#carloz sainz | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

internetgremlin-writes · 2 years

Text

Flat Spin [Chapter Six]

Summary/Prompt: Flat Spin

1. A spin in which an aircraft descends in tight circles whilst remaining almost horizontal

2. A state of agitation or panic [informal]

As the only female driver on the grid, you’re fighting a constant need to prove yourself, however sometimes the line between accepting help and hand-outs is more blurred than you think

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Female Reader

Word Count: 7,100

Warnings: no you're not insane, yes I already published chapter six; this is the *extended* edition featuring the Champions for Charity football match and a smutty treat at the end [and marginally less sloppy editing]

*Mi Cielito = my [little] heaven

*Cariño = Spanish term of endearment, similar to Dear or Love

*Pillock = English slang for an idiot, used in the same way as dickhead or asshole

Previous Parts: one || two || three || four || five

It was cooler when you woke up.

The windows were open, white linen curtains fluttering with a gentle breeze. The sun was creating a small pool of golden light on the wooden floorboards a few feet from the bed and bathing the rest of the room in a soft glow.

You stretched, arching your back and straightening your legs, stretching your toes to find a cool spot in the sheets. Carlos registered your movement with a low, sleepy grunt. The arm he had thrown over your waist tightened, pulling you closer so that your back was pressed flush against his chest, his legs tangling with yours. You couldn't stop the lazy smile from making its way onto your face as you absentmindedly traced through the dark hairs on his forearm. He was warm and surprisingly soft in a way that made you feel safe.

You felt the rumble of his chest as he spoke. You'd never heard Carlos talk in the morning and his voice carried a heavy, husky accent that made you shiver.

“Good morning, mi cielito,”

Carlos pressed kisses along the line of your bare shoulder, your fingers tangling with his as he did so. You hummed in appreciation, your own good morning barely a whisper on your lips. He pulled you close again, rocking his hips forward and pulling you back into him as he did so, allowing you to feel the way he was already hard against your thigh.

“Mhm, it is a very good morning,” you could hear the smirk on his face from behind you. You wiggled your hips from where you were still pressed tight against him, enjoying the way he groaned into your neck. “Don't tease, Cariño,”

Warmth pooled in your stomach at his words and you turned in his arms so you could face him. Carlos was squinting at you, the bright light making his eyes more like honey than their usual dark cocoa. There was a small, toothy smile tugging at his full lips.

“Hi,” you murmured, brushing a piece of hair out of his eyes. In one smooth motion, Carlos had you on your back, his forearms bracketing either side of your head as he caught you in a sweet kiss.

More than an hour later you finally stumbled out of bed, giddy and stupid. Carlos pushed into the shower and, despite your protests, did not join you. He handed you a big fluffy towel and left to make coffee with a lingering kiss. You sat in amicable silence at the kitchen island, so close your hips were pressed together. An old radio was crackling in the corner, just about tuned into a local station in rambling Spanish. The song stopped and you recognised by the tone of the presenter that it was a news reading.

“What time is it?” You managed sleepily from where your head was resting on Carlos’ shoulder, enjoying the way the smell of his soap mixed with coffee. Carlos paused as the newsreader finished his segment. He huffed a short laugh, pulling you closer to him as he did so.

“Close to eleven,” you groaned, trying to hide further into his body, closing your eyes against his soft t-shirt and the smell of his washing powder.

“My flight is at one,”

Carlos refused to let you set foot in another taxi. Instead, your bags were meticulously packed Tetris-style into the back of the Ferrari that was definitely not designed for airport runs. The ride over was fairly quiet, Carlos’ hand resting on your thigh as he pointed out occasionally details in the rapidly evolving landscape around you.

“Why do you have to leave today?” He pouted in a quiet corner of the airport check-in desks. You were in his arms again, his thumbs rubbing smooth circles along your hip bones. You tried to avoid looking at his face because he was giving you some spectacular sulky looks that were making you question even boarding the plane.

“Not all of us get to do promo for private jets who can fly whenever they want,” you shot back, slapping his chest playfully. Carlos grinned at you, looking almost proud of himself.

“Not all of us get to drive for Ferrari,”

He swept you into a kiss before you got the chance to argue back and you could feel your brain turning to mush as he released you and sent you on your way.

*****

Your parents' flight was landing an hour after yours, giving you just enough time to go and collect your car for the weekend before you were due to pick them up. You couldn't deny how excited you were to see them; in your rookie year they came to nearly every race with you and they were screaming in the crowd of Budapest where you took your maiden victory last year. Still, as you'd grown and settled into Formula One they'd not needed to attend the entire calendar. Fortunately, Monaco being one of the most prestigious races on the calendar meant that you were given free rein on personal Paddock Invites and your parents always sat top of the VIP list.

You found a piece of cardboard and wrote out their names to hold up at the arrivals gate, Love Actually style. Maybe writing your surname in block capitals wasn’t the smartest idea, because it took you taking photos with everyone and their great aunt’s dog to get to the gate and you ended up almost late to meet them. Typically, your mum burst into tears when she saw you, pulling you into a crushing hug that you just knew was going to be plastered all over the internet in the next hour as she babbled about how much she missed you. Your dad pulled you into a quiet hug. You could feel his chuckle in your ear as your mum wetly relayed every thought she’d had during the last race at you, regardless of the very public attention currently on the three of you.

Apparently worrying about you driving racecars was not where your mother’s concerns ended. You soon learnt that it extended to giving your parents lifts in supercars. Your poor father found himself tucked in the back alongside all the bags as she packed herself into the front seat beside you and clung on with white knuckles.

“Careful, Y/N!” She cried out as you rounded a corner onto the hill to take them up to the hotel the three of you were staying in. You couldn’t help but laugh and roll your eyes at your dad in the backseat, who was trying hard to control himself.

“I’m below the speed limit and off the racing line,” you grumbled as you pulled into the car park and handed the keys to a valet. You didn’t think you’d ever get over the little things like that that showed just how much your life had changed in the last few years. “Where is Amelia, anyway?” You checked into the hotel and handed your dad the keys to your parent's room. Your mother was ignoring you from where she was standing off to the side totally absorbed in her pocket diary.

It wasn’t until you’d bundled them into the lift that your mum finally spoke again.

“Mexico!” You looked at her, slightly startled with an eyebrow raised. “Your sister is jumping in Mexico this week. For the GCL,” You nodded. The GCL, or Global Champion’s League was probably best described as the equestrian solution to Formula One. Countries presented teams of up to three riders who competed in fantastic locations all across the world for points towards the final championship. You had to admire your mum and her general sense of calm with two kids competing across the planet in sports far too dangerous for their own good.

The restaurant you’d picked for lunch was a third-hand recommendation that you didn’t really want, but also you didn’t know the first thing about Monaco or what the city had to offer. You’d visited the principality twice before; both on the Grand Prix weekends. It wasn’t that you had anything against the city, you just had never found yourself drawn to the built-up, glamorous, celebrities-all-over lifestyle. You’d been having a coffee break with Carlos when you’d mentioned that you had no idea where you could take them out. Lando, who had just bought an apartment in Monaco was only too keen to help you - almost falling over himself as he flooded you with suggestions.

If Carlos hadn’t been looking at him like he was speaking the gospel, you would have probably ignored Lando’s suggestions, after all his fussy-eater habits were not exactly uncommon knowledge. In the end, you settled on a place he called “really posh” that had originally been suggested to him by Max.

As it turned out, Lando-through-Max had excellent taste. You found yourself in a beautiful gilded conservatory with the floor-to-ceiling panelled windows thrown open to let in the scorching afternoon sun. The drinks were cold and the seats comfortable, so naturally it was your favourite kind of place. You’d forgotten to book a private area in advance, but one of the waiters had recognised you and had been kind enough to find you a table a little distanced from the other diners in the room.

You made it all the way to your starters arriving with your meal-plan-approved Caprese salad when the pleasant catch-up switched tracks.

“Aren't you hungry dear? Surely you need more than a salad?” Your mum pursed her lips, eyeing your plate as if it were about to leap up and bite her.

“Andrea, don't-” your dad tried to weakly interject.

“No, Micheal, I'm allowed to be concerned. I know you have dieticians but are you sure it's enough?” You suppressed a sigh and bit back the snarky retort on the tip of your tongue. Getting into racing young meant you'd spent nearly all of your teenage years carefully researching and religiously sticking to athletic diets before you were finally signed to a big enough contract that you were assigned a dietician. You also didn't want to mention how frequently you'd broken said diet recently, between fancy restaurants and wine tasting and street food with a certain Spanish coconspirator.

“It's only the starter,” you muttered, which earnt you a withering look. “And I'm not like, starving myself - it's just athletic stuff. Y'know nutrient balance, strength, energy: that kind of thing,”

Andrea sighed and pursed her lips as if she wanted to say something else, but let the topic lie. You knew she had issues with your weight and body type - driving a Formula One car wasn't exactly conducive to her idea of ‘feminine’, but you’d never really cared. You'd always felt comfortable in your skin and it wasn't like you'd ever really struggled romantically; the brief string of short-term boyfriends that had decorated your earlier years in racing was evidence enough.

“Anyway, Dad, what did you think of the new body upgrades? Seb seemed to look good yeah?” Unlike several of your peers, your dad had never been a racing driver, but he was your hero regardless. He’d grown up an avid Formula One fan and had an encyclopedic technical knowledge to rival some of your engineers. From the day he saw you bank a corner in your Little Tikes car, he had you enrolled in karting and the rest was history. You were instantly distracted, transported back to being a young girl, the pair of you crowded around the television as you carefully dissected every aspect of a race weekend.

You managed a solid twenty minutes before you were curtly informed that ‘shop talk’ was not appropriate at the dinner table. With identical expressions, you both gave your mother a sheepish apology.

“How are you though, Y/N?”

“I’m good, Mum,” you promised, working your way through the steamed salmon you’d ordered.

“Don’t you ever get lonely, always on the road?” You had to fight the urge to roll your eyes, an internal cry of here we go again ringing through your ears.

“Not really, you know how busy I am,”

“Everyone needs a friend, love,” you stabbed a potato.

“I have friends. I have Katie and I text Amelia all the time, there’s Seb and Mick-”

“Mick,” your mum mused, a dreamy look crossing her features. “Now, there’s a nice young man,”

“Ew, Mum! No!”

“What!?” You glanced helplessly at your dad, clearly begging him to go back to discussing the cars and not your colleagues. “Don’t you think he’s very handsome?”

“He’s like my brother,” you tried to keep the disgust out of your tone. You adored Mick, you really did, but not like that. It had never been like that, even when you were in the Academy together.

“That’s not what Hello Saturday said,” she grumbled, busying herself with the steak she’d ordered and apparently not noticing the way your stomach turned.

“So you believe the tabloids over me? It was never a date - Seb was at the bar getting the three of us drinks! And I’m seeing someone else anyway,” you snapped, the words clattering onto the table alongside your fork. You hadn’t even registered what you said until your ears stopped ringing and you realised your parents were staring at you with dumbfounded expressions.

“I don’t think you meant to say that, did you?” Micheal tried to soften the blow, the joke creasing in the corners of his gentle eyes. You hung your head, unable to remove your focus from the sad, squeezed-out lemon slice on the side of your plate as you gave a subtle shake of your head.

Andrea, of course, was delighted. Her cheeks were stained pink as she babbled about how happy she was for you and directed a thousand questions for you to deflect. She was desperate for a name, but you managed to stave her off under the guise of anyone in the seats surrounding you could be listening in. You didn’t have the heart to refuse her all details, so you made up some facial features and told some half-truths about a kind and gentle man you’d been on a couple of dates with.

“Well, if it’s not Mick I hope it’s not another driver. Imagine the PR nightmare that would be for you!”

“Yeah okay, thank you mother,” you refused the dessert menu being offered to you, instead requesting the bill. You loved your mother, you really did, but you’d had enough of a grilling for one day.

You paid and dropped them off at the hotel spa, claiming you had a meeting at the Paddock (you didn’t) followed by a workout with Katie (you did). Micheal managed to mouth an apology to you, which you shook your head at quietly. Your mum always meant well, her only wish was for her children to be happy in their lives. She just lacked the tact and you lacked the patience to have a proper conversation about it sometimes.

*****

You woke up to your phone ringing, your head spinning with the speed at which you’d suddenly travelled from unconscious to conscious in your scramble to answer.

"Hullo?"

“Good morning!” You croaked out a laugh that turned rapidly into a groan.

“Jesus Christ, Carlos it’s like-” you pulled your phone away from your ear for a second to squint at the time “Seven am,”

“What time is your meetings today?” You groaned again, your heart hammering in your chest as you slowly started to come to and pick ineffectively at the crust in your eyes.

“In the afternoon, you great pillock,”

“Wow!” You had no idea how long Carlos had been awake in order to be able to laugh good-naturedly as you cursed him out down the phone line. “Someone is not a morning person, eh?”

“Not when you wake me up like it’s a fucking emergency,”

“Sorry,” You could hear the grin in his voice and you knew there was not a chance of him being anywhere close to sorry.

“Whaddyou want, anyway?”

“Be outside the hotel, at ten, okay?”

“Okay…?” The phone line clicked as he cut the call before your sluggish brain could formulate anything vaguely akin to a question. You shrugged to yourself, deciding whatever he wanted was a problem that could wait for at least another hour and several snooze buttons.

When ten o’clock rolled around you found yourself standing outside the hotel entrance. It was another scorching hot day in Monaco and in the few minutes you’d been standing in the sunshine you were already feeling sweaty. You just hoped the heat would pass before you had to drive the car, after the sweltering mess of Miami and then Barcelona it would be nice to be able to race and not feel like you’d been punched in the face by heat exhaustion by the end of it.

You were pulled from your musings over track temperatures and ice vests by a roaring engine that made you stop in your tracks. A sleek black Ferrari came screeching round the corner before pulling up with the passenger door lined up perfectly with your body. The car was an open-topped model and sat grinning at you in the driver’s seat with Ray Bans on his nose and windswept hair was Carlos himself. Even if he was totally smug, there was no denying the way your chest squeezed and your stomach fluttered at the sight of him. You thought he had to be one of the most handsome men on the planet as he leaned over to open the passenger door and beckon you into the smooth leather interior.

“Hello, this is very low-key,” you commented over the radio and the sound of the engine. Carlos just turned his head, a dogged grin on his lips.

“It’s Monaco, baby,” he tilted his glasses down to wink at you. You rolled your eyes at his ridiculousness.

“Oh my god, not you too,” he laughed. Loud and open and free as the wind whipped around you and he sped off. “Why is everyone so obsessed with this place?”

“Today, we are learning Monte Carlo. Fancy car, fancy shopping, fancy people,” you groaned, but there was no denying the secret bubble of excitement building up inside of you. “It’s the glamour, Y/N, that’s why people like it here,” he explained on seeing your expression change.

“That is literally the opposite of my thing,”

“I can be discrete,” you didn’t have it in you to point out that the car Carlos was currently driving you to the city centre in was the furthest thing from discrete you’d ever seen.

The shops Carlos took you to blew your mind. You had money, much more money than the average high-class citizen, you were certainly aware of that. But you’d grown up relatively middle class. Your parents both worked good jobs, full time to pay for the house and lifestyle you grew up in. Between your go-karting and your sister’s horses, it wasn’t exactly cheap and so blowing money on designer closes wasn’t something you’d ever been privy to. You’d always been ‘comfortable’, always had what you needed and been able to afford nice things. It was difficult not to sound like you were bragging - and the private school education had not helped - but you were always grateful for everything your parents had done to be able to give you the life you had.

After Gucci and Versace and Louis Vuitton, you started to lose track of the names. Shopping with Carlos was fun; it reminded you of the Saturday afternoons you used to while away with your best friend at the local shopping centre where you went to school. He would deliberately pick up the most outlandish, ridiculous things to make you laugh. If you were being entirely honest, you had never been one for understanding high fashion, in fact, you didn’t see a problem with your polo shirts at all. It wasn’t a surprise that after a lot of fun and several hours you hadn’t really bought anything.

Carlos dragged you into yet another shop, promising “Just one more, Cariño, this is the best one,” when you tried to protest on behalf of your aching feet and the 200-euro sunglasses now sitting atop your hair.

He wasn’t wrong; it was a department store that put Harrods in London to shame in both the size and grandeur of the place. You were ID checked by bouncers on the door before they even let you in and you wouldn’t have really been surprised if they’d asked to see how much money was sitting in your bank account. The shop felt like a museum, with high marbled ceilings and thick carpet, more products in glass casing than available to touch, and displays so elegant they looked like historical set-ups. The way he navigated the store with ease was doing something for you. He looked like some kind of Netflix show prince, in his tight-fitting jeans and black polo shirt, hair a perfect mess with his sunglasses pushing holding it off his face, allowing it to fall in elegant waves. His brow was knitted as he was looking at each item with considered seriousness.

“Try this on,”

You turned from where you were absentmindedly filtering through a ‘sale’ rail to examine the item he was pointing at. As soon as you followed his gaze to the hanger he was holding out to you, you rolled your eyes.

“Oh Carlos, come on. No,”

He was holding a red dress. On the hanger, it looked nothing too special - a sleek floor-length gown with a designer's name you didn't know and far too many zeros in the price tag. You'd worn, and owned, a hundred of the like. You recognised the bratty expression that came across his face - one of someone who knew they were about to abuse their good looks to their advantage.

“Please? For me?” There was no way you could ignore him pouting like that, batting his lashes at you.

“Fine,” you huffed playfully, snatching the dress from him and making a show of stalking to the changing rooms with Carlos in tow. The second you’d taken the dress from him you realised it was made of heavy silk, luxurious even to the touch. The woman in the changing rooms (because you got a personal assistant when you went to change and a free drink) nodded at your choice and presented you with a gorgeous pair of black heels that matched perfectly.

It was only when you saw yourself in the mirror under the perfectly balanced lighting of the changing room that you realised this wasn’t just a red dress.

It was the exact fucking shade of Carlos’ car.

You stepped out of the changing room and into the… well you didn’t know what it was called because you’d never been in a shop so fancy. But in the centre of the fitting rooms was a stand surrounded by mirrors where you supposed designers, personal shoppers and whoever else the rich and famous took with them found themselves approving chosen items. For you, it was Carlos, who was sitting on a spindly golden-legged chair in the corner of the room, his legs spread and looking alarmingly at home amongst the plush grandeur as he messed with something on his phone as he waited for you.

He looked up when you cleared your throat, gently drawing his attention to you settled on the platform. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and you had to admit that you understood why Carlos was staring at you, mouth open and frozen in place.

You didn’t even look like you. Your hair had been pulled up, assistant in the room had helped pull out stands to give you a casual but classy updo. A glittering necklace had been placed around your neck and the heels meant the dress pooled on the ground at the perfect length. The deep red colour was foreign on your body, compared to your usual palate of greens and neutral tones. And the fit - you didn’t think you’d ever worn something that felt as if it was just made for you, the bias cut of the material stretching and hugging your body perfectly, the neckline plunging enough to make you feel sexy and the back - oh the back. It was backless, the delicate straps clinging to your shoulder blades and travelling all the way down to the small of your back before it met material once more.

Carlos let out a breath, standing slowly and walking towards you in a way that reminded you of an animal stalking its prey. He never broke eye contact with you in the mirror as he stood on the small platform behind you, his body pressed against yours to make himself fit with you. You could feel his breath on your neck and with the way your upper body was exposed there was no way he didn’t notice the goosebumps rising along your skin. You watched him in the central mirror in front of you as his gaze raked shamelessly up and down your body, his fingers tracing the point of your shoulder as he did so. His eyes looked almost black in the careful lighting.

“Perfect,”

You made a noise of agreement. As much as you wanted to tease him about picking out the one dress that happened to match his car, it was flawless. You’d never worn much red before and the way it complimented you was astounding (in fact you thought you liked it even more than green, although you’d never admit it to anyone) and you had to agree - the dress was the perfect fit for you. Not to mention wearing his colours… well, it was certainly doing something for you. You felt sexy and gorgeous and powerful and desirable and a whole host of other wonderful things that didn’t usually occur to you in your team polo and shorts. Maybe you did understand why Lewis put so much effort into his Paddock looks after all.

“I’m going to buy it for you,” his lips were on your neck, the words vibrating through your entire body.

“You can’t-” you gasped.

“I can,”

“No - I don’t even need a new dress and I have enough money to get it myself if I wanted it. Which I don’t,” You argued back. You had never spent this much money on any clothing. Even when you could afford to something in you was holding back, it was excessive and unnecessary.

“You don’t want it?” Carlos raised an eyebrow at you in the mirror, his gaze making you almost squirm. He had a hand on your waist and you could feel the heat from his fingers seeping straight through your skin and clouding your mind. It didn’t help that his other hand was sneaking through the leg slit on the opposite slide, gently grazing your bare thigh.

“I don’t need it,” you clarified. Carlos clicked his tongue disapprovingly. He gazed at you through the mirror as he pressed a kiss against your shoulder, then the base of your neck and finally the point of your jaw before his mouth was on your ear and he was speaking lowly.

“I am going to buy this dress. And you are going to take it home. You don’t need it, but you want it. I want you to have this, this is a thing that is only something you want, it is expensive and beautiful and you love it. I believe everyone should have something like this. And I am going to buy it for you because when you wear it I want you to think of me,” His voice dropped lower as he spoke, velvety smooth. The way he was holding you was intoxicating and you felt like you were drunk. You were genuinely considering dragging him into the changing room and letting him ravish you in the stupidly stunning dress right there and then. You’d be willing to put money on the store assistants having signed Non-Disclosure Agreements just to be employed there.

Just as you were about to give into him Carlos stepped away, casually adjusting the front of his jeans and looking quite pleased with himself. The coolness of the air conditioning hitting your exposed back was enough to pull you out of the trance and you nodded mutely, making your way back to the changing room with legs like lead and a face on fire. You needed to get out of this shop before the low lighting and expensive perfume haze made you make any more questionable decisions.

Carlos did buy the dress. And the little shit handed it to you in the Ferrari gift bag he seemed to always carry on race weekends as if he couldn’t afford the branded bag the clerk offered him.

“To meetings?” He asked you, hand slipping into yours as you left the shop and he collected the keys from the valet with a “Thank you, Sir,” that made you have to look the other way and think of very sensible, neutral things. Part of you was screaming internally that you were out in broad daylight, holding hands with and getting into the Ferrari of Carlos Sainz. Part of you was so happy you simply didn’t care.

You thought Carlos was going to drop you off at the hotel to allow you to pick up the DB7 you’d been driving that weekend, but instead, he turned off towards the circuit. You turned to look at him questioningly.

“What? We can arrive together, no?” You dropped your head gently onto his shoulder, the sun warm on your face with the feeling that nothing in the world could touch you.

Seb smirked at you when you walked into the garage. His eyes were trained on the bag with the prancing horse emblazoned on the front of it as you placed it in your driver's room and made your way up to the offices together.

“That's not very subtle, Y/N,” he told you in a sing-song voice, before changing the subject to the upcoming weather forecast and the potential storm on Sunday as you walked up to your afternoon of meetings.

*****

The last thing you wanted to do after a long afternoon of headache-inducing meetings was watch football in the rain. However, when Carlos Sainz is your lift home, it appeared there wasn't much choice in the matter.

You still put up a good argument the whole drive to the stadium. The rain was pattering on the soft top of the convertible Ferrari but Carlos just shook his head at you.

“You are English, Cariño. I know you can live in rain,” he informed you with a wink and a pat on the leg as he pulled into the car park.

“Just because I can doesn't mean I want to,” you complained, checking the stairwell below the stadium was clear before you gave him a quick kiss. “At least make it entertaining for me,” you told him as you left him to head down to the changing rooms and took yourself to the viewing stands.

You had a seat in a VIP box along with a couple of other famous faces. No other F1 drivers were there because they were either competing in the charity match or keeping up with their excuses to avoid playing. You'd already been collared by a couple of journalists asking why the only woman in F1 didn't want to be the only woman playing football. You'd given them your prepared statement that had been written by Katie and learnt by you - something about a knee ligament injury you were preserving, so you were just there to make a donation and support your friends.

The rain was starting to come down heavier as the poor excuse for pre-match entertainment started. You pulled the hood of your waterproof coat closer around your ears, the ‘luxury’ box already springing a few leaks. You decided to take out your frustrations on the group chat.

You: Can't believe you bailed. I do not know anyone here and the reporters have it out for me

Track Dad: I'm too old for sitting out in the rain

Mick: Don't drink the stadium coffee!

You: I hate you both

Track Dad: Make some new friends

You: No x

Luckily, Carlos clearly understood the assignment when you told him to make the match entertaining. From the second he stepped out onto the pitch you couldn't rip your gaze from him for even a second. You knew he was a football fan, but you didn't realise how talented of a player he was. Admittedly, you had no eye whatsoever for football but it didn't take a genius to see that Carlos shone ahead of the other drivers playing. Watching him play was exhilarating and you found yourself clapping and shouting for the team along with the small crowd that had still turned up to watch despite the weather.

Between the rain and sweat, Carlos was completely drenched, leaving the strip sticking to his skin as he moved. His hair was a mess, most of it plastered down onto his face and he kept shaking his head and pushing his hand up through the dark locks to push it away from his face. There was just something about Carlos - he moved with a natural grace, a comfort on the pitch that was innately attractive and was only aided by the glistening skin on display and a dark, determined look on his face. You never usually got to see that side of Carlos' competitiveness; it was usually shrouded behind his helmet and you driving alongside him.

You had to admit, the way he set his jaw when he had eyes on the ball was downright sexy. You were used to a much softer version of Carlos, steady and quiet, well-spoken and calculating. As he carried his team, the dangerous glint in his eyes was something new. You were starting to feel uncomfortably warm in your zipped-up coat.

By the time the game was over and he'd received the Man of the Match award and recovered from a brief ankle injury, you were fidgeting in your seat, your body uncomfortably warm despite the rain dripping down the back of your neck for the last twenty minutes. Most of the drivers and a couple of the other celebrities were hanging back after the pitch had emptied, making their way to the stands in order to take photos and sign merch with the fans loyal enough to stick the weather out. Even watching Carlos shake his head like a dog, water flying everywhere was enough to set you on edge. It felt like you'd swallowed hot coals and he was just casually stroking the fire, consistently stirring something up in you.

Carlos was slowly directing himself towards the tunnel, preparing to head back to the changing rooms. There was a half-baked idea in your mind as you slipped out of the viewing box and made your way down the stairs. With a flash of your paddock ID, you were allowed back into the changing rooms and you made your way forward towards the tunnel, waiting for Carlos.

He didn't spot you as he passed, not until you reached out and grabbed his wrist, making him yelp in surprise. Before there was time to second guess you yanked him, forcing him to follow you into the storeroom you’d conveniently placed yourself by. The door swung shut behind him, the pair of you cloaked in the sudden darkness.

“Y/N?” now that he was so close, you could feel the heat radiating off him.

“Shut up,”

You grabbed him by the soaked front of his football shirt and pulled him down into a searing kiss. Carlos responded instantly, his hands fumbling in the dark until he found your cheeks, palms impossibly warm as he gripped you with a muffled noise against your mouth. The lights flickered on. They must have been motion-activated, triggered as you pulled flush against each other. His hands fell to your shoulders, moving you back. In the soft light, you could see every detail of him. The front of your top was wet. You watched a single raindrop fall from his hair, run down his forehead and drip right off the tip of his nose.

“What are you doing?” Carlos murmured as you pushed yourself close to him once more. It was like he was exuding some kind of drug, your mind fogged and narrowed down until he was the only thing in your sights. You shook your head, pulling him back into another heated kiss, this time his hands falling to your hips and gripping tightly as you whined into his mouth.

“Hey,” he chuckled against your neck “What is it?” You failed to answer, only succeeding in placing frantic kisses on any part of exposed skin you could reach.

“You,” it came as a gasp as Carlos threaded a hand through your hair, watching you with almost clinical fascination.

“Me…?” He was teasing you, eyes shining. You shook your head, your face pressed in the damp of his neck, breathing in deeply as if the smell of his sweat would help still your swimming mind.

“It should be illegal,” your hands were roaming, grappling for purchase against wet polyester until you managed to slip in the small space between top and shorts, enjoying the way he shivered against your touch. “Looking that good chasing a fucking ball around,”

His chest swelled at the compliment, a dangerous glint in his eyes accompanied by a wolfish grin. He traced the curve of your jaw as if it was glass, studying your every move under the flickering electric light.

"And you even couldn't wait to go back?" His tone had changed, the gentle teasing swapped for something more urgent, laced with anticipation. You couldn’t. It was as simple as that. You felt feral, being driven by something almost animalistic that just needed and it needed now.

There was no way you could articulate how you were feeling, despite the way he was desperately searching your face for an answer. So you did the only thing that had been running through your mind for the last hour.

You sank down onto your knees.

“Wait, wait, I'm sweaty,”

You were well aware of his state, having watched him wind himself up like that over the last two hours in the pouring rain. Your knees were already starting to feel damp from where his clothes had dripped onto the floor. But you were beyond caring and besides you'd grown up surrounded by racing drivers - it would take more than a bit of sweat to make you shy away. The air in the small room was heavy with the scent of him, only adding to the growing sense of desperation within you to do something.

You ran your hand over the poorly concealed bulge in his shorts, relishing the way Carlos' breath hitched as you did so.

“Cariño…” he trailed off, distracted as you started to mouth around his thighs, tight and warm from the recent exercise. You pulled away, your hands resting in the dip of his hip bones as you blinked up at him.

“Please,”

The word was barely a whisper on your lips, but it echoed like a scream in the confined space.

“Shit,” Carlos swore, his head falling against the wall behind him with a dull thud as he pushed his shorts down his hips with trembling hands. “Shit. Yes, okay,”

It was quick, but it was always going to be. Carlos was tensing before you even had your mouth fully around him, the muscles in his legs fasciculating under your fingers. He hissed as you moaned, unable to stop the way his hips bucked forward. One of his hands dropped down, threading his fingers through your hair.

He stayed still, staring at you through blown pupils as if you were a gift from the gods as you took him in your mouth. The way he was watching you only spurred you on as you met his eyes, drawing out a heavy, shaky gasp from him and his legs began to tremble in earnest.

“Fuck, you're so good,” he praised as you relaxed, pushing as deep as you could take him. Your knees were sore, back aching, throat constricting and eyes watering. Nothing about it was comfortable, yet you were soaked, feeling yourself clenching around nothing as you poured your entire focus onto Carlos. Your entire universe in that moment consisted of him and him alone.

You felt him tense, twitching in your mouth and scrabbling at your shoulders as he managed to stumble out half a warning. You took that as a sign to hollow your cheeks, sucking and swallowing with everything you had, your entire body ignoring its natural reflexes for him. Carlos came with a muffled shout, a hand flung over his mouth, chest heaving and other hand twisting hard in your hair. You sat still, ignoring the way you weren't sure if the tears streaming down your face were from physical exertion or because you were so desperately close yourself.

You waited until his breathing steadied and he'd stopped making quietly broken noises before you released him, taking his hand gratefully as he helped you to your feet. Carlos watched you in rapture as you chased a stray dribble from the side of your mouth with you thumb and licking it clean without thought. The light had gone off at some point. You hadn't noticed at the time, it was only now as you became aware of your surroundings once more that you realised your eyes were straining, blinking as the lights stung unprepared pupils.

He didn't stop at the changing rooms, instead just grabbing his bag and your hand as you made your way back through the maze below the quietening stands to the car park.

The drive back to the hotel was quiet in the best way. Carlos took the scenic route; the rain had stopped and the lights of Monte Carlo were sparkling below you through the dark blanket of the sky. His palm was warm against your crossed legs and he kept stealing glances at you, sending you a stupid little grin when you met his eyes. The radio was blaring, the roof down and cooling wind in your hair. His football shirt was pulled back against his body, hair flying freely around his face. His eyes were shining, dancing with joyful freedom, whole body relaxed as if he and the leather seat below him were one shared entity.

You wished that drive lasted a lifetime.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Read Chapter Seven Here!

Liked this? You can check out my masterlist here

Yeah so this football scene was originally at the start of chapter 7 but then i realised it was going to be stupidly long and this chapter was short so I've done a bit of a reshuffle. Hope you enjoy and this cheeky little scene is enough to tie you guys over for now!

Taglist: @imreallylosingit @serialkillertbh @sticksdoesart @idkiwantchocolatee @agentsoybean @piceous21 @whosays75 @xscorpioxmoon @miahelen @j-brielmalfoy @honeybadger03 @teapartydreams @guccicloudz @nochillnel @timetoracewrites @rmaddenns @ruledchaos @isabellabrodar @ccloaned @ihearttheoriginals @tattered-tales @ferrarifwendvale @bradfordbantams @urbankaite2 @bobohumyonlyboo @zoobabystation @formulacads @hnmaga-blog @f1-incorrect-s @alicekepley @thembeforethea @mrscevans @nora-moon @sueesstuff @turningxstrange @luvrboygaslys @sgkophie @jpotterdilf @dan3avacado @missxmericana @mall--e @ohthemisssery @yearsof-war @bisexual-desi @forzaferraris @rge-nini @l3kas @iamasimpingh0e @ricsaigaslec @guardians-ofthe-lastyoungkilljoy @chokedwithaseaview @cara1111 @loverboysainz-interacts

#carloz sainz #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz fanfic #formula one #f1 #flat spin #sebastian vettel #mick schumacher #monaco gp 2022 #champions for charity

356 notes · View notes

internetgremlin-writes · 2 years

Text

Flat Spin [Chapter Two]

Summary/Prompt: Flat Spin

1. A spin in which an aircraft descends in tight circles whilst remaining almost horizontal

2. A state of agitation or panic [informal] As the only female driver on the grid, you're fighting a constant need to prove yourself, however sometimes the line between accepting help and hand-outs is more blurred than you think

Pairing: Carlos Sainz Jr x Female Reader

Warnings: None really, bit of swearing and drinking

Word Count: 4,200

Previous Chapters: One

Gif credit: @artemispt <3

The five minutes after you sent the text felt like it stretched on for a lifetime.

Every little sound felt like it was dialled up, your skirt catching on the rough material of the desk chair felt like it was coming through a boom box. When your phone pinged in response it sounded like a bullet echoing through your room. You tried to ignore your shaking hands as you picked up the phone because it was ridiculous, you told yourself. Carlos had invited you first in his note.

Carlos Sainz: When?

You: Now

Because what was the point in waiting around? Plus, yet again, you were starving.

By the time you'd swapped shoes three times he was at your door. The awkward demeanour from yesterday was replaced with a much more Carlos look, all bright smiles and white teeth and clean-shaven skin.

"Good morning, Cariño," you weren't quite sure how to respond, but Carlos didn't give you time to worry about it, sweeping down and pressing a quick kiss to both of your cheeks. You laughed to try and distract yourself from the blush you could already feel rising and pointed at the alarm clock on your bedside table.

"Only just," you admitted. He grinned at you.

"I don't mind," he was wearing a pair of darker jeans than yesterday, with a white dress shirt that was unbuttoned at the top and the sleeves rolled up to combat the already hot Italian morning. "Shall we go?"

You nodded, reaching down to pull on your original shoe choice a pair of pretty white sandals without too much of a heel. Almost instinctively, and as he was stood so close, you placed a hand on his arm to balance yourself. You felt Carlos tense a little but he didn’t move and let you finish and stand up. You let go of his arm pretty quickly to grab your phone and purse and close your hotel room door behind you. Carlos walked down the hall and into the elevator beside you in amicable silence, only speaking once you'd pressed the button to take you to the ground floor and turned to face him.

"What is a brunch?" You tried not to laugh because Carlos was looking at you with genuine question, but you couldn't help it. Hearing him try out the new word in his accent was sweet, even though he completely butchered it. "What?" He questioned, searching your face with a good-natured smile as you shook your head at him. "Did I say it wrong?"

"Brunch," you corrected "It's like when you wake up too late to have breakfast, but it's too early for lunch so you sort of have both in one meal,"

At that point, the elevator pinged and the doors slid open onto the ground floor. You stepped out into the lobby and turned right towards the hotel restaurant on autopilot. Carlos caught you by the elbow, making you stop in your traps and tilt your head at him quizzically.

"It's a nice day for a walk, no?" The sun was beating down on the road outside the hotel and you had to admit that the sun-baked city you were in looked very inviting. So you agreed with Carlos and let him lead you out of the hotel.

It was only a short walk down the road into the town. It was hot, but not unpleasant and there was a breeze that brushed pleasantly against your legs. Carlos was telling you about Imola and the surrounding area. Since his move to Italy when he started working with Ferrari he had become a big fan of the country and was keen to share what he had learnt with you.

"Do you wanna eat in the town then?" You asked, accidentally interrupting him midway through telling you about some of his favourite Italian food. He looked down at you with an eyebrow raised, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"There is a small restaurant in the town," he gestured forward to the cluster of buildings you were rapidly approaching "I think it will be very good for, ah, brunch," he deliberately put too much emphasis on the word, wiggling his eyebrows at you as he did so to make you laugh.

"Did you sleep well?" It was an innocent enough question but he caught you off guard, and you could feel your face warming a little.

"Yeah…" in a split second you decided to be honest. "I woke up at like 3 am on my own, totally confused," you couldn't bring yourself to look up for his reaction.

"I didn't know if you wanted me to stay," he admitted, running a hand through his hair and adjusting the Ray-Bans on his nose. "I thought maybe you’d prefer to wake up alone than to kick me out," you were definitely blushing now.

"And I snore!" He said, followed by a free laugh that immediately broke whatever awkward trance you had found yourself in. You couldn't help but watch as he dropped his head back with ease, his Adam's apple moving slightly and hair shaking out behind him as he laughed.

"I don't believe that for a second," you said quietly. If Carlos heard you he didn't respond. You were preoccupied anyway, winding your way through a European high street full of prettily coloured buildings and flower boxes bursting with colour. He gestured for you to turn down a narrow cobbled street that looked almost deserted aside from a tiny hanging sign.

"Here," he said when you came level with the sign. The restaurant was tiny, barely the size of a shop front but beautiful. It was dimly lit inside even though it was midday, but each table had a candle glowing in a jar and fairy lights were strung haphazardly around. The place was almost deserted, but even so, Carlos said something to the waiter in Italian and he led you round a corner to a table that was tucked away from the rest of the place. He pulled out a chair for you before taking a seat opposite.

In the low light, with Carlos watching you intently, there was a little voice in the back of your head wondering; is this a date?

"So, what do you normally eat on brunch?" Carlos asked you as the waiter handed you a small menu each. Of course, there wasn’t a word of English on the menu and you didn't know much more Italian than your basic hellos, please and thank yous. Sometimes you really hated that the culture of your education had left you severely monolingual. You explained that it really could be anything, from a full English to French toast to Belgian waffles. He watched you speak with his full attention as you described the array of dishes you were used to, leaning forward with his elbows on the table to prop his chin on his hands. You picked up the menu again and flicked through it whilst you finished describing the complexities of avocado toast.

"I don't think I'm going to find anything that that here though, am I?" Carlos didn't answer you properly, instead shrugging his shoulders and grinning at you.

"Do you trust me to decide?" You nodded without thought. One thing you'd learnt about Carlos was that he took food very seriously, and good food even more so. So you sat back and enjoyed not thinking, getting very easily lost in conversation with Carlos. When it came to ordering you couldn't help but find it extremely attractive. Carlos didn't look at the menu once and conversed with the waiter as if he was a local. You didn't have a clue what we was saying but it sounded wonderful. One thing you did recognise was the ice bucket that was brought to your table. You quirked an eyebrow at Carlos

"I thought you said cola was fine last night?" He waved you off as if it was nothing.

"No racing today. And no head wounds. How are you feeling, by the way?" You had wondered when the question of your health would come up.

"Fine," you said. Your physio had done a brilliant job with you and paired with a decent sleep you were feeling surprisingly bright following the crash. "I have two days off training to recover from any muscle strains but I can't really feel any, and I was fine walking here," you added when you noticed he was looking unconvinced.

You found yourself pleasantly surprised at the bottle of champagne and peach puree that was brought to your table, the waiter assembling bellinis for yourself and Carlos. Carlos raised his glass towards you for a toast, which you met, although you had no idea what he could possibly want to toast.

"For a fresh start," he explained. The way he was leaning forward as he spoke, his hand so close to yours and eyes boring into yours made you think that he might have meant more than just forgiving you for the crash.

"You said you don't know what brunch is, how did you know to order these?" You questioned, nodding to the drink in your hand. Carlos grinned, not a hint of shame in his body language.

"I didn't know it was for brunch. I just like to have them," well, you thought. That was something you certainly didn’t know about him.

"Well I can drink to that," you returned his smile, feeling yourself truly relaxing into his presence.

The food Carlos had ordered was heavenly, and you told him so multiple times. There was an impressive spread of dishes, from bread and jams to cheese, to fried eggs and some small pasta dishes. Your favourite was the bruschetta, the fresh bread toasted to perfection and topped with herby tomatoes and mozzarella cheese that melted in your mouth. Carlos seemed to enjoy the fact that you were enjoying the food because he was taking great pride in explaining to you everything you didn't immediately recognise and once more you found yourself just soaking up every second of his undivided attention.

Once the plates had been cleared away and your glasses had been topped up several times you were filled with a pleasant buzz and starting to really enjoy yourself. You were propped up on your elbows, leaning forward to be as close to Carlos as you could over the small table. His forearms were resting on the table, falling just wide of your elbows. One of his fingers was just gently grazing up and down your forearm, sending little tingles down your spine as he did so. The waiter came back and you decided that by the one word you did recognise, he was being asked if he wanted to order more.

"Tiramisu,"

You were, however, a little surprised when only one plate was brought out with two spoons. You didn't say anything because Carlos was already encouraging you to take the first bite and the way he watched you lick the spoon clean as you eagerly informed him it was the best tiramisu you’d ever had was downright sinful. Sharing the desert had been a good idea because by the time you'd managed about a third of the cake you were completely stuffed and refusing another bite. Carlos was only too happy to clear up for you.

He was just finishing when you noticed the small smudge of cream clinging to his top lip. You liked to think it was the champagne that spurred you to do what you did next.

"You have a little-" you gestured to his lip, but before he could react you'd leant forward to wipe the cream away with your thumb. Carlos was virtually frozen in his seat, his eyes fixed on you almost hungrily. Before there was time for second thoughts or regrets you put your thumb in your mouth and licked the cream away. His eyes widened as he watched you lower your hand before focusing back on your face. You had to admit watching the blush bloom across his cheeks made you feel a little smug.

It was probably a good thing the waiter arrived once more because you had no idea what to do or say following on from that, and Carlos for once looked too stunned to say something to you. He mentioned something that sounded suspiciously like 'bill' so you immediately picked up your purse and began rummaging through to find your card. Carlos looked downright horrified when you produced it.

"No,"

"What?"

"Put your card away,"

"Don't be silly I'm happy to split it," you started to argue but Carlos caught your wrist, his hand wrapping around it with ease.

"Put it away. I pay today,"

"You really don't have to, it was my idea-"

"Y/N," there was no argument in his tone. "I took you out, I will pay," you were fast learning that Carlos was painfully stubborn and when he had his mind set on something there was no talking him out of it. So you tucked your card back into your purse as he handed his off to the waiter.

"Fine. But next time I'm taking you out, so I'll pay," you challenged with a raised eyebrow. Carlos muttered something under his breath that you didn't quite catch. But it didn't matter because the next thing you knew he was helping you to your feet and you were realising you were a little tipsier than you perhaps should have been for early afternoon on a Monday. You weren’t drunk, but you definitely weren’t sober as Carlos and you made your way back through the quiet alley and onto the high street.

He swerved as he was telling you a story about his football team, his shoulder bumping against yours. Normally you would have been able to recover quickly but with alcohol-soaked reactions you found yourself grabbing his arm for support. Carlos looked at you for a second, before breaking into a childish giggle that had you following suit as you realised that Carlos was also pretty tipsy. He covered the hand on his arm with his own and repositioned you slightly so you were walking arm in arm. You were just about to leave the shaded side street when you spotted something that made you hesitate.

Carlos stopped when you tugged on his arm and discreetly pointed to the small group of people looking up and down the busy street. They were all wearing bright red caps and t-shirts. You had no idea how, but F1 fans, especially the Ferrari ones seemed to get themselves everywhere. Carlos tilted his head at you, a little confused as you were both used to high levels of attention.

“You don’t wanna be seen with me?” he couldn’t quite keep the dejection out of his tone.

“Erm, not like this,” you mumbled, pointing to yourself and then him. You hated it, but being a woman meant you had to think so much harder about where you were and who you were with all the time. When you first joined the grid there were articles published after almost every race, speculating which of the drivers you were sleeping with based on the few moments of interaction they had caught in the paddock or during interviews. Netflix was even worse, you hadn’t seen Drive to Survive, but it was now your third season on the show and you knew from the comments fans made when you met them that your romantic interests were frequently brought to the attention of the public eye. It was the main reason you had made the rule for yourself that you did not spend time with any drivers other than your teammate outside of race tracks and events. And now here you were. Out in a silly sundress in a small Italian town with Carlos Sainz Jr, you virtually hanging off his arm and the pair of you drunk in the afternoon. You’d barely spent any time with him and the thought of it already being taken over the media made your chest ache. You wouldn’t even get the chance to figure things out for yourself before the internet decided to do it for you.

You tried to explain it to Carlos, but you felt like you weren’t doing it justice and you managed to say ‘it’s not that I don’t want to be seen with you’ about four times before he stopped you from rambling.

“Hey, I get it, it’s okay,”

“Are you sure?” your confidence faltered for a second.

“I promise,” those big brown eyes were searching your face again, the humour from minutes ago temporarily vanished. He turned you effectively and walked you the opposite way down the narrow street which opened out onto a main road, where he was able to very rapidly locate a taxi and neatly tuck you inside before himself. The taxi dropped you off at the service entrance to the hotel and you found that you were able to duck inside with no fan spottings to have to worry about. Carlos insisted on walking you all the way back up to your room. You had learnt he was staying on the opposite side of the hotel and had to travel around the swimming pool in order to reach you.

The fan sighting had unnerved you a little, so you brought him into your room to bid him farewell. As soon as the door was closed behind you, you visibly relaxed, slumping back against the wall as you looked up at Carlos, who had taken his sunglasses off and tucked them into his shirt.

“Thank you. For brunch and for, you know,” you felt embarrassed that you’d had to end the morning the way you had but Carlos didn’t need to hear it. He was leaning down to speak to you, so close to hovering over you but not quite making the step into your personal space. The playful shine was back in his eyes and you could still feel the buzz of the champagne. Maybe that was why he reached forward to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand hovering by your face for a moment too long after.

“It was perfect,” your stomach flipped at the word. Because perfect meant a whole lot more than ‘a really nice time’. There was a definite blush on your face now but there was no way you could do anything to hide it. Not with the intensity of Carlos’ gaze entirely trained on you.

“Carlos…” his name was barely a whisper. He stepped closer, a hand landing on the wall beside your head as he did so.

“Y/N,” his gaze flickered down to your lips for a split second before snapping back to your eyes. But it was enough. Maybe you didn’t know exactly what was going on, but the one thing you knew was that you did not want to be friends with Carlos Sainz. You caught a quick glimpse of his tongue poking out to moisten his full lips and you were done for. Your heart was thudding in your ears. Without a second thought, you grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled. He let out a small yelp, but you didn’t give him time to respond any further before you kissed him.

He responded immediately, his arms wrapping tight around your waist and pulling you close to him. Your body shut down for a moment, because kissing him felt so damn good. Like everything with Carlos he had an irresistible intensity about him, from the way he tightened his arms around you to how he nudged your head to the side slightly to gain better access. You finally managed to let go of his shirt to wrap your arms around his neck, the kiss becoming sweeter.

You waited until your lungs were burning to pull away. His cheeks were flushed, pupils blown and lips a shade brighter as he stared at you like you’d just told him the secrets of the universe. But there was a smile behind the shock.

“Where are your plans next week?” The question caught you off guard, but you couldn’t stop the smile that was making its way onto your face.

“I’m going back to England early tomorrow. Spending the week at home and then I fly to Miami on the Monday,” Carlos nodded in thought.

“I arrive on Sunday,”

“Well I did say I’d take you out, how does Tuesday in Miami sound?” it was a little over a week away, which felt like an acceptable time for a second date. If it was a second date.

“I can’t wait,” you realised that you were still in his arms, his hands warm where they covered your hips. You weren’t sure what to do with your hands so you fiddled with the small strip of excess material where his shirt buttoned. One of his hands came up to tilt your chin up so he could press another chaste kiss to your lips. He was like a real-life Disney Prince, you thought, and it was making you weak in the knees.

“What are you doing?”

“When?” He was kissing your cheek.

“This week, later…” he kissed your lips again.

“Going home, to Maranello,” he kissed your jaw “Later is boring. Meetings for dinner and my PT in the gym,” you nodded and he found your mouth again. It was getting difficult to focus.

“I have to pack,” you agreed absentmindedly. Things needed to get done today and a tipsy Carlos in your hotel room was not the way to achieve anything, well anything productive at least. He nodded against your skin and pulled away, releasing his grip on you but not stepping entirely away.

“I’m very excited to see you in Miami,” you agreed because already a race you were beginning to dread was becoming more and more exciting. “Maybe you’d even like to see the golf courses?”

You sighed with a shake of your head and an easy laugh, playfully shoving him towards your door. You knew Carlos played golf, it was difficult to not know. He was constantly putting pictures on his Instagram at different courses across the globe and if you caught him and Lando in the same room you’d not be able to get a word in edgeways as they talked about the sport incessantly.

“We’ll see about that,” you mused playfully. Carlos turned to you once more. He didn’t kiss you again but he pulled you in for a hug that couldn’t have been any different to the one he had given you the night before. He kissed your cheek as he bid you goodbye and you couldn’t help but feel your chest tighten a little as you watched his frame retreat down the corridor towards the stairwell.

You couldn’t process a single thing that had just happened. Your brain felt like someone had thrown it into a blender, your mind spinning. If someone had told you this time yesterday that Carlos fucking Sainz would be snogging you off your feet, there was no way in hell you would have believed them. You collapsed back onto your bed and decided you could afford to avoid the tedious packing process for another hour or two by calling your best friend and giving her a play-by-play analysis of the last 24 hours. It involved a lot of squealing down the phone and enough ‘oh my god’s to earn the pair of you a lifetime of Hail Mary’s at the Catholic church.

You had dinner booked at the hotel with Katie later to discuss plans for the week and when you’d be reuniting with the team in Miami, so you changed into a simple blouse and jeans for that. She was curious about what you had been up to that morning as you had failed to answer three texts from her. You considered telling her that you’d been out with Carlos and just omitting the kissing, but you just couldn’t be bothered to deal with any lectures so instead, you said that you’d spent a quiet morning recovering from the crash and had taken yourself on a small walk in the afternoon. It was a good lie because Katie didn’t even question your very simple order of margarita pizza and a glass of water. Packing was really the last thing you wanted to do, but after dragging out dinner as long as you could you found yourself returned to your hotel room with no more excuses and a flight in eight hours.

You haphazardly threw everything into your suitcase aside from the clothes you needed tomorrow and your carry-on bag that you never packed until the morning and collapsed onto your bed. You only realised then that it had been quite a busy post-race day, you usually spent them either snoozing on planes or lounging around in luxurious hotels avoiding any sort of responsibility for as long as you could. An old rom-com was on the TV and within ten minutes you were passed out fast asleep, a smile still on your face and the faint scent of Carlos’ cologne in the air.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter Three

Check out my Masterlist here

Two parts in less than 2 weeks? Peer pressure is a wonderful thing!

In all seriousness though, the love Flat Spin Part One got was INSANE and you guys were so lovely about it that I couldn't not continue <3

This part was supposed to be longer but I got entirely carried away with the brunch scene and then I realised that Miami content is also huge so I thought I'd separate them into parts two and three.

I haven't really written a date scene before so as per usual feedback is always appreciated and I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!

Rage and Love

Le Gremlin

Forever Tags: @graysonmalfoy @inumorph @lokilvrr @bookgirlunicorn @thinkwritexpress-official @somanydifferentthings @faeriedelalune-blog @elthanin-sive-blog-blog @ispendmoretimehere-blog @drakesfiance @allonesharingonebreath @storm-howlett @daneel-the-sister-of-castiel @groovy-lady @skadivalholl @govazz @its-astrotea-love

F1/Carlos Tags: @imreallylosingit @serialkillertbh @sticksdoesart @lovingroscoee @agentsoybean @piceous21 @whosays75 @xscorpioxmoon @miahelen @j-brielmalfoy @honeybadger03 @teapartydreams @guccicloudz

#formula one #carloz sainz #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x reader #ferrari #scuderia ferrari #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz 55 #F1 #F1 imagine #F1 x reader #sebastian vettel #aston martin #flat spin #lando norris

632 notes · View notes