#carlos sainz x black! reader

[leclerqueensainz]

FRENESI (C.S 55) (EN VERSION)

PROLOGUE

Pairing: Carlos Sainz Jr. X Louise Evans ( OC)

Synopsis: Carlos Sainz is a scoundrel. That's what all the women he's slept with — and the list is not short — always say after having their hearts destroyed by the Spanish heartthrob. Carlos Sainz Jr. is the worst scoundrel of all time. But worse than being a scoundrel is liking to be a scoundrel. But even the worst scoundrel can have his heart tamed. And when Louise, Carlos' best friend, asks him to give her a baby, Sainz finds himself caught up in a frenzy.

Long dormant feelings resurface, and Carlos realizes that winning the world drivers' championship won't be his only challenge.

WARNING: THIS IS A +18 STORY and contains: Sex scenes and explicit sexual language, reproduction kink, swearing and a few other things that I may or may not be forgetting.

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE!

Carlos Sainz is a scoundrel. That's what all the women he's slept with - and the list is not short - always say after having their hearts destroyed by the Spanish heartthrob. Carlos Sainz Jr. is the worst scoundrel of all time. But worse than being a scoundrel is liking to be a scoundrel. Don't get me wrong, Carlos cannot be considered a bad guy in general; he is just a millionaire playboy who can't keep it in his pants when it comes to a beautiful woman. However, in his defense, he has always been a thoughtful lover during sex. He cares not only about receiving pleasure but also about extracting it from his "victims." He doesn't mind spending hours and hours pleasuring a wet pussy, or fulfilling a strange fetish so that his nighttime company can reach the highest peak of pleasure. In Carlos's mind, if his partner is screaming or crying for more, then it's worth it. However, being the cause of the greatest sexual delight for women also ends up contributing to his reputation as a womanizer, dog, scoundrel, heartbreaker, etc. So, it's no wonder that he is taken aback by his best friend Louise's request.

However, being the cause of the greatest sexual delight for women also ends up contributing to his reputation as a womanizer, dog, scoundrel, heartbreaker, etc. So, it's no wonder that he is taken aback by the request of his best friend Louise. — You want me to what?! — He asks, stunned. — I want you to impregnate me. — She says, biting her lips and staring at him with dark Bambi-like eyes. Carlos breathes astonished, unsure of how to respond. He looks around the living room of Louise's apartment, searching for any sign of a hidden camera. Dios! This must be a joke. Carlos is aware that his best friend hasn't been doing well in terms of mental health. But now it's like she's completely gone mad. Louise is Carlos's oldest friend. They met when Carlos joined Toro Rosso in 2015, while Louise had just started interning in the communications department at Mercedes. They would constantly bump into each other in the paddock, with her always behind Lewis and Nico, and Carlos trying his best to prove his talent in his rookie year in the category. During that time, it was just looks and nods as a greeting between the two, but a few months later, the first signs of flirting from the driver began. Always a compliment about what Louise was wearing, or about how her work was impeccable, even though he wasn't exactly sure what the girl did. However, Louise always rejected Carlos and said she was there not to flirt with playboy drivers but to seize the incredible opportunity that could greatly boost her professional career. And that was the rule she stuck to firmly until Sainz gave up and they both got closer to being two rookies who needed someone to trust. As the season progressed, what was initially just pleasant company for each other progressed into a solid friendship, and soon enough, the two were inseparable, of course, except when they were focused on their respective jobs.

This brings us to this moment, with Carlos staring at his best friend as if she had grown two heads on her shoulders. Carlos is neither dumb nor blind; it's obvious that he finds Louise attractive, and only he and God know how much he has fantasized about taking this woman to bed. But giving her a child - as tempting and sinful as the thought of hearing her moan and be filled with his seed underneath him may be the hottest thing he has ever imagined - is certainly the peak of madness. — Have you smoked Lando's weed again? — Carlos asks, as that is the only explanation that comes to his mind. — No! I am completely sober, well, aside from a few glasses of wine. But I only had them to gather the courage I needed to ask you. — She says plainly, leaving Carlos even more terrified. Standing up, Carlos took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand while the other rested on his hip. Louise, watching from the sofa where her friend had been sitting just minutes before, tries her best not to laugh at the situation. In Louise's mind, what she is asking for is quite simple. She is 27 years old, turning 28 in a few months. Throughout all these years of her existence, it seemed like something very serious was influencing her love life, as none of her relationships lasted longer than a year. Even Carlos had had longer relationships, with a fling here and there, but still, longer ones. Louise has always dreamed of having her own family, and the maximum time she has given herself to have children is by the age of 30. However, over the years, she realized that the only man who remains in her life after getting to know her is Carlos.

So when she finally broke up with her twentieth boyfriend, Roy, who was a nice guy but seemed more excited about plants than about her in lingerie, she decided to skip all the hassle of finding the perfect guy and instead continue her lineage with the help of her best friend. Of course, if he's willing to go along with this madness.

Louise isn't ugly she's very aware of it, with the amount of compliments she gets when she walks in the paddock or notifications from strangers and acquaintances in her social media DMs, she can't deny it. However, even though she's highly coveted, she hasn't found any man good enough to procreate with. She wants her children to have good genes, and that's not asking for too much.

She also knows Carlos isn't the most honorable guy in the world; God knows she's judged her friend as a gigolo dozens of times, but she loves Carlos. And he has great genes.

Carlos is handsome, very handsome, actually, a spectacle of a man. With thick, dark hair like a Disney prince, large eyes deep brown, a long nose, full lips, and of course, a perfect body. Carlos Sainz Jr. is truly a hottie. Does he have a questionable character? Yes! But he's still a hottie.

However, beyond the beauty the man possesses, what pleases Louise the most about Sainz is his dedication to everything he considers important, and that majestically includes their friendship. Louise would trust her life to Carlos with her eyes closed.

Carlos has always treated her very well, even after all the rejections she had given him during the beginning of their friendship.

He has always been kind, and attentive, and moved heaven and earth for her to have everything she needs, whenever she needs it. Does she want raspberry ice cream that's specifically sold in a city thousands of kilometers away from where they are? Don't worry, Carlos's assistant can take a jet and go get it for her; after all, it's not like Tina has anything more important to do than fetch ice cream from the middle of nowhere. All good.

Or when Louise has a sudden breakup with a guy she really liked, Carlos doesn't mind staying up all night listening to her cry on an endless call, even if it's been a tough day of racing and his body is begging for a good night's sleep. No, Carlos would stay with her. He would listen to her speak ill of Roy, Ben, Jude, Lorenzo, Michael, or any other bastard who had hurt her best friend's heart.

To outsiders, Carlos Sainz was a heartless womanizer. But to Louise, he's the nicest and kindest man she's ever met. And secretly, that might have also contributed to none of her relationships going anywhere.

Roy would never send an assistant flying miles away just for her to get a damn ice cream. To be fair, Roy didn't have an assistant, let alone a jet, but there have been times when he refused to go to a bakery around the corner from her apartment to buy the sweet bread she was craving. They fought, she told him to leave, and an hour later, an exhausted Carlos with tousled hair showed up at her door carrying a suitcase and a box of bread in every flavor for her.

And it's no surprise to anyone that Ben wouldn't stay up all night to hear her talk about a silly series or movie she watched during one of her long trips. After all, Ben is a very busy lawyer who doesn't have time for nonsense, only to sleep with the 19-year-old secretary who had started working at his firm. A curse, a middle finger, and three hours later, Carlos shows up with a bottle of wine and the hoodie he knows she loves and watches all the movies and series she wants.

None of these jerks would be good enough to do these things for Louise, only Carlos. Carlos is a womanizer of women and a great pilot for the world, but for Louise is the only person who really matters.

It turns out there will always be comparisons. No matter how many people she dates or tries to create her story with, no man or woman will ever be like Carlos. What they have is something unique and special, which goes beyond the barrier of friendship or even a romantic relationship. They were simply born to be.

For all these reasons and many more, she had made up her mind. Carlos Sainz Vázquez de Castro Cenamor Rincón Rebollo Virto Moreno de Aranda Don Per Urrielagoiria Pérez del Pulgar Jr. will be the father of her future child. Well, that's if he accepts and the way the Spaniard is looking at her, she might need a few more things to convince him.

— Carlos, please! - She says, pouting, which for a woman of almost 30 is ridiculous, but every effort will be worth it.

— Dios, Louise! No!— he says, running his hands through his hair in an exasperated way. - -You can't just ask me to put a baby inside you just because you're in a crisis!

Carlos throws himself back on the sofa next to her.

— This isn't a crisis! — He looks at her with an arched eyebrow. — Yes, it may be a crisis, but Carlos, I'm going to be 30!

— Yes! In two years, Louise! — He grabs her shoulders. - You're still young and you're a sensible woman, I mean, at least you used to be. — Louise digs her nails into Carlos' bare thigh, making him cry out in pain.

— I'm still sensible, Sainz! And that's exactly why I want you to get me pregnant! — Louise shouts, getting up from her seat on the sofa and standing in front of the pilot.

Even though Carlos is fighting hard, he's still a man and his flesh is weak. He evaluates every inch of his body covered only by a T-shirt, which he happened to know very well because it was his Real Madrid shirt.

— Come on, Cabron! Don't tell me you don't find me attractive. Do you know how many people would love to put a baby in me? — She asks and leans in close to his ear. — It's been eight years of you wanting to have sex with me, Carlitos. And today I'm begging you to throw me on that bed, or that sofa, or whatever the hell place you want. I want you to take off my clothes and fuck me until I have a part of you growing inside me. - Her lips lightly touch his lobe.

Carlos swallows dryly, the images of him bending his best friend over in every corner of the house, making her moan as he thrusts inside her without stopping until every drop of his cum drips into her... Oh! Dios!

Louise realizes that her goal of seduction is working with the way Carlos tenses up underneath her.

— Come on, Carlos... — A kiss below his ear — We could do this so well... - Another kiss on the jaw. — Imagine a mini part of both of us running around... - She licks his neck.

Carlos closes his eyes and lets himself imagine the scene. A mini him, or a mini Louise running around everywhere. He takes her or him to the paddock to watch him or her race a Formula 1 car. He allows himself to be even more daring and imagines not only the child already born, but also Louise pregnant with her second child, wearing a loose summer dress, with a big round belly and...

Carlos gasps and involuntarily tilts his head to the side so that Louise has more access to his skin. One of her hands moves slowly up his firm, dark-haired thigh. The sharp nail slowly scratched the sensitive skin, so close to his cock. Just a few more centimeters and...

— You don't even have to be his father if you don't want to. I can take care of everything, he won't even need to know you're the father and...

And then came the bucket of cold water. Of course, it's only because she wants a baby. Carlos feels a bit stupid for letting himself believe for a moment that the idea of making a family with him was what Louise wanted. She doesn't want a family with Carlos, of course not. She just wants him to be the father of her child.

Carlos quickly gets up and throws Louise onto the sofa. His mind was racing and a bizarre burning in his chest.

— What the fuck, Louise! You've really lost your mind! — He paces back and forth frantically.

— Carlos, what's the matter? - She gets up from the sofa too. — I thought you wanted me to be happy!

Carlos stops for a moment, his mouth tasting bitterly of anger. How dare Louise say that? Carlos has already made it more than obvious that he would do anything to make her happy. He would give up almost everything he owned for her, even set fire to Madrid if necessary!

He really thought that this was something that wouldn't even cross her mind. But this? Just being the cock that will empty inside her so that she can have a fucking baby — all babies forgive him - and then wanting him to act as if she were nothing to him, that's too much. Out of the question.

— If you want to play the black widow, Louise, you should know better than to think I'm the wrong guy for it. - He says, grabbing his jacket and turning towards the door without looking at her. — I don't care what anyone says about me. I'm everything women say and then some, but even so, I'm not an idiot who shirks my responsibilities. I expected more from you.

He opens the door and leaves.

Standing in the middle of the living room, Louise looks at the door her best friend has just left. She's confused, but above all, sorry.

[httpsserene]

Lando smut driveroom after hia dnf🫠🫠

𝐝𝐧𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐲 - 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬

summary: what goes down in their driver’s room with you after a dnf. content warning: 18+ only. mdni. explicit sexual content. hurt/comfort (in a way). sexual propositions. angry sex (implied). depressed charles. mercedes f1 team slander. sir kink. periods. face-sitting, vaginal sex, masturbation, voyeurism, blowjobs, cunnilingus, shower sex (light or implied). pairing: the grid x fem!reader (1,4,16,44,55,81) genre: drabbles.

from serene: river baby, this one’s for you xxx we all know what inspired this one lmao !!! oh, i will not be doing extended fics for any of these, they are just quick drabbles as a little writing exercise for me! (okay, okay, okay, fine i’ll finish toasty part two i promise it'll be released soon)

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𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧, 𝐦𝐚𝐱 #𝟏

You’ve never found Max’s skill for talking endlessly annoying or draining. In fact, you can recall telling him that hearing him eagerly explain about racing or other topics that interest him is attractive, multiple times. However, you’re not sure if you can withstand much more of him rambling through a retelling of every single lap he raced before he had to retire, looking for any possible point where he could’ve done something different to prevent it. 

The two of you are sitting on his small couch, pressed side to side, and you’re offering small nods of agreement and hums of understanding during his pauses between words that echo in the small private room. His helmet was shoved in a random cubby, his balaclava draped on top of it but, he hasn’t made any other progress in taking off his race gear. His gloves are still covering his hands as he fiddles with the straps around his wrists, his race suit and boots still properly secured, the smell of sweat and gasoline–the scent of man alluring to your nose–the heat of his body radiating against your side instigating the warmth that floods your cheeks, and the sound of his lisp curling seductively around his speech prompting less than pure thoughts as your heart flutters and thighs press together.

Max is unaware of the sudden twist in your thoughts as he verbally attempts to calculate just exactly where he could’ve improved his outcome, his voice rumbly with an undertone of displeasure, when you cut him off.

“Let me make it better,” you offer.

The Dutch driver cocks his head at you, his expression confused and humored, “How can you make my DNF better? I do not think you can go back in time and—”

“No, Max,” you interrupt, teeth tugging at your bottom lip gently, “Let me sit on your face.”

Visibly, you see his breath catch and eyes widen. His mouth opens and closes as he tries to formulate a response, tongue flicking out to dampen his lips as he thinks—before his pupils blow large, and he swallows audibly.

“Oh,” Max starts, finally tugging his gloves off and tossing them to the floor, then moving to undo the strap of his race suit, “That would make it better.”

𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐬, 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨 #𝟒

He’s pacing the small length of the room angrily, ranting about his retirement loudly enough that you know it’s seeping through the thin walls. You stare at him with a slightly concerned gaze, getting slightly annoyed as his race suit tied low on his hips threatens to smack you in the face every time he turns around. 

You’re well aware that Lando is quick to anger and brood as he freely makes everyone aware of where the blame needs to be placed. But, the dark and unyielding look in his eyes leads you to believe that he’ll be a little too real to the press today and you would hate to have to deal with a simultaneously enraged and ashamed Lando once he realizes what he said. Then, you’ll have to comfort him as he overthinks his words and doom scrolls through Twitter to see what people are saying about him. You would like to sleep tonight, so you can’t have him embarrass himself today. Thankfully, Lando’s a man, a very simple man at his core. 

You stand up from the couch and pull off his hoodie that you stole. Lando continues to rage and pace, not aware of your movement. You undo the buttons of your shirt, shrugging it off to stand in your bra and jeans. Lando doesn’t notice your state of undress until he spins around to find you topless and shimmying your jeans down your hips.

“Um,” Lando stutters, eyes fixed on your tits, “Why are your clothes off?”

“Get over here and fuck your anger out,” you command, “So when you talk to the press, you don’t say the stupid shit you're telling me now.”

Lando mumbles and pouts offended as he scrambles to lose his race suit, “‘s not stupid shit.”

You roll your eyes and reach out to tug him forward strongly, humming as the length of his body knocks against yours, easily stuffing your hand down his fireproofs and kissing on the meat of his neck, “mhm–I’m sure it isn’t.”

𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐜, 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬 #𝟏𝟔

The room is silent as Charles blankly stares at the wall, you’re not sure if he is aware of your hand comfortingly scratching along his back. He only offered words of exhaustion and depression as he slipped quietly into his room and curled next to you as he dissociated from his retirement.

You’ve tried everything. You cooed soothingly, you complained about the result, and you even loudly expressed how terrible you think the car and Ferrari are and he didn’t say a single word. He simply continued to stare at the wall, his suit and helmet still on, visor down, and expression unreadable. Anxiously, you shifted next to him, not used to experiencing Charles this out of it. And suddenly, the idea came to you. Breaking the silence, you suggested giving him head to relieve his stress. Charles said no. Your brow furrowed perplexed at his denial; he’s never rejected a blowjob before. You took it one step further and offered to let him fuck it out of you (you were previously adamant on the “no sex in the driver’s room” rule because sound carries), and you were sure the Monegasque was about to say yes before he shook his head violently like he was forcibly removing the thought, and mumbled something along the lines of, “I don’t deserve it.” 

That is something you will not let slide. Charles doesn’t need to punish himself after he’s already out of the race, but if he won’t allow himself to indulge in you, you’ll strongly encourage him to.

“Okay, Charlie,” you whisper, “If you’re sure.”

He doesn’t zone back in until he hears your whimpers seep into the air, snapping his head to look at you. He finds you with one hand tugging at your nipple and your other hand shoved under your skirt—from the movement, he can guess that you’re two fingers deep. You hear Charles choke audibly and you can’t help but toss your head back and giggle, the laughter turning into a moan of pleasure as your fingers pass over a sensitive spot.

“I-I think–merde,” Charles cuts himself off as he stares at your show, “I think I’ve changed my mind.”

The helmet stays on.

𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐨𝐧, 𝐥𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐬 #𝟒𝟒

You’re unsure if Lewis is even mad about his retirement. The man seems mentally deranged as he laughs gleefully about ending his race early. Understandably, he is complaining about the bottoming of the car and the hell it’s wreaking on his back–so, maybe the joy is justifiable, your man is…older.

The thing is, Lewis switches from rambling about his back pain to complaining about Mercedes and repeating how he can’t wait for a change in scenery at Ferrari. In the Mercedes motorhome. Loudly. You know he’s doing it on purpose based on the vengeful look in his eyes. He recalls almost every single moment the team dismissed his critiques and suggestions, every single moment they didn’t appear at his podiums, every single moment they thought he wouldn’t leave, every single moment they took him for granted. And, Lewis is more than welcome to express his grievances—but you would still like him to leave on good terms as Toto did promise you a custom G-Wagon (not that Lewis can’t get you one himself; you would just hate to see him ruin his connections).

Lewis also can’t help being hot. He sits comfortably splayed out on his couch, a towel tied loosely on his hips from his shower, chest bare as beads of water fall downwards and get caught in the maze of his toned abdomen, his tattoos become art pieces as you appreciate the sight fully. He continues to partake in his amusing one-man conversation as he clasps his chain around his neck—and you break.

“Let me suck your dick,” you blurt out, cheeks flushing, surprised at your own words, “...sir?”

Lewis pauses, raising an eyebrow at you from where you’re leaning on the room door. 

“Well, I don’t know why you’re still standing over there if that’s what you want. Kneel.”

The sound of your knees hitting the floor sings in the air, “Yes, sir.”

𝐩𝐢𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢, 𝐨𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 #𝟖𝟏

Oscar’s already sequestered himself away in his room before you were able to intercept him on his way. The mechanics are lowly gossiping about how mad he was when he pulled himself out of the car and they watch after you in fear as you make your way to your boyfriend.

Oscar? Mad? He’d never take it out on you, there’s no reason for the mechanics to be worried. Except when you enter the room, the vibes are peculiar. Oscar’s calmly folding his race suit, boots tucked away into their proper place, standing in just his fireproofs—they compliment his body well, extremely well. He turns to look at you and there’s a smile on his face as if he hasn’t retired from a race. He opens his arms for a hug, and you hesitate for a moment before fulfilling his request. His arms wrap around you warmly and he nuzzles his face into your hair, pulling back briefly to press a kiss on your forehead before tightening his embrace. It feels more like he’s comforting you than you’re comforting him. He walks the two of you backward to his couch and pulls you down to sit on his lap. 

Somehow, Oscar brightens more, “Hi, baby,” he grins, hands moving to fiddle with the hem of your shirt.

“Uhh, I’m sorry about your race?” Your tone of voice is unsure.

“Oh,” he laughs dismissively, “It happens sometimes–it was listed in the job description.” His right hand slips underneath your shirt as he speaks, moving calmly to tug the cups of your bra down underneath your chest, squeezing lightly at the plush weight in his hand. 

You’re convinced he’s severely concussed, but it doesn’t stop you from arching towards him, your hips rolling forward unconsciously, “Ummm— ‘s there a-anything I can do to help?”

Oscar’s hand draws out of your shirt and halts the grind of your hips in a flash, he coos at you, “Aw, that’s so sweet of you to offer…let me fuck your tits—please?”

What were you going to do, tell him no?

𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐳 𝐣𝐫, 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐬 #𝟓𝟓

You’re going to slam your head on the corner of the sink and hope it knocks you out. You’ll do it if means the sounds of Carlos’ whining stop. He forcibly pulled you up on the counter of the sink and told you to stay put as he showered so he could talk it out to you.

Naively, you thought the sound of the shower running would muffle his words and you were wrong. On any other day, you would be fine to support him through his complaints but your period is due to start in a couple of days and the irritation and sore muscles are already affecting you. Originally, you were eager to watch Carlos shower—that’s a sight plenty of women and men alike would kill you for. Then, the glass fogged with steam depriving you of something to ogle. And, if there’s one thing a woman is experiencing besides pain, sensitivity, and anger before her period, it’s being horny. You rationalize your thought process as you get undressed; Carlos gets some stress relief and you get to hear moans and grunts of pleasure instead of his huffing, grumbling, and whining. 

You slide the glass door open and closed as you step in the shower, completely bare except for the necklaces, earrings, and anklet with the #55 charm he gifted you randomly, “Carlos, por favor, be quiet.”

The Spanish man’s mouth is agape as he stares at you, frozen in the middle of his motion of scrubbing soap along his arm, “¿Qué?”

You roll your eyes, tugging the soapy cloth out of his hand and setting it on the shower shelf, “There’s better things you could be doing with your mouth.”

Carlos blinks, returning to the present and sinking to his knees in the too-small shower. 

He stares up at you with his big, sweet, lust-drenched, brown eyes, his hair a mess from the spray of the shower, and his voice cracking as he speaks, “Yes, definitely.”

© httpsserene2024

[23victoria]

"did you pump my gas?"

ꨄ༊*·˚ pairings: 𝐟𝟏 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

word count: 𝟐.𝟕𝐤

ꨄ༊*·˚ synopsis: 𝐟𝟏 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐫

authors note: 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐦𝐞 𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚, 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐢 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐬𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠, 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲!! 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, & 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝!! 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞

𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭?! CLICK HERE!

ꨄ༊*·˚ F1 MASTERLIST

Lewis

Lewis pulls into a gas station as you’re both on a road trip up the coast, eyeing the 7/11 sign with interest. "You want anything, babe?" he asks, turning to you with a warm smile.

"Mmm, a sandwich, some chips, and maybe a drink?" you reply, flashing him a grin.

"Anything for my girl," he says with a wink, leaning over to plant a soft kiss on your lips before hopping out and heading inside.

As Lewis disappears into the store, you notice the gas gauge is teetering near empty. You know Lewis loves taking care of you, but you figure you can handle this one little thing, so you step out and start pumping the gas. Just as you’re putting the nozzle back, Lewis emerges, bag and drink in hand, and freezes mid-step, his eyes widening.

"Wait, are you—no, no, no. Are you pumping my gas, Y/N?" He stares at you with a mixture of disbelief and playful shock.

You give him a shrug and a smile. "Just wanted to help out. No big deal."

"No big deal? Babe, are you kidding me? Not only did you pump the gas, but…did you pay too?" he asks, his voice a blend of amusement and horror.

You nod sheepishly. "I just thought I’d make it easy for you."

Lewis’s face crumples in mock disapproval, and he walks over, setting the food bag on the roof of the car as he puts his hands on your shoulders. "Listen here, princess. You don’t ever lift a finger, especially for something like this. Got it?"

You can’t help but laugh, enjoying the playful scolding. "Okay, okay, I got it. No more helping out, then?"

He shakes his head, leaning in to press his forehead against yours. "The only thing I want you lifting is your hand when you’re telling me you need something," he says, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. "And maybe lifting your lips to kiss me."

"That, I can manage," you reply, giggling as you pepper kisses all over his face until he’s laughing too. He finally pulls you into a proper kiss, deep and sweet.

"There we go," he says, pulling back slightly. "Now, hop in, and let me spoil my girl properly. Sandwiches and kisses on demand, sound good?"

"Sounds perfect," you reply, heart fluttering as he opens the car door for you with a flourish.

Charles

When Charles pulls into the gas station, he notices the little deli inside and immediately glances your way. "Ma chérie, are you hungry?"

You give him a big smile, your eyes lighting up. "Yes, please! A sandwich and maybe a drink?"

He leans over to give you a gentle kiss. "Consider it done, ma chérie," he says before heading inside with a soft smile on his face.

As he disappears, you notice the gas gauge is low, and you decide to surprise him by filling up the tank. You’re just finishing up when Charles exits the store, a bag in one hand and your drink in the other. He stops dead in his tracks, his expression shifting from relaxed to one of complete disbelief.

"Y/N! No, no, no—ma chérie, did you just… did you just pump the gas?" He hurries over, his face a mix of shock and disapproval.

You look at him, shrugging. "I just thought I’d help out."

He sets the bag down and takes both of your hands in his, his eyes intense as he stares into yours. "No, ma amour. That is not how this works," he says firmly. "You do not touch the gas pump. Not when I am here. I am the one who takes care of these things, d'accord?"

"But, Charles, I wanted to help…"

He lets out a deep sigh, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "Non, ma chérie. I adore that you want to help, but you are my princess, and I want you to relax. Let me handle everything."

You giggle softly, giving in to his serious expression. "Okay, okay, I won’t do it again."

He cups your cheek, his thumb tracing a soft line along your skin. "That’s better," he says, a warm smile replacing his stern look. "Now, a kiss to seal the promise?"

You smile up at him and press a soft kiss to his lips. "Promise."

Charles pulls you close, holding you as if you’re the most precious thing in his world. "Good. Now, back in the car with you, ma chérie. I’ll handle the rest."

Lando

Lando pulls into the gas station, immediately spotting the Wendy’s inside. "Want anything to eat, babe?" he asks with a grin.

"A chicken sandwich meal and a drink, please," you say, giving him a quick kiss.

"Okay baby" he says with a wink, stepping out of the car.

While he’s inside, you notice the gas tank is almost empty. Thinking it would be a nice surprise, you decide to fill it up. You’re just finishing when Lando comes out with the food, and he nearly drops the bag when he sees you by the pump.

"Whoa, hold up—are you pumping the gas?!" He rushes over, looking at you like you just told him you bought the whole station.

"Yeah, I just wanted to help out," you say, smiling.

He gives you a look of pure disbelief mixed with a cheeky grin. "Baby, no, no, no! You don’t do that kind of stuff. You’re my girl—you’re supposed to just chill and look pretty while I take care of things. Got it?"

You giggle at his teasing tone. "Got it, Lando."

He pulls you in, giving you a quick peck on the lips. "Good. Now, next time you even think about pumping gas, remember that it’s my job to take care of you. Deal?"

"Deal," you reply, giggling as you give him a few more kisses on his cheek.

"That’s better," he says, smiling as he opens the car door for you. "Now, get in and let me spoil you."

Carlos

Carlos pulls into the gas station and glances at the deli. "You want anything to eat, mami?"

"Yes, please! A sandwich, some chips, and a drink please," you reply, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

He smiles warmly. "For you, anything," he says, before heading inside.

While he’s gone, you notice the gas is low and decide to surprise him by filling it up. Just as you’re finishing, Carlos exits the store and his eyes go wide.

"Mami! No, no, no!" He rushes over, looking at you with a mix of shock and adoration. "What are you doing, princesa?"

"I just wanted to help out," you say, smiling.

Carlos shakes his head, taking your hands in his and giving you a soft but stern look. "No, no, mami, you don’t need to worry about things like that. I’m the one who takes care of you, understand?"

"Okay, okay," you reply, giggling at his serious expression.

He pulls you close, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "You’re too precious for that. Just relax and let me handle everything, mami."

You smile, leaning into his embrace. "I love you, Carlos."

"I love you too, mami," he whispers, holding you close. "Now, let’s get back on the road, and I’ll keep spoiling you."

Max

Max had barely pulled into the gas station when he’d noticed the little Dunkin inside. Turning to you with a playful smile, he’d asked, “Want anything, baby?”

“A bagel and iced coffee would be amazing,” you’d replied, giving him a quick, affectionate kiss.

“Anything for you,” he’d said, winking before hopping out of the car and heading into the store.

As soon as he was gone, you noticed the gas gauge needle hovering close to “E.” Figuring you could surprise him by taking care of it, you stepped out, filled the tank, and managed to get back into your seat just as Max walked out, food and drink in hand.

He reaches your side, a bag in one hand, and gives you the warmest smile as he passes you your food through the window. But then he tilts his head, his brow furrowing slightly. “Wait, why is the car still on? I thought I turned it off…”

He walks around to the driver’s side, opens the door, and freezes as he notices the gas gauge. His eyes go wide, and he quickly realizes what you did. Shutting the door, he comes back to your side, a look of disbelief mixed with soft exasperation on his face.

“Baby, did you…did you just fill up the car?” he asks, his tone gentle but incredulous.

You give him an innocent smile. “I just thought I’d help out a little.”

He sighs, looking at you like you’ve just broken an unspoken rule. “No, no, no, absolutely not,” he says, shaking his head. “Baby, you’re not supposed to do stuff like that. You’re my girl. I take care of those things, alright?”

You laugh softly, appreciating how serious he seems about this. “Alright, alright, I get it.”

He leans in, planting a tender kiss on your forehead and then a few quick ones on your cheeks for good measure. “Just sit back, relax, and let me take care of you. Promise?”

“Promise,” you say, laughing, and he finally breaks into a soft smile, brushing his thumb along your cheek.

“Good,” he murmurs, giving you one last kiss before heading back around to the driver’s seat. “Now, eat up, baby, and let’s get back on the road.”

Jenson

As soon as you and Jenson pulled into the gas station, he’d noticed the deli inside and turned to you with a smile that was pure charm. “Fancy a snack, sweetheart?”

“Yes, please! A sandwich, some chips, and maybe a drink?” you asked, leaning in to give him a quick kiss.

“Say no more,” he’d replied, winking as he stepped out of the car and made his way toward the store.

While he was gone, you noticed the tank was low and figured you could surprise him by filling it up. Just as you finish and settle back into your seat, Jenson comes back out, a bag of food and your drink in hand.

He comes over to your side, passing the bag through the window. “Here you go, sweetheart,” he says, his eyes lighting up as he glances at you. But then he notices the engine is on and tilts his head, frowning a little.

“Wait a second…didn’t I turn the car off?” he mutters, walking around to the driver’s side. When he opens the door and sees the gas gauge is full, he freezes, putting two and two together. He shuts the door and comes back around to your side, his eyes wide.

“Sweetheart, tell me you did not just fill up the car?” he asks, a hand over his chest in a mock display of distress.

You grin, shrugging. “I just thought I’d give you a hand.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” he says, shaking his head and looking half-appalled, half-amused. “Sweetheart, you’re my girl. You don’t lift a finger for things like that, alright? Not when I’m here.”

You can’t help but laugh at his dramatic response. “Alright, message received. No more helping out?”

He grins, leaning in to place a soft, lingering kiss on your cheek. “Exactly. I want you to just sit back and let me spoil you. Got it?”

“Got it,” you say, giggling as he plants a couple more kisses on your forehead and nose for good measure.

“Perfect,” he says with a satisfied nod, finally heading back to the driver’s seat. “Now, relax, sweetheart, and enjoy the food.”

Oscar

Oscar is usually more low-key, but as he pulls into the gas station and spots the McDonald’s inside, he turns to you with a soft smile. “Hungry, babe?”

You nod enthusiastically. “Yes, please! A 20 piece nuggets and a drink, please and thank you.”

“Of course babe,” he replies, giving you a quick kiss before hopping out of the car.

While he’s inside, you notice the gas is nearly empty and decide to take care of it yourself. You fill up quickly, wanting to surprise him before he gets back. Just as you’re settling into your seat again, Oscar walks out, your food and drink in hand.

He comes to your side and passes you the bag through the window. “Here you go, babe,” he says with that shy smile of his. But then he frowns slightly, noticing the car is still on.

“Huh, I thought I turned the car off…” he mutters to himself, walking over to the driver’s side. When he opens the door and notices the gas tank is now full, he turns back to you, looking surprised.

“Babe, did you…did you just fill up the car?” he asks, his tone soft but a bit stern.

You shrug, smiling. “Just thought I’d help out.”

Oscar sighs, his brows knitting as he walks back over to you. “No, no, babe. You don’t need to do that, okay? I’m here to take care of things like that.”

You laugh, reaching out to grab his hand. “Alright, alright. No more gas-pumping.”

He relaxes, a gentle smile replacing his serious look as he cups your face. “Good. Just sit back, relax, and let me handle it. Deal?”

“Deal,” you reply, smiling up at him as he leans in and plants a soft kiss on your forehead, then another on your nose, making you giggle.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, heading back to the driver’s side. “Now let’s get going, and you can just enjoy the ride.”

Sebastian

When you and Sebastian pull into the gas station, he immediately notices the small deli inside. He glances over at you with that soft, warm smile you love so much, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Want anything, honey?" he asks, his voice gentle as he rests a hand on yours.

“Some chips and maybe a drink?” you reply, giving him a playful smile.

“Of course,” he says, pressing a kiss to your hand before getting out and heading into the store.

Once he’s out of sight, you notice the fuel gauge is nearly on “E.” Knowing how much he insists on doing everything for you, you’re torn for a moment, but you decide it’d be a sweet surprise to fill it up for him. You slip out of the car, pump the gas, and manage to finish just in time to jump back into your seat.

Sebastian emerges from the store, carrying a bag with your food and drink, and walks up to your window with that same warm smile. He hands you the bag through the open window, giving you a look that makes you feel like the only person in the world.

“Here you go, honey,” he murmurs. But then he frowns, his brow furrowing slightly. “Didn’t I…didn’t I turn the car off?”

He rounds the car, opening the driver’s side door. When he spots the full fuel gauge, his face freezes, and he turns back to you with wide eyes.

“Did you…did you fill up the tank?” he asks, a mixture of shock and concern in his voice.

You nod, trying to look casual. “Just thought I’d help out a bit.”

Seb shakes his head, running a hand through his hair as he lets out a deep sigh. “Honey, no,” he says softly but firmly, coming over to your side. “You’re my girl; I don’t want you to worry about things like that. You don’t have to lift a finger for this.”

You can see he’s genuinely bothered, and it makes your heart melt a little. “Okay, okay,” you say, laughing softly as you reach up to stroke his cheek. “I get it, I promise. No more surprises like this.”

Sebastian’s expression softens immediately as he cups your face, looking at you with such adoration. “Good. Because you’re my princess, and I’m here to take care of you,” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “Let me spoil you a little, alright?”

“Alright,” you whisper, smiling up at him.

He rewards you with a gentle, lingering kiss on your cheek and brushes a few stray hairs behind your ear. “Thank you, liebling. Now, sit back, relax, and enjoy your food.”

ꨄ༊*·˚ taglist! @ham1lton @ietss @animeandf1lover @nelly187 @heartsfromtaeyong @bloodyymaryyy @nor-4 @zacian117 @mel164 @uhhvictoria @hadidsworld @zabwlky1999 @sya-skies @lillysbigwilly @avengers-assemble123456 @santanasaintmendes @km-23mr @hookhausenschips @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @Ronpho @minekarina @aeongism @Formula1-motogpfa @slagclarens @aleexvqa @f1updates4you @booksandflowrs @chaostudee @winkev1 @strawblueberrys @Blakesbearblog @cel-b @perfumejamal @aykxz98 @pandora-08 @yoncesgroove @tellybearryyyy @exotic-iris13 @magixpracticality @eoduuung @eternoangel @xoscar03 @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @danieldaviddarren33 @flowerpetalk @xoscar3 @jimcarreyfann42 @oliviah-25 @bbwzrld @goldenroutledge @unkownmystery_22 @sophienorris18-blog @acesbakery @armystay89 @poppyflower-22 @szalovebot

© 23victoria 2023-24 I all rights reserved. do not republish, steal repost, modify, translate or claim my work as your own

[ham1lton]

YOU’D BE THE RIGHT GUY

pairings: carlos sainz jr x actress!reader

summary: actors who play the leads in a movie almost always fall in love, it’s a hollywood thing, but falling in love with the man who inspired the film’s villain? now that’s unheard of.

faceclaim: zendaya.

author’s note: spinoff of if we were a movie but can be read as a standalone! part of my 2k celebration <3

liked by nicholasgalitzine, bestie and 2,938,128 others.

yourusername: my grwm with vogue is now out on youtube! i promise i do more than just laugh and sit <3

view all 678,828 comments

user1: i went to go see need for speed and omg…

-> user2: first wattpad original movie to actually be good.

user3: the blonde is such a slay

bestie: go best friend!! u look sexy 😍

-> yourusername: not as sexy as you 😋💕

user4: did y’all hear the voice in the background?? why did it sound like carlos sainz?

-> user5: i’d say you’re delusional but i heard it too….

-> user6: now how tf do yn and carlos know each other???

-> user7: she starred in need for speed and it’s based off of a charles leclerc fanfic but carlos was in the fic as well. he’s the antagonist. when it was adapted to a film, taylor zakhar perez played his (renamed) character. but to promote it, yn and the main cast went to a few f1 races. so they could have met then?

-> user8: imagine choosing carlos over charles lmfaooooo

-> user9: they’re both hot and successful and rich? it’s not the downgrade you think it is 😭

user10: not yn in her silk press and giggles era 😭 okay kamala

*liked by yourusername.*

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

📍london, united kingdom.

liked by charles_leclerc, taylorzakharperez and 3,234,521 others.

yourusername: london i love you! 🫶🏼

view all 124,837 comments

user1: I TOLD Y’ALL!!!!!

user2: power couple omg?!

user3: YN IS A WAG YASSSSSS

alexandrasaintmleux: pretty girl! ☺️

*liked by yourusername.*

user4: carlos is soooo fine im gnawing at the bars of my enclosure.

user5: out of all the people??? she chooses him?

-> user6: this carlos hate is so forced 😭 grow up.

landonorris: not you taking my man… 😒

-> carlossainz55: it’s okay lando. you can share 😃👍🏼

-> user7: not y’all bringing sza’s song to life LMFAO

user8: yn bagging carlos is so wattpad coded.

-> user9: u mean carlos bagging thee yn.

carlossainz55: mi luz ♥️

-> yourusername: mi vida 💕

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

— all works taglist: @luvsforme @yelenasloverrrrr @donttouchthegnote @chelle1306 @bloodyymaryy @aliciaablueprint @lennnooshh @km-23mr @stinkyjax @f1kenzzz @ctrlyomomma @theblueblub @lavisenri @marshmummy @23victoria @ourlifeforchaos @namgification @tallrock35 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ariellovelynn @shhhchriss @lifeless-firefly @xylinasdiary @evie-119 @itseightbeats @tsireyasgf @landososcar @yongi-lee @maxlarens @velentine @m1892 @blushmimi @evans-dejong

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

[thisismeracing]

The one | CS55

― Pairing: Carlos Sainz x fem!reader (she/her) ― Warnings: mentions of break up and food; typos. ― Summary: Yn is doing well a few months after her break up with Carlos, and so is he. Everyone thinks that this paragraph of their lives is over, but as it happens they may be a chapter to each other, and Yn makes sure everyone knows he was her great love, the one - through her new song. ― A/n: None of the pictures used are mine, they are all from Pinterest and other apps, but the work is, and I do not allow it to be published on a different platform. I would appreciate it if those things could be taken into consideration 💛

▸ my masterlist | my taglist | patreon guide ▸ support my writing by reblogging, leaving a comment (don’t forget to follow me if you like the piece), or buying me a coffee

February, 2023

February, 2024

realyn

liked by charles_leclerc, sza, and others

realyn "The One" has just come out on all streaming platforms. I hope this piece of my heart reaches yours. Tune in and dive into the feels 💐🤍

view all comments

saintsainz "for old time's sake" HELLO?????

ynsummer omg another bop!!! I wish I could write songs when I'm sad, the few breakups I had I could only cry and try not to choke on my own phlegm

⤷ fan2000 ewwww LOL

hammert1m3 charles on the likes 👀

leclowns1655 in my head they're not over yet

⤷ mercmickey you need therapy, bestie

lewishamilton great music as usual 💜

francisca.cgomes 😍😍

szadirection I love how the grid's still here supporting here even a year after she and carlos broke up 🥺

popyn WE WERE SOMETHING DON'T YOU THINK SOOO ROSÉ FLOWING WITH YOUR CHOSEN FAMILY 🎤🎤🎤🎤

ferraristrangers I have so many theories for the lyrics and the cover and kksjksdj aaaaaaaa

Old posts

March, 2018

realyn

liked by lewishamilton, ynfan, and others

realyn eat pasta, run fasta, they said 😋😂

view all comments

bieberf1 they my new fav couple now 💋

raintyresainz thank you for feeding us that last carlos pic

hurricaneyn welp now I wanna eat pasta but its like the middle of the night

⤷ alonsochamp eat pasta, sleep fasta 😙😂

carlossainz55 ❤️❤️

amarelorenault her glasses are so cool!!!!! her style is always on point

carlossainz55

liked by yourfriend, fernandoalo_oficial, and others

carlossainz55 we tried homemade, it worked 😋

view all comments

realyn we didn't run fasta this time though :(

⤷ carlossainz55 there wasn't any race this Sunday, cariño

⤷ realyn shhhh, let me be funny

harrystylistee I want what they have!

April, 2018

realyn

liked by hulkhulkenberg, renaultf1team, and others

realyn enjoyed April with my fav spaniard, wrote a few songs for you guys - new album dropping soon!!!!! 🥳

view all comments

aussiegrid howd you like Australia, Yn?

⤷ realyn I loved it, def gonna come back soon 🥰

ynfan 💙💙💙💙💙💙

carlosfullname1 where’s your jacket from?

⤷ realyn website.com 😘

fab2000 can’t wait for the new song and espec the new album!!!!!

July, 2018

carlossainz55

liked by pierregasly, realyn, and others

carlossainz55 Yn's new album "I used to know her" is out now and you guys should run to listen to it 💙💙 she did an amazing job as usual. I'm very proud of you, cariño @ realyn

view all comments

lewishamilton congrats, Yn!

hulkhulkenberg everyone here loved the new album, well done, Yn!

renaultf1team its our garage soundtrack 😎💛

March, 2019

realyn

liked by landonorris, mclaren, and others

realyn the past few months wearing papaya have been amazing! 🧡 and yes, last concert clothes were orange bc of the team

view all comments

landonorris looks like the concert clothes gave us some luck, make sure to wear orange again next time!

⤷ realyn I love you guys but I can't be wearing orange all the time

⤷ yourmanager yes, you can

⤷ realyn shut up, I'm gonna fire your ass

⤷ yourmanager no, you won't

⤷ carlossainz55 jajajaja

tifosinha I love how lando looks like their kid 😂

spaincarlos_ not yn and carlos adopting lando lol

ynfan4 her music taste is *chef kiss* 🤌🏾

ynandsainz yn, your album still on repeat on my apple music!

mclaren 🧡🧡

December, 2019

carlossainz55

liked by charles_leclerc, hulkhulkenberg, and others

carlossainz55 ¡Feliz Navidad! 🎄❤️

view all comments

saturnracer FELIZ NAVIDAD TAN TAN TAN PROSPERO AÑO Y FELICIDAD 🎤

szalover 😭😍 its the way she loves pasta

⤷ cowboyvettel @ realyn pasta or carlos? choose one

⤷ realyn carlos cooking pasta 😙😋😜

July, 2020

realyn

liked by lewishamilton, fernandoalo_oficial, and others

realyn compilation of some of the flowers Carlos gave me and pics he took 💖 Te amo, cariño 💐🌷🌹🌸🌺🌼🌻

view all comments

fonedirection God I see what youve done for others

carlossainz55 you’re my favorite flower, love 🌸💖

⤷ fernandoalo_official you guys know how to be sicklengly cute huh 🙄

piastripastry see? carlos gets flowers regularly to yn and yall out there crying over an ugly ass man who gives you the bare minimum 🫵

March, 2021

realyn

liked by carlossainz, scuderiaferrari, and others

realyn new character unlocked hehe ❤️💛🏎️

view all comments

ynfrance We want a new album, queen!!! save us!

swiftverstappen the way they went through everything togerher 🤧

⤷ russellsainz I want what they have

monegasque16 another day another yn post to make me cry in single and alone

carlossainz55 thank you for the endless support, cariño 💛 you’re my everything

tifosisunshine you’re 😭 my 😭 everything 😭

August, 2022

carlossainz55

liked by landonorris, pierregasly, and others

carlossainz55 my kind of free-weekends 🩵

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sunnyyn yn looks so good 😍😍

yourbestie ❤️ aweee

realyn te amo! 😘

January, 2023

realyn

liked by lewishamilton, francisca.cgomes, and others

realyn happy new year 🙃

view all comments

charlsmonaco where's carlos? 😟

mylightyn I don't like this vibe…

ynwardrobe what is she reading?

lewishamilton 💙

⤷ mclatinha lew do you happen to know something we don’t?

carlossainz55

liked by landonorris, fernandoalo_oficial, and others

carlossainz55 ¡Feliz Año Nuevo! 🎉

view all comments

brocedes2010 where's Yn??????

schumini_ at least they seem to be on the same place 🙏🏾🙏🏾

redsainz he looks so good it hurts

back to 2024 💬📩

────── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi! I hope you guys liked this piece! I'm set on publishing my drafts but I need time to work on them, this one was saved for a while now, and it's finally here heheh let me know your thoughts!

If you liked this piece and want early access to new ones and exclusive access to others, subscribe to my patreon!💘

▸ check my main masterlist | patreon guide and my taglist.

taglist: @sachaa-ff @mickslover @mishaandthebrits @fdl305 @iloveyou3000morgan @crimeshowjunkie @saintslewis @carojasmin2204 @chaoticevilbakugo @wondergirl101ks @smiithys @shhhchriss @f1kota @lunnnix @karmabyfernando @crashingwavesofeuphoria @schumacheer @callsign-scully @dearxcherry @elliegrey2803 @peachiicherries @he6rtshaker @therealcap @mehrmonga @the-depressed-fellow @cixrosie @darleneslane @buckybarnessweetheart @nichmeddar @fastcarsandshit @goldenalbon @balekanemohafe @jamie2305 @nzygftoji @leclercsluv @bbreezybitch @graciewrote @alessioayla @littlesatanicassholebitch @barcelonaloverf1life @noncannonships @fanboyluvr @is-just-a @love4lando @woozarts @namgification @formulaal @v1naco @skepvids

©thisismeracing ― do not copy, steal, or translate my work; do not repost on a different media platform.

[hookhausenschips]

His. {CS55}

Navigation

Summary: He was toxic, everything about him but neither could stay away. Not when he's staked his claim.

WC: 2.3k

Warnings: toxic, situationship, smutty smut smut, begging, praise, biting, possessiveness, degradation

18+

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

He looked at me, with a smirk on his face. “Is this what you wanted, huh?” he asked, as he pushed my head down, making me look at him from beneath my lashes.

“Y-yes,” I stuttered out, feeling his warm breath tickle my skin.

I felt him shift a bit, his hand going to my hip, lifting my leg over his head.

“Say it,” he demanded.

“I-I wanted this,” I panted out.

I knew what he wanted to hear. I knew what it did to him.

“Tell me, amor. Tell me what you wanted. Say it for me.”

I knew I was playing into his hands. But at that moment, I didn’t care. I wanted it just as much as he did.

“I wanted your cock in my mouth,” I spat out, feeling myself get wetter as he smirked at me.

He didn’t say anything else. Instead, he shoved his cock down my throat, making me gag slightly.

I looked up at him through watery eyes, and he smirked.

“Good girl,” he murmured, thrusting into my throat. “Such a good fucking girl for me.”

A few months ago, I thought we were done.

I thought we’d finally managed to break free from our toxic relationship.

But we’d found ourselves back in bed together a month later.

We couldn’t seem to stay away from each other. Every time we tried to take a break, we found ourselves right back where we started.

I didn’t know how long I could keep this up. At the end of the day, he didn’t want me. He only wanted to fuck. And I’d been foolish to think it’d ever be more than that.

I’d told him I couldn’t keep doing this.

But I always came running back to him.

He’d come to my flat after his race, angry as ever that we hadn’t spoken for a week.

But that’s what happened when we broke up. We stopped communicating until one of us caved.

It always ended up being me.

That’s why I was currently on my knees, sucking his cock.

I heard a knock on the door, and I froze, looking up at Carlos in panic.

“Fuck, I can’t believe we forgot to lock the door,” he growled out, grabbing my hair to keep me in place.

“What if it’s a friend?” I asked, worried about getting caught.

“Then let’s hope they have a good show,” he smirked. “I’m not stopping now.”

I felt him thrust into me as he said it, and I couldn’t help but moan around his cock. His words did something to me. I was so turned on, I could barely think straight.

He leaned forward a bit more, making sure his cock went even deeper in my throat. I gagged slightly, trying to hold in my tears. But he didn’t let up, shoving even deeper.

I tried to push him off, but he only held me tighter.

“I’m going to come, and you’re going to swallow,” he growled. “Do you understand me?”

I nodded my head, whimpering around his cock as he fucked my throat.

“Good girl,” I heard him say before he came down my throat, the hot liquid making me gag and cough.

I pushed him off as soon as he let go of my hair, backing up and coughing on the floor. Carlos just lay back on the bed, looking satisfied.

“Next time, lock the door, Y/N,” he chuckled.

I glared up at him, wiping my mouth off with the back of my hand. “Next time, maybe I won’t come back to you.”

I knew I’d only said it in anger. We both knew there’d be a next time.

He smirked at me. “We’ll see about that.”

I stood up quickly, smoothing out my dress.

“Are you leaving already?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

“Yeah,” I answered. “I need to get home.”

He didn’t stop me as I grabbed my purse and left his flat.

But the look he gave me as I went made me shiver. He’d be coming for me again. Soon. And I knew I wouldn’t be able to say no. Not ever. Not to him. Not to Carlos Sainz. Not to my Spaniard. Not to the love of my life. Not to my toxic situation. Not to my downfall. Not to the devil himself. Not to Satan. Not to my master. Not to my king.

“See you soon, Y/N,” I heard as I walked out. I didn’t turn around, just kept walking.

And I knew exactly what he meant by those three little words.

It was a few weeks later, and I was finally out of the city for work.

I was staying at a hotel for three nights. It’d been good to get out. I hadn’t seen Carlos since the last time we broke up and it was better that way.

I wasn’t thinking about him.

I’d moved on. And it felt amazing.

I was finally healing from his wounds.

I hadn’t answered any of his messages or calls.

And it’d been bliss.

I was getting ready for my meeting when I got a message from an unknown number. My heart skipped a beat as I saw his name pop up on the screen.

My hands trembled slightly as I opened the text.

“Don’t think you can avoid me forever, amor,” he wrote. “Meet me in the hotel lobby in 5 minutes.”

I stared at the message for a minute, wondering what the hell was going on. How did he know I was in town? How did he know which hotel I was at?

“Carlos,” I typed out. “Why?”

“I heard you were in town,” he answered. “Thought I’d come say hello.”

I read his text a few times. He knew I was leaving the city. He knew where I was. And now he knew what hotel I was staying at.

He was stalking me.

The thought sent a shiver down my spine.

“Meet you downstairs?” I asked him.

“See you then,” he replied.

I stared at my phone for a few minutes, trying to decide what to do.

But deep down, I knew it was already decided. I’d go meet him. I’d fall into his arms like the fool that I was.

He was wearing a black hoodie and jeans when I saw him in the lobby.

His dark hair was messy, like he’d just woken up.

“Hola, amor,” he said as I walked to him.

He held out his arms, and I stepped into them, burying my face in his chest.

“Why are you here?” I mumbled against his shirt.

“I told you,” he said. “To say hello.”

“Carlos,” I sighed. “Why are you really here?”

He laughed a bit, holding me even tighter. “Because you were leaving the city without me. And that couldn’t stand.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean exactly that,” he replied. “You’re not going anywhere without me. Never again.”

He squeezed me tight as he spoke, making it hard for me to breathe.

“But-”

“You’re not leaving me again, Y/N,” he interrupted. “Never again. You’re mine. You belong to me.”

“Carlos,” I protested. “You don’t mean that.”

He stepped back and cupped my face. “Yes, I do. I want you. Always.”

He kissed me then, and I felt myself melting into him.

I’d give in to him. I knew that. We both knew that.

“Come with me,” he whispered as he pulled back. “Let’s go back to my room.”

I looked at the elevator, then back to him.

“No,” I said finally. “Not today.”

“Amor, come on,” he whined, pouting at me. “Just a few hours.”

I shook my head. “No. I have a meeting. I can’t miss it.”

His face fell slightly, and I felt guilty for a second before pushing the feeling aside.

“I’m sorry, Carlos,” I said. “Maybe later?”

He smirked at me again. “Oh, there will be a later.”

With that, he leaned down to kiss me goodbye.

And I watched him walk away.

I walked into the restaurant, looking for my co-workers. I saw them at a table by the window and made my way over.

“Hey,” I greeted them as I sat down.

They all greeted me back, asking how my flight was. I chatted with them for a while before the waiter came by to take our order.

I ordered some soup and salad and chatted some more with them before my food came.

I dug in immediately, feeling a bit starving since I’d missed breakfast.

I was eating when I felt my phone vibrate on my lap.

I glanced at the screen, seeing Carlos’ name.

I rolled my eyes slightly and tried to focus on my work lunch.

But then I felt it vibrate again.

And again.

And again. And again. And again. All within a minute of each other.

I couldn’t focus on the conversation anymore, feeling annoyed by Carlos and his incessant messaging.

“Excuse me for a second,” I muttered to my co-workers as I stood up from my seat.

They told me to go ahead and I walked away, to a quiet corner near the kitchen.

I opened my phone and saw the string of messages from Carlos.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“Having lunch,” I replied.

“Who are you having lunch with?”

“My co-workers,” I answered.

“You can’t take this much time off from me, amor,” he told me. “I have a need for you. One that can’t be met if you’re not here.”

“Carlos, you can’t expect me to be with you all the time.”

He sent me a picture of his cock, already hard, and I gasped at the sight of it.

“I can. And you know why.”

I did. Because I was his whore. Because I could never say no to him.

“Carlos,” I moaned out. “I can’t.”

But deep down, I was lying. He was pulling me in again. The picture was turning me on. I could feel it in my veins.

I needed him. And he knew that. And he was going to use that against me.

I looked back at the table, feeling bad for leaving my co-workers but knowing I had to go.

“I have to go,” I texted Carlos before grabbing my purse and walking out of the restaurant.

My heart pounded in my chest as I made my way to his hotel room.

I felt like a teenager sneaking out of the house, but I didn’t care.

I knew I was doing something bad, but I was a slave to him. A slave to his cock. A slave to his touch. A slave to the pleasure he made me feel.

I knocked on the door and he opened it a few seconds later. He was completely naked, and his cock was hard already.

“Amor,” he purred as he opened the door. “Welcome back.”

I walked in and he shut the door behind me, pushing me up against it.

“Missed me?” he smirked as he kissed me.

I nodded, and he pushed my dress up, hooking my legs around his waist.

“I’m going to take you here,” he said. “Right up against the door.”

I moaned out as he bit my neck, his teeth sinking into my skin. He loved marking me. And I loved wearing his marks. I loved letting him claim me.

“Do it,” I whispered. “Fuck me, Carlos. Please.”

He smirked again as he rubbed the tip of his cock against my entrance.

“You’re so needy,” he said. “Like a little slut.”

I moaned again at his words, loving the way they made me feel. He was a master at playing dirty. And I was a sucker for his tricks.

“Please, Carlos,” I begged. “Please.”

He leaned in and bit my neck again, thrusting his cock into me at the same time.

I gasped at the feeling of him inside me and he wrapped his arms around me, holding me in place as he thrust in and out of me.

“Good girl,” he whispered in my ear as he moved faster. “Good fucking girl.”

I moaned and whimpered, loving the sound of his praise. I knew I was his good girl. And he loved it.

He bit down on my neck and thrust into me at the same time, making me cry out as I came around his cock.

“You like that?” he asked as he continued to thrust into me.

“Yes,” I panted. “God, yes.”

He bit down again and I felt myself clench around him, making him moan slightly.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re so tight. I’m going to fill you up now.”

I nodded, biting my lip as he kept thrusting in and out. I felt the hot liquid flood my pussy as he came, and he kept thrusting into me as he held onto my neck with his teeth.

“Mine,” he mumbled. “You’re mine.”

I didn’t answer, just held onto him as he moved inside me. I knew we’d do this again. We’d keep fucking each other until we were tired of each other. We’d fuck until we hated each other. Until we couldn’t stand the sight of each other.

But it’d never end.

I’d never let it end. He’d never let it end.

We’d keep coming back for each other. And it’d always end in me being on my knees for him, taking his cock down my throat. And it’d always end with his cum down my throat. Or on my tits. Or on my face.

It’d always be that way.

And I’d always let it happen.

Because he owned me.

Because I was his slave.

Because I was his little slut.

Because I was Carlos Sainz’ whore.

And that’s all I’d ever be.

CS55 Taglist: @tallrock35, @yourbane, @lightdragonrayne, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119, @ilivbullyingjeongin, @xoscar03, @miarabanana, @icecoldtires, @cmleitora, @d3kstar, @omgsuperstarg

F1 Taglist: @tallrock35, @yourbane, @hiireadstuff, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119, @donteventry-itdude, @spookystitchery, @dhanihamidi, @decafmickey, @cmleitora, @d3kstar, @mellowluka, @ysnhua, @omgsuperstarg

[blackgirlsrxck]

Krispy Kreme

Paddock x Driver!reader

Summary: Y/n wants Krispy Kreme

Note: This is just something funny that I wrote to try to help with my writer's block as well as cope with the fact that I actually can't have Krispy Kreme because I'm on a liquid diet :(

The prestigious F1 Conference had gathered the world's top drivers, including the talented female driver, Y/n, who had been making waves in the racing world. The conference panel discussion was underway, and Y/n found herself seated among her fellow drivers, ready to share her insights and experiences. As the panel discussion progressed, Y/n's passion for racing shone through her words. She spoke eloquently about the challenges she had faced as a female driver and the triumphs that came with perseverance and determination. The audience hung onto her every word, captivated by her presence and undeniable talent.

As the panel discussion moved to a Q&A session, one audience member asked a lighthearted question, attempting to break the intensity of the conversation. "Y/n, if you could have anything in the world right now, what would it be?" Y/n paused for a moment, her mind drifting away from the intense world of racing. A mischievous smile spread across her face as she answered, "Honestly, all I want right now is a box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts. But unfortunately, they don't have a store here in Monaco."

A wave of laughter rippled through the crowd, appreciating Y/n's unexpected response. But beneath her playful demeanor, Y/n couldn't deny the slight tinge of sadness and stress that came with her Krispy Kreme craving. As the conference concluded, Y/n made her way backstage, feeling a mix of exhilaration from the successful panel discussion and the lingering disappointment of not being able to satisfy her Krispy Kreme craving. Little did she know that her fellow drivers had overheard her remarks and were planning a surprise intervention.

Lewis Hamilton, the legendary driver and fellow panelist, approached Y/n with a mischievous grin. "Y/n, I heard about your Krispy Kreme craving, and I think I may have a solution for you," he said, his eyes twinkling with excitement. Curiosity and anticipation filled Y/n's heart as Lewis led her to a waiting car. They embarked on a secret mission, racing through the streets of Monaco. Y/n couldn't help but wonder what surprise awaited her.

As they arrived at their destination, Y/n's eyes widened in astonishment. There, in the heart of Monaco, stood a pop-up Krispy Kreme doughnut shop, specially arranged for her. The familiar scent of freshly baked doughnuts wafted through the air, and Y/n's heart filled with joy. Surrounded by her fellow drivers and the conference attendees, Y/n indulged in the delicious treats she had longed for. Laughter filled the air as they shared stories and bonded over their love for racing and, of course, Krispy Kreme doughnuts.

In that moment, Y/n realized the power of friendship and camaraderie within the racing community. It was not just about the competition on the track, but the support and shared experiences that made the journey all the more meaningful. From that day forward, Y/n's Krispy Kreme craving became a running joke among the drivers. In every race and event, they would playfully tease her about it, reminding her of that unforgettable day in Monaco.

But beyond the laughter and lightheartedness, Y/n carried with her a deeper appreciation for the small joys in life. And whenever she crossed the finish line, the taste of victory would be even sweeter, knowing that she had the unwavering support of her fellow drivers and a delightful memory

[acesofspadess]

Meet AG5

a/n: i got a request that I keep up with Ace as a driver so here is a little background:

How Ace is with the other drivers (including, Franco, Ollie, and Liam, Fred, Christian, and ToTo)

Charles: Ace and Charles are the closest on the grid by far. They grew up together -more like Ace following Charles and then Max around- and will forever be each others biggest supporters. Not even Max has anything on the Charles and Ace relationship.

Carlos: Ace and Carlos actually didn’t get along at first. Carlos and Ace almost took each other out in her first races and along with Lando falling for her while getting over Carlos moving to Ferrari he went into protective mode. It wasn’t until Ace and Lando joined him on the Singapore podium and Ace praised Carlos for his drive that they spoke in a less threatening manner. They quickly turned the best of friends and the trio is always seen with each other. He was also the first one to know about Ace and Lando.

Fred: They’re relationship is very much drunk uncle coded. It’s no surprise Fred wants Ace to join Ferrari. Every podium and/or win Fred is there spraying champagne on her. He sends her Ferrari merch every new collection they have as an on going joke.

Checo: Ace and Checo get along quite well. She was a RedBull Test and Reserve driver before she signed with McLaren. She drove Checo’s car more than she did Max’s so they bonded over how the car performed. They don’t talk much outside of the track, but his kids love her.

Max: Max and Ace are best friends, if you see them together, they’re most likely laughing or telling someone off. These two in a conference together??? Pray for the interviewer because if Ace learned anything from her time at RedBull it was Max’s attitude. This season has definitely strained their relationship. Despite Lando and Max fighting for the championship, Max has admitted that Ace is his biggest threat. 

“Question for Max and Lando,” someone asked in the Singapore post-race conference. “With Ace coming off a win, and in 3rd place for the Drivers Championships, are either of you worried that she is also in the fight?”

“...I agree with Lando.” Max said, “I think Ace is a fabulous driver, and yes, the points between her and Lando are closer than me and Lando, and while it would be very hard for her to join the fight, it’s racing, and if she keeps winning when we cannot, then yeah it’s nerve-wracking. She becomes a big threat to not just Lando but to me as well. You can’t tell who your fighting when points are this close.”

Christian: This was one is tough. They used to get on great, but There were some comments made when Ace went to Mclaren that rubbed her the wrong way. ‘She should have stayed here as a Reserve driver with the way their season is going compared to ours but… she made her decisions and she’s got a seat, not much can be said after that.”

Lewis: Ace and Lewis bonded instantaneously. Everything came easy to their friendship, whether it was fashion, racing, lifestyle, or flying together everything was fun with them. But on the not so ponies and rainbows side of life, Lewis was the only person she could talk to about the racist comments. He walked her through it all, even representing her on his own helmet at one point in her first season. Lewis was as much her big brother as Charles. They definitely had many laughs when Lewis announced he was going to Ferrari. “Fred couldn’t have you so he signed me.” He would tell her.

George: Ace and George don’t talk as much as you would think. Yes they talk because of Lando and Lewis, and they are friends, but they realy just haven’t had the ‘out-of-track’ friendship that was as strong as the others. When things get controversial on track between one of them, the other is backing them up in their own interviews, by coincidence or not.

Toto: Toto is like a much calmer Fred. He see’s her alot because of Lewis and is genuinely just proud to see a woman on the grid. Susie is definitely behind alot of their interactions, not that Toto knows Ace knows that.

Daniel: Daniel and Ace are never up to any good, EVER. Those two in the same room?? Everyone is laughing and crying. They simply bring out the laughter and sunshine out of each other with no care for anything else in the world. There was never any bad blood from them even if Ace had essentially stollen his seat. Ace made an entire post for him when it was announced Singapore was his last race. Her and Lando sat with him for around an hour after that race. They also did a helmet swap and Ace has it displayed with her and Landos in their Monaco apartment.

Pierre: Pierre, Ace, and Charles. That’s it. That sums up their friendship. These two are the first to share gossip with each other, which ends up with them screaming at each other in French (excitedly)… everytime. Much to the dismay of the FIA.

In relation to everyone else on the grid, it’s more of a work friendship. She gets on well with everyone and everyone seems to love her.

Extras:

Ollie, Kimi, Franco, and Liam: Her friendship with Ollie was almost like having a son. Him and Kimi would always come find her when F2 was racing with them. Ace and Lando were the first ones to reach out to Franco when his seat was announced. He has openly said that they were his favourite drivers and it just made her feel nice that someone came in after her, and looked up to her. She doesn’t have much of a connection with Liam yet, as he’s only been in one official race weekend so far, but she definitely keeps an eye out for him whether he knows it or not.

if you want to be tagged/ keep up with Ace comment to join the Ace specific taglist!

[imthebadguyyy]

The Tortured Poets Department

(imthebadguyyy's version)

1. fortnight (ft post malone) - carlos sainz x reader [formula 1]

2. the tortured poets department - benedict bridgerton x reader [bridgerton]

3. my boy only breaks his favourite toys - charles leclerc x reader [formula 1]

4. down bad - lando norris x reader formula 1]

5. so long london - harry styles x reader [1d, harries]

6. but daddy i love him - simon bassett : anthony bridgerton x reader [bridgerton x reader]

7. fresh out the slammer - sirius black x reader [marauders]

8. florida!!! ft florence and the machine - remus lupin x reader (x sirius x james) [marauders]

9. guilty as sin? - lewis hamilton x reader [formula 1]

10. guilty as sin? - bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x reader [top gun]

11. whose afraid of little old me? - platonic f1 drivers x reader [formula 1]

12. i can fix him, no really i can - charles leclerc x reader [formula 1 ]

13. loml - james potter x reader [marauders]

14. i can do it with a broken heart - platonic formula 1 drivers x reader [formula 1]

15. the smallest man who ever lived - carlos sainz x reader [formula 1]

16. the alchemy - lewis hamilton x reader [formula 1]

17. the black dog - james potter x reader [marauders]

18. so high school - bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x reader [top gun]

19. the prophecy - anthony bridgerton x reader [bridgerton]

20. peter - steve rogers x reader [MCU]

all's fair in love and poetry...or is it?

any changes and suggestions welcome!!

to be tagged, reply to this post or send me an ask/dm specifying which fic/fandom/ or whole series 🤍

[leclerqueensainz]

FRENESI (C.S 55) (PTBR)

PRÓLOGO

Personagens: Carlos Sainz Jr. X Louise Evans (OC)

Sinopse: Carlos Sainz é um cafajeste. Isso é o que todas as mulheres com quem ele já dormiu — e a lista não é pequena — sempre dizem depois de terem seus corações dizimados pelo galã espanhol. Carlos Sainz Jr. é o pior cafajeste de todos os tempos. Mas até mesmo o pior dos cafajestes pode ter o seu coração domado. E quando Louise, a melhor amiga de Carlos pede para que ele lhe de um bebê, Sainz se vê preso em uma frenesi.

Sentimentos há muito tempo adormecidos ressurgem, e Carlos percebe que vencer o campeonato mundial de pilotos não será seu único desafio.

AVISO: ESTA É UMA HITÓRIA +18 e contém: Cenas de Sexo e linguagem sexual explicita, torção de reprodução, uso de palavrões e algumas coisas a mais que eu posso ou não estar esquecendo.

Carlos Sainz é um cafajeste. Isso é o que todas as mulheres com quem ele já dormiu — e a lista não é pequena — sempre dizem após terem seus corações dizimados pelo galã espanhol. Carlos Sainz Jr. é o pior cafajeste de todos os tempos.

Mas pior do que ser um cafajeste, é gostar de ser um cafajeste.

Não entenda mal, Carlos não pode ser considerado um cara ruim em geral, ele é apenas um playboy milionário que não consegue manter o pau dentro das calças quando se trata de uma mulher bonita.

Entretanto, em sua defesa, ele sempre foi um amante atencioso durante o sexo. Se preocupava não apenas em receber o prazer, como também o arrancar de suas “vitimas”. Ele não se importa de ficar horas e horas chupando uma buceta molhada, ou de atender a um fetiche estranho para que sua companhia noturna possa alcançar o auge mais alto de prazer. Na cabeça de Carlos, se sua parceira está gritando ou chorando por mais, então está valendo.

Contudo, ser a causa de maior deleite sexual para as mulheres, também acaba por fazer a sua fama de mulherengo, cachorro, vagabundo, destruidor de corações, etc.

Então, não é à-toa que ele se assusta com o pedido de sua melhor amiga Louise.

— Você quer que eu o quê?! — Ele pergunta atordoado.

— Quero que você me engravide. — Ela diz mordendo os lábios e o encarando com os olhos escuros de bambi.

Carlos respira atônito, sem saber o que responder. Ele olha para todos os lados da sala de estar do apartamento de Louise, à procura de qualquer sinal de uma câmera escondida. Dios! Isso só pode ser uma brincadeira.

Carlos está ciente que sua melhor amiga não andava muito bem quando o quesito é saúde mental. Mas agora é como se ela estivesse totalmente doida.

Louise é a amiga mais antiga de Carlos. Se conheceram quando Carlos entrou para a Toro Rosso em 2015, enquanto Louise acabará de entrar para estagiar na parte de comunicações da Mercedes. Eles se esbarravam constantemente pelo paddock, com ela sempre atrás de Lewis e Nico, e Carlos tentando ao máximo provar o seu talento no seu primeiro ano de estreia na categoria.

Durante aquele tempo, eram apenas olhares e acenos de cabeça como cumprimento entre os dois, mas alguns meses depois começaram os primeiro sinais de flertes por parte do piloto. Sempre um elogio sobre o que Louise estaria vestindo, ou sobre como seu trabalho estaria impecável, mesmo ele não tendo a exata certeza sobre o que de fato a garota fazia.

Entretanto, Louise sempre rejeitava Carlos e dizia que estaria ali não para flertar com pilotos galinhas e sim agarrar a oportunidade incrível que poderia alavancar e muito a sua carreira profissional. E essa foi a regra que ela seguiu firme, até Sainz de fato desistir e ambos se aproximarem com o intuito de serem dois novatos que precisavam de uma companhia em quem confiar.

Conforme a temporada avançava, o que era uma simples companhia agradável um para o outro acabou progredindo para uma amizade sólida e em pouco tempo os dois estavam grudados pelo quadril, claro que com a exceção de quando estavam focados em seus respectivos trabalhos.

O que nos traz até este momento, com Carlos encarando sua melhor amiga como se houvesse crescido duas cabeças nos ombros dela. Carlos não é burro e nem cego, é obvio que ele acha Louise uma mulher atraente e só ele e Deus sabe o quanto já fantasiou levar essa mulher para a cama, mas dar-lhe um filho — por mais que o pensamento de tê-la gemendo e cheia de seu sêmen debaixo de si, seja a coisa mais quente e pecaminosa que ele já imaginou — é com certeza o auge da loucura.

— Você fumou a erva do Lando, novamente? — Carlos pergunta porque essa é a única explicação que vem a sua mente.

— Não! Eu estou totalmente sóbria, quer dizer, tirando algumas taças de vinho. Mas eu só tomei para tomar a coragem que eu precisava para te perguntar. — Ela diz simples o que deixa Carlos ainda mais apavorado.

Carlos, em pé puxou o fôlego e beliscou a ponta do nariz com uma mão enquanto a outra está apoiada em seu quadril. Louise que observa sentada no sofá, onde seu amigo também estava sentado há minutos, tenta ao máximo não rir da situação.

Na cabeça de Louise, o que ela está pedindo é algo bem simples. Ela tem 27 anos de idade, em alguns meses fará 28. Durante todos esses anos de sua existência parecia que alguma coisa de muito grave dominava a sua vida amorosa, porque nenhum de seus relacionamentos durava mais do que um ano. Até mesmo Carlos havia tido relacionamentos mais duradouros, claro que com uma escapadinha ou outra, mas ainda assim mais duradouros.

Louise sempre sonhará em ter a sua própria família e o tempo máximo que ela deu para si mesma é de ter seus filhos até os 30. Porém, ao passar dos anos ela percebeu que o único homem que continua permanecendo na sua vida depois que a conhece de verdade é Carlos.

Então quando ela finalmente terminou com o seu vigésimo namorado, Roy, que era um cara legal, mas que sentia mais tesão por plantas do que por ela de lingerie, ela decidiu que pularia toda a enrolação de achar o cara perfeito e que iria dar continuação a sua linhagem com a ajuda de seu meu melhor amigo. Isso óbvio, se ele topar entrar nesta loucura.

Louise não é feia, na verdade, ela tem a maior consciência disso, o tanto de elogios que recebe quando anda no paddock, ou notificações de estranhos e conhecidos em direct nas redes sociais, não a deixam mentir. Porém, mesmo sendo bastante cobiçada, ela não tinha achado nenhum homem bom o suficiente para que pudesse procriar. Ela quer que seus filhos tenham bons genes, e isso não é pedir muito.

Ela também sabe que Carlos não é o cara mais honrado do mundo, Deus sabe que ela mesma já julgou o amigo de prostituto dezenas de vezes, mas ela ama Carlos. E ele tem ótimos genes.

Carlos é bonito, muito bonito, na verdade, um espetáculo de homem. Com os cabelos grossos e escuros como um príncipe da Disney, os olhos grandes de um castanho profundo, o nariz cumprido e os lábios cheios, além é claro, do corpo perfeito. Carlos Sainz Jr., é realmente um gostoso. Tem um caráter duvidoso? Sim! Mas ainda é um gostoso.

Entretanto, acima da beleza que o homem possui, o que mais agrada Louise sobre Sainz, é a sua dedicação com tudo o que ele considera importante e isso majestosamente inclui a amizade deles. Louise confiaria sua vida a Carlos de olhos fechados.

Carlos sempre a tratou muito bem, mesmo depois de todos os foras que ela havia lhe dado durante o começo de sua amizade.

Ele sempre foi gentil, atencioso e moveu a terra e os céus para ela ter tudo o que precisa, na hora que precisa. Ela quer um sorvete de framboesa que vende especificamente em uma cidade que fica a milhares de quilômetros de onde eles estão? Não se preocupe, a assistente de Carlos pode pegar um jato e ir buscar para ela, afinal não é como se Tina tivesse que fazer qualquer coisa mais importante do que buscar um sorvete na casa do caralho. Tudo certo.

Ou então quando Louise tem um término repentino com um cara de quem realmente ficou muito afim, Carlos não se importa de ficar a noite toda a ouvindo chorar em uma ligação interminável, mesmo que tenha sido um dia bem puxado de corrida e seu corpo esteja implorando por uma boa noite de sono. Não, Carlos ficaria com ela. Ouviria ela falar mal de Roy, Ben, Jude, Lorenzo, Michael, ou qualquer outro bastardo que havia machucado o coração de sua melhor amiga.

Para as pessoas de fora, Carlos Sainz era um cafajeste sem coração. Mas para Louise, ele é o homem mais legal e gentil que ela já conheceu. E secretamente, isso também pode ter contribuído para que nenhum de seus relacionamentos fossem para frente.

Roy jamais iria mandar uma assistente voar a quilômetros de distância apenas para ela conseguir uma droga de sorvete. Para ser justa, Roy não tinha uma assistente e muito menos um jato, mas já ocorreu de ele se negar a ir a uma padaria na esquina do apartamento dela para comprar os pães doces que ela estava morrendo de vontade. Eles brigaram, ela mandou ele ir embora e uma hora depois um Carlos exausto com cabelos rebeldes, aparece na frente de sua porta carregando uma mala de viagem e uma caixa com pães de todos os sabores para ela.

E não é novidade para ninguém que Ben não ficaria a noite toda acordado para ouvi-la falar sobre uma série ou filme bobo que ela viu durante uma de suas viagens longas. Afinal, Ben é um advogado muito ocupado que não tem tempo para besteiras, apenas para comer a secretária de 19 anos que havia começado a trabalhar em sua empresa. Um xingamento, um dedo do meio e três horas depois, um Carlos aparece com uma garrafa de vinho e o moletom que ele sabe que ela adora e assistiria todas os filmes e séries que ela quisesse.

Nenhum desses otários seria bom o suficiente para fazer essas coisas por Louise, apenas Carlos. Carlos que era um galinha para as mulheres, e um ótimo piloto para o mundo, mas que para Louise é a única pessoa que realmente vale a pena.

Acontece que sempre haverá a comparação. Não importa com quantas pessoas ela fique, ou tente criar sua história, nenhum homem ou mulher, jamais será como Carlos. O que eles tem é algo único e especial, que vai além da barreira da amizade, ou até mesmo de um relacionamento amoroso. Eles simplesmente nasceram para ser.

Por todos esses motivos e muitos outros, ela havia se decido. Carlos Sainz Vázquez de Castro Cenamor Rincón Rebollo Virto Moreno de Aranda Don Per Urrielagoiria Pérez del Pulgar Jr., será o pai de seu futuro (a) filho (a). Bem, isso se ele aceitar e do jeito que o Espanhol está encarando-a talvez ela precisasse de mais algumas coisinhas para convence-lo.

— Carlos, por favor! — Ela diz fazendo beicinho, o que para uma mulher de quase 30 anos é uma coisa ridícula, mas todo esforço será valido.

— Dios, Louise! Não! — Ele diz passando as mãos pelo cabelo de uma forma exasperada. — Você não pode simplesmente me pedir para por um bebê dentro de você apenas porque está em uma crise!

Carlos se joga novamente no sofá ao lado dela.

— Isto não é uma crise! — Ele a encara com uma sobrancelha arqueada. — Tá! pode ser por parte uma crise, mas Carlos, eu vou fazer 30 anos!

— Sim! Daqui a dois anos, Louise! — Ele agarra os ombros dela. — Você ainda é jovem e é uma mulher sensata, quer dizer, pelo menos costumava ser. — Louise crava as unhas na coxa descoberta de Carlos o fazendo urrar de dor.

— Eu continuo sensata, Sainz! E é exatamente por isso que eu quero que você me engravide! — Louise esbraveja se levantando de seu lugar no sofá e ficando parada na frente do piloto.

Mesmo Carlos lutando muito, ele ainda é um homem e a carne é fraca. Ele avalia cada centímetro do corpo coberto apenas por uma camiseta, que por acaso ele conhecia muito bem por ser sua camiseta do Real Madrid.La maldita cosa pensó en todo.

— Vamos lá, Cabron! Não me diga que você não me acha atraente? Sabe quantas pessoas adorariam colocar um bebê em mim? — Ela pergunta e se inclina, ficando bem perto do ouvido dele. — São oito anos de você querendo transar comigo, Carlitos. E hoje eu estou te implorando para que me jogue naquela cama, ou nesse sofá, ou em qualquer inferno de lugar que você queira. Quero que você tire a minha roupa e me foda até eu ter uma parte de você crescendo dentro de mim. — Os lábios dela tocam levemente o lóbulo dele.

Carlos engole em seco, as imagens de ele dobrando sua melhor amiga por todos os cantos da casa, a fazendo gemer enquanto investe dentro dela sem parar, até que gata gotinha de sua porra escorra para dentro dela… Oh! Dios!

Louise percebe que seu objetivo de sedução está dando certo com a forma a qual Carlos fica tenso debaixo de si.

— Vamos, Carlos… — Um beijo abaixo de sua orelha — Nós poderíamos fazer isso tão bem…— Outro beijo no maxilar. — Imagina uma mini parte de nós dois correndo por ai… — Ela lambe o pescoço dele.

Carlos fecha os olhos e se permite imaginar a cena. Um mini ele, ou uma mini Louise correndo por todos os lugares. Ele levando ele ou ela para o paddock, para vê-lo correr em um carro de fórmula 1. Ele se permite ser até mais ousado, e imagina não apenas a criança já nascida, mas também uma Louise gravida de seu segundo filho, usando um vestido solto de verão, com uma barriga redonda e grande e…

Carlos ofega e involuntariamente tomba a cabeça para o lado para que Louise tenha mais acesso a sua pele. Uma das mãos dela sobe lentamente pela coxa firme e com pelos escuros. A unha afiada arranhando lentamente a pele sensível, tão perto do seu pau. Só mais uns centímetros e…

— Você nem precisa ser o pai dele, se não quiser. Eu posso cuidar de tudo, ele nem vai precisar saber que você é o pai e…

E então veio o balde de água fria. É claro que é apenas pelo desejo dela de ter um bebê. Carlos se sente um pouco estúpido por se deixar acreditar por um momento que a ideia de fazer uma família com ele era o que Louise queria. Ela não quer uma família com Carlos, claro que não. Ela apenas quer que ele seja o genitor do filho dela.

Carlos rapidamente se levanta e joga Louise no sofá. Sua mente correndo a milhas por hora e um ardor bizarro em seu peito.

— Mas que porra é essa, Louise! Você realmente perdeu a cabeça! — Ele anda de um lado para o outro, freneticamente.

— Carlos, qual é o problema?! — Ela também se levanta do sofá. — Eu achei que você quisesse me ver feliz!

Carlos para por um momento, sua boca com um gosto amargo de raiva. Como Louise ousa dizer isso? Carlos já deixou mais do que óbvio que faria qualquer coisa para que ela alcance a felicidade. Ele abriria mão de quase tudo o que possui por ela, até mesmo atearia fogo em Madrid se fosse necessário!

Ele realmente pensou que isso era algo a qual nem se passaria pela cabeça dela. Mas isso? Ser apenas o pau que irá esvaziar dentro dela para que ela tenha a porra de um bebê — que todos os bebês o perdoem — e depois querer que ele haja como se não fosse nada para ele, isso é demais. Fora de cogitação.

— Se você quer dar uma de viúva negra, Louise, deveria saber melhor que eu sou o cara errado para isso. — Ele diz agarrando a jaqueta e se virando em direção a porta sem olha-la. — Eu não ligo para nada que os outros falem sobre mim. Sou tudo o que as mulheres dizem e mais um pouco, mas ainda assim, não sou um idiota que foge das minhas responsabilidades. Eu esperava mais de você.

Ele abre a porta e sai.

Parada no meio da sala de estar, Louise olha para a porta em que seu melhor amigo acabou de sair. Ela está confusa, mas acima de tudo, arrependida.

N.A: Olha quem resolveu aparecer com outra história, sendo que não está dando conta nem da primeira! hahaha não me matem!

Está será uma história bem curta! Com o nosso querido Cabron. Eu tive a ideia para está história enquanto tentava escrever o novo capitulo de Uma Família de Três (que será atualizada em breve! Eu prometo!). Eu espero de coração que vcs se apaixonem por esta, igual se apaixonaram pela história do Charles com a Marie. Nesse prólogo a Louise parece um pouco desequilibrada, eu sei! Mas as coisas vão se encaixando ao decorrer da história, que terá no máximo 5 capítulos!

Isso é tudo! Obg pelo carinho e até a próxima att. :)

[httpsserene]

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. for extended tags, open in ao3.

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)

⌕ prev | join taglist | feedback & requests | upcoming chapters | table of contents | sip of sunshine | next ↻

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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© httpsserene2024 — photos used are from pinterest (edited by me). borders by @cafekitsune.

[v6quewrlds]

⁎⠀┉⠀welcome to my masterlist!

disclaimers: some fics are tagged as mature containing sexual content. please do not read/interact with these works if you are under 18. i am not responsible for your media consumption, so please be sure to proceed with caution. i am a black woman and write for black women. all are welcome to read & interact but please mind yourself. this blog is primarily a jb9 blog. when requests are open, feel free to send in your ideas but please be patient with me. please do not send in requests involving non-con/dub-con & death. trinity = angst, fluff, & smut.

‎ ‎ ‎ ゛the national football league. ⸻ ❝ joe burrow, andrei iosivas, tee higgins. ❞

pretty little thing, joe burrow x wife!reader. [smut, 6.7k]

my little love, joe burrow x wife!reader. [fluff, 4.5k]

birthday boy, andrei iosivas x reader. [smut, 1.9k]

say my name, joe burrow x reader. [angst/smut, 6.8k]

sky full of stars, joe burrow x nasa engineer!reader. [fluff, 1k]

all that matters, joe burrow x curry!reader. [fluff, 3k]

infinity, joe burrow x reader. [trinity, 6.9k]

bad liar (i), princeton!andrei iosivas x reader. [fluff, 6.4k]

slim shady, joe burrow x reader. [smut, 2.1k]

‎ ‎ ‎ ゛formula one. ⸻ ❝ lewis hamilton, carlos sainz, lando norris. ❞

‎ ‎ ‎ ゛football. ⸻ ❝ jude bellingham, trent alexander-arnold, mason mount. ❞

‎ ‎ ‎ ゛the national basketball association. ⸻ ❝ devin booker. ❞

‎ ‎ ‎ ゛the national hockey league. ⸻ ❝ mat barzal, jamie oleksiak, andrei svechnikov. ❞

guilty conscience, mat barzal x reader. [angst, 3.6k]

fever, mat barzal x reader. [smut, 2k]

‎ ‎ ‎ ゛no nut november masterlist. ⸻ ❝ view here. ❞

[23victoria]

s⃓y⃓n⃓o⃓p⃓s⃓i⃓s⃓ welcome to 23victoria’s spookytober special! this is my very first spooktober that i’ve ever done and i’m so so excited. these will be stories consisting of different monsters, slashers, and creatures ft f1 drivers i write for! for the sake of each story everything is consensual!! halloween week is here! i hope you guys enjoy!! note: this is definitely going to end in november

F⃓1⃓ M⃓A⃓S⃓T⃓E⃓R⃓L⃓I⃓S⃓T⃓ K⃓I⃓N⃓K⃓T⃓O⃓B⃓E⃓R⃓ M⃓A⃓S⃓T⃓E⃓R⃓L⃓I⃓S⃓T⃓

☠︎ I⃓N⃓N⃓O⃓C⃓E⃓N⃓T⃓ B⃓U⃓N⃓N⃓Y⃓ ☠︎

l⃓a⃓n⃓d⃓o⃓ n⃓o⃓r⃓r⃓i⃓s⃓

l⃓e⃓w⃓i⃓s⃓ h⃓a⃓m⃓i⃓l⃓t⃓o⃓n⃓

m⃓a⃓x⃓ v⃓e⃓r⃓s⃓t⃓a⃓p⃓p⃓e⃓n⃓

o⃓s⃓c⃓a⃓r⃓ p⃓i⃓a⃓s⃓t⃓r⃓i⃓

j⃓e⃓n⃓s⃓o⃓n⃓ b⃓u⃓t⃓t⃓o⃓n⃓

c⃓h⃓a⃓r⃓l⃓e⃓s⃓ l⃓e⃓c⃓l⃓e⃓r⃓c⃓

c⃓a⃓r⃓l⃓o⃓s⃓ s⃓a⃓i⃓n⃓z⃓

s⃓e⃓b⃓a⃓s⃓t⃓i⃓a⃓n⃓ v⃓e⃓t⃓t⃓e⃓l⃓

[thisismeracing]

˚.✦.˳ MILLIE’s MASTERLIST ˚.✦.˳

⸺ Here you find a collection of my masterlists. Feel free to navigate through my tags to see the stuff I don't include on the lists #op: blurbs, #thots, #op: headcanons, #millie writes to see more.

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[hookhausenschips]

can I request some of the drivers dating a girl who isn’t afraid to clap back and go just as low as the fans? I love a messy girl like us😂

Clock It

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Warnings: Clapbacks, fans being disrespectful, curse words

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

Drivers: Lando, Carlos, Oscar, Charles, Max, and Franco

Lando Norris – Paddock Tension

The sun gleams off the circuit at Silverstone, reflecting the high-stakes energy that fills the paddock. The roar of the crowd, the sound of engines revving, and the shimmering excitement of race day are in full swing. Lando Norris, a rising star in Formula 1, walks confidently through the paddock. His girlfriend, Y/N, strolls beside him, equally unfazed by the buzzing attention they attract. Dressed in a striking McLaren orange jumpsuit that hugs her frame perfectly, Y/N commands just as much attention as Lando, if not more. Her calm demeanor contrasts the excitement around them as they head toward the McLaren garage.

It’s not the first time the couple has walked hand-in-hand through the chaos of race day. They’ve grown accustomed to the stares, the whispers, and the buzzing cameras. Y/N had learned to navigate the complexities of being in the public eye, especially alongside a high-profile figure like Lando. Today, however, feels different—the attention is sharper, more intense. Lando senses it too, and as they pass a row of fans, the energy shifts.

“Lando! Lando, over here!” A woman’s voice rises above the usual cacophony of the crowd. At first, it’s a simple call for an autograph, but then it turns ugly. “Ditch the gold digger! You deserve someone who cares about you, not your money!”

The words slice through the air, sharp and cruel, turning the heads of those nearby. Y/N stops dead in her tracks, her confident smile evaporating as she scans the crowd. Lando feels her hand tense in his, his own expression darkening as he tries to pull her away, but it’s too late. Y/N isn’t the type to back down.

With an air of unshakable calm, Y/N strides toward the group, her energy radiating fierce confidence. She stands tall, her head high, and her eyes narrowed on the woman who dared to shout the insult. Y/N’s movements are measured, her anger controlled, but it’s clear to anyone watching that she is not going to let this slide.

“Excuse me?” Y/N’s voice cuts through the noise with a biting edge, each word deliberate. “What was that?”

The woman falters under Y/N’s piercing gaze. Her bravado seems to waver now that she’s face-to-face with her target. She looks to her friends for support, but they stay silent, wide-eyed and nervous.

“You heard me,” the woman stammers, attempting to reclaim her footing. “He could do better than you.” The words, though repeated, now sound hollow.

Y/N takes off her sunglasses slowly, her expression unyielding as she steps closer. “Better?” she echoes, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Sweetheart, better would be me not wasting my time here educating you. But since I’m feeling generous today, let’s clear a few things up. You see, I’ve got my own. I’m not here for his money—maybe you should Google me sometime, yeah?”

The woman’s confidence crumbles under Y/N’s steady, unflinching gaze. She shifts awkwardly on her feet, muttering something unintelligible. Lando, still holding Y/N’s hand, leans down slightly, his voice gentle as he whispers, “Come on, babe. Let’s go.”

But Y/N isn’t done yet. She holds the woman’s gaze for a beat longer, ensuring her message is crystal clear before slipping her sunglasses back on. “Next time, say it with your chest,” she tosses over her shoulder as she turns away, her stride purposeful and unfazed.

As they walk away, Lando struggles to suppress a grin, his admiration for Y/N shining through. “You didn’t have to do all that,” he teases lightly, though the pride in his voice is unmistakable.

“Oh, I absolutely did,” Y/N responds, her tone unyielding. “People think they can talk trash without facing any consequences. Not today.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder with a smirk, her confidence unwavering.

Lando laughs softly, shaking his head in admiration. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Y/N winks at him playfully. “Smart man,” she replies, the tension already evaporating as they step into the McLaren garage.

Inside, the hum of mechanics working on cars and the murmur of the team greet them. The air is thick with concentration, but Lando and Y/N slip seamlessly into the controlled chaos. The earlier confrontation feels like a distant memory now, drowned out by the electric energy of race day. But as Lando prepares for his upcoming session, he can’t help but glance at Y/N, his respect for her fierceness only growing.

Y/N knows that being in a relationship with someone like Lando comes with its challenges. The scrutiny, the whispers, the constant questioning of her motives—it’s a regular part of her life now. But she’s never been one to shrink in the face of adversity. Instead, she meets it head-on, confident in her worth and her place by Lando’s side. The people who criticize from the sidelines, hiding behind their assumptions and their envy, don’t know her. And frankly, she doesn’t care what they think.

As Lando climbs into his race suit and prepares to join his team, Y/N settles into a chair nearby, scrolling through her phone as if nothing had happened. She’s already moved on, her mind focused on supporting Lando through his race. If the incident from earlier affected her, she doesn’t show it. That’s the thing about Y/N—she doesn’t let the negativity stick. It’s just noise, easily silenced.

When Lando finally steps out onto the track, Y/N watches with a quiet sense of pride. She knows the pressure he’s under, the expectations from the team, the fans, and the sport itself. But she also knows that he’s more than capable of rising to the occasion, just as she is capable of standing strong beside him. Together, they form a team, one that’s unshakable in the face of external doubt.

The race continues, and as the sun begins to set over the Monaco circuit, Y/N’s earlier confrontation seems insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Her confidence, her unwavering belief in herself and in her relationship with Lando, remains unchallenged. And as they leave the paddock hand-in-hand once more, the noise of the crowd fades behind them, leaving only the quiet assurance that they are stronger together than anyone could ever understand.

In this world of fast cars, fast fame, and fast judgments, Y/N knows exactly who she is. And more importantly, she knows exactly where she stands—with Lando, confidently, unshaken, and unapologetically herself.

Carlos Sainz – Vacation in the Maldives

The Maldives is a paradise, a perfect blend of turquoise waters, white sandy beaches, and luxurious resorts that seem to float on the edge of the world. For Carlos Sainz and Y/N, it is the perfect escape from the relentless pace of the Formula 1 circuit. After months of intense competition, the constant travel, and the high-octane energy of the paddock, they have finally carved out time for themselves, away from the noise and pressure of the sport.

Y/N is lounging on a deck chair, her tropical-print dress fluttering softly in the warm breeze. She tilts her head back, the sun warming her skin, and sips from a colorful cocktail as the gentle sound of the ocean waves laps at the shore just a few meters away. Beside her, Carlos is reading a travel magazine, his sunglasses perched on his nose, looking every bit the relaxed vacationer. The two of them are a picture of tranquility, far removed from the intense world they usually inhabit.

“This is heaven,” Y/N sighs contentedly, setting her drink down on the small table beside her. “I could stay here forever.”

Carlos smiles, glancing over the top of his magazine at her. “You say that now, but give it a week, and you’ll be itching to get back to the excitement.”

Y/N laughs softly, nodding. “Okay, maybe not forever. But I’m definitely not ready to leave yet.”

As the conversation lulls, Y/N picks up her phone, scrolling through the latest social media updates. It’s habit, something she does without thinking—checking in on the outside world, even while trying to escape it. She swipes through a few photos of their trip, the beautiful views, the serene beaches, and then lands on a picture she posted earlier in the day—a candid shot of her and Carlos laughing, his arm draped casually around her shoulders as they explored the island. The photo had racked up thousands of likes and comments, most of them positive, celebrating the couple’s obvious happiness.

But one comment, in particular, catches Y/N’s eye.

“She’s so loud and extra. Carlos deserves someone more refined, not some wannabe trying to get attention.”

Y/N’s good mood dissipates in an instant, her relaxed posture stiffening as she reads the words again. The audacity of it, the arrogance in assuming they know what Carlos deserves, sets her blood boiling. She clenches her jaw, sitting up straighter in her chair.

“Oh, hell no,” she mutters, her fingers already moving to respond.

Carlos looks up, sensing the shift in her mood. “What’s wrong?” he asks, concern flickering in his eyes.

Without a word, Y/N hands him the phone, the offending comment glaring up at him from the screen. Carlos reads it, his brows furrowing slightly, but then he shakes his head with a soft chuckle.

“It’s not worth it, amor,” he says, handing the phone back to her. “They’re just jealous. We don’t need to give them attention.”

But Y/N isn’t having it. “Oh, no. This one deserves a personal response,” she insists, already typing furiously.

Carlos watches with a bemused expression as Y/N taps out her reply: “‘Loud and extra’ keeps him happy, especially earlier this morning in our bed, so maybe focus on making yourself interesting before you come for me. Ciao.”

She hits send with a satisfied smirk, leaning back in her chair as she watches the comment thread blow up with reactions. Carlos lets out a low laugh, shaking his head as he watches her.

“You’re ruthless,” he remarks, amusement clear in his voice. “They don’t stand a chance.”

Y/N grins, taking a long sip from her cocktail. “Damn right they don’t,” she replies confidently. “I’m not the one to come for if you don’t want the smoke.”

Carlos reaches out, taking her hand and pulling her closer to him. “That’s one of the reasons I love you,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her hand. “You never back down.”

Y/N smiles at him, her earlier frustration melting away in the warmth of his affection. “And you better remember that when someone tries to come for you,” she warns playfully. “I’ve always got your back.”

Carlos chuckles, his thumb gently brushing over her knuckles. “I know you do,” he replies sincerely. “And I’ve always got yours.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, the sound of the waves and the rustling palm trees providing the perfect backdrop for their quiet moment of connection. It’s in these moments, away from the pressures of the public eye and the constant scrutiny of the media, that Y/N and Carlos can truly be themselves. There’s no need for pretenses, no need to play the roles that the world expects of them. Here, they are simply Carlos and Y/N—two people deeply in love, enjoying the rare luxury of time alone together.

But even in paradise, the shadows of their public lives can creep in, as Y/N was reminded today. It’s not the first time she’s had to deal with online trolls, and it certainly won’t be the last. Being with Carlos, a high-profile athlete constantly in the spotlight, comes with its fair share of challenges. People always have opinions—about her, about them, about what their relationship should look like. But Y/N has never been one to let those opinions affect her. She knows her worth, and she knows that Carlos loves her for exactly who she is.

The rest of the day passes in a blissful haze of sunshine, laughter, and the occasional playful banter. They stroll along the beach, hand-in-hand, the soft sand warm beneath their feet. They swim in the crystal-clear waters, teasing each other and splashing like children. And as the sun begins to set, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange, they sit on the edge of the infinity pool, watching the horizon together.

Later, as they return to their villa, the night air cool and soothing, Y/N checks her phone again. The comment she responded to earlier has blown up, with hundreds of replies supporting her clapback and laughing at the original troll. She smiles to herself, feeling a sense of satisfaction. It’s not about winning internet arguments—it’s about standing up for herself and for her relationship. And in this world of constant judgment and scrutiny, that’s something Y/N will never shy away from.

As they climb into bed, Carlos pulls her close, his arm draped around her waist as they settle into the comforting quiet of the night. Y/N rests her head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“You were right earlier,” Carlos murmurs, his voice low and soft in the darkness.

“About what?” Y/N asks, her eyes already drifting shut.

“That you’re loud and extra,” he teases gently. “And that’s exactly how I like it.”

Y/N laughs softly, too content to argue. “Good,” she replies sleepily. “Because I’m not changing anytime soon.”

Carlos kisses the top of her head, his lips lingering against her hair. “I wouldn’t want you to.”

And with that, they drift off to sleep, the world outside their little paradise fading away, if only for a while.

Oscar Piastri – Monaco Grand Prix Weekend

The streets of Monte Carlo are alive with the thrilling atmosphere of the Monaco Grand Prix weekend. Fans from all over the world flood the narrow streets, hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite drivers as the city buzzes with excitement. This is the pinnacle of glamour and adrenaline—fast cars racing through historic streets, the Mediterranean Sea gleaming in the background, and celebrities rubbing shoulders with the elite of motorsport.

Oscar Piastri and Y/N walk through the heart of it all, navigating the winding streets of Monaco like seasoned veterans. Oscar, the young F1 sensation, wears the casual confidence of someone who’s already made a name for himself in the sport, despite his relative newness to the Formula 1 scene. By his side, Y/N exudes confidence and grace, dressed in a sleek, black jumpsuit that hugs her frame and commands attention. Her presence complements Oscar’s calm demeanor, making them a striking pair as they stroll through the city.

The couple is stopped every few steps by fans eager for autographs and photos, and Oscar obliges with his trademark humility and charm. Y/N stands by his side, smiling at the supporters and making small talk with those brave enough to engage her. For the most part, the day feels perfect—Monaco’s luxurious aura surrounds them, and the thrill of the upcoming race is palpable in the air.

But in every crowd, there are always a few who can’t help but whisper. Y/N is used to it by now—the hushed judgments, the sneers, the people who think they know more about her than they actually do. Today, though, it seems louder, sharper. A group of women nearby, decked out in expensive sunglasses and trendy outfits, aren’t as discreet as they think they are. Their words carry over the noise of the crowd, clear enough for Y/N to catch every single one.

“Look at her, acting like she belongs here,” one of the women says, her voice dripping with disdain. “She’s only with him for the status. You can tell she’s not a part of this world.”

The comments hit Y/N like a slap in the face. Her blood boils instantly, and she can feel the anger bubbling beneath her calm exterior. The temptation to ignore them flickers for a brief second, but Y/N quickly realizes that’s not an option today. She’s not the kind of person to let things slide, especially when someone questions her place next to Oscar. After all, she knows exactly who she is and why she’s there—and it certainly has nothing to do with fame or fortune.

Oscar, engrossed in signing autographs, doesn’t notice the shift in Y/N’s demeanor at first. She gently pulls her arm away from his for a moment, her movements deliberate as she turns to face the group of women. Her back straightens, and she walks toward them with an air of confidence that silences their giggles.

“Do you have something to say to me?” Y/N’s voice is sharp and direct, her words cutting through the murmur of the crowd like a knife. The women freeze, their laughter dying instantly as they realize Y/N has heard every word. “Or do you always talk behind people’s backs like that?”

Caught off guard, the women glance at each other, suddenly unsure of themselves. They hadn’t expected Y/N to confront them so boldly.

“Uh… no, we were just saying…” one of them starts, but Y/N cuts her off with an icy look.

“There’s no need to whisper,” Y/N says firmly, her gaze unyielding. “If you’ve got something to say, be bold enough to say it to me directly.” She pauses for effect, her voice lowering with a dangerous edge. “Because trust me, I belong wherever I choose to be.”

Her words hang in the air, and for a moment, it feels as if time stands still. The women are visibly uncomfortable now, fidgeting with their bags and sunglasses, clearly out of their depth. They mumble incoherent apologies before awkwardly shuffling off, leaving Y/N standing tall, her head held high.

Satisfied, Y/N turns back to rejoin Oscar just as he finishes signing the last autograph. He glances at her, a curious look on his face. “What was that about?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Y/N shrugs, slipping her arm through his with a casual smile. “Just some clueless women talking nonsense,” she replies, her voice light but firm. “They learned today.”

Oscar chuckles softly, clearly impressed by her resolve. “You didn’t have to say anything, you know.”

“Oh, but I did,” Y/N replies, her tone leaving no room for doubt. “People think they can say whatever they want without consequences. Not with me around.”

Oscar laughs, shaking his head in admiration. “Well, remind me never to introduce you to Twitter. They wouldn’t survive.”

Y/N flashes him a playful grin, her earlier frustration melting away. “I’d break the internet.”

They continue their walk through the streets of Monaco, arm-in-arm, their connection stronger than ever. Y/N’s heart swells with pride, not just for standing up for herself, but for the unwavering support she feels from Oscar. He never questions her worth, never doubts her intentions—and that’s all that matters.

The whispers, the judgments, the petty comments—they are just noise in the background of their relationship. Y/N knows that as long as she and Oscar are solid, nothing else matters. And as they make their way through the glamorous chaos of the Monaco Grand Prix weekend, Y/N feels more confident than ever in her place by his side.

Charles Leclerc – Traveling in Italy

The warm, golden hues of the Italian countryside create a picturesque backdrop as Charles Leclerc and Y/N sit at a small, rustic restaurant tucked away from the tourist-heavy streets. The charming, intimate atmosphere is perfect for a romantic evening, and the scent of fresh pasta and wine fills the air. Earlier in the day, they had explored vineyards, tasting some of the finest wines the region had to offer, and now they’re relaxing, enjoying the peace that comes with being away from the F1 spotlight.

Y/N scrolls through the photos on her phone, smiling at the memories they’ve made today—Charles grinning with a glass of wine in hand, the two of them laughing together under the Tuscan sun, the beautiful vineyards stretching out for miles. It’s been the perfect day, and Y/N feels content, her heart full as she glances over at Charles, who is busy browsing the menu with a thoughtful expression.

But as she continues scrolling, a new notification pops up, and her playful mood instantly sours. A comment on her latest Instagram post catches her attention: “She’s way too flashy for Charles. He deserves someone more understated, not someone who’s just after attention.”

Y/N feels her stomach drop, the familiar sting of online criticism hitting her hard. It’s not the first time she’s been on the receiving end of such comments, but that doesn’t make it any easier to brush off. She clenches her jaw, her grip tightening on the phone as she reads the words again, the implication clear: she’s not good enough for Charles.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Y/N mutters under her breath, her earlier happiness replaced by a growing anger. She turns her phone around, showing Charles the comment.

Charles looks up from the menu, his brow furrowing as he reads the words on the screen. He sighs softly, shaking his head in disbelief. “Ignore them, chérie,” he says gently, reaching for her hand across the table. “People like that don’t know us.”

Y/N exhales slowly, but she’s not the type to let something like this slide. “Oh, I’m not ignoring this,” she says, her voice firm as she starts typing out a response.

Charles watches her, his expression a mixture of amusement and admiration as she types furiously on her phone. Within moments, she’s crafted her reply: “Fitting into your world? Honey, I am the world, and Charles knows that. Stay mad.”

Satisfied, Y/N hits send, leaning back in her chair with a smug smile. “There,” she says, her tone triumphant. “That should shut them up.”

Charles chuckles softly, his fingers gently brushing over hers. “You really don’t let anything slide, do you?”

“Nope,” Y/N replies confidently. “People think they can say whatever they want because they’re hiding behind a screen. They need to learn that I’m not the one to mess with.”

Charles’s lips curl into a fond smile as he squeezes her hand affectionately. “And that’s one of the things I love about you,” he says softly, his voice full of sincerity. “You never hold back.”

Y/N grins, feeling her mood lighten under his warm gaze. “Damn right,” she replies, her confidence fully restored. “Besides, someone’s got to remind them who they’re dealing with.”

Charles nods, clearly proud of her. “They’ll learn soon enough,” he says, his tone filled with quiet amusement.

As they return to their meal, the soft murmur of other diners around them, Y/N feels the tension in her shoulders slowly fade away. The comment, as hurtful as it had been, is now just a distant memory. It’s moments like these—sitting across from Charles, holding his hand, sharing a quiet evening in one of the most beautiful places in the world—that remind her of what really matters.

Charles has never doubted her, and she’s never doubted him. Their relationship is built on trust, respect, and love—something no online troll or judgmental comment can ever shake. And as long as they have that, Y/N knows she’ll always have the upper hand when it comes to dealing with the haters.

Later that night, as they stroll through the cobblestone streets hand-in-hand, the warm Italian breeze caressing their skin, Y/N leans into Charles, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her hand.

“You know,” Y/N begins with a smirk, glancing up at him. “If you ever want me to clap back at anyone for you, I’m always available.”

Charles laughs, the sound rich and genuine as he pulls her closer. “I don’t doubt that for a second, chérie,” he replies, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “But I think you’ve got it covered enough for both of us.”

Y/N laughs along with him, the earlier frustrations of the day long gone as they continue walking together through the beautiful Italian night, content in the knowledge that they have each other’s backs—no matter what the world throws at them.

Max Verstappen – Private Yacht in Monaco

The luxury yacht bobs gently on the crystal-clear waters of the Mediterranean as the sun dips toward the horizon, casting a golden glow over everything. The sound of waves lapping against the boat and the distant hum of Monaco’s nightlife creates a tranquil backdrop for Max Verstappen and Y/N as they relax on the deck, soaking in the beauty of the evening.

Y/N, reclining on a lounge chair in a chic swimsuit and oversized sunglasses, looks every bit the picture of calm and confidence as she scrolls through her phone. Max, sitting beside her with a cold drink in hand, glances over at her occasionally, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It’s rare for them to have moments like this—quiet, private, away from the chaos of the F1 world—and they’re both savoring it.

But their peaceful evening is interrupted when Y/N’s phone pings with a new notification. She sighs softly, her serene expression darkening as she reads the message.

“You’ll never be good enough for Max. He’s a world champion, and you’re just here for the ride.”

Y/N’s lips curl into a mocking smile as she reads the comment again. The nerve of some people, she thinks, her annoyance growing with each passing second. It’s one thing to criticize her, but to insinuate that she doesn’t deserve to be with Max? That’s a line she’s not willing to let slide.

She turns her phone toward Max, showing him the message. “Look at this,” she says, her voice laced with sarcasm.

Max scans the screen, his expression unbothered as he rolls his eyes. “People always think they know everything,” he says with a dismissive shake of his head. “It’s not worth your time.”

“Oh, but this one chose the right day to try me,” Y/N replies, sitting up and quickly typing out a response.

Max watches her, his eyes glinting with amusement as Y/N types: “Good enough? Honey, Max isn’t the prize here—I am. You don’t even have the nerve to put a profile pic up, so maybe worry about your own lane.”

She hits send with a satisfied grin, leaning back in her chair as she watches the comment thread explode with reactions. Max chuckles, clearly entertained by her fiery response.

“You really don’t hold back, do you?” he says, his tone affectionate.

Y/N shrugs, slipping her sunglasses back on as she relaxes against the cushions. “Why would I? People think they can say whatever they want just because you’re in the spotlight. They need to be reminded that I won’t let them walk all over me.”

Max leans over, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “That’s why I love you,” he murmurs against her skin. “You’ve always got that fire.”

“Damn right,” Y/N replies, her confidence unwavering. “Besides, I don’t need anyone to tell me what’s good enough for you. We already know the truth.”

Max smiles, pulling her closer as they both settle back into the warmth of the setting sun. He knows that Y/N is more than capable of handling herself—whether it’s dealing with online trolls or navigating the pressures of being in a high-profile relationship. She’s strong, confident, and unapologetically herself, and that’s exactly why he loves her.

As the yacht gently rocks on the waves and the lights of Monaco begin to twinkle in the distance, Max and Y/N enjoy the peace of the evening, content in the knowledge that nothing—and no one—can shake their bond.

Franco Colapinto – Backstage at a Press Event

The backstage area of the press event is bustling with energy as drivers, media personnel, and team members prepare for the upcoming Formula 1 season. The air is thick with excitement, the hum of cameras and the chatter of journalists filling the space. Franco Colapinto stands front and center, answering questions with the ease of a seasoned professional, his charming smile never wavering despite the rapid-fire interviews.

Y/N stands off to the side, watching him with a sense of pride and admiration looking stunning as always. She’s seen Franco grow into his role as a driver, handling the pressure with grace and poise, and it’s moments like this that remind her of why she fell in love with him in the first place. Some fans nearby snap pictures, but a few nasty comments about Y/N quickly make their way online.

But as she scrolls through her phone, her attention is quickly drawn to a notification that sours her mood.

“She’s too aggressive, too much attitude. Franco deserves someone sweeter, not someone who’s always so loud and in your face.”

Y/N’s eyes narrow as she reads the comment, her fingers already flying across her keyboard as she types a response.

“Aggressive? Seriously?” she mutters under her breath. “Aggressive? You mean confident, right? And let’s not pretend you know what Franco deserves, because I guarantee you don’t.”

She hits send with a sharp exhale, the satisfaction of clapping back quickly replacing her earlier annoyance. Just as she finishes, Franco wraps up his interview and walks over to her, his smile widening as he approaches.

“What’s going on?” he asks, noticing the intensity in her expression.

“Just clapping back at some clueless fans,” Y/N replies, her tone casual but firm. “Nothing new.”

Franco raises an eyebrow, his smile softening as he takes her hand. “You’re always ready for a fight, aren’t you?”

Y/N laughs, leaning into him as he pulls her closer. “If they come for me, they better be ready. It’s just who I am.”

Franco presses a kiss to her forehead, his admiration for her clear in the way he looks at her. “And that’s exactly why I love you.”

Y/N smiles up at him, her earlier frustration already forgotten. With Franco by her side, she knows she can handle anything the world throws at her—whether it’s the pressure of being in the public eye or the opinions of people who think they know her.

Together, they’re unstoppable.

F1 Taglist: @tallrock35, @yourbane, @hiireadstuff, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119, @donteventry-itdude, @spookystitchery, @dhanihamidi, @decafmickey, @cmleitora, @d3kstar, @mellowluka, @ysnhua, @omgsuperstarg, @qxeenjen

F1 Grid Taglist: @esserenorris, @tallrock35, @lightdragonrayne, @evie-119, @donteventry-itdude, @dhanihamidi, @xoscar03, @miarabanana, @decafmickey, @icecoldtires, @evesfile, @ysnhua, @mellowluka, @bdreamalot99, @qxeenjen

[daydreamvalley]

Miguel O’Hara is real & these are pics I took of him on our honeymoon🙈

*Plays Older by Isabel Larosa*