”

You feel like shit about your outburst on the green. Your expression shutters, and he pats at your shoulder in comfort, “Oh. I-I didn’t know—“

“How could you?” He hums in question, “It is not your fault, if that’s what you are—“

“Mi sol, have you seen my wallet—” Carlos Jr. steps into the kitchen, words cutting off as he balks at the sight of his father, and he shouts, “Papá! ¿Qué hace aquí?” [My sunshine; Dad! What are you doing here?]

“¿Qué estoy haciendo en la casa que compré?” His dad fires back, amused at his son’s stunned question. [What am I doing in the house I bought?]

Carlos blinks at his dad before turning to you, slipping his hand into yours and tugging you out of the kitchen softly, “Let’s go; you’re going to be late, no?”

Sr. chortles as he grabs a mug from the cabinet, “¡Mijo! Hiding a woman from me?! It is okay, Lando will tell me everything. That is why he’s my favorite son!”

Carlos throws his head back with an exasperated groan, but it doesn’t hide the redness of his ears from his father’s teasing.

You stifle your smile, squeezing his hand pacifyingly, “Your wallet is in the bowl at the front. Um, if it’s possible,” you tuck a curl behind your ear shyly, “Do you have another car besides the Ferrari? I love it, but I cannot show up stepping out of that.”

Carlos snorts, shoving his wallet into his pocket and leading you to the garage, “Is a Porsche fine?”

“It’ll work.”

He gets you there in thirteen minutes, slowing the car to a crawl as you direct him to the employee entrance. You grab your purse, awkwardly pausing as you pop the door open.

You face him with a sheepish grin, “Thank you for the ride. Tell Lando I said good morning.”

Carlos drags his eyes over your form languidly, before he nods imperceptibly, “Do you have enough time to get ready?”

“You’ve made up a few extra minutes for me with your skilled driving on the way here,” Carlos huffs a laugh at that, “So, I should be okay.”

The two of you fall back into silence, unsure of what else to say. You take the leap of faith this time around, it’s the most you can do after learning the way they tried to catch you before you left last summer.

“It wouldn’t be overstepping if I kissed you, right?”

“Ven aquí,” Carlos exhales, unbuckling his seatbelt and leaning over the console to meet you halfway. [Come here.]

His lips are swollen and textured from your’s and Lando’s combined attention, but the kiss is the sweetest and most tender one you’ve ever experienced. The soft exhale of breath from his nose stokes the butterflies in your stomach, who flutter awake as adoration pumps through your veins. The two of you part, eyes fluttering open to stare softly. He settles back into his seat, looking at your lips longingly, his line of sight broken as you exit the vehicle.

You clear your throat, “Um, I’ll text you guys when I get home later, okay? Adiós, te qu—hasta luego.” [Bye, I l—see you later.]

You shut the door and speed walk into the building before he could say anything about how you nearly exposed how down bad you are already. You hope he doesn’t bring it up, for the sake of your mental stability. The moment you step into the employee locker room, you're accosted by your friends, Isa, Lucas, and Stephanie.

“Damn,” Lucas snaps, “I was really hoping you’d be late. I need my shift on Tuesday covered.”

You shrug, sliding past the girls to walk to your locker. “Sucks to suck.”

“¡Oye, pequeña!” Isa and Stephanie box you in at your locker as you grab your spare uniform and sport shorts, Isa stresses, “You cannot, walk in here and act like nothing happened! You show up wearing the outfit I picked out for you yesterday? Your hair is a mess! You sent the vaguest text about possibly showing up late? And, you get dropped off in a Porsche!?” [Hey, girly(i guess, idrk how to explain it)!]

Stephanie’s eyes blow wide and you rest your head into the cool metal of your locker door as she bursts, “Girl—did you get laid?!”

“Thank you for that, Steph,” you bite out, turning to look at them with the politest grimace you can muster, “Now, everyone will know exactly what I got up to last night because Lucas—,” you point behind you with a thumb, speaking loudly to drive your words in, “—Is physically incapable of keeping his mouth shut.”

He raises his hands up and backs out of the locker room with a devious smile.

Turning to Isa, you shake your head, “I do not know why you like him. He’s such a chismosa.” [Gossip.]

She rolls her eyes at you, following you as you make your way into the bathroom, “It’s not a bad thing. He tells me all of the gossip I miss out on–why are there bruises on your thigh—holy fuck! He must have big hands. Which means he has a big—”

“Okay!” You screech, running into a stall and locking the door shut behind you, “I will tell you and the girls every single detail as soon as we finish today!”

She makes a triumphant noise, her steps fading as she exits the restroom, “You better! Or, I’ll force you to listen to me wax poetic about Lucas’s eyes for hours!”

Scoffing, you tug your shirt over your head and yell back, “You already do that anyways!”

The slicked-back ponytail you gelled your hair into, has already sprung flyaways since you didn’t have enough time to set your hair with a wrap before you had to drive out onto the course. You’re almost three hours into your shift, and the sun feels like it’s at its strongest even though you have a few more hours of it burning hotter. Only twenty minutes until lunch, you remind yourself, then you can fix your hair and cool down in the restaurant's walk-in freezer.

You’ve just finished serving a bachelor party, a group of ten men who didn’t give you a hard time. You talked loosely with them, engaging in small talk because connections are everything and you never know who you might run into on the green.

Like Carlos and Lando, case in point.

The groom-to-be actually met his fiancé here. She was a bartender in the clubhouse about seven years ago, and on complete chance she ended up being the one to serve him. He was starry-eyed as he explained to you that he fell in love with her as soon as he saw her. He ordered an unbelievably expensive amount of drinks for him and his boys (the same group of men in the bachelor party), and when she slid the bill over to him, he said, “For this price, you could’ve bought me for the night.”

You called bullshit, and he looked at his friends who backed up his words; they all heard it when he said it. You watched as he took a sip from his beer bottle with a reverent shake of his head, “Now, we’re getting married next week. On August 12th, or 8/12. Which was the price of the tab that night, $812.”

You made a joke about him needing to strengthen his self-esteem if he would consider selling his body for a measly $800, and to attend an A.A. meeting because that’s a ridiculous amount of money to spend on drinks that leave your system quicker than you ingested them.

The men crowed in laughter at your ribbing of the groom-to-be, but you did seriously congratulate him on his engagement and wished him a long, happy marriage.

And currently, you’ve parked your cart for a few minutes to get over the urge you feel to cry. You're jealous of a woman you’ve never met before because she gets to love a man who’s devoting the rest of his life to her. She gets to marry him, and you’ve agreed to be nothing more than a summer romance to the men you could see yourself falling in love with.

You thank the universe for allowing you to cross paths with the groom-to-be. It reminded you of your place with the Formula One drivers and it’s a temporary one.

Your walkie-talkie crackles with the sound of your name and you sniffle deeply, blinking your eyes quickly to rid the moisture.

“What’s up?” You chirp cheerily into the voice box, waiting for a response.

“By chance, are you missing your earrings? Over.” It’s Ryan, he takes his radio messages seriously. You tug at your earlobes, and damn, you feel naked.

“I am. Did I leave them in the dressing room?”

“You have to say ‘over’ at the end of your messages, you know that. Over.”

“Ryan...” you hold the line open to annoy him a little bit before you give in, “Did I leave them in the dressing room? O-v-e-r, over.”

“I was going to be nice to you but you lost that chance. Over.”

You snort, intrigued to hear how he’s going to ‘retaliate.’ The two of you started here at the same time and Ryan has become like a little brother to you, against your will.

“I just wanted to let you know that two objectively handsome men turned in your earrings to the front desk,” you shout in surprise, firing up the golf cart and slamming the pedal down to head back to the clubhouse, “Hmm…I think they said you left them at their house last night. Overrrrr.” He draws the ‘over’ out teasingly and the walkie-talkie squeals with static and screams of surprise from the other employees on the channel.

“TWO? YOU FREAK!!!” Lucas.

Incoherent screaming. Isa.

“Nobody here can call me a slut anymore!” Rob.

“Is that why you couldn’t sit comfortably at the morning meeting?!” Sofia.

Ryan’s voice crackles through, “Oh! I forgot to mention—don’t worry about stealing food from the restaurant for lunch; they dropped off a meal for you. Over.”

The walkie-talkie explodes with noise and you turn the volume to zero. You’re reporting them all to HR.

You tune out the jeers in the break room as you devour a croquetade jamón and chase it with a spoonful of rice. You send a photo of the food with a thumbs-up in the frame, to Carlos and Lando. You type out your thanks for the jewelry return and lunch. There’s no hesitation as you press send on message inquiring about when the third date is going to happen.

The third date is private cooking lesson where you’re coached through making a few classic Spanish tapas. Lando immersed too deeply and only responded to ‘Chef Lando’ during the class. Carlos ate all of the chorizo he was supposed to use on his flatbread. You terrify the actual chef with your less than savory cutting technique. Your torn apart on their fingers that night, as they take turns coaxing you over the cliff.

You decrease the amount hours you’re able to work at the golf course. You’re only on the schedule during the middle of the week–Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday—leaving you with a four day weekend to frolic around Madrid with your boyfr—with Carlos and Lando.

The fourth date is dinner and a show. It’s your first time watching a ballet, and your lucky enough to be watching the performance at Teatro Real, one of the most prestigious opera houses in Europe. It’s also the first time you get railed in a women’s bathroom stall at Teatro Real, one of the most prestigious opera houses in Europe.

Lando pants raggedly as he fucks into you from behind, “Ah—shit, sunshine, you’re so tight.”

Your moan is muffled around Carlos’s cock and he hisses at the vibration, knocking his head against the stall door loudy.

When Lando climaxes, he whimpers out a, “te quiero.” You pretend to miss it as you concentrate on sucking Carlos to completion. Carlos licks his spend from your tongue, babbling his te quiero’s into your mouth. You don’t say it back. [Te quiero means I love you, but it’s more casual, less serious in nature.]

The fifth date is pottery and you ride Carlos’s face to the image of Lando’s hands coning down his clay on the wheel. The sixth date is driving around the outskirts of Madrd’s city limits and passing the phone around to queue a song to play as you three switch between talking and enjoying the tunes.

The seventh date is painting the mugs you made; you made two, one for Carlos and one for Lando—they each made you one as well. You’ve painted Carlos’s as a lemon and Lando’s as an orange—and homage to the sip of sunshine line they pulled on you. Lando painted a field of sunflowers for you. Carlos painted a sun with rays spilling from it, the words ‘my sunshine’ scripted into the middle of the sun.

Somewhere between the fifth and seventh date, they became comfortable with saying te quiero to you outside of sex.

It’s said as you serve them drinks on the course, as they drop you of at home after dates, as they cuddle with you without wanting more, as they wake you up between them in the morning.

You give in somewhere beewen the sixth and seventh date. But, you only allow yourself to say te quiero during or after sex.

And, you stifle your sobs of anguish into your pillow at home, dreading the day you return to school and they return to racing.

Your dad enjoys the mobile car show of priceless automobiles that appear in his driveway to pick you up. Your mom eagerly awaits your renditions of your dates every night and you’re careful to edit around the explicit parts.

The dates progress to you spending your four days off at their Carlos Sr. 's vacation home, packing a bag with your necessities so you don’t have to risk wasting time away from them by stopping at your house. They take the time to explain to you just how much of a goat Lewis Hamilton is. Lando helps with your wash day, soaking up your tidbits of advice for his own curls. Carlos lets you soundboard ideas for your dissertation off of him without complaining, iterjecting every once in a while with a viewpoint you hadn’t considered.

Your craving for intimacy is satiated. They twirl you around in the kitchen to Spanish ballads they sing terribly at the top of their lungs. They terrorize you on the green, choosing increasingly difficult cocktails for you to make so you have to spend more time with them instead of doing your job. You and Carlos terrorize Lando with a football games of keep away. You and Lando terrorize Carlos by hiding his shirts from him so he has to walk around topless. They don’t terrorize you in retaliation—if you don’t count their constant te quiero’s as terrorizing acts.They pick you up at some ridiculous hours when you’ve gone clubbing with your friends; making sure you chug a glass of water, helping you rinse off in the shower and moisturizing your skin before dressing you in their clothes, doing your skincare for you before putting you to bed.

They drag their feet through helping you repack your belongings on the morning of your last day in Spain. You let Lando get away with tugging garments out of your bag every time you turn your back to him, hiding your smile as you see Carlos assist him by stuffing it at the bottom of the pile of clothes that doesn’t seem to shrink.

Eventually, they give up. Their eyes trace your form as you do your last walkaround to make sure you haven’t left anything behind. Your check ends at the front door, grabbing your keys from the bowl on the entryway table.

You sigh heavily, “Well, don’t just stand there.”

They gravitate towards you, hugging you tightly and peppering an endless amount of bittersweet kisses along any patch of skin they can reach. Lando hunches down to hide his face in your neck, and Carlos rests his forehead against yours.

“¡Chicos, calmaté!” Your giggly exclamation sounds watery, “I am coming back next year, remember?”

“That’s too longgg,” Lando complains into your neck, his voice sounding as pitiful as yours. You step backwards to cradle his face between your hands. His cheeks are ruddy and his eyes are dejected even as he smiles shakily under your touch.

“Date us.” Carlos blurts out desperately, “Ay, perdóname—May we date you, please?” [Forgive me.]

You gape at the older man, struggling to ascertain what he’s asked of you.

Stumbling gracelessly, your hands fall from Lando’s face, who makes a hurt noise at the loss. “Date me? I thought you both said this was just a fling?”

The Brit twists his hands together at your words, his face saddening further as he corrects you, “Summer romance—fling is too harsh.”

“Too casual?” You shout, “I thought this was supposed to be casual! I felt like shit whenever I didn’t say te quiero back! I wanted more the moment we sat down at that restaurant a month ago, but I thought I couldn’t have it because that’s not what we agreed on!”

“You want more?” Carlos clarifies, his tone optimistic.

“¡Cabrón!” You laugh, hurtling forward to throw your arms around his neck. Relieved tears spill over your waterline, soaking into the Spaniard’s shirt. “I’m damn near in love with you guys–yes,yes,yes, I want more.”

Lando glows, blubbering incoherently with happiness and you shush him with your lips.

“I wish you had asked me days ago,” you sniffle cutely, smiling crookedly as you continue, “—’cause I really do have to leave, or I won’t have enough time to pack my things into my suitcases at home.”

You groan as you find yourself with an armful of two Formula One drivers bemoaning the unfairness of being separated from you even though they just got you.

“Mis amores, escúchame—you had me the entire time,” you coo, “We all know how phones work. We can communicate speedily with texts, and video calls, and send voice messages, and even regular calls. If we’re doing this we have to have a serious talk about it when I land in the States, yeah? Long distance is difficult, but I’m willing to put in the effort to make it work, if you two do the same.” [My loves, listen to me.]

“Phone sex isn’t the worst thing in the world,” Lando quips, smiling as he watches you and Carlos chortle at the unexpected comment.

The laughter ringing through the air fizzles out. You bite your lip, shaking your head slightly as their stares fixate on your mouth. They haven’t managed to stop ogling at your lips over the course of the month.

“Te quiero,” you state. Lando repeats it back instantly, Carlos kisses you before doing the same.

You pick up your bag from the floor, “Promise me that you’ll do your best to make this relationship work.”

Their confirmations are swift, even taking turns crossing their pinkies with yours and with themselves. Your heart sings with love. They walk you to your car. Carlos takes the bag from your hand and places it in your backseat, Lando holds your door open, making sure you don’t hit your head as you sit in the driver’s seat.

He shuts the door smoothly, and you roll down the window to exchange your last goodbyes.

“See you next summer.”

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thef1diary · 3 months

Text

Baby Jr | Seven

— Careful Consideration

series masterlist

pairing: carlos x fem!reader

wc: 4.3k

Carlos stared at you, his expression shifting from surprise to disbelief. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, unable to form words for a moment. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of silence, he managed to utter, “you’re pregnant? and it’s mine?”

You nodded slowly, watching his face carefully for his reaction. His eyes searched yours, as if seeking confirmation or maybe hoping this was some kind of mistake. But the gravity of your words hung heavy in the air, and there was no denying the truth.

His lips moved as if he wanted to speak, but no words came out—only mutters of curses in Spanish under his breath.

“Carlos?” When you reached out to touch his hand, seeking comfort and understanding while also wanting to know his thoughts, he abruptly pushed his chair back and stood up, distancing himself from you.

He paced a few steps away, his hands running through his hair in frustration. The curses continued quietly, punctuating the air with his conflicted emotions.

Finally, he stopped and turned back to you, his expression a mix of disappointment and a hint of regret. “Fuck, we should’ve been more careful,” he said, his voice edged with a hint of self-blame.

You nodded slowly, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. “I know,” you replied, softly, your own emotions raw. “But we can’t change what’s already happened.”

Carlos stared at you, his brows furrowing in a mix of anguish and concern. “Are you sure it’s mine?” he asked, his voice strained with a hint of desperation.

You felt a surge of defensiveness at the question, despite understanding his need for confirmation. “Yes, Carlos,” you replied firmly, meeting his gaze with unwavering honesty. “I haven’t been with anyone else.”

He nodded slowly, his jaw tight with conflicting emotions. “Okay,” he said quietly, his tone more subdued now. “I just… I needed you to be sure.”

“I understand,” you said softly, your voice tinged with sadness. “But you have to believe me.”

Carlos ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “I do,” he admitted, his eyes searching yours for reassurance. “It’s just… a lot to process. When did you find out?”

“Before the two week break,” you replied softly.

“That was a couple of weeks ago,” he stated, his tone incredulous but softening as he asked, “why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you, was worried about what you’d say, plus I needed time to process it too,” you explained.

He nodded slightly in agreement, eyes softening as he returned to the chair beside you.

Your gaze shifted to your laptop and the papers around you, and you couldn’t help but let out a humourless laugh. “This wasn’t how I wanted to tell you though, I was hoping that we’d be at my house, but nothing goes according to plan these days.”

His lips curved into a faint, sad smile. “Yeah, nothing ever does.”

Taking a deep breath, you continued, “Carlos, in the few weeks since I found out, I’ve grown attached to the little one. I’ve had more time to think about it than you have. I understand if this is too much for you. I don’t want to tie you down, especially since whatever we had was supposed to be simple, fun, and carefree. Plus, with your demanding career… But I felt like you had the right to know.”

Carlos looked at you, his eyes filled with conflicting emotions. He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “I don’t want to abandon you, I can't, I don't want to be that guy.”

“But?” you couldn’t help but ask, knowing that it wouldn’t be easy.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before opening them and looking directly at you. “But I don’t know if I’m ready for the responsibility of a child.”

You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat. “I get that, Carlos. I really do, we never planned for this to happen. I just needed you to know the truth. I didn’t want to keep this from you.”

He nodded, understanding the depth of the situation but his mind raced, every possible outcome and scenario flashing through his head. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. He is a Formula 1 driver, his life revolving around speed, precision, and the next race. He wasn’t ready for a child, wasn’t ready for the kind of responsibility that came with it. Yet, the thought of abandoning you made his chest tighten with guilt.

He thought back to the nights you had spent together, how easy and carefree it had all seemed. The late-night laughs, the stolen kisses, the way you both had agreed to keep things simple. Now, everything had changed, and he felt the weight of it pressing down on him.

Carlos looked at you, seeing the vulnerability in your eyes. He knew you were just as scared as he was, maybe even more so. Despite the turmoil inside him, he couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of protectiveness. You didn’t deserve to go through this alone.

His mind flashed back to his career, the demanding schedule, the constant travel, the pressure to perform. How could he balance that with being a father? The thought terrified him. He wasn’t sure he could do it, wasn’t sure he could be the man you needed him to be. Even more than his own career, he thought of yours, after all, you also worked in the same team as him. You would have to take a leave later down the line, and he can’t possibly begin to think of being in the situation of leaving a career you enjoyed due to a night of carelessness.

As he looked at you, he knew one thing for certain: he cared about you deeply. More than he had allowed himself to admit. He couldn’t just walk away, no matter how scared he was.

“Fuck,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

You bit your lip, your own emotions threatening to overwhelm you. “I know, Carlos. But we have to deal with it now. We can’t just pretend it doesn’t exist, believe me I’ve tried.”

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this, honestly, I don’t know if I’ll ever be,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I can’t just leave you. I care about you too much to let you go through it alone.”

You reached out, taking his hand in yours and this time his fingers immediately entwined with yours. “We’ll figure it out together, okay? We’ll take it one step at a time.”

Carlos nodded, “okay,” he said softly. “One step at a time.”

Despite the uncertainty, despite the fear, he knew he couldn’t turn his back on you. In that moment, he made a silent promise to himself: no matter what, he would be there for you and the baby. Somehow, both of you would find a way to make it work.

As Carlos' words settled into the quiet office, a wave of relief washed over you. Hearing him say he would be there, that he cared too much to leave you alone in this, was more than you had dared to hope for. Despite telling him you didn’t need anything from him, a part of you had been desperately hoping he wouldn’t walk away. You couldn’t face this alone, and you couldn’t keep dragging Ava into the mess that was now your life.

You watched Carlos, his face a mask of conflicting emotions. It was clear he was as scared as you were, if not more so. The weight of his career, his responsibilities, and now this unexpected turn of events bore heavily on him. Yet, despite all that, he was choosing to stay, to face it with you. That meant everything.

After a moment of silence, Carlos stood up and began to pack your bag, carefully placing your papers and laptop into it. You blinked in confusion, watching him. “What are you doing?” you asked softly.

He glanced at you, a small, determined smile on his lips. “It’s getting late,” he said. “You didn’t eat, and neither did I. We’re going to grab dinner, and then I’ll drop you home.”

Your heart swelled with gratitude and a touch of something more. He was taking charge, trying to make sure you were okay. It was such a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes about his character and his commitment to seeing this through with you.

You nodded, feeling a bit more grounded. “Okay,” you agreed, standing up and slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Dinner sounds good.”

As you walked out of the paddock office together, the uncertainty of the future still loomed large. But with Carlos by your side, you felt a little more capable of facing it. One step at a time, you reminded yourself. One step at a time, you would navigate this new chapter together.

—

You woke up in the middle of the night, the still foreign wave of nausea hitting you hard. You stumbled into the bathroom while rubbing sleep away from your eyes before falling to your knees in front of the toilet.

As you retched, the feeling took you back to the times after nights out in clubs, where you had accidentally drank too much and ended up in the bathroom, throwing up. You hated the feeling then, swearing to never drink as much again. But now, it is different. Although you could control your drinking habits back then, everything suddenly felt entirely out of your control.

After what felt like an eternity, you sat on the cold bathroom floor, completely drained. The loneliness of the moment washed over you. You wished you had someone to lean on, someone who understood what you were going through. All your knowledge about pregnancy had come from online research and articles, but it wasn’t the same as having someone experienced guiding you.

As the nausea subsided, you found yourself overwhelmed with emotions. The frustration of dealing with morning sickness, the fear of the unknown, and the anxiety about the future all came crashing down on you. Before you knew it, tears were streaming down your face. You tried to stifle your sobs, but the flood of emotions was too powerful.

You curled up on the bathroom floor, hugging your knees to your chest as you cried. The cold tiles pressed against your skin, but you barely noticed. All you could think about was how much you wished you had someone to comfort you, to tell you everything would be okay.

You knew you had Ava and Carlos by your side, willing to offer support whenever you needed, but this experience was just as new to them as it was to you.

Your thoughts drifted to your family, specifically your mom. She would surely know what to do, how to handle this situation with grace and wisdom. But the fear of breaking the news to your family made your stomach twist in knots. Your parents, though not the most religious, were very strict about their beliefs that pregnancy should only follow after marriage. They feared people would judge and make cruel comments otherwise, potentially tarnishing their highly respected status. They had created a reputation, one that you felt you didn’t quite fit into, especially ever since you pursued a career in motorsports. Their occasional check-ins felt more like inspections, making sure you hadn’t gotten into any trouble that would ruin their self-respect.

You could already imagine the disappointment in their eyes followed by harsh words, quickly deciding against telling them the news for as long as possible.

Eventually, you managed to pull yourself up and splash some cold water on your face. Looking in the mirror, you saw the fatigue and red eyes etched into your features. You needed to look presentable today, after all, you had a long day planned with the media team and drivers, scheduled to film content for the official social media platforms.

Glancing at the time, you still had a few hours before the sun came up. You decided to try and get some more rest. Maybe a bit of sleep would help clear your mind and give you the energy needed for the day. You crawled back into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin, and closed your eyes, willing yourself to relax.

The minutes ticked by slowly, the thoughts running endlessly through your mind, but taking a deep breath, you let all the emotions seep out of you, only leaving behind fatigue which you quickly succumbed to.

Suddenly, the harsh ringing of your phone jolted you awake. Your eyes flew open but shut just as quickly after noticing the sun peeking through the window, brightening the room. You blindly reached for your phone, opening one eye to answer it and putting it on speaker while you turned away from the window.

“Hey, are you ready to head to the track?” Carlos’ voice rang through the room, and as you closed your eyes again, you could picture him in the room with you.

A soft smile graced your lips as you heard his voice but you frowned when you registered his question. You rubbed your eyes, squinting at your phone again to look at the time.

“Fuck,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him but he chuckled.

“I guess not, slept well I assume?” he asked, and you could hear his smile in his tone through the phone.

You groggily sat up, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “Yeah, something like that,” you replied, your voice thick with sleep. You ran a hand through your hair, trying to shake off the remnants of your dreams.

Carlos paused for a moment, humming at your response before continuing. “I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes, be ready.”

“Be where?” You asked, surely he couldn’t be at the track in fifteen.

“Outside your house, where else?” he replied, chuckling, finding your sleepy state adorable.

You blinked, still processing his words. “You’re picking me up?”

“Yeah, figured it’d be easier since it’s on the way to the track, plus you can give me a heads up on what I’m supposed to do today so I don’t look like an idiot.”

You picked up the phone and headed towards the closet, wanting to start your morning routine but not wanting to hang up just yet.

“Oh Carlos, maybe you should check your calendar once in a while to know what’s going on,” you commented while picking out an outfit for the day.

“What if I want you to tell me instead?”

You caught your reflection in the mirror, finding yourself smiling at his words while a blush was forming on your cheeks. Your jaw dropped, smile instantly fading away as you realized your actions.

“I’ll see you soon, don’t use your phone while driving,” you managed to utter before hanging up.

You rushed through the rest of your routine, muttering an endless string of curses as you completed each task.

You were just finishing up when you heard a knock at the door. You glanced at yourself in the mirror one last time, ensuring that the fatigue from earlier in the night wasn’t visible anymore then hurrying to open the door. Carlos stood there, already wearing his team shirt with a pair of sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose.

“Morning,” he greeted you with a smile.

“Morning, thanks for picking me up,” you replied, feeling much more awake now.

“No problem,” he said, his eyes scanning your face for any signs of distress. “Ready to go?”

You nodded, grabbing your bag and following him to his car. As you settled into the passenger seat, you felt a mix of gratitude and nervousness. Having Carlos pick you up was a kind gesture, but it also felt a bit strange given everything that happened yesterday. You wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to go through the trouble to this extent, but the thought faded away when he glanced at you with his round brown eyes.

“Did you eat?” He asked, swiftly driving with one hand while the other rested on the center console.

You sighed softly, trying to keep the mood light. “I tried, but I couldn’t keep anything down since late last night.”

Carlos’ eyes widened with concern as he quickly glanced over at you. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“It’s just morning sickness,” you explained, trying to reassure him. “Very common in early stages of pregnancy… well according to the research I did.”

He frowned, clearly not comforted by your words. “Still, that doesn’t sound good. Are you sure you’re okay to work today?”

You nodded, appreciating his concern. “I’ll be fine. I just need to take it easy and stay hydrated I guess.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he also didn’t push further. “Alright, but let me know if you need anything.”

As he drove, you noticed a change in his cologne. Unlike the strong scent from the last time you were near him, this one was more subtle. You had caught a hint of it when he arrived at your doorstep, but now, sitting in the enclosed vehicle, the fragrance was more pronounced.

“Did you change your cologne?” you asked.

Carlos nodded casually as if it wasn’t a big deal, still looking at the road ahead. “Yeah, I did. Since I’ll be around you often, I don’t want you to feel like you did that day again.”

Touched by his thoughtfulness, you smiled softly. “Thank you, Carlos. That’s really sweet of you.”

“No problem,” he said sincerely, knowing that was one of the simplest changes he could do to make you feel at ease. “Was that also considered morning sickness?”

“Yeah, it was,” you confirmed. “Although I didn’t know what it was at the time, but it makes sense now.”

He nodded, processing the information.

The rest of the drive to the track was mostly silent, save for the soft hum of the engine and the occasional conversation with Carlos.

When you arrived at the circuit, it was drastically quieter compared to how it is during race weekends. The usual buzz of fans and the roar of the engines were absent, leaving an almost serene atmosphere. You and Carlos made your way to the Ferrari garage, where the rest of the media had already begun setting up.

As you walked in, you were greeted by the familiar faces of your colleagues. They were bustling around, setting up the cameras, adjusting lighting, and ensuring everything was in place before filming began.

The plan for the day was a pit stop challenge, featuring Charles and Carlos, along with four members of the official pit stop crew. This would capture the competitiveness between the drivers outside of their cars, giving the fans a chance to view them in an off-track environment.

You joined the media team, diving into the preparations. The team began arranging the equipment while you were tasked to supervise. However, as the setup progressed, you found yourself getting more involved, helping to move equipment and setting up different camera angles.

As you lifted a heavy tripod, you felt a wave of fatigue wash over you. The physical activity, combined with the lack of food in your body was starting to take its toll. You pushed through, determined to get everything ready for the shoot, but the exhaustion was evident in your movements.

“Hey, can someone adjust the lighting over here?” you called out, feeling a growing sense of frustration as things didn’t go exactly as planned. One of the workers approached, adjusting the light, but it still wasn’t quite right.

“No, not like that,” you snapped, your patience wearing thin. “Can’t you see it needs to be angled differently?”

The worker looked taken aback, and you immediately regretted your tone. But the stress and exhaustion were overwhelming, making it hard to control your emotions.

Carlos, who had been observing from a distance, noticed the tension and quickly stepped in. “Hey, let’s take a breather,” he said softly, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You’ve been working hard, and you need a break.”

You wanted to protest, but you knew he was right. Reluctantly, you let him guide you out of the garage. The fresh air hit you as you stepped outside, and you took a deep breath, trying to calm down.

“Come on,” Carlos said, leading you towards the hospitality area. “You need to eat something and rest for a bit.”

He found a small table by the window, where the sunlight streamed in, casting a warm glow over the room. “Sit,” he instructed, pulling out a chair for you. “I’ll get you something to eat.”

You decided against protesting since your stomach rumbled due to hunger. You watched him walk away, and while you appreciated the gesture, you hoped he wasn’t simply doing this out of necessity.

He returned a few minutes later with a tray of food — sandwiches, fruits, and a bottle of water along with a glass of juice. Since you had told him about morning sickness, he was careful in choosing the items that wouldn’t feel too heavy on the stomach, yet still filling.

Carlos sat across from you, occasionally glancing up to ensure you were eating. For the most part, he scrolled through his phone, giving you space and trying to appear less invasive.

After a few moments of silence, you finally spoke up. “You know you don’t have to do all of this.”

He looked up, a bit confused. “Do what?”

“Picking me up, making sure I eat, rest, roaming around me, thinking I’m fragile and going to break…”

Carlos’s expression softened. “Do you… not want me to care about you?”

“It’s not that,” you replied, your voice tinged with frustration. “I just don’t want you to think you have to do all this because of…that.” You pointed to your belly.

Carlos leaned forward, his eyes locking onto yours. “When I said I won’t abandon you, I meant it. Plus, I’m not doing this because I have to, I want to.”

You stilled, blinking a couple times before nodding as you processed his words. “Oh..” you mumbled, speechless.

You finished your food, feeling somewhat more energized. Carlos waited patiently, giving you a reassuring smile when you finally got up. Together, you headed back to the garage, noticing that the pit stop setup was complete. The media team had everything in place: the cars, the cameras, and the crew. Charles was already standing with his crew, waiting for his teammate.

You sighed in relief as you saw everything falling into place. Carlos gave you a quick nod before joining Charles and the crew.

You approached the media team standing behind the cameras, beelining for the worker you had snapped at earlier. “Hey, I’m really sorry about what happened before. I appreciate all the hard work you’re putting in.”

The worker nodded, a bit surprised by your apology but appreciative nonetheless. “No worries.”

With that weight lifted off your shoulders, you turned your focus back to the task at hand. It was time to begin filming the pit stop challenge.

The cameras started rolling, capturing every detail as you stepped into the frame to introduce the challenge.

“Today, we have a special challenge,” you announced, smiling at the camera. “We’re going to see how fast Charles and Carlos can change a tire on a Formula One car. To start, each driver will have the help of two crew members, and all they have to do is use the wheel gun to attach the bolt. But as the rounds progress, the difficulty will increase. They’ll lose a person from their team each round until they’re left to complete a full tire change by themselves.”

The drivers and their crew members got into position, ready for the first round. You stepped back, giving the signal to start. The sound of the wheel guns filled the garage as both teams worked quickly and efficiently. Charles and Carlos were focused, their movements precise as they attached the bolts with the help of their crew.

The first round went smoothly, with both drivers completing their tasks in record time. One crew member stepped back from each team for the next round, leaving Charles and Carlos with one less person to assist them. The challenge was already heating up, the competitive spirit evident in the determined expressions on their faces.

By the final round, it was just Charles and Carlos, each alone with their cars. The atmosphere was electric, the pressure and banter palpable as they raced against each other.

Charles struggled with the final bolt, his concentration intense, while Carlos managed to keep his pace steady, focusing on precision. You watched, captivated by their determination and skill.

In the end, Carlos finished just milliseconds ahead of Charles, both drivers panting and laughing as they congratulated each other on a job well done.

You and the media team captured the entire event, the footage promising to be a hit with the fans. As the cameras stopped rolling, you signaled to the crew to start packing up. Charles and Carlos, still catching their breath, approached you.

“That was intense,” Charles said, wiping sweat from his forehead. “I thought I had him for a moment.”

Carlos chuckled, clapping Charles on the back. “Next time, mate. You were close.”

You smiled at their camaraderie, feeling a sense of pride in how well the challenge had turned out. “You both did amazing. The fans are going to love this.”

As you began reviewing some of the footage with the team, Carlos stayed by your side, offering input and feedback. Despite the fatigue from the morning sickness and the stress of the day, you felt a renewed sense of energy and purpose. The success of the challenge had reignited your passion for your work, reminding you why you loved being a part of motorsports.

——

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