#hot air jr

[nitromians]

a fanart last year…… #Nitrome by beeeeesive

[pucksandpower]

Nothing to Prove

Charles Leclerc x Vettel!Reader

Summary: it’s a tale as old as time — every female sports fan has been told to “prove” her fandom at least once in her life — but the man quizzing you quickly learns the error of his ways

The Miami sun beats down relentlessly as you make your way through the bustling paddock, your destination the familiar red and white of the Ferrari motorhome. The air buzzes with pre-race excitement, mechanics and team personnel darting about like worker bees in a particularly colorful hive.

You’re so focused on navigating the crowd that you almost don’t notice the young man who steps directly into your path, phone held aloft. His grin is a touch too smug for comfort.

“Excuse me, miss,” he says, voice dripping with false politeness. “Mind if I ask you a few questions for my TikTok?”

You hesitate, torn between ingrained courtesy and a gnawing sense of unease. “I’m actually in a bit of a hurry-”

“It’ll only take a minute,” he insists, already hitting record. “So, tell me, what’s your favorite thing about Formula 1?”

The question seems innocent enough, but there’s something in his tone that sets your teeth on edge. Still, you decide to play along for now. “Well, I love the strategy, the technology, the way the whole sport pushes the boundaries of what’s possible-”

He cuts you off with a laugh. “Come on, be honest. It’s the hot drivers, right? That’s why most girls watch.”

You blink, momentarily stunned by his blatant misogyny. “Excuse me?”

“No judgment!” He says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I get it, they’re all rich and fit. But let’s see how much you really know. Who won the 1976 World Championship?”

You open your mouth to answer, but he barrels on.

“What’s the difference between understeer and oversteer? How many points do you get for fastest lap? Come on, if you’re a real fan, this should be easy!”

Your initial discomfort has morphed into full-blown anger. “Look, I don’t have to prove anything to you. My knowledge of the sport isn’t-”

“Ah, so you can’t answer,” he says, triumphant. “Just as I thought. Another pretty face here for the-”

“Is there a problem here?”

The smooth voice comes from just behind you, followed by the warmth of a familiar body pressing against your back. Strong arms wrap around your waist, and you instinctively lean into the embrace.

The TikToker’s eyes go wide as saucers as he takes in the newcomer. “You’re ... you’re ...”

“Charles Leclerc,” your boyfriend finishes for him, voice deceptively mild. “And you are ...”

The young man sputters, clearly thrown off his game. “I’m ... I mean... I was just asking your girl here some questions about F1.”

Charles’ arms tighten fractionally around you. “Is that so? Because from where I was standing, it sounded more like an interrogation.”

You turn your head slightly, meeting Charles’ gaze. His green eyes are blazing with a protective fury that makes your heart skip a beat.

“It’s fine,” you murmur. “He was just leaving.”

Charles raises an eyebrow at the TikToker, who’s looking increasingly desperate to be anywhere else. “You heard the lady.”

But the young man, perhaps realizing his video is about to become internet gold, rallies. “Wait! I mean, no offense, but how do we know she’s not just with you for the fame? Can she even name your teammate?”

You feel Charles tense behind you, but before he can speak, you’ve had enough. You step out of his embrace, squaring up to the TikToker.

“Carlos Sainz Jr.,” you say, voice hard. “Currently P4 in the championship. And since you’re so keen on quizzing people, James Hunt won in ‘76, understeer is when the front of the car doesn’t turn enough while oversteer is when the rear steps out too much, and you get one point for fastest lap if you finish in the top ten. Any other burning questions?”

The TikToker gapes at you, clearly unprepared for this turn of events. Charles, for his part, looks like he’s trying very hard not to laugh.

“I ... but ...” the young man stammers.

You press on, building up a head of steam. “Oh, and fun fact — my brother has four World Championships. But I’m sure you knew that, being such an expert and all.”

The TikToker’s face drains of color as realization dawns. “Your brother? You’re Sebastian Vettel’s sister?”

Charles can’t contain his amusement any longer. He laughs, the sound rich and warm. “I tried to warn you. You’ve awakened the beast.”

You shoot him a mock glare. “You’re not helping.”

He holds up his hands in surrender, still grinning. “Far be it from me to interfere with your righteous fury. Please, continue.”

The TikToker looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. “I ... I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize-”

“That women can be genuine fans?” You interrupt. “That we might actually understand and love the sport for its own sake? Or just that you shouldn’t make assumptions about people based on their gender?”

He winces. “All of the above?”

Charles steps forward, placing a hand on your shoulder. The touch is gentle, but there’s steel in his voice when he speaks. “I think it’s time for you to go. And delete that video while you’re at it.”

The young man nods frantically, fumbling with his phone. In his haste to retreat, he trips over his own feet, sprawling ungracefully on the ground. Charles moves to help him up, ever the gentleman, but you put a restraining hand on his arm.

“Let him sort himself out,” you mutter. “A little humiliation might do him some good.”

Charles chuckles, pulling you close. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

As the TikToker scrambles away, face burning with embarrassment, you allow yourself to relax into Charles’ embrace. The adrenaline of the confrontation leaves you feeling a bit shaky.

“You okay?” Charles asks softly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You nod, letting out a long breath. “Yeah. Just ... frustrated. Why do people still think like that?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I wish I knew. It’s not fair, the assumptions people make.”

“It’s not just about me,” you say, turning to face him fully. “It’s about all the female fans out there who get treated like this. Who get quizzed and belittled and have their passion questioned at every turn.”

Charles nods, his expression serious. “You’re right. It’s a bigger problem than just one idiot with a TikTok account.”

“Sometimes I wonder if it will ever change,” you admit, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you.

Charles cups your face in his hands, his touch impossibly gentle. “It will,” he says with conviction. “Because of people like you who stand up and call it out. Who refuse to let ignorance go unchallenged.”

You lean into his touch, allowing yourself a small smile. “When did you get so wise?”

He grins, some of his usual playfulness returning. “I have my moments. Don’t tell anyone though, it’ll ruin my reputation.”

You laugh, the tension finally starting to dissipate. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Charles leans in, resting his forehead against yours. “I’m proud of you, you know,” he murmurs. “The way you handled that ... it was impressive.”

“Yeah?” You ask, a hint of vulnerability creeping into your voice.

“Absolutely,” he says firmly. “You were brilliant. Fierce. Passionate.” His voice drops lower, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Incredibly sexy.”

You swat his arm playfully. “Behave yourself, Leclerc. We’re in public.”

He affects an innocent expression that doesn’t fool you for a second. “I’m always on my best behavior.”

You snort. “That’s what worries me.”

Charles laughs, the sound bright and carefree. It never fails to make your heart soar. He takes your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. “Come on, let’s get to the motorhome. I think we both could use a moment of peace before the craziness really begins.”

As you walk hand in hand through the paddock, you can’t help but reflect on the incident. It leaves a sour taste in your mouth, but there’s also a spark of hope. Because for every misogynistic TikToker, there are countless fans — of all backgrounds — who love the sport for what it is. Who appreciate the skill, the strategy, the sheer spectacle of it all.

And maybe, just maybe, standing up to ignorance one interaction at a time is how change really happens.

Charles squeezes your hand, pulling you from your thoughts. “What’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours?”

You smile, leaning into him slightly as you walk. “Just thinking about how lucky I am. To be here, doing what I love. To have people in my life who support me and believe in me.”

He brings your joined hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “The luck goes both ways, mon cœur. You make me better, on and off the track.”

As you approach the Ferrari motorhome, its bright red a beacon in the sea of team colors, you feel a renewed sense of purpose. There will always be challenges, always be those who try to tear others down. But with love, determination, and a refusal to back down from what’s right, anything is possible.

Even changing the world of Formula 1, one small interaction at a time.

[orangeblossomsintheair]

EAT | CS55

carlos sainz jr LOVES pussy guys

carlos only ever wants what’s best for his pretty girl.

he lives for the way your eyes light up when you smile, for the way you soften and melt into his arms like you were made to fit there.

that’s why he’s here now, kneeling at the edge of your bed, his hands moving tenderly as he works to remove your heels after a long night.

the soft glow from the bedside lamp catches in his dark hair, casting shadows across his face as he carefully peels off each heel, one by one.

he looks up, eyes flicking to your face as he gently lifts your ankle, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the delicate skin. he studies your expression, searching for any sign of discomfort, eyes wide in that puppy-like way only he can pull off.

when he finds none, only sees the slow rise and fall of your breath and the way your eyes flutter closed, he smiles to himself, content.

his lips move higher, kissing up your leg, every touch sending a ripple of warmth through you. he stops just shy of your thigh, his cheek resting against your skin as he exhales softly, the heat of his breath making you shiver.

his fingers find the hem of your skirt, toying with it lazily, the rough pads of his fingertips brushing against your thigh like he has all the time in the world.

his dark eyes lift to meet yours, heavy-lidded and full of something you can’t quite name but feel deep in your core. he tilts his head, his voice a low, teasing rasp. “can i pull this off, cariño?”

the question lingers in the air, soft but charged.

he’s not just asking, it’s an offering, a promise that he’ll only go as far as you let him. and yet, there’s something in the way he looks at you, a quiet confidence that says he already knows your answer.

he just wants to hear it from your lips.

you nod quickly, hoping it’s enough, but carlos only shakes his head, his smirk growing “use your words, my love,” he says, his voice low and smooth, each word deliberate. “need you to say it out loud for me. can you do that for me, cariño?”

your hips shift instinctively, your breath catching in your throat as you try to keep your composure. “c-carlos,” you stammer, your voice barely a whisper, the heat of his gaze making it impossible to think straight.

he raises an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly as if he doesn’t control your axis. “what was that, hm?” his tone is as light as it is maddening. “i didn’t quite catch that, pretty girl.”

you swallow hard, biting back the whine threatening to escape, and force the words out before he makes you wait any longer. “yes,” you breathe, louder this time. “yes, please, carlos.”

his smirk softens, replaced by something warmer, deeper. “there’s my good girl,” he murmurs, the praise sinking into your skin like sunlight. his hands move deliberately now, his fingers curling into the waistband of your skirt as he tugs it down, inch by agonizing inch.

he doesn’t take his eyes off you, watching every twitch of your lips, every flutter of your lashes, like he’s committing the moment to memory. “so pretty,” he mutters under his breath, almost like he doesn’t mean to say it out loud.

when the skirt finally pools around your feet, he lets out a soft hum of approval, his hands smoothing over your thighs. “see? all you had to do was ask, cariño,” he teases, his lips brushing against your skin as he speaks. “wasn’t so hard, was it?”

you barely manage a shake of your head, your breath hitching as he presses a kiss just above your knee, then another, working his way up slowly.

you whine, the soft sound slipping from your lips before you can catch it. “carlos, please... stop teasing.”

a slow, amused smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he lowers his head, his breath hot against your skin.

“teasing?” he murmurs, looking up at you. “i’m not teasing, cariño. i’m savoring.”

you try to pull yourself together, but his hands, his proximity, it’s all too much. “savoring?” you repeat, voice trembling, desperate for him to do something.

“si,” he hums, dragging his fingers lightly along your skin, just enough to make you shiver. “you’re too beautiful to rush, mi amor.” his voice drops, almost teasing, but there’s a rawness behind it that makes your heart skip. “besides, i’m not some boy who doesn’t know how to take his time.”

you try to shift, but his hands are on you in an instant, gently but firmly, keeping you exactly where he wants you. “carlos…” you breathlessly protest, but there’s no real heat behind it.

carlos presses a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh, the scratch of his stubble making you breath hitch. “relax, baby,” he murmurs. “i’m not going anywhere. not yet.” he glances up at you. “you’re gonna have to be patient with me.”

his words send a shiver down your spine, and even though you’re desperate, you find yourself unable to move, caught in the slow, inevitable pull of him. “you’re cruel,” you whisper, but even that sounds like a plea.

“only because i love you.”

his hands glide up your thighs, gently spreading your legs, the heat of his touch making you squeeze around nothing. he settles between your thighs, his body close enough that you can feel the weight of his presence.

the corner of his mouth curls up into a lazy smile as his gaze drifts lower, drinking in the sight of you. his eyes flick back to yours, grin deepening as he notices the delicate bow on your underwear.

“look at that,” he breathes, filled with admiration. “you’re teasing me now, aren’t you?”

the words send a jolt through you, his eyes lingering on the subtle detail. he watches the way you react, the soft tremor in your breath, the way your chest rises and falls as you try to hold it together.

“such a pretty thing..” he whispers, his fingers grazing the edges of your skin, just enough to make you ache.

he seems to take pity on you when he picks up on the small whimpers that escape your lips, the soft, desperate sounds that you can’t hold back no matter how hard you try.

the sight makes his cock twitch in his pants, already straining against the zipper.

you yelp as his nose grazes your clothed sex, inhaling the scent of you and letting it overcome every one of his senses.

“joder... you smell so fucking good, cariño," carlos groans against your core, his hot breath seeping through the thin material. he nuzzles into your heat, relishing in the way your body responds to his touch.

he grips your thighs, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed as he begins to mouth at the damp fabric covering your cunt.

"that's it," he murmurs against your covered sex, hot breath ghosting over you. "let me taste you."

he starts slow at first, not wanting to overwhelm you, dragging his tongue along your slit through the material in long, teasing licks. you’re so wet that he can taste you even through the thin barrier.

he drags his tongue along your slit again, the lace thin enough that it lets him find your clit through memory as he swirls his tongue around the sensitive nub.

"could eat this sweet pussy for hours.” he grins, punctuating his words with open-mouthed kisses before he slowly tugs your panties off.

carlos lets out an approving groan at the sight of your soaked little cunt, his thumbs parting your glistening folds to reveal your slick entrance.

"you're absolutely dripping, cariño," he breathed out, his eyes dark with lust as they rake over you. "and all for me?"

he doesn’t (can’t, really) wait for an answer, immediately leaning in and dragging his tongue along your slit, groaning at the taste. he works his way up to your throbbing clit, swirling the tip of his tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves before drawing it between his lips to suckle gently.

"mmhmm, fuck, you taste divine, cariño," he praises, voice muffled. "I could drown myself in your perfect little pussy."

he continues to work diligently with his tongue, alternating between quick flicks over your swollen bud and slow, languid licks up your slit. every now and then, he thrusts his tongue inside you, fucking you shallowly as he laps up every drop you give him.

carlos can feel your walls fluttering and clenching around his invading tongue, your arousal growing by the second as he eats you out like a man starved. the obscene sounds of your wetness fills the room, mixing with your high-pitched moans and gasps.

"that's it, baby," he encourages between licks, his stubble scratching deliciously against your inner thighs. "ride my face just like that. use me for your pleasure."

he seals his lips around your bud again, sucking hard as he thrusts two thick fingers inside your tight channel.

carlos pumps them slowly at first, giving your walls a chance to stretch around the intrusion, but quickly setting a fast pace once he thinks you can handle it, curling them just so.

a strangled cry tears from your throat as you feel carlos' fingers curl inside you, finding that spot that made your vision blur and your toes curl.

"yes, yes, yes!" you chant mindlessly, grinding yourself down onto his face shamelessly as he finger-fucked you with the precision of a man who’s memorized your body. your juices gush out around his digits, coating his chin and dripping down his neck.

carlos simply groans in approval, lapping up your overflowing juices, his other hand moving to rub firm circles over your clit in tandem with his fingers.

"come for me, cariño, cmon," he begs against your weeping sex. he shifts to settle more comfortably between your splayed thighs, hands gripping your hips to hold you steady as he doubles his efforts. fingers pump faster, curling.

"come on, baby, I can feel you teetering on the edge," carlos coaxes. "let go and soak my face, show me how good you are.."

he seals his lips around your clit and sucks hard, grazing the sensitive bundle with his teeth as he flicks it with the tip of his tongue.

just as he feels you starting to tense, carlos curves his fingers sharply.

with a sharp cry of ecstasy, your back arches off the bed as your climax crashes over you, waves of bliss radiating outward from your core. your hands scrabble for purchase, fingers grasping at the sheets as your body jerks and shudders.

carlos groans in satisfaction as your release floods his mouth, lapping and suckling at your pulsing sex to catch every drop.

even as your aftershocks begin to subside, he continues his attentions, peppering your quivering thighs with soft kisses and gentle nips. his hands caress your sides and hips soothingly, grounding you as you float in the aftermath of your orgasm.

finally, he crawls up your body to hover over you, dark brown eyes dark with tender adoration. "you took me so well, mi amor," he praises, brushing damp tendrils of hair from your face. "so perfect, coming apart so beautifully for me."

he captures her lips in a deep, filthy kiss, before pulling away and folding your knees to your chest. “i think you’re wet enough to take my cock now. what do you think, hm?”

[lovemomhatepolice]

cravings - carlos sainz jr.

navigation taglist requests

pairing: carlos sainz jr x fem! reader

warnings: established relationship, pregnancy sex, needy!reader, cursing, p in v, fingering, tits playing, pet names, creampie, English is my second language!

type: smut! with small plot

word count: 2,8k

belonging: NO NUT NOVEMBER

summary: after dinner with his parents, carlos must properly take care of his pregnant fiancée

more content: formula 1 masterlist, carlos sainz masterlist

a/n: I encourage you to give requests in the Christmas marathon! click here :) and my first thousand celebration PLEASE I AM DESPERATE, I HAVE TO WRITE SOMETHING!

Ever since you met Carlos' parents, you've loved them. And they have loved you. You always had a nice time, the conversations never stopped, and your cheeks hurt from laughing.

And so it was today, too - despite your almost seventh month of pregnancy, where your belly was already quite large and your uterus was pushing against your other organs inside, which was damn tiring, you had a good time at dinner with his parents.

“Eat up, darling. You’re eating for two, remember,” Reyes said with a playful wink.

You chuckled softly, but as you tried to make room for even one more bite, you couldn't help but let out a tired sigh. The baby had been particularly active today, and now, after a full meal, the pressure on your ribs and stomach was becoming nearly unbearable.

Carlos leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “You okay, amor?” he whispered softly, his eyes full of concern.

“Yes, it's just that Ava is giving me a hard time today,” you laughed under your breath, stroking your belly.

Yes, you had a baby girl whose hair on examination was as thick and dark as Carlos'. Even though they had only recently grown into her. And you could have sworn you saw tears in his eye when he saw that on the screen at your gynecologist, too.

Now, as you caressed your belly, Carlos placed a tender hand over yours, feeling Ava’s little movements beneath your skin. "She’s a fighter already, just like her mamá," he murmured with a soft chuckle, his voice filled with admiration.

Carlos's Sr eyes sparkled as he watched the two of you. “Ava is already making sure everyone knows she's a Sainz,” he said with a proud smile.

Reyes reached across the table to squeeze your hand. “I can’t wait to meet her. She’s going to be beautiful, just like her mother.”

“Just say the word, and we’ll leave whenever you want. I’ve got you.” Carlos said to you, whispering.

And with these words Carlos smiled at you and put his hand on your thigh, gently stroking the hem of your dress with his fingers. You immediately became hot for this activity. Your fiancé always managed to make you ready in an instant. And so it was today, too, and all the exhaustion Ava was giving you disappeared.

You shifted slightly in your chair, fighting the urge to press your thighs together as his fingers continued their teasing strokes just beneath the tablecloth, hidden from everyone else. You shot him a warning look, trying to convey that this wasn’t the place, but Carlos, ever the playful one, only smirked, his dark eyes sparkling mischievously.

“Carlos...” you whispered, your voice low and breathless, as if the very air between you crackled with electricity. “Behave"

Carlos merely grinned, leaning back in his chair as if nothing had happened, though his fingers still lingered for just a moment longer before he finally pulled away. The absence of his touch left you feeling almost bereft, but it also sent a silent promise for later, when you would finally be alone.

And although you often had cravings for sweet things, this time you wanted something spicy and hot...

~ The road home was quiet. Your hormones had subsided, and Carlos was no longer going crazy with his fingers. Everything seemed to stop. You were a little tired, but happy. You loved the time with his parents, who were to become your family in the near future. Carlos was also terribly happy - for a while he could forget about his driving duties, the impending end of his Ferrari career and the whole that world.

“Thank you for tonight,” you said softly, breaking the comfortable silence. “I really needed that.”

Carlos glanced at you with that gentle smile that always melted your heart. “Me too, carino,” he replied, his voice hushed, almost reverent. “Being with my parents and especially with you is always amazing"

You just smiled at him and both of you entered the house. Your shared house, where you had not so long ago moved in. It was quiet inside, and the only sound you could hear was the water Carlos turned on for tea. This had been your ritual since you became pregnant - every day you drank tea before bed.

You stood in the doorway for a moment, watching Carlos move around the kitchen with ease.

“Which one do you want today?” he asked, although he knew the answer well. But he asked anyway, in case you changed your answer or wanted to surprise him. “Peppermint,” you muttered, smiling sincerely at him. It was your favorite, especially now that you were pregnant.

When you heard the whistling of the kettle, you turned around and slowly began walking toward your living room. You sat comfortably on the couch, adjusting the cushions under your back, and waited for your fiancé, watching the view outside the window.

Carlos soon joined you, carrying two mugs of steaming tea. He set them on the coffee table and then sat down next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. Instinctively, you leaned into him, resting your head against his chest. A few minutes of longed-for silence passed, when Carlos spoke up.

“Wait here for me,” he muttered, kissing you on the forehead. In the blink of an eye, he disappeared from your field of vision and rushed upstairs, where your bedroom, bathroom and many other rooms were located. As you drank the last sips of your tea, you heard the water in the bathtub begin to run, and Carlos ran down the stairs. He joined you on the couch for another second before he easily lifted you in his arms, obviously being careful not to hurt either you or Ava, and started walking up the stairs. It was as if you weighed nothing.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound light and breathless as Carlos carried you up the stairs with such ease. “You really don’t have to carry me every time, you know,” you teased, even though you secretly loved it. It made you feel cherished, protected.

“You're my queen, you deserve it,” he laughed, kissing you lightly on the neck, tickling with his stubble. “Oh, and you're my Prince Charming,” you laughed, seeing his boyish grin.

"So here I am"

He carried you over to the bathroom, where the sound of water filled the air, gentle and inviting. The bathtub was already nearly full, steam curling up to fog the mirrors, and rose petals floated on the surface, turning the water into a delicate sea of pink and red.

“How did you do it so fast?” you asked as he gently set you down. Your bathroom had never been so beautiful before. Even if it wasn't quite as clean now as it was at first, that was definitely not the point. “I'm fast,” he muttered, placing his large hands on your hips. “Maybe not so fast as to win the championship, but you have your charm.”

You hit him lightly on the shoulder, giggling. Even at a time like this, he was able to laugh at himself. That's exactly what Carlos was - loving, caring for his loved ones. He was the sunshine that was often missed. “You'll win again someday,” you said, standing closer to him and smacking him gently on the lips. “In my eyes, you win every time.”

He helped you out of your dress with such tender care, his hands never lingering too long, though you could feel the heat in his gaze as he admired your body—rounder, softer, growing with the life you were creating together. Once you were undressed, he guided you carefully into the warm bath, making sure you were comfortable before joining you.

As you made yourself comfortable in the tub, Carlos' hands immediately found a place on your belly, gently stroking it. The water around you was pleasantly warm - not as hot as always and not too cold. It was just perfect, surrounding your swollen body as it should. Its scent was unearthly, gently teasing your nostrils, but enjoyably so.

“Does that feel good, mi amor?” he asked softly, his voice barely more than a whisper against your ear.

"Mhm" you mumbled, tilting your head to look at him.

“Ava’s been really active tonight, huh? She must be trying to get your attention,” he teased, his tone filled with wonder as his fingers brushed against a spot where she shifted slightly beneath your skin.

You smiled, covering his hand with yours as you both felt your daughter move. “She definitely takes after her daddy, always wanting to be the center of attention,” you teased back.

“Or after her mommy, who cries out for my attentions every time,” he muttered, looking into your eyes. “Oh, for real?” you asked teasingly, raising your eyebrows.

The atmosphere around you became hot, and it was not due to the warmth of the bath. Or the steam that was rising throughout the bathroom. “Mhm, look how wet you are” he whispered, directing his hand to your clit. You sighed as his fingers touched your tender skin where you needed it most. Your libido during pregnancy was not lower at all. Especially when you saw Carlos as he was now. A wet body that was properly trained, the messy hair you loved so much and softly rosy cheeks from the warmth that surrounded you.

“Carlos,” you groaned, involuntarily tightening around his fingers, which entered you. Carlos moved them rhythmically inside you, his thumb teasing your clit, which had become even more sensitive to his touch during your pregnancy. You couldn't resist it, and especially when his other hand slid down to your hard nipples. He caressed your neck with his lips, alternately placing subtle kisses and bites on it.

“Shh, cariño,” he murmured, his lips grazing the edge of your jawline. “I just want to make you feel good… let me take care of you,” he added, his voice low and husky, filled with that sultry tone that always drove you wild.

You didn't need much. Looking at how sensitive you were, you soon became a moaning mess around his fingers. Carlos knew what he was doing. He hit the perfect spot with them, circling his thumb around your clit, which accelerated your waves of ecstasy even harder. On the other hand, he continued kissing your neck, leaving there the love bites he most likely loved when you were wearing it. His dexterous hands squeezed and stroked your large breasts, which ached more often and harder. And your strained nipples, where milk was being produced.

"Good girl" he muttered against your neck, feeling your orgasm around his fingers.

“Carlos, please,” you muttered, turning your head to him. Your man joined your lips in a passionate kiss, slightly biting your lower lip to give him access to your mouth. Your tongues fought a fierce battle, but you wanted one thing. Without hesitation, you corrected your position on top of him and touching his cock, directed him to your entrance and gently leaned on him, your other hand catching on his neck. “Shh, fuck,” he moaned into your mouth, starting to move inside you.

“Oh,” you moaned, catching his neck more firmly with your right hand. With your other hand you held your breast, squeezing harder than Carlos had done before. Today you didn't want it to be gentle. You felt such a great need to fuck inside you that you were off limits. “Carlos, don't limit yourself,” you muttered into his swollen mouth.

“I don't want to hurt you,” he whispered with caring eyes. His hand wandered to your clit again, even though he knew full well how it would end. Before the pregnancy, you mostly came at similar times, but now you knew that tonight would not just be your second orgasm, but one in a row. “You won't hurt,” you said, grabbing his face tighter and looking straight into his beautiful chocolate eyes. “Just fuck me harder.” There was a hunger in his eyes that you hadn't seen in a long time. The bathroom was getting hotter by the second, even though the water was evaporating faster and faster. Carlos clung harder to your lips, kissing you with the great passion that had been between you from the beginning. You have always wanted each other in the same way, without letting it get any worse - it just kept getting better and better. And as if on cue, Carlos sped up, hitting you with his full length where he was supposed to hit. You moaned into his mouth, and he was not indebted to you. Although he was focused on giving you and himself physical pleasure, all the while he was muttering sweet nothings to you.

“You are so beautiful,” he purred into your mouth. “All swollen with my baby inside your beautiful body, fuck”. You moaned at his words. It was true, of course it was true. You were all sore and swollen, but it was his baby you had inside you. Your longed-for child, the one you had been trying for not so long, but she was the one you had been waiting for.

“Carlos, I'm so close,” you muttered into his mouth, pulling slightly away from him to look between you. Oh, that view was compelling every time. Carlos was going in and out of you with deadly speed, making the tub shake, and you could have sworn that if there had been neighbors around you, they would have definitely heard what was going on with you. “I know, carino, I know,” he said, and his gaze landed on the same spot as yours. By this time, your juices were blending together perfectly, making an unusual mess in the tub. His cum combined with your juices and you could watch it pour out of you.

You have never been bored by this view. It might have seemed strange to someone, but you and Carlos, once you could admire your liquids spilling out of your pussy, were in cloud nine. It was a kind of quiet promise, a moment of privacy and intimacy you shared with no one else.

"I love you so so much" he muttered, kissing you now lightly.

He continued to move inside you, but this time only so you could come down from your orgasm, just as he did. Your pussy clamped down on him, pleasantly enveloping him with its tightness. You both loved the feeling - you then finally felt as full as possible, and Carlos felt that he had found his place. However silly it sounded. You guys loved it.

When you cooled down and the water became unpleasantly cool, you decided to get out of the tub. Carlos did it first, so that he could safely help you. He carefully wrapped you in a soft, fluffy towel, his hands remaining on your wet skin, warm and soothing as he gently dried your shoulders and then your hands. His touch was slow, deliberate, as if he was savoring your touch, making sure every inch of you was taken care of.

You stood in front of the mirror, your reflection soft in the dim light, your body round with Ava, the little life growing inside of you. Carlos moved behind you, his chest brushing against your back as he gently ran his hands over your shoulders, his touch lingering with care.

He leaned in, his lips grazing your ear. “You are beautiful,” he purred, kissing the lobe of your ear. “I can't wait for Ava to get here and see it too.” You smiled with emotion at his words and turned to face him, placing your hands on his cheeks. You stood on your toes, gently kissing him on the lips. You felt him smile under the pressure of your lips, which you shared. “She will be even more beautiful. After all, her father is Carlos Sainz Jr, the fucking Prince Charming of Formula One.”

A/N: how I love pregnancy content!! AND CARLOS, OMG, my favorite driver, and I only have one one-shot with him, what's a shame (open orders, feel free to give ideas!)

please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

[musicallisto]

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

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

He speaks the language of princes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"About you? Like what?"

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

"Maybe he was just bored."

"So I'm boring?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Singapore is a miracle.

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

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

and now it's roaring in Marina Bay.

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

"Twice in a row, cazzo!"

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

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

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

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

"Bravo, Carlos."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Absolutely not, mate."

"Come on Carlos, it will relax you!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I should get some sleep."

Terror strikes you. Incomprehension too.

"No, Carlos, wait."

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

"Why do you dislike me so much?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't mess with me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"After you win, you mean."

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

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

"Cosa diavolo sta facendo?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[my-castles-crumbling]

eyeliner - @rosekillermicrofic - word count: 287

Evan was just a man.

He had resisted Barty under many circumstances. When the other boy started wearing all black that made his tattoos pop, Evan managed to keep a straight face. When he decided that crop tops were his new thing, and suddenly his tiny waist was on display for the whole fucking world, Evan stayed clam. Even when he pierced his fucking lip, Evan was able to resist pushing him against the wall and biting the bit of metal until he was satisfied.

He had control, really.

But he was just a man. And Barty Crouch Jr. in eyeliner was not fair.

"Barty," he mumbled when the offending seventh-year left their dorm's adjoining bathroom with black around his eyes, "what are you doing?" his voice was calm, but his heart was racing, all of his blood pumping.

"Trying something new," Barty shrugged, throwing him a look Evan could only describe as seductive. "You like?"

He wasn't proud. But he'd been nursing this crush- this obsession with his best friend for too long. And based on that look, he now had an inkling that these actions weren't entirely innocent.

So without thinking, he stepped forward, crowding Barty into a wall, reaching up to grab at his jaw and direct his lips so they were only inches from his own. Immediately, both of them started breathing heavier, the air between them thick and hot, Barty's pupils widening as he gasped from surprise.

"You're doing this on purpose," Evan accused, moving so when he spoke, his mouth brushed against Barty's own.

But Barty just let out a soft chuckle. "Obviously," he smirked, leaning to nip at his jaw. "Now fucking kiss me, before I go even more insane."

[melosliving]

aaron pierre & kelvin harrison jr x actress!reader

reading thirst tweets !

Sitting in your chair for what felt like hours now, you fidgeted with your fingers, trying to calm your racing mind. Today, you were having an interview with Kelvin and Aaron, and for once, you were the first one to plant your pretty self in the assigned chair, right in front of the numerous cameras.

Surprisingly, interviews were always stressful for you. You actually hated them, but because you loved your job so much, you were willing to endure this overwhelming experience. “Look who’s on time for once!” aaron teased, making you lift your head to see both guys standing in front of you, their cologne lingering faintly in the air. They looked good. “And wearing heels? Damn, you look good, good,” Kelvin added with a smirk, sitting to your left.

“Thank you, boo. You both smell amazing, but my allergies might kick in,” you joked, crossing your legs with a light laugh. “What’s on the agenda today ?” Aaron asked, looking between you and Kelvin. “We’re reading thirst tweets,” you replied, burying your head in your hands. You already knew this was going to be chaotic.

“Y’all ready?” one of the staff members asked, approaching with a phone in hand. You nodded along with the guys but extended your hand to take the phone, resting it casually on your lap. The filming lead gave you a small nod, signaling that the video had started. “Hello there, I’m ❁, and I’m here with my handsome–” you began with a playful grin.

“Wow,” Kelvin interrupted, smirking.

“Talented, brilliant–” you continued, teasing as the two men echoed a dramatic “Woooooow!” in unison, both laughing at you.

“And charming co-stars, Aaron Pierre and Kelvin Harrison Jr. Today, we are reading your nastiest tweets!” you finished, giggling as they clapped dramatically. “I’m actually so ready for this,” Kelvin laughed. “Let me read the first one.” He reached for the phone and gently took it from your lap. “Okay, so the first one says : ‘I just want Kelvin to grab my butt, is that so hard to ask?’”

Your eyebrows shot up as you looked directly at the camera. “That’s a crazy thing to say,” Aaron laughed. “Are you sure you just want him to grab your ass, though ? He could do so much more, girl.” you teased, turning to Kelvin, who raised an eyebrow at the camera with a cheeky smirk.

“Actually, that’s not too much to ask,” Kelvin admitted, leaning back in his chair.

You grabbed the phone back, handing it to Aaron. “Doggy, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl—okay, I need to stop because my mom might watch this,” Aaron read, his face turning red as he broke into laughter. “Why are you so shy ?” you teased, nudging him playfully. “stop playing with me,” Aaron muttered, flicking your forehead lightly.

“Every time ❁ speaks french, I get pregnant ! Mind you, I am a woman,” you read next, aaron’s laughter barely contained. You turned dramatically to look at both men. “Actually, if you think her french is hot, wait till you hear her Spanish–” Kelvin began, pointing at you. Before he could finish, you slapped your hand over his mouth. “Oh my god, stop him!” you exclaimed, laughing.

The crew erupted into laughter as Kelvin leaned closer and whispered, “You’re gonna have to let me finish that later thought.” You rolled your eyes at him but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips.

Kelvin took the phone back, still giggling. “Alright, this one says : ‘Kelvin can ruin my life. Like… destroy me emotionally, financially, physically. I’m free Tuesday, by the way.’”

“Tuesday’s no good for me, but maybe next Friday,” Kelvin quipped, glancing at the camera with a grin. You groaned, laughing. “Not you checking your schedule! That’s crazy.” you teased. Aaron shook his head, leaning over to read the next one. “‘Aaron Pierre could sneeze in my direction, I would say thank you, daddy.’” He burst out laughing, handing the phone back to you. “Wow, so we’re sneezing now? That’s where we’re at?” Aaron joked, shaking his head.

“Let me take the last one,” you said, scrolling to another tweet. “‘I would let ❁ step on my neck in heels and say thank you for the opportunity.’”Kelvin turned to look at your feet. “And she got the heels on and everything. Don’t let this opportunity go to waste!” You rolled your eyes dramatically, laughing. “Y’all are ridiculous!”

By the end of the shoot, the three of you were exhausted from laughing so much. As the cameras turned off, Kelvin leaned in with a soft smile. “You know,” he said quietly, “you really are the epitome of charming. And you know I mean that.”

You couldn’t help but blush and push him as Aaron interjected, “there he goes again.” The three of you burst out laughing one last time, ending the day on a high note.

@ melosliving 2025

[bunny-jpeg]

Hiii bunny, can i get a chocolate chip cookie and rootbeer with carlos sainz pretty pleasee

bakery menu

want to suggest your own order? check out the menu! thank you for the order, lovely anon! i have been meaning to write more carlos, so thank you for suggesting this! i always have a sweet spot for the root beer prompt!

chocolate chip cookie ("you're beautiful when you smile, but you're the prettiest when my cock is in your throat") + root beer (filming/recording) served by carlos sainz jr (formula one)!

cw: smut/pwp, oral sex (carlos receiving), filming, dirty talk

you could feel the subtle thud in your chest as you got down on your knees. the camera of carlos' phone was close to your face as you started to undo his belt. the sturdy leather felt good in your hands as you got it off of his waist.

you knew that carlos has a collection of videos and photos of you, all private of course. carlos would never sell or give away those intimate images of you. it was in a safe folder on his phone, where only he could access it.

"you look beautiful." he said as he took your cheek in his hand. he chuckled when you looked up at him, your gaze was so sweet. he then tapped your lips with his finger and smiled down at you, "te extrañé." he said truthfully.

you looked up at him, your hands on the waistband of his briefs, "on my knees, i look beautiful." you giggled a little before you kissed his bulge ever so sweetly.

he replied, "you're beautiful when you smile, but you're the prettiest when my cock is in your throat" then rubbed his thumb up against your pretty lips, "i could have you in any position and you'd be the most beautiful woman in the world."

you chuckled and gazed up towards the camera, you felt the flutter in your chest as you stayed there in front of him. he loved you so much, he thought of the world about you. and it was seen in how he interacted with you.

"i can't believe you are filming me. this is always embarrassing." you can feel the heat in your cheeks as you got close to his cock once more. you pulled his briefs under his impressive size.

he patted your cheek and said lovingly, "i only do it because you're so beautiful. i want to get you from every angle. so when we're apart, i have a part of you with me." then shuddered when you wrapped your lips around his cock.

it was going to be an erotic video over all, you were just beautiful with carlos' cock in your throat. you took him so well, learning how to take down his large cock was a bit much at first. but overtime you really learned over time. you shifted on your knees and held onto his strong thighs.

you took him so pretty, the way that you sucked his cock. it was just painfully prefect. it made you shudder a little bit when he grasped the back of your head and sank you further on his impressive length.

the sounds of sex filled the air, your wet mouth around his cock. you kept a steady rhythm and he groaned a little bit from the pressure. it all felt so good that it made the blood rush in his ears.

"my beautiful girl.' he cooed, "i'll be thinking about you the entire time i'm gone. and then when i come home with that trophy, i'm going to fuck you nice and slow. feel all of your body." he shifted in his seat and held the back of your head while you orally pleasured him.

he was hunched over you as he held your head. your mouth around his cock and it made him hot all over. he could feel the leap in his heartbeat as he kept his cock in your mouth.

you were perfect for him and it made it hard for him to keep recording. but he wanted to capture this for a lifetime. you took your mouth off him and kissed the tip before you slid back down on it. it made the spanish driver shudder at the feeling.

"my beautiful, beautifil girl." he groaned a little as he continued to rut his cock up against your throat. it made his heart beat a little louder in his ears as he felt the lust in his gut.

the camera was right in your face and for a moment you glanced at it before you closed your eyes once more and continued to suck him off. you shifted in your spot a little, wanting your lover carnally. you could feel the heat in your belly.

carlos was blissed out on the couch. he could feel his heartbeat in his throat as you sucked him off. it was painfully hot, the sight of you, the feeling of you. his hand wobbled as he held the camera, almost dropping it when the pleasure got too intense.

you looked up at the camera once more and smiled a little bit. you swallowed him down dutifully, and your heart slammed into your chest.

he leaned his head back and moaned, "por favor, mi amor." then came down your throat and it was like a punch in the gut when he felt you swallow him all down. the saltiness lingered in your mouth and he could feel his heart palpitations.

he almost dropped his phone and heavily panted. he said, "my beautiful girl. i love you." before he turned off the video and put his phone to the side. he shift on the couch and felt his sweat go through his t-shirt.

you slowly took your mouth off of him and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, getting all the spit off your chin. you rested on your heels and smiled up at him.

he got his cock into his briefs the helped you onto his lap. he put his head on top of yours and sighed happily. he loved the feeling of you, "you were so pretty on your knees." he kissed the crown of your head.

you wrapped your arms around him and giggled, "thank you. you weren't too bad yourself." then looked at him to give him a kiss on the lips.

he smiled into the kiss. the video would be stored away in a little bit. somewhere safe on his phone was only for his prying eyes. because with the rest of the season coming up. he wanted to make sure he had you from every angle.

his beloved angel. <3

[asthronauta]

BEST FRIENDS FUCK EACH OTHER│Barty Crouch Jr × Male Reader [NSFW].

Summary: [Y/N] always wanted to fuck his best friend. And Barty wouldn't shut up. He had to do something about it.

Warnings: Sex with no plot, basically. Ftm (trans) male reader, use of words like pussy, clit, pussy lips and basically shameless talking about it. Unprotected sex, Blow job, Fingering, Pussy eating, Cum in mouth, Cum in pussy, Dirty talk, Begging to be filled, Use of the words good boy & bitch, Public kind of thing? Enjoy 😋

Also, [N/N] means nickname. It can be the shorter version of your name or wtv you want.

Btw, english is not my first language so there may be some errors in my writing. I'm still learning!

Barty was so fucking annoying.

Look, Hogwarts was beautiful and magical and huge but the exams were actually terrifying. You did not want to fail an exam. That's why [Y/N] found the most sought-after corner of the library to study. Which was, in fact, the place he always used to pick. A hidden table in the back plus the late hours of the night that occurred were the perfect combination to study without interruptions. Or, that's how it was supposed to be. But Barty fucking Crouch chased him. Which was actually shit because now his secret place wasn't secret anymore and now he'll have to find a new place where he could find some peace and some quiet.

Bartemius Crouch Junior. The most annoying person [Y/N] ever met and also his best friend. Yeah, that's how things worked. In first year Barty used to chase him everywhere and [Y/N] used to hide from him. Well, some things never change. — It was probably three in the morning and [Y/N] was actually worried about his exam, but Barty just wouldn't shut his mouth. It was nothing new but [Y/N] really needed for him to shut the fuck up.

Barty Junior created his own fame. - He knew perfectly well the image people had of him and he revelled in it. He knew the effect he had on people and it inflated his ego in a way he adored. No one escaped it; not even the teachers. Not even [Y/N]. — At first they were children; of course they had no feelings for each other, but as the years went by, the sexual tension grew. Because Barty fucking Crouch was just too hot and the worst thing was that he knew it perfectly well. It was fucking annoying. So [Y/N] really meant it when he blurted-

“If I suck your cock you'll shut the fuck up?”

It was the kind of proposal that if you didn't accept; it was just a joke, but if you did accept..

Barty was sitting in front of him and [Y/N] saw the look on his face when his brain registered what he said. There was a second of silence where Barty looked at him with genuine surprise. Searching in [Y/N] for a trace of it being a lie and when he didn't find it a smirk began to grow on his stupid face. And that was when [Y/N] realized everything went to hell because he was fucking serious and Barty too.

“Is that a bribe?”

The words slipped from his mouth with an air of amusement. [Y/N] had no idea why every word that came out of Barty's mouth made him utterly mad. I mean, they were supposed to be best friends. But every sound Barty made was a reason why [Y/N] wanted to sew his lips together, and that's been happening more often lately. Maybe because Barty was hooking up with more and more people and [Y/N] couldn't stand to have him around anymore. And maybe a 'please shut up' would have worked just right but [Y/N] already walked into the lion's den and oh, Barty wasn't going to let him go.

“Take it as you wish” There was no way [Y/N] was turning back now. Barty would tease him for life if he did. - He was already at the dance; now he had to dance.

Barty looked at him. Smirking. Smirking at [Y/N]'s face cause he knew he already won. “Do it, and I'll stay quiet.”

Yeah, fuck.

•

•

•

[Y/N] wasn't an angel; but he never thought he'd fuck his best friend. I mean, not that it would ever really happen. Because fuck he'd fantasized about that thousand of times. - He was always curious. Can you blame him? He was surrounded by hot people. Anyone in his place would speculate about how his classmates' dicks were like. And Barty dripped with sexual energy. And [Y/N] was just a boy.

Barty was no longer sitting but standing, leaning on the table, looking down at [Y/N] who was kneeling on the library floor. Fuck, what the hell was he doing? he was on his knees about to suck his best friend's cock and he was getting so wet already. And Barty still had all his clothes on. He was literally salivating as he undid Barty's belt - he didn't know he wanted this that much.

Barty didn't say a word. Finally what [Y/N] wanted but fuck he was so nervous he needed Barty to say something stupid. - He had no idea what was going through Bartemius' mind and his own kept going at the speed of light as he undid the zip of Barty's pants, finally catching a glimpse of his underwear. — He was avoiding Barty's eyes but he could tell he was looking at him. At his every move. And he thought he saw a slight, almost invisible blush on the other boy's cheeks.

He was nervous as fuck but Barty didn't have to know that. So when his pants were off [Y/N] was quick to pull down Barty's underwear in one go. And Jesus Christ Barty was big. And hard. So hard it was already standing in front of his face as if his cock was fucking pointing at him. — Fuck, he has a good one [Y/N] bit his lip to prevent that unforgivable phrase from leaving his mouth. - It was thick and looked fucking heavy. His pussy soaked, staining his underwear. He could feel the wetness between his pressed together thighs. As if his body knew that maybe that thing would enter him soon and that made him blush so damn much because fuck he wanted that thing in his pussy-

He took it in his hand, first. He heard the way Barty gasped and how his body tensed and it sent a shiver down his spine. He began to stroke. Up and down. From the tip to the base. His eyes trailing over the tattoo on Barty's hip that ran down to his cock; a snake. Feeling the soft skin on his palm and the veins. Squeezing. Feeling how hard the muscle was. “Yes, just like that” Barty muttered and [Y/N] swallowed the saliva that was gathering in his mouth. He never heard that tone in Barty's voice before and it was doing things to him. — Eventually Barty began to buck his hips against [Y/N]'s hand, fucking that tight, warm grip around his length. [Y/N] was having trouble since he was mesmerized by the scene in front of him so Barty reached down, encircling [Y/N]'s wrist with his hand and keeping his grip still as he fucked it. Barty groaned. [Y/N] could feel the way the muscle tensed and the veins stood out. “Fuck... That's it.. you're good with that little hand of yours” [Y/N] almost groaned at that.

“Barty, fuck” he moaned. Almost pitifully. Because he couldn't believe his best friend was saying those nasty things to him. And he was being a slut for it. There was no words to describe it just fuck. It felt so fucking wrong but also so damn good. — Barty began to move faster. His breathing quickening. As if he wanted to cum. His grip on [Y/N]'s wrist tightened and [Y/N] didn't care to tell him to stop. Because fuck he didn't want him to stop. “Ah, yes, fuck... You're gonna make me cum soon” Barty gasped. [Y/N] sighed. Tempted to rub himself against something because his already soaked pussy was crying out for some attention. He could feel how damn sensitive his clit got.

Barty was close. That thought gave him chills because he could see it. Right in front of him. And it was him who was giving Barty that pleasure. It was him that Barty was so eager for. [Y/N] could see how Barty's swollen, red cocktip bobbed in and out of his fist. Moving tantalizingly closer and then away from his face. He had a close-up of how the tip became wetter and wetter, leaking with precum that eventually ran down to his hand and then to the floor. “Wait” he gasped. Fuck. It must be salty, he thought. He didn't give a fuck. He couldn't let Barty's cum on the floor. It was his; he was causing it. He couldn't let it on the floor. “I want it in my mouth”

“Atta boy” Barty growled and [Y/N] almost came. He leaned down, closing his eyes dreamily before taking the wet tip into his mouth. “Ah, fuck” Barty hissed, feeling every swirl and suck as [Y/N] lapped his precum. One of his hands held tight on the edge of the table while the other found its way to [Y/N]'s hair. Squeezing the strands between his fingers. Getting a proper grip that left the other boy's head immobile; just so Barty could move freely. - He pushed the rest of his cock into that eager mouth. Well-, half. Cause Barty didn't get to sink completely when he felt his cockhead hit the back of [Y/N]'s throat. “Oh yes fuck” Barty gasped, looking down to find [Y/N]'s eyes looking up at him. “Mhm.. this is what you wanted, right?” He hummed as he began to move slowly. Tentatively bumping against the back of [Y/N]'s throat, gradually sinking deeper. “Fuck [N/N], I can't believe I'm fucking your mouth” [Y/N] sighed on Barty's cock at that. The fact that Barty was using his nickname only made him feel guiltier and hornier.

He was trying; relaxing his throat, letting Barty dictate the pace. He didn't want to disappoint him. That morning they were having breakfast with Reg and Evan; as they had been doing for years. Who would have thought that by the end of the day Barty would be fucking his mouth. — [Y/N] closed his eyes; and Barty saw it as a sign to let go. He began to fuck his mouth properly; urging, pushing [Y/N]'s head closer as his hips moved in and out of that wet mouth. “Fuck yes, take it” he hissed, pressing his lips together. Frowning as he felt himself getting closer to cumming in his best friend's mouth. “Fuck [N/N], you're making me fucking close for you, fuck... ” he was trying to keep his voice down; although the library was empty the place echoed and maybe a fucking prefect would come to spoil his little fun here. “Yes.. you like that, don't you? Having me deep into that pretty little mouth of yours,” He looked down, only to chuckle when he saw [Y/N]'s helpless face as he choked on his cock. “Fuck, look at you... I didn't know you were such a slut for my cock, [N/N].”

He began to pound, holding [Y/N]'s head with both hands as he hit the back of his throat over and over. His balls hitting [Y/N]'s chin every time. “Fuck [N/N] I'm cumming inside your mouth-” Barty cried before he came. Moaning as he pressed [Y/N]'s head hard against his pelvis. Squeezing his locks as he began to feel the spurts coming out, hitting the back of [Y/N]'s throat as he filled his mouth up. “Oh yes oh fuck” he cried as he stayed still. Letting every drop out deep into [N/N]'s mouth.

Barty's cock slipped out [Y/N]'s soaked, swollen lips only when he made sure [Y/N] swallowed it all. [N/N] coughed, gasping for air. Drool dripping down his chin. Eyes tearing and the messiest Barty had ever seen him. Barty came in his mouth. Barty came in his mouth and he swallowed it all as the slut he was for his thick cock. He couldn't believe he just did that. He couldn't believe he let things go to hell like that. What the fuck did he just do? There was no turning back after this. His friendship with Barty would never be the same again.

“Fucking hell [N/N]” Barty chuckled. Triumphant smile on his face. As if he didn't give a damn about what just happened. “I didn't know you had such a dirty little mouth there, fuck.. I came so hard for you” he grabbed his spend cock shamelessly. Stroking it lazily as he stared at [Y/N]'s helpless form. Trying to catch his breath. A sticky mess between his legs. Barty's smile grew bigger. “Now what's up, [N/N]? Did the mice eat your tongue? It was me the one supposed to keep quiet”

“Shut up Barty”

“That's my boy” Barty approved as he watched [Y/N] stand back up, Barty quickly wrapping an arm around his lower back and pulling him into a hungry kiss. Saliva, tongue, teeth and the salty taste of Barty's cum in between. Muffled moans from both of them and Barty's thick snake pressing against [Y/N]. “Barty” [Y/N] moaned against his mouth. Not stopping kissing for a second. His arms wrapped helplessly around Barty's neck while his were wrapped around [Y/N] as well. “Ah- Barty-” He gasped his name like a mantra. Unable to believe what that name meant now; the name of the man he was so eager for. The man he needed so bad. No longer the name of his best friend but the name of the person he wanted to be pounded dumb by on the library table. “Barty please-”

“What do you want baby?” Barty muttered against his mouth. Tight grip on the other boy's waist. “Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you”

“Want you-” He gasped. Barty's mouth was too good to let go. “Want you in my pussy Barty please fuck me.”

[Y/N] felt the vibration against his mouth as Barty groaned deeply. As if those words awakened something wild in him. “You want that?” He tested, speaking between kisses. Catching the other's lip between his teeth. “Mhmm, I can do that for you, baby, but you have to promise me something” He pulled away to look at him. Green eyes dark, deep. He cupped [Y/N]'s face with one hand; it wasn't tender, it was rather possessive. Firm. Squeezing his cheeks. “Once I get into that tight little pussy of yours, there won't be turning back, baby” he said, shaking his head as he spoke “I won't stop 'til I cum deep inside. Nowhere else, yeah? Just deep inside your pussy. Is that alright? Are you okay with that?”

And how could he refuse such a generous offer?

He nodded. Heart eyes on Barty. “That's a good boy” he said, letting go of him “Now be a sweetheart and bent over on the table for me. I want to pound that slutty pussy from behind” [N/N] did. Because at this point he would do anything for Barty. — Barty pushed his pants down carelessly. Baring [Y/N]'s ass and needy pussy to the air. “Oh, look at that” Barty mockered, [Y/N]'s face turned red. “You're leaking wet for me [N/N]” Barty's hand shamelessly wandered down there and tested the slit, his fingertips gliding easily over the lubricated area. [Y/N]'s whole body trembled. Letting out a shaky, needy gasp. Barty didn't stop. Tracing up and down until suddenly pushing one finger inside. “Holly shit” Barty cursed over [Y/N]'s moan because he took that finger way too fucking good. Sliding in easily like a wet, slick little mouth - his cock spasmed with interest. “Fucking shit [N/N] you took that finger so fucking good baby” he praised, feeling how [N/N] throbbed and squeezed around his finger “You're a wet little bitch, aren't you?” he purred. Biting his lip as he moved his finger in and out, watching as [Y/N]'s wetness soaked his ring. Getting out of him those tiny little moans he liked. He slipped out; sucking his finger clean. “Mhm, that cherry tastes good” he hummed. So damn naughty. [Y/N]'s face was bright red and he couldn't do anything but let Barty use his body. “Need to have a taste of that before going in, don't you think?”

[Y/N] could hear the smirk on Barty's face; he didn't need to see him. He was about to turn to look as him but he didn't manage to when he felt Barty's face buried deep in his ass. Tongue lapping at his pussy juices. He moaned, a moan that echoed in the empty library and stirred the candlelight. His head abruptly turning forward again. Staring into nothingness as he felt Barty devour him. “Barty-!” his gasp died in a shaky cry, feeling how Barty fucking Crouch caught his pussy lips between his lips. Sucking them. Gently biting them— He was in heaven, with the stars and the moon. Barty was eating him like he meant it. Tongue moving everywhere. Lapping at his sloppy hole, guitar-playing with his clit. He could fucking feel the metal of Barty's tongue piercing on his pussy and he was about to-

Barty pulled away. [Y/N] almost cried at that. He was about to protest when he suddenly felt Barty's thick, wet tip resting against his hole. “Barty-” he gasped. Okay, this was really happening. “I'm going to fuck you” Barty groaned. An statement; not a question. [Y/N] sighed almost in fear. Barty was there; just one move away from penetrating him and fucking him bareback. Of crossing a line from which they could not return. — Barty was holding his heavy cock aligned with [Y/N]'s helpless pussy hole. Stroking it. His other hand teasing his balls lightly. He was fully hard again already. Leaking. [Y/N] could feel the swollen tip pressing just a tiny bit in. He fucking mewled. Barty's leaking cockhead was splitting his tender lips apart. He needed him inside.

“Barty- Barty please, you're killing–”

The words choked in his throat as Barty plunged his cock all the way in.

“Fucking take it” [Y/N] let out a pitiful moan. Almost a whimper. As Barty took a hold of his hips. Starting to roll his almost desperately from the start. “Oh you fucking tight bitch you're squeezing me like crazy” Barty groaned, pounding. His balls slapping against [Y/N]'s untouched clit. [Y/N] was speechless. Not even moaning at first as he felt the slight burn and huge presence of Barty in his pussy. His legs were weak - it was thick. So thick. He could feel it stretching him so much he couldn't help but clench around it. Barty was being so damn rough; no mercy for his tender pussy that was taking him so deep. “Yes-” [Y/N]'s little moan went unnoticed under the thuds that echoed through the place.

“You're not letting me go, are you? Fuck, you're slick as hell baby-” Barty moaned. Biting his lip as he threw his head back. Closing his eyes and enjoying the feeling of fucking that small, slippery pussy for a second. Barty knew he was big but [Y/N] was fucking tight. Squeezing his cock like he wanted to fucking suffocate him. A tiny, slippery tunnel that Barty was ravaging. “Fuck, look at us” he said, looking back down to see how [N/N]'s pussy hole was stretched open around his thick cock. Swallowing it all like the good boy he was. Letting Barty go balls deep with every plunge. “You're taking me so good baby fuck you were made for me [N/N]” He licked his lips, saliva leaking from his mouth. His eyes locked on their union. On the way his cock moved in and out of that welcoming cunt. “Fuck, I can't believe I'm fucking your pussy” he shivered, thrusts getting messier. “Fuck [N/N] I'm fucking fucking you.- fuck” Barty leaned down. Pressing his chest on [Y/N]'s back as he pounded deeper. One hand palm open on the table and the other holding tightly to [Y/N]'s hip. Keeping him in place. - His lips searched for [Y/N]'s lips with closed eyes and found them. Tongues dancing as Barty didn't stop his rhythm.

“So good” Barty gasped “Fuck, so good. Your pussys so good” he hummed against [Y/N]'s ear, pounding impossibly deep and hard. Getting little 'ah, ah, ah's out of [Y/N] with every thrust. “Barty-” “[N/N]” Barty moaned back as he pounded against [Y/N]'s arched back. Holding him impossibly close. “Beg for me baby, beg for my cock” he moaned helplessly, leaning down to nip and suck at [Y/N]'s neck as he relentlessly pounded into him.

“Barty please” He blurted messily. Feeling like his clit rubbed against the edge of the table. Swollen and unattended. But he wasn't going to touch it. His clit was burning with need but he wanted to cum just from Barty's cock alone. And he was close already. He could feel it. And he could also feel Barty's cock throbbing and leaking inside. He was going to come. “Please- Inside. Not pulling out, fuck, Barty. Please fill me up-”

Barty let out a low, dark chuckle from the back of his throat against the skin of [Y/N]'s neck. Pulling away. Standing again as he looked down at him. “You want every last bit of me inside that cute little hungry pussy of yours, don't you?” he asked with a low, dangerous tone. Hands gripping [Y/N]'s waist almost painfully as he began to hammer again. “You'll have it.. mhmm fuck yes I'm cumming inside you”

“Oh god fucking thank you,” [Y/N] cried. Legs shaking as he was so damn close.

“Oh yes that's a good boy, you like having your best friend's cock pounding your pussy don't you? Fuck I'm coming-” Barty gasped. He was a mess. He could feel his swollen tip hitting the bottom of [Y/N]'s insides and it was just too much. He squeezed [Y/N] tight as he began to pound fucking deep. The table shaking. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, baby, baby I'm coming- oh, oh fuck, fuck fuck fuck-” Barty moaned pitifully before burying himself all the way in. As deep as he could go. His body pressed against [Y/N]'s. “Inside-” he managed to cry as he began to unload. Thick, heavy spurts of creamy babies began to shoot out with each spasm of his cock, deep inside that pussy. “Oh shit” he whimpered as if he was in pain; body tense and stiff as his thick load was planted. Letting out a muffled moan the moment he felt [Y/N] cumming just as his cum began to fill him. Milking him.

The moment Barty finished unloading his body fell exhausted on top of [Y/N]. Breathing hard against the skin of his back. Where he planted a kiss when he finally caught his breath. “...Fuck”

“Fuck indeed” [Y/N] sighed. Finally regaining his voice after a while. Both their chests rose and fell, having exhausted all their stamina. Especially Barty who could feel himself getting flaccid inside [Y/N]'s slippery hole.

“I came... so fucking hard” Barty mumbled. Hands still on [Y/N]'s waist. Holding him firmly close. As if he wanted to cuddle. He was a big baby. [Y/N] rolled his eyes.

“Me too” he shifted a little. Feeling all the stuffing that Barty just pumped into him.

“We should do this every day, [N/N]” Barty chuckled a little. Humming after. His cock tender and soft now. Letting the liquid drip down his balls and [Y/N]'s thighs. Cheek still pressed against [Y/N]'s back. “...I think I may love you”

“Fuck... shut up, Barty.” Barty pouted.

[insidekatmind]

Between desire and regret-Vinicius jr.

Wearning: mention of sex, english is not my first language.

The music was beating in your timpani, vibrating in sync with your heart. The dress you wore was definitely short, more like a provocation than a dress. You felt the looks on you, but you didn’t care. The alcohol in your veins made you feel invincible, and every step on the dance floor was a cry for freedom. You laughed with your friends, their voices overpowered by the fast rhythm.

At one point, as you lost yourself in the movements of your body, a shadow approached. You recognized him immediately: Vinícius Jr., with that mischievous smile on his face and the eyes that shone with defiance.

"Have you fun?" he say over the music, getting close enough to make you smell her.

"Very much," you replied, continuing to dance without stopping staring.

"So did I," he replied with a smile that made you feel your cheeks burning. Before you knew it, his hands were on your hips, and you moved together, the rest of the world gone.

Your bodies came ever closer together. Every touch, every contact seemed to set the air on fire between you. Then it happened: his lips on yours. You let go completely, forgetting who he was, forgetting everything.

---

When you opened your eyes the next morning, everything was confused. Your head was pounding with a throbbing pain, your throat looked like sandpaper, and your legs were heavy as lead. You looked around, trying to figure out where you were. It wasn’t your room.

Then you saw him. Vinícius was lying next to you, the sheet covering his hips, his hair ruffled and that predator smile printed on his face and especially his abs in plain sight.

"Good morning," he said in a husky voice, evidently amused by your bewildered look.

"What happened?" whispers, the voice a thread broken by sore throat.

"Do you not remember?" he asked, his head tilting and staring with those damned deep eyes.

"I remember... dancing..." you replied slowly, as fragmented images flared up in your mind. His hands on your hips, his lips on yours, your skin touching... your groans... you praying to Vinicius for more

You took a hand to your forehead, mentally cursing yourself. Of all people, he!

"Ah, now remember," commented Vinícius, the smile that widened as he approached you. "You had fun last night, I can guarantee it."

"I can’t believe I did..." you mumbled, trying to cover your face with your hands.

But he was faster. He took your wrists softly, lowering his hands to look you in the eyes. "Hey," he muttered, his voice strangely sweet. She brought your hands to her lips and kissed them gently.

"You don’t have to be ashamed," he added, the tone of someone who knows that you’re in control. "You were great last night. You are amazing."

His gaze was so intense that you felt tremble. You wanted to protest, tell him it wouldn’t happen again, that he was arrogant and unbearable, but the words stuck in his throat.

"Vinícius, I can’t believe I just gave in to you," you confessed at the end, feeling your cheeks turn hot.

He laughed softly, the deep sound that made you shiver. "Are you the one who gave in to me? Or were we both victims of the same desire?"

I was speechless, my heart beating as he came closer still. " I promise not to take advantage of your regret," he said with a mischievous smile. "But know that I will not forget you easily."

And as he stared at you, you knew he was right. Neither would you.

[princessmisery666]

Best Con Ever

Summary: It’s all fun and games until the truth is revealed.

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: fluff, drinking, silly stuff, Jared being an annoyingly good friend (seriously, he wouldn't shut up!). 

W/C: 2,381.

Characters: Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, Alexander Calvert, Richard Richard Speight Jr.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x fem!Reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

Challenge/Bingo: @jacklesversebingo Prompt/Square Filled: Making fun of one another 

Notes: Jensen is a single pringle for this one! 

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch // all mistakes are mine.

Graphics: dividers - @talesmaniac89 / picture in title card - @lemondropsonice - they were kind enough to grant permission to use when I asked.

Master Lists: Dean Winchester / Main

The special fan event is going so well. The intro includes party games, such as Pin the Wings on the Angel and Bowling with the Devil. The pins have pictures of demons from each season taped to them. There’s also a drinking game with “apple juice” because Jensen and Jared keep insisting “Jack” - Alex - isn’t old enough to drink yet. You’re a little buzzed, but it helps ease your nerves. 

“Ah, you said Supernatural!” Alex exclaims, pointing at Jared, and the audience collectively yells, “DRINK!”

Shots of apple juice that smell suspiciously like whiskey this time get passed around until the four of you have one, and then, as one, you shoot them back.

“Woo,” Jensen yells, sucking his teeth as he turns his back to the audience and looks at you. “Don’t let me fall over.”

“Only if you do the same for me,” you laugh. 

“I got you.” He turns to the audience again but puts his arm around your waist and pulls you into his side. 

Of course, the audience immediately awws and gasps. “Oh shhh, you lot,” Jensen playfully scolds, “I’m just holding her up.”

“Wouldn’t want her falling now, would we?” Jared says. “Unless it's for you. Ba-dum-tss.”

He gets nothing from the band. The drummer shakes his head.

“Oh, come on!” He complains. “That was good!”

This is your first event since joining the show at the end of season eleven, but it is not the first time a potential off-screen romance has been mentioned. You have seen videos of panels where fans have asked the question, and you and Jensen have each been approached by fans on the street. With Jensen’s arm wrapped firmly around you, you are sure you can get through it without making a fool of yourself.

Jensen has been a wonderful source of support from the beginning. You had been nervous about how the fans would react because you replaced the wonderful Megalyn Echikunwoke as Cassie Robinson, Dean’s love interest from way back in season one. The inconsistencies in appearance had been loosely explained, and it was somewhat plausible in the world of Supernatural, but that didn’t bother you so much. Being Dean’s love interest was what worried you the most. The fans are so protective, and rightfully so.

“They’re going to love you,” Jensen had said when you aired your concerns. “Just like I…we do.”

He was right. The reception to the reintroduction of Cassie couldn’t have gone better. The fans loved it and accepted you and Cassie Robinson with open arms. You’d read some comments, heard second-hand from producers, and when the fans started an online petition - for fun - to get you and Jensen to date in real life after seeing behind-the-scenes footage, Jared dubbed himself the President of the “Jensen and Y/N should be a couple IRL” club.

You and Jensen played along with it. It helped ratings, and it wasn’t a chore to have Mr Ackles’ undivided attention at parties and dinners to play up to the rumors. But that's all it is: rumors. The two of you are close, on and off set, but whereas Cassie and Dean are super hot, you and Jensen are lukewarm. Hugging Jensen - though it happens often - unfortunately doesn’t lead to sex like it would with Cassie and Dean.

Richard announces it's time for the fan questions and asks those selected to form an orderly queue behind the microphone. Though the questions have been pre-approved, you get a wave of anxiety as you don’t know what they will be, and you hope this portion of the event goes as well as the rest of the day. A fan asks how your first meeting with the cast went, and you look sheepishly at Jensen. 

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes but sighs in defeat. “Fine, you can tell it.”

“Better yet, reenact it!” Jared suggests. 

Your eyes light up with something akin to glee, and Jensen raises his brow and doesn’t need to ask the question in his eyes, ‘Really?’. You pout, bottom lip sticking out as far as it will go. “Please,” you draw out.

Reluctantly, making a show of it, and very slowly, Jensen gets to his feet, leaning closer to pretend to nip at your protruding lip. 

Jared shakes his arms out as he stands up, “I’ll play Y/N.” 

“The hell you will,” Jensen says, playfully pushing him out of the way. “Y/N will play herself.”

Jared comically falls over his chair to the ground as if Jensen’s push was twice the pressure it had actually been. 

You stand up in front of Jensen and wait for the laughing audience to quiet down. Jared stands straight and holds his microphone close to his mouth. “It was a bright winter morning, not a cloud in the sky,” he narrates in a poor impression of David Attenborough’s voice. “The beautiful and elusive beast, Jensen Ackles, notices a radiant creature across the lot. Slowly, he approaches…”

Jensen shakes his head at the crowd and rolls his whole head along with his eyes but obliges the narrator. He walks the few steps and shakes your hand with way too much enthusiasm. “Hi, I’m Batman. Dean. Ackles. I mean …” he groans, trying to dismiss his embarrassment, then blushes and says, “Hi.”

You laugh again, as does everyone else. Jensen grimaces just as he did on the day. “I’m going to walk into the sun now, sorry.” he strides around you to the end of the stage, and Jared steps up to take his place. 

Jared shakes your hand like a normal person. “Translation, that’s Jensen, for I think I just fell in love with you.” 

Jensen, with his back to the two of you, throws a thumbs-up over his head. “It went exactly like that!” Jensen confirms, nodding and shrugging as he makes his way back to his seat. “And now that we’ve all relived my embarrassment, let's move on.”

The microphone gets passed to the next person, and they ask, “Jared and Jensen are known for their pranks. Have they played any on you, Y/N?” 

“Oh yes!” you answer as Jensen takes his seat beside you and squeezes your knee. “I’m hanging like twenty feet in the air,” you begin.

“That’s like three Jared’s,” Richard adds, pointing to Jared on his left.

“Exactly,” you laugh, spreading your arms and legs out in a star to show the position you were in. “I’m full on Mission Impossible Tom Cruise-ing it, three Jared’s high off the ground, and the camera breaks.” 

The audience reacts with grimaces and chuckles. 

“They tell us it will be like ten minutes, and being the awesome trooper she is,” Jensen continues, flashing you a sweet smile. “She agrees to stay up there while they fix it.”

“Of course, it takes longer than ten minutes, so Jensen and I get bored!” Jared laughs, evilly rubbing his hands together.

“First of all, they decide to rub salt in the wound,” you shake your head, laughing at the memory. “They start doing lunges and star jumps, bragging about how comfortable and free they are.”

Jared and Jensen reenact their exercises, doing over-exaggerated lunges and squats, to laughter and catcalls.

“Stop it,” you say, around almost uncontrollable laughter. “You’ll split your pants.”

“Hey, watch it,” Jensen warns, pointing a finger, “my ass is not that big!” 

“Your ass is just fine,” you smirk, the audience agreeing with whoops and hollers.

“You're not so bad yourself,” Jensen counters, winking.

“Hey, hey,” Richard chides, shouting over the raucous audience. “This is a family show.”

“ANYWAY,” Jared says loudly. “Then we used her as target practice, trying to throw Skittles in her mouth.” 

“Let me tell you, at speed, those things are like bullets.” You explain, “I swear they chipped a tooth!”

“I’ll pay for any dental work,” Jensen confirms with a slight nod. “And to answer the question, Jared and I messed with the camera. We knew she’d get stuck up there.”

You shove his shoulder, and he teeters to one side before purposely overcorrecting himself so he’s lying across your lap. 

“We still need to get him back for that one,” Alex reminds you.

Jensen scoffs, rising to sit up again. “You tried and failed. Give it up.”

You and Alex simultaneously declare, “Never!” 

“Alex and I decided to team up and get them back,” you explain to the audience.

“They tried to get me,” Jensen says, “but Jared caught them, and he told me so it didn’t work. But they managed to get Jared,” Jensen begins laughing, unable to continue the story.

“All Y/N’s idea,” Alex insists, pretending to edge away from Jared.

Jared shakes his head, tongue sitting in the pocket of his cheek while he tries to look disgruntled but can’t hide the smile he tries to contain.

“It was genius,” Jensen manages around huffs of laughter. 

“We got the wardrobe department to take in his shirts and shorten his pants a little each day for a month,” Alex says. “But it only took two weeks before he started complaining about gaining weight and growing taller.”

Jensen’s laughter stops, his demeanor turning completely serious. “I cannot tell you how annoying he was about it!”

“I wasn’t that bad,” Jared protests. 

“Dude, you were bad!” Jensen counters, “You were googling if you could have a growth spurt after thirty. It’s all you talked about for two weeks. It was so annoying!” 

“That’s me, Jared Annoying Padalecki,” he says. Then has a lightbulb moment, or perhaps a whiskey-inspired one, and jumps off the stage. Everyone laughs as they watch him cheekily shove to the front of the question queue, dropping to his knees. 

“Hi, I’m Gen from Texas, and this is for Jensen,” he says in a higher pitched voice than anyone would expect could come out of the giant of a man. “I would like to know what your favorite scene to film was from the last season. And why is it the sex scene with Y/N from episode three?”

Jensen closes his eyes, face scrunched and lips pursed in mock annoyance as he flips Jared off.

“What a great question, Gen,” you chuckle, turning to stare at Jensen. “It was definitely one of my favorite scenes to film.”

“It was a fun day,” Jensen agrees. “Usually, sex scenes are super awkward and embarrassing, but it wasn’t. I mean, who wouldn’t want to spend a day in the back of Baby with all this,” he gestures toward Y/N, “on top of you.”

Jared gets to his feet, using a fan's shoulder to hoist himself up, and then bends to reach the microphone. “Follow-up question,” Jared begins, “this time for Y/N. Are you free for dinner tonight? Asking for a friend.” 

“Oh, for a friend,” you say, leaning to look around Jensen and at Alex. “Well, in that case, I’m free anytime, Mr Calvert.” you wink. 

Jensen leans forward, pointing a warning finger at him, “No!” 

“Urgh, Alex,” Jared groans, using a long leg to step back onto the stage, “you’re such a troublemaker!”

The next fan is given the microphone. “So it’s been twelve seasons; what mementos have you taken from the set?”

“Funny you should mention that,” Jared answers immediately, then sings, “Jensen’s in trouble. He stole the infamous demon Dean's red shirt.” 

Jensen throws his hands up, shaking his head. “I did not! I don't know who did, but it wasn't me.” 

Jared rolls his eyes. “So some ghost took it out of your trailer?” 

“Maybe,” Jensen shrugs. “This is Supernatural.” 

The drummer immediately punctuates his response, the hiss of the snare still echoing as Jared stands up in protest. But the audience is too quick, and they yell, “DRINK!” 

“You lot are a bad influence,” Jensen tells them as you all make your way to the drinks table at the back of the stage.

You hold your microphone down while Richard pours the shots. Leaning closer to Jensen, you ask, “Are you really in trouble because of it?”

Jensen scoffs, “No, of course not. But they need it for a photo shoot, and they want to auction it off for charity. They’ve been on my ass for weeks.”

“Oh.” 

“Oh?” Jensen asks, very much channeling Dean in his expression. “Do you know something about it?” 

You wince, trying to feign innocence, but it's no good. You know you’ve been caught out, and you’ll have to give it back. “I took it,” you confess.

“What? Why?” 

You can’t think of a lie quick enough. So with a nonchalant shrug, that's all for show because you don’t feel it at all, you admit, “I like it. It's a nice shirt to sleep in, and it smells like you.”

“If you want something that smells like me, you can have me!” Jensen blurts out loud enough that the mics lowered at your sides pick it up.

The fans erupt, screaming and shouting. They get to their feet and clap. Alex and Jared talk over each other, but it all becomes white noise as you stare at Jensen, who stares back. 

“Screw it,” he says, and you're the only one who hears it. But everyone sees him take a small step into your space and place a gentle kiss on your lips. He pulls back enough to look at you for any reaction, and when you lightly smile, he slips a hand down your cheek and draws you in closer for a deeper kiss this time. 

The crowd goes wild. Your ears will be ringing for days.

Jensen keeps the kiss PG13, but you go as far as wrapping a hand around the back of his neck. It ends too soon, but you remind yourself that you are being watched. He leans back, smiling happily. “Sorry if that was out of line.”

“The only thing that was out of line was how long it took you to do that.” 

He shrugs one shoulder, tongue sitting behind his teeth. “Sorry.”

Jared tries to get control of the audience, but it doesn’t work. Jensen walks to the edge of the stage and holds up a hand, silencing them with the simple gesture. 

Once it's quiet enough, he smiles, boyish and wide. “Best. Con. Ever.”

Master Lists: Dean Winchester / Main

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[f1version]

hi! can i request a short fic with “you could’ve died, you know?” from the angst prompt list with carlos sainz jr 🥹

DESPAIR ★ CS55

pairing: carlos sainz jr. x gf! fem! reader

summary: carlos is reckless on track, burning frustration gets the best of you in the aftermath.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, crash, aftermath, mentions of slight muscle injury, mention of not feeling enough (not reader), fighting, mentions of death, mentions of carlos’ crash in sochi 2015.

word count: 805

notes: i don’t think it’s that angsty but it is, and it hurted ( i was really feeling it )

general masterlist ★ 1k special

Reckless. Narcissistic. Absurd.

About fifteen minutes ago, Carlos had been described by those adjectives. Because fifteen minutes ago, unease filled your chest when Carlos' car had been smashed into the barriers. There were fifteen seconds of utter shock, fifteen seconds of quiet wait, and fifteen seconds of grief.

Now you walked in circles in your boyfriend's room, waiting for him to arrive. You were angry but also wanted to touch him, to confirm that he was okay, that Carlos truly didn’t suffer major injuries in the crash.

When the door clicks open, the dark-haired man emerges, icepack in his left hand, pressing it on his right shoulder. A bandage was curled over his right wrist. You felt your head spin.

He’s okay. You can see he’s okay.

“Hey, miss me?” He greets and looking into his eyes you know you’re not the only one drowning in frustration, the anxiety within you is the only differentiator.

Whatever.

“What was that?” you want to scream, but you just say. “What was going through your mind to think going into a non-existing outside was a good idea?”

“Mierda, you can’t be serious. There was space!” He protests, he knows he’s wrong.

Stubborn.

“Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England!” You mock “Really, Carlos, tell me what was going on because that was nonsense”

He laughs, dry and infuriated.

“Nonsense is what it’s coming out of your mouth, mi amor,” He says bitterly, icepack thrown somewhere on the sofa. “I’m here to race, it’s not my fault some of them don’t know how to do it!”

For fuck’s sake.

“Carlos, can you stop?” Your voice trembles, anger building “Just stop being too fucking reckless because it will end you”

“Oh, I’m reckless!” He spits out “Should stop racing, then? Fuck everything because of a superficial crash?”

“That was not a superficial crash Carlos, you know it!” You scream, wanting to cry.

“I feel perfect!”

 “You could have died, you know?!”

“I rather that than not giving enough!” He yells back.

“But you-” Exasperation “You- Fuck!”

Both of you go silent. Your eyes no longer meet, not when you notice the tears falling from the other's eyes. Carlos grabs the icepack and sits down on the couch, hands on his knees, eyes fixated on the floor. You turn around, hands on your face, trying your best to sweep away the tears.

You could feel the anger— no, the frustration, from both sides. But there was another feeling hanging in between, one that made your lungs hurt, tears fall and eyes shut. It was burning, hot, and cold.

Despair.

That’s what it was. Because not knowing what to say was maddening. Because not feeling enough took the air out of his lungs. Because the insinuation of death made you travel to that day in Sochi when both of you thought you had lost it all. When he was milliseconds away from that barrier, praying to come back into your arms. When you were in Barcelona, waiting for calls that never seemed to arrive. 

“Mi vida” You heard him say after a couple of minutes. “Can you please come here?”

Your mind hesitates, but your body is already turning around, walking towards him, stopping centimeters away from him.

Your eyes meet, he inhales despair but you exhale answers. That’s all you need.

Looking up at you, his hands travel to the back of your thighs, bringing you closer, letting his head fall into your belly. Your hands play with his messy hair, a small piece of gravel finding your fingers, and you flinch.

“Carlos” He looks up “I love you”

Big brown eyes soften a sad connotation within them. His right-hand cups your face, and the other one holds your waist, pulling. You sit next to him.

“I’m sorry,” He says, his hands with yours “I’m sorry for being reckless, I just- It’s just a lot”

“I know,” You say, and it’s true. Driving in F1 has never been easy, no matter the team, the pressure of not knowing could bring the worst out of an athlete. Talking about feelings has never been easy, but you both try your best “I’m sorry for getting so angry, I just worry for you”

“I know,” He says. “Thank you for worrying”

You take a moment to look at him, at his shoulder, his wrist, his face, the crash. There’s a thought, an alteration of the one before each race. What if he didn’t come back?

“You are enough, Carlitos, I want you to know that”

“Thank you”

Softly, your arms circle his waist and your face is buried in his neck, his hands find your back. That burning feeling starts to fade.

“I love you,” He says as he presses a kiss to your head. “I’m always coming back, no matter what. Lo prometo”

[rei-ismyname]

X-Men #10 Review

Raid on Graymalkin is over with a return to status quo ante bellum, at least for the Alaskan team's roster. That was just one incident in a cold war, and as Cyclops predicted, consequences come in the form of the O*N*E. Lundqvist and his fuckboys are using the raid as a casus belli. It's a siege, and aside from a few oddities it's the best issue yet.

The civilians and support staff ready for war

X-Men #10 follows on directly from Raid on Graymalkin with the O*N*E coming to punish the X-Men for stepping out of line. It's not entirely clear how much collaboration there is between Graymalkin (a private prison) and the O*N*E (a federal agency) but Ellis called it in and Lundqvist responded. Every agency seems to have a mutant office, though it's implied that their budgets have been gutted since Krakoa left this dimension. Over in Mystique, Nick Fury Jr is on SHIELD's mutant desk, but it's literally just him. This plot development was solicited and setup so it's good to see it being taken seriously. Uncanny is a different kind of book but their Sentinel attack was accidental - it explicitly treated Raid on Graymalkin as if it didn't happen. Actions need consequences and they've come to Merle l, Alaska.

In Scott's absence, Magneto is in charge and he orders everyone except him and Xorn to evacuate in their Helicarrier. That escaping by air is incredibly dangerous against a foe with local air superiority might be the first hint that he's not thinking clearly. Ben Liu and Jennifer Starkey, the 3K mutants, both object to Magneto's 'blaze of glory' plan in different ways. Ben calls him out as wanting to die though he doesn't exactly condemn him for it. He's staying and he'll use his untested reality warping power to do whatever he can. Jen appeals to Xorn as a healer and he says 'I save lives however I can but I don't tell people how to spend them.'

I've been vocal AF about how much I hate R-LDS, and that hasn't changed, but it's good to see it play out in escalating character beats. Mags' powers are still there, he just doesn't have control over it. Considering the global damage and godly feats he's capable of intentionally, the devastation he could wreak unintentionally could destroy the planet. He's always been willing to die for the cause, but here he's seeking it. That says a lot about where he's at mentally and I look forward to seeing where that goes.

I assume they were delayed picking up Quentin

Magneto's mental health issues will have to wait for a future issue, because the cavalry is here and he does not have permission to die, dammit! Scott has a plan, as ever, letting the old man know that Hellions Protocols went online twenty minutes ago. The main event begins as Lundqvist agrees to talk, after some posturing. This negotiation takes up the rest of the issue, but I appreciate taking the time to check in on the support staff and how they respond to stress.

I'm not sure why Lundqvist would agree to this tbh, or why he'd accept the Factory as the place to talk. It's not a neutral location at all and if the situation turns hot he's either dead or a hostage. He's certainly been more reasonable than previous leaders of the O*N*E, and he did end up as an intermediary between the X-Men and whoever he reports to last time. Maybe he sucks at his job, or maybe he doesn't really want to be doing this.

Toothpick bravado, nice!

Scott cracks a beer and throws one to Lundqvist as they chat in the kitchen. Accepting allows Scott to set the tone of the negotiation and challenges Lundqvist's authority. They argue over the justification for this operation, with the damage of the Raid laid out. Scott quotes the Hague Invasion Act, framing the X-Men as being justified in taking action to get one of their people back. Meanwhile Boom Boom, Fantomex, the Bedlam bros and Locus are attacking O*N*E facilities.

Lundqvist is stunned that Scott would portray the X-Men as equal to the US government, as a nation unto themselves. He emphatically rebukes it and gets a 'says who?' in return. Meanwhile, The Hellions (copyright pending) are wrecking more of the O*N*E's shit.

Lundqvist tries to ignore that argument, shifting the focus back to force. The X-Men don't have a chance, he asserts, so Scott brings up Marvel's greatest force multiplier - superhumans. The X-Men have many and the O*N*E have none. He doesn't outright say that they're allied with The Avengers, but he asks why they're not here to help.

Scott follows up with an excellent point - that Graymalkin is a private entity run amok. By conceding the Xavier issue he's able to establish that they're exceeding their mandate. He really leans into the cold war framing as we'll see, but he sets it up here. It's refuge in audacity, but it's also an evolution of the thinking behind the Extinction team - we don't want war but we're absolutely capable of it. If they won't stop persecuting the X-Men then they'll make sure doing so is not worth it. I enjoy this. Remixing old eras is one thing, but building on Gillen's Uncanny run and escalating it is another.

It's at this point Agent Fuckface finds out his budget is in deep shit. Multiple O*N*E facilities have been destroyed but nobody has been killed. The war remains cold. He is NOT happy and he's just starting to realise he's been played. He's really sweating now, literally. It's clever to have Scott employ this Batman gambit. It's really only possible with an in-depth understanding of how the government operates.

It might be a stretch to infer Scott knows about funding for mutant agencies and departments from this text alone, but I guess he doesn't have to if he's slashing the budget himself. After letting that sink in, 'this is what it looks like when you push me' - calling back to their discussion in issue #3.

Lundqvist has had enough of negotiating from a position of weakness, sticking a gun in Scott's face and demanding the destruction stop. Cool as a cucumber, Cyke denies starting a war and pivots to the most terrifying Cold War and beyond concept - Mutually Assured Destruction. In our world it referred to the nuclear deterrent - if a country fired a nuke they'd be hit with instant, automated retaliation. There's no incentive to attack if you die too.

Lundqvist thinks he's bluffing but Scott elaborates. If he's killed by a government agent then important parts of Washington DC cease to exist. He doesn't have nukes, he's got mutants - using Juggernaut (not a mutant but he's down for the fight) and Xorn as examples. Lundqvist says that would be the end of mutants - total extinction - and he's probably right, in so far as they'd try. Not without a functioning government, seceding states, and foreign powers taking bites out of the US. This is wild. Krakoa's deterrent was mainly economic but the threat was implied. Here it's spelled out. Mutants will not lie down and if you come at us we both lose. Mutually Assured Destruction.

At this point Lundqvist blinks, shocked that he'd kill all those people. Brah, you have no idea. Scott shouts in his face 'THIS IS HOW BRINKMANSHIP WORKS.' He pulls his gun to his forehead and declares his lifelong willingness to die for the cause. He knows they want to kill him but here's another reason why it's not worth it. 'My wife will know and she will grieve.' Threatening the whole planet with The Phoenix. It's about fucking time. The X-Men have been offering peace for over half a century and received endless genocide in return.

With that, Lundqvist gets it. It's not worth it, at least by his calculus. He'll tell his bosses and by extension the US government and military. They agree that it's not over, and Quentin immediately steps in to call off The Hellions. Even more than issue #3, the last time these two were face-to-face, this was a riveting dialogue and Mackay fully committed to gunboat diplomacy on steroids. It's in conversation with the last 60 years of X-Men history and really sells this dynamic as the 'what now?' after Krakoa. I have all the praise in the world for that - the writing was fantastic and the facial expressions were perfect.

It's the final few panels that let it down. Last time, Scott had a full on panic attack after the situation ended. Anxiety and PTSD do not just go away and this feels like a missed opportunity to develop that further. Scott has just led a raid on a prison to retrieve one of his oldest friends, had a falling out with at least one other, witnessed horrors, been under psychic attack and a stalemate, then immediately after walked into the events of this issue. If that's not followed up on now, when the hell would it be? Sure, we can go there next issue, but it deflates the tension and character work for me.

Then Quentin asks if he was serious about the Phoenix threat and Scott says yes. He lets Quentin know that it's on him to defeat The Phoenix (his wife) if it comes to that. I find that very hard to swallow and at odds with the Scott/Jean/Phoenix dynamic we've seen so far. Sure, have a plan for Dark Phoenix, but wouldn't Jean just resurrect him? Thinking Scott was dead bought out Dark Phoenix the first time, but aren't we past all that shit? This is a different Phoenix, having been reborn, and a much more experienced Jean.

I don't buy that Scott would believe that, and I don't buy that he'd destroy Quentin's morale by putting it on him. Scott, of all people, knows that you oppose Dark Phoenix with love, not violence. Above all, I think Jean deserves a little more credit, especially from her husband. I'm starting to think it's more enjoyable to ignore From The Ashes cliffhangers. They have this habit of either being a fakeout or drastically exaggerating character and plot.

There's also mention that King Bedlam wants a very specific head in exchange for his services. No clues as to who, but the very notion doubles down on Scott playing a dangerous game. The Bedlams have been Hellion and X-Force adjacent for their entire publication history. KB was the lover of Tarot who was killed by Trevor Fitzroy. Tarot has reincarnated multiple times since then, but Fitzroy has been making a nuisance of himself by killing mutants in this run, so his head being the price would make sense. We'll see where that goes.

Without those last few panels this was the best issue yet, and a true paradigm evolution in the fight for mutant rights. It shows Scott Summers as wartime general and politician, judo flipping the consequences of Raid on Graymalkin from a position of weakness. This is why people look to him when they're up against the wall. This is the guy with more than 26 plans who's really had enough and is speaking the only language his enemies and oppressors understand. This is where Scott's efficiency and competence shines, but he isn't happy. The cold war continues but having invoked MAD, I have no idea where we go from here. Please no Dark Phoenix though. Enough of the past is being recycled already and y'all can do better, I know it.

[kolbalissh]

morning afters ⊹₊⟡⋆

carlos sainz jr/oscar piastri - read on ao3 !

teen and audiences above (suggestive content), 3.2k words - oneshot

the carcar established relationship domestic morning intimacy study that no one asked for, yet i delivered

“I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Leaving me without a kiss, Sainz?” Oscar grins back at him, his rabbit teeth and the crook of his canine out on the show, accompanied by the apples of his cheeks raising ever so lightly.

Carlos chuckles, deciding to humor the man in front of him whom he’s grown so unhealthily fond of.

“Just gave you one, amor."

A/N : this is my first ever fanfic written for the f1 rpf fandom, and boy did i ramble like my life depended on it pls enjoy thank you and i wholeheartedly welcome requests and feedback go wild 🤸‍♀️

Oscar’s eyes flutter open from the rustle beside him. The morning is soft, there’s light peeking out from the ends of the blackout curtains of his Hilton hotel room. The room cold, air conditioner is set to low - just how he likes it - it’s almost ritualistic the way Carlos will make sure the room is cold enough like it is consolation for how hot he’s going to make Oscar feel every time they’re together, how sweaty and messy they get, the room is sure to be cold to cool them both down.

He can hear the older man get up, putting the blanket that lifted from Oscar’s body when he arose, back on his bare, pale, freckled, and now, marked body - so he doesn’t get cold.

Oscar looks, though he pretends he hasn’t woken up, he doesn’t understand why himself. Peering through his lashes as the light from the balcony seeps through, he can see Carlos’s silhouette, eyes still blurry and unfocused.

He’s putting his shirt on, the same shirt Oscar almost tore apart from his body. That’s another thing that he doesn’t understand about himself when he's near the Spaniard. He’s known to be calm, he is calm, he’s always been. The next iceman, they say.

But Carlos gets him riled up, gets him impatient, always hungry for more. If the next morning there aren’t the indents of Oscar’s presence on the older man’s body, then Oscar would say he should’ve tried harder.

Carlos puts his jeans on, now. The marks of the younger nails, the long drag across his shoulder starting from his back, where he held on - because Carlos was a bastard like that, always has to look at Oscar when he’s inside the other man, maybe it’s the Spanish in him that made him this romantic.

Oscar never complains. Though, he’d rather get demoted back to an Alpine than say out loud that burying his head into the crook of Carlos’s neck, feeling the slight stubble tickle his cheek, breathing him in as he holds on for the wreck of it all, is one of the few things in life that’s made him feel safe.

And if Carlos looks at him with those brown eyes of his, that holds the world and more when he’s making Oscar gasp and whine, if the way he looks at him makes him feel like he’s flying on cloud nine, then that's between him and himself only, and maybe the deity that he falls on his knees for when there's a particularly hard race in a week.

And when Carlos calls him ‘mi muñeco’, after kissing him in the most tenderest way possible, even then Oscar won’t complain. He remembers asking him the first time he whispered the term into his ear, he probably should have been offended when he understood. He probably should have gotten a bit mad too.

But when Carlos said, “My doll, built to perfection - mi muñeco, you are flawless, like a porcelain doll made out of beauty itself.”, accompanied with the softest kiss on his temple, as his thumb caressed the younger’s cheek like one wrong swipe and it would leave him broken in pieces - then how can one expect Oscar to find offense in that? He accepted it, if Carlos wants him to be his pretty flawless doll, then so be it.

Oscar stirs a bit, the duvet on top of him moving along with him, catching Carlos’s attention. The remnants of last night still linger on Oscar’s face. His brown locks were messy, ruffled, and frayed across his forehead. The corner of his eyes with the stain of dried tears, tears that Carlos knows so well how to draw out, by giving him just enough and then pulling away, having the Australian man grasping for more. More is never enough. Carlos knows, and yet somehow he still gets him to his release, always just enough.

Oscar’s eyes are awake now, adjusting to the light in the room, and his bare body adjusting to the temperature - he already misses the warmth of Carlos, it’s as if his tan traps the heat of the sun itself, later radiating throughout Oscar’s rather white skin - the only tan that Oscar can get without getting his skin to burn till red, though, he burns red for other reasons.

He’s looking at Carlos now, and the other man notices that the brunette is up and awake, the hint of the early morning doze still radiating off of him. Oscar looks comfortable, wrapped up in himself, head resting on his forearms, peering at Carlos from the little nook he’s created for himself. The duvet weighed him down, and his soft brown waves curtained his eyes, barely disrupting his vision.

Carlos walks over from the foot of the bed where he’s buttoning the last of his shirt, the sound of his steps over the wooden floor coming towards where Oscar’s been silently gazing at him, still sleepy. Oscar can smell his cologne already, the aftershave entering his periphery, a scent he loves inhaling mostly from the dip of Carlos’s neck itself during the many times he’s found himself after a long day curling up in the other man’s arms and chest.

Oscar stirs a little to get a better look at the man in front of him now, looking down at him like he's the single most interesting thing in this quiet morning. Carlos’s hands come to his face to move the few locks of hair in front of his eyes all the while taking a seat at the edge of the bed - Oscar without thinking already shifting to give him the space to do so, yet still laying in his morning comfort.

The older man's calloused fingertips trail to his face, warm against his sheet-indented cheeks, caressing the soft skin there. The apples of Oscar’s cheeks warm against Carlos’s hands - the slow soft motion of his thumb drawing circles has Oscar leaning into the touch like a reflex, almost as natural as breathing to him.

“Did I wake you, tesoro?”

Oscar hums as he shuffles out of the tangle he was in to be more open, blinking slowly, taking his time to let his eyes water again, the sting of waking up still lingering. Carlos had so many of these nicknames for him, he’d lost track of how many there were anymore, though he had his favorites. Almost every term that rolled off the older man’s tongue was a term of endearment, more or less more affectionate than the one before. Tesoro. Oscar knew this one, the first turns of the cogs in his brain for the day being translating one of Carlos’s names for him. He was still caressing his face, Oscar couldn’t help but let his lip curl softly.

“You should go back to sleep,” Carlos murmurs to the man lying in front of him, his palms moving to the sides of Oscar’s body running up and down in slow motions, to lull him back to slumber, delicate and mellow.

“What’s the time?” Oscar mutters out, morning voice out on display. He’s comfortable under Carlos’s touch, with no signs of getting up soon.

“Around 7.”

“Up so early?” Oscar whispers, his free hand that’s not supporting his head finds Carlos’s bigger one, joining their fingers together. An action so small, but so dear to the Australian man. He gets to do that. No one else does.

“I’ve got a flight at 12, amor, Max’s plane you know,”

Oscar relishes in the little world he is in right now. It is as if the hotel room is guarding this tender morning between them. He fiddles with Carlos’s fingers, absentmindedly fidgeting with them with soft touches. The skinship is comfortable, familiar, and mostly, regular in feel. If you told Oscar even a year ago that he would be spending Monday mornings post-race in a room with Carlos Sainz holding hands like teenagers then he would have called you a madman.

Oscar wants to ask him to stay. It’s unreasonable, he knows but Carlos isn’t as strong a man as you’d think he is. It could work, Carlos barely says no to him, and spoils him too much even for Oscar’s taste.

And they’re supposed to be rivals. The media is still running the rivals to an awkward truce narrative, but they’re far from it already. They’re so different but so close, so similar. Magnets - polar opposites attracting each other like a force of nature. Inevitable, bound to be, and natural.

It is as if they pulled each other to themselves, even without meaning to do so. Be it the start of their acquaintance, where one crashes on the track, the other is always found at the scene of the crime or be it what they are now, always finding each other even in the most hectic schedules to give each other their time.

Oscar could ask him to stay. Tell him to slide back into bed, take the jeans and the shirt he just put on back to the ground where they were. Have Carlos snake his arm around his waist, pull him close to share the heat of his body to put the younger man to sleep, let the Spaniard bury his face into the brunette’s pale nape, and breathe him in. The plea circles at the tip of Oscar’s tongue, in battle with itself on whether to present or not.

But Carlos knows Oscar better than he thought he did. Carlos speaks again, beating the other man to his own request.

“You know I’ll see you soon next week, cariño?” Carlos’s thumb strokes circle on Oscar’s hand now, a small action of consolation accompanying his reassurance to the unsaid wish that had popped up in Oscar’s mind.

“Yeah,” Oscar replies with a smile, reflecting in his half-lidded drowsy eyes with a glimmer. He always had an eye smile anyway, it always showed on his face when he’d grin genuinely. Spending time with Carlos brought more of those out than he could count. There used to be a time when all he did was glare at the other man with furrowed eyebrows, it’s not like it has stopped, Carlos still knew how to get under his skin the same way he did at the beginning of their infatuation. However, that remained mostly on track.

Carlos replies with a smile of his own, dragging the hand holding Oscar’s up to his lips, planting a chaste kiss in between his fingers. The brunette allows it to happen, some mornings he likes the extra attention that Carlos gives him a little more than necessary. Being the center of affection for the other man has become something he’s accustomed to.

Carlos slowly gets up from where he’s sitting, the mattress instantly fluffs up from where he was. He walks over to the foot of the bed again, looking for the other sock somewhere around. Oscar is still resting, admiring the man in front of him - waltzing around the room looking for his things like his phone, his wallet, and his stupidly expensive perfume that gets Oscar’s head dizzy like a good high.

Oscar stirs again, pulling the duvet on top of him closer to his chin, tucking himself in between it lazily observing the other man prepare to leave. It’s times like this he wished that maybe he wouldn’t have to. The schedules of the races and the rush of time made it almost impossible for them to overstay their welcome at each other’s. If it’s leaving for Baku today, then it's Vegas for another week. And so on. Except for the breaks they get, and it’s something Oscar’s come to like more. Before Carlos, it was catching up on sleep, playing video games, and eating at another spot that Yuki mentioned in the group chat. Nothing’s changed in his plans, just the addition of a certain brown-eyed individual’s company - and that made the time away from the adrenaline-filled weekends more desirable.

Oscar sees Carlos pace around the room suddenly, in search of something. He’s looking under the sofa, and flipping the hotel-issued magazines off the coffee table. Oscar shuffles and supports himself on his elbows, peeking over to where Carlos was currently jamming his hand through the side of his duffel bag again.

“You looking for something?”

“I can’t find my watch,” Carlos motions to his wrist with a face that looks scarily close to what a kicked-puppy would look like. His shirt sits taut against his arms, and the sleeves are rolled to his elbows, showing all kinds of forearm action.

Oscar sits up a bit more now, his bed head resembling more a bird’s nest than a head of hair. He ushers towards the counter near the sofa with his head and Carlos follows the motion to where his eyes lock on to the silver gleaming from the top of the counter, amidst some other clutter that has Oscar’s name written all over it.

“You kept it there before we, you know,” Oscar mumbles out with a small chuckle, it’s just them there - there’s no need for Oscar to talk properly, the energy of fully waking up hasn't risen in him yet, and he’d very much like to sleep in today.

Carlos walks over to grab his watch, puts it on swiftly, and locks it in place on his wrist. The action has Oscar attentive, more attentive than needed one might say, but he can't help but stare at him - Carlos’s soft black hair falls to his forehead as he tilts his head down to secure the watch on his hand. Carlos reaches towards his bag, bringing his phone out of his back pocket, and checks the time.

Oscar is still sitting up, slouching, the hue of sleepiness still washed over his face - he looks incredibly soft at the moment. His lower half was covered by nothing but the white, heavy duvet, and his pale body speckled with moles and freckles, and fresh new marks of last night.

Carlos walks over to him again, shoving his phone back where it was. His right hand comes up to embrace Oscar’s face, slowly falling to where his chin is to tilt the brunette’s head up to him. Carlos bends down to kiss him on the cheek, the warmth of his plush, red lips against the soft of Oscar’s cheeks. Oscar leans in his head, savouring the contact of the kiss.

When Carlos pulls away there is a crinkle in his eye, a smile he can't help but have, looking at the younger man in front of him. His hand still holding onto Oscar’s face that he lets graze across his cheek, just to feel his warmth. Oscar always ran hot, even with the temperature low, his flush kept him warm.

“I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Leaving me without a kiss, Sainz?” Oscar grins back at him, his rabbit teeth and the crook of his canine out on the show, accompanied by the apples of his cheeks raising ever so lightly.

Carlos chuckles, deciding to humor the man in front of him whom he’s grown so unhealthily fond of.

“Just gave you one, amor.”

Oscar feigns fake annoyance and furrows his eyebrows, with a quick eye roll before going back to peering at Carlos, awaiting his request.

Carlos breathes out another laugh, early morning Oscar had to be one of his favorite Oscars. The brunette got more clingy, especially on days like this when Carlos had to leave early and they knew it’d be some time again till they could loiter around each other’s comfort again. He leans in first, and Oscar instantly does so too, like a reflex, craning his neck up to meet Carlos halfway.

Their lips meet, and Oscar can taste the lip balm on the other man already, his own chapped lips chasing after the other’s plump ones. The kiss is soft, just like the ember of light flooding through the gaps of the curtains. Carlos tilts his head, deepening the kiss a bit more, a kiss that is unlike the ones they shared last night - filthy, wet, and heated. Oscar’s sleepiness is cut short a bit by the feeling of Carlos’s contact. He breathes him in and presses his tender lips against the older man’s. They linger against him, and Oscar can feel himself humming into it, his shoulders relaxing against Carlos’s touch. Oscar places chaste pecks on him in the middle, his hand reaching up to cradle Carlos’s cheeks. His stubble grazed Oscar’s palm, his hands were far smaller than the other man’s - they barely covered Carlos’s face whereas Carlos’s would have engulfed half his face already. Oscar loved the feeling, he loved leaning into his hands, letting himself be rested in its warmth.

Oscar pulls away first, breathing slightly heavier than he was a while ago, a wash of pink decorating his cheeks, his ears - running all the way down to his neck and collarbone. Carlos licks his lips pulling away as if to taste Oscar again. The Spaniard is left with his chest bubbling and a smile plastered across his face. Oscar’s hand goes to retract back to himself but Carlos catches it first, placing another few short, quick kisses on the other’s pale warm hand, contrasting against Carlos’s tan, gruff, and hairy one - adorning his silver watch.

“Get some sleep, love,” Carlos whispers to him so quietly, that Oscar would have barely heard him if not for the otherwise silent room.

Oscar dozily nods, his eyes already back to being half-lidded. Before he can collapse back into every nook and cranny of the mattress under him, Carlos decides to be even more of the romantic bastard he is, placing one final kiss on the top of Oscar’s head, into the soft mess of his chestnut waves which sealed that Carlos was finally leaving.

He feels Carlos pull away from his space, leaning down to grab his bag and shuffle away towards the exit of his room.

Oscar felt his eyes get heavier and it got harder for him to keep them open. He can hear Carlos rustle, further away towards the door in front of the small foyer now. The click of the only ambient light on in the room echoes through, Carlos switches it off and the room gets darker than it already was, the only light existing is the cracks of early morning sunlight peeping from between the heavy curtains.

The room is still cool and Oscar’s eyes are closed now as he starts drifting off into comfortable slumber. The last thing he hears is the soft tick of the door as Carlos closes it behind him, the sound diffusing with the white noise from the central air conditioning that’s soothing Oscar back to sleep.

Oscar breathes deeply, he can smell Carlos’s lingering perfume in the air and on his pillow. The room feels like him, even if it is Oscar’s space. He feels his senses get hazier, the last remnants in his mind being the thought of the other man. His man.

And if Oscar wakes up much later in the noon, getting some sleep, as Carlos had said - and he doesn’t find the older man beside him, then that’s okay.

Oscar will see him soon, anyway.

thats it! forgive me if the spanish nicknames are wrong or something i tried my best and i in no way shape or form know spanish well - hope you liked it and if u wanna see more stuff just flood my ask box (it heals me literally seeing reqs) and remember, carcar 4 lyfe xoxo

[sadnymi]

「 ✦ The masked boy. ✦ 」

regulus black x reader x barty crouch jr

Summary: following Regulus to what I expected to be a harmless party turned into a night of hidden desires and whispered secrets. Just to meet the masked stranger who seems to know more of me than I expected .

Words: 3,5k

Going to the party was undoubtedly a risky decision, but the allure of secrecy and adventure pulled me in. I overheard Regulus discussing it, and despite Pandora, bless her sensible soul warning of potential trouble, curiosity, that insatiable beast, had her claws firmly sunk into my insides. Ignoring her dire pronouncements, I transformed into a shadow the moment Pandora had fallen asleep Sneaking out I followed Regulus carefully, staying hidden until we reached a mysterious secret door within Hogwarts.

The door creaked open a sliver, revealing two hulking figures clad in black. Their imposing stature and steely gazes instantly confirmed my worst suspicions – this was no ordinary gathering. Fear, cold and sharp, snaked its way through me as one of them addressed Regulus in a low, gravelly voice.

"Who is this?" he rumbled, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine.

Regulus, his back momentarily turned, whirled around at the sound of the question. His face, usually a canvas of bored indifference, contorted into a mask of surprise and, dare I say, a hint of… fear? Our eyes met, and in that fleeting moment, I saw my own panic reflected back at me.

He recovered quickly, however, mustering a semblance of nonchalance. "She's with me," he declared, his voice a touch too loud to be entirely convincing. He strode towards me, a forced casualness in his gait, and placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Don't worry," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, a hint of desperation clinging to the words.

Once inside, the doors clanged shut with a finality that echoed my growing unease. Regulus whirled on me, his green eyes flashing with fury. "What in Merlin's beard, Y/N, were you thinking?" he hissed, his voice barely a whisper above a growl.

Shame burned hot on my cheeks."I… I followed you," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. "I was curious, . I just wanted to see I’m so sorry reg …"

He threw his hands up in exasperation. "Curious ? This isn't some harmless gathering, Y/N! You have no idea what you've just gotten yourself into!" The anger in his voice was laced with a hint of fear, a chilling realization that sent shivers down my spine.

The gravity of the situation sank in as I realized the potential consequences of my impulsive decision. Regulus's protective instincts were in full force, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of regret for putting him in a difficult position.

bravado I'd mustered to follow Regulus evaporated, replaced by a tremor that ran through my limbs. Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring the dimly lit chamber.

"I-I'm so sorry, Reg," I stammered, my voice choked with a mix of fear and remorse. "I had no idea… I shouldn't have followed you."

He sighed, the anger momentarily replaced by a weary resignation. "Hey," he said, his voice softening as he reached out to brush a stray tear from my cheek. "Don't cry. It's alright. We'll figure this out , Just… stay close, okay?"

He reached for a nearby table, his hand snagging two ornate masks. The intricate designs, fashioned from a material that shimmered faintly in the low light, were a stark contrast to the rough stone walls surrounding us.

"Put this on," he instructed, handing me one.

As I took the mask, a wave of self-consciousness washed over me. My baby blue sweater and jeans felt utterly out of place amidst the air of clandestine secrecy.

"I… I didn't know there was a dress code," I mumbled, feeling foolish.

He let out a humorless chuckle, the sound devoid of mirth. "There isn't, exactly.There's more to this than a dress code, sweetheart,"

then his voice dropped to a low murmur, laced with a seriousness that sent shivers down my spine. "Don't talk to anyone inside. And whatever you do, Y/N, never, ever reveal your name. Understand ?"

Shame burned in my throat, hotter than any fiery Goblet of Fire. I nodded mutely, the weight of my recklessness pressing down on me.

"Good," he said, his voice a touch softer. "Now, stay by my side. We'll get through this."

His words, laced with a newfound protectiveness, offered a sliver of comfort amidst the swirling vortex of fear and regret. With the mask obscuring my features, I clung to him.

With a newfound resolve, we ventured deeper into the hidden chamber. The air grew thick with the stench of sweat, spilled ale, and a musky perfume that hung heavy in the air.

The sight that greeted me upon entering the main hall was enough to make my eyes widen in shock. Bodies, clad in various states of undress, writhed and swayed to the pulsating rhythm of an unseen band. Laughter, tinged with a hint of hysteria, echoed through the cavernous space.

Instinctively, I raised a hand to my mouth, stifling a gasp.

"Y/N, sweetheart," Regulus hissed, his voice tight with urgency, "if we're going to survive this, you need to feign normalcy."

I lowered my hand hastily, trying to avert my gaze from the two scantily clad figures who brushed past me, their movements more suggestive than celebratory.

"Reg," I whispered, my voice barely audible above the din, "what is this place? Why isn't anyone wearing any clothes?"

Regulus offered a wry smile. "Perhaps you were right about the dress code here," he said, his voice laced with a dark humor.

"Is this some sort of… secret society?" I pressed, trying to quell the rising panic within me. His silence spoke volumes.

"Does this have anything to do with your new tattoo?" I ventured, the question tumbling out before I could stop it.

Regulus' lips stretched into a tight smile as he politely greeted a scantily clad woman who offered us flagons of an unknown, steaming beverage. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he disposed of the drinks once the woman had sashayed away.

"Don't consume anything offered here, Y/N,Not food, not drink. Understood" he murmured, his voice low and urgent. "Just stay close, and whatever you do, don't draw attention to yourself."

Guilt gnawed at me as Regulus navigated the throng of pulsating bodies, his hand a constant presence on my arm.

"Listen closely, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm amidst the cacophony.

"After the clock strikes the hour, I can't stay by your side any longer. I have… business to attend to. However, there's a hidden staircase leading to the rooftop. Go there, and you'll be safe. Once I'm done with what brought me here, I'll find you. Don't be afraid, Y/N. I promise you'll be alright I won’t let anything happen to you ."

He reached out, his touch surprisingly gentle as he brushed a stray strand of hair from my face. "And what about you, Reg? Will you be alright?"

He offered a smile, a gesture that felt more strained than comforting. "I'll handle myself, sweetheart. Just remember everything I told you: silence and anonymity are the keys . Don't speak to anyone, and for Merlin's sake, never reveal your name. Now, go."

His voice, laced with urgency, left no room for argument. I followed his gaze to the ornately carved clock dominating the far wall. The hands were inching closer to the ominous hour. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the approaching chimes.

Regulus squeezed my hand once, a silent promise of reunion, before melting back into the throng. Taking a deep breath, I found the hidden staircase tucked away in a darkened corner and ascended, each step taking me further away from the revelry and closer to the safety of the night.

Emerging onto the rooftop, I was greeted by a breathtaking vista. The moon, a luminous pearl in the inky expanse, cast an ethereal glow over the sleeping castle. Hogwarts, usually a source of comfort, seemed alien in this context, a silent sentinel against the backdrop of the forbidden revelry below.

I pulled my knees to my chest, the cool night air stealing the heat from my flushed cheeks. Fear, a potent cocktail of adrenaline and unease, churned in my gut. But amidst the turmoil, a flicker of hope remained. Regulus had promised.

The passage of time blurred on the rooftop. Every rustle of wind, every creak of the ancient castle, sent a jolt of fear through me. How long had I been waiting? An hour? Two? It felt like an eternity.

A soft voice, barely a whisper, shattered the silence. "Nice sweater "

I gasped, whirling around to find a stranger standing behind me.

This wasn't supposed to happen. My sole purpose was to wait for Regulus, I whirled around, my gaze falling on a tall figure shrouded in shadow. An ornate mask, similar to the one Regulus had provided, hiding his eyes , leaving only a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes , and a smirk in his lips

Silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken tension. Perhaps, I thought, if I remained quiet, he would simply melt back into the darkness, a fleeting apparition.

"Are you mute, darling?" The stranger's voice, dripping with a sardonic lilt, shattered the fragile hope , I opened my mouth shocked by the rudeness of his words

"That's a cruel thing to say," I retorted, my voice barely above a whisper, yet laced with a defiance born of desperation. Although his face remained half hidden, I could sense the widening of his smile, a predator relishing the chase.

"So you do talk," he chuckled, taking a step closer. I instinctively scooted back, the cool stone pressing against my spine.

"I know who you are, darling," he continued, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers cascading down my spine. Panic, a cold serpent, coiled itself around my heart. Don't look at him, don't look at him, a mantra echoed in my mind. He's bluffing.

But he didn't stop there. He sank down onto the rooftop ledge beside me, completely ignoring the disdainful glare I shot his way.

"What are you doing here, sweet Y/N?" he cooed, his voice dripping with a false sweetness. "Isn't it a little past your bedtime?"

Denial, a flimsy shield, crumbled in the face of his unwavering gaze. "I'm not Y/N," I stammered, a desperate attempt at subterfuge that even my own ears recognized as transparent.

A slow smile, devoid of genuine amusement, stretched across his masked face. "Such a shame," he drawled,The way his eyes, though obscured by the mask, seemed to gleam with perverse enjoyment sent a tremor of unease through me.

Panic, a cold hand constricting my throat, threatened to erupt. "What do you want?" I blurted, my voice barely above a choked whisper.

He feigned surprise, raising his hands in a theatrical display of innocence. "Merely indulging in a bit of curiosity," he purred, his tone dripping with saccharine sweetness."What brings the Ravenclaw princess to this clandestine gathering?"

Ravenclaw princess? A flicker of confusion momentarily pierced the fog of fear. Was that what they were calling me?

"I told you, I'm not her," I insisted, defiance flickering in my voice. Yet, a new question gnawed at me. Who was this masked figure? A sliver of recognition tugged at the edges of my memory, a feeling that his eyes, obscured as they were, held a strange familiarity.

Determined not to reveal my identity, I turned away, my gaze seeking solace in the cool serenity of the moon. "I won't tell you who I am," I declared, my voice regaining a semblance of control.

"Oh?" he countered, a playful smirk evident in the way his voice rose at the end.

"Fine, I'll just descend and inform those… formidable gentlemen guarding the entrance about the unidentified young lady gracing the rooftop with her presence."

Panic, a primal urge, surged through me. I lunged forward, grabbing his wrist with both hands.

"No! Please, don't do that!" The words tumbled out in a torrent, a desperate plea born of fear.

He chuckled softly, the sound sending a jolt through me. "Relax, darling," he murmured, his voice surprisingly gentle as he captured my hands in his.

"You won’t tell them , would you?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

He shook his head, a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips."If I wanted to expose you, I would have done so already. I was messing with you "

"Alright," I mumbled, staring at our hands intertwined. "Can you release my wrists now?"

He held my gaze for a moment, a playful glint in his masked eyes. "Why, darling? They seem perfectly content nestled in mine." A smirk danced on his lips as he finally released his grip. My hands felt strangely empty without the warmth of his touch.

My cheeks burned. The playful endearment shouldn't have sent a spark of warmth through me, especially coming from a stranger.

"So, you won't reveal your name," he stated, more an observation than a question.

I shook my head, a mix of defiance and fear swirling within me.

"Fine," he murmured, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. However, his tone suggested otherwise. This wasn't over.

Desperate to shift the focus, I blurted, "Who are you?"

He chuckled softly. "You can't hide your identity and expect the same courtesy, darling."

Darling …. this word again , sent a jolt through me. Why did it sound so...pleasant coming from him?

"But," he continued, a playful glint in his eyes, "we can play a game, wouldn't you agree?"

I hesitated. The entire situation felt precarious, yet a strange sense of intrigue battled with my apprehension. Finally, with a sigh of resignation, I conceded, "okay ."

A triumphant grin spread across his face. "Good girl ," he said, his voice dripping with a hint of satisfaction. "The rules are simple: we ask each other questions, and truthful answers are mandatory."

A knot of apprehension tightened in my stomach. This was a bad idea, a terribly bad idea. Yet, before I could voice my second thoughts, I found myself nodding in agreement.

"good ," he murmured, his amusement evident even in the darkness. "You can ask first."

I wracked my brain for a safe question, something that wouldn't reveal too much about myself. Finally, I settled on, "What house are you in?"

He smiled, a genuine one this time. "An easy one to start with. Ravenclaw, at your service."

Surprise washed over me. We were from the same house? Could it be someone I knew? A classmate, perhaps?

"Your turn," I reminded him

"Do you have a crush on our Regulus?" he inquired, the question laced with a hint of amusement.

My cheeks burned anew. "Of course not!" I spluttered, indignation coloring my voice. "Regulus is my best friend. We practically grew up together."

Immediately, I regretted my outburst. It had been a stupid mistake, revealing too much about myself and confirming his suspicions.

He merely chuckled, the sound devoid of genuine humor. "Easy, darling," he soothed, the endearment sending shivers down my spine. "It was just a question."

"A pointless one," I muttered, trying to regain my composure. My mind raced, searching for a way to deflect suspicion. "Are you a good student?"

"The smartest ," he declared with unwavering confidence.

I scoffed playfully. "Reg is the smartest one," I stated, defending my friend with a touch of pride.

He raised an eyebrow. "Is he?"

"Definitely," I confirmed, a pang of something akin to longing tugging at my heart I wanted to say reg and a certain someone else with beautiful eyes and messy hair who I try not to think so much about right now

He smirked, his gaze locking onto mine. "What are you thinking about, darling? You're blushing again."

"Is that a question?" I stammered, desperately trying to appear nonchalant.

"Indeed," he replied, his voice firm. "And remember, honesty is key."

Panic clawed at my throat. Why was everything so difficult? How did I always manage to get myself into such precarious situations?

"I was thinking about... my actual crush," I blurted out, the confession tumbling from my lips before I could stop myself.

He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a curiosity that both terrified and intrigued me. "Yeah ? , and who might that lucky guy be?"

"That's not your turn to ask” I declared, surprised at my own boldness. A small spark of defiance flickered within me.

"very well ," he responded easily, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Your turn then, darling. Let's hear your question."

"Do you know Barty Crouch?" I ventured, my voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled, a sound both familiar and unsettling. "Certainly, I do."

Thankfully, he hadn't inquired about my reason for asking.

"Your turn," I said

His gaze, intense and unreadable behind the mask, held mine for a beat too long. "Why are you cloaking yourself in secrecy? And I don't simply refer to this clandestine rooftop rendezvou , why are you hiding ."

"I'm not…" I stammered, the truth a bitter pill to swallow. "I'm not hiding."

He raised an eyebrow, skepticism etched on his features. "One might argue otherwise. You blend into the background, a shadow amongst your friends. You downplay your own brilliance, mentioning Regulus's intellect but conveniently neglecting your own place amongst Hogwarts' finest minds."

I remained speechless, a truth I hadn't even acknowledged myself starkly laid bare before me. No one had ever taken an interest in the quiet, observant girl I was.

The mask did little to hide the intensity of his gaze. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken understanding. Finally, I confessed, a weight lifting from my chest as the words tumbled out.

"I don't think I have anything interesting to offer. It's simpler to fade into the background. That's why I followed Reg today. Even though we're friends, they all see me ….. so innocent to handle such talks I wanted to prove something, to show them there's more to me than meets the eye."

Exhaling a shaky breath, I realized the truth in my own words. This wasn't just about Regulus or a forbidden gathering. It was about yearning to be seen, to be acknowledged for who I truly was.

A surge of defiance, quickly extinguished by the realization of my exposed identity, prompted a flippant question. With a brittle smile, I challenged, "my turn. When was your first official date?"

He chuckled, a low rumble that sent a shiver down my spine. "Does having sex in the storage room count as a date?"

Heat flooded my cheeks, and the words tumbled out before I could stop them. "No, God, no!" I exclaimed, horrified by the image his words conjured.

"Ah, so minus the sex then," he interjected, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "In that case, I can't say there have been any."

Desperate to escape the awkward territory of his past, I blurted out, "Your turn."

His lips curved into a knowing smile. He brushed a stray strand of hair from my face, the touch sending a jolt through me. "So, it's Barty, is it?"

Panic seized me. "What?" My voice barely escaped my lips.

"Your actual crush , Y/N," he continued, his voice a husky murmur. "Is it Barty?"

I cursed my own body's reaction as a blush crept up my neck. Breathlessly, I managed, "My turn."

"Certainly," he replied, his voice smooth as velvet. "Will you tell him?"

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. "Fear not, darling. Your secret's safe with me."

My breath hitched. We were impossibly close now, his touch sending shivers down my spine. His fingers lingered on my jawline, sending a spark of awareness igniting within me.

His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Now," he began, his finger tracing the outline of my lower lip, "are those lips as innocent as they seem?"

A shiver ran down my spine as his touch lingered. My eyes fluttered shut, a soft moan threatening to escape my lips. His words sent a blush scorching my cheeks. Did he think I was… inexperienced?

Shamefacedly, I nodded, unable to meet his gaze.

He brushed a feather-light kiss against my jaw, his touch sending shivers cascading down my arms. I inhaled sharply, my eyes still closed.

"And if I kissed you," he murmured, his voice sending shivers down my spine, "would you let me ?"

My head swayed, mesmerized by his closeness. I found myself nodding again, feeling a complete loss of control.

And then, his lips were on mine. Soft and warm, they moved against mine in a slow, intoxicating dance. His hands found their way to my neck, pulling me closer. The kiss was hungry, desperate, as if he was starved for my touch.

He broke the kiss for a moment, his eyes searching mine, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. Then, he was back, the kiss this time filled with a raw hunger.

We broke apart, gasping for air, foreheads resting against each other. The world spun, the only reality is the warmth of his body pressed against mine.

"Y/N," a voice split the moment .

I ripped myself away, panic and shame flooding my cheeks , I scrambled to my feet, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Regulus stood frozen in the doorway, his face a mask of fury. The weight of embarrassment settled on my chest, suffocating me.

"Reg, I—" I stammered, but he cut me off.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Crouch?" he roared, his eyes blazing with anger.

My gaze darted between them, finally settled to the boy beside me, only to find him smirking.

The realization hit me like a physical blow. I had just kissed Barty Crouch.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

[2kverrr]

MATT TAYLOR - Dating Headcanons

UNTIL DAWN || Matt Taylor x Reader

like every other year, the washington family open up their lodge to their teenagers for the winter. everybody had been waiting for this time of year, booze all week long, no rules, only friends, snowfights, blasting music in the middle of nowhere - to put it shortly, it's haven.

big movie nights on the big projector with hot chocolates and lots and lots of booze

you and matt had been plotting activities since summer, dodgeball in the main living area - come on, it's massive. what else are you meant to do in a room that big?

sledding - even if it meant falling off the edge of a cliff, its all apart of the fun.

matt loved making plans with you, you've never been too sure why, because you're not very punctual, you're an extremely dangerous driver and quite forgetful.

he's an attractive guy, sporty and in shape, really kind; it was a mystery to you why he was still single. it's not like girls actually go for brains anymore - you don't think so anyway.

secretly the group were rooting for the two of you, you oblivious of course, but matt had planned this all out, all fun and games but then you 'accidentally' trip or 'accidentally' fall and in desperate need of a knight in shining armour, then that's where he comes in, heroic and masculine, you are immediately in love with him, you get married, move to fiji and have 4 kids (the first of the bunch HAD to be called matt. jr). it's pretty specific.

it's the day of the winter break we'd all been waiting for, mike had already prepped matt for this big breakthrough. mike slaps his hand onto his face and slowly drags it drown with a grown, "bro, stop being such a pussy - worst she can say is no. no?" the two continue to stroll towards the lodge, slightly unsure where they were headed in the snowy atmosphere. “yeah, i get that,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, “but what if she laughs at me?” the thought made his stomach twist uneasily, and he shot mike a frantic glance. you knew matt's used to being the object of jealousy, he's much like mike in that sense, he doesn't have to do much to be adored by people. “dude, she’s not some goddess in a tower,” mike said, rolling his eyes. “she's just a girl! think about it. you’ve spent half your life being friends, spilling deepest and darkest secrets, spending the majority of your time together - hell even your distant family have nicknames for him. "god damn it man! you know her better than anyone, so you should be first to know how she'd react.” matt shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to portray an air of confidence he didn’t truly feel. “just be yourself. you’ve got this.” he whispers, spotting you exiting from the ski lift, patting matt on the shoulder and leaving him with you.

the walk up was oddly awkward, in fact the first 3 days were uncomfortable with the curly-headed boy.

of course, that did not stop you from getting black out drunk every night. day drinking faded into beer pong, then faded into shot competitions, then another cheeky drink when you woke up to prevent any hangover.

matt tried his hardest to get you to lay off the drink, but automatically josh would interrupt and tempt you even more.

it had to be past midnight at this rate, ashley fell asleep on the couch with chris, beth gently placing a blanket over the two of them. sam was attempting to defuse a row between mike and emily as hannah observed hopefully, while josh was falling asleep mid-conversation with jess - embarrassing. all while you were basically fighting matt to grab the bottle out of his hands. “give!” you reach out, but just like every other time, matts long arms push at your shoulder to keep your distance. you huff, stumbling back with half closed eyes, “cocksucker. i’ll find something else. hell - i’d eat crack if josh had any.” you remark with flailing arms. you had promised yourself a good time, a good time that didn’t involve battling your best friend for a taste of liquor. "come on, how about we go find the biggest bed for you to sleep in, i'm sure emily won't notice." his eyebrows raise, awaiting your drunken response. your mouth drops in a shocked manor and your eyebrows furrow as though your offended, "wow - matt, nice going." you try to cross your arms but you end up stumbling into the counter, the boy's hands immediately reach out to stabilise you. "it'd take a lot more than that to take me to bed, thank you very much, mr taylor." you scold, trying to inject a sense of indignation into your slurred words. the room felt like it was swaying gently; perhaps it was the alcohol or maybe just your overwhelming desire to keep your balance. you glared at matt, half-heartedly trying to regain your composure, but the corners of your mouth couldn't help but twitch into a smirk.

you couldn't remember much after that, besides the blinding light bursting through the curtains beaming into your eyes, only a single silhouette there to block it.

you're quite used to getting black out drunk, in fact you've got a casual routine, wake up, hole into your head until you stumble towards the cabinet wherever you are, managing to grab some sort of pill. lie in the bath - this is a crucial step. no water besides from when you awkwardly attempt to drink some from the tap. eventually you throw up the pills you'd taken, so you take a few more. at this point you should be okay to get up and carry on with your day.

you tell yourself this is how it’s meant to be; the routine is as much a part of your identity as the lingering pallor in your cheeks. you’ll put on a brave face, mask the chaos with a smile, and carry on with your day, ever-so-slightly hopeful that today might be different.

though you're not so used to going on a three day bender, every drink you consume having at least a drop of some form of alcohol. so your routine didn't exactly apply.

"hey," a voice whispers, slowly placing a cold cloth on your head, “you okay?” it’s light and gentle, a contrast to the erratic thrum inside your skull.

you squint against the light and the silhouette shifts, revealing matt, but this time with a softer expression, worry etched into the corners of his eyes. “you were insane last night,” he says, half-smiling, half-concerned. matt takes a deep breath, the worry still lingering in his eyes, and leans back in his chair, allowing you some space.

“seriously, what were you thinking?” he asks, his tone shifting to something more serious.

“you can’t just push yourself like that, especially when you know you haven’t slept in days.” the warmth of his concern wraps around you, thick and palpable, grounding you even as the room spins slightly.

"shit, " you roll over, while trying to sit yourself up, "i'm really sorry" your hands slowly and deeply massage your face, "can't remember a thing."

matt softly chuckles, placing his hands onto the arm rests, “well, where to begin? you were fighting me for a drink. scolded me for tying to sleep with you, which was the opposite of what i was doing. you searched the house for cigarettes and eventually gave up and tried to uber 3 bricks of coke to the lodge. erm… you threw up in the hot tub, on the counter, on emily, on me and i think a bit of miles show when you threw up on emily for the second time.”

you suppress a groan, sinking back into the chair as matt’s words cascade over you, each one accompanied by an embarrassing flashback that jolts through your mind like electric shocks.

"what?" it was all you could say. frozen and still in your own embarrassment.

“oh! and let’s not forget the part where you tried to convince jessica that she was actually a mystical mermaid forced on earth to enchant her way into human hearts."

you open your mouth to speak but the curly-haired boy continues.

“-not quite done yet, darling. you couldn’t let go of this ‘mermaid theory’, convinced you could see jess’s scales. so you flung your drink at her and then yelled ‘be free, my aquatic queen’ right in her face.”

you wince, burying your head in your hands. “for fuck's sake, please tell me you're lying,” you let out a muffled groan. matt's infectious laughter rings in your ears, despite your mortification and god awful pain you're in.

matt leans forward, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “and after your mermaid debacle, you decided to perform a dramatic interpretation of 'under the Sea' from The Little Mermaid for the whole living room."

you immediately butt in, "liar!" you rarely ever laugh in front of your friends, never mind whatever this is.

"i swear I’ve never seen sam laugh and cry at the same time.” he shakes his head, barely able to contain his amusement as he gestures broadly, “you were flapping your arms like a fish out of water, and the way you-“

you roll your eyes, “enough!” you raise your voice, a slight anger in your tone as your embarrassment begins to ebb. you immediately feel bad for the once giddy boy, "sorry, i don't usually tend to have hangovers this bad…" you say, a hand attempting to tame the pounding in you heard, you put the boy at ease with a smile, "…did i at least have a good audience?"

"an audience of friends who might never look at you the same way again,” he teases, but his smile is warm and understanding. “but hey, that’s what makes us family, right? You do something outrageous, and we love you for it. maybe not jess… or emily. but the rest of us do. i love you.” his words hang in the air, unsure of their stance, good bad? neither of you knew.

“you love me?” you manage to say, half teasing and half genuinely astonished, heart fluttering uncomfortably in your chest.

he briefly fixes his posture, shuffling in his seat, “maybe. even thought you can be a bitch and you have a slight alcohol issue, you’re still lovable.”

you take a moment to take a note of reality, the mess on the floor, presumably caused by you. your hair was unspeakable, makeup smudged, deep and heavy eye bags, one of your lashes hanging off your cheek while your other was probably exploring the outside, it’s definitely… a look.

“even after all this?” you wave down your body and across the room

he leans forward, fiddling with his thumbs, eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart race. “that’s exactly it,” he says gently, “you’re unpredictable, messy and unapologetically you, and i think it’s fucking awesome. you’re so… so, so, so real.”

his sincerity makes the room feel smaller, as it the weight of his words could encircle you both in an element of quiet intimacy. you can throw but smile, your heart swelling. “so, what does this mean for us?” you query hopefully.

“maybe it’s the start of something new.”

you made the bold decision to lay off of the drink for your own sake (also because it took you the rest of the week to recover) - instead you’d accompany matt in whatever he was up to.

mike felt a bit disappointed that his pep talk was wasted on a sappy conversation rather than a manly knight in shining armour act.

jess eventually forgave you, insuring you tell her everything about the two of you. emily would occasionally listen in nonchalantly as she clearly hadn’t forgave you for the sick-tuation (get it? i’m so sorry)

matt takes pride in waking you up with a drink or some food, it’s a bit difficult when your only options are out of the washingtons’ sparse cabinets.

you had to make a slight change in your ‘how you got together’ story when meeting his parents, either way they loved you, and thought you were a great reason for matt to take his laser focus off of football.

speaking of football, you’re at every game wearing some old spare shirt he had laying around.

when he first met your parents, god it was something you should’ve prevented. matt sides with your mum’s every word, dishes, staying out too late, waking up too early. honestly everything and anything.

he’s easily the most caring, you’re always on his mind, your wants, your needs, what you’re doing, how you’re doing.

in return you help him study, you’re not much smarter, but with matt, you find fun in the coursework.