#williams f1

[f1girliefics]

Between The Lines

Carlos Sainz x Reader

Warning: SMUT +18!

Summary: After a storm grounds all flights from Barcelona, you and Carlos Sainz are forced to share the last available hotel room. 

You’ve always found Carlos Sainz infuriating, his cocky smirks, his competitive nature, his ability to get under your skin without even trying.

But when a storm traps you together in a single hotel room overnight, the barriers between you start to crumble. 

With the rain pounding against the windows, secrets slip between the cracks, and maybe, just maybe, the storm outside isn’t the only one you’ll have to weather.

The airport buzzes with frustration, voices rising above the sound of torrential rain hammering against the floor-to-ceiling windows. 

Flights flicker across the departures board, each status changing to the same dreaded word, CANCELED.

You sigh, tugging your suitcase closer as you check your phone for alternatives. 

No trains, no rental cars available. You’re stuck in Barcelona for the night.

The groan of frustration beside you is one you recognize all too well.

Carlos Sainz.

You don’t even have to look to know he’s standing there, arms crossed, jaw tight with annoyance. Of course, out of all the people in this airport, it’s him, the man who’s spent the past few months making your life at Ferrari more complicated than it needs to be.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mutter under your breath.

Carlos turns at the sound of your voice, his brown eyes narrowing the moment they land on you. “Perfect,” he says dryly. “This night just keeps getting better.”

“Trust me, I feel the same way.”

The airline announces that passengers should seek accommodations until further notice, and that’s when the real problem begins. Hotels are booking up fast, and by the time you both reach the nearest one, there’s only one room left.

One bed.

You and Carlos exchange a look, equal parts disbelief and horror.

“Not happening,” you say at the same time.

The receptionist, unimpressed, simply raises a brow. “It’s this or the airport floor.”

Carlos mutters something in Spanish under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face. 

Then, reluctantly, he pulls out his card.

The moment the door clicks shut behind you, the tension in the air thickens. 

The room is smaller than you expected. The bed is the worst part of all.

Carlos tosses his bag onto the armchair and turns to you. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

You raise a brow. “Don’t be stupid. You’ll wake up sore and useless for the next race.”

“Then what do you suggest?” His tone is sharp, but there’s something unreadable in his expression, something almost unsure.

You inhale. “We’re adults. We can share a bed without it being a big deal.”

Carlos scoffs, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he tugs off his jacket and collapses onto the mattress with a groan. 

You hesitate before doing the same, keeping as much distance as possible.

Outside, the storm rages on. Inside, the silence stretches.

At some point, sleep becomes impossible.

Carlos shifts beside you, exhaling sharply. “You’re tense,” he murmurs.

“You’re awake?”

He lets out a quiet chuckle. “Hard to sleep when you keep sighing every five seconds.”

You roll onto your side, facing him in the dim light. “This is the longest we’ve been in the same room without arguing.”

He hums in agreement, his gaze flickering over your face. “Maybe because there’s no one else to impress.”

That makes you pause. “Is that what you think this is? That I argue with you for show?”

Carlos is quiet for a long moment. Then he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know. Maybe I just don’t know how to act around you.”

There’s something raw in his voice, something that makes your throat tighten.

You shift closer, just a fraction. “Carlos…”

His eyes meet yours in the dark.

Something cracks open between you, something unspoken but heavy, pressing against your ribs. 

He’s so close now, his scent pulling you in.

And then, in the quiet space between thunderclaps, he lifts a hand, brushing a strand of hair from your face. It’s such a small gesture, but it steals the breath from your lungs.

“You drive me crazy,” he murmurs.

You swallow. “The feeling is mutual.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. “Maybe not in the way I thought.”

His fingers trail down, barely touching your cheek, lingering just long enough for you to know, this is different. This is real.

And before you can stop yourself, before you can talk yourself out of it, you close the distance.

The kiss is slow, testing, like neither of you quite believe this is happening. His lips are warm, careful, and then, when he realizes you’re not pulling away, more confident. He tastes like something dangerous, something impossible to forget.

When you part, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing uneven.

“Dios mío,” he whispers, a small laugh in his voice.

You smile. “What?”

“I think we’re going to have a problem.”

Outside, the storm still rages. But in here, in this bed, with his hands tangled in yours, you’ve never felt safer.

The air between you crackles, charged with something far heavier than just unresolved tension.

Carlos is still so close, his breath fanning over your lips, his forehead pressed against yours as if he’s trying to ground himself. 

But you can feel it, the way his fingers twitch against your skin, the way his chest rises and falls unevenly.

You don’t know who moves first. 

Maybe it’s you, maybe it’s him. 

But the moment your lips meet again, it’s no longer hesitant, no longer careful. It’s needy. Starved. 

The dam has broken, and there’s no stopping it now.

Carlos groans low in his throat as he rolls you onto your back, his body pressing flush against yours. His weight is solid, and grounding, and yet it sets you on fire. 

His hands, rough and warm, skim down your sides, gripping at your hips like he’s afraid you might vanish if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

“Mierda,” he mutters against your lips, his voice thick with something primal. “I should’ve done this sooner.”

You barely have time to process his words before he kisses you again, deeper this time. 

His tongue sweeps against yours, demanding until you’re gasping into his mouth. There’s nothing slow about it now, just heat, friction, and the need to get closer.

Your hands slide under his shirt, feeling the tight muscle beneath as he shivers under your touch. 

And then, with a frustrated growl, he pulls back just long enough to take it off.

Your breath catches. 

He’s beautiful. Tan skin, a chest rising and falling with barely restrained need, dark eyes burning as they roam over you.

“Take this off,” he rasps, tugging at your shirt.

Your hands shake as you obey, and the second your bare skin is exposed, Carlos is on you again. 

His mouth trails down your jaw, and your throat, pausing only to nip at the sensitive spot just below your ear, making you whimper.

“Fuck,” he mutters, the sound almost reverent as he presses a kiss to your shoulder. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

You tug him down to you, nails digging into his back as you arch under him. “Then don’t waste time,” you whisper, breath hitching as his teeth scrape against your collarbone.

That seems to snap something inside him.

Carlos groans, his mouth claiming every inch of skin he can reach as his hands push down the waistband of your shorts, his fingers dragging over your thighs, igniting every nerve ending in their wake. His kisses turn desperate, messy, as if he’s afraid he’ll never get another chance.

“Tell me you want this,” he breathes against your skin, his voice wrecked.

“I do,” you gasp, back arching when his fingers slip between your legs. “Carlos, please.”

That’s all it takes.

The rest of your clothes disappear in a blur of hurried hands and whispered curses. 

And when he finally presses against you, when he sinks into you in one slow, breathtaking movement, you both let out a loud moan.

The stretch, the heat, it’s overwhelming, perfect. 

Carlos stills for a moment, his forehead dropping against yours, his breath ragged.

“Dios mío,” he groans. “You feel-”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to. 

His lips crash into yours as he starts to move, slow at first, as if savouring every second. But then you shift your hips, meeting his thrust, and something inside him cracks.

His grip tightens, his movements turning desperate, almost wild. Every roll of his hips pulls a new sound from your lips, every deep thrust pushing you closer to the edge.

Carlos is everywhere. 

His mouth on your skin, his hands roaming, his voice rough with pleasure as he murmurs your name like a prayer.

“Look at me,” he pants, his nose brushing against yours.

You force your eyes open, and the sight nearly undoes you, Carlos, completely undone, his lips parted, his brows furrowed in pleasure, his dark eyes drinking in every reaction you give him.

The coil in your stomach tightens, your nails digging into his back as you gasp, “Carlos-”

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, voice softer now, his pace turning deliberate, focused. “Let go for me, cariño.”

And when you do, when the pleasure crashes over you like a wave, Carlos follows with a groan, his grip on you tight as he buries himself as deep as he can.

The only sound left in the room is your ragged breathing, the storm still raging outside, but inside this room, everything feels calm.

Carlos presses a lingering kiss to your forehead before rolling onto his side, and pulling you into his chest. 

His hand traces lazy circles over your back, grounding you, keeping you close.

After a moment, he chuckles breathlessly. “So… we’re definitely not sleeping now.”

You laugh, still dazed, as you bury your face in his neck. “Guess we’re making the most of this storm.”

Carlos grins, tilting your chin up for another kiss. “Damn right, we are.”

[saskiaalonso]

The girlies 💕

[ladymarvel27]

Happy Birthday Alex Albon.

and his present....

It's not Alex's birthday unless it's eventful P.S: Reference to 24 aus gp

Image credits: f1 and williams instagram

[cemeterygrace]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY GOAT ALEX ALBON

[albon-o-positive]

Williams being 4th in the constructors championship, above Ferrari 💞💞💞💞💞💞

[visualvocabulary33]

[slayderiaferrari]

not logan and carlos getting their first williams point the same way

leclerc and hamilton both disqualified

[theonottsbxtch]

fix it fic please!! Can we get a happy ending of American Jesus with Logan please! Maybe an epilogue situation? I love love love your writing! ✨

hello! i know some of you are going to hate me because i’m going to prioritise my 2k celly so enjoy this fix it fic for american jesus! i wrote this during the race instead of focusing on my silly little article i was meant to write about the race lol

she’d pictured this moment a hundred times. rehearsed it in her head, imagined what she might say when she finally saw him again. but now, sitting on the other side of the glass, she found she had nothing. just silence and the weight of his stare.

logan looked different. thinner. hollower. the blonde in his hair dulled under the fluorescent light, his blue eyes no longer bright but bruised with something heavier than exhaustion.

"you look like hell," he said, voice rough.

she swallowed, fingers curling in her lap. "so do you."

he huffed a quiet laugh, but there was no real humour in it. just something bitter, something sharp. he leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table, the chain of his cuffs clinking against the metal.

"so, what now?" he asked. "you come to see what you did?"

her stomach twisted, but she kept her expression even. "i didn’t do anything, logan."

his jaw tensed. for a second, he looked like he might say something cruel, something that would rip through her like a blade. but then he just shook his head, exhaling slow.

"you know, i really thought you loved me," he murmured.

her breath caught. "i did. i d-.”

his gaze flicked up to hers, something unreadable passing through it. "no, sweetheart," he said, voice quieter now. "you didn’t."

she opened her mouth, then closed it again. because maybe he was right. maybe love wasn’t supposed to feel like a trap, like a thing she had to claw her way out of. maybe love wasn’t supposed to end like this—one of them free, the other in chains.

logan sat back, looking at her properly, like he was seeing her for the first time. after a moment, he let out a soft breath and shook his head.

"goodbye, sweetheart."

she should’ve said it back. should’ve given him that much. but instead, she just stood, turned, and walked away.

she didn’t look back.

one she left she drove back with the window down, air thick with heat and dust, the radio humming something low and mournful. his trailer looked the same as when she left that morning—same peeling paint, same sagging steps, same wind-chime rattling like bones in the breeze. but something about it felt emptier now, like it had finally realised he wasn’t coming back.

she stepped inside, shutting the door behind her. the smell of cigarette smoke still clung to the walls, to the sheets, to the old denim jacket hanging over the back of the chair. she ran her fingers over the fabric, over the worn-out patches and frayed edges. she should’ve thrown it out. should’ve packed up his things and pretended he’d never been here.

but she hadn’t.

she sat down at the table, pressing her palms against the cool metal surface. stared at the lighter still sitting there, the one he used to flick open and shut when he was thinking.

logan was right. she hadn’t loved him. not the way he wanted. but she owed him something. he’d taken the fall for her, let them drag him away in cuffs while she stood there, silent, hands shaking at her sides.

maybe it was guilt. maybe it was something else. but as she sat there, listening to the distant hum of passing cars, an idea started to form.

she needed to get him out.

she didn’t know how yet, but she would. money, a plan, someone on the inside—she’d figure it out. she had to. because if she didn’t, she’d spend the rest of her life hearing his voice in her head, calling her sweetheart like he still meant it.

and she wasn’t sure she could live with that.

- ✨ -

the first time she did it, she almost backed out.

the club was dark, loud, thick with cigarette smoke and cheap perfume. neon lights flickered pink and blue against the walls, music pulsed through the floor, and men sat back in their seats with drinks in their hands and hunger in their eyes.

she stood in the dressing room staring at herself in the mirror, hair curled, lips painted red, a stranger staring back. the other girls barely spared her a glance. they’d seen a hundred girls like her before—small-town thing with too-wide eyes, looking for fast cash and a way out.

she thought of logan. thought of his cuffs clinking against the table, his voice low and bitter as he said, you come to see what you did?

then she stepped out and did what needed to be done.

it got easier after that.

she drove out to the city five nights a week, worked until the early hours, and came home with cash stuffed at the bottom of her bag. sometimes, the men were easy—ones who liked the chase, the tease, who didn’t need much to hand over their money. other times, they were rougher, meaner, hands grabbing too hard, voices slurred with whiskey.

she learned how to handle them. learned when to smile, when to laugh, when to lean in close and pretend like they were the only man in the room. she learned how to make them want her just enough to make them pay.

and the money was good. better than she’d expected. soon, she had a stash hidden beneath the floorboards, thick wads of cash bound with rubber bands.

but money wasn’t enough.

she needed people. connections. someone who could tell her how to do the impossible—break a man out of prison and get away with it.

so she started asking questions. not outright, never directly. but little things. offhand comments, curiosity slipped between drinks and laughter. and eventually, she got what she needed.

it took months to piece everything together.

she paid a guy who knew a guy—someone who worked inside, who could get things where they needed to be. she found a car that wouldn’t be missed, an old ford with rust on the doors but an engine that still ran smooth. she learned the shift rotations, the blind spots, the way the guards got lazy after dark.

it was almost ready. all of it.

one night, after her shift, she sat in her car outside the club, cigarette burning between her fingers. she should’ve felt nervous. should’ve felt afraid. hell, this whole thing was crazy.

instead, she just felt steady.

logan had saved her once. pulled her from a wreck she’d never have crawled out of alone.

now, it was her turn.

-✨ -

logan knew something was wrong the second the guard stopped outside his cell.

it was past lights out, the block quiet except for the occasional shuffle of footsteps, the distant clang of metal doors. no reason for anyone to be here.

yet the guard—hollow-eyed, looking over his shoulder—unlocked the door and muttered, "let’s go."

logan didn’t move. didn’t speak. just sat there, slow-blinking, waiting for the punchline.

the guard sighed, impatience flickering across his face. "you want out or not?"

logan stood, cautious, waiting for the trap to snap shut around his ankles. but it didn’t. the guard led him down the corridor, past slumped bodies and snoring men, through a side door that should’ve been locked. he kept waiting for someone to stop them, for alarms to start screaming, but no one came.

then the cold night air hit his face, and he was outside.

and there she was.

parked at the edge of the lot, headlights off, cigarette glowing between her fingers as she leaned against the hood. she looked different—thinner, sharper, something restless behind her eyes. but still her.

logan scoffed, shaking his head as he walked right past her.

"logan—"

"no." he didn’t look back. just kept walking, boots crunching against gravel. "i’m not doing this with you."

"we don’t have time," she said, voice tight.

"don’t care."

"jesus, logan," she snapped. "you’d rather go back in there?"

"better than being in your debt," he muttered.

that made her pause. then, softer, "i never wanted you in there to begin with."

he huffed a laugh, bitter. "could’ve fooled me."

she stepped forward, reaching for his arm, but he pulled away.

"i did this for you," she said, and she sounded so earnest it made his teeth ache.

he finally turned to her, jaw tight. "why?"

she hesitated. then, voice barely above a whisper—"please, logan. i love you."

he froze.

she’d never said that before. not once. not in all the time he’d known her.

he stared at her, searching for the lie, but all he saw was the same girl who’d sat beside him in the passenger seat of his chevvy, wind in her hair, springsteen on the radio.

for a moment, neither of them moved.

then, finally, logan exhaled. rubbed a hand over his face.

"you got a plan?" he asked, voice rough.

she nodded.

he sighed. "then let’s go."

they drove in silence for a long time, the town shrinking behind them in the rearview mirror. logan slumped in the passenger seat, arms crossed, gaze flicking between her and the road ahead.

"what now?" he muttered.

she didn’t look at him. just pressed her foot a little harder on the gas. "you’ll see."

he huffed but didn’t push. just leaned his head back against the seat, exhaustion creeping in, the hum of the engine lulling him under. he was so damn tired he hasn’t even questioned where she for the car and how she knew how to drive it.

logan woke up to the faint glow of streetlights flashing across his face, the city rolling by in slow, quiet movements. the radio played something soft, something old.

he glanced at her, hands steady on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road like she hadn’t even noticed he was awake.

"where are we?" he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

"heading west," she said simply.

logan scrubbed a hand over his face. "what happened to my trailer?"

"gone."

he frowned. "what d’you mean, gone?"

"i sold it."

that woke him up properly. he straightened, twisting to look at her fully. "you sold it?"

she nodded, gaze still locked ahead.

"jesus," he muttered, shaking his head. "and my car?"

"waiting for you," she said. "license plate’s changed. shouldn’t draw too much attention."

that made him pause. he studied her for a moment, the way she was just so sure about everything, like she’d been planning this for months.

maybe she had.

"you thought of everything, huh?" he said, half amused, half something else he couldn’t name.

she finally glanced at him then, the smallest smirk playing at her lips. "someone had to."

logan let out a breath, turning back to the window. outside, the city lights started to thin, giving way to stretches of dark highway.

they kept driving, the roads turning quieter, the air growing warmer as they left the place that had swallowed them whole.

- ✨ -

california smelled like salt and sun, the ocean stretching out wide before them as she pulled the car to a stop. logan stepped out, breathing it in, the breeze ruffling his too-long hair.

he turned to her. "so, what now?"

she leaned against the car, lighting a cigarette. "i dunno," she said, exhaling smoke. "thought we could figure it out together."

logan stared at her, something unreadable flickering in his expression.

then, finally, he huffed a laugh, shaking his head.

"yeah," he muttered. "okay."

when they got back in the car, the sun was dipping low over the horizon, casting everything in gold. logan let his hand hang out the window, fingers cutting through the warm air, his mind still trying to catch up with the last twenty-four hours.

she drove like she knew exactly where she was going. no hesitation, no second-guessing. just steady hands on the wheel, the same quiet determination that had always unnerved him just a little.

when she finally pulled up outside a small apartment complex, logan barely had time to take it in before he saw it—his chevy, parked right there in the lot.

his chest tightened. it was still cherry red, still his, but the plates were different. new numbers, clean slate.

she stepped out of the car, keys jingling in her hand. "you coming?"

logan lingered for a second longer, eyes on his car, then followed her inside.

the apartment was small, barely furnished, but it didn’t feel temporary. it felt set. like she’d been waiting for him.

she tossed the keys onto the counter, stretching her arms over her head. "place is ours, mr hunter davidson," she said casually.

logan blinked. "who?"

she turned, smirking, and held out a small booklet. his stomach flipped when he saw what it was. a new id.

his face. a different name.

hunter davidson.

he let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. "jesus christ, sweetheart."

she just shrugged, already kicking off her shoes. "i’m exhausted," she muttered, rubbing her eyes. "i’m going to bed."

logan barely had time to process before she was gone, disappearing into the bedroom like this was just any other night, like she hadn’t just rewritten both their lives with one movement of her hands.

he stood there for a long moment, staring at the id, at the closed bedroom door, at the life she’d just handed him.

then he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

logan caught sight of himself in the floor length mirror leaning against a mismatched sofa and winced. he did look worse for wear. ignoring the door she had just gone through, he opened another one, finding what he was looking for.

a shower.

he took in the room and noticed it was furnished with a few of her products and walked in.

the shower was hot, steam curling around him as he let the water wash away months of prison grime, of sleepless nights, of everything that had clung to him since the moment she turned him in.

when he finally stepped out, towelling his hair dry, exhaustion hit him all at once.

he rummaged around the bathroom cupboards and found she’d bought some underwear. he put on a pair of boxers and a wide beater then left the bathroom.

when he opened the door to the bedroom he found her asleep as he slipped into bed behind her, the mattress dipping beneath his weight.

she was out cold, curled on her side, breathing slow and steady.

logan hesitated, then pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder, fingers trailing lightly down her arm.

"you’re insane," he murmured against her skin. "but jesus, sweetheart, what would i do without you?"

she didn’t stir. just breathed, steady and certain.

logan let his eyes slip shut.

whatever came next, they'd figure it out. together.

the end.

[raikkoberg]

Ishan beat RR for 106/47* and Carlos scored his first points for Williams on the same fucking day 😭😭

DO YOU SEE THAT? MI AND FERRARI? MY BOYS CAN DO IT WITH A BROKEN HEART!

I'm just....I am so fucking happy I feel like I am going to explode.

Ishan Kishan the fucking man that you are!!!! THE MAN THAT YOU ARE!!!!!!

Carlos, I'm so fucking proud of you. So, so proud, baby. So, so fucking proud.

I will NEVER EVER doubt my decision of choosing these two as my favorites. NEVER!

[ssentimentals]

so... hi its been some time i was hoping to request prompt number 5 with charlos like yk carlos getting amnesia and entering the ferrari garge/hosptality and charles bumping into him and cs55 having no idea why he shouldnt b there and something like that also could u add a lil bit of fred to ... like yk somthing like him feeling guilty of breaking this duo or yabadaba

hi sweets! hope you're doing good! of course you can request, thank you for doing so! <3

prompt: 'amnesia'

charles leclerc x carlos sainz

it's thursday and paddock buzzes with life. carlos tries to quickly get to the williams hospitality, not sparing people clad in bright red a glance. no more red, no more 'forza ferrari' shouted at him, no more 'morning, carlos' said in a french accent with a slight lisp, no more casual brush of the shoulders-

'take this!' someone shouts and before carlos can react, some bracelet with red string is thrusted into his hand violently. 'wear it!' woman shouts at him, her eyes boring into his soul. for a second, he stands frozen, stupefied by the intensity of her gaze - it's like she knows exactly what he's thinking. 'we miss you,' she says and only now carlos notices that she's in a ferrari kit. 'we miss you so much.'

'uh, thank you.'

being nice to the fans is the least he can do, so he obidiently wears the bracelet, resuming his walk. it tingles slightly but he pays it no mind, just like he tries not to think of 'we miss you' thrown at him. he plays for another team now, but god, his stubborn heart wants to know, wants to get deep inside in il predestinato's brain and check - do you miss me? do you miss me the way i miss you? do you also feel hollow not having me by your side?

'carlos, there you are!' james greets him with a big smile. 'ready?'

navy t-shirt. james vowles, not fred. alex, not charles. carlos plasters fake smile and nods. the bracelet tingles again. 'sure.'

friday

everyone is giving him weird looks. carlos is used to people looking at him, but usually there's appreciation, wonder or lust in their eyes, not... whatever it is. he frowns. this whole day started weirdly, he's pretty sure someone pulled a prank on him - he couldn't find his usual ferrari polo anywhere and only had williams blue t-shirts inside his suitcase. he never thought of albon as of a prankster; he'll get back to him next time. with no ferrari polo around he chose simple white t-shirt and blue jeans, entering ferrari's hospitality with an easy smile. the welcome from all the staff was weird too - instead of usual hugs and pats on the back or at least a fist bump, he got raised eyebrows and several 'you okay, mate?' questions. by the time he finds charles next to the coffee machine, carlos is pretty sure that he's going crazy.

'charlie,' he calls, frowning. as usual, he reaches out for his teammate, carefully slotting his hand on his lower back. 'are-'

'carlos?'

charles sounds... surprised. maybe even shocked. he looks at carlos like he didn't expect to see him here, which is ridicilous because where else carlos might be before the free practice? charles's eyes search his face for something before he blurts out shocked: 'you're here for me?'

carlos blinks. now, this is an interesting question. he's here because this is ferrari's hospitality and he drives for ferrari. but is he here for charles? yes. he's always here for charles even if he doesn't want to admit it. his heart is always here for charles and charles only. 'yes,' he ends up answering because it's the truth.

what he doesn't expect is the hug. charles is usually affectionate but more with pats on the back or shoulder squeeze gestures, never with the hugs. this hug is different from the ones they had before though; this hug is too tight, mixed with relief and desperation. carlos hugs him back automatically, presses their bodies closer together, lets charles bury his nose in his neck. it's surprising but carlos is not about to pass up the opportunity to have charles like this; he hugs him back tighter. 'you okay?' he asks quietly, concerned. 'charles. are you okay?'

'i am now,' he mutters, not letting him go. 'i missed you.'

carlos is not sure whether he needs to point out that they saw each other yesterday. instead he slowly starts to pull away his hands, leaning back to take a good look at his teammate. charles's eyes are full of sincerity and it knocks the breath out of carlos's lungs. charles missed him. for real. 'charles, i-'

'carlos? what are you doing here?' fred appears behind charles, no doubt catching their hug. he looks between them with a frown but then he turns to carlos, smiling. 'coming in to check strategies of your ex-team? i hope charles here is keeping his mouth shut, huh.'

carlos freezes. ex-team? before he can reply though, charles bristles: 'he's not here for that. he came to me,' he lets out, sounding defensive.

carlos doesn't dare to breathe. what is happening? they wouldn't all pull a prank on him like that. 'why ex-team?' he lets out, confused.

fred and charles both look up at this. charles mirrors his confused expression, but fred only shakes his head, chuckling sadly. 'sorry, carlos. i didn't mean to- of course we are your team. we will always be your team. it doesn't matter whether you're in williams or not.'

the world tips and starts spinning. carlos thinks he's about to fall but charles holds him firmly by his wrists, keeping him grounded. carlos can't think of anything else, can't focus on anything but on charles - beautiful, beautiful charles, who is his...ex-teammate? how is that possible?

fred thinks his heart won't take it. he knew that charles and carlos were close, knew that he's breaking what probably is one of the best pairings in f1, but it had to be made. but to witness with his own eyes how charles and carlos look at each other, to stand next to them and feel this incredible yearning from both sides is horrible. fred turns and walks away the moment charles reaches out and hugs carlos again. he saw enough to wish he could turn back time, but sadly world doesn't work this way.

a/: chales dnf in the race when carlos scores his first points... i- i have no words. anyways, enjoy some charlos, left the ending open intentionally, hopefully you'll like it! - nini

request your own here

my other formula 1 works are here

[aaron04jpg]

Ok diva !!

[throughgoeshamilton]

me when anyone asks me how i am while experiencing the most stressful time of my life

[saskiaalonso]

Points on his birthday !! 😝

[vitalverstappen]

every time you breathe his air...

...just know i was already there

[cemeterygrace]

bright side if the dqs go through: more williams points!