#multi-love | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

itzpookiepooh · 21 days ago

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how would the lads boys react if mc woke them up after a looong night ( wink wink ) and asked them if they still love her! i really want to see this scenario happen with xavier

Y’all want me to write smut so bad omg *jk*

Do You Still Love Me?

Sylus was out of there, one arm under his head and the other around you. Three rounds and he was exhausted however, here you were wide awake staring at the high ceiling. Your mind wandered, why? Who knows. Something was bugging you and you didn’t want to wake him up but you were so bothered.

So you shook him interrupting his snoring.

“Sylus? Do you still love me?” You asked him as he looked at you a bit discombobulated at that.

“Do I? Wait…” He closes his eyes trying to adjust. He breathes through his nose before opening his eyes again.

“Why did you ask me that?” He questioned his voice deep and raspy as you look at him sadly.

“Because I’ve been up thinking about it.” He chuckled tiredly as his thumb caressed your arm.

“That mind of yours runs wild even at the dead of night.” He sucks in air before sighing, “I love you in every life I’m given. That won’t change.” He reassured you making your worried features soften.

You snuggle into him before he immediately falls back to sleep. Snoring like the dragon he is.

Caleb was laid out, understand? He was hard to wake up unless you left the bed. His grip on you was deadly. You were thinking did he actually love you? You guys were on different levels of life so why should he?

“Caleb? Do you love me?” You mumbled quietly but if it’s your voice he has the ears of a hound. He perks up looking at you with slightly cocked eyes.

“Of course I do. I’ve loved you all my life.” He muttered softly his voice filled with exhaustion. He holds you close kissing your temple.

“Really?” You mumbled quietly making him nod. “Yes. Always.” He trailed off before going back to bed.

His answer was good enough for you to get a good nights rest.

Poor Zayne was put into a comatose state. On top of having a long stressful day and having you he was done for the night. He was sound asleep before you woke him with your late night thoughts.

“Zayne do you still love me?” This made him blink awake slowly. He still found time to reassure you no matter how tired he was.

“Feelings like mine don’t change over night.” He says closing his eyes once more.

“Really? Not even if I’m annoying?” He side eyes you tiredly.

“You’re never annoying to me. Now rest it’s good to get at least 8 hours of sleep. In our case 6 is just as good.” He kisses you softly and slowly nearly moaning in your mouth before breaking away.

He would show you how much he loved you more if he didn’t have work in the morning.

Xavier was laid out flat damn near taking up the whole bed. You were stuck in thought. What if he only wanted to sleep with you? What if he secretly hated you and just didn’t show it? You were pulling at straws for at least 20 minutes.

“Xay. Xavier? Do you love me.” His head wobbles as he tries to lift it from your shoulder. He looks around like he doesn’t know where he is before his slightly red eyes fall onto you.

“Of course I do where did this come from?” He questioned you as he pulls you into his chest.

“I don’t know…” You trail off making him hum as he kisses your temple.

“I’ve loved you for a very long time and I’ll continue to do so.” He answers before immediately falling back to sleep on top of your head.

You smiled softly before snuggling into him.

Rafayel looked like a peanuts character with the way he was sleeping. He was insatiable tonight and even though he told you he loved you throughout the night it still didn’t satiate the voices telling you he didn’t.

“Raf? Do you still love me?” You pouted as your forearms were crossed on his chest.

“Duh! What made you ask me that?” He asked as groggy as ever almost making you laugh.

“I dunno…just thinking.” You shrug making him pluck your forehead.

“Well stop doing that. If I didn’t I’d treat you how I treat those old people at the art expos.” He explained his voice casually trailing off into sleep. You shake your head before kissing his clammy cheek.

You snuggle in, to which he involuntarily squeezes you into him, and fall asleep.

I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t add reaction pics

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ijustwannabecool · 3 days ago

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Hi! I hope you’re okay. I just recently discovered your stories and they are stunning. I was wondering if you’ve thought of writing a Carlos’ version of Moments You Wish You Caught on Camera? I’d definitely love to read his version! ❤️

Moments You Wished You Caught on Camera - Carlos Sainz

Carlos Sainz x Wife!Reader

Summary… Told through the eyes of strangers, six ordinary people recall quiet moments spent observing Carlos Sainz and Y/N L/N around the world, moments that left a lasting impression.

A/N: I'm doing all good, thanks for asking. Took a break from writing to enjoy my summer before school starts again. Thank you for the support and the request. Keep them coming (: Let me know what you thought of the story.

Comment to be added to the tag list 🫶

Requests open!

Donate a coke zero?!

Like, Comment, Reblog, Enjoy!!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The Woman Who Found Courage

Elena wasn’t sure why she’d come to the rooftop event.

Technically, it wasn’t even Y/N’s launch. Just a pop-up for a sustainable fashion brand she followed loosely online. Still, something told her to show up. She’d made the dress she was wearing for the first time, a floor-length deep green wrap with slightly uneven stitching and too much thread showing on the hem. She wore it anyway.

The terrace was bathed in golden hour light. Glasses of sangria clinked over conversations about textiles and ethics and minimalist branding. Elena stood near a planter of lavender, alone, half-heartedly sipping from her drink, trying not to fidget with the fabric at her waist.

She noticed the woman before anyone else did.

Y/N L/N arrived without announcement, no entrance, no heels clacking on tile. Just soft linen pants, a breezy top, and hair tied loosely at the nape of her neck. She wasn’t wearing makeup, but somehow she still glowed. Elena watched her float through the space, greeting friends, complimenting strangers, stopping to touch fabric with genuine interest.

And then, Elena couldn’t quite believe it, Y/N noticed her.

The designer approached with a kind smile, tilting her head toward Elena’s dress. Her voice was low but warm.

“I love this color. It suits you.”

Elena smiled, small and a little nervous. “I made it.”

Something flickered across Y/N’s face, surprise, then delight. She leaned in closer, asked a few more questions Elena couldn’t hear from where she stood. The conversation didn’t look performative. It looked kind. Gentle.

Minutes passed. At some point, a man walked up, tall, relaxed, hands in his pockets. He didn’t interrupt. Just stood close enough for Y/N to lean against his arm, resting there like it was instinct. Elena squinted, catching his profile.

Carlos Sainz.

There was a stillness to him in that moment, none of the intensity he wore on race weekends. Just a man smiling quietly while the woman he loved talked about dresses with a stranger.

Eventually, Y/N squeezed Elena’s hand. Carlos nodded. They left together, fingers interlaced, slipping out the side without needing anyone to notice.

Elena watched them go.

Later, she found a piece of paper tucked into her tote. She didn’t know when it had been placed there.

Make things you want to wear. The rest will follow. –Y/N

It wasn’t signed with a brand name or a handle. Just those words.

She pinned it above her sewing table that night. And she hasn’t stopped creating since.

——————————

The Kid Who Got a Ride Home

The storm rolled in fast, one of those early spring downpours that gave no warning, just cracked the sky open and spilled everything at once.

Mateo muttered a curse under his breath as he stood under the narrow awning outside the preschool, clutching his phone and trying to refresh the weather app like it might help. His daughter, Luna, was still inside, and he was stuck without an umbrella, his car three blocks away. Typical Tuesday.

He wasn’t the only one caught unprepared. Other parents were gathered around, shoulders hunched, rain spotting their sleeves. The staff tried to usher the kids out quickly, but the rain made everything chaotic. He barely noticed the matte black SUV that pulled up at the curb, until he saw who stepped out.

A man in joggers and a hoodie, the hood half-up, his trainers already wet. He jogged around the vehicle with surprising ease, umbrella in hand, and opened the back door.

Carlos Sainz.

Mateo blinked. Was that…? No. Couldn’t be.

But then a woman appeared too, Y/N L/N, unmistakable even in a raincoat and messy bun. She was crouched at the backseat, holding a little boy’s backpack in one hand and a Spider-Man umbrella in the other, laughing softly as she tried to keep the child dry while buckling him in.

Mateo stared. No entourage. No security. No cameras. Just two parents caught in the rain.

He must’ve been really staring because the little boy, Sebastián; if he remembered correctly, turned and waved at his daughter through the preschool window. Luna, ever bold, waved back.

A minute later, the boy was calling from inside the car. “Papi! Luna doesn’t have her coat!”

Carlos looked up then, really looked around. “Whose kid?” he asked Y/N in a low voice.

“I think she’s with her dad. Over there,” she said, subtly nodding.

Carlos approached Mateo cautiously, umbrella extended.

“You okay?” he asked in Spanish. “She’s saying your daughter’s coat is inside.”

Mateo nodded. “Yeah, just waiting. Didn’t expect the storm.”

Carlos looked up at the sky, then back at him. “We can wait a minute with you, if that’s alright. He won’t leave without saying goodbye.”

And so, they waited. The four of them, two soaked dads, a quiet woman with rain droplets clinging to her lashes, and two preschoolers pressing their hands to the foggy car windows in some kind of wordless farewell ritual.

When Luna finally ran out with her coat clutched in her hand, Carlos held the umbrella over her like it was the most natural thing in the world. He helped her into her dad’s arms and nodded once before getting back into his own car.

By the time Mateo reached his own car, he was half-wet and still in disbelief.

His daughter spoke up from the backseat. “Papi?”

“Yeah?”

“Sebastián’s daddy drives really fast.”

Mateo grinned. “Yeah, hija. I guess he does.”

———————

The Man Who Didn’t Know

Joaquim didn’t get many visitors.

His vineyard had long since stopped producing wine, and the only people who came through the winding countryside roads were either lost or chasing some romantic idea of rural Portugal they saw on a Pinterest board.

He was pruning back the fig tree when he heard the crunch of tires on gravel. An SUV. Black, sleek, foreign plates. It paused just beyond the gate, the engine idling like it was thinking too.

He didn’t rush. He had lived long enough to know people came and went no matter what you did.

The passenger window rolled down, and a woman leaned over from the driver’s side. “Desculpe,” she said in careful Portuguese, “Estamos un pouco perdidos. Sabes como llegar a…?” (“Excuse me,” “We're a little lost. Do you know how to get to…?”)

“Espere,” Joaquim waved a hand, wiping dirt on his trousers. “You’re Spanish, no?” (“Wait.”)

She nodded, clearly relieved.

Behind her, a man leaned into view. Sunglasses, stubble, a faded cap pulled low. “Our GPS thinks this is a road.”

Joaquim chuckled. “It used to be.”

He gave them directions, slow and deliberate. The woman repeated them back just to be sure. She smiled when she got it right. “Thank you so much.”

“No trouble,” he said, but he didn’t step away yet. Something about them made him linger.

The man reached back into the car, rummaged for something, and handed Joaquim a bottle of water. “It’s hot,” he said. “You’re working hard.”

Joaquim accepted it with a nod. “Obrigado.” (Thanks.)

He watched them for another moment. They weren’t in a rush. The man reached across the console to tuck a piece of hair behind the woman’s ear. She leaned into it, like it was nothing and everything at once.

That simple gesture stuck with him.

It wasn’t until two days later, when his son came to visit and saw the water bottle sitting on the porch ledge, that the penny dropped.

“Where did you get this?” his son asked, flipping it in his hand. “This is from the race in Barcelona.”

Joaquim blinked. “A couple gave it to me. They were lost.”

His son stared. “Wait…describe them.”

When Joaquim did, his son looked at him like he’d seen a ghost. “That was Carlos Sainz and Y/N L/N.”

Joaquim raised an eyebrow. “The race car driver?”

“Yes!”

Joaquim shrugged. “He was very kind. She was so bright. I liked them.”

His son gaped. “And you didn’t ask for a photo?”

Joaquim smiled, the kind that comes with age and a thousand sunrises. “Some moments don’t need to be caught on camera to last.”

—————————

The Woman Starting Over

Mariana wasn’t supposed to be in that part of Lisbon that day.

The boutique she worked at was closed for inventory, and her to-do list was long and unrelenting. But the thread store on Rua da Rosa had gotten a new shipment of linen blends, and the thought of running her fingers along clean bolts of fabric sounded better than facing another spreadsheet.

So, she went. And maybe that was fate.

The shop was quiet, warm, and smelled faintly of cedar. As she stood by the cutting table, comparing two shades of sage green, a voice behind her said, softly, “Go with the cooler one. It reads better in sunlight.”

Mariana turned. She recognized the woman instantly, though not in a celebrity way. More like the way you recognize someone whose style you’ve saved in moodboards and screenshotted late at night when you need to remember what dreams look like.

Y/N L/N.

She was dressed simply, white button-down, loose trousers, no makeup, but still looked like the sort of woman people designed runways around.

“I’m sorry,” Mariana blurted out. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

Y/N smiled. “You weren’t. You looked torn. I know that look.”

Mariana felt herself flush. “I… I’m starting over. With design. Again. It’s been a rough few years.”

Y/N didn’t ask for details. Instead, she looked at the fabric in Mariana’s hands. “It’s hard, right? Making things that might not work. Making them anyway.”

Mariana nodded.

They spoke for ten minutes. Maybe twelve. About pattern grading. About creative burnouts. About imposter syndrome. About how sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is walk into a fabric store and say, I’m still trying.

Y/N bought nothing. She wasn’t there to shop. Maybe she’d wandered in by accident. Maybe not.

But before she left, she pulled a folded swatch from her own pocket, terracotta cotton with an unusual herringbone stitch.

“I carry this when I’m stuck,” she said. “It was from my first real show. I thought no one would come.”

She placed it gently on top of Mariana’s fabric. “Here. For yours.”

And then she was gone. Just like that.

It wasn’t until later that Mariana realized a man had been waiting outside the store the whole time. Dark sunglasses, reading a newspaper, casually leaning against the wall like any other local on a slow afternoon.

She recognized him when she flipped through Instagram that night. Carlos Sainz.

He’d looked up when Y/N walked out. Not at her, but for her. And when their eyes met, he smiled like he’d been smiling for her all his life.

————————————

The Single Mom and the Toothbrush

Camila had barely slept.

Her six-year-old son, Nico, was too excited. The hotel bed felt too soft. The air conditioning clicked all night. And now, somewhere between the chaos of packing their race day backpack and trying to brush her own teeth with one eye open, Nico had realized he’d forgotten his toothbrush.

Of course he had.

She stared at him, hair still in a messy bun, shirt half-tucked, and sighed. “We’ll get you a new one at the little hotel shop, okay?”

He nodded, wide-eyed and solemn, like this was the greatest tragedy of his young life.

The hotel lobby was buzzing, Grand Prix weekend always brought chaos, but the tiny convenience store off to the side was thankfully empty. She grabbed the cheapest kid toothbrush she could find, along with a juice box Nico didn’t need but would definitely beg for.

But at the counter, her card didn’t work.

The terminal blinked red once, then again. “Insufficient funds,” the screen said with embarrassing clarity.

Camila blinked. She knew her account was tight, but she'd transferred some money last night, hadn't she?

She was trying to figure it out when a soft voice said, “Add this too, please.”

Camila turned. The woman behind her held out a small box of soft gummy candies and a travel-sized pack of markers. She smiled and not the pitying kind, but the warm, understanding kind. “They’re good for the wait at the track. Long day ahead.”

Camila opened her mouth to protest.

“No, really,” the woman said. “I’ve been there. You’re doing great.”

And before Camila could even say thank you, the man beside her stepped in, handing over his black card like it was second nature. “Here,” he said quietly. “It’s fine.”

Camila blinked.

Wait.

The man’s profile was familiar. The voice, even more so. And the woman, soft curls tied back, oversized sunglasses, denim jacket thrown casually over leggings, she looked achingly familiar, too.

Carlos Sainz and Y/N L/N. In her hotel. At her register.

Her jaw didn’t drop. Not right away. She was too stunned for that.

Carlos handed Nico the juice box himself. “You excited for the race?” he asked, smiling.

Nico’s eyes widened. “You sound like the guy my tío watches on TV.”

Carlos chuckled. “I get that sometimes.”

Then he looked back at Camila, a little more serious, and said, “Enjoy the weekend. It goes by fast.”

They walked off without fanfare. No bodyguards. No posing. Just two people, hand-in-hand, blending into a world that expected them to stand out.

Camila stood there frozen until the cashier cleared her throat and handed over the bag.

Later that night, she posted a thank-you on Twitter, not tagging anyone, not trying to make it go viral. Just a simple message.

‘To the couple who bought a toothbrush, candy, and markers for my son this morning, thank you. You were kind when you didn’t have to be. I hope your weekend was as good as you made ours.’

It never went viral.

But some moments aren’t meant to.

——————————

The Couple at the Cliffside Café

Luca had never liked the idea of “taking a break.” Either you fought for something or you let it go. You didn’t put it in a storage box and hope it’d look better after a few weeks.

But Bianca had insisted.

They booked the trip to Mallorca because it was far enough to feel like somewhere else, but familiar enough that it wouldn’t feel like pretending. They hadn’t spoken much since arriving. Just shared coffee in silence, walked side by side like strangers in familiar shoes. There were things they wanted to say. But neither wanted to say them first.

On the third morning, they found a café built into the edge of a cliff, whitewashed walls, wildflowers in chipped pots, a breeze that smelled like salt and citrus.

It was nearly empty. Only one other table was occupied.

A couple, probably in their 30s, sat tucked in the corner beneath the archway where the morning sun broke through like honey. The woman had sunglasses pushed into her hair, curls loose around her shoulders. She was laughing, really laughing, head tilted back, hands over her mouth like she couldn’t help it.

The man across from her watched her with such softness it made Luca look away.

He looked at Bianca. She was stirring her coffee slowly, eyes distant.

“I miss this,” he said quietly.

She blinked. “This?”

“Us. You and me. Before we started planning our future like it was a tax form.”

She gave him a long, searching look.

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it,” she said.

“I didn’t,” he admitted. “But then I saw them.”

He glanced toward the couple again.

The man was reaching across the table to tuck a napkin under her coffee cup before the breeze caught it. The kind of gesture you only learn after years of loving someone well.

It wasn’t showy. There were no phones out. No attention drawn. But it was… real.

And the woman? She leaned in just a little, her hand brushing his like it belonged there.

“I think they’ve been through things,” Bianca said, surprising him.

“You think so?”

“There’s a stillness in them,” she said. “Like they’re not trying to prove anything.”

Luca turned to look again, just as the man took off his sunglasses and leaned back.

Carlos Sainz.

Luca’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “No way.”

Bianca tilted her head. “And her?”

“Y/N L/N,” he said. “She’s a designer. I think they’re married. Or… something.”

Bianca smiled a little. “That explains the dress. And the calm.”

They watched for a moment longer, just the two of them, quietly taking in a couple who existed like a secret garden in plain sight. One you didn’t know you needed until you stumbled across it.

When the waiter came, Luca ordered them another round of coffee.

“We’re not done yet,” he said.

“No,” Bianca agreed, reaching for his hand. “We’re not.”

By the time they left the café, Carlos and Y/N were gone. No photos. No autographs. Just a receipt left on the table, weighed down by a smooth, sea-polished stone.

And maybe, just maybe, two hearts stitched back together in their quiet wake.

----

The end.

Tag list: @bby-lve @devilacot @angelluv16 @angstynasty @hisashifrey @mynameisangeloflife @evalynkillgrave @lorena-mv33 @frenchtwistedd @baechugff

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